Harry Potter 1. The Devil Himself

The Devil Himself

Rivulets of water clung to the young man; the chilled liquid coated his fingers. It was refreshing in the crisp morning air.

Smiling, Harry Potter swam under the lake's surface one last time before crawling out of the large pool and onto the thick gray stone that seemed to jut from its top.

He was hiding here from Voldemort. It was one of Dumbledore's ideas; seeing as how the school was becoming less and less safe…the Headmaster felt it best for Harry to be moved someplace where the maniac wouldn't have the ability to search for him.

Remus had gone the night before; Harry had a feeling (though he did not conclusively know) that it was because of the full moon. The members of the Order were taking turns in keeping him company in his temporary exile within the forest that rested beside his newly-adored lake.

Maybe Tonks would come in Remus's stead. A bit of merriment came forth in his heart at that thought; she was quite lovely, and could do all sorts of tricks with her changing ability. Metamorphmagus, yes that is what it was called.

Harry wore a pair of dark, old shorts, legs still chilled as they rested beneath the surface of the wide, clear water. The green-eyed young man could nearly see fish swimming beneath him, struggling in their own lives to reproduce, and other such fishy things.

Oddly pleasing to watch in a simple way, he couldn't resist the urge to tease his toes over the top of the water, one of the yellow fish nibbling at it lightly.

Here, he nearly felt free, watching as the mist of the morning came over the unaffected forest. Here, he had no real name or future, no past to worry about. He was not the Boy-Who-Lived, or James's son, as Sirius had always felt in his heart.

Here, he could be nothing at all, a morbidly appealing idea to the young mans teenaged mind.

Nature was home to him now; he'd been away from Hogwarts for a good three months, living off of what he could find in the surrounding area, as well as the parcels that Dumbledore would send, always laden with charmed pies Mrs.Weasley had baked for him. She was such a sweet woman.

Harry allowed a brief, sad smile to come to his face; Ron and Hermione always knew what to do or say to make him happiest, even when he felt so out of place. He missed them both terribly, though the previous night he'd received two letters, one from each of them. The two bits of folded parchment sat beside him on the large granite rock.

Hermione's letter was, as always, filled with detail, and held most of the information that she felt he'd need for his classes. Although Harry had repeatedly told her that he was still doing his lessons just fine with his own study and the members of the Order to guide him.

In true Hermione fashion, she had haughtily reported that he needed, "the approved teachers to correct his mistakes and make sure he had an equal teaching for each subject."

After all, Professor Flitwick couldn't teach Potions if his life depended on it!

Ron's letter was more sociable; it spoke of each of the Quidditch matches and their scores. Gryffindor had won the first three games, and lost one (a fact that Ron repeated at least three times in the first paragraph, much to Harry's amusement). Hufflepuff had lost two and won three by the skin of their teeth.  
Ravenclaw was much the same, and Slytherin had not won a single game all year. That was uplifting in a sick manner.

Seamus had managed to get himself cursed by Malfoy after class (something about purple fur in odd places). Harry rolled his eyes slightly at Ron's insults referring to the blonde; they always seemed awkward when he put them down on paper, as if their venom simply couldn't be transferred onto a piece of parchment.

The dark haired boy stood up and stretched, tan skin reflecting the sunlight under the wide, blue sky. He picked up the two letters, along with the black bag that held everything else he owned. Harry took his time as he ventured upward off of the stone that lead to the shoreline, and then he trotted up the slow slope to the large field that rested in front of the cabin he was staying in.

He spotted a dark figure walking from his left. Dear God it was Snape: the Devil himself.

Harry could feel a twist in his stomach, a feeling that always seemed to associate itself with the Potions Master; no matter how many times the man had seemed to prove himself loyal to the side of Light.

Severus Snape was someone that had always left Harry very uncomfortable; he was all hard angles. Dark robes bellowed outward from his long thin frame as if he were one of the Dementors. Maybe he was… "Mr. Potter," he said, ink-colored eyes staring at the wet young man as he came closer.

"Professor," Harry said in reply; though at the moment he wasn't truly his teacher, Harry doubted that the ill-tempered teacher would accept any other sort of address. So the boy desperately withheld the words that clung to the inside of his throat.

This was _torture_. How _could_ they? This man was supposed to keep him _safe_ from Voldemort?

How could they really believe that Snape would protect _anyone_?

"The beast has been sent to work for the Order." Snape went to the door of the cabin, pushing it open. His taller stature made Harry feel miniscule…overpowered by the mere glance of the icy, tainted man.

The teacher looked around the small space that the younger man called home, shaking his head. Snape left to explore the other rooms; Harry sat down uneasily on the plush mismatched couch that was currently masquerading as his bed. It was made of odd bits of cloth, something that Harry felt only Remus could do and make remotely comfortable, even though with Severus Snape so close it was anything but.

Snape certainly wouldn't try and make anything in this stay 'comfortable.'

It just wasn't in his nature.

A part of Harry sighed at that; he was really enjoying his bit of vacation away from Dudley and his _wonderfu_l ideas of fun. Being free from bruises and overly cooked bits of food was something that he felt he should revel in.

Well, that was over. He knew at once his time in the sun was gone; darkness was looming in the horizon.

Voldemort, that awful creature, had managed to slime his way back to the land of the living, destroying everything and anything in his path. Harry had a feeling it would only grow worse, steadily worse, until he was forced into a final showdown with the bastard.

Shaking his head for a moment, he lifted his gaze, spotting Snape staring at him; there was an unidentifiable expression on his long face, mouth down-turned into a clearly displeased frown.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry questioned in a carefully placid tone; he didn't want the other to know anything about his thoughts at the moment. The man had seen far too much during the short period he had been teaching Harry Occlumency and Legimency.

"Nothing, Potter..." he replied in his dark tenor, something heatedly somber in his tone. He silently sat down upon one of the dilapidated wooden chairs, long robes falling to the ground.

The Potions master said nothing as he waved his hand, slightly yellowed fingertips apparent; a pen floated over, as well as a fresh piece of parchment.

He started to write with a discontented expression upon his face until it finally receded into blankness. The younger student felt far too uneasy staring at him, and stood to go take a shower; he knew it would soon turn cold in the cabin, and he had no idea if Snape would bother lighting a fire.

Harry returned to the room once finished with his hasty bathing, now clothed in a pair of dark muggle jeans and an ancient shirt of Dudley's that was a muddled gray color. It was a color that Harry personally despised in its worn, unhappy way.

He found Snape looking over some written reports for his Potions classes, with his constant expression of silent concentration set firmly in place. The papers were from a first year's class (or so Harry supposed by the cramped writing and bits of black ink randomly spotting over the parchments).

The Potions Master didn't glance up. Harry took this as a silent blessing; he didn't feel the urge to deal with a glare. He went to his couch, and immediately spotted a new book sitting on one of its oddly shaped pillows. It was Voltaire, one of the Muggle philosophers that Remus had an affinity for, and so it was something that Harry had grown slightly so curious over.

"Don't you dare touch that book, Potter. It is worth more than you – or anyone else, could ever pay me," Snape quipped icily. Harry glanced upwards, a bit surprised.

" I just want to look at it. I'm not about to lose it, and it's not as if I have anywhere to go," he said calmly, green eyes staring at his new companion with a look of silent challenge.

Snape shot a small, malicious smile at the boy. "I didn't once comment on you losing it, Potter. However, if you truly wish to embarrass yourself trying to contemplate such complexities of the human mind, I dare say you should make some sort of attempt." His voice was low, gaining a nearly bored tone.

Harry sat down reading for about three hours, but eventually found that no matter how much he'd try and concentrate on the page before him, his eyes would move elsewhere. He finally gave up, far too distracted by his own rambling mind to try and focus on the tiny black print before him.

Standing up, he tucked the book on the couch, walking over to the window and staring out at the large golden grain field before him. He almost wanted to go for a ride on his broom, but he knew he shouldn't until it was a bit later in the day, to make it less likely for the planes overhead would spot him. Muggles had never been particularly fond of flying boys on broomsticks.

"If you are so terribly bored, Potter, study. No doubt your horrid Potions grade could use with a good amount of improvement," Snape said with a seemingly bored tone, although it was still just as biting. He did seem to adore insulting Harry, particularly for his inability to excel in what he, himself, did so utterly well.

Harry had to withhold the urge to tell the teacher to go throw himself out of a window.

"I'll study in a bit," he murmured quietly.

Snape nearly snorted as he gave a sneer, his coal colored eyes flickering upwards for a moment. "Why doesn't that surprise me? You're always so accepted for you faults—your laziness, your irresponsibility..." He went back to grading papers, returning his attention to the latest failings of this semester's class.

That 'lazy' crack irritated Harry; it tugged at him in a way that he felt must be akin to how Ron felt towards Draco whenever he was being particular snobbish. But he wisely bit his tongue… Well, in actuality, he bit the inside of his cheek. Ouch.

This was going to be a long month.

The boy went over to the back room that held his books and other magical belongings. He'd taken along the black bag from his swim. With Hermione and Ron's letters in hand, Harry set them aside, and then pulled a large set of other letters from one of the rogue boxes that rested on the floor. Carefully, he unwound the bit of string that held the large stack of letters together, and placed the two new arrivals with their brothers and sisters.

Harry set the bag on the bed for a moment, and pulled out one of his newer books. Something Hermione had sent for his entertainment in a fit of intuition, which only she seemed to be able to achieve.

Its title: "_Friends for Friendless Fellows_".

A slightly depressing title, in Harry's opinion, but some of the spells seemed amusing enough to warrant keeping it; and if Hermione knew anything it was books.

He spoke loudly using one of the new wand motions from his lessons of the previous week. "Adosam!"

The spell itself was to change an ordinary piece of soap into a living creature called a Mothios; it was a slightly higher-level spell but he'd never had a problem with attempting the unlikely.

The small soap man that he'd carved started to move, slowly standing, though it didn't hold any intelligence.

Yet.

In the book it said that with time Harry could even manage to get it to talk, if he sat down to teach the little thing everyday.

Smiling to himself, he touched the tiny, round head of the doll; it looked up, and took a hold of his index finger with its thick soap hands, making the boy smile wider.

He lifted it up and cradled it curiously in his left palm. Harry hadn't named his new companion yet; he felt that the little thing should show him his name…something similar to what the Indians did in long times past (or at least that is what Hermione had reported in one of her fits of nagging.)

"Mr. Potter, refrain from animating any more bits of soap. Those creatures become incredibly annoying once they learn to speak. I do not want to hear its incessant whining for you." Snape had walked into the room just then, carrying his newly graded papers; he set them inside his thick black trunk, which Harry noticed was lined with scarred bits of black silk…_how_ befitting.

"I will just teach him to be quiet around you," Harry bit out; he was severely annoyed now, back rigid as a board, dark hair mussed and falling before his eyes.

He had set the curious figure in a newly formed house; he'd changed some old Popsicle sticks and a bit of mud into a shack for Soap Man. It was simple, but the little figure happily took up residence inside the largest part of the three-room house.

Harry then carried the shack out of the room and into the den, setting it down on the large windowsill so that the man could look outside, as if the large, thick trees were from his window, not from another, bigger version.

Snape left the cabin and ventured into the forest, and Harry knew he had no real Order business; after all, why would they send him to '_baby-sit_' if he did?

So he felt no urge to watch after him in chance of seeing someone else.

Yet another source of small irritation, at least he thought so privately. They all believed him a child; he knew he wasn't. How could he be in these dark times, if they truly believed him a child? How could they possibly expect him to defeat Voldemort?

Some part of Harry believed he'd become rather jaded, most likely, but that was fine with him. He wasn't alone in his pensive thoughts of the world. Snape had never once said that life would be easy, that he would be protected. For all the things Harry disliked about the man…that was one feature he did appreciate. He was brutally **_honest_**.

Something most of the people in Harry's life refused to share, or even attempt to portray. They felt they could protect him with their lies.

'Get used to it.'

A feeling of all-too-familiar disdain came with that memory of Snape's dark tenor voice speaking to him…not at all in a way to comfort or coddle, but to mold and force him into the painful reality of his situation.

When Harry wasn't Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, or a punching bag with no face or meaning, he was just himself. His timid smile and haughty anger that had lost all reason seeped through the floorboards and stained everything around him. It was a weakness that Harry knew he had to force out of himself.

Shaking his head, he ventured into the den, sitting on his couch; he closed his eyes for a moment of thought, taking a deep breath. Then he took two thick blankets and lay down upon the ancient, ransacked couch, covering himself.

Harry soon allowed his mind to drift to a peacefully vacant dreamscape.


	2. Snape's Lesson

"Get up Potter." Harry heard Snape's voice; his eyes opened to see the soft light of early dawn creeping through the window blinds. He gave no response as he sat up, itching the back of his head with one hand, disrobing himself of his blanket with the other.

Snape was sitting at his newly adopted desk (or the coffee table as some would call it) giving Harry little notice as he drank a bit of his morning coffee.

Black coffee was utterly disgusting in Harry's humble opinion.

The emerald-eyed young man was happy for not being spoken too by his teacher; he really didn't want his day to start off with an argument. Particularly one he couldn't even fight back in.

He stood up, pulling himself up off the couch with a lunge and went into the kitchen. It was relatively large, about the size of the Dursley's kitchen, a comparison that Harry tried his best not to make often. An ancient white sink (which he and Remus had cleaned rigorously the first day they'd arrived) with long silver handle sat at the center of a long counter on the left side of the room. Tile flooring of mixed blue and white in a checkered pattern beneath the tan boys feet, something left over from the seventies.

Just like Remus, in retrospect.

Silently Harry opened the fridge, getting a bit of cheese and went to his Soap Man beside the window. He gave a tiny smile to himself as he placed the cheese before his new friend. The little man seeming to be curious about the odd colored thing before his face poking it gently with a long white arm. He hadn't yet developed fingers. Harry bit his lower lip, how to show him how to eat it…

The boy nodded to himself silently and went back to the open refrigerator, taking out a full piece of the yellowed cheese. He sat before the Soap man and slowly showed him now to eat; the man mimicked his actions slowly. It wasn't easy going, the man had a hard time trying to get it to his face and off of the tiny plate that Harry had given him; secretly Harry was glad he had fingers. Looked like a lot of trouble trying to hold something between two slippery round edges that stuck off of your body at an odd angle.

Grinning Harry pat his head. "Good boy. Just do that when I feed you and you'll be just fine. Then when you get fingers maybe you can have an easier time at it."

Snape came into the kitchen, pouring himself another glass of coffee. He wasn't in his dark robes yet, something that mildly disturbed Harry. He, after all, had never even thought to imagine the Potions Master in anything other than a sinister black cape. But here he was, dressed in a muggle shirt and gray sweat pants, just sipping away at his coffee as if…

He was normal.

Harry couldn't resist a snort at that, which consequently caught Snape's attention. "What is it now Potter?" he questioned with malice. "I'd never seen you in anything but your robes." Harry replied holding back a snicker; it wasn't a lie. He really never even seen the man much, period, when other people weren't around, which made the likelihood of him wearing anything but his traditional robes near nothing.

