A/N:

Full summary: Severus Snape survives Nagini's bite - something about a ghost's touch being stronger than a Phoenix's tears. He stops Voldemort from killing Harry during the Battle of Hogwarts, in the process compromising his position as a spy. Put under the Imperius Curse by The Dark Lord, Harry is forced into a part-time Death-Eater life, possessed by Voldemort, and Severus realizes that his proximity to Potter allows the latter to regain control of his body.
The result? Voldemort wants Severus' head.
And if he does, then Harry will be lost forever.

Rated M for violence, death, psychological issues, gore, mature themes in general, and future adult situations of an M/M nature.

I have a facebook page called KuraraOkumura's Disciples. You can also go vote on the poll on my profile as to what fanfic you want me to post next; this one was the result of voting for over a few months.

~Tenshi

CHAPTER 1: Compleo

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Two hexes met in the center of the Great Hall - one green, the other red, each matching the colour of its target's eyes. Sparks flew as two wizards battled for control, the younger man with both his hands gripping his wand, the other, snake-like wizard holding a tense one-handed stance, teeth gritted and lips curled over gums a sickly pink. There was nothing anyone around them could do as they fought and sparks flew from where the two curses met, showering down to form a spherical transparent shield around them. Two wills fought each other down, a glowing knot of magic sliding back and forth on the thread of their respective curses as they struggled for control. Magic and power radiated from the two wizards, overwhelming, overpowering. Sparks flew still, sounds like shots of electricity continually filling the air. Hogwarts herself seemed to stop and listen to their ragged breathing, two willpowers battling each other like the final onslaught of two titans.

'None can live while the other survives...' The prophecy, uttered sixteen years ago by a woman half mad and descending from Cassiopeia herself, resounded in the minds of all the people present. Each and every one of them knew that this was to be the final battle, the final duel opposing Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. Once this was over, all of them knew that one of the two wizards would be dead. Their hopes, of course, swayed towards The Boy Who Lived, an orphan, whose only family had been taken from him forcefully and continuously for the last seventeen years. But again, none of those watching the scene had any control over the result of the duel.

The last duel, as it would be.

And then it was all over, red magic flashing back towards its owner and wand flying into the air. The snake-like wizard raised a single hand and caught the wooden artifact, a sneer plastered on his face as he savoured his triumph. Then, in only a movement, and with an echo that seemed to last an age, he snapped the wand in two.

"Harry Potter," the figure hissed victoriously, padding forward softly, the remains of the borrowed wand lying discarded on the floor behind him. "I told you I would live...and you would die." Voldemort sneered, gums uncovered still.

"You'll never win, Voldemort," came the dark haired boy's response as he stood his ground in front of the grey-skinned Wizard walking towards him. "Not as long as people still believe that there is hope. And there always will be hope, just as long as there is someone alive to spark that hope. And that will be the case, for as long you live and beyond still. You'll never win, Tom."

"Oh, but Harry, don't you understand?" Voldemort smirked, his voice laughing.

Harry froze in dread at the contempt and arrogance in that voice, sensing that Voldemort had not yet pulled his last card.

"Have I not told you of my plan for this world? There will be no one left to 'hope' when I am done with it, Harry Potter. My reign starts today, and my first victim will be you - Avada Kedavra!"

A green bolt flew ahead, Harry flinched automatically - and then the Unforgivable stopped it's course millimeters from his face, leaving him to look cross eyed at the dent that had been made in the magical shield that was now in front of him. Gasps erupted from all around them as a figure dressed in black crossed the doors to the Great Hall, wand raised and pointed at where The Boy Who Lived still stood.

And yet Voldemort remained immobile, holding a stance that looked almost bored to those looking on. His sneer had faded into an expression of thoughtful wonder, head cocked to the side in a humorous imitation of a cat. "Well, well," the snake-like creature mused. "It seems that the traitor was not whom I had believed him to be."

As the Dark Lord spoke, the figure walked forward slowly, black cape billowing around his legs and obsidian eyes fixed unwaveringly on the man he had pretended to be a spy to for years. Severus Snape's wand never faltered as he walked on, his shield still up between Voldemort and the son of the woman he had loved.

