Warnings: graphic violence, torture, attempted rape/non/con, severe child abuse. This chapter is brutal, so consider this a heads up.

**AN: Formatting this one was a bitch, so forgive me if I've missed some things.**


CHAPTER 2

The Walls Have Ears

Harry Potter hated the Dursleys, he really did. He hadn't been back a week, and already Vernon had blacked his eye and broken his collarbone. As of late, Dudley had been making a bit of an effort to change for the better, but not enough to bring Harry food or an ice pack for his pain. No, he merely didn't join in with Vernon's abuse any longer. Harry supposed he should count his blessings as Dudley was reckoned a champion boxer at Smeltings, but he still wished the bugger would grow a spine and put Vernon in his place.

Night had fallen over Privet Drive. Harry lay on his too-small bed, enjoying the peace of the blessedly cool air. It seemed Dementors were good for one thing, as their breeding mist took the punch out of summer. And since the Dursleys would join a wizarding circus before providing Harry with any kind of climate control, anything that mitigated summer heat was good. If only his makeshift air conditioning didn't require the creation of soul-sucking monsters, and his face and chest didn't throb like a lorry had smacked into him, he might be content.

He had just started to drift off when pecking at his window brought him awake with a jerk. Trying not to make a sound, he rushed to the window and unlocked it with a bit of wandless magic. Thank Merlin the Ministry couldn't track wandless spells, or Harry wouldn't survive his summers here. Molly's weekly food packages were all that kept him from starving to death most of the time.

Harry slid up the sash as silently as he could. Hedwig wriggled in through the bars along with an explosion of water, spraying him the rest of the way awake.

"Gah. When did it start raining?" Harry rubbed the water from his face and cleaned his glasses on his sleep pants. "Guess it's too wet for you to hunt, huh, girl?"

Hedwig replied by shaking the water from her feathers and spraying Harry again.

"Oi! None of that."

Vernon gave an almighty snort and a gargle, and Harry went stock still. Merlin help him if the man woke now for no better reason than a wet owl. Especially since the great lump had forbidden Hedwig to be inside in the first place. After a moment, Vernon's snores picked up rhythm again, and Harry breathed a sigh.

"Too close, that," he whispered. "Come, girl. I have a clean shirt of Dud's here that's big enough to dry you even if you'd brought in half the Atlantic with you."

Hedwig gave a sort of snickering chatter and flew onto Harry's lap. She certainly looked miserable, poor old girl. Feathers all bedraggled and sticking up in every direction. Harry went to work on her with a smile. He missed her during the evenings when he had nothing but staring at the walls to occupy his time. Having company, even what little an owl could provide, took the edge off his misery.

Her feathers soon took on a more normal appearance, and Harry's need for rest reasserted itself. No doubt Petunia would be banging on his door at the crack of dawn, demanding her breakfast. What did they do when Harry wasn't there to wait on them? Perhaps they hired a butler during Hogwarts terms because they sure couldn't do a bloody thing for themselves.

Half-asleep already, Harry yawned and rubbed his face. A shock of pain like an ice pick into his skull brought him awake again with a vengeance.

"Ah, dammit. Forgot my eye."

Hedwig nuzzled his face and gave an owlish sigh as if to say, "I can't leave you alone for five minutes."

"I know, girl. I know. You all right to finish your feathers now? I'm exhausted and my shoulder's killing me."

She nipped his ear in a friendly fashion and flew under his bed, a safe place to hide in case one of Harry's horrid relatives came in. He bid her a quiet good night and climbed into bed. Despite his pain and the beginnings of a raging headache, Harry dropped off quickly.


~…Vision…~

When Harry opened his eyes again, he found himself seated on a throne-like armchair on the musicians' dais of the Malfoys' ballroom. His skeletal, corpse- white hands caressed a length of chestnut, the wand he must use for the time being. Pettigrew's wand.

The rat was a worthy servant, if he had little else to recommend him.

A knock sounded at his throne room door, and Harry scowled. Who dared disturb his quiet time?

"Enter," he called in a cold voice.

A feral-sort of man came in dragging an unconscious woman. He had more scars than face and wild amber eyes.

"Ah, Fenrir. What have you brought me? I hope for your sake you are not disturbing me for some trivial—"

Fenrir jerked the woman's head up, revealing her face, and elation spiked through Harry's chest.

"Ah, so you've brought me our dear Missus Vance. How delightful. I see she has already been interrogated?"

"Aye, m'lord. And what tasty bits of information she had, too. Seems one of our own ain't as loyal as he'd like to appear."

Harry gripped the wand tighter. "Explain."

"Already did, didn't I? Snape. He's been working with the Order for twenty years. This bint had a lot to say about that, with proper… persuasion."

Harry glared. "He is supposed to be with the Order. He is my spy there."

"Then why is he telling them the truth and us lies?"

"Is he now? Hmm. That would indicate a change of loyalty. Of course, you understand I will wish to see the proof myself."

Greyback's leering grin set Harry's nerves on edge. The wolf would not look so pleased unless he was sure of a favorable response.

"Go on, then. Mind's a bit wonky, what with all the Cruciatus it took to break her, but the interestin' bits should still be there."

"For your sake, you had best hope so." Harry grabbed the witch's chin in skeletal fingers and forced her eyes open with a spell. "Legilimens."

Images rushed past, garbled and broken in the mess of what remained of the woman's mind, but Harry had seen enough. Severus informing them of his plans at every turn and altering the Order's just enough to spare them defeat. The address of the Order's safehouse. Potter's home address, and the knowledge that the wards broke on the thirty-first of July.

Well. Severus had been busy indeed. Harry broke the spell and threw the witch down with disgust.

Greyback was grinning like a fool. "Told ye he was a bleeding liar, didn't I? You saw it, didn't you?"

"Yes. Your proof stands. Severus is indeed a traitor."

Harry's magic exploded in a rush of fury, and Greyback found himself the unwitting victim of a full-power Cruciatus. When his mind cleared, Harry lifted the curse and flicked up Greyback's left sleeve. The werewolf lay panting and twitching, unable to resist.

"Let us see what our dear Severus has to say for himself, hmm?"

He pressed a finger to Greyback's mark and delighted in his screams.


Six days had gone since the fiasco at the tower, and Severus was brewing a light blocking potion at the Dark Lord's behest and brooding over the week since term had ended.

