AN: Hey all, this concept has been on my mind for almost 6 months now, and I finally finished the first chapter. I hope you like it! It starts right after the ministry raid in 5th year, if that wasn't clear. Enjoy!

Harry allowed himself to be led back to Hogwarts, his mind flashing with the events he had just witnessed. Clear, clean images of Hermione collapsing, slashed by purple flames. Ron, white and choking, being throttled by weird brain tentacles. Harry himself being locked out of his own mind by Voldemort. And, most disturbing of all, Sirius, laughing and confident, toppling into the Veil.

Harry blindly followed Dumbledore through the Castle, still in shock, still recovering. Harry's eyes were not seeing the Castle as Harry remembered it, however, the colors were dull, the walls lifeless. The portraits lost their vibrancy, and were relegated to simply being shifting lines on the walls. Harry found that the missing steps and false walls that normally troubled him were rendered obvious. He wondered if that was because Dumbledore was there. Maybe the Castle could read Harry's distracted state and was changing to allow for his easy passing.

It didn't really matter.

Harry soon found himself sitting in Dumbledore's office, but the room was strangely different. Harry vaguely remembered strange whirring and spinning devices; odd reminders that Dumbledore had sensors for magical metrics that Harry couldn't even conceive of. But it was just a dull, possibly brown, desk sitting in the middle of a vaguely L shaped room. The strange lines on the wall that Harry suddenly remembered were the portraits were shifting back and forth, emanating the sort of white noise Harry associated with radios.

After a few minutes, Harry noticed that Dumbledore was looking at him expectantly.

"What? Did you say something, Professor?"

Dumbledore shifted a bit in his seat and peered at Harry from over his half-moon spectacles. "Is there something you wish to say to me?"

Harry frowned. Dumbledore sounded different somehow. His voice lacked the care and concern Harry had always heard before. Harry felt no desire to answer the question. And perhaps most strangely, Harry felt the lack of a twinkle in Dumbledore's eye. Harry quickly looked his Headmaster up and down. Dumbledore's robe no longer sparkled. It was no longer the somehow cheery midnight blue that Harry remembered, but seemed to be a dreary, somber blue that felt more like gray.

"Well?" Dumbledore asked, his voice grating on Harry's nerves.

"What's happening to me, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice sounding raw and ragged, his hands still shaking from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse. "My vision is...off somehow. Things look-"

"Hopeless?" Dumbledore nodded mechanically. "I'm sure they do, my boy. After all, this is what happens when evil flourishes."

"No," Harry said, trying to make the old man understand, "I'm not seeing the way I normally do. I'm-"

"In shock." Dumbledore bridged his fingers and leaned forward. "My boy, you've just undergone a rather horrific shock, and-"

Harry tuned the grating voice out with a stern effort. He wasn't sure how much more of that awful, mechanical voice he could take. He could have sworn that Dumbledore's voice didn't used to sound like that. Harry reached up to rub his eyes.

"Sorry, sir?" Harry stood, "May I leave?"

Dumbledore looked genuinely shocked. "What? Why?"

"I, er, feel a bit off." Harry absently scratched at the back of his head. "I'd rather like to go to bed."

"Harry, I have something I really must tell you, first." Dumbledore looked up at Harry gravely. "I know it's hard, but you must fight through the pain you're feeling."

Was that...sarcasm?

"Sorry, sir, but I really need to go." Harry began to turn.

"No!" Dumbledore's voice rang out commandingly, but Harry felt no desire to stop and turn back. "You will-"

Harry slammed the door behind him, the thudding reverberations vibrating in the silent staircase. He made his way down to the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office. The stone creature immediately leapt aside and Harry continued his uncomprehending journey. As he walked, Harry began trying to take stock of what he was experiencing, but whenever he felt close to an answer, he had another vivid shock of an image; Ron choking, Hermione collapsing, Sirius...falling. Definitely falling. Not dying. Falling.

Harry blinked and found himself standing in front of a frustrated looking Fat Lady.

"I said, 'password'," she said, petulantly jutting out her lower lip.

"Er, right," Harry thought for a second, "Devil's Snare?"

The painting shook her head. "That was yesterday."

Harry groaned. "Look, I've been out for the past few hours, you know me, don't you?"

The Fat Lady folded her arms and steadfastly shook her head. "You know the rules, Harry Potter, no password, no entry!"

Harry sighed and sat down with his back against the wall of the Tower. Someone would come by eventually.

