Man. Feels like a short enternity since I've written any fic. Yet here I am, offering this WIP. It began as a oneshot and sort of blew out of control. So we'll see how long it takes to finish. Reviews and concrit, yeah? Enjoy.

This universe, the Marauder's Map, and Severus Snape all belong to people who aren't me. Sorry.

Lighting the tip of his wand with a silent Lumos, Harry glanced again at the Marauder's Map. He'd taken to studying the bit of parchment in the evenings following the final battle. Given the unfounded need to protect everyone around him that had festered during Voldemort's reign of fear, Harry merely passed up this latest obsession as a paranoia. The map was his promise to everyone (and himself) that things were as they should be, that solace had indeed been granted.

As usual, Harry started with the dungeons. The illustrated hallways were often blank, save for the occasional flashing of a flag reading Severus Snape flitting about the parchment. Tonight, however, Snape couldn't be found in the corridors. Instead, Harry spied his professor in his private chambers, painstakingly pacing the perimeter of the room.

This is not good Harry thought worriedly. Snape did not pace. That had always been Dumbledore's occupation. Without much conviction, Harry hurriedly pulled on his trainers and a jumper before racing down to the dungeons, his eyes on the map all the while.

The dungeons were silent, though that was all to be expected, considering this was Snape's domain. During the war, Harry and the potions master had invariably been thrown together, forced to forge some type of working relationship. While they were hardly what one would call friends, they were certainly on more amicable terms than they'd been in Harry's early years at Hogwarts.

Stopping outside Snape's quarters, Harry glanced down the corridor before rapping his knuckles sharply against the dark wood. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed the door open, steeling himself for the older man's scathing remarks that surely awaited him.

But of course, he was not prepared.

The sitting room – which Harry had made a point of visiting during wartime – had been torn apart. Books lie on the floor, their pages strewn about the carpet. Furniture had been upturned, and ash and soot had been tracked into the sitting room, suggesting a hasty return by floo.

Harry glanced around the dimly lit room for any sign of his professor. Another quick glance at the map showed him that Snape had moved into his bedroom. The little animated flag was still, and Harry wondered if the potions master had gone to bed. His curiosity besting him, he slowly made his way across the sitting room to Snape's bedroom door. Taking a calming breath, Harry gently rapped his knuckles against the door.

"Professor?" he called out timidly. In the room, Harry could hear something solid (a chair, maybe) being introduced, rather roughly, to the wall. Perhaps he should change tactics. "Severus," he said sternly. "Open this door or, so help me God, I'll break it down."

For a moment, there was only silence, and then, "You wouldn't dare, Potter."

Harry scoffed loudly. "Try me."

He could sense Snape's hesitation, and he had only just decided to go back to bed when the door was thrown open. Snape leaned himself against the doorframe, looking much worse than usual. His hair was completely limp, falling in greasy tendrils around his face. His skin was tinged yellow, and dark circles colored underneath his bleary eyes. "What do you want, Potter. And how the bloody hell did you get in here?"

Smirking at his success, Harry held up the map. "You were exhibiting some rather odd behavior. Decided I needed to make sure you weren't doing anything stupid."

"How sweet," Snape sneered. "I've got a Gryffindor looking out for me." The verbal jab wasn't nearly as harsh as usual, and that, more than anything, had Harry worried.

"Severus," Harry said tentatively, ignoring his professor's scowl. "What's going on?"

"None of your bloody business, Potter," Snape hissed. "You shouldn't even be out of bed at this time of night. Get back to you dorm immediately, and maybe I'll generously take only a hundred House –"

"Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on here!"

The two stared at each other, breathing heavily.

"Language, Mister Potter," Snape reprimanded tetchily.

Harry could have screamed in frustration. Snape moved to shut his door, but Harry stepped forward, lodging it open with his shoulder.

"Potter – "

"I am not going anywhere, until you tell me where you were tonight, and why it's got you all worked up." He glared up at his professor's sallow face, before his gaze drifted to Snape's left arm, which was cradled gently against his chest. It took Harry a moment to realize that the dark spot on the black sleeve was blood. "Oh, God."

Snape followed Harry's gaze, jerking his left side away from his line of vision. "Just go, Potter." But Harry clearly had other ideas.

"Fucking moron," Harry hissed before pushing Snape through the doorway and steering him toward the large bed. Gingerly, he pushed the dark sleeve up the injured arm, gasping when he was met with the wound. Where the Dark Mark once marred the pristine skin of Snape's forearm, there was now a bloody mess of torn flesh, as though someone had tried to remove the tattoo with, from the look of it, a very sharp blade.

"Oh God," Harry repeated in a hushed voice. "What did you do?" He braved a glance up to meet Snape's dark eyes, which were expectedly glaring back at him.

"What makes you think I did anything?" Snape questioned, his own voice surprisingly soft.