The Malfoys had safely hidden themselves away, and only Severus himself and Harry-bloody-Potter had any idea as to their whereabouts. As the Potter boy had not sold the Malfoys out despite their mutual hatred, Severus dared hope Draco might pull through his ordeal more or less intact. Better than if he had spilled blood and torn his soul at any rate.

Severus had spared Draco that pain, if he had failed the boy in everything else.

With a sigh, he added a dash of moonstone and watched the simmering red liquid take on an opalescent sheen. So far so good. Still, he had best take care. One misstep, and the cauldron was as likely to explode as to melt.

With the way his luck had run lately, he wondered if he should double up on his shield spells. A flick of his wand and a hasty potion calming charm later, he felt a bit safer.

The Dark Lord had demanded this potion three days before after gathering what little stores Severus had as a gift to potential vampiric allies. Severus had agreed graciously and under no small threat of bodily harm, then, on his way home for dinner and to start the potion, he sent a Patronus to Shacklebolt as soon as he could without being observed. The head auror had been quite pleased to learn of the upcoming meeting and sent a reply that he would be there with his best. The hope of a few less liabilities to fear had cheered Severus all the way to Spinner's End.

At least until he walked into the kitchen and any traces of appetite vanished. Gods, he hated this house. All the banishing spells in the world could not remove the bloodstains from its walls. He had ordered in and choked down a few bites in the backyard, hiding under enough spells to conceal a drunken giant.

Severus scowled and ignored the way his potion reminded him of all the blood. It would only result in a thorough round of Cruciatus should he ruin his potion and be forced to start again. With a sigh, he stirred and watched as the liquid in his cauldron changed to dark violet.

Thank Merlin, at least one thing had gone right this week.

The raid on the meeting had ended in utter catastrophe. A young auror had panicked at the sight of a vampire on the Goyle property and his subsequent screech had alerted every dark wizard, creature, and ward for miles. Between the vampires, Death Eaters, and traps, the light had lost three aurors and, worse, Emmeline Vance had vanished without a trace. No one knew if she was dead or injured or had taken leave of her senses somewhere. Severus had to hope the Death Eaters didn't have her, for more than just her own sake. She had too many secrets.

Just as Severus went to add the nightshade, a fierce burning sensation raced up his left arm. Only years of practice enabled him to keep hold of his stirring rod rather than dropping it.

Ice churned in Severus' gut even as his mark seared his arm raw. That the Dark Lord had chosen to interrupt the brewing process of a notoriously dangerous and finicky potion did not bode well for the Light. Severus could only think of one possibility: Emmeline had indeed been captured. He hadn't heard of her since the raid, but if the Dark Lord had tortured the truth out of her, Severus would be the last to know.

He shuddered. Best to take precautions in case he had to make a quick escape.

Severus put a stasis charm on his potion and held his breath, hoping the unstable mixture would not explode. The potion settled, and he rushed from his personal lab into his Hogwarts quarters. He jerked open his nightstand drawer and rummaged through his belongings until his fingers met with cool metal, a plain silver band. With a shaky sigh, he jammed the ring onto his finger and disillusioned it with a tap of his wand. If Severus found himself summoned into a trap, the ring portkey would take him straight to the infirmary—assuming he still had use of his hands and time to activate it.

Drawing a steadying breath, Severus gathered his strength and raised his Occlumency shields. As he bolted through pouring rain to the apparition point, he prayed to Merlin, Circe, and any deity that would listen.

'Please, keep my secrets safe. Protect me, so I can protect them, even if just for one more night.'

He wrapped his courage around him like a cloak, wiped his expression, and apparated—

'Shite!'

—Straight into a circle of waiting Death Eaters. They stood in a circle around him, leering and gripping their wands, and Severus suppressed a flinch. This looked bad, but he could not risk going for his portkey, not yet. He had a duty to the Order, and he could not fail them. They needed what information Severus could bring back. He would not let them down because of a little fear.

'Merlin, watch over me now.'

Severus gathered his wits and hoped his silver tongue would keep him from the fire one more night, if only for Potter's sake.

"Welcome, Severus," came the high, cold voice of the Dark Lord.

Swallowing his terror and revulsion, Severus bowed and kissed the monster's robes. "You called, my lord?"

"I did indeed. I am glad you have come so quickly."

The sinister smile that snaked across Voldemort's lips froze Severus' blood. A sick, cold terror raced through his veins. This meeting would not end well for him.

No help for it. Severus had to keep up the act for the Order's sake. He clenched his fists to hide his trembling hands and threw all of his emotions into strengthening his shields.

The Dark Lord stood and peered down the length of his wand—Pettigrew's wand, rather. "I have heard some… distressing news, Severus. Distressing in the extreme." He paced around Severus, watching the spy's every move. "I have been informed that you were seen conversing with Malfoy after the others fled the Astronomy tower."

The werewolf gave Severus a predatory leer. "Thought you was slick, eh? Forget the full moon was around the corner, did you? Heard you talking with them. Malfoy, and another brat. Sounded a lot like Potter, he did. Come to think of it, I smelled the brat, too."

Severus' stomach dropped into his feet. Merlin. He had forgotten about the heightened senses of werewolves before the moon. How much had Greyback heard?

He forced his voice steady and faced Greyback with a sneer. "Of course I spoke with Malfoy. I told him what would be expected of him in no uncertain terms, bound him, and flew him to the gates so I could bring him here. As for Potter, I have no idea of what you speak. No one was present after you left save Malfoy, myself, and Dumbledore's corpse."

"Liar! I heard 'im! And smelled 'im, too!"

"You heard what you wanted to hear, Greyback. And as for the scent, Dumbledore is often seen with his precious Golden boy, so it likely has permeated his nauseating wardrobe." Severus shot him a cold glare. "So angry that I killed him first, aren't you? I stole your glory, and now you want to see me brought down. A fool's dream, wolf. Even if you should kill me, you shall never achieve my power."

Sharp, crooked teeth flashed yellow in the torchlight and a feral growl resounded through the chamber. "He ain't dead, you idiot. Checked on your work, I did. Imagine my surprise to see the old codger up and about as if nothin' had happened to him."

Severus forced an expression of shock onto his face. "He survived? But I, that curse…." He shook his head and recovered his stance. "I am unsure how the old fool survived, but regardless, I attacked, and you did nothing. You are only angry that I achieved what you could not!"

Greyback moved as if to attack, but the Dark Lord stepped in front of him without the slightest show of fear.

"Enough. You shall have your turn, wolf. Until then, sit and keep your teeth to yourself."

Greyback snarled, but returned to his place in the circle. "Yes, lord."