"Why the long face?"

Harry started, before realizing the voice was coming from the portrait. "Um, what?"

"You heard me, boy," she said, not unkindly, "What's got you all out of sorts?"

Where to begin? Harry thought to himself. "Well, someone I really… Honestly, a load of people I really care about are hurt now, because of me."

"Oh, dear, it can't be all that bad!" The Fat Lady clucked her tongue. "They'll be all right, won't they be?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. They were hurt pretty bad." He grit his teeth. "And there's one that I'm damn sure won't be coming back." His eyes began to burn. "All because-"

"They love you, Harry," said a different voice.

Harry looked up. Ginny and Neville were standing in front of the portrait hole, looking a bit scratched up, but not nearly as bad as Harry had been expecting.

"We followed because we trust you, Harry," Ginny continued, with Neville nodding seriously behind her, "We made that choice."

Harry knew he was losing the battle with his tears. "But still, if-if I hadn't-" He felt a warm wetness trail down his cheek.

"No, Harry," Neville stepped in, "If V-Voldemort hadn't."

Harry looked up, stunned. "Did-did you just?"

Neville looked at the ground, then grinned up at Harry. "It's really not all that scary, is it?"

Harry, despite himself, chuckled. A few more tears broke free of his lashes, but he didn't care. "It's really not, Neville." He got up and clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Say, do you happen to know the password?"

It took a surprising amount of time for someone who knew the Gryffindor password to come walking through, and it was well into the wee hours of the morning when they finally got in. Neville had tottered up the stairs almost immediately, saying something about sleeping off his broken nose. Harry was waving Ginny up her own stairs, when he had an idea.

"Hey, Gin, can I talk to you?" he asked.

"Of-of course, Harry," Ginny said, a small tremor in her voice. She walked back to one of the rich couches, in front of the dying fireplace. When he was sitting next to her, she asked, "What's up?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. This was the problem with ideas in the heat of the moment. "Er," he began, "D'you remember your first year much?"

Ginny frowned and looked away. "No." After a moment, she looked back over, and her face softened a bit. "Rather, I try not to."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry to ask you this, after all what's happened, but something… happened to me tonight, and you're the only person who might understand."

Ginny looked up sharply. "What did he do?"

Harry took a deep breath. "He possessed me."

Ginny gasped and put a hand on Harry's arm. "Oh no! I'm so sorry."

Harry nodded and his eyes scrunched at the memory. "I… couldn't control myself. My voice spoke without my permission. It said," he shook his head spasmodically, "terrible things. I said terrible things."

Ginny inched closer on the couch and her grip tightened.

"And the pain," Harry whispered, "The pain was too much. My whole body was… on fire. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream, I couldn't even blink."

Ginny squeezed his shoulder and rested her other hand on his forearm.

"Finally, I was able to throw him out." Harry sighed and noticed her closeness for the first time. "I-" He blinked. "Um, it was, uh, only through my thoughts of, er, my friends, that, uh, I could get rid of, er, him."

"Blimey, that's awful, Harry," Ginny said, her eyes large and soft, "I was never, erm," she turned and looked at the rug on the floor, "Fully awake when he possessed me."

Harry nodded. "The thing I need to ask you about is sort of… after that part." He squinted and scrunched his mouth over to one side. "When you woke up, did you see things the same?"

Ginny looked back and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Harry began, but faltered. How to say it? The colors were still muted. Ginny's normally fiery hair was a dim sort of maroon. The almost garish colors of the Common Room were dull and subtle. "See, everything's sort of… dim… now."

Ginny tilted her head, the frown deepening slightly.

"See, er," Harry glanced around, "Look at that tapestry."

Ginny looked over where he was pointing. The tapestry depicted a golden lion proudly roaring on a field of scarlet. The enchantment on it made it forever swaying on an imperceptible breeze. "I see it," she said, nodding.

Harry nodded. "I know what color it is. I remember what color it is." He paused, and she looked back at him. "But I don't see that color now."

Ginny's concerned frown was back. "What do you see?"

Harry shrugged. "There's no color in it. Well," he amended, "Very little. It's sort of like the color of those dingy yellow plates your mom reserves for special company."

Ginny tilted her head.

"Oh! Before she washes them!" Harry clarified.

Ginny nodded in understanding, then looked back at the tapestry. The lion was as proud and golden as ever. "That's not good." She looked back. "Have you talked to Madam Pomfrey?"