Somehow Harry doubted that Snape would be caught dead in a pair of sweat pants around other wizards.

"Well I suppose you're privileged then, aren't you?" He replied with a sneer. Harry turned his head away with a small roll of his eyes. If he glared at his keeper directly there was a very good chance this 'vacation' would be cut short by a poisoning or a well placed forbidden spell. And besides it was _far_ too early to get mad just yet.

Harry held no illusion that Professor Severus Snape did not know each and every one of the forbidden curses and that if given a good reason (or one that could stand up reasonably before Dumbledore and The Ministry) he would use that magic's

Frightening as that might be, it was also very impressive.

Sickeningly so.

"Your lesson will beginning in an hour. Be ready." Snape snipped taking one of his quills and marking something on a large overly marked parchment (it looked to Harry as if it was some odd sort of note taking system.)

Harry glanced up again. "Alright, what will we be studying?" he questioned turning his gaze to Snape. The teacher glanced up and gave a small glare. "I guess you'll just have to wait to find that out, Mr. Potter." Snape stood up, taking his belongings with him and departed the kitchen.

Harry flipped him off as he left, smirking to himself at the action. It felt good to know that he could turn around and see it. Harry knew he wouldn't be looking back; after all it was just stupid Potter.

Nothing worth noticing.

Harry found himself more annoyed than usual at his Potions Professor, they'd been walking up the mountainside for at least an hour and the man had yet to say a word.

That seemed _particularly_ rude, even for Snape.

He was wearing his black again, those robes that seemed to make him ten times more menacing just in the way they billowed out.

Harry had pulled on a red t-shirt and some aged slacks; both he'd gotten from Ron when they'd grown to small for his long legs. (That boy really had grown to fast, made Harry feel like a midget standing next to him.) Personally Harry felt that comfort came before image, so this attire was much preferred.

They came to a halt, standing before a wide flat plateau in the mountainous area. Harry didn't say anything, watching for what they could possibly have come up here for. Nothing unusual seemed to exist on this little bit of forgotten land.

Snape strode forward pulling his wand and flicked it in a near jerk to the front of him. "Do you know why I bothered to bring you here?" he questioned staring at Harry intently. "No." he replied watching the man as he gave a smirk.

Shit.

"I didn't think so. Only the obvious for you it seems?" it wasn't really a question, so Harry didn't bother answering. He had much more pressing matters to attend to, such as the something that was currently pulling at his shoe. The boy glanced down; thick red roots had attached themselves to the muted colors of his pant leg.

Slowly pulling him down into the dark black mud that had seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Now Mr. Potter…" Snape said waving his wand with a flick of his wrist, using a silent spell (Harry suspected that this spell was to increase the plants strength).

"What are to you do?" he questioned with little emotion watching Harry with a nearly amused look. Harry really wished that the damn plant wasn't keeping his arms bound behind his back so he could punch that smirk right off his crooked nose.

"Well I guess I should use a spell!" he spat out glaring at him, he didn't have any idea what to do! This thing was going to kill him and he didn't know anything that would kill it…wait.

"Ingnorato!" he shouted wand in hand, a bright orange flame shooting from his wand and catching the red vines on fire, spitting out as if wicked firecrackers. The cursed plant seemed to scream and reel away quickly, allowing Harry to stand, though he was gasping for breath. The thick little monster of a plant pulled into the ground, once again looking perfectly harmless. Harry had learned that lesson.

Nothing here would be _harmless_.

He was panting and glaring at Snape.

"That could have killed me!" he yelled out, venom seeping into his voice as his adrenaline faded quickly, leaving exhaustion and irritation in its wake.

"Yes, but it did not. It is good to see that the child who shall save us all from the Dark Lord was not strangled to death by a plant." Snape responded, raising a long black eyebrow; Harry bristled at the jibe.

If Severus Snape ever needed help when being strangled by something (even if it was Old Lord-Voldie-Butt himself) Harry now swore that, no matter what, he refused to help _that asshole_.

"He's awful Ron! I'm not kidding you this time, I've nearly been strangled three times, once by a plant and then three more times by some sort of flying creature. I think the first one was a demon. " He fiddled with his hands. "As well as the fact that I've been burned a total of seventeen times in the past two weeks!" Harry spoke, bowing his head into his folded hands. He was currently outside, sitting at the picnic table that Arthur had conjured for the Weasley family and Harry.

Harry Potter had never been more miserable.

And that was _saying_ something.

They were all having a bit of a holiday that weekend that Harry secretly felt was more to distract him from the horrible companion that was Snape. Molly had already told the man to leave Harry alone with Ron, a good enough start in Harry's opinion.

He only wished she had told him to simply go away forever.

Snape had burned Harry, and although it was all an _unfortunate accident_ from his own wand, he _knew _that Snape was using his wandless magic to activate it. He'd forced Harry to study constantly. It made him feel that he wouldn't be prepared for the Quidditch tryouts that were no doubt immediate when (and if) he returned to Hogwarts.

'I don't think I'll ever go back.' He thought with a depressed tone.

Ron gave a small smile as if trying to be comforting, it wasn't helping anything, and the boy was just awful at it. "Well, look up mate, maybe they'll send someone else soon." He spoke, nodding faintly, bright red hair blowing slightly in the wind as he gave Harry his best consolation.

"Yeah, that would be _too_ lucky Ron. You know that Remus is doing important research and Sirius is still on the run. Even Tonks is doing important stuff for Dumbledore!" he whispered the last, not wanting anyone to overhear something that might endanger one of his favorite adult female friends or his adoptive fathers.

"I wish you could just come with us." Ron murmured with a sigh looking down at the table; he'd been picking at the top of it and had inscribed his initials in the thick surface.

They heard a crash, a loud scream echoing from the area near the cabin. Harry stood up rushing towards the sound breath catching in his throat Ron not far behind as they made a mad dash into the unknown. The two boys spotted a hooded figure in a long dark cloak, dark curses shooting from the end of his wand.

They'd been found.

DeathEater.

Harry froze eyes widening as he saw Ginny on her knees screaming, one of the Unforgivable Curses had been used.

The Cruciatus curse.

He could see her shuttering form, her tiny body being tortured. She appeared as if a rag doll as she writhed on the ground, tearing at her eyes in an attempt to stop the all-consuming pain that wracked her mind and soul. Fresh lifeblood poured from the abused sockets as she screamed to the gods for the torment to end. Ron was already trying to curse the bastard who was driving his sister insane.

Harry saw red as he drew his wand, Ron screaming something behind him and attempting to try and save his sister once more.

Harry **_would_** save her.

Harry felt power, raw all consuming energy that he grabbed onto as if a lifeline, pulling it into himself. It was addicting, his eyes widening and filling with complete black as he readied himself to destroy his enemy.

He attempted to shout the first thing that came to his mind but those words never came to his lips. The world faded away to nothing as he dropped to his knees, someone had gotten him from behind, a spell draining away his strength.

"**_Avada Kedavra!"_**


	3. Because of Harry

The first thing that Harry Potter felt when his mind was finally released from unconsciousness was pain. This was an ache that racked his body in places he didn't even realize could hurt. Obviously some sort of curse had drained away quite a bit of his magic.

The second thing he realized was that in fact, he was alive, something that he did not believe for a moment. This held true when he chose to flex his fingertips, an act that took momentous effort of both body and mind.

Slowly he opened his eyes; thankfully the room was dark, though he thought he was alone. Silently he hoped he had not fallen into enemy hands, gradually remembering the fact that the current pain he was enduring was caused by a DeathEater.

Rage flowed into his wounded mind at that thought, a deep pounding rage that left him gasping for breath. Ginny! He needed to find out what had happened her, and if her mind was intact.

He hoped that it was still cohesive, as it should be, not only for her sake, but also for the _creature_ who had harmed her. Harry did not forgive easily for the stealing of someone's very mind (or soul, which was why he hated the Dementors.)

"I see you're finally awake Potter." A voice spoke quiet voice spoke in the night, Harry looked at the speaker, nearly annoyed with the exertion.

"Yes." He spoke, his voice a quiet rasp in the shadowed room.

His nightly 'companion' was Snape, a fact that made a bit of odd discomfort rise into Harry's stomach. Surely Ron and Hermione would have tried to stay with him, instead of the Potions Master.

At least he hoped so.

"I will stay here for tonight. Your companions and the Headmaster have more pressing matters, to which they need too attend." Snape spoke frostily voice a soft chilling spike in the nights caress.

His long pale fingers turned a page in the book that sat just beside him on a thin bedside table. To Harry they seemed to appear as if ghost hands, which could belong only to a messenger of death.

Harry turned his gaze away, staring off into nothing, his irises coming to rest on a thin discarded piece of bandage; it was tainted with red, seeming to spot and blend, marring its pristine surface. Most likely his own, lost in the needy attempt to remove the death spell from his body, he stared at the discolored bits of crimson, beautiful in its own way.

"What happened?" Harry asked his voice low and subdued, still scratchy from not being used for several days.

"The Death Eater has been killed. Miss Wesley is currently being healed at St. Mungo's." Snape replied, not glancing up, but seemed to become more intent on his literature.

Harry was not surprised; the man was most likely only here because the Headmaster had requested it. The boy felt something inside his heart, an odd sort of detachment at the moment. The thought of being alone in a room with Severus Snape at this time did not bother him as much as it would have months, if not days, before the attack.

Maybe that was the price of war. One could not retain those filtered feelings of a child's heart, the world stealing away those moments of blind hatred or love. Harry could almost feel those emotions and the vision of his younger self being slowly seeped way.

He was curious to see what would remain.

"Alright, so we're working on the History of Magic essay, right? " Hermione asked, tucking a strand of puffed hair behind her right ear. At her left sat Ron, and in front of her sat Harry. "It was the one on The Grindanel Fights," She spoke once more, quill quickly scratching her pristine handwriting onto a nearly filled piece of parchment.

The three of them were trying to finish their work for the night. Ron and Hermione were allowed into the area, but it was just them. They where the only students that knew of Harry's location, on Hogwarts Grounds, for his safety as well as that of the other attending students. The two of them were allowed so that Harry might have some companionship, as well as someone to work and study with.

The Room of Requirement had formed a large library where they could easily find any of the books that would actually be inside Hogwarts regular one. It was well made, with at least a hundred different bookcases going both directions.

Harry felt odd here. Though it was similar it wasn't the same; the long false tables that sat beside their own parchment-covered ones were empty. So very empty and lacking. He felt a distinct pull of melancholy wrap itself around his heart whenever he would glanced over in any direction. No matter what it looked like, without the quieted whispers of other students, this was just an empty replacement.

"Oh, yes, Hermione." Harry replied, snapping his head out of his thoughtful moment, he did not want to worry either of his friends with any disturbing behavior. Ron because of Ginny, she was still in St. Mango's, the healers working around the clock to try and save her mind from the pit of insanity the curse had caused her. Harry had never seen his redheaded friend so unhappy and serious, his youthful expression completely disappearing the moment Ginny had been Apperated away from them.

Hermione was in nearly the same condition, though for different reasons. With her trying to help with Harry's study's, along with attempting to keep Ron from coming apart at the seams, she was quickly disappearing before their eyes.

"Well I think that I can give you more detailed notes on our reports, and you still haven't started those seven rolls of parchment have you?" she seemed a tiny bit annoyed at that. Harry gave her a small wry smile.

"Don't worry 'Mione, I will…." He nodded as if to assure her. Ron rolled his eyes biting his lower lip, an unconsciously attractive habit. It made an odd feeling flush through Harry's system. He mentally shook it away; it was just Ron.

"Well, we have to go now Harry, sleep ya know. I'll be sure to come early in the morning and we can play a bit of chess." Ron stood up giving Harry a comforting smile as if to apologize for leaving, though to Harry it appeared as if a distinctly bad mask was placed upon his face. Waving, Hermione followed him with a slight reluctance, tucking her books away into her book bag. They left silently, departing through the wooden door.

Harry felt utterly alone in the room. It had changed once his two friends had departed, becoming a bedroom with a wide window facing an ancient empty lot, wooden floor now beneath his feet. The table was gone; leaving a bed in its place, thin lightwood moving upwards to a cloth canopy from above.

He silently sat on the bed, pulling out his wand. He held it loosely in his hand, fingertips caressing the hard smooth wooden surface. He gave a sigh and set it on the small table that rested to his left.

His dark green eyes looked up at the ceiling; the room was tinted blue, the imaginary full moon casting a soft subdued glow. It made Harry feel odd, as if he was finally by himself, a feeling that he relished.

Closing his eyes he stretched, the moon's light making his tan skin appear as dark wood.

A warm sensual flush came to his face as he allowed his mind to drift. He trailed his fingers over his shirt, teasing himself through the soft silk material, callused fingers caressing his nipples.

He gasped softly as he coaxed himself, short boxy fingers moving to slowly remove each of the clear buttons from their hold. He caressed an inch of skin with each button's removal, gently kneading the flesh. He imagined hands, pale with lengthy fingers, carefully examining each piece of skin. He finally pulled the shirt apart, allowing his chocolate tinted chest to show to his imagined lover.

Breathing lightly he moved and trailed both of his hands down his rib cage, enticing the sensitive tops of his hips. He puffed more breathily with that, using the nails of his brutish fingers to draw pain in a quick scrape. A loud cry echoed from his throat.

He opened his eyes, staring upwards too the pale white ceiling, unfastening his pants with a slow stubborn pleasure. He was hard, harder than he'd ever been before, but he supposed that was because he had to hide this sort of thing in the dorms. Here he was free to do whatever he wanted, in his lovely, precious darkness. Lonely as it might be.

His fingers moved down caressing the normally concealed part of his lower hip, it was so sensitive there. He pushed his pants down along with his boxers, then tossed both of the offending articles of clothing off of the bed, and onto the floor.

Slowly Harry took his palm, caressing his hard length. It was quite lovely to look at, but he didn't think so. But most young men normally think of themselves in that way, having no real experience in life or sex.

Although to an unseen watcher he looked all too delectable. Beautiful pouty lips were drawing in a huff of breath, as he stroked his length reverently. Dark unmanageable hair falling over his eyes, he growled, writhing on the bed into the tentative touches of his own hand.

He started to move his hips forward into his own touch, slowly, taking his time with each moment to suspend pleasure. Trying to make this private darkness last.

His face had flushed a dimmer shade. Making him appear as if a cursed harlot. Surrounded by his white snakes, matted sheets as he propelled faster into the depths of his own mind.

He kept up this pace, starting to move faster and faster, his brow creasing as his need drew closer, time passing with a slow melody. He opened his eyes one last time before closing them, an image of dark hair filtering through it in the last moments of his conscious mind. He finally came with that thought; back straightening as he drew out a long deep moan from his throat, body releasing its come onto his chest. He made no attempt to clean himself.

That could wait till morning.

Sleep came to Harry, though he could not feel nor see the ragged breaths of another, which he himself had caused.

Harry sighed and sat awaiting the arrival of his Potions teacher; Snape was late, odd for the man. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses back up upon his nose and attempted to delve further into his Potions book; no dice. He couldn't get his head on straight to concentrate on this sort of thing; he was far too worried about Ginny.