The Dark Lord turned to Severus, wand drawn, and eyed him across the length of dark wood. "Such skill at defending yourself, Severus. Tell me, how long have you been practicing?"

The red eyes flashed with an eerie light, and the Dark Lord pointed his wand at Severus' chest. Severus tensed and pressed his limbs in tight to still his shaking.

'Shite! He knows. Merlin, keep me safe until I can escape!'

"M-my lord?"

As he had hoped, Severus' shaky words brought the blood-red gaze to his face and away from his hands. With the Dark Lord's attention diverted, Severus inched one hand closer to the other using movements so slow and measured, they would not register to the naked eye.

The Dark Lord's voice was cold and low. "The accusation about Malfoy and Potter was not the only thing Greyback brought me. Oh no. Just a few moments ago, he brought me one of your false colleagues, Severus. One of the loathsome thorns in my side I asked you to spy on. Only, when I examined them, I found that my spy was not merely a double, but a triple agent."

The wand sparked, and Severus flinched.

The Dark Lord's eyes glowed blood red. "You have been a traitor for twenty years! Let us see how you talk your way out of that, hmm?"

Severus could not hide the hitch in his breathing. "I, I do not understand, my lord. I am only loyal to one master." He moved his hands faster. Perhaps, if he timed it right, he could make a sudden reach appear like a protective motion.

'Just a bit more ...'

The Dark Lord cried, "Crucio!"

The spell whipped toward him so fast, Severus had no time to grab his ring. His bones lit ablaze and every nerve ending in his body exploded with sheer agony. Bolts of electricity riveted him over and over, and he dropped to his knees, writhing and trembling under the Dark Lord's brutal, raw power. Tears coursed down his face and screams ached to tear from his throat, but he refused to release his cries. He would not give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. Not if he had strength left to resist.

As the spell ended, the absence of pain left Severus shaking and sweating. He dared not rise lest Voldemort curse him again, and any movement of his hands would be instantly noticed with post-Cruciatus tremors racking his body. He could not escape yet.

'Merlin help me endure.'

Cold fingers gripped Severus' chin and forced his face up to meet glaring red eyes.

"Oh, Severus. My dear Severus. We could have accomplished such great things together. You had so much of my trust."

A sharp crack sounded against Severus' ear, and pain shot through him, down to his very soul. Despite his earlier resolve, a cry tore from his lips. When he was able to open his eyes, Severus found himself staring at the broken halves of his wand, lying snapped at his feet.

"No," he whispered.

His wand, the mark of his wizardry his long-dead mother had given him for his twelfth birthday—gone. He was half a man without it. Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back. Weeping would blind him, and that was suicide while at the Dark Lord's mercy.

A cold, rough hand threw him back by his face and sent him sprawling. "Goyle, Rowle! Bring the informant."

Two masked Death Eaters broke from the circle and returned dragging what appeared to be a woman's corpse. Her head hung lifelessly under a carpet of matted graying hair and her clothing hung in bloody tatters. Goyle tossed her into the circle with a jeering laugh and Rowle yanked her head up by the hair. Severus' heart plummeted at the sight of her face.

Merlin, no. Emmeline! Gods help them, they had murde—

Emmeline's eyes fixated on some point above Severus' head, and he swallowed a gasp. No, she was not dead, nothing so merciful. They had destroyed her mind.

Thank Merlin the Order hadn't told her too much, but what she did know was enough to devastate them. Grimmauld place was compromised. Potter's home, too, though no Death Eater could touch it until the blood wards failed. Had Vance known they would drop the day of Potter's birthday? Gods he hoped not, but for their own safety, the Order would have to assume she did. They would have to make many assumptions, given Severus survived long enough to warn them.

The Dark Lord grabbed Vance's arm and dragged her to a sitting position. She slumped over like a broken doll.

"This pathetic excuse for a witch gave me many secrets, Severus. Among them was the identity of the Order of the Phoenix's spy."

He kicked the witch into Severus, where she gave a whimper and lay still. Severus gathered the broken woman into his arms and stared at the Dark Lord, eyes wide and fearful without his wand. He could protect neither of them, but he could perhaps get them away, if only he could reach his ring without raising suspicion. If he could only hide his escape with a hug—

"Avada Kedavra!"

Severus flinched back from a bright green flash, heart pounding in his throat, but the Dark Lord had aimed for Vance, not himself. He tried to hold her tighter and at least get her body back to the Order, but it was not to be. The Dark Lord tore Emmeline from Severus' arms and threw her aside.

A mantra of 'too little too late' ran like poison through Severus' veins. Another one he couldn't save. Merlin, did this nightmare ever end?

The Dark Lord's voice jolted Severus out of his shock and grief. "Oh, you did not truly imagine I would let you off so easily, did you, Severus?" The scaly face twisted into a cruel smile. "No, no. If I could glean so much from a lowly guard, just imagine how much I could pry from your fertile mind. I will enjoy watching you break."

Thirty wands raised and pointed at him, and terror keened through Severus like the cry of Emmeline's lost soul. He stepped back from the Dark Lord, but everywhere he could turn he stared down the end of a wand. It was hopeless.

'Please, no.'

He considered one more last-ditch escape attempt, but he was unarmed, surrounded, and outnumbered thirty to one. He would be dead before he reached his ring, and if he failed, he would reveal his secret and lose his one prayer for escape. His only hope was to endure whatever they had planned until he could reach covertly for the ring and spirit himself away.

Merlin, how much would he suffer before then? He could not school his terror from his face, but it hardly mattered, not with his secrets blasted open and his role revealed.

The Dark Lord's cold voice cut through Severus like a sword. "I believe a little party is in order. Bellatrix! Perhaps you would like the first round?"

"My lord is too kind," she responded with a gleeful cackle.

Severus blanched. Sweet Circe, not Bellatrix. The woman was a pure sadist, and had no conscience or filters whatsoever. She would destroy him utterly. He swallowed bile and crawled back a step, the only sign of his all-encompassing horror he allowed.

She approached with a wild glint in her eye, and he steeled himself for pain.

'Gods help me endure.'

Bellatrix laughed like a maniac as she drew her wand and threw Severus against a wall, forcing his arms over his head and into chains—too far apart to allow his hands to touch.

'No! Oh, Merlin, no!'

Until the Death Eaters released his hands, Severus was trapped. But, Gods help him, they would not likely unshackle him until his mind shattered. He had no hope.