"Potter," the man hissed, black hair and large nose unmistakable. "Move away from him."

"Snape," Harry finally breathed, bewildered. "But you died! You were dead! Nagini killed you!"

"You were spying on me," Voldemort hissed, striking Snape's shield with another killing curse. "Severus, I must admit I am dubious as to how you survived my dear Nagini's bite. Care to enlighten us?"

There was a moment of expectant silence during which they all believed that Hogwarts' Potions Professor would never answer. And then, impossibly, he opened his mouth, a hint of a devious smile upon his lips. "There are few things amongst this world, my Lord, that are capable of healing wounds as deep as the one you inflicted me," Snape uttered in the silence, his deep, mock-filled voice ensnaring those listening. "A Phoenix's tears are one of them."

Voldemort hissed. "Do you mean to say that dear Dumbledore's bird has returned to save his defeated Master's spy?"

Severus Snape smirked, something that had all of them holding their breaths anew.

"No, my Lord, that is not what I meant for you to understand. Do you recall the prophecy, Tom? 'And he shall have a power that the Dark Lord does not'... Do you remember? Or have you forgotten the power of love, of forgiveness..."

"Speak, you fool!" The Dark Lord was growing angry; the tip of his wand was beginning to throw sparks against Snape's shield, eyes flashing dangerously and lips bared over rosy gums.

Snape's eyes darkened, and a single green hex flew from his wand in the Lord's direction. It was met with a shield that glowed grey, Voldemort's wand raised and poised to wait, the snake's features contorted into surprise and disbelief at having just been attacked by a man he had considered, for seventeen years, as one of his best lieutenants.

"You call me a fool," Snape hissed in fury as he took a step forward, "you," he spat, "the one who spent an entire year running after a prophecy that everyone had already heard?! You call me a fool," another step, "when you and only you, were responsible for your own downfall sixteen years ago when you attacked a defenseless toddler, a half-blood, in fear for your life?! And you call a fool," Snape took two steps forward, and then he was beside Harry, pressed against his own shield and staring into his old Master's red eyes, "you call a fool, the man who has fooled you for over seventeen years?! You are the fool, Tom. You are the only fool here."

Then he pushed Harry aside, in much the same way as Dumbledore had done in the boy's fifth year after Sirius' death. Caught in a painful flashback, Harry missed the moment when curses began to fly once more, and instead of seeing his Potions Professor, saw Albus Dumbledore fighting the Dark Lord's power.

"There are few things more powerful than a Phoenix's tears, Tom. A ghost's touch is one of them."

And then everything made sense.

Snape, impossibly, just as Dumbledore had years ago, was winning. Voldemort backed down, again and again, hit by curse after curse. Snape gave him no time to breathe, and the Dark Lord could do nothing but defend himself as the hexes came and came, giving him no respite at all. Shield after shield was raised, every spell thrown silently, the air filled once more with electricity-like bolts of magic.

"You're losing, Tom," Snape hissed, never once interrupting his flow of word-less curses. "Is something the matter, or have you simply lost the bravado you possessed when facing a seventeen year old wizard?"

The mockery seemed to snap something in Voldemort, for out of nowhere he hissed at his former lieutenant and threw a invisible hex right past the black haired man. Snape whirled around with a look of horror pasted on his face, and was forced to witness the moment when Harry Potter fell under the influence of the Dark Lord's Imperius. The boy's body stilled instantly as he was hit, then relaxed completely - and fell motionless to the ground.

"No," Snape whispered, horror-struck, then turned and threw one last curse at Voldemort. But the Dark Lord whipped his wand upwards, and around him the air stilled, and the death spell slowed and slowed like a green and moving firework as it hit the limit of the man's spell, breaking apart bit by bit like a glass barreling through a window. Voldemort began falling, again in slow motion, his feet no longer holding him upright now that his spell controlled the air around him, and as he fell back and the death curse continued its course over his lowering body, speeding up as it left the field of influence of his spell, time returned to its rightful place and the air rushed back in with a startled suction sound. Just as he was about to hit the ground and his body had begun to fade away with the imminence of his Disapparation, Minerva McGonagall, on a last spur of energy and wish for revenge at all that this man had done to her castle and to her people, having stalked her way to the forefront of the amassed crowd, threw at him Harry Potter's trademark curse – a symbolic gesture to say that even without Harry Potter, the Wizarding World would fight back with everything they had – even if that was only a mere disarmament spell. The Dark Mage's wand clattered to the ground, unnoticed by most in the uproar that followed; and He disappeared.