Harry shook his head. "I went to Dumbledore's office right after, and then came straight here. Did you," he took a breath, "Did you ever see anything differently after coming out of possession?"

Ginny's mouth dropped slightly. "Oh. I see." She thought for a second. "I don't think so. I just sort of… was somewhere. It was really eerie, actually." She frowned. "Wait." She snapped her fingers. "In the Chamber! It was only for a moment before I passed out, but I remember a brief glimpse of you stabbing that awful book with some sort of tooth. I remember because the book was a totally different color, almost gray, and your skin looked really ashy and gaunt."

Harry frowned. "So maybe this whole thing has something to do with the aftereffects of possession." He looked over at Ginny. "I don't suppose there's a book about this."

Ginny shrugged. "I just didn't want to remember anything, so I haven't looked into it at all." She shifted a bit, so that she and Harry's legs were touching. "Why the interest?"

Harry, noticing the contact, sputtered, "Um, well, see, I was in, er, Dumbledore's office." He cleared his throat. "And, um, you know how Dumbledore always sounds so encouraging and, well, genuine?"

Ginny glared playfully at Harry. "The most I've ever heard him is at dinners, giving speeches." She smacked him lightly on the arm. "You're the only student I know who's ever had more than a one word conversation with the guy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "But you know that tone his voice has, right? That grandfatherly tone?"

Ginny nodded. "Sure, go on."

Harry sighed. "It was gone. He sounded… mechanical. Sarcastic. His voice made me shudder." Harry looked towards the opposite wall. "It made me want to both run away and curse him into oblivion. It was," he looked back, "Scary."

Ginny's hand slid into his own, and she squeezed it reassuringly. "You're probably just in shock. Do I sound terrifying?"

Harry glanced down at her. "No. Not at all, you sound just the same, actually."

Ginny shrugged. "Sleep it off, Potter. You'll be fine in the morning."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "I hope so. I really hope so." He smirked. "Gray is such a boring color."

Ginny's eyebrow quirked up. "Was that humor? From you?"

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? I'm in a weird mood."

Ginny rested her head on Harry's shoulder and snuggled against it. "I like your weird mood."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny's eyes closed and soon she was breathing deeply and slowly. Asleep.

Harry sighed mentally. He had really been looking forward to his bed tonight. Steeling himself in for a short, uncomfortable sleep, Harry closed his eyes.

"Oi! Potter! Wake up!"

Harry was wrenched from his nightmare and blinked into a bleary consciousness. A frowning Dean Thomas was glaring down at him. Harry looked over and Ginny was similarly waking up, rubbing the weariness from her eyes. Harry quickly glanced around the room that was, mercifully, devoid of Ron. Harry sighed. It looked bad all right. He frowned. Wait. Why did Dean care?

Harry looked up at his classmate. "What's up, Dean?"

"Now look here, you bloody-"

"Dean!" Ginny cut in, "What the bloody hell are you doing?!"

Dean gestured angrily at Harry. "Everyone bloody well knows, in my dorm, that I've got," he faltered, "Er, that I'm, um, interested in you."

"And you think the best way to go about it is to scream at my friend, in the middle of the Common Room?!" Ginny flared, standing up.

Dean took a step back. "Er, well, he bloody well knows better."

"Really?" Ginny asked, sneering like a pro at the terrified boy, "You really think that Harry Bloody Potter gives any part of a shit about whose pants you're trying to get into?"

The Common Room was starting to fill, and snickers were starting to become apparent. Dean glanced manically around, looking for any sort of respite from the red-head in front of him. "Er, well, you know, it's sort of a man, er, thing." His back bumped against the wall of the Common Room.

"You'd think," Ginny said slowly, skewering Dean with her eyes, "That to be worthy of a 'man-thing' as you so eloquently describe it, both parties would have to be men." She looked Dean up and down. "Sorry to say, but I've found you wanting, Mr Thomas."

There was a low hum of laughter around the Room.

"You bloody tart!" exclaimed the red-faced Dean, "You bloody said-"

"And now I don't," Ginny replied bitingly, "And I'll thank you to leave me and mine alone."

She turned and stalked out of the Common Room. Harry slowly stood and glanced at the shell-shocked and white-faced Dean. The silence was palpable, and Harry slowly made his way out of the room. He tried to send a comforting look at Dean, but the boy was too busy staring at the floor. Harry made it out of the portrait hole and wandered down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Ginny was already there, angrily tearing into a piece of toast.