Through a flood of tears he could not stop and a wash of mind-numbing fear, Severus prayed for the first time in twenty-five years. He had to reach Potter somehow before his death, and if divine intervention could cross the gap, so be it. Pride had no place here.

"Please, Merlin, I can't die without delivering my last message to Potter. Merlin, Circe, whomever is listening—" The fiery, melting pain of Bellatrix's knife down his chest ripped his attention away for an instant, but Severus forced his mind back onto his prayers with steel-tempered resolution. "Help me, please. I must reach him, through whatever means possible." Another cut tore down his temple, and his spirit screamed with his soul-shattering desperation.

"Potter! Merlin help me, hear me, please. Harry, you must hear me! Please, trust me."

The knife continued down his face in a slow, methodical fashion, and Severus' vision dimmed to black.

Fighting unconsciousness, he called, "Please, Harry. Let me in. Please. I beg you."

Cruel fingernails clawed at his cut cheek, and Severus knew no more.


Harry woke with a headache the size of Russia, but he had no time to spare for his own pain. Any moment, Snape would be discovered as a traitor, and Emmeline—Harry didn't know if they could save her, but someone would need to be notified either way.

How long had he been unconscious since the vision ended? Merlin, he hoped it wasn't too late for Snape, too.

He rolled out of bed and rushed to the window. The rain poured down heavier than ever, and wind bowed trees half over. Lightning streaked the sky and thunder cracked like the breaking of the earth. Hedwig couldn't survive in that mess.

Harry shook himself and dashed away. She would never have reached the Order in time regardless.

Shaking, Harry sat on the bed and struggled to think of other means to reach Snape in time. A phone? No, they didn't work at Hogwarts. A floo? Oh! Harry bolted to his feet. Yes, a floo would work, but where could he find one? Wait, Missus Figg had one, didn't she?

He had made it halfway to the door before a low, desperate voice echoed in his mind.

"Harry, you must hear me!"

Harry froze, ice water pouring down his spine. "S-Snape? How?"

"Please, trust me."

Harry drew in a shaky gasp. Never in all his life had he heard Professor Snape sound so desperate, so broken, so terribly afraid. It was that which made him reach out and answer his cruel professor, despite having no idea how the man could communicate with him while they were hundreds of miles apart.

"Professor Snape? I'm here. I hear you."

There was no reply other than a sense of coldness and pain. Shite. It must have been Harry's imagination. He scowled and stalked toward the door again. He had no time to waste on wishful thinking—Snape's life hung in the balance.

"Please, Harry. Let me in."

"What the hell?"

"Please. I beg you."

Let him in? In what? His mind, maybe? Perhaps Snape had mastered some kind of long distance mind magic. It wouldn't surprise Harry, and it was worth a shot. He frowned and let down his Occlumentic barriers, what little he had learned anyway, and tried to reach out to his Professor with Legilimency.

"Professor, can you hear me?"

Nothing happened, and Harry could have kicked himself. Of course nothing would happen. Legilimency only worked when the users were close enough for eye contact, or at least to hear each other speak. Certainly not across the country, and not with a user barely capable of blocking untrained students, much less telepathy.

With renewed determination, Harry again started towards the door, but before he'd taken two steps, a wave of dizziness enveloped him and spun the world out of sight. He dropped where he stood, his consciousness dimming.

'Shite! Not now!'

Harry tried to break free, but the grey, fuzzy aura he knew only too well took hold, and he winced. He had only seconds before the vision struck, and no way to reach Snape.
Well, no way that he knew of, but….

"Let me in, I beg you."

Harry struggled to stay awake. If he hadn't imagined that voice, then Professor Snape had reached him somehow. How? They couldn't use mind magic over such distance, and Harry knew of no other way to speak telepathically.

Shite. He still had no idea, but he had to try something. Snape would die if Harry didn't contact him in time, and for all he knew, Voldemort might already have the man. Harry had no other option but to reach out to his professor with mind and magic and pray it connected.

Well, he wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing. Heart stuttering and vision fading, Harry closed his eyes, opened every barrier and channel he could think of, and hoped his voice could reach across the gap.

"Professor! Can you hear me?"

Nothing happened, but Harry refused to give up.

"Professor, please, you've got to run. Voldemort's going to kill you."

Still nothing. He was failing.

"Damn it, Snape! This is a really bad time to Occlude."

He hoped Snape was Occluding anyway. The alternative was too terrible to fathom.

Harry's vision faded to grey, and with a desperate burst of energy, he screamed with all the mental power he had.

"Professor Snape! Severus! Let me in, for Merlin's sake!"

Oblivion took Harry and washed away any further hope of reply. It was too late.


~Vision~

Harry knew he had fallen prey to another vision, but this one felt different. For one thing, he was aware of his own consciousness as well as his unwitting host's. For another, his head didn't hurt though everything else did. In such condition, he couldn't be channeling Voldemort. What had happened?

Before he could consider further, a blow knocked his head around while people jeered and laughed. Bellatrix's insane cackle pierced the din and Harry shuddered. Death Eaters, and they were torturing his host, whoever it was. Harry tensed in preparation for another blow, but it seemed his—their—torturer was more interested in mocking them at the moment.

He took the time to get his bearings and find out who he had accidentally channeled, though, given the situation, he had a grim feeling he already knew. All around him, Death Eaters stood and laughed. Some were covered in blood, particularly the mad bitch, and Harry suspected it was his host's. Gods, the poor man.

Another blow to his jaw sent his head flying back, and when the stars cleared from his sight, Harry's eyes traced the lines of slender, elegant hands with stained fingertips. Not corpse-white, not skeletal, not Voldemort's hands.

Even bleeding, trembling, and shackled, Harry knew those hands. He had watched them point out his every failure and flaw for the past six years.

Snape. Somehow he had fallen into Snape's mind, and shite! The Death Eaters already had him.

Harry shuddered mentally and took stock of his—Snape's—injuries. His left side was sticky and cold. His right eye had all but swollen shut. He had broken ribs too, judging by how badly it hurt to breathe. And the side of Snape's face felt as if someone had torn it off.

With the quality of people surrounding them, that was a distinct possibility.

As the snake-faced bastard ordered Gibbon off and sent in Goyle, Snape dropped his head in exhaustion and despair. Blood dripped down the front of his torn-up robes and smeared the entire left side of his body. No wonder he felt sticky—Snape's face was bleeding all over the place.

Merlin! The bastard deserved a swift kick in the trousers for how he had treated Harry all those years, but this, no. Never this.

A thought alien to Harry's mind crossed his hearing, and he froze.