The door opened with a resounding smack, flinging against the wall. The apparently annoyed (though Harry thought this was perpetual) Severus Snape was coming inside the Room of Requirement. He shut the door, sealing it shut with a spell that only he and the four other allowed individuals knew. It was meant to seal out any sort of interference from the outside world, taking the very fabric of the strings that made what was and wasn't, and bending them. This room now existed on a completely separate plane, floating aimlessly until the spell was released, then it connected back to the 'real world.'

Snape went to the newly formed black board, writing down instructions for a Potion. Long fingers quickly covering the flat board with ashen gray chalk, only small patches of black remaining once he had finished.

Harry had never seen something so complex; he sighed and resisted the urge to rub his temples. Sometimes the Professor would become like this. He would grow so very violently angry that he'd put up an impossible potion for the students, one that Harry (and much of the school) could never _dream_ of completing. It was yet another thing that made Harry nearly despise the man, even with all the good he had done. Snape was intolerable in the best of conditions. When he was like this he became an _intemperate_, intolerable, _git_.

Harry grit down and moved to gather the materials needed, which Snape had oh-so-kindly 'donated' for his private tutoring. Each of the potions ingredients was contained inside several small green magical boxes (each surrounded in tarnished bronze trimming). The boxes themselves were quite expensive and _rare_; Harry had only seen a set once. In Diagon Ally, through the windows of one of the older buildings.

A wizard (or witch) could place an object inside them, close it, then open it again and pull the object out, taking it with him. The boxes (within a certain radius) could create an exact replica of that object, its properties still active and controlled. Not even an educated spy like Snape could tell the difference (unless he spotted the boxes).

Harry opened the smallest box, thinking of the set of objects he would need to start the potion (the thought process of the wizard activated the boxes, though Harry had never quite figured out how, unless the boxes themselves were mind reading)

Firstly he needed several handfuls of mungrell worms (not diced or crushed, hopefully fresh), three drops of willow wood droppings; several sticks of melted Goat hoof butter. He slowly mixed these ingredients in their specific order, the mungrell worms had to be carefully cut open with a small dagger, the eye juices removed.

Then the juices and the drops of willow wood melted in careful timing with the Goat Hoof butter. Harry went about this sort of thing in steps, though Snape had never given that courtesy to his students, he found that it made things surprisingly easy.

Harry had a hard time with the dagger; he always hated those damn things. Trying to cut a wiggling worm was not something he knew how to do well.

He cut his finger deeply, dark crimson blood peaking out from the tip of the mutilated flesh. He held back a swear word with the sharp pain, it was made worse with the painful poison that had entered his system with the body juices of the worm. Harry couldn't remember what the poison did. Wonderful, with his luck it was a deadly concoction that had no cure.

Snape looked over at him, seeming far _too _impassive; he drew his wand from the inner pocket of his robes. Harry winced as Snape took his hand and pulled it roughly forward, long thin fingers keeping Harry's fingers spread apart as he critically eyed the gash.

"You idiot, do you have any idea what that poison _does_?" he questioned with a glare, taking his wand and whispering a spell. The wound fixed itself, though the poison could not be removed by such a method.

"No…Should I?" Harry questioned, thankful to pull his hand backward at once. Snape was done looking at it, odd swirling feelings filled Harry when the other had touched him, he did not like it at all.

It must be disgust. Yes.

That was it.

"No you foolish boy. It's a component to one of the Wizarding worlds most potent aphrodisiacs, it makes ones blood boil to a level that most men cannot stand, in a matter of minutes. It has _no cure_." Snape was angry, even worse than he normal, a sort of spindling flame licking around his aura.

Turning away from Harry, and stalked over to the other side of the temporary Potions Laboratory. His black cape drew behind him in a flutter of black fabric; Harry's eyes watched its tips as they floated in the air.

Harry was stunned, blinking in the aftermath of the teacher's undefined rage. "It was an accident! I didn't intend to _cut_ myself," he replied; he just couldn't stop himself, a dark glare making its way to his face. "Its not as if I'm like you, I don't like hurting anyone, if it is me or someone else!" He couldn't prevent himself, the words spilling from his mouth, like spiteful, twisting cockroaches crawling out of his heart and upwards to the air.

"What did you say boy?" Snape snarled turning around, black eyes flashing with rage as he strode forward to confront Harry. "How dare you speak to me that way…you sniveling spoiled brat. You think that I don't know you'd cut off your own arm for the attention? I know that you'd so _kindly_ sacrifice yourself; after all, what kind of hero would you be if you _didn't_?" He was nearly breathless with the speech, Harry's own wrath growing and tripling with each spiteful and cruel word.

"Sacrifice? You want to talk about sacrifice, why don't you go see where I_ grew up _Snape! I wouldn't protect people because of attention, I have never cared about that, " Harry's eyes shown, seeming to twist, the pupils disappearing completely.

"I've NEVER wanted the bloody attention! I _do_ it because it is _right_!" He gave a reply, mouth twisted in a fuming foul expression, holding back tears of pent up frustration and unfulfillment.

His magic was out of control, snapping and raging across the room, similar to the way a flame devours the very earth. The parchments Snape had been grading were thrown to the air, shot in all directions. His ink well exploded, sending vicious amounts of black coloring onto the white wall of the room, his desk and the floor below them. The glass bottles that were to be used for the lesson where obliterated, shattered into a million blazing pieces. And lastly, the very worms that Harry had been cutting were each killed, splattering into disgusting molds of contorted flesh.

Severus Snape shuttered as he gulped down his fury, something inside him resonating to this uncontrolled amount of energy. His fists clenched tightly into themselves. He moved forward capturing the boys face and kissed him, his tongue pushing inside Harry's mouth.

He was aggressive with the move, pain searing and sinister. Harry felt the flickering fire of lust rising as if a tide. He could not resist the urge to kiss back, threading his hands into Snape's slick black hair. His energy not moving around him, but through him, pushing the two bodies together.

Snape attempted to pull back, eyes wide; he said nothing, seeming to be stunned and disgusted by his own actions

Harry was so hard; his body wanted the teacher so badly, eyes wide and unseeing as he drew the other closer. The aphrodisiac was slowly but surely making its way through every part of him, through his arms, down his legs, then slowly pooling in his crotch.

"More…" he moved rubbing himself against Snape, voice desperate as he panted, fingers moving down to caress the other's hardness through his cloak. Harry's hand met slowly hardening flesh, he growled with contentment.

Snape drew his wand. "Xadoial Reposa!' he shouted with fervor, moving away from Harry, the boy having been thrown into the air and then back against the room's wall.

The Potions Master turned away and left the room without a word.


	4. Den of the Serpent

Den of the Serpent

Harry rubbed his eyes, rolling over onto his back with a low groan. He felt awful although the poison had worn off the night before; he hadn't the will to move afterwards. His arms felt as if they had been turned to lead, limply hanging at his side, useless.

He spotted his wand, tucked away safely on the small table that rested beside his bed; the boy lifted his hand and attempted to pick it up. A bright yellow glow emitted from the end of the wand, causing it to heat instantly, as if it had turned into a hot, poking iron.

"Shit!" He spoke loudly dropping the offending stick to the ground; it promptly rolled under the bed.

The green-eyed young man closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. His wand had rejected him…how oddly befitting. It had burnt the tips and insides of his fingers; each was now covered with a thick layer of black soot.

Wonderful…

Shaking his head, he stood and walked towards the elongated full body mirror that had appeared in the room.

Spending three weeks inside the Room of Requirement had helped Harry to discover that he didn't need to be outside in the hallway to change the room's look. With the right amount of concentration and emotional control, he could make nearly anything within the four walls come to him.

The olive-eyed young man stood before the mirror, staring at its pristine surface; the boy looking back at him was smiling even when he was not.

The mirror mimicry waved and gave a saucy wink; Harry didn't feel it, honestly he couldn't really remember feeling that content. Most likely just a lapse, he knew he _had_ been happy. The first time he came to Hogwarts, flying on his broom…those were happy _memories_.

He lifted his hand and ran his short fingers over that face, the face that he had never felt really belonged to him. Just a reflection of what everyone wanted…

Sirius had always seen James. The Dursley's saw a slave to do their surplus housework. The Wizarding world saw The-Boy-Who-Lived.

Even Voldemort, even he saw someone else, the carrier of his demise.

Who did he see?

Who was Harry Potter, at heart? Not that mask that he had to put on for Hermione and Ron, he thought silently. Not that emotionless slave that worked for muggle slave drivers. Nor even the Hero who came to save the day when the world had gone down the tubes.

_Who am I? _

Harry closed his eyes, a feeling of doubt festering within his chest. He balled his fist, pulling it back then slung it forward.

Crash!

The boy's hand shattered the glass, jagged pieces cutting into his flesh. He didn't even seem to feel it; blood poured from the newly onset wounds, each injury like a tiny red river.

He slowly slid downwards, closing his eyes; small pin pricks of salty tears came to them as he whispered softly into the secluded room.

"Who am I?" Harry's voice was quiet; quieter than any scream, but as in most things…it is what one does, not say that is important.

A silent watcher stood, disappearing down the decrepit hallway, making his way to arrange a change. Something had to be done.

Harry had attempted to study, several rolls of parchment laid in front of him. He had been trying his best to finish up the Defense against Dark Arts paper that was due the next morning.

He knew it was stupid not to finish such an important assignment early. It was very hard to write with two severely wounded hands, he'd tried desperately to heal them himself, but had no luck.

The door opened, and Snape came inside. He was dressed in something different today. An odd black muggle shirt left unbuttoned leaving his pale chest visible. The ensemble also contained a pair of black leather pants that clung tightly to his legs, fanning out around his feet.

His hair was also altered making his face appear nearly handsome, pulled back into a low ponytail. Harry was shocked, if he didn't know Snape so well he would never had guessed that his Tutor and this sex-pot where the same individual.

"Get up Potter, You're coming with me." He spoke looking down at Harry as if he was a tiny insignificant bug who was about to receive a very painful boot-to-body experience.

His black eyes filled with such loathing that Harry had to look away, they where currently made even fiercer by the thick amount of kohl outlining them. Snape was no teacher now, he was a God.

"Where are we going?" he questioned, slowly standing, his hand was luckily wrapped with a gauze that he had disguised as his skin. Snape would only know the difference if he touched him, something that Harry felt would from now on be very unlikely.

"Shut up." Snape quipped face twisting into a snarl. "You are to follow me, _silently_. I won't be wasting any of my magic on an invisibility charm, you will as be using your father's ill beget cloak." he shouted and turned on his heel, heading away from Harry.

The teen barely had time to react, grabbing his invisible cloak from the metal railing of his bed and pulling it over himself; Snape led him down the school's many hallways, then down the large set of stairs. They soon arrived at the dungeons, Harry was silently astounded; he hadn't been here in quite awhile (not that he'd been much of anywhere); it hadn't changed, just like Snape…stable and terribly uncomfortable to be near. It was still frigid, dark, and dank.

Perfect living conditions for the creature that was Severus Snape.

"You will not touch anything inside, not my books, not my potions", he glanced at Harry with a distinctly unhappy expression, "and _not _my pensive."

Snape lifted his hand, pressing his fingertips to the door, making a symbol something Harry had never seen before. He briefly thought it might be some sort of Rune. Small metal pieces that looked like silver circles came out of the entryway. They twisted, in a fashion similar to the way a clock winds on the inside, turning and locking into one another; Harry thought it was odd, and very specific looking.

"If anyone else were to do that, poison darts would be released. They would die within minutes." Snape spoke coldly, not bothering to glance to Harry, something inside his stomach pinched. He knew it was not and idle threat.

They went into the teacher's quarters, going through a small hallway until they reached a large room, the den Harry supposed, though he said nothing. It was filled with various interesting objects; the furniture was dark warm oak, with small intricate carvings of different types along the raised edges. Books where stacked neatly in a long bookshelf against the farthest wall, small bottles; potions varying from a nearly clear liquid, to a dark dank black shade that contained swirling purple mist in at the top. The room seemed to contain everything and anything that a wizard would need to accomplish his daily tasks.

One plush dark crimson chair sat before a wide gray fireplace, it was older, with thin golden strings carefully stitched into the arms and down both sides.

"Sit." Snape spoke then turned going to the back bedroom that Harry had yet to see, he didn't think he would.

Harry felt strange, what was he doing here? Obviously Snape didn't want him anywhere near his rooms; Dumbledore must have kindly 'requested' it.

That didn't bode too well to Harry, he was tired of this. He was so sickeningly weary of the old man forcing him around situations that in the long run, seemed to make his life that much more problematic.

The Potions Master returned, holding a small vile and jutted his hand out. "Drink it." He spoke, staring at Harry with carefully guarded eyes. A small part of Harry secretly questioned what the tall foreboding man could possibly be concealing, but that was not really any of his business was it?

Harry was far too untrusting to simply gulp down the ugly putrid green potion that rested in his fingers. The glass was very thick, which meant the potion inside was either incredibly helpful, or poisonous to the point of being restricted. The boy smiled bitterly and realized that at the moment, he didn't care which.

Opening the container, Harry lifted it to his lips and swallowed every last drop. Snape's dark ink eyes taking in the consumption. "I trust that you will refrain from injuring yourself further. I will not give you another healing Potion Potter." He snarled with a defined glare to secure that Harry would in fact never think of punching another looking glass.

The air rushed out of the boy's lungs, he knew.

Merlin what would the bastard do? He'd lose Hermione and Ron no doubt, as well as what little information he was given about the on-goings of the outside world.

"Your lessons for Potions, as well as Defense against Dark Arts have been moved, both will be here." Snape spoke, conjuring his own chair with a wave of his wand. It had a wide thick back with dark green coloring, larger outlines of silver running along each of its edges.

"Why did you cut yourself?" Snape questioned, Harry was surprised. "Why? It doesn't matter." He spoke staring into the dancing orange and yellow flames that he couldn't remember being lit, maybe they where automatic.

"Of course it matters you fool. Harming yourself is not only brainless, but dangerous." Snape lifted his hand, a bottle of Firewhiskey floating over and landing in it gracefully. He then poured himself a goblet and sipped it silently, as if it would drain away the annoyance he felt at Harry's presence.

"The weaker you are, in mind, or body, the more likely it is the dark lord will attack. Your mind, Harry Potter, is vulnerable. You should do well to remember that." He spoke softly, as if too tired to make an effort at a decent insult.

Harry nearly felt perturbed at this, why was Snape acting as if _he _cared? Wouldn't he just rather have the Gryffindor boy toy fall off into a gutter somewhere?

No.

Harry knew better. Snape had given up everything, his freedom, and his future. All to defeat Voldemort, to destroy that evil monster that Harry had never, or could never understand.

"You are allowed to come down here at night or in the days if it is absolutely necessary. The Headmaster seems to believe that it will do you some good to be in my presence." Snape spoke, staring into the fireplace; Harry couldn't keep his mouth from hanging slightly ajar.

Snape glanced up snorting, his mouth lifting into a sneer. The taller man's lengthy body was leaned back into his chair, the shadows of the room casting an eerily attractive glow over his deathly pale skin.