Harry sat next to her in silence, not wanting her fury to be unleashed on him. After her voracious tearing of food became less terrifying, Harry said, "Sorry about that."

Ginny tossed her head, sending a long strand of red hair over her shoulder. "It's not you, Harry." She took a deep breath. "Maybe I'll tell you sometime." She glanced at him saucily. "Then again, maybe I won't."

Harry laughed, and a tightness he hadn't noticed in his stomach melted away. "I'm not sure I want to know, honestly. I'll take Voldemort over an angry Ginny any day."

Ginny's cheeks went a little pink, but she seemed mollified as she continued eating her breakfast.

Harry didn't eat much, but he ate what he could at Ginny's behest. He knew it wasn't enough, but after a while, the tightness returned to his stomach and he couldn't bring himself to eat anything more. Soon enough, Harry got up and left the Great Hall. Ginny offered to leave her half-full plate of delicious breakfast, but Harry urged her to stay and eat. He wanted to clear his head.

"Going somewhere, Potter?" snarled a most unwelcome voice, just as Harry passed by the staircase just outside the Great Hall.

Harry turned and glared at Draco Malfoy. "As a matter of fact, Draco, I'm going to the hospital wing."

Draco adopted a faux-pitiful face. "Oh, is poor ickle Potty feeling sick?" Crabbe and Goyle, sounding like gravel in a cement mixer, chuckled approvingly.

"Actually, Malfoy," Harry returned, "I'm going to check on my friends, to see how they're faring after we defeated your father."

Malfoy paled. "You didn't. You can't go off school grounds. You're lying!"

Harry shrugged and kept walking. "Believe what you want, Malfoy, but you won't need to tell your father about this." He glanced back. "He already knows."

Harry was hard-pressed to hold in his crowing laughter as he heard Malfoy's rage fade into the Great Hall. Harry's good mood carried him through the castle, as he easily made his way to the Hospital Wing. When he walked in, however, and saw Ron and Hermione laid up in beds, seemingly unconsciousness, his lightness faded back into a nervous tightness in his stomach. Harry walked up to Ron's bed and was taking in the fiery wheals that the brains had left when Madam Pomfrey walked up.

"Sort of reversed, isn't it Harry?" the matron asked, "Usually you're in the bed, and they're here to see you."

Harry's lips twitched at the attempt at levity, but it did little for him in the face of their comatose faces. "Will they be all right?"

Madam Pomfrey grew serious. "Ron will be right as rain in a few days. Hermione, though, is a bit trickier."

Harry glanced over at the nurse. "How d'you mean?"

"See, she was hit by a rather nasty little Dark curse," Madam Pomfrey explained, "And Dark curses have a particularly insidious side to them that, especially compounded with the severity of the curse in question, makes it...difficult to simply bounce back from."

Harry frowned. "Is there anything I can do?"

Madam Pomfrey considered the question. "You know what? It may do some good for her to see you. Here," she lifted her wand and pointed it at the comatose girl, "Ennervate."

Hermione's eyelids flickered, and her lips pursed. Some sort of gurgling sounded from her closed mouth. Harry moved forward and took her hand, softly stroking her knuckle with his thumb. "Hey, Hermione? You there?"

The girl stirred and seemed to be struggling with something. Harry squeezed her hand and kept muttering encouragement.

Finally, her eyelids opened, and Harry had never been happier to see her soft, brown eyes. "Hey there, Hermione, welcome back."

Madam Pomfrey quickly disappeared, giving the two some time alone.

Hermione smiled groggily up at Harry. "Mmmm, hey yourself." She winced. "Ooh, that burns." She placed a hand on her stomach. "Oh, right. The curse."

Harry grimaced. "Are you ok, should I get-"

"It's fine, Harry," Hermione said, trying to sit up a bit more, "I'm all right."

Harry finally let himself grin. "Brilliant. I've been really worried."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm in the safest place in all of England, Harry."

"Er, you didn't see..." Harry trailed off, "You didn't see yourself get hit. It was," he paused, "Worrying."

Hermione thought for a second. "I guess you're right. Sorry to worry you, Harry." She smiled apologetically.

"Oh, no," Harry said, "Worry me all you want if it means that you're all right."

Hermione just smiled in return and squeezed his hand.

They stood that way for a while, simple contact being more than sufficient in terms of communication. Harry glanced out of the window and onto the grounds. It was oddly surreal to see them blithely exist, as if nothing was different, as if everything was exactly the same as it had been yesterday. Well, maybe for the Lake and the Forest, things were the same. For Harry, however, things couldn't be more different.