'Potter must, I must survive. Must fight. Potter. Must get to Potter.'

Harry sniffed, indignant and more than a little hurt. Even dying, Snape thought only of revenge. Couldn't the man put his grudges aside for a moment?

Wait. No, something was off. Snape's emotions reached Harry too, and the feelings flooding him had nothing to do with vengeance.

Gods, the power of them, the desperation, it hurt more than Goyle's whip. Snape wasn't angry, he was absolutely terrified. He didn't want to die, but under that, he felt he had a duty he could not fail, no matter the cost to himself.

Harry didn't understand. What duty? The Order could find a new spy, and he sensed that Snape knew this. Why was Snape so determined to fight, if not to continue spying?

Another of Snape's thoughts merged with his own.

'Potter, I, I must help… the boy. He cannot… do this alone.'

Harry gasped. Snape was holding on for him? It was for Harry's sake that he fought death so hard?

Tears flooded his vision, and he was no longer sure if they sprung from Snape's suffering or his own. Harry's chest ached, not from physical pain.

Gods, he had misjudged the man.

In their valley of shared anguish, Harry saw Snape for what he truly was: a hero in the guise of a villain, one who had to act evil or risk discovery, and one who acted entirely alone. Snape had no one to support him, save perhaps for Dumbledore, and Harry knew all too well how spotty the Headmaster was when it came to others' welfare. The greater good always trumped individual pain.

How could Snape face it? Every single day, the man trudged on alone, knowing one wrong move could end him, could leave him in suffering like this. What kind of bravery did it take to stare your own death in the face for twenty years?

Snape's mind-voice was broken and pleading. 'I don't want to die alone. I am always alone.'

In that moment, Harry forgot all their hatred and wished he could help the man, touch him, if only to hold his hand.

"Professor," he murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"Potter." With a shattered sob, Snape rallied and resumed his tireless fight against death. "I, I wish you were truly with me. I wish I could tell you…"

Harry whispered, "What? Tell me what, sir? I'm here."

"—But it's no use. You're only in my mind, and I'll die a failure. Alone."

"Oh, Snape, no. I'm here. I won't leave you."

Harry tried to reassure him, but Snape either could not hear him or didn't believe his own ears. Meanwhile, the torture went on. Goyle gave his position to Crabbe, then to Pettigrew, and Harry thought he would die with Snape before the night was through.

"Well, I can give you one of your wishes, Snape. I'll be dying with you soon. So you're not alone."

"No," Snape moaned. "No, Harry. Can't, can't die. Not… final battle."

"Professor? What about the final battle?"

But Dolohov approached before Snape could answer, and judging by the increase of the spy's despair, death wouldn't wait long. For either of them.

"I'm here, Professor. I'm with you."

Harry would stay with Snape through the end of their suffering. Besides having no choice in the matter, he could offer the dying man no better comfort than to stay by his side. Harry hoped it helped, at least a little.


Agony seared every bone in Severus' body and his blood painted the floor crimson. His skin hung open in places, the long flap along the side of his face a harrowing mark of how close to death the man had come before Bellatrix was ordered away. Men without faces could not talk, after all, and the Dark Lord wanted Severus' secrets.

Yet, even after hours of torture, Severus held firm against the Dark Lord's mental attack. Perhaps Potter's spirit, voice, whatever was talking to him lent him the boy's innate protection against the monster. That he had endured so long relieved Severus however it came about, but soon it wouldn't matter. He had simply lost too much blood. Exsanguination loomed ever closer on the horizon, and with every passing moment, his consciousness flickered. He would perish before long.

Potter's voice comforted him from time to time, reaching out to him, soothing him and telling him he wasn't alone. The irony would have made him laugh if the action wouldn't have risked unhinging his jaw. Potter would never show him kindness. The boy still hated him, after all, even if Severus' hatred had paled upon hearing the boy's task in the final battle.

Merlin, he would die long before that day ever came. He didn't want to die. Not alone, and not like this.

Potter's voice muttered, broken and bitter, "I can grant one of your wishes. I'll be dying right along with you soon. So you won't die alone."

'No,' Snape moaned in his mind. 'No, Harry. I can't let you—you can't die. It's not time yet. Not until the final battle.'

Yes, Potter had to live now so he could die later. How fucking perfect.

"Professor? What about th—"

The Dark Lord cut across Potter, "Peter, that is enough. Let another play."

With a skittering sort of titter, Pettigrew handed Severus off to Dolohov, and the spy's remaining blood congealed into a freezing mass in his belly. He had hoped the brutal man would be on a mission—the others used purely physical torture to break their victims—Bellatrix even got off on it—but Dolohov demeaned his victims as well. Male or female, it made no difference. The man got his kicks from power, and to him, rape was the ultimate form of dominion.

Severus had never yet cowered, but as the huge man approached, a sickening leer on his face, the spy could not hide his trembling. Merlin, would he truly have to suffer this too?

Again, Harry's voice filtered through his mind. "I'm here, Professor. I'm with you."

Severus shuddered. He must be closer to death than he'd thought if he imagined Potter would stay with him through this.

He gritted his teeth as Dolohov stroked his still-whole cheek, barely restraining the urge to bite the man's fingers off. It would only make his pain worse later.

"Gods, Professor, he, he's not going to… is he?"

Severus resisted the urge to laugh bitterly. Even his hallucinations feared Dolohov.

The Death Eater jeered, "Not much to look at, are you, Severus?"

Severus cringed inside. Who would be, covered in blood and spit and Merlin knew what else? And even at his best, Severus knew the truth of himself. He had never been beautiful, not that Dolohov cared about such things. The more he could humiliate his victims, the more it excited the twisted little shite.

"You're not ugly, Professor. Not to me. He's a liar."

Severus ignored the hallucination and focused on his breathing. He would need all his strength to endure now.

"I'm scared, Snape. I'm, I've never—I'm a, a…."

Even in his terror, Severus could hear Potter's embarrassment. "A virgin?"

Fuck. He was talking to his hallucinations now. He had fallen far indeed.

Potter gasped. "You can hear me! And… yeah. I am. I've barely even kissed someone before. Does it hurt terribly?"

Did rape hurt? Severus laughed bitterly. "Like hell, Harry."

"Oh gods, sir. I'm so sorry."

So was Severus. Dolohov began cutting at Severus' robe, and the spy whimpered in spite of his resolution to keep silent. Merlin help him, Severus was afraid, too.

Potter's voice broke as he whispered, "I'll be with you, Snape. I'm here. Reach out for me if you need to. I, I'll need you."