"Well, I…"

Snape sighed quietly. "Since you seem so intent on prying into my personal matters, I see no point in keeping the truth from you." He winced down at his arm, moving to stand up. "However, I would like to tend to this before anything else. Please wait for me in the sitting room; this should only take a moment."

"Do you want me to help?" Harry offered.

The potions master shook his head. "Mister Potter, I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." With that, he stalked off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Scratching his left forearm absently, Harry stood and went back out into the sitting room. After clearing some scattered pages from the sofa, he took a seat, and waited for his professor to return.

The fragile silence that seemed to descend upon him as he sat inevitably drew Harry into his thoughts. He remembered two months prior, just hours before the order had launched its attack on Voldemort and his followers.

He just couldn't stand it any longer. It was Harry, after all, that the prophecy claimed would bring down Voldemort, and yet the Order insisted in keeping him out of their plans. Harry's preparatory lessons in Defense had yet to resume, and he knew that should the time come, he would not be able to defeat the Dark Lord.

So he had been left behind while the Order went out to launch yet another attack. Ron and Hermione were probably in the sitting room downstairs, making idle chitchat with the man who'd been assigned as caretaker.

Severus Snape certainly didn't appreciate being cooped up in a poor excuse for a house with three teenagers. But between that and the opportunity to be reunited with the countless Death Eaters who'd love nothing more than to destroy him, his choice was fairly obvious. Then again, with Harry shut away in his room, his job was considerably easier.

"Excuse me, Professor?" Snape glanced up at the sound of the young girl's voice. "I think it would be prudent of you, sir, to check on Harry. He's been awfully quiet all day."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Any particular reason, Miss Granger, that Mister Weasley or yourself could not check on him?"

Hermione blanched, and hastened to reply. "But sir, he's not been speaking to us since we arrived. If you just –"

"Very well, Miss Granger." Snape sighed tiredly, and slowly got to his feet. Leaving the pair in the sitting room, he made his way up the stairs, stopping on the landing in front of Harry's closed door. A million different scenarios of how this could turn out flashed into Snape's head before he found himself knocking on the door and calling out softly, "Mister Potter."

A few tense moments passed, and Snape was just about to go back to the awkward conversations the other two teenagers offered when the door was thrown open. Harry stood to the side, clearly expecting Snape to come in for a bit of a chat. The room was small, bordering on uncomfortable, with clothes and Harry's school things carelessly strewn about the floor.

Lifting his gaze, Snape met the fiery emerald eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived. "What can I do for you, Sir?" the boy spat, disdain emphasizing the title. "Have you come for a reassuring chat with the morose teenager, or have my so-called friends sent you up here to be sure I've not done anything…stupid?" The barely-masked contempt coloring Harry's words stung the professor, and he didn't bother to reign in his sudden frustration.

"Don't be such a twat, Mister Potter," Snape chided. As he'd hoped, the venom in his voice was enough to startle the arrogant little prick. Slowly, he took a few steps forward until he was looming over his student. "As fact would have it," he said lowly, "I am certainly not here of my own accord. Your friends are concerned about your recent behavior, and thought me the best person to figure out what's wrong with you. So," he paused long enough to shove Harry into the nearest chair, "speak." Harry scowled up at the older man, muttering a string of curses. Smirking, Snape took the chair opposite, and settled himself to hear whatever teenage drama was troubling the boy.

"You can't make me tell you anything, Snape," Harry hissed.

Snape chuckled. "You've forgotten, Potter, that I am a rather skilled Legilimens. And unless you've suddenly taken to practicing your Occlumency, you've no way to keep me out."

Harry's eyes widened, the defiance visible on his features. "You can't do that!"

"On the contrary, Potter," Snape commented nonchalantly. "If you refuse to tell me yourself, then I'm left no choice but to go through your mind. The safety of the wizarding world may depend on it."

Harry scoffed loudly, nearly startling his professor. "The safety of the wizarding world depends on me? I think not, Snape." He got to his feet and began to pace. "I've got no idea what's going on out there," he gestured towards his open window, "and I've got no idea how it is you all expect me to defeat Voldemort." Stopping in front of the older man, he leaned down until their noses were almost touching. "Surely you, of all people, believe me when I say that there is no hope for the wizarding world. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Will-Save-Us-All, is a lie." With a last glare, Harry stepped back, returning to his chair with a defeated slump.

"You're being selfish, you stupid boy," Snape stated quietly after a few moments. This earned him a bitter laugh from his student. "An entire population is depending on you for their lives, and you are moaning because, what, people are trying to make sure you don't die beforehand? Suck it up, Potter." Harry glared at his professor, opening his mouth for a scathing retort, only to be cut off by the older man. "Harry," he said almost gently, "you must understand that we've all got a part to play. You are the savior, the only one with the power to destroy the threat to our world. Dumbledore is our –" Snape paused to let out an ironic snort, "-coordinator. And I –"

"And you," Harry interrupted, "are the selfless spy, who sacrifices everything in the hope that he can be useful, and who will most likely go unrecognized when all is said and done." Harry's voice was flat and cold, his glare hardening as Snape merely smirked coolly at him.