There was something about the soft warmth of Hermione's hand that made Harry feel that things were all right again, that what happened last night was just a dream. Looking over the grounds, feeling that warmth, and after his conversation with Ginny, Harry was hard pressed to allow himself to feel the pain he knew was just hardly in the background. Finally, in this place of peace and rest, Harry allowed himself to think the sentence he had been avoiding all night.

Sirius was dead.

Just three simple words, but three words that had the potential to make Harry completely unravel.

Perhaps Hermione felt his hand begin to shake, because she said, "What is it, Harry?"

Harry looked back down to her smiling face, and his eyes caught a look of the bandages that covered her new scar. Reality came crashing down, and Harry felt a burning wetness streaking down his face. "Sirius is dead."

Hermione squeezed his hand in shock, and her eyes widened. "No..." she trailed off, "That...can't..."

Harry squeezed back, unable to process the words that would make the situation better.

"He was always so..." Hermione's voice was trembling, "He just..."

"I know," managed Harry, his voice threatening to break, "It doesn't seem possible."

Hermione looked up at Harry, concern beginning to flood her eyes. "Harry, are you-?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I probably will be." Harry looked away, over the grounds again. "Neville said something last night that I needed to hear."

"What?" asked Hermione.

"He said that it wasn't my fault." Harry's voice trembled violently as he looked down at the ground. "He-he said that it w-was that...monster's." Harry's hand clenched, and Hermione's little cry went unheeded. "Voldemort. It's all his fault!" Harry snarled.

Suddenly, accompanying Harry's rush of anger, all the color that Harry's eyes had been missing came rushing back. Hermione's hair was a rich brown, and the bedsheets were a clinical off-white. Outside, the grounds exploded into lush color, vibrant almost to the point of pain, and Harry was forced to blink rapidly for several moments.

"Harry?"asked Hermione, startled, "Are you all right?"

Harry looked around at all of the glorious color returning to his vision, and nodded quickly. "Something happened last night, Hermione, something...else."

"Oh?" she asked tentatively, "What, er, was that?"

"Voldemort..." Harry began, "He, er..." He took a breath to steel himself. "He possessed me."

Hermione's mouth dropped, and her face went white. "What?"

Harry nodded slowly before turning to look at her. He squeezed her hand. "Yeah. He took me over and...demanded that Dumbledore kill me."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed impotently.

"Yeah," Harry continued, "It was, er, pretty terrible."

Hermione nodded silently, and stared into Harry's eyes. After a moment, a loud snore from Ron broke the tension, and they both laughed.

"Anyway," Harry said, chuckling, "When I got back here, I noticed that my vision had gone all wonky like. I couldn't really see color or anything."

Hermione frowned, and Harry could see that her mind was busy churning all of the data that she could.

"Also, Dumbledore sounded different." Harry frowned. "He was sarcastic and almost mean. His voice really ground on my nerves and I couldn't stand being in the same room with him."

Hermione nodded slowly, her mind still whirring and spinning.

"So," Harry concluded, "I'm having trouble thinking what that could have been."

There was a pause, and Harry could almost smell Hermione's hair beginning to smolder from her brain's work.

"Nothing," said Hermione, as if she herself couldn't believe it, "I've actually got nothing." She looked up at Harry and squeezed his hand. "I've never heard of anything like it." She pursed her lips. "But you know who might?"

Harry shook his head.

"You're not going to like it," Hermione said reprovingly.

Harry shrugged. "Better than nothing, isn't it?"

Hermione made a small, snorting sound. "I'm not sure you'll think it is." She frowned. "Don't fly off the handle at this, Harry."

Harry sighed in exasperation. "Bloody hell, Hermione, what is it?"

Hermione said in a decidedly timid voice, "You should talk to Professor Snape."

Harry's eyes flared. "No! No way!" His teeth ground against each other and he released Hermione's hand. "That bastard taunted Sirius about staying home all the time. I'll bet he's part of the reason Sirius was so ready to dash off to help us."

Hermione tut-tutted. "I told you not to fly off the handle."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I didn't think you'd gone mental, Hermione."

"Hey!" Hermione exclaimed, "It's a rational choice! He knows the most about mental magic, aside from Dumbledore, and you don't exactly have a lot of people to turn to, do you?"

Harry frowned. "Still, that overblown bat as good as killed Sirius. I can't rightly forget that."