Severus blinked tears down his face as Dolohov ripped off his robes and revealed his scrawny body to the Death Eaters. They laughed and jeered, and Severus lifted his knees as best as he could with them flayed raw by Goyle's whip. Dolohov tore off his pants, too, and Severus couldn't help a quiet cry of despair.

"Gods, you're ugly, Snape," said Dolohov with a laugh.

Potter's voice murmured into his mind, "He's blind. I, I didn't want to see you like this, Professor, but I can't close my eyes, and, gods, you're gorgeous. And I'm sorry. Merlin, I'm so sorry, sir."

Potter was probably trying to help him, but the knowledge that the boy had seen him, even in a hallucination, made Severus shrink into himself with a bitter cry. Gods help him, he didn't want this. He could endure the physical pain, but the humiliation… that was not to be borne.

Wait… humiliation? Severus whipped up his head. Dear Merlin, there might just be a way out of this mess after all.

His eyes flicked to the blood-spattered stones under their feet, a look Dolohov no doubt interpreted as submission, but the spy had other ideas. If he could enrage Dolohov enough to throw him on the floor, he might have a chance of escaping with his honor intact, if not his body. Dolohov would have to unlock his chains to throw him, and if Severus could arrange his fall just right, he might just be able to reach his ring without rousing suspicion.

It was a terrible risk, and, if it failed, Dolohov would tear him to pieces, but it hardly mattered as Severus would not live long either way.

Again glowing green eyes flashed through his mind, and Severus' resolve strengthened. He had a duty to protect Potter and secrets the boy needed to win the war. Severus had to survive, no matter the cost, or all was lost. At least, he had to try.

"Yes, Professor! Fight! I'm with you. I swear, you're not alone."

Hallucination or not, Potter's words gave him courage. It helped to know someone was supporting him, if only in his mind.

Through a red haze of agony, he registered the jeers of the surrounding Death Eaters and Dolohov's stream of insults, and a spark smoldered in his chest. He would not go down without a fight.

Though Severus' saliva mostly consisted of blood, he managed to gather enough of it to spit straight in Dolohov's face.

"Get on with it, cretin," Severus rasped. "I've better things to do with what little time is left to me than listen to you yammer on."

"Hah! You're braver than I am, Professor, but damn, am I ever proud of you for it."

Severus wished he might hear those words from an actual person, just once before he died. Perhaps if Dolohov took the bait, he might still live to have the chance.

"I'll tell you someday, Professor. Please survive, so I can."

Severus hoped he could.

"Well?" He rolled his eyes at the stunned, spit-drenched idiot before him. "Are you waiting for an invitation, Dolohov? Or are you simply having… performance anxiety?"

Harry's snicker joined those of several of the Death Eaters.

Dolohov jerked a hand across his face and barked, "Be quiet!"

At the bastard's murderous expression, Severus' fear eased. It was working. Even as a fist crashed into his face and pain exploded behind his eyes, the spy's relief remained.

"You always were a weakling," said Severus through coughs.

"You filthy little half-breed," Dolohov roared. "I'll tear you apart!"

Severus smirked, but dropped the expression at the sharp tearing across his cheek and ear. Still, even without the use of his face, he could make his meaning clear. He let his eyes flick to the Death Eater's groin and back to his scowling face.

"You'll have to put some effort into it, I fear, if you expect me to feel anything. Perhaps a bit more force should make up for, well, a certain… lack."

"Bloody hell, Snape! You're brave as a fucking dragon, you are!"

Dolohov's nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed. "Oh, you'll feel it, all right. In fact, I—"

Severus tuned out the rest of the man's crude threats and forced himself not to tense when the chains above his head unlocked. His arms dropped to his side with a rush of staggering anguish, and for a moment, he worried he would not be able to manipulate his incoming fall so he could reach his ring. Then rough hands dug grooves into his shoulders and dragged him from the wall, a hard boot connected with the small of his back, and his body pitched forward with another fiery shockwave of agony. Severus had but to throw his hands forward as if to catch himself, and his deception fell into place.

"Yes! Merlin, get out of there!"

The stones crashed into his knees and palms, and Severus swore he heard something snap inside at the same time fire shot through his thigh, yet before Dolohov could so much as touch him, he spun the ring on his finger, whispered the activation word into his hands, and vanished into the night.


~…Vision…~

Harry opened his eyes in the Hogwarts Infirmary with a horrified Madam Pomfrey standing over him. Still stuck in Snape's mind, apparently.

"Severus! Good heavens! What happ—"

Pain surged through his entire body, focusing on his left arm, and Harry—Snape—cut her off with a sharp cry. The pain grew and grew until Harry was on fire, and he could barely breathe for the agony.

Dumbledore appeared at the foot of the bed—how did he always know what was going on?—just as Snape's piercing screams began to ring off the walls.

"Albus, help him," Pomfrey cried. "It's his mark. We have to remove it!"

Dumbledore took Severus' hand and prodded around with his magic, but Harry felt no appreciable change. Was he even trying?

"Alas, I am afraid I cannot help him."

"Move then, and I will try!"

Pomfrey shoved Dumbledore out of the way, and Harry noted a flash of fury in the old man's eyes before it faded to his usual genial twinkle. How the hell was he twinkling when Snape was screaming and dying right in front of him? Harry could feel the poison spreading from the mark, freezing and sick and wrong, and Dumbledore just looked as if it was a regular tea party.

Pomfrey's magic poked around, too, but she pulled back gasping. "Oh gods. It's tied to his magic. If I—"

Harry didn't care. It was either cut Snape's mark off or let him die, and after the ordeal they had endured together, Harry could not let him perish. Terror jangling his nerves to high alert, Harry built his magic under Snape's skin, praying his help would work even through his agony, and tried to stop the flow of death into Snape's broken body.

The poison kept flowing, and Harry gasped in pain. He had found the mark's source, he was sure of it. So what was he doing wrong?

Maybe "the power he knew not" would work. Dumbledore thought it was love and that it was proof against Voldemort, though Harry had his doubts. Still it was worth a try. If he wanted to heal someone, to protect them, it made sense that loving magic would work best.

With a deep breath, Harry focused all the love he could manage into his magic. All his warm feelings for Hermione and Ron. Sirius and Remus. Tonks. The Weasleys. And after living through a night of hell with him, even love for Severus Snape.

The poison stopped and slowly began to withdraw.