"If I knew that such permission would render you in such an idiotic condition, I would _not_ have offered it, mo matter what I had agreed to for Albus." His voice was not as chilling as usual, actually sounding genuinely amused.

Harry didn't doubt that the Firewhiskey was warming his blood rather quickly, causing such a lapse in his cold persona. The younger man had to withhold the urge to suggest that Snape drink more often.

The days passed quickly for Harry, so quickly in fact that he had not even noticed that a month had passed. His world had changed so quickly, gaining Snape as a 'true' teacher, flipping around his emotions with such static force that he could barely remember anything. Growing up really _was_ hard.

This only lasted until Hermione reminded him of their upcoming major examines. With his constant training, and worrying over Ginny, Harry seldom had time to think about the dates; which he now had to make up for his "slacking" (or training to survive) in regular terms.

For that reason he was currently taking his books down to the Snape's quarters. To cram as usual, it was much easier when he had Snape to bounce questions off of. As well as the large resource of books to choose from (some of which Harry knew where _not_ in the library.)

The elder man was really a much better teacher in private, though still bitter and aloof most of the time. Still a git for all the problems he caused.

But then Harry smiled underneath his cloak, there where moments when he could spot a bit of his wry sarcastic humor, which all too few individuals knew how to appreciate. It was subtle and rare, but something that Harry had learned to look for.

He finally reached the dungeons, quickly forming the Rune symbol that was the lock to the door; personally Harry had thought it amusing. 'Shade' Or the ancient word for that which is hidden.

He slipped into the quarters, The Potion's Master was currently grading some papers; he didn't bother glancing up as the boy entered, which was fine.

Harry had grown used to it.

The green eyed young man stopped, and sat on the floor before the fire place, pulling out several books, quills and bits of parchment.

He managed to work silently for a good hour that is before his hand started to cramp; it would do that occasionally (he would _never _be like Hermione who could manage to write three ten scroll essays without stopping, sometimes he thought that girl just wasn't human)

Harry set his barb down, placing his tan hand out to the side, glancing over to his recently found…companion. Sirius hadn't been particularly pleased with that bit of information, but then he was rarely pleased with much when it came to Snape.

That was just fine in Harry's opinion, he wouldn't give up either of them, no matter how much the snake and dog wanted to rip each other a part, and play with the entrails.

The lad had found himself gaining a bit of a fascination in his elder. His dark demeanor filled a gap that Harry had never even realized he possessed until the slimy bastard had slithered in to fill it.

"I do not appreciate being stared at Potter." Snape spoke, coal colored eyes glancing up from his last bit of parchment, most likely those damn essays that he kept handing out at the last minute. (Harry still hadn't finished his)

He sat down his grading quill and arose from his (what Harry considered) uncomfortable desk; the taller gentleman came forward and drew up his favorite chair.

He sat next to the young man, about a foot away. Wearing not his large button up robes, but one of his loose white shirts, the first few buttons left hanging for the heat that he would endure as the summer started to come.

"I wasn't staring." Harry replied in a slightly snooty voice, the black haired man raising an elegant eyebrow.  
"You Potter are not even _trying_ to lie." He gave a shake of his head and popped each of his long elegant fingers with a snap of his hand.

Harry couldn't resist watching the act, his own lime-shaded eyes widening, he thought of those long exquisite digits slowly covering his skin.

"Why _would_, that be? It doesn't _seem_ like you to forsake being despairingly atrocious in your speech." Snape spoke watching the boy with a tilted curiosity to his gaze. "Just say what it is you are thinking."

Harry sighed and looked up at him, gaining a bit of his Houses traditional courage for the moment, or at least he desired it.

"I want to call you Severus, when we're here alone." The brown haired young man spoke with an air if dignity.  
"Why would you want to use that name for me Potter? It means nothing; I hold no attachment to it. As well as the fact that you are my _student_." Snape replied, watching Harry with a cold suspicious expression.

"It's a matter of respect." Harry replied glancing up to stare at the other through his glasses, seeming to harden and seem a bit older. "I respect you, and I would like too think that you respect me. We're equals."

Snape sat silent, examining Harry with such thoroughness that Mad-Eye would be rather proud.

"Fine, if you must, you may call me by my first name. Though there are stipulations, you are not to tell Weasley or Granger of this arrangement. Nor will you at any time refer to me in such a manner before the members of the Order." Snape, no Severus replied standing up, he went back to his grading.

Harry thought that was just fine, he wouldn't have wanted to ruin the new sort of solid ground they had reached.


	5. Wicked Things

Wicked Things

_A chilling gust of wind surrounded Harry, bellowing his thick black cloak outward around him as if a mocking pair of ink wings. The great cavern of shadowed earth stood before him, one so familiar that he could not resist its pull. It resembled the primal gravitation that existed between those things of good, and those things of darkest evil._

_He lifted his hand gently as if it was possessed, emerald eyes staring down into the cavity, he could see movement; Dreadful slow movements equaling that appalling quiver that came from things long dead. _

_Bodies, souls, he did not know which, all crawling upon one another. Each having lost voice some time ago, a detached part of Harry's mind was curious to why. (When evil took you, did you lose your voice as well? Would he in the end lose that very thing that made him be able to cast spells?)_

_That is where the evil came from. Slowly taking form and name in the creature that had once been a man, the cursed Mudblood son of Riddle. Tom Riddle._

_Voldemort…_

"_When the darkness comes to reside within you Harry Potter will you deny it?"_

"Harry come on you need to wake up." Harry's eyes opened to the sound of Ron entering his bedroom, his noisy redheaded companion struggling to fit through the door with the tray's he was holding.

Oh yes, he wasn't dead yet. That had only been a dream, just a dream

Shaking his head, Harry pulled himself from his bed, legs gently sliding to one side then off of the edge. He stood, the white sheet he had slept with clinging fitfully to his legs, the brown haired boy flicked it away with momentary annoyance.

It was time for breakfast, Ron must have felt it best to come and dine with his best mate, and it was rather strange that Hermione was not here to accompany him. (Or at least Harry thought so)

"I brought you some stuff from the Grand Hall." Ron gave Harry his familiar half smile and set several plates upon the floor with a soft metal chink. Each was laden with various lovely smelling treats: bacon, eggs (sunny side up and scrambled because Ron could never remember what _anyone_ liked), toast, some strawberry jam in a small golden topped container, with a spoon set aside, and several small cherry pies with white sugar dusted on them.

Harry appreciated the gesture, but at the moment he felt like going to the loo and having a nice puking session. He hated those dreamscape imaginings, the ones that would pull so deeply at his heart that he felt sometimes it had fallen out somewhere along the way.

"Thanks Ron." He managed a smile and pulled his glasses off of the small table that rested beside his bed, slipping them upon his nose.

Harry left his wand for fear that he might have a 'burning' incident. Honestly he only tried to touch it when he was practicing his spell work or in teaching sessions.

The darker haired young man stretched before sitting on the floor beside the redhead, slightly uncomfortable, but nice all the same. Smiling softly he took a swig of orange juice, happily tilting his head back to allow the cool liquid to slowly seep down his throat.

"Hermione and I broke up last night." Ron spoke, voice sounding as if he was terribly confused, or sad, most likely both. So that was it, the two of them must not be speaking for the moment, or at least to Harry that is what appeared to be happening.

Harry glanced up quickly and set down his juice at once, unable to keep the stunned astonished tone from his voice. "But why, you two were so good for each other… Did you have a fight?"

"No, it was worse." Ron sighed and ran his hands through his lengthy red hair it had grown to nearly below his shoulders, quite lovely on him really. A fact that Harry felt he should push away at the moment.

"Worse, what do you mean?" Harry questioned gently, and awaited an answer as Ron stuffed a biscuit into his mouth. He was always hungry, Harry secretly suspected it was 'litter' syndrome, in which a 'pup' (or Ron) would not get as much as they wanted to eat at a young age, then try and make up for it in later life.

"I couldn't…have sex with her. So we both broke it off and have decided to be friends for now." his voice lowered at the last, in an ashamed fashion. Ron was rubbing his hands together as if he was cold; Harry knew better, the boy did always have to fidget. But that was just Ron, nearly as much as the freckles upon his face where.

"I mean I'd get right up to it and then I would just...go flat. I mean I'd think of all kinds of things, and kiss her and even touch her down there. But nothing would actually turn me on. "Ron spoke bowing his head and put it into his hands, pale hands.

Harry had always thought that his light coloring would impede his Quidditch, but never had. Ron had even managed to become the Captain, a fact that though Harry felt happy for him, made him angry as well; he'd _never_ have that opportunity.

"Well maybe…maybe you just don't like girls, Ron." Harry spoke quietly, green eyes staring downwards, dark lashes nearly resting against his cheek. He had always guessed that his friend was similar in sexual persuasion, now he would test that theory.

"…No that can't be right, I don't like blokes. I mean all of my brothers like girls just fine." Ron spoke up eyes wide, staring at Harry as if he had just spoken of something very odd.

Harry shook his head in denial and placed his boxy hands on his knees as he leaned backward in thought.

"Well I don't think it works that way, have you ever kissed a guy before?" Harry questioned giving a gentle tilt of his head, staring at his friend.

"Of course I haven't!" Ron bristled shaking his head and looking away, a distinctly cherry colored flush coming to his face, the boys pale thin fingers nervously caressing the underside of his long school shirt.

"Well then you don't really know for sure do you? If you've never done something before it could just as well be right, you should at least try it to disprove the idea." Harry replied quickly, a neat shade of faint pink rising onto his cheeks, rather amazed at his own…detachment from the subject.

Although he was not about to tell Ron that he very much liked boys and had never crossed into the realm of females, he knew he never would.

"Maybe your right. I should…at least try it." Ron replied quietly. He became a deeper fuchsia, nibbling his lower lip gently as if he was seriously considering bolting from the room.

"Well you could just test it out on me." Harry heard himself say though he didn't quite believe it, this was wrong, Ron wasn't the one he was supposed to be kissing.

Ron grew quiet as if considering the offer and drew in a shuttering breath, then nodded, in agreement. "Alright, but we never tell anyone. It's just a test to prove you wrong."

Harry nodded in assurance and moved his head forward slightly until their faces where very close together, hands keeping carefully away from the other boy's head.

Ron's lips descended, they were very warm, soft and questing not at all like Severus's had been. Harry opened his mouth and allowed the gentle exploration, his own hands falling limply on either side of his legs. He didn't quite know what to do with them.

The kiss changed slightly, deepening as Harry's tongue moved out to gently touch Ron's own, a dance nearly. Something soft, that left a fluttering twist of emotions in Harry's chest, not at all like the burning raging fire that had sparked the instant that Severus's mouth had touched his own.

Ron pulled back, eyes wide as he stared at Harry. "Umm…that wasn't too bad." He spoke softly lovely little face the color of a rose, turning his body away, as well as his gaze.

Harry couldn't keep the grin from his features, and started laughing quietly as he spoke. "Well I'm glad you think so Ron." This was fantastic; Harry loved the feeling of being able to flirt with someone that held no consequences.

"Weasley go to class." a bitter voice spoke, Severus.

Both of the boys snapped apart further turning to see the tall foreboding man standing just inside the room's door. His voice was frigid, so very much so that Harry would imagine long ice spikes flinging violently forward into Ron's body, splattering it into a million unrecognizable pieces. That was not the end of it; Severus stood straight, fists clenched so tightly that the white of his knuckles was astoundingly obvious.

"Yeah, I guess I should." Ron's green eyes were wide as he stood up, Harry felt a large amount of sympathy for his friend, and Merlin knew what Severus was so pissed about. But he had a feeling his redheaded friend would have a tough time getting back on the man's good side (if he even had one when it came to a Weasley).

"I'll see you later Harry." He in Harry's direction and Harry waved as the boy calmly ran out of the room with his tail in-between his legs.

"We will continue with our latest lesson on the Amobious Curse." Severus spoke, turning away from Harry to the set of green boxes that earlier been kept in the forest cabin. (Harry still hadn't figured out how it worked, all he knew is that their makers name was Xaldo Actodum). He removed two small vials, setting them aside onto the small desk that was used for Harry's classroom assignments.

"Alright," Harry replied narrowing his eyes slightly then took a last bite of bacon; it was slightly chilled but fit all the same. At least in his opinion, that little bit of meat was well worth eating cold, a trait that he'd acquired while the Dursley's so _graciously _allowed him in their home. Food was never to be wasted.

"You will attempt and cast the curse again. Have you been practicing as I ordered?" Severus questioned, not looking at Harry, curious in the boy's eyes. What could make The Potion's Master become so very distant in a snap? They had been making fast progress, Harry nearly considered him a friend.

"What is wrong Severus?" Harry questioned, eyes narrowing slightly as the man's back straightened once more. The younger lad was not about to let his Professor alter his attitude so quickly for no reason.

"Nothing Potter, Cast the damn curse." He turned himself around, eyes completely devoid of any emotion, a bitter fury rose in Harry at that moment. Those ink eyes reflecting nothing but the scorn that was so carefully cultivated for the public.

Fine, if that was the way it was going to be, so be it.

Harry moved over to the side table that rested next to his bed, picking up his wand. It only scalded his hand this time; he'd nearly grown used to the feeling.

…_Nearly._

A sharp pain that would fade as he used his magic, something that he had supposed formed from his own sins, or maybe he wasn't meant to be a Wizard at all.

No, far too easy, he could never be something _he_ wanted.

"Amobio Regos!" Harry turned his wand using the snapping hand motion. The room shook violently as his power surged forward and wrapped around the Professor.

A dark cerulean flame, cold as ice if it actually hit its target, this spell was an ancient one that most Wizards had no protection against.

Albus and Severus had agreed that the more spells they could teach Harry, the better; it might offer some opportunity to destroy the Dark Lord with misplaced bit of spell-work. To Harry, that sounded questionable, as if they were relying on luck alone, sad, how very true.

It hit Severus's barriers thick invisible castings that prevented countless forms of pain, snapping violently and roaring outwards as it twisted making a mock face of some corrupted dragon. Harry had always been curious to why his magic took this form with many of his offensive spells; dragons were rare indeed, even in the wizarding world.

Severus lifted his own wand, long fingers using a more intricate motioning as he barked the disarming spell, "Degraderate!"

"I cast the damn spell. Now tell me what the hell is wrong." Harry spoke up glaring fiercely, though his wand was lowered; he still retained a threat in his lovely olive colored eyes.

Something he himself did not realize but affected the teacher greatly, causing his breathes to become shallower.

"Nothing is wrong Potter, leave me be." Severus turned away, slowly taking a step away from the enraged teenager, attempting to calm himself.

Harry would not allow it.

"God damn it. You come in here and nearly tear Ron's head off and expect me to just let you?" The boys' voice rose, as he advanced, something shuttering inside him as he felt his anger temporarily consume his mind. Something invisible surrounded him as if some blanket created from the fabric of the unseen; a dark energy that he could not resist the urge to engorge in.

"That sniveling brat deserved it!" Severus snarled twisting himself around, ink colored eyes wide and completely incensed. His whole body pounded with an anger that Harry had never seen in the man before, long thin fingers curling into his fists as he moved forward, cloak moving outward as if unseen energy was radiating off of the man.