In an instant, the entire population of the Great Hall rushed forward - but already, Severus Snape had thrust himself at the black-haired boy's body and Apparated both of them away.

Then they were in Dumbledore's Office, now deserted, the faces of all of Hogwarts' previous Headmasters looking on in bewilderment as Harry Potter fought for control over his body, eyes alternating between a snake's slitted iris and his own, fully green eyes. His body contorted painfully, and the boy shouted as Snape's desperate hands ran over his body, his face, his chest.

"I will not fail you, James."

Suddenly those feline eyes flashed open and glared dangerously at him, and Snape flinched back and picked his wand up from the ground. "Legilimens!" the man shouted as he pointed the wooden artefact directly at the inflamed lightning-bolt shaped scar.

Then he was in the boy's mind, a whirl of darkness and light flashing against each other. Severus could see clearly the boy's conscience resisting the Dark Lord's control - yet with all his determined will and terror-induced force, Harry Potter was losing. There was no resisting that hammer of darkness pounding repeatedly on his mind, squashing the boy's inherent will into nothingness. There was nothing that Potter could do. Not alone - not like this - not when he knew utterly nothing of the force that was lashing out at him. Severus could help him. WOULD help him. James Potter had expressly told him to take care of his son, to take care of Harry like he would have taken care of Lily. Severus had been forgiven - and HE had forgiven. And if not for James, then he'd do it for Lily. Her son had to live. No matter what.

And he was there, his own brilliant light joining that rapidly fading one. A storm was brewing in the young boy's mind, and there were two bright factors involved - two men willing to risk their lives, one for the other and for their world's future; and the second one for the one thing that he knew for sure needed him - the world. A seventeen year old boy joined his strength to a man old enough to be his father. Yet their battle seemed a lost one. The darkness that was The Dark Lord was gaining on them, lashing out at them like a starved wolf. Snape knew his old Lord had possibly never encountered such resistance to his control, and the Potions Master spared a brief moment to wonder if perhaps his Occlumency lessons had in fact benefited the green eyed boy more than he'd suspected.

But lessons or not, Harry Potter's strength was failing, and soon enough Severus was left to push the darkness back alone. There was nothing either of them could do as the battlefield that had been the boy's mind faded, swallowed by Voldemort's black onslaught of magic. Snape, in a last effort, took this opportunity to shield the boy's only functioning organ, the one thing that he knew had never, not once, in seventeen years, failed the boy it resided in. His heart was protected by a dome, and contrary to Severus' previously brilliant magic, this one shone dark with the rage and energy infused in it - and as a result melted right into the blanket of foreign power now covering the boy's mind. The Dark Lord never noticed that his invasive magic had missed the heart, that beating organ that he continued to underestimate, despite everything. And Snape, triumphant in his pain, sneered at the one he'd long called his Lord; Voldemort was naïve and arrogant, just as Tom Riddle had once been - and that would one day be his downfall.

X

"What spell was it?"

"I told you what it was, Ronald. Don't make me say it again. Please."

"I don't believe it. Harry's stronger than that. Even if Snape hadn't come in, I know Harry would have found a way out of it. Ow! What was that for?!"

"For being an idiot! Snape saved his life! You should be thanking him instead of insulting him!"

"Because YOU thanked him for anything?! ...See, I'm not the only one who doubts him. And, I didn't insult him."

"The understatement was clear enough. I'm not stupid, and I can recognize veiled insults when I hear them, Ron. And I don't doubt him. I just don't understand how he survived Nagini's bite. We saw him die!"

"He's a Potions Master - you'd think he'd have a cure for Serpent's venom with him!"

"No, he said something about ghosts, I don't think he used a potion. And he spoke to Harry - he was dying, Ron. We could never have gotten his memories if he hadn't really been convinced that he was dying. Don't you think he would have said something if he knew he had an antidote with him?"