With a shudder, the mark came to life and warred against Harry's gentle magic, its darkness rearing up in fury, spitting like a cobra—then, as Harry kept pouring love into it, hissing like a dying snake. He was pushing back Voldemort, forcing his influence from Snape's body.

Yet, Snape was weakening, and Harry feared without encouragement, he might give up.

"Snape, hold on. I'm here. I'm fighting him off for you."

"Potter," Snape sobbed in his mind.

"Shh. Hold on. It'll be okay."

"I'm s-sorry. For everything."

Those broken words filled Harry's chest with a powerful shard of emotion, gave him the power to fully forgive Snape, and his magic burst forth under the tortured man's skin. A white light surrounded Snape's arm, and the man cried out in anguish and fear.

"It's okay, Professor. You'll be okay now, I promise."

"S-so sorry, Harry."

"Ssh. Hold on, sir. It's all going to be okay."

Harry poured everything he had into fighting Voldemort's power and thrilled as the last bit of darkness surrendered to his light. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, Pomfrey gasped, and Snape's body arched in the throes of pain, but the poison had gone. Harry had won. The mark remained, but Harry's magic had rendered it inert.

Snape would live. At least he had a chance, anyway.

Harry panted, "Professor, it's okay now," but there was no time for Snape to answer before Harry's world went black.


Harry awoke this time in a sweaty, screaming mess on his floor.

"Shut up, boy! Do you want the neighbors to know what a nasty freak you are?"

Vernon. Harry hadn't time to cut his shriek off before a meaty fist pounded into the side of his skull and his vision dimmed again. Damn. Right out of a vision just to be knocked out by his uncle. He wouldn't be able to contact Hogwarts and ask if Snape had made it. With the last of his strength, he prayed Snape would survive somehow, then let the darkness overtake his agony once more. Perhaps he'd be able to talk to Snape again in his mind. He wasn't sure when talking with Snape had become a tolerable option, but it sounded good compared to dying in agony or enduring one of his uncle's beatings.

His mind remained silent, however, and within the depths of his dreams, Harry prayed that Snape was just sleeping it off and not dead. After everything they had endured together, to lose Snape before he'd even had the chance to make amends or keep his promise to the man would be more than Harry could stand.


The next week passed in a daze of pain and fever dreams. After his terrible vision, Vernon had locked Harry in his bedroom with nothing but a stale hunk of bread for food, a bucket of water from the hose for drink, and another bucket to use as a loo. The first two days, Harry could barely crawl to the loo bucket and didn't bother with the bread. He had to plunge his face into the bucket to drink, and even that did nothing to ease his aching throat, raw from screaming.

When he could move more than a few feet, he scribbled a quick note asking Dumbledore if Snape had survived. He sent it with Hedwig as soon as he could and awaited a reply with bated breath. After digging a healing potion from the space under his loose floorboard, Harry felt better by the time it arrived.

Dear Harry,

How terrible that you had to experience Severus' torture. Yes, he survived, and is healing in the infirmary as we speak. He has a long road ahead of him, but I am sure he will soon return to his lovable, irascible self.

I do apologise about your uncle's ill treatment. Unfortunately, there is little we can do until the blood wards necessitate it. You are safer there ...

Harry tossed the letter with a scoff, not bothering to read further. "Oh yes, perfectly safe. Unless Uncle Vernon kills me, that is. Not that I expected better from Dumbledore. His little weapon must be made strong, after all."

Hedwig gave him a sorrowful look and nuzzled his hair.

He hoped Snape was doing okay. Dumbledore couldn't be trusted, not fully, but he hadn't known who else to ask. Pomfrey wouldn't have told him anything about a patient, but at least he knew that if anyone could pull Snape through it, she would. The woman could heal anything.

Harry sighed and leaned back in his chair, wondering how long his uncle would hold him prisoner this time before the smells forced him to relent.


Three weeks after his attack, Severus jerked awake from yet another heinous nightmare, the taste of blood still fresh in his mouth. If he closed his eyes, he still saw Bellatrix hanging over him, her knife having cut through the skin all down one side of his head, her fingers gouging under the flap as if to peel his face off. Had the Dark Lord not insisted she learn to share her 'toys,' she very well might have done. He drew a shaky hand across his face, his palm coming back wet with sweat and tears.

The man rose to a seated position on his living room couch and laid his head in his hands. Merlin, what a horrible dream. He stood and caught his reflection in the glare of a picture frame, and a shudder passed through him. Not a dream—a memory. The gruesome scar along the edge of his cheek from hairline to chin revealed it for the harrowing truth it was. He hastily dragged his hair down over the sides of his face, covering the worst of his scars from the public eye, if his nightmares would not let Severus forget for a moment.

Cold descended on Severus' insides, and he moved to the fire to banish the chill from his bones. A frown crossed his features at the sight of an envelope with familiar loopy writing lying askew on the hearth. With a scowl, he Summoned the letter in lieu of retrieving it manually—his once-shattered femur had yet to fully heal.

Severus,

Please come to my office at five to discuss Harry's coming of age and upcoming change in accommodations.

Albus

P.S. I find I often crave pumpkin pasties this time of year.

Severus grumbled and tossed the letter in the flames. A quick glance at the clock revealed he had but fifteen minutes to make it to the Headmaster's office, and the man rushed to compose himself. Severus limped through the castle to the gargoyle, spat the password at the stone beast, and tightened his Occlumency barriers on the way up the stairs.

After the obligatory offering of tea and sherbet lemons, which Severus refused as usual, the Headmaster met Severus' eyes and twiddled his beard.

"How are you, my boy?"

Severus fixed him with a glare. "Not dead. While we're at it, the weather is quite foul, my colleagues are still insufferable dolts and I still do not care for their day-to-day lives, and I would wager England has no chance at all at the Quidditch World Cup. Now, do you think we could possibly dispense with the trivialities and discuss the matter at hand?"

"Hmm, as you wish. Then, how well can you walk?"

Severus crossed his arms over his chest. "I arrived here with no further injury, did I not?"

"And can you fight?"

That gave the younger man pause. "I am… uncertain. My leg is not yet healed. It might collapse in a pitched battle."

"Your other injuries are healed, however?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Indeed they are, but what is this about? Surely you do not intend to send me back into the Dark Lord's camp? They would owl you what remains of my corpse in a matchbox."

Albus gave a solemn nod. "You escaped them before, but no, that is not my plan. Your health was only something I had to take into consideration." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. "I would like you to transport Harry to the new Hogsmeade safehouse on the thirtieth of July. There will be others there, but I want Harry with you."

