When Harry Potter awoke, it was to an odd tingling sensation in his chest. It wasn't painful, nor was it an itch. It was difficult to find the right word to describe it, but he felt warm… or perhaps whole…

He was a little confused as to where he was, and whose bed he was laying in. The bedding lacked the crimson comforter he had in his dorm. Neither were they the comfortably worn ones that Aunt Petunia used to give him at Private Drive... They were of a rough and thick quality, heavily starched, and so blindingly white, that even in the semi-darkness, his eyes hurt just from looking at them.

He thought he'd heard a sound, but no on e semmed to be nearby, and when he tried to look around, his head spun, and he had to close his eyes. He lifted a heavy hand and felt a bandage wrapped tightly around his head. He felt slightly dizzy…

It was dark and he needed the loo, but he felt too tired and couldn't really be bothered. There was a familiar scent in the room… It was not foul, but it reminded him of something, or someone, unpleasant…

…

He must have dozed off, because when he awoke again, feeling infinitely better, sun was shining through the windows and everything was decidedly less weird. He knew immediately that he was in the Infirmary. It took a moment before he remembered what had happened yesterday, but when he did, his face heated, out of both anger, and humiliation.

A wave of hatred coursed through him as he thought of Snape, and of how he probably was gloating in his triumph. To be knocked unconscious by an expelliarmus…. It was worthy of someone like Gilderoy Lockheart, and Harry had thought himself above that since second grade.

He rubbed a hand over his face, and groaned. Snape deserved to die a slow and painful death. Or better yet, to burn in hell for all of eternity. He was worse than Malfoy. Worse even than Voldemort at times…

The thought of Malfoy, though, made him imagine the glee of the Slytherin students as they had watched Snape make a mince pie out of him. Quickly deciding to get up rather than to lie wallowing in bed, he stretched his body experimentally.

As he reached his hands over his head though, he felt something on the pillow. It was a small piece of parchment. He picked his glasses from atop the bedside cupboard, and unfolded it.

Harry,

I hereby request your presence in my office today, Friday, after dinner.

My favourite sweets are liquorice quills.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

"I shall be very relieved, Mr. Potter, when you graduate from this school."

Harry turned his head in the direction of the voice, to see Madame Pomfrey coming out of her office, carrying a thick medical chart and eyeing him sternly, half in jest, half serious. "I never saw a boy having quite as many accidents as yourself. It is beginning to grate on my nerves." She smiled kindly, taking the edge off her words, and produced her wand. "Now hold still while I perform another scan- Ah, no talking!"

Harry shut his mouth and complied. He'd been in the Infirmary enough times to know that the matron would get her way, and that he'd get out quicker if he obeyed.

"There now. That wasn't so difficult, was it?" She studied her parchment and took some notes with a self-inking quill. "And you'll be pleased to know that you're fit as a fiddle. You've had a concussion, but I gave you a grade-three headache draught, and it seems to have done the trick." She looked at him piercingly. "Lucky you, that we have such a competent brewer in school..."

The thought of Slughorn made Harry's stomach sink, but he refused to dwell on it. He had quite enough problems to begin with, and was not quite ready to think about the elusive man and Dumbledore's prised memory. "Can I go then?" He asked, eager to see his friends, and not waiting for Madame Pomfrey to answer before getting up. First of all, he needed the loo.

"Yes, you may," she answered with a hint of annoyance. "But please refrain from getting your head bumped again anytime soon, I'd rather not see you here for a while. And I'm giving you a week's quarantine from Quidditch."

"You should tell that to Snape," muttered Harry under his breath, as he dressed and retrieved his wand, which had been placed carefully on the bedside table. The matron either did not hear his remark, or refused to comment upon it.

When he returned from the bathroom, she had gone, and Hermione and Ron were waiting for him next to the Infirmary door.

"Harry! How do you feel?" Hermione hugged him tightly and he felt a broad grin form on his face as he fought to get her curls out of his eyes and nose.