"Maybe he forgot about it?"

"You know how likely that is."

"Ugh! Well, I don't care. But either way, it wasn't an Imperius. Harry's too strong for that."

And this was the moment that Harry chose to open his eyes.

Both Ron and Hermione gasped when his eyelids flew open, slightly thrown off by the fact that he wasn't even looking at them. His eyes were fixed to the ceiling, looking straight up from the hospital bed he was lying in, oblivious to his two best friends sitting right beside him, Hermione holding one of his hands tightly in hers and Ron facing her on the other side of the bed.

"Harry!" both of them explained at the same time, jumping to their feet. "Harry, how are you feeling? Poppy told us you'd wake up eventually. Snape carried you here himself three days ago - you've been asleep since then. You were - you were hit by a curse - and I - Harry?"

The boy lying motionless on the bed was absolutely expressionless. His face was blank, his features hard and cold, the corners of his lips drooping slightly in indifference. His eyes continued to stare up at the ceiling as if he had not heard a word of what his best friend had said.

"Harry?" Hermione asked hesitantly, raising a hand to touch his face. "What's wrong?"

"Miss Granger, I would ask you to step away from that bed immediately. Mr. Potter and I need to talk."

The redhead and the girl whirled around, only to meet Snape's unwavering gaze and throwing a worried glance at the boy lying under the white sheets.

"Can't it wait?" Ron had the audacity to ask.

Snape's eyes flashed briefly, and he scowled as he spat out, "No, Mr. Weasley, it cannot wait! Now get out!"

And as Hermione dragged him out by the sleeve, Ron's eyes were flashing just as much as Snape's. The brown-haired girl met Snape's gaze just as she was turning, and the look in his eyes was one that she hoped dearly never to see again. The heavy double doors slammed closed a moment later.

Snape approached the bed wearily, eyeing it with something close to tense expectation and fear. There was no sound coming from it, not even the sound of breathing. No movement either, as the black haired man approached the bed. He sat down on the chair that had been occupied by the Granger girl, careful to stay out of reach of the immobile boy. There was no saying what he might attempt. As the girl had so correctly pointed out, he had been hit by an Imperius curse. And though Snape had managed to preserve his heart, he had no idea what good that would have done. For all he knew, it had done nothing at all, and he was entirely under the Dark Lord's control. He hoped that wasn't the case.

He sat in silence for a long time, leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other and holding his chin, watching the black-haired boy in deep thoughtfulness. Finally, he spoke, and he saw the way his voice caused Potter to shiver, once - violently.

"Compleo Praesentia Revelio."

That young face turned swiftly to the side, and the green eyes that so reminded Severus of Lily were slitted. Pale lips rose over teeth, and a hiss came out of Harry's mouth, the kind that a snake would utter to scare his prey away. But Snape was not a prey - and he intended to make sure that Voldemort was aware of that. This time, Tom Riddle was the prisoner, tied to the bed that had been warded against his possession unless it was stimulated, and had rendered him unable to move the body he had taken control over save for his head.

In any case, the voice that came out of Harry Potter's mouth was certainly not that of a seventeen year old teenager. Snape gripped the arms of his chair as a guttural, deep voice ripped its way out of the boy's throat. "You are a fool, Severus."

"Tu fungor quinymo appartenda qui," Snape whispered, distraught.

"Neither do you, my dear boy. Must I remind you of what you are?" Seeing those oh-so-familiar green eyes on him, Severus did not know what to answer to the accusation. The animalistic shine to them, as much as they seemed similar to Harry's and Lily's, did not belong here. He had just told as much to the monster; 'You do not belong here.' It was all he could say in such a moment, all he could think about that, no matter how much he pretended he hated Potter, the boy was too much like his mother for him to ever really want him to leave forever. Once Harry Potter was dead, there would be nothing left of Lily Evans for him to hold on to. And then, he would let himself go. Quickly, and fully.