Harry noticed something anomalous; symbols appeared on Severus's hands, large twisting spirals that wrapped around each finger. He'd never seen such a thing before, they appeared as if muggle tattoos, and yet they flowed with each and every pulse that came from Severus, as if wanting to snap off of his skin.

The black haired man came closer, staring at Harry with an intensity that he had never seen before. Such consuming desire that it felt as if he was being devoured needed so desperately that nothing, no one would stand in Severus's way.

Indeed nothing did, as the man pushed Harry back onto his bed, the boy tripping over the end and landing with a soft thump. His hands, so long and sensually slender, moved over Harry's body.

His hands caressing the younger man through his clothing, Severus's mouth capturing the boys own in an animalistic kiss. He was relentless in its assault, plundering forth the sweet taste of the boy's lips.

Harry dimly heard his own moan as Severus's energy consumed him, his own youthful body betraying him in the last moment of clarity pushing up into the long length of the larger mans own.

Severus released Harry's mouth, moving down to bite his neck, licking and teasing over his ear, unable to speak. "You belong to me Potter. You...Are..._Mine_." Severus spoke into his ear, his own voice a corrupted mimicry of the normal dark tenor that it normally retained.

The boy writhed with pleasure as his mind was slowly dulled to nothing, hands moving up his shirt, he dimly opened his eyes. He should remove it, the thing prevented those lovely hands from doing such wicked things…yes…wicked.

He was greeted with the sight of Severus watching him, such lust; it caused Harry's own breath to flitter away in an instant. Coal eyes so appallingly enraptured as he removed his shirt, tossing it off of the bed onto the floor.

Severus's hands moving over the newly revealed flesh with fervor discovering each newly shed inch. Harry supposed he could be memorizing it. He didn't care really this was too much.

It felt so wonderful, as if Harry was being slowly consumed by a burning flame, no something sweeter than that, a star, yes a star. One so brilliant that it tore his mind into a million dazing pieces, leaving nothing but a contented husk behind.

"Se-verus…" Harry moaned gently, pressing himself upwards as the larger man moved over his hips, he wanted that so much…anything, not to be left alone anymore. The black haired other stilled, stopping at once, he shuttered slightly then closed his eyes and managed to stand.

Harry opened his eyes, breathlessly gasping as he looked up. For the first time he saw something unfamiliar inside Severus Snape's eyes, _fear_.

Not the sort of fear that most people felt when they where up too high, or the sort when Ron spotted a spider. No, this was the fear that only gained when one thought they were losing their mind, a true unadulterated loss of control.

Harry could not keep the look of abashed disbelief from his face, Severus, something was terribly wrong.

"I am…sorry Harry." Severus closed his eyes, and then straightened himself, attempting to regain some symbol of the demeanor that usually came so naturally for him.

"Your lessons will continue tomorrow. Read the next chapter on illusionary charms. " He spoke with his usual frosty reserve, but Harry _knew_ that what was happening to his new counterpart was anything but usual.

Before Harry could say another word he left. The boy swore and glared down at his shirt where it had fallen onto the floor, a clear marker of what insanity was slowly dripping into Severus's mind

This was going to stop, he knew something was wrong and he was going to find out what.

Damn right he was going to find out.

Harry crept silently down the hallway; covered in his cloak he was invisible to the naked eye. He drew it close to himself as several second years passed, some part of his mind wished that it where late at night and not so early in the morning. At least then students would be safely in bed, and not struggling to their classes, or more importantly right in Harry's way.

He managed to make his way to Dumbledore's office, happy that the Headmaster had told him the newest entryway to his office. It was rather ingenious really, the boy creeping up to the small twisting lining that surrounded the left side of the doorway.

Touching it very gently, he leaned forward. "Hershey-bar," His voice was a mere whisper in the empty hallway.

Energy surrounded him, pushing him up into the headmaster's main rooms; it was a strange sort of feeling that left him terribly itchy afterward.

Severus was there, just as Harry knew he would be. What the boy didn't expect was to see his condition, head bowed into his hands. Thick hair held by the long finger tips, fingers that had just an hour before been doing such wonderful things to him…

Harry shook his head in denial; this was not the time for that.

The Headmasters lair was small, cramped with hundreds (maybe thousands) of unique and mysterious objects, including several moving maps that floated overhead, the Sorting Hat (who was sleeping fitfully on one of the shelves), and some sort of large crystal ball that had floating, rainbow colors in its center, dancing nymphs moving around the large silver cylinders that rested along its edge. Harry had always been curious about where these objects had come from, and if maybe the Headmaster held some rare dark magic's in all the mess.

"I can't teach him anymore Albus." Severus spoke, voice muted by some emotion…oh yes, self-hatred. Harry recognized that one easily enough.

"Yes you can Severus; we do not have a choice." The Headmaster spoke, bright blue eyes seemingly poignant from behind his crescent moon spectacles. He lifted his ancient hands and crossed them under his chin, causing his long silvery beard to move slightly towards his thin body.

"No one else can teach him what he needs to know. Not even I Severus. At this time you are the only person who can help Harry." He spoke lowly, and glanced up in Harry's direction. (The boy had always guessed the headmaster could see through the cloak, this confirmed it.)

"But also I must say that for Harry's sake, now that you are joined with him…maybe this is simply the only way it is meant to be." His voice was quiet, nearly regretful as he spoke softly, slowly closing his eyes for a moment.

Severus's body shuttered, as if this gentle permission was a thick hard lash upon his back. In some way Harry knew it was, Severus now had no one to tell him no in his wants, and the boy could guess that allowance would not come easy.

Harry did not know what a joining was, but as he watched Severus Snape silently curl into himself with unshed pain, he knew it was _important_.

Harry had never been someone to ignore important things.


	6. Harry's Findings

When Harry had been alone, inside the area under the stairs, he'd often wondered if angel's existed. If they, in all their beauty, wisdom, and supposed truth could help him face the loneliness that he'd known his entire life?

Now Harry knew differently, angels where just legends, something made by people who could not face the pains in their lives. Only demons really existed, they were the Dark Wizards; the men that came into this world to utterly destroy what was good.

Oddly enough, that idea offered some amount of comfort.

He found, that in the darkness, sitting alone in the Divination's tower beneath his fathers cloak he could nearly glimpse those other individuals in the nights sky. The uncertain, mismatched evil men with souls so dark; the boy supposed that the mass of it could be compared to a pit of tar, trying to consume the radiant stars above.

Harry was curious, what was he in this grand scheme? A star, defined by the divine light that he gave so very easily, or one of the black holes that devoured relentlessly unseen in the night? The young man knew he would find out, in the pressing electricity that had claimed Hogwarts; the other students could feel it just as he did. The world, their world was changing, mutating as the shadows of the hidden wraiths came closer to their door.

Shivering in the night's cold, Harry drew his long black cloak closer; he'd bought it on the last trip to Hogsmeade. It was thick made of magic wool (this was a rare material, made only, in the most southern part of Italy) which prevented chill, it possessed an inlay of dragon scales on the outer edge to prevent flame and lightning attacks, as well as several invisible charmed runes on the shoulders and just above the wrist.

Severus didn't know about the cloak, but then, he didn't now much about what Harry had done lately. A small wry smile came to the boy's lips as he pulled the hidden book from the floor, touching the dark ancient lined words with the tip of his fingers.

The pages of the book were worn, an ancient tinted yellow color with thin elegant black handwriting. Small intricate dictations of the necessary magical symbols drawn in, small circles surrounding ancient runes and mathematical calculations inscribed for the reader.

Harry had taken care to hide his research, carefully using the hidden library in the Room of Requirement, as well as midnight trips to the forbidden section to attain what exactly a Joining was. That was when he'd found the book, not in the library as he would have guessed…but in Severus's chambers.

The Potions Professor had needed to leave early the previous week to help with an escaped Mordoce (a creature similar to a cross between a rather large slug and a lion, very hard to clean up after and quite annoying to boot.)

Harry had remained behind in the study and discovered the book tucked away on his new cohorts desk. It was an odd place to find it, considering how very neat the dark haired man normally was, a fact that had _not _gone unnoticed.

Harry read over the words once more, taking a deep breath into his lungs letting it out with a shuttering drawl.

The Joining ritual and its Effects by Morgodan Mumps

The Joining is an ancient ritual that has been outlawed (though in its time was very effective) mainly because it creates a bond that cannot be broken even by death. As well as the fact that it was corrupted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, in his attacks on the Wizarding world, and used against his fellows. This is considered far too dangerous by the Ministry of Magic, considering that it does not only cause strain on the users, but can strengthen a wizard to a dangerous level, as well as cause bouts of pain that cannot be truly measured and emotional turmoil to the users.

Process- Stage One

The Giver, or Miscopent (a term developed some time after the spell had been established, its meaning was lost), offers up his (or her) energy to the Receiver, or Discopent (similar to the Miscopent's origins) so that their life force can be repaired.

(An intricate prewritten ritual is required, inscribing the necessary mathematical and symbol magic's that create the portal into the Miscopent's soul, see page 879 for the calculated dictations of this prerequisite) This can be accomplished through chalk on the skin, pen, or even a tattoo in some cases. (Most wizards in ancient times were more likely to use the tattoo, as it was considered a very serious matter to mark ones soul, and should also be represented on the skin.)

Thirdly, the Discopent accepts the energy. This does not necessarily have to be a conscious action as in ancient times it was a matter of survival. If the energy is not accepted, death is most assured, a fact that gave rose to the popularity of this spell in the earlier part of the Grindel Wars. (See page 406). Normally the exchange is through blood, or a kiss, sometimes through sexual relations.

The fourth process is more of an after effect, the joining once accomplished makes the Miscopent connected to the magical and mental state of the Discopent. Thus the wants, needs and feelings of the Discopent become a nearly overwhelming urge for the Miscopent,

Notes

-A Miscopent will do whatever it takes to please its Discopent, although in many cases it causes mental strain or extreme personality changes.

- In the past Miscopent's have been known to commit murder under the orders of their Discopent, with no memory of the action.

This spell was specifically designed to eliminate the Avada Kedavra, or Killing Curse. It is the _only _known outlet that can prevent instant death.

Two wizards are so deeply bound that the spell itself is also named, One-Soul.

Although trained Occlumen have in the past had some relatively undocumented resistance to this effect. Some wizards supposed that it is because their minds have been separated and contained

Closing the book Harry stood, putting it away into his bag; it was one he'd picked up some time ago, maybe at a sale in one of the muggle stores. Worn the muted cream color that most things seemed to get after so much time (or when they'd been washed with the wrong sort of clothing), it had a small tear on the left arm, several mismatched patches on the bottom. Harry knew he should get a new one; it's not as if he couldn't afford it, but something just felt so…familiar about something so abused. He shook his head and put it over his shoulder.

Silently the young man slipped into the rear bedroom, he'd taken off the invisibility cloak tucking it onto his chair in the den. He was nearly shaking, he shouldn't be here, but he had to prove he was right.

If Severus, if the two of them where joined as the book had said, then this could mean a whole new outlet for Harry, the boy couldn't let it rest, not anymore.

It just wasn't in his nature.

Harry sincerely hoped that Severus's private area in the back of his quarters wasn't charmed; he would be hard pressed to get any poison darts out of his blood quickly enough to prevent their horrible effects.

He lifted his hand, silently twisting the intricate brass handle and pushed it forward. It was dark; the only light a low fire in the front of the room.

"What are you doing in here Harry?" Severus questioned, though he didn't glance up, his long pale body keeled down and back slightly into a large plush chair, it was red.

He held a thin whisky glass in his left hand, carelessly held by the tips of his fingers, it was nearly empty, the residue of the last of the foul liquid lofting through the air. His voice seemed nearly…slurred, though not broken; Harry could never imagine that in his Potion Master's personality.

The younger man was hesitant, dark green eyes watching his slovenly companion with a distinctly worried emotion rising from his bowels, upward into his heart.

"Come now Harry, don't be so shy." He slowly leaned his head back, staring at the younger man with such dark cold black eyes, his voice gaining a coil with the sneer that had come to his face. Harry felt a part of his own mind shutter. Breathing slightly hallowed as in irrational fear arose in the boy's marked heart.

The elder man stood, swaying lightly, dropping the glass to the ground with a despairing crash. Harry drew himself away, this was a bad idea, and one that he felt could lead to actions both of them would regret.

"I should leave." Harry managed to find his voice, drawing his smaller form away from the obviously impaired other.   
"No, no you shouldn't. You _wanted_ to come here didn't you? To see what a bloody mess I have become." Severus's drawl became embittered, his long dark clad legs propelling him forward to place his hand upon the top of the fireplace. He was nearly shaking, messed slick hair falling over his face as he spoke, voice containing the last bit of his strength.

"How humorous it must be, to find that your fathers' loathed enemy…has finally become the disposable monster that he seemed to be convinced I was." The black haired man lowered his head slightly, placing both palms outwards as he stood before the flames.

Harry watched, oddly entranced by the self-degradation that flittered so easily over the sallow skin of his newest companion. "I have little left now Harry. Very little for which I held any sort of want, or need, and now it seems that even the most basic desires that I might hold, are for nothing. That is my role."

Harry could feel a brush of forgotten emotion, one that he could not place. Not pity, he'd lost that when murder had become just another facet of the things that would happen around him. Pity did nothing.

These emotions, feeling drone, whatever one wished to call it was mimicry of desperation, something Harry had nearly forgotten. Now, he could do nothing but face it.

"Do you have nothing to say Potter? No witty comments on the creature you see before you? No insight into what pitiful slime I have spouted to try and destroy you once again?" Severus lifted his gaze, staring at the boy, and his own self-loathing seeping upon the air, nearly as pungent as the very potions that he had spent his years brewing.

Harry straightened himself, inhaling through his nose as he stood off with the drunken man before him, his tan boxed fingers curling into his palm as he gave his response.

"Shut up! Just shut up, if you want to insult yourself that's fine. But don't you dare drag me down into it. I might be a pompous little asshole a lot of the time, but I don't insult the people I respect!" Harry felt the words more than he actually spoke them, eyes glittering vehemently as he shouted with growing volume.

Severus straightened himself, lifting his impressive nose into the air, black eyes watching Harry with a distinctly unhappy expression.

"You honestly _believe _I share that respect in kind?" he sneered as his voice drifted to the boy ears.

"No. I know you don't but that doesn't matter anymore. _I'm your Discopent_." Harry smirked, spite raising as the other insulted him, although he didn't actually know what it meant, he did see how Severus faltered. Well worth any of the strain he'd gone through to attain that information.

"How do you know about that?" he shuttered with anger, Harry's smirk widening, as he watched the rage inside the other double, then seem to expand uncontrollably.

"What's wrong Severus? Scared, after all I have control over you now don't I? You can't treat me as if I'm just some moron beneath you now." Harry nearly laughed, bitterly speaking although in the back of his mind he knew this wasn't right.

Severus hadn't treated as if he was his father…for quite awhile.

"Get out." Severus turned away, bowing his head slightly, his hands clenched tightly (so much so that one could see the whites of his knuckles protrude).