"Hi! I'm fine. Fit as a fiddle, according to Pomfrey." To Ron, he added, "She banned me from Quidditch for a week though, said I had a concussion. Fortunate that our match against Slytherin was last weekend."

Hermione released him and Ron beamed at the reminder of his triumph. "Yeah, we know." he said, "Bummer, though."

"I can't believe Snape knocked you unconscious." Hermione said.

"I know," answered Harry darkly. "He's such a git. Never been worse, actually, and he was an absolute bastard to begin with."

"Yes," said Hermione thoughtfully. "He seemed a bit out of it, now that you mention it. Distracted, or upset somehow. You don't suppose something bad has happened?"

"Hermione," said Ron shrewdly. "Snape's not upset. And if he was, would that ever put him off tormenting Harry? He never needs a reason to be a bastard, it's just who he is."

"Yeah," added Harry. "If anything bad happened, Snape would be happy."

"He even lied about it, you know," said Ron. "Said it was an accident."

Harry scowled. "I'm not surprised."

"I'm not so sure…" Hermione seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You know, the shield charm you cast yesterday? It seemed unusually strong…"

"Yeah," Ron added. "Snape was totally blown! It was brilliant!"

Hermione regarded him. "However did you do that?"

"No idea, Hermione. I just did. Like in DA, I suppose." He grinned playfully. "Maybe I have a special talent?"

"Maybe." Hermione rolled her eyes, and hefted her bag. "We should get going, though. Transfiguration begins in ten."

"You know, Harry," said Ron as they began to walk. "If you filed a complaint against Snape, Dumbledore might be forced to have him resign or something. You'd do us all a favour."

"He is a spy for the Order, Ron." Said Hermione, exasperated. "Dumbledore can't fire him just like that..."

"Why, yes he could," Ron countered. "Snape doesn't need to be a teacher to spy, does he? Dumbledore could demote him to caretaker or something. He'd get along splendidly with Filch. Hey!" his eyes widened, "You could ask Dad to help you file a complaint at the Ministry!"

Harry laughed. "That's just silly, Ron. They'll never listen."

"Harry, you say that only because you've never had an adult looking out for you. It won't be like that if we get Dad to help us. I'm sure it will be investigated if an actual adult reports it."

"You're forgetting that Lucius Malfoy works at the Ministry." Hermione said darkly. "It won't look good for your Dad to file a complaint, Ron. They're not exactly bosom friends as it is."

"Hermione's probably right," Harry said, wary of getting Mr. Weasley into trouble. "Oh, I almost forgot. I got a note from Dumbledore this morning. He asked me to come to his office later today."

"What do you suppose it's about?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe he wants to talk to you about what Snape did?" said Ron hopefully.

"I don't think so," answered Harry darkly. "It's probably about that memory from Slughorn."

Hermione's head whipped around. "Any idea how to get it?"

Harry groaned. "Hermione, please don't start nagging about that. If I had an idea, I'd just go ahead and do it, wouldn't I? Now, can we please not talk about this, it's giving me a headache."

"Fine," said Ron. "But I still think you should complain about Snape. It was inexcusable for a teacher, what he did. He could have hurt you badly."

"I'm not doing it, Ron." Harry patted him on the back, smiling. "I won't ask your Dad for anything that might get him into trouble. But thanks for the offer."

"Luckily, we don't have defence today," Ron grumbled. "At least we'll get a break from the ol' greasy git."

By that time, they were outside of the Transfiguration classroom, and had to hurry to their seats to prevent Professor McGonagall from taking House points.

…

"Liquorice quills."

Later that day found Harry at the bottom of Hogwarts' highest tower. The stone gargoyle shaped as an eagle turned aside at his prompt, and he stepped onto the spiral staircase, allowing it to bring him to the heavy oaken door that lead to the oval office at the top.

He did not need to knock because the door was already slightly ajar, and he could hear faint voices coming from within.

"…told you, and you should know that I do not take my promises lightly."