Voldemort was right. As much as he was loath to admit it, no matter where his certainties and his loyalties lay, he bore the Dark Mark upon his arm. And that was one thing that would never go away. He did not belong here, and he knew that people like Minerva McGonagall, who had promptly hexed him out of the Castle not four days ago, would agree whole-heartedly. Though now that he had saved Harry Potter's back, he was sure she would never speak her mind aloud - or at the very least not in his presence.

"I am not the one who's name inspires fear and disgust, Tom."

"I would think twice about that statement if I were you."

And Snape knew he had lost. Not four full sentences into the conversation, and already Voldemort had pulled him down lower than dirt. He stood, helping himself up on the arms of the chair, and contemplated the immobile body lying under the white immaculate sheets. He was tempted to reach out and touch him, just to reassure himself that this wasn't a nightmare. But then he thought better of it, and with a movement of his hand the wards against the Dark Lord's possession slipped inexorably back into place, and the slits in the green eyes slowly receded and gave way to such an empty, fixed stare that he almost wished Voldemort would break those wards and make those green eyes alive again.

But Harry Potter himself, for all that he could see, was gone. Well and truly gone. All that remained was that still beating heart that he, Severus Snape, had managed to secure - but even that seemed desperately fragile as it thumped into the emptiness, the darkness that had swallowed the boy's entire being.

Once he was outside the door, Snape walked. It was all he could do, in that moment of utter despair, not to run. So he walked. Walked and walked and walked. Eventually he found himself outside the gates, into the chill of the night, his feet carrying him with a blind and determined urge towards the Forbidden Forest. Dark, unforgiving trees loomed into view as he grew closer to them, the view of their tortured and extended branches simultaneously compelling him to run and to join them. He didn't hesitate. He let his feet carry him blindly, walked right past the trees as they seemed to come alive and twist their elderly trunks to him as he brushed past them. The trees themselves seemed to resist him as he sought to violate their guard, and then silence surrounded him, bidding him an eternal greeting of death and betrayal. He had entered a place of worship, the gate inside their ranks that led to where the centaurs spoke to the skies. A sound here could mean immediate death. Humans rarely made it out of the herd's sanctuary alive. But he needed to talk to her. No matter what happened afterwards, he had to speak to her. Zelkiav was possibly the only one he could speak to as things stood now.

Soon enough he was at the edge of a lake, the moon reflected on the softly rippling surface. Snape fell to his knees on the floor, fingers burying desperately into the muddy ground. Hunched over, his straight arms supporting the weight of his upper body, he looked straight into the surface of the lake, his eyes burning into the water with the intensity of despair. "Zelkiav," he whispered, and he bent forward till his forehead was touching the surface of the water. "Come to me."

For long minutes, there was nothing. But still the black-haired man lay prostrate against the water, until his back began to ache and worms began to make their way over his dirt-blackened fingers. And still he did not move. He waited. Waited until, finally, the silence of the lake was broken by the ripples of the water.

"Severus."

The man raised his head, straightened his back, shook the worms off his hands, and sat cross-legged on the floor, the heals of his feet grazing the surface of the clear water. In front of him was a Mermaid, her skin a pale grey, green hair so dark it looked black spread out in a fan around her. Her eyes were fixed on him, a knowledge in them that made him shiver to his core. The Merpeople often reminded him of Dumbledore, the way their eyes always seemed to be passing him under some sort of X-rays. It was no wonder they had agreed to teach the old man their language.

"Zelkiav," he greeted her, bowing his head slightly. He reached out to her, palm down, and the figure swam closer to him. The tips of their fingers touched in a ceremonial greeting, and then the Mermaid spoke.

"Why have you summoned me, Severus? It has been too long since our last meet." Her voice was slow and heavily accented, her words carefully measured and weighed. Severus wondered briefly who would be teaching them their language now that Dumbledore was dead. Were they even interested in learning anymore?

"Zelkiav, I am sure you are aware of the events of the last night, and I need not explain the consequences of the Dark Lord's actions."

The creature nodded, her chin dipping briefly into the water. "I have heard from Halbian that Harry Potter has been overwhelmed. I assume that you have come to seek help from my people."

But Snape shook his head. "Only from you."

Zelkiav's eyes closed, understanding written all over her face in an expression that was close to pity. "I should have known. You understand, of course, the repercussions that such an act would entail on the boy and on yourself?"