"No, I won't get out; I'm not someone you can just order around as if I was a mindless drone! I'm fucking important!" Harry shouted glaring at him, his voice breaking in the half meter of his statement, breathing uneven.

Severus turned around taking Harry up by his collar and lifted him into the air. The younger boy felt his feet wave uselessly in the air.

"You _are nothing_, and no matter what magic's I have done to save your pathetic hide. I will not be ordered by you Potter!" He snarled into the shorter man's face glaring cruelly as he tossed him to the floor.

Harry skid against the wood, feeling the distinct pain of his arm being rubbed by his rough wool cloak. His head hit the side of the table, vision wavering as the pain thudded through his brain.

"Ah!" Severus fell forward to his knees eyes wide and unseeing, dark magical swirls pulsing over his face, down his arms and across his throat. He screamed shuttering as his body was sent into convulsions legs flinging outwards with violence into the flooring. Harry's eyes widening in fear and shock, dark splits of energy shot out of his palms and down into the floor.

The elder man fell over in a silent slump, unable to take the pain anymore, a fact that worried Harry greatly. Severus had before endured the Cruciatus curse; several hours in fact, while trying to prove his worth to Voldemort.

Harry closed his eyes and moved over to the now unconscious man, small-unnoticed tears running down from the boy's eyes. He drew Severus's head into his lap, silently closing his eyes to try and control his own breathing.

"I-I'm sorry Severus." He whispered softly, more to himself than anything else…he doubted that the senior man could hear him. The boy ignored his own pain, the blood from hitting the table seeping down the back of his neck, until darkness claimed him.

For the first time in months, Harry didn't dream.


	7. The Most Ancient House Of Black

The Most Ancient House Of Black 

Silently Harry closed his Transfiguration book, he couldn't stand looking at the words. His mind felt muddled, as if all his thoughts had twisted and turned to liquid, slowly falling out of his ears and onto the faded sheets beneath him.

But that was just an illusion. He straightened himself, pulling on the white wrinkled t-shirt that he had worn the night before, as well as his faded jeans fastening the button.

Harry had arrived at Sirius's home the week before, and was currently residing in his old bedroom. Remus and the last Black had taken the master bedroom the year before, leaving this one, as well as several others unoccupied.

The green-eyed boy shook his head, and stood, walking out of the bedroom and down the darkened hallway. It wasn't as bad as before, now that the Order had spent the past few years clearing out any magical beasts (along with the good cleaning it had received, something that Creature had fought tooth and nail against). But Harry knew that this house had and would, always contain a sort of _sin_, the kind that formed a pit of consuming vile emotion and would cause someone to loose himself or herself if allowed.

It was ultimately an evil sort of place.

He stood silent for a moment, hand resting against then ancient stained cream wall, closing his eyes so that he could nearly feel the dark magic's pouring in from the area around him.

But then maybe that was just his imagination.

Harry had become more frigid and isolated in the last few months, he realized that, but then it was something he felt he had to maintain. If he were colder to those around him, it would be less likely that his death would wound them to deeply when it came time. He knew he _would_ die.

Voldemort had gained access to several forbidden books that the Ministry had concealed years ago, most likely through contacts with the Malfoy's. Or maybe some sullen inbreed brat, who couldn't resist the call of a bit of shinning silver.

Each of these books contained a key to the ancient power of the hidden Gate's system; something that Harry feared would render Voldemort untraceable.

The young man turned, going down the long ancient stairs and into the kitchen, he smiled at Remus, noticing that he looked a bit better than he had the night before. That fact that lightened Harry's thoughts, and heart, though as he had trained his face, showing no outward change.

"Good morning Harry. I just made a bit of tea, would you like some?" the taller man asked, yellow eyes watching Harry with a brilliant intelligence that he'd always felt was warming.

" Sounds alright, Sirius gone already?" Harry questioned padding his tan bare feet over the chilled tile floor to the worn dark wooden table that rested in the center of the dilapidated kitchen. On it several small dishes sat, a plate of fresh bread, which Harry suspected Remus had cooked earlier that morning, several small jars containing jam: Strawberry and Blueberry, and a ladle of milk. It was all-so very…Remus.

"Oh, yes," Remus spoke softly, turning away to gather the tea, placing a chalice in front of Harry with some cream, holding his own tattered white glass, it was his favorite, or at least it seemed to be. Every time they had tea, which was becoming an often occurrence the elder man would select that particular cup, the one with small light blue flower pressings and a chip on the left side.

Harry said nothing more, he knew better. Remus and Sirius had been lovers for years, but they had agreed to leave matters of the Order secret. Leaving it as such created a mist of the hidden association something that drifted over the air, unidentifiable and peacefully ignored. It bothered Harry, pushing down his throat and slowly was driving into his heart, making him mad.

The colder, more analytical part of Harry's mind suspected the two elder men had done this to prevent the urge to try and save the other if they were endangered. Sirius had admitted that he would betray Dumbledore if it had a chance to save Remus. Remus had made a similar promise; his werewolf nature would not allow his mate to lay in danger when he could prevent it. Harry had always been secretly curious of how that felt, love, but he knew it was only a fleeting whim.

Harry had thought of this, but knew it was not his place to question their actions, both of his adoptive father's had been very kind, and did not warrant such rudeness. Along with the fact that Sirius could be quite…volatile when it came to his actions concerning his lover.

"Ron and Hermione should be coming in today. They both sent their owls, they are quite excited to be seeing you Harry," Remus gave Harry a gentle smile it was optimistic, making his dark golden eyes sparkle with the want to bring some sort of happiness to his younger companion. He bowed his head slightly so that his straight brown-gray hair fell over his ears. The younger man returned the tender grin and gently sipped the honey flavored mix, it was a sweet tingle on the tip of his tongue, and no one could quite make tea like Remus.

Harry did not reply, he didn't know how, he'd missed his two companions. But as of late the three of them…he just didn't fit into their world. A distance had formed between the three friends that no words, or movement could fix or dissipate.

As if a mighty cavern had slowly been carved into the auras of the two people he knew he should trust most. He was truthfully no longer the vision of the young man that they had known.

He was becoming a person that no one else saw, not Sirius, Dumbledore or even Severus, could really comprehend.

Ultimately the trio had grown a part, his heart slowly changing and mutating in away that even he himself did not yet understand.

"Severus should be by as well." Remus spoke watching Harry with a more intense study, the young man carefully keeping his eyes level, so that he did not reveal any sort of change too his elders watchful gaze.

"I think I should go get dressed then." Harry set down his cup carefully, amazed that he hadn't slammed it down with the furious thoughts that were careening out of his mind and down into his heart.

Remus gave no reply though he did nod slightly, as Harry turned away from him. He headed for his room gaining a silent cold air as he moved shutting the door then sat on his bed. The old mattress possessed a small dint in its center from over-use, he allowed himself to fall into that hollow, curling his fists tightly into the tops of his knees, short dirt speckled nails pressing down until he could nearly feel the drawing of blood.

The younger man had not spoken to Severus Snape for three months time, a fact that if he had spoken, he would have given no comment on. Inwardly it utterly infuriated him, he'd attempted to send letters with Hedwig, each disdainfully returned with no reply.

It was rather lucky that Severus had such a soft spot for creatures of burden, or she might have been returned unfed for her work, so much was the apparent hatred that Severus had suddenly developed for Harry's person.

He'd even started to refuse to grade the boy's work, making Remus, or Minerva grade each and every impossible potions paper he would assign through the small Einder Ball that Harry had received to keep up his training during the summer.

After the 'attack' as Harry had dubbed it, the elder man slowly withdrew even more from the young man, as well as the other teachers. And lastly, from Dumbledore himself, he only appeared in the school when specifically required, neither letters, nor any other sort of contact with anyone.

He had made himself a hermit, performing only secluded tasks such as research and testing for the Order, he was not even spying as much on Voldemort. Which no doubt he had a good justification, though Harry found no truth in his chosen reclusive habit, nothing would excuse it.

Severus was becoming a nonentity.

He was becoming a Nothing.

Slowly, Harry took a deep breath, allowing the air to fill his lungs with the familiar push and pull that all humans knew so well. Releasing his hands from his now slightly wounded knees he forced the anger out of his mind, and more importantly out of his heart.

The young man, while not being bright at Hermione, had never been one to ignore the suffering of a friend. Although Sirius, Minerva, even Remus, and most likely Severus himself would deny that fact, Harry knew without any doubt that it was the truth.

He had to stop this from happening, at any cost.

He nodded to himself dark green eyes staring at the white speckled glass that faced the unseeing would outside, he could nearly feel the chill of the autumn winds wrapping around his body. Then stood and pulled on a pair of worn tennis shoes, as well as some ancient striped gray and white socks, the pair he'd found in the back of Dursley's closet.

The lad had quite the time of finding his floo powder, it was a small amount that Mrs.Weasley had given him for her own motherly-precautionary reasons, and he had really never thought it would come in handy. The substance itself was contained in a small red pouch with golden string, tiny outlines of containing runes hand embroidered into the front and back, each resting dead center of the fabric.

Trust a Weasley to give you something you never knew you would need.

Harry pulled his fathers cloak from his trunk, allowing the slick material to run over the edges of his boxy fingertips, it was smooth just as if made of silk, but stronger than any wool.

He pulled it over his body, it did cover him but he had the firm suspicion that his trio's midnight treks into trouble would be limited to single-person adventures from now on.

The young man left his room, closing his door, quickly making his way one of the nearly abandoned rooms in the house. Luckily for Harry neither of his godfathers had any use for this room, and seemed to in fact, despise it.

The area itself was wide, with one thin metal bed tucked against the farthest wall, dark russet paint peeling off at the edges, small faded patches of black visible through the sloppy top coat.

Harry stood before the large, dark red stone fireplace, taking his pouch in hand he removed the required amount and then took a deep breath, throwing it down and stepping inside.

"Forest House in Remington!" he shouted closing his eyes as the push of magic enveloped his body, a cracking noise sweeping over his cloak as he disappeared.

Harry had the distinct feeling that Sirius was going to murder him for this little stunt.

The rush of soot covered his body, as he was pushed out of the houses fireplace. It was warm in the room, worn furniture and books visible, he could nearly guess that the potions room and experiment area were somewhere in one of the other rooms.

Oh yes, he was definitely dead.

Harry took a deep breath, allowing the invisibility cloak to fall over the leather couch after he had removed it, putting away his floo powder into his left jean pocket. The young man made his way into the cottage, it was large, well at least it was for only one person living there, the living room containing a chair, the couch previously mentioned and several large tables with different organized herbs. But this was not the potions room, no Severus always kept the brewing potions in another area so that the ingredients didn't mix in a way that he couldn't control.

Knowing such Harry searched further, coming to another room, this one was dimmer, lit by candles, a tall dark clothed figure standing on the opposite side of the room.

"Potter, I do not appreciate being stared at. Say your piece and leave. I suspect that the two mongrels are currently enraged at your disappearance. " Severus spoke, not even bothering to glance up from his brewing potion, long agile fingers dropping several pinches of Mulberry root into the souring swirling lime green concoction.

The boy suspected he was brewing some Sleeping Draught, or maybe one of its many variants, he couldn't tell by smell, so he knew he would never really know.

Harry repressed the surging amount of irritation that shot through his brain as if a painful arrow. Drawing in a deep scuttling breath.

" Does that really matter at all too you Severus?" he questioned, not bothering for Severus to answer, taking the ancient rickety chair that rested on the opposite side of the table.

Severus kept his face carefully cold, ink colored eyes drawn only to the potion, avoiding Harry's eyes seemingly, at all costs. The boy noticed, carefully watching as his Potions Master drew a long wooden spoon, carefully stirring the oddly strawberry scented potion, three flicks of the wrist to the right, then seven to the left.

" Why are you doing this?" Harry spoke staring at the other man, green eyes seeming to darken slightly as his voice gained a carefully cultivated tone. If Severus had noticed, Harry thought he might nearly be proud, but it's seemed as if a glazed sort of haze was now permanently attached to the elder man's mind.

"Well as you know Potter, I am a Potions Master, it is my love as well as my duty to work with the things for which I have spent most of my life trying to learn everything about." Severus gave a frigid reply, turning away and straightening himself.

"You know damn well I didn't mean that, you haven't been talking to anyone. Not me, not even _Dumbledore_!" Harry spat fury seeping into his tone, the discontented air lofting up into his speech as he felt his mind attach to the feelings of resentment for the adult man standing a mere foot away from him.

"I am doing what is correct for me to do, though, that is something I doubt _you _understand." Severus replied, closing his eyes, then turning to face the young man. His taller body was drawn straight, attempting to present the image of a statue; Harry had to repress the urge to laugh. He was no longer _afraid_ of Severus Snape, Harry no longer feared much in the way of men.

"Liar, you're doing this because you're afraid." He spoke allowing the venom of his inner turmoil to seep into his speech, eyes narrowing behind his golden-framed glasses.

Severus opened his eyes and gave a firm glare to the boy. "What did you just accuse me of boy?" he put down the spoon on the side table, which his cauldron was currently boiling upon.

"Your lying, your _hiding_ from something, its wearing you down and driving you bloody mad!" Harry shouted, moving forward to push his point more openly, hair mussed and falling just over the tips of his glasses.

"You foolish little child, you don't have any idea of what you speak." He gave a quite snarling reply, glaring darkly, at the young man that stood before him.

"You do not know what it is like to have everything I am, all the lies, the spite, slowly being stripped away. You foolish moronic minute creature, go back where you belong!" he gave his last snarling words, shivering and turned away.

"This is were I belong Severus, even if you don't want to see it, you and I _are_ much more alike than you'd ever want." Harry gained a sort of corrupted smirk at that last comment, the pit of darkness that was inclined to his own soul twisting in a fit of satisfaction with the older mans despairing glare.

" I don't fit in with the other wizards anymore; they worship me as if I'm some sort of damn god." Harry replied, his voice, cooling for a moment, as if something had just crossed his mind. "I don't belong with them. I haven't done a damn thing for any of them, all I've tried to do is _survive_."

The younger man moved forward, wrapping his arms around Severus's back pulling him close with the entrapping cage of his arms. Severus became very stiff, nearly straight as a board of wood, trembling as the unseen magic he himself had set in place, swept away his free will.

"Let me _go boy_." Severus's voice was strained at best, Harry knew this, it was evident in the shivering sort of pained bliss the others body had gained when they touched.

"Please _Harry_…_let me go_." Severus, long delicate fingers curled into his palms, Harry was curious if they were cold, or warmed by their constant movement over his potions. It appeared as if they might have been cutting into his palm.

"No. Not anymore Severus. Not anymore." Harry could hear himself speak; it was a monotone that he was not familiar with, some abnormal sorrow etching its way into his manner.

Severus's eyes tilted downwards staring into an unfathomable abyss that Harry could not see, then closed in a snapping motion so quick that the black irises disappeared as if they had never been revealed in the first place.

He turned to stare at the boy, ink colored eyes loosing their glower, claiming dispassion, his hand moving and forming a fist. Severus became ruthless punching Harry in the face, blood spouting from his nose, running downward from the broken slide that was the younger mans nose.