It was Dumbledore, sounding slightly agitated, which to Harry seemed a bit unusual. The elderly Headmaster had always been kind in a grandfatherly sort of way, even during the lessons they had shared. A tingle of guilt swept through him when he thought about his pending mission to obtain Slughorn's memory.

"Headmaster, I do not doubt you."

Harry started when he heard the hated drawl of none other than the man who had knocked him unconscious the previous day. What was Snape, of all people, doing here? Was this some kind of follow-up conversation from their duel? Curiosity perked, Harry waited silently in the shadow behind the door. Perhaps Snape really would be fired, as Ron had said. There was a thrill of satisfaction in his stomach at the thought, and he strained his ears to listen.

"But I fear for the time when you are no longer be with us," said Snape. "Defeating him may take years, and I'm afraid-"

Snape stopped talking, but Harry was already reeling. Why was Snape talking about the Headmaster dying? And would it really take that long to defeat Voldemort? He hadn't got that impression from Dumbledore…

"I have reason to believe that it will not," said the Headmaster. There was an air of finality in his voice. "But this is a conversation for another time. It might interest you to know, Severus, that we have a visitor."

Red-eared, as he realised he was caught out, Harry pushed the door fully open, and entered the familiar office. Dumbledore was regarding him over his half-moon spectacles, and sure enough, Snape was also there, in his habitual billowing cape, giving Harry his usual black glare.

"Eavesdropping, Potter? How typical." The contempt in those words was laid on thick, and a wave of hatred coursed through Harry. Snape had no right to belittle him like that after what he'd done. Dumbledore though, merely held up a hand, calling for silence, and Harry had to bite back on his retort. He crossed the floor warily, keeping as far away from Snape as possible.

"Harry, my boy," the Headmaster said. "I hope you are well and recovered? Please have a seat." He indicated one of the two chairs in front of the large desk, and Harry nodded and took a seat. Snape, to his dismay, stiffly sat down in the other.

"I'm fine, Sir."

"Good, good…" Dumbledore sat in his own chair behind the desk, a gleam of curiosity in his blue eyes. "Have you made any progress on the task I gave you?"

Harry wriggled uncomfortably, earning an annoyed glance from Snape. "Um… no, Sir… I've tried to talk to him several times but…"

"Ah," Dumbledore said, seeming slightly disappointed. "No matter. I am sure you will manage in time. But you must be wondering why I have summoned you here."

"Yeah." Harry shot a nervous glance at Snape. "Professor, if this is about what happened in Defence yesterday, I think I'd prefer to have someone else with me… an adult, like Mr. Weasley, or…"

"It's nothing like that, Harry," interjected Dumbledore. "And if you do want to have that conversation, we will schedule it for a later time. No, the reason I called you here today has to do with the prophecy, and as always, I ask you not to mention anything of what goes on in this office to anyone other than Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger."

"Oh, of course." So Snape knew of the prophecy as well? That was strange…

"Good. You see, I have done some research into a set of spells that might aid us in defeating Voldemort."

There was a low sound from Snape, and Harry turned to look at him. The man seemed very angry, even more so than usual.

"I brought Professor Snape here also," continued the Headmaster, "because I believe you both will be instrumental in staging his demise. You see, Harry, for some time I have thought that you, the boy of the prophecy, would be the only one who could deal him the final blow."

Unsure whether he liked the direction the conversation was taking, Harry merely nodded. Snape remained unmoving and silent.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Professor Snape and I believe we have found a way for someone else, someone more weathered and experienced, to take your place."

At these words, something uncoiled in Harry's stomach. A tight knot of tension he had not even known was there, and that made Ron's words from earlier that day resonate in his head. All of a sudden, he realised that this was something he had been waiting for –had craved- ever since he had learned of the blasted prophecy, and Sirius had died. Finally, someone other than him was going to take responsibility. Someone who knew what they were doing; an actual adult.