Hermione sighed. "Neville said it best, Harry. Voldemort killed Sirius, no one else."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but found that words failed him. After sputtering for a second or two, Harry fell silent.

"Now, I'm not saying you have to go, Harry," Hermione continued, "I'm just saying that he's your best option to go to."

"I'll..." Harry sighed, "I'll think about it."

Hermione brightened. "That's all I wanted." She slumped back against her pillows. "Now let me sleep, Harry, I'm getting tired."

Harry nodded, gave her hand a final squeeze, and left the Hospital Wing. He had a lot to think about.

Harry spent the next week trying his best to enjoy the time away from class, and, ostensibly, responsibility, but free time was alternately wonderful and torturous. When Harry was able to spend time in the company of friends, time went wonderfully. Ron got out the Hospital Wing in the first few days and Hermione was allowed to leave for a few hours at a time, provided she stayed close to the Wing. The trio spent their time trying to enjoy being alive, rather than focus on the sadness of death. Harry was particularly stringent with this, as the more he thought about it, he knew with more and more surety that Sirius would not want his loved ones regretting his passing. Rather, Harry knew that his godfather would want those he left behind to enjoy life and remember the good times.

When Harry was alone, however, things were very different. The depressing and heavy thoughts that friends removed returned in full force to weigh Harry down, and pull him down into a spiral of guilt and self-doubt. Try as he might to hold Neville's admonition in the forefront of his mind, Harry felt himself increasingly unable to hold out against the onslaught of negativity. As a result, when Ron was asleep, and Hermione was in the Wing for the night, Harry would often abscond to the Room of Requirement, or the Prefect's Bathroom, to either lose himself in whatever luxury the Room would offer, or the mind-melting warmth of the bath.

The day before all of the students were scheduled to return to their homes, Hermione was officially released from the Wing, and the trio were celebrating with butterbeers by the Black Lake. The sun was out, and a soft breeze ensured that the day would not become hot. Other students were seen in group lounging here and there, trying to relish the last moments of camaraderie before a summer of separation.

After a few minutes of talking about nothing, Hermione turned and addressed Harry. "Have you thought any more about seeing Professor Snape?"

Ron frowned. "What? Why would Harry willingly talk to that slimy git?"

Hermione gave him a frown, but did not say anything.

"Er, I have," Harry said, receiving a puzzled look from Ron, "I was sort of putting it off, though."

"Well, this is the last day," Hermione said, looking away from Harry, "You might as well do it now."

"Wait, hold on!" exclaimed Ron, "What's all this? Did something happen?"

Hermione frowned at Harry. "You didn't tell him?"

Harry shrugged. "It didn't seem important."

"What?!" burst out Hermione, "It was the second we talked about! How is that not important?"

"I dunno," said Harry, feeling worse and worse, "It never came up."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" asked Ron indignantly.

"I told you how Voldemort possessed me, right?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded.

"Well, when I got back to myself, the color in my vision was gone." Harry stared at the grass in front of them. "And Dumbledore didn't sound like himself. It was weird." Harry shrugged. "So, I told Hermione about it and she said I should talk to Snape."

"Wait," ventured Ron, "Do you still see that way?"

Harry shook his head. "It all came rushing back to me while I was talking to Hermione. Actually, that's what reminded me to tell her about it."

Ron frowned. "Why Snape, though?"

"He knows the most about mind magics," explained Hermione, "And based on what Harry said, I don't think he should talk to Professor Dumbledore any time soon."

Ron nodded slowly. "It's just Snape, though. That git probably wouldn't even help Harry in the first place."

Hermione shook her head. "He's part of the Order. Dumbledore trusts him. It'll be fine."

Ron shrugged. "If his vision is fine, I don't see why it matters, anyway."

Harry broke in, "It matters because Voldemort may possess me again."

There was a short, awkward silence, punctuated by a stifled cough from Ron.

"Right," said Harry, "I'll be off then." He stood and nodded to his friends. "Wish me luck, then."

Ron and Hermione nodded and waved as Harry left.

Harry made his way slowly to Snape's dungeon. Harry mused that the last time he had come here willingly was to steal potion ingredients, way back in second year. As he descended into the castle's depths, Harry's steps became more and more forced, and his sense of dread mounted with each one. The potions classroom, and Snape's adjoining office, were definitely not what Harry would consider as places containing happy memories, but his reason for coming here was more important than that, and so Harry trudged on. Rather later than Harry expected, but sooner than he felt prepared for, Harry found himself in front of Snape's door.