"I am prepared to pay the price," was his quiet response.

"And the boy?"

The man hung his head, guilt inscribed in his features. "I know he would rather die than hurt any of his friends."

The Mermaid cocked her head to the side at this. "Why is it that you must feel at wrong whenever something happens that you have tried to stop from happening?"

"Because I have failed."

"But you tried," was Zelkiav's quiet answer, "and that is more than most could claim."

"But when you fail to accomplish what you have set out to do, it is as good as any failure," Snape countered bitterly.

"I cannot agree with you." She waded closer to him, catching both his wrists in her slippery hands, and turned them upwards so that his veins were clearly visible to them both. "Do you regret what you did, Severus? Do you regret attempting to save Harry Potter and betraying your position as a spy? If you were given the choice to return to the moment you stepped between the boy and the Dark Lord, would you change the way you acted the first time? And if you were forced to make a choice between attempting or standing by, doing nothing, and watching the boy die – what would you do? Would you still try even knowing that you could not win?"

Snape had raised his head as Zelkiav spoke, and now his eyes were fixed to hers, intently searching her soul for the things that she was not voicing. "You did not fail," she whispered to him. "You saved his life. He would have died if you had not intervened."

"He is as good as dead."

"Then why attempt to save him still?"

And Severus had no answer to that.

"Bring him here, Severus. But I cannot guarantee either his well being after the Purification, nor the success of the manoeuvre. I will speak to Seltach regarding the subject."

The black-haired man nodded gratefully, and said, "Thank you, Zelkiav."

And then she was gone.

Severus stood, turned, and was about to begin the walk back to the castle when a deep voice interrupted him.

"Dark times are coming, Severus."

The man froze in his spot. "Dark times have been here for a long time, Halbian," he said without turning around.

"But candles have always been lit to guide it away. Those candles have been blown out of existence."

There was a ruffle of leaves and dead twigs on his right, and then a centaur was moving forward in his peripheral vision, its dark hair and robe providing adequate camouflage in the moonlit darkness.

"Candles can still be re-lit," Severus countered, finally turning to face the apparition. "There remain people willing to hold them up."

"But today's shadows have wound its way into the light's heart. A shadow has emerged, one that no flame can quench."

"Your stars have failed your reading, Halbian. The heart is safe betwixt my hands."

"The stars cannot fail us, Severus. They are eternity itself, and they tell us of what is to be."

"Regardless, you are deeply mistaken. The Dark has not engulfed the heart."

"I mentioned no Dark, Potions Master. A shadow has tainted him. A shadow that threatens to consume its host and once again blow out the dying flames of hope.

"Not all white shields are pure, Severus Snape. Keep that in mind."

And with that, the youngest centaur of the herd of the Forbidden Forest was gone, leaving Severus reeling as to what he had meant.

What difference was there between Dark and a shadow? What was he supposed to understand in 'not all white shields are pure'? He understood that the candle was Lily's son, metaphorically so. But why had Halbian insisted that the heart of the candle had been tainted by a shadow? Severus knew that the centaurs had predicted truths from the beginnings of time. It was a known fact that the stars could in fact tell of the future, but the centaurs were not immune to either misinterpreting or misreading them - and, as Halbian had just demonstrated, their prophecies were cryptic at best, and devoid of any sense at worse.

Severus shook his head. He knew he should be giving Zelkiav and Halbian his full attention - the Mermaid and the centaur had time and time again proven that their advice was vital - but his mind was too preoccupied with riddles of its own. Riddles... He wasn't sure whether the word was appropriate anymore. In fact, it had been decades since he had last said the word aloud. He had served a man, for over twenty years - a man who went by the name of Riddle. And truly, such a name was fitting.

Now his entire life went by that word - riddle.

Severus Snape walked back to the Castle, that night, and descended to the mainly undamaged dungeons without meeting a soul.

Not that there was anyone to meet of course.

After Harry Potter's disappearance from the Great Hall, most of the students had fled back to their homes. At this point, half of the Wizarding World believed that The Boy Who Lived was dead.

And, perhaps, that was better for everyone.