The boy's head snapped backward with the swift vicious motion, his body moving with it, long legs unsteady as he swayed, shock viciously apparent.

Harry reeled back, eyes wide and utterly betrayed as the taller man punched him yet again in the stomach, pain and breath rushing out of his lungs. His smaller body, unused to such abuse, curled into itself slightly in an unconscious movement to protect itself from further damage.

Severus gave no mercy, he as he was never inclined, as he battered the teenager. His fist turning downward to place another well-aimed blow into the boys gut. With that movement, he knocked him into the wall just behind them. The painful scrape of rough dungeon wall scratching through Harry's cloak, no doubt more blood would flow there.

"Get out before I do worse, you piece of mud-blood garbage." Severus's voice snarled out, his hand lowering to his side for a moment, a cool sneer seemingly unable to keep away from his features.

Harry's eyes widened filling with an uncontained rage, fear disappearing in an instant, his own fist forming and slinging into the Potions Masters face. The younger man then spoke with an unrefined spat of indigent ire.

"Fine don't bother speaking to me ever again, _Snape_." The lad made haste, leaving the dungeons in a swirl of wool fabric and dark brown hair, invisibility cloak left forgotten on the table, which he had deposited it. He speedily moved down the hallway outside of the cottage, blinded by his fleeting rage.

Severus twisted away, not even bothering to tend to the blood that dripped down his broken lip; he'd endured much worse, and no doubt would again. He lowered his head as the magic from the 'cursed spell' swam in his veins, pain of unimaginable strength and variety pulsing throughout. It was as if his very soul was tearing itself a part, it was murder, the desperation in which careened within him blinding his mental shields with pain.

The elder professor escaped into his back quarters, shuttering depositing himself in a slouch of the last bit of his strength, into his chair. It rested before the cottages ancient fireplace, an antique chair that he'd come to appreciate, and a gift from Dumbledore in fact. It was made of old wood, oak most likely though he'd never really attempted to learn for certain, the seat material a dark robust green which seemed calming.

His hands fell loosely to his either side of his chest and hung down. They moved backward as if a mockery of some fallen seraph that was well relined to its own final destruction.

Long yellow stained fingers spread in an uninhibited movement as they find their resting place beside the chairs edge.

Severus did not move, his eyes staring into the flames of fire that rested just before him, the pain of their heat wrenching outward in a consuming spin of power, devouring his very soul. Although no one, knew this but the silent man whom was now, very much alone.

The silence of the room resounding only with the last snapping break of consciousness that was Severus Snape, several unseen, and unnoticed clear salt tears making their slow trek down his noble face.

"Yes Master. "

_**It is true that broken glass is like a soul, beautiful, yet it is impossible to make it return to its former state, once shattered. Yet with this truth, one can take two pieces of broken glass, two souls and make something even more beautiful with their combined resonating light. **_

_**We as individuals can only hope that if our own souls are destroyed, that some other broken person has the will to try assist us, for no one person can see the beauty inside himself or herself. **_

_**This is in fact a flawed wish, no man, nor woman may save such a wretch as me. But then, that is my choice, always, my choice. I face the darkness alone. **_

_**S.S.**_


	8. The War's Begining

The War's Beginning

"Harry you really should come down stairs for a bit. Mums made some scones. They're really good." Ronald Wesley mumbled happily, stuffing the last of a said pastry into his mouth. He wore a thin orange shirt with a small stain of sugar on the left arm, along with a pair of loose pants that were a bit to short for his lanky legs.

Harry did not reply, staring out the window silently. The redhead giving a small shrug then turned away and left the boy in peace, though the darker haired young man could see the worry in the straight uncomfortable stance of his friend's departure.

Harry knew well he was being stubborn, but he couldn't help it. The lad also was quite aware that he couldn't allow himself the comforts for now.

The war was coming, and quickly, dredging itself from the bowels of the darkest places of the wizarding world. It was the snake that slithered up, releasing its venom into the world as if it had no other purpose than to release destruction. Harry thought that maybe it didn't, _Voldemort had no other purpose._

Harry had dreams of these things at night: the unstoppable slaughter of Muggles and wizards alike, their screams punctuation the waking and dreaming world with a bright splash of red, that melded over into his waking thoughts and fears. It was only when he could find peace and solitude did he dare try to think of ways to deal with these hardships. He couldn't allow Ron and Hermione to, to be put at risk.

At least not now, they were all he had left. That and his rage, the painful pull of a sarcastic smile came to his full lips. Yes, he knew that well enough.

The young man had lost himself to seek revenge for all those murdered, Cedric, the Flitdon's a wizarding family, that had not been judged as pure enough to survive the last deadly curse. Leaving a boy behind, one that was about eleven, Harry had seen him the first day of school and knew at once what he felt.

Loneliness, desperation to be accepted by anyone, and that all consuming hatred for the beings that had stolen away his 'normal' life, Harry would be oh-so-happy to help that young man realize his dream.

Harry Potter would be _happy_ to kill Voldemort.

He was planning now, testing his skills daily with Ron and Sirius so that he would be prepared for the final battle. Hermione and Remus worked nearly non-stop, researching the old forgotten spells that may in fact sway their side to victory. It was harsh, agonizing and painstaking, work that made the mind numb to the atrocities surrounding the world around them.

The Order had found evidence of 'testing' spells on Muggles, by Death Eater's. The bodies discovered through links of spies and several other magical tracing outlets. Harry could remember the bodies vividly, the blood moving over the image as if a mockery of the life that had once been there.

The spells tested were horrible. Some would freeze a individual in place then slowly turn their cells functions backward, until the persons body started to explode. Others would give frostbite to a certain part of the body, maybe an arm or leg. Then slowly move and unfreeze, moving over every part until it reached the head. And lastly, the most sickening spell of all, at least in Harry's opinion was Dereadfills Bite.

It was the corrupted form of the Dementors Kiss, a spell that was…evil. This one was much, much worse. It didn't simply remove the soul and leave a shell, which could remember very little; no it removed the soul and then left the mind completely in tact. The body could still move and act with a completely functional brain, and yet left the knowledge that they had once been a whole being. The person was left only with the remembered feelings of the soul, and was in fact, dead. At least to Harry, he would want to be.

Voldemort had attacked a muggle family, reducing them these tortured creatures. To an entire family, a wife and mother, a father, a daughter, and lastly a newborn son.

Withholding his own voice Harry stood up, pushing his body along the rooms edge. It was overfilled as usual, but this was the Burrow, and he was in fact staying with the Wesley's house. As were Hermione, Sirius, Remus, Blaise Zabini (a young Slytherin who had refused the mark and was currently helping in the research department), and Pansy Parkinson, each for there own reasons. Although for the moment only Ron, and his mother Molly were in the house, the others out doing their own part for the Order.

Hermione had gone with Blaise to one of the libraries of the ancient studies. Remus and Sirius off trying to help Dumbledore with something or the other. Pansy Parkinson was with Draco Malfoy not surprisingly, helping with a Dragon capture.

But that was the way the world worked, everyone did everything for his or her own reasons. Not because it was right, or because it was good. None of those misconceived ideals that they'd all been taught in school, no honor.

Nothing was good, only _better._

Harry picked up his wand; the wood was burning, faint and yet nearly pleasant in its own way. After all the pain would remind him that he was indeed there, that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, and that no matter how desperately he wanted things to change all he could do was move with the world around him.

Harry had learned that in life, there are only queens, and pawns.

Silently he left his temporary room, avoiding looking at the vacant room across the hall.

It was, or had been Ginny's room; the girl was not there. She was at St. Mungo's, still recovering from the DeathEater attack that had left her unconscious for months. Ginny's pain had torn a massive hole in the Wesley family, leaving each of its members nearly silent with their own personal turmoil.

It was driving Ron mad with guilt, that his younger sister had been the one to suffer, and not himself. Although Harry could understand to a certain extent, he'd known more about guilt than most people could comprehend.

The Boy-Who-Lived also knew well that his best male companion and trusted fellow could not allow this judgment to cloud him for long, Ron was true to his redheaded nature, rage would only get him killed in battle.

Harry went down the houses stairs, and into the kitchen, which still smelled of baking bread and sweet sugar. He offered up a smile to Mrs.Weasley, who was busily putting away several of scones, into small magically sealed packages. He assumed the goods were for Fred and George, who were currently living in a small flat in muggle London. They'd been able to afford one of the nicer places now that they had money to spare; it was a real help to the whole family.

Harry had visited their apartment once before, and thought it was nice enough for two bachelors. Although nothing he'd be happy with himself, everything was just to urban for him, if he lived long enough Harry quite wanted a house someplace in the country where he could just be himself.

The twins tested most of their potential products for their newly opened shop Weasley's Wizard Weezes (which luckily enough Harry had quite an investment in so he got to try any of the new products for free in his spare time.) In their apartment, Ron had been there with him and Harry couldn't stop the smile from coming to his face at the happy memory.

The four of them (Ron and the twins) had spent the entire day discussing, and testing the new tricks that the store might be making for Hogwart's students. Some of Harry's personal favorites had been the, Duplicating Draught of Dismemberment (a drink that tasted faintly of chocolate and would give the illusion that an arm or leg had been removed from the body, something they'd felt would do well near Halloween), as well as the False Flinching-Finger Pinchers (one of the more ingenious designs that mimicked either a regular Tasty Todd's Peppermint Spider right down to the small white and black stripes, or a Fudge-Field Mouse lollypop. Depending on which sort you wanted and how long you wanted the supposed 'venom' for the victim to last, the two sorts would be sold in separate bins.)

Fred and George had managed to make the spider and mouse both carry a bite that would bring growing itchiness for several hours afterward, Ron had thought it would do wonders for a few of the Prefects at school. Harry had noticed that they could even move around when asked, which would no doubt make them a best seller when it came to getting back at someone unnoticed.

Harry's most favorite design was one he'd asked to keep, Black Bottles of Black Beetles, or a small bottle that looked like any old ink container. But in all actually held several hundred condensed beetles that would do just what their 'owner' (or the owner of the bottle) would ask.

It was a simpler design, but something that Harry thought could really do some good when it came down to it. The beetles were very hardy dark little things with two sets of pointed legs that could lift about ten times their own weight and move things around easily.

"Now dear would you mind going to check on Ron? He's been outside training for some time now." Mrs. Wesley spoke up rubbing her fingers over the spotted-stained apron, which she was currently wearing. Harry gave a small nod and stood up from the table, watching as she spelled the gift baskets away and too her offspring.

Sometimes he was curious if his mother would have done something similar, from what Remus and Sirius had said Lilly had been a wonderful cook.

It was nearly disappointing he hadn't inherited that trait, he was far too much like his father, whom Sirius claimed couldn't even boil water.

"_Just like your father Potter, idiotic, mislead, and totally inept." _

Harry nearly gasped at the voiced memory that pushed itself into his consciousness; he hadn't seen Severus for weeks now, forcing himself to treat the man as if he was nothing.

No, he was nothing; the bastard had manipulated him into believing he was capable of honest judgments. That he wasn't a vindictive, heartless bugger who did not deserve the air, which he breathed.

But it had all been a lie, a painful well-woven lie.

_I know that's not true._

Harry watched silently as Ron moved with his wand, casing curses and counter curses without taking a breath. He knew, some part of him realized that all he was doing was hiding and that Severus had something wrong.

The sun was bright, merry in a way that just didn't fit what Harry was feeling at the moment. Despondent feelings that swirled in his gut and made him feel dizzy, although in reality he wasn't.

The dark tanned young man watched as Ron finished his training, turning to glance up at his best mate. They hadn't spoken of the kiss some month's before, just as they hadn't spoken about their one night tryst with Hermione.

These things and so many more judgments of night long past, rested beneath the ground. The youthful knowledge of right, and wrong slowly being torn away bit by bit, leaving only the urge to fight behind.

"You're mum says to come inside." Harry spoke, Ron giving that sheepish smile that was only a memory of the real one, his eyes turning downward slightly, and longer red hair falling over them in the moment.

"Mum worries to much, I mean I'm just training...its fine. Sirius and Remus don't have to be here for everything." He gave a small huff and sighed shaking his head, stretching his shoulders for a moment.

"She's just still worried over Ginny Ron, that's all. I wouldn't really be so hard about it." Harry spoke turning to lead his companion inside, the lanky taller man following behind him.

_**It's strange how the world changes when you're afraid of it. **_

The book was familiar, all to familiar as Harry finally delved into its pages, using his wand for light in the darkness of his bedroom. Ron was asleep in the bed just beside his own, so he had to be careful.

He had no urge to explain why he was trying to find information on forbidden magic's; Ron was still to incensed by his sisters attack not to too hate them all. Every deviant spell, as well as every witch and wizard who used them for their own selfish purposes.

'_How **nice **it must be to see the world in separate shades of black, and white_.'

Harry's boxy fingertips ran over the edge of the page as he read the information that it contained, he needed to know.

He had to save Severus, even from himself, no matter what it cost.

Harry _had _to know what exactly, Actodum's Gate was.

The Way of the Gates Fact or Fiction? By: Morgan Mumps.

The Gates System, referring to the collection of magical pathways that exist. These ancient by-ways connect all that is magic from the past, to that which is in the present, as well as the 'dams' which prevent Muggles from using Magic.

They are supposedly in essence the roads by which all witches and wizards reach their magical power, and in the past have been manipulated for means of good and evil. In the past Morgan the Fae used such by-ways to ultimately kill Merlin, taking his very soul and sealing him within the last byway, Actodum's Gate.

One thousand, five hundred and fifty years ago the gate system was sealed so that no further meddling could contaminate the magic. Using several encrypted books to render it nearly impossible to seek this power, for which only on key existed, the key has been lost and so now the books are useless.

Notes: Actodum's Gate is the last reserve of the magical world, it is were all magical creatures and their sources exist on a plane that only the strongest wizards may in fact even touch. If this Gate is opened, it for a short amount of time gives even Muggles the ability to use magic, although that would be preposterous, it rendering average wizards and witches with such powerful ability that it might in fact drive them insane.

Notes: It is rumored that to use the Gates to their full potential, one must have a living source to connect back to the real world; this can only be accomplished through the ancient spell work related to The Joining Ritual, illustrated in my earlier works. See pages 789 for definition.

This is clearly all rumors, supposed information, and relies little on fact. After all how could our entire world forget such an important function?

But one must wonder with a curious mind, what if the key was found?

Or more importantly, who would find it?

There was a crash downstairs loud and shaking as if the door had been pushed open by a spell. Harry moving at once, he would not loose anyone else to these attacks. Ron already out of the room to try and protect his family, as he had not been able to protect Ginny.

Molly Wesley had the door open, as it had pushed off Severus's feeble attack, apparently it had been used only to draw attention. The light to the kitchen already on, her older eyes spotting the boys with certain stillness. "Ron go get some healing potion now! The strongest we've got, its upstairs in the potions cupboard. " She looked stronger now than Harry had seen her in months, crouched over the bloodied body of an unconscious Severus Snape. Her hair was a mess, puffed out in away that made her look windblown, intelligent eyes fastened on the man as she attempted to steady him into consciousness.