Harry knocked.

"Yes?" came the slow, methodical voice on the other side.

"Er, Professor?" Harry faltered. "I, um, have something to ask you."

"Potter?" came the surprised reply, "What business have you with me?"

Harry looked this way and that, up and down the corridor he was standing in. "It's a rather private matter, Professor."

Harry heard footsteps and soon the door opened. Snape was clad, as ever, in black robes that covered his whole body. He had, however, donned dragon-hide gloves, and these were smeared with the innards of some no-doubt unfortunate creature.

"Yes, Mr Potter?" Snape sneered.

"May I come in, Professor?" Harry asked, trying his best to keep his voice level. Snape's voice just got right under Harry's skin, and somehow Harry being here voluntarily made it all the less bearable.

"Please," said Snape dryly, stepping back into his office, and opening the door a bit more. When Harry was sitting in a rather spindly, wooden chair, Snape alighted in his plush, leather chair on the other side of his desk.

Harry hardly had time to take in the creepy potion ingredients scattered around the room before Snape had removed his gloves and folded his arms across his chest. "Now, Mr Potter, what is this personal matter you wish to discuss?"

Harry sighed. "At the Ministry, Voldemort possessed me."

Snape remained stone-faced. "A standard power of his. Continue."

Harry nodded. "I threw him out, after a time-"

Snape blinked. "What?" Snape frowned. "You simply 'threw out' the Dark Lord, the most powerful Legilimens in the past millennium?"

"Er, yes," Harry said.

Snape's frown deepened. "Go on."

"Well, when I came back to myself," Harry continued, "Everything was sort of...muted, like it lost some of the color it had."

Snape steepled his fingers. "Fascinating. Did you notice anything else?"

"Er, well," Harry thought back, "The portraits in the castle weren't proper paintings any more. Just sort of wonky lines."

Snape tilted his head, and leaned forward. "Tell me, boy, what did Dumbledore sound like to you?"

Harry blinked. "That was the strangest part, actually, Dumbledore sounded grating and mechanical. Even sarcastic." He shook his head. "It was really unnerving." He looked at Snape. "How did you know?"

Snape leaned back into his chair, further than he had at the beginning of the conversation, and slowly shook his head. "Oh, Potter, Potter, Potter." He took a deep breath and let it out. "Potter, you have bumbled into one of the most powerful magical abilities in existence."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"You, somehow, have attained Greysight," Snape explained, "Something that I had to work at for the better part of a lifetime."

Harry blinked. "What's Greysight?"

"The ultimate goal in Occlumency, and a treasure your little mind could not possibly comprehend," snarled Snape, "Such a lamentable waste that you would manifest it."

Harry clenched his fist in rage, but remembered that he needed the information Snape inevitably had, and so Harry took a deep breath and cooled his anger. "What can you tell me about this Greysight, sir?" Harry asked.

Snape looked surprised for a moment before recovering. "Strange. I would have expected you to fly of the handle, as you do so abysmally often." He gave Harry a searching look. "I suppose you deserve a bit of explanation. First," he stared intently into Harry's eyes, "I will-" Snape jerked back in surprise. "What? Why can I see your thoughts?" He glared at Harry. "Are you playing me false, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Er, all of the colors came back to me the next day."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Tell me what happened."

"I was talking with Hermione, in the Hospital Wing," Harry said, "And I was telling her about Sirius, er, dying, and I told her that it was all Voldemort's fault." Harry paused, remembering, then said, "And I got really angry, that's it, and all the color came back."

Snape's pale fingers went even paler as he gripped the desk. "You lost the Greysight?" He shook his head. "You're a bigger fool than I would have thought possible."

"Hey!" said Harry, "I didn't know what it was! I didn't mean to 'lose it,' though I was relieved that my eyes were still all right."

Snape sighed. "You are an enigma, Mr Potter." He folded his hands together. "Tell me. Do you wish to regain Greysight?"

Harry frowned. "I don't know. What does it do, exactly?"

"As I said, it's the ultimate level of Occlumency," Snape said, as if to a child, "It's how I am able to lie to Voldemort."

Harry nodded. "I see."

Snape shook his head. "It also renders any magical attempt to influence your emotions quite harmless. That's why you did not see the portraits as you do now."

Harry tilted his head.