"Do you," the potions master began, rising from his seat, "truly believe that your insolence is an asset? That it will, some day, become beneficial to you? Well," he paused, standing just in front of Harry, his arms crossed behind his back, "I shall not hesitate to warn you that –"

The rest of Snape's warning was lost to the high-pitched shriek of a teakettle in the kitchen. The older man tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as a small smile found its way onto his thin lips.

"That's your cue, Potter."

Harry glanced around, dazed, as Snape began to move into the hallway. "What? What do you –"

"That!" Snape yelled impatiently, gesturing towards the stairwell. "That is the signal we've been waiting for. You and I are to Apparate to Godric's Hollow, where you will undoubtedly fulfill that bloody prophecy." Harry took a few steps forward, his face screwed up in an odd mixture of confusion and terror.

"But I can't do it, Professor. I'm not ready."

Snape smiled grimly. "Well you haven't really got a choice, have you?"

Not allowing Harry another moment of indignation, Snape had dragged him past the newly erected wards and Apparated them both to Godric's Hollow. The battle scene was far more horrific than either man could have possibly imagined; their friends from the Order lay slain at their feet. However, Harry hadn't had time to focus on Mrs. Weasly's slack face, or Hagrid's body, crumpled over a tree stump; his professor had pushed him forward, to where Voldemort stood surrounded by Death Eaters. That particular battle Harry remembered nothing about – he had been hit with a stunning spell just after casting the curse that would obliterate the Dark Lord, which had destroyed those memories.

He'd woken in the Hogwarts infirmary just over two weeks later, Remus Lupin seated at his right, his surly potions professor at his left. It took Harry a moment to figure out why Snape would willingly be seated beside, until he recalled the older man's reassuring grip on his shoulder before sending him into the midst of the battle. Snape must've been there for days on end, Harry reasoned, judging by the state of the man's hair. He'd never gotten around to asking the older man why he had stayed all that time at his bedside.

Harry was startled from his reverie by the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the chambers. Shortly after, his professor came out of his bedroom, cloak billowing out behind him.

"Alright then, Potter," Snape said as he lowered himself into one of the armchairs. He still held his left arm gingerly, though Harry could see that the blood was gone. "I shall start at the beginning, then?" Nodding his head distractedly, Snape settled back into his chair.

"I realize that you understand the nature of my inception into Voldemort's Death Eaters, but do you also know the full extent of what occurred the night I went to Dumbledore for help?" Harry nodded to show that, yes, Dumbledore had informed him of that night. "Than I will not waste time detailing those events. When Voldemort learned of my meeting with Dumbledore and my apparent about-face of loyalties, he gave me a way to…redeem myself. I was too valuable an entity to lose to Dumbledore, so he sold me, in essence, to one of his most loyal followers."

"Lucius," Harry put in quietly.

Snape nodded solemnly. "Quite." He paused, seemingly to collect his thoughts. "So, at the age of nineteen, I became the property of Lucius Malfoy, his to use – or more precisely, abuse – any way he saw fit. While outwardly we appeared to be the closest friends, behind closed doors, I was Lucius' …toy." He flashed Harry a bit of a sardonic smile. "Never something I thought I'd be sharing with the 'Golden Boy,' but there it is.

"Lucius did not trust my loyalties in the slightest, and reminded me of his…trust issues daily. Until now, his punishments have been tolerable. When you ever-so heroically defeated the Dark Lord, Lucius blamed me. I've gone to him nightly since the Final Battle, to receive my 'due punishment.' Tonight, Lucius was particularly drunk, and saw fit to remove the mark that belonged only to those loyal to the Dark Lord. I've been able to mask the evidence of my injuries with some complex glamour charms, but you've managed to find me before I could set them."

Harry was silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard, before something hit him. "Professor," he began, waiting until Snape looked up. "I thought Lucius Malfoy had been sent to Azkaban with the rest of the Death Eaters. How has he –"

"Honestly Potter," Snape interrupted, clearly irritated by Harry's apparent inability to logically figure it out. "The man currently in Azkaban is a fake, under the influence of a modified version of Polyjuice. It's permanent, and also disables any revealing charms from detecting the decoy. Surely even a dim-witted individual such as yourself could have figured that out on your own."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his professor. Clearly the man was suffering a huge blow to his pride, but there was no need to get snappish. "Lucius Malfoy is a bastard, Severus. And I would appreciate it if you would let me help you."

"Absolutely not, Po –"

"Shut up!" Harry cut in. "Severus, I don't care what you think, but you need help. If you keep letting him do this to you…" He trailed off, letting Snape imagine what his own fate would be.

"There's nothing you can do for me now, Potter," Snape said quietly, and Harry thought he actually sounded a little regretful.