Harry stood still as Ron departed, his eyes wide and nearly unseeing as he focused on the others mutilated body. His skin was paler than Harry had remembered it, large open wounds on his arms, cloak torn to shambles. The blood seeped out of the thick black material and onto the floor from his thick and thin wounds that covered most of his body. Severus's eyes were closed in pain, as he attempted to speak, voice riddled with unseen pain.

"Spell the doors, windows. We are not safe here." He managed to rasp out, throat dry and cracking in away that was distinctly unsettling, Molly nodded glancing to Harry.

"You keep an eye on him Harry. I need to do the spell work." She bustled out of the room wand in hand and Harry kneeled down, helping Severus up and into the living room.

The other was shivering, his strong hands curled into themselves.

Harry took the potion from Ron, pouring it down Severus's throat, as the grown man could not hold it himself, the shaking was to severe. The magic smell oozed over the air in a thick mist that Harry had felt far too many times in his life, it was nearly ghastly, thick with small traces of the potions original contents.

"I've been compromised. We have very little time left, much less than I thought." The others thinner lips spoke wrapping around the words in away that was very stressed, Harry was unable to look away from them.

He'd never felt such fear before, not even when he'd thought he was going to die, facing Voldemort. When he'd seen Severus's dirtied bloodied body on the kitchen floor something had shot through him that couldn't compare to anything else.

Mortal Fear.

" Voldemort has found the key to Actodum's Gate. He plans on using it in the next month; we have run out of time. Now is the time for war." Severus looked up, into Harry's eyes staring at him with such intensity that the young man could not comprehend for a moment.

Then, with a deathly sort of silence, the younger lad understood. Severus knew that the time had passed for his life. His purpose would be fulfilled with the Joining, with Harry; this was their death sentence.

No more time for games, joy's and idleness with the only people he'd ever loved, or been loved in return.

It was time for Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, to die.

Everything would rely on Actodum's Gate.


	9. Actodum’s Gate Part One: The Last Moment

Actodum's Gate Part One: The Last Moments

Harry stood beside Severus Snape; both of them had grown silent in the early morning cold. He could see the dark shadow of his newly healed companion just in his peripheral vision, a dark inking that stained the muted forest that lay just behind them.

Harry's own skin felt unfamiliar and overly cool, wrapped in the worn charmed wool that looked nearly ragged by this point. It rested against his tanned skin limply, feeling as if against his own bone and muscle as if no man rested beneath it.

He had not felt alive for months.

Things had gotten steadily worse, the English Wizarding world being forced into hiding, or outright running, thousands of wizards were escaping for the borders. Refugees to France, Germany, and even the United States gaining in number with each passing disappearance or found mutilated body.

The only people left was those who supported Voldemort with their lives, and those who stood against him no matter what.

The fighting had spread from exclusive areas of Death Eater's and the Order to those unmarked and unseen faces in the city streets. Gangs of either side would track down wizards of differing view and attack viciously; they would beat them, tear at their skin or curse depending on the others 'crime.'

Harry's wand was tucked safely on his left arm, bound in a standard brown leather carrier, the nearly now pleasant pain of reminder soaking magically through the material to his skin.

A small jar of Fred and Georges black beetle juice tied just above it, the bottle had been strengthened so it would not be broken in battle. Harry had a feeling that his small companions could do some good in up close attacks, they were nearly unnoticeable in this misty air.

The younger man watched as the rolling chill of the morning mist covered the Hogwarts grounds, moving in a slow guiding motion that reminded the younger man of the ghosts that rested inside the school itself.

The world appeared to be standing just between reality, and the land of death.

It was as if the Hogwarts grounds had mutated under an unseen spell, becoming no longer a place of enlightenment, but Hades itself. They had to be let in at this specific time as the war's attacks were rapidly spreading through-out the magical and mundane worlds, there was no telling just how and who was allied with the other side. It meant that very few people indeed could be let in from the outside; no Death Eater could enter, except for Severus himself.

His mark had been _changed _somehow, although Harry did not realize just how, he know knew better than to ask.

For now they had so much more to worry about. After the entire world was going to Hell.

Hermione and Blaise had spent the past months working on the protective shield of Hogwarts, as well as spells, which could defend against the other side's dark magic's. Giving back their own kind of revenge that came equipped with a rather with a vicious bite. It was hard work, considering they had also been trying to bring each of the houses closer together, Harry did not know if it had been effective.

Harry had grown to suspect that a romance was blooming between Hermione and Zabini, just as he supposed that Ron and Hermione had grown close again through some act or another.

In times of strife one had to keep close to their friends, or all hope would be lost.

The green eyed young man hoped that none of them had to sacrifice themselves; he'd never forgive himself if any of them died.

They didn't deserve it; only he had that cross to bear.

Hagrid the Keeper of Key's at Hogwarts would soon be here to use his own special seal to allow entrance into the magical thick seal which surrounding the school and its grounds.

The school, over the past several months before had turned into a sort of bared area for which those who feared Voldemort's attacks and spies. They could find refuge here among the stones and cement of the most powerful wizards of the previous age.

They had come in droves, hundreds at a time, carrying only what they needed in their arms, finely dressed wizards of all sorts mingling in with those of the poorest decent. Half-witches, squibs, and even those of purest blood, such as Narcissa Malfoy had made their way inside the ancient schools protective barrier.

It was a time of unity, only through that could any of them hope to survive, after all.

Large buildings had been erected around the school, made of wood, and metal, they were rough but filled to the brim. Or so Hermione through one of the magical movement sphere's she'd invented had told Harry in detail, it was untraceable and much safer than mail by owl.

Tents had were also being used, as it was far to hard to fit everyone in the large metal buildings, and the school, fires burning so brightly Harry felt he could nearly smell the ash, even this far away.

"I don't hate you." Harry spoke to Severus, who glanced at him, staring for a moment, jet black eyes undefined, and oddly for the moment they did not seem the least bit cruel to Harry.

Merely exhausted.

"Hatred is to intense an emotion for you to feel for me Mr. Potter." He murmured in his bored tone, Harry's eyes glancing down and away

Harry smiled to himself with a near feeling of relief as he spotted Hagrid, walking from the school towards them with a purposeful stride.

The large half-giant waving at the nearly adult Harry and called out loudly, voice booming over the area in away that made Harry's heart lighten with that warm familiar feeling he'd gotten every time the other had spoken in the past seven years.

" 'arry, its been to long. I missed ya so much, come on in." he pulled out a wand, moving his hand in a fashion that Harry thought so odd to see on the other, he'd cast a spell.

"You got your wand back Hagrid?" Harry could not at the moment hold back the joy that sprouted in his voice, smiling at the other bearded man, who he guessed was most likely flushing under his massive beard, his beetle black eyes glimmering with that kind happiness that had made Harry see him as an adoptive father in many ways.

"Aye, 'arry, Dumbledore gave it to me to help protect all da little ones in the castle. Great man Dumbledore, we'll do just fine with him in charge." He spoke gruffly with his own pleasure, Harry nodding faintly as he and Severus stepped through the thick shields.

As the shields passed over Harry's body, it felt warm, and not unpleasant as he would have thought it might be, his elder counter part growling with a face change of immense pain.

He as someone who had carried the Dark Mark for years was still stained by the consuming corrupt ideals that it had left. Even when the mark had been removed from his skin, its stain still rested upon his soul.

They went into the castle, climbing the ancient stairways, the wizards within not speaking to Severus or himself. Harry knew why, they saw them as shadows, the markings of death hanging dreadfully just over there heads, black draperies of Hades swinging roughly just as their cloaks did over the cold floor.

Hagrid followed them silently, great huffing weight settling over Harry's back. His aura was like a warm shadow, that did him more good than any amount of butterbeer ever could. The young man could nearly feel his own worrying thoughts sifting through the silence of the school's air, attempting to form a protective mask over Harry.

"Harry, oh Merlin I've missed you!" Hermione spoke; standing up from her chair in a swirling of old dark gray robes and puffed out brown hair. Her small arms wrapped around Harry's neck, the young man feeling such happiness as she touched his skin; she was safe, as were the rest of them. Within the now changed book covered Slytherin common room, Blaise Zabini, as well as Remus Lupin and Sirius Black also stood.

Sirius smiled at Harry, his face seeming worn, but not as dead tired as the man had been within his hated childhood home, his lover, Remus standing just at his side. Intelligent golden eyes flickering to Severus, then back to Harry in a silent movement that the young man realized contained a large amount of worry.

Blaise Zabini was silent, green eyes watching the exchange with Hermione in a nearly snide way, not bothering to glare at Harry, he merely looked bored and irritated that he'd been interrupted in his research. His dark curly hair had always reminded Harry of a dust mop, strands flicking out in all directions.

The young man sat down with Hermione, her kind eyes fastening on Severus who had moved to Harry's side, his dark ink colored eyes staring at her as if she was the black plague itself.

"What have you found?" Harry's voice was not cold, but held little emotions that others could perceive. His eyes fastened on Hermione's worried youthful face, round soft with large green eyes held in dark brown lashes, beautiful if only he wasn't gay. He was frightened just as the rest of them, mostly likely more really, although for different reasons.

He now held no doubt in himself; he knew that would only lead to his own destruction, or worse the destruction of those he loved, along with the only world that had ever offered him any sort of comfort. Harry could only hide the sincere fear and utter hatred he felt, at this world, at Voldemort. At all the things he could not control or change, he hated every bit of it.

The ultimate reason for his animosity and chilling coldness was oncoming cost of winning this battle. Who would be the brave hero, which he would be forced to remember in depression, if he survived?

As if he would survive, no for Voldemort to die he must sacrifice his own being. As he knew he was connected to the other just as Severus was.

Hermione moved her hand over a map, Blaise speaking up as if for the both of them. Harry inwardly smiled at that, his gut had been right, the young couple were slowly blooming into quite the lovebirds. Hermione after all would not allow just anyone to speak for her, not even Harry.

"We are going to have the elder student force move out through the front to attack the main gathering of Death Eaters. We think Voldemort will be in the back giving commands." Blaise glanced up at Harry, staring in his eyes without any modem of fear, the Slytherin holding no illusions of what Harry was going to do. "You and Professor Snape can attack him while we are holding off the main force, maybe manage to surprise him." His voice was quiet, elegantly accented in his native Italian language; it was attractive in its own way if you were into that sort of thing.

Severus spoke up, intelligent cruel eyes looking down, no doubt memorizing the pattern that lay before him. Harry stood at his side, dark green eyes

It had been inscribed on the magical piece of parchment. The two forces had been depicted, on opposite sides. Their side had more numbers, each name written in glittering white ink that moved with the person in question, as they themselves moved about their business.

Hogwarts drawn underneath as a base for all movements, the towers for each house drawn in there respective colors, Slytherin Green, Gryffindor Red, Ravenclaw Blue and Hufflepuff Yellow. Similarly the 'civilian' quarters were labeled with each name that had been appropriate, small numbers added for easy identification. Hogsmeade was also drawn on the large new map, houses that had been destroyed now only existing as burn marks and 'rubble'. Harry hoped silently that those people who had lived in those particular homes were now safe behind the barrier. He somehow doubted it.

Voldemort's forces were written in black ink, as expected, small skulls drawn just beside each of the people in question. No not people, monsters.

It was similar to the Marauders Map in some ways, but the young man could not help but wish this particular depiction did not exist, it was a corrupted version of the very ideal which that original map had been created. Harry had quickly calculated that Remus and Sirius had created this map. Using the assistance of Severus, through letters, or maybe Draco Malfoy, Harry doubted they knew much of the particulars when it came to the opposing 'armies' forces.

"I'll be helping to protect the littuns." Hagrid stood just outside of the ring, or collection of people that stood in the room. His beetle like eyes glimmered with frightened tears for Harry, the young man glanced up and nodded keeping his face straight as he did not want to instill anymore fear within his most loved teacher.

"Of course you will, Dumbledore has assigned it to you." Severus spoke, it wasn't kind, Harry would have been sickly amused if the other had even bothered, but was pleasantly surprised that he treated Hagrid as he always had. Cold, indifferent but with a small amount of respect for the larger man, Severus had never been one to underestimate someone merely because they appeared a certain way.

Or it might have been the fact that Hagrid was indeed half giant, and could crush a mans skull with his fist.

"Alright." Harry heard himself speak, though inwardly he was silent, he had no qualms now. No suspicions of anyone's actions, as each of these people that stood beside him hard proven their merit a thousand, no a million times over.

"Let's go then. I'm tired of waiting, that's the bloody hard part." Sirius spoke up, claiming his own gallant personality that made Harry nearly smile, the edges of his mouth quirking up in an instant.

"Alright. Let's go, I'm not going to be a victim anymore. They want a war, then we'll give them one." Harry spoke and turned away, heading for the door of the common room.

His darker black haired companion stayed firmly at his side, having grown eerily silent, well as silent as Severus Snape had ever been. " If you die, I assure you I will not attend the funeral. Your mourning will be left to Granger." His voice spoke, cold as the first last snow of winter, Harry's eyes flittering over other mans elder stanch features. His eyes had become intense, not that they had not been before. Focused entirely on the battle that was soon to encompass them both, as if the very need of his presence here had turned him into a marksman. Harry had little doubt that the other was concentrating on using the quickest, and deadliest spells he could contrive within his complex maze like mind. Nose proud as ever, skin pale and would appear sickly, if not for the fact that Harry believed disease did not greet him for fear of him.

"Yeah, I know Severus." He replied, his voice containing just a bit of softness that the other man clear did not approve of if the glare he was receiving was to be understood.

As they made their way into the outer courtyard, Harry noticed just how Hermione and Blaise had organized their forces.

The students had been lined up in rows of varying importance and distinction, a few civilians who had joined them could be spotted as well, normally young women or men close to their age.

Harry realized that most of these people thought of him as some kind of leader, someone to look to although they would not be receiving orders from him. He stood straight, allowing his mouth to move of its own volition.

"Not all of you will be returning to this place, some will fall down under us as we fight. You'll die." His voice was steady, much to his own amazement. " Others will return to see the light of day, and will remember those who have fallen. Today is our Last Day. That is all we can call it from now on, the fate of our world as well as the muggle world rests in our hands now. No one else can stand against Voldemort, they have failed were _we must succeed_." He glanced into the unmarked, yet remembered faces that stood beside him.

Some long, some short, a few freckled, he could even spot a few scars in the masses that stood above and bellow him depending on height. Their eyes remained the same, every one holding that malice and strength that he knew was being reflected from his own face.

" It is no longer a choice of when, it is now. We will destroy the evil that spreads over our lands, and we will remember!" he shouted the last, lifting his fist upward in a motion that he had not planned, the masses of straight rowed people changing. They moved, lifting their own fists and shouting in a loud voice that echoed outward from the school and into the world.

It was the last thing that anyone said as they moved out, other than orders from the Order members who had been given 'rank'.

Harry stood beside Severus, as they made the final trek out of the schools protective front gates and through the barrier. The last thing he remembered was the warm glow of the magical seal, and the pain on Severus's face as they stood to face destiny.


End file.