"Portraits are imbued with the emotion of those who painted them," Snape explained condescendingly, "And so they seek to impart that emotion onto the viewer. Incidentally," Snape continued, "I'm sure that even you have realized what happened in Dumbledore's office."

Harry shook his head, bracing himself for the scorn that was sure to follow.

"Incredible, truly, how dense you are, Potter," sighed Snape, "You finally heard Albus without all of the magical filters on his voice, and person. In a way," he leaned forward, "You had your first real conversation with Albus just last night."

Harry gaped. "But-but he sounded-"

"Awful?" suggested Snape, "Annoying? Depressingly condescending? Bitterly sarcastic?"

Harry nodded.

"That's because it matters little how Albus actually sounds," said Snape, "Since his magic ensures that he sounds precisely how he wants to."

Harry paused, thinking. "Wait. You said that you can do Greysight, right?"

Snape nodded.

"So, you've always heard Dumbledore like that?" asked Harry.

"Heavens no, boy," Snape said, "I only achieved Greysight a little over a decade ago, long after I had sworn myself to Dumbledore."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, sir."

Snape began staring at Harry intently again. "Do you wish to try and regain Greysight, Mr Potter?"

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Should you succeed, Mr Potter," Snape explained, "I warn you that you will be hard pressed to follow Albus for much longer."

"How do you follow him?" Harry asked.

"The alternative is, for me, impossible," said Snape. "Serving Voldemort is...unacceptable, and simply leaving the castle and avoiding the headmaster is...infeasible."

Harry nodded. "Honestly, if Dumbledore really is this terrible, it makes your turning traitor a bit-"

"Never finish that sentence." Snape's voice was cold. "There may be no good side to fight for, but betraying the Dark Lord was by far the most correct decision of my life."

Harry tilted his head. "Why did you turn on him?"

Snape sighed. "I learned a terrible truth." After a pregnant pause, Snape continued, "I learned that the Dark Lord had no intention of winning his war on the Ministry, and all of magical Britain."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "What?!"

"How much do you know about the Dark Mark, Mr Potter?" Snape asked with bitter smile on his face.

"Er, not much," admitted Harry, "I know that it summons his followers, but that's about it."

"It does that," nodded Snape, "But there is another dimension to the magic; a dimension that I could not abide." Snape leaned forward and spread his hands out. "You see, Mr Potter, Voldemort attached a sort of connection to his Mark. It is a one way transfer of power upon death."

"What?" Harry asked.

"When a Death Eater dies, a part of his power is magically added to Voldemort's own core," explained Snape, drawing a line with a finger on the desk. "Tom Riddle was, by all accounts, an extremely powerful wizard. The Dark Lord is an impossibly powerful wizard."

Harry frowned. "So every Death Eater dying is another burst of power for Voldemort?"

Snape nodded. "It was in his personal best interest to continue the war as long as possible, to accrue the highest amount of losses on both sides, to ensure the highest possible chance for victory." Snape sighed. "In short, any continuation of the war was a lose-lose for everyone, including his followers."

"So, you left," Harry finished.

"So, I left," Snape agreed, "And in order to cut the war short, I had to make the hardest decision of my entire life. I turned Voldemort on your parents."

Harry blanched. "Why?"

"I knew from the prophecy that you were the best chance for the Dark Lord to be destroyed," Snape said, shaking his head, "I told Dumbledore what I knew, and we hatched a plan. Dumbledore orchestrated everything, from your mother's protection to making Wormtail the Secret-Keeper-"

"You knew he was a traitor?" interrupted Harry, "Why didn't they expose him?"

"A known spy is never a threat," Snape explained condescendingly, "And very often a powerful tool."

Harry thought about that for a moment, then nodded.

"Anyway," Snape went on, "The rest, as they say, is history. You caused Voldemort to be removed from the world for at least a time, and Dumbledore was able to make great use of that time; to worm his way onto every important council in Britain, and most outside of Britain as well. To consolidate his power as the Light Lord, to the Dark Lord's, well, Dark."

Harry nodded slowly, his mind swimming with everything Snape was saying. This was something else, all right.

"So, as you can see, Mr Potter," Snape drawled, "There is no right side. Both are controlled by a power hungry ego-maniac. The Light offers better mortality rates, although only just." Snape leaned forward. "Now, let's try and get your Greysight back."

AN: Phew, hell of a lot of dialogue there, but the core ideas I'll be discussing are there. Let me know what you think! Let me know if you're confused! I'll be answering *good* questions in the beginning of other chapters. Thanks!