Severus glared harder. "And just how, pray tell, am I to accomplish this? I am hated by both sides, Albus. The light oriented wizards hate me for the mark I bear and my shameful past, and the dark hates me for betraying them to the light. No matter who finds me, my life will be at risk, even if I was able to purchase a new wand. And when you put the Boy-Who-Bloody-Well-Won't-Die beside me, both sides will come at me even harder. The light will think I've Imperiused him, and the dark will see their two most hated targets, practically gift-wrapped with a bow on top. This is suicide, Albus!"

"No one can find you within Harry's blood wards, Severus."

"Oh, of course. So we shall be perfectly safe, right until the instant we stick our heads outside of their protection. Should I bring along a couple of silver platters, Headmaster?"

Albus gave a wry chuckle. "No, no. That shan't be necessary, Severus. I believe it is not so dire as you think. Recall that, as far as the Death Eaters are aware, you apparated out of a warded manor while seriously injured and surrounded by no less than thirty Death Eaters. What's more, you then survived Tom's rather ill-timed attempt to kill you through your mark. Thank the gods Poppy was able to neutralize your mark without destroying your magic."

Severus glared. Albus was hiding something, but the man had made a career of keeping secrets. Severus would not pull the truth from him until Albus decided it was convenient for him to know, if the old meddler ever did.

"Yes, yes," Severus said with an irritated huff. "The students will be quite disappointed that their evil git of a potions master managed not to be killed yet again. And your point is…?"

Albus popped another lemon drop. Severus wondered what kind of potion the man laced them with. Sanguine Solution, perhaps.

"You have demonstrated remarkable power, my boy," Albus said with a smile. "They will think twice before challenging you again."

Severus choked on his tea. "T-think twice? The Death Eaters would think twice?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Shock thrummed through Severus' veins, but he kept it schooled from his expression. Was Albus truly suggesting the Death Eaters would simply ignore him? The old man knew better. The scars on Severus' face alone proved they had no qualms trying to murder him at the first opportunity.

Something was off about Albus' behaviour lately. First the almost-murder of the Malfoy boy, then this.

"Albus, please. I, this is a terrible idea."

Severus wrapped his arms around himself, letting his fear show and hoping his obvious reluctance would change the man's mind. Albus simply smiled and popped another lemon drop.

Lovely.

So Albus didn't care if Severus was terrified or not, so long as he got his way. A shard of ice lodged in the younger man's chest and pierced his heart.

In retrospect, Severus shouldn't have been surprised. After all, when had Severus' real, bone-deep terror ever changed the man's mind in the past?

Albus toyed with his beard and twinkled, as nonchalant as always. "We shall take Harry from Privet Drive two days prior to his birthday. Tom will not expect the transfer to occur until July thirty-first, so in this and in your power over them, we have the adva—"

Severus leapt from his chair so fast, his bad leg wobbled under him. "Has what little remains of your sanity finally joined your fashion sense and died a swift death? You are not seriously implying that the Death Eaters would let an injured traitor go, are you? Because I may well have to revise my opinion of your intellect should you suggest it a second time."

Albus gave a wry chuckle. "You are the only person I know who can give a compliment and an insult in the same sentence. But back to the matter at hand, no, I am not suggesting they would ignore you, simply that they would hesitate to challenge someone of such apparent power."

"Apparent power? Did you forget that Dolohov had me naked on my hands and knees and would have buggered me through had I not possessed a hidden portkey? What about that suggests power to you?"

Albus flinched. "Oh, Severus. Forgive me for putting you in so much danger."

The man looked genuinely sorry, so Severus let his wrath calm somewhat and slumped back into his chair. "I chose my path, Albus. The fault is none but my own." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, the posture he would use if he was truly feeling defeated rather than sounding out the Headmaster. "This idea of yours is pure folly, Albus. The Death Eaters will not hesitate to attack should they find me. On the contrary, I fear they will target me yet harder for my betrayal and escape. Not to mention, I have no wand."

"I will take you to Diagon Alley myself to replace your wand. No Death Eater would dare attack you in my sight, nor would the Light."

Severus snorted. "I am grateful, but it does not change the fact that they will attack me the moment I am removed from your presence. My worries still stand, Albus."

Albus sighed and leaned back, steepling his hands at his chest. "Severus, I fear you are a bit blinded as to the natures of your former associates. You insist on seeing them as monsters—"

Severus snarled and slammed his fist on the desk. "Then it's a mercy that one of us can still see without those bloody rose-tinted spectacles! What part of nearly being buggered against my will or having my face half ripped off did you not understand?"

Albus lifted a quelling hand. "I never said they aren't ruthless, Severus. However, they are still human, and still prey to human fears. I believe the fact that you were able to escape right under Tom's—well, not quite his nose—will have affected them, dear boy, more than you are willing to admit. We can use that to our advantage."

Severus' stomach churned as he considered the possibility. Perhaps his hatred of them had coloured his judgement, though a voice in the back of his mind insisted this plan was likely to end in another catastrophe.

Yet, a part of him—a large part—wanted to be wrong. The alternative terrified him deep in the cinders of his broken soul. If Albus was losing his mind, or, Merlin forbid, was working actively against the Light, they could not hope to survive. And Severus was caught between sides with no sanctuary but Hogwarts. Without Albus' protection, he would be the first to die.

How bloody inconvenient.

He had better tell Potter the full truth sooner rather than later. Since Albus wanted Potter warned at the final battle and no sooner, that meant Severus would have to go against a direct order. He would need to step up the boy's Occlumency training or Potter would give the game away the first time he saw the Headmaster.

Joy of joys.

Still, the alternative wasn't to be borne. If they had enemies on all sides, Potter had to be prepared. Now. The war couldn't wait.

For the moment, however, Severus had little choice but to go through with whatever half- baked plan the Headmaster had concocted. He could not yet afford to tip his hand yet, not until he was sure what had gone wrong with the Headmaster. Once he had Potter alone somewhere even Albus could not sniff them out, then he would tell the boy everything he knew.

If they survived that long.

"Severus?"

The quiet call brought the younger man back to the present. He swallowed hard and gave Albus a curt nod.

"As you wish, Albus. I will bring Potter to Hogsmeade. How shall this be accomplished, though? I cannot walk any distance, and the Ministry is watching all the travel networks. You know the Dark Lord has spies in the Ministry, so what is to be done?"

Albus' eyes twinkled behind his spectacles. "Ah, my dear boy, that is where the fun truly begins."