"I will warn you straight away," the Headmaster continued, "it is not an easy solution, and it requires a great deal of effort from the both of you, but in the end, I am convinced that the outcome will be the most favourable for all involved parties."

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Snape's hand twitch a little at that last statement, and the relief he felt only seconds before was replaced by a new worry. Was Snape the qualified person that Dumbledore was talking about? It made sense, seeing as the man was a Death Eater and close to Voldemort. But to trust him with this… "Who will this person be, Sir?" The abrupt question was probably a bit rude, judging from the Headmaster's raised eyebrows, but Harry had to know.

Dumbledore leaned back solemnly. "As it is, Harry," he said with some force. "I have asked you here today to give to you Professor Snape, so that he can help you in your plight. I strongly suggest that you take that which is offered." He held up a hand, to forestall further interruptions "And before you say anything else, I must inform you that it will be necessary to perform a spell on the two of you. It will link your souls together in such a way that Severus' magic will be recognised as, and linked to, your own. This is the only way to fulfil the prophecy if he is to take your place as Voldemort's defeater."

"Give to me…?" Harry was confused and unsettled. "Can't it be someone else?" He felt no guilt for asking.

"It cannot." The Headmaster stood from his seat and walked over to Fawkes' perch to pet the phoenix' golden feathers. "The spell I mentioned is exceedingly rare and not something to be cast on just anyone. Severus is my gift to you, and if you do not trust my offering, then you do not trust me."

Harry sat in dumbfounded silence, having no idea what to think anymore. He looked again at the dark man at his side, but Snape did not return the gaze. He was staring fixedly ahead of him, a deep furrow between his eyes.

When Dumbledore turned back to Harry, his eyes and voice had softened. "Unfortunately, Harry," he said, "There is no time to dwell on the ifs and buts. To accomplish our goal, we must act tonight. I am presenting you the opportunity of being released from your lot. Will you take it?"

There was silence in the room for the longest time yet. A silver and golden contraption of unknown application was whirring softly on the Headmaster's desk, and Harry's eyes remained fixated on the spinning wheels. Out of the corner of his eye, he could faintly detect that Fawkes was eating a biscuit out of Dumbledore's hand. Snape remained silent and still, like an ominous black tower.

In the end, Harry nodded numbly. He'd trust Albus Dumbledore with his life, and he could not deny this opportunity, even if his rescuer was untrustworthy. Besides, wasn't it only right, that Snape, the Death Eater and accomplice to the murder of Harry's godfather, should be the one to risk his life instead of Harry, who really was nothing but an innocent victim? He rubbed his clammy hands on the thighs of his trousers, wishing for Hermione's quick-witted support. There were probably a million questions he should have asked, but the words just seemed to elude him.

"Very well." Dumbledore brought out his wand. "Now, the spell I am going to cast was used to bind slaves in the twelfth century. It goes under the name of 'In Servitum Redigo', and it will link the two of you together, as I have explained. As there are no recent records of its use, I am unsure of exactly what you will experience, but there will most likely be a sensation of the bond being formed."

"Oh…" The spell sounded decidedly ominous. He looked at Snape again, expecting to receive a poisonous glare, but the man's face was so blank that it made Harry wonder if he was occluding. He turned back to Dumbledore. "So…what exactly does that mean?"

"It means, Harry," said the Headmaster. "That as a by-product of this spell, you will have some… authority over Professor Snape." He thought for a moment. "As our goal is to recruit the Professor's help with a minimum of disadvantage to his own integrity, I want your word that you will not abuse this power. This matter is of such importance that I would normally request that you to take a wand-oath. However, this particular bond will not allow any clauses, and takes supremacy in any case. I implore you though, Harry, to be wary of your conscience."

"Of course, Sir."

"Good. Now, I suggest you both stand up."

They stood from their chairs, and Harry and Snape faced Dumbledore, who made a large arch with his wand. Powerful magic, unknown to Harry, coursed through the room as he chanted.

"Hoc erit signum quod vinculum."

He pointed the tip of his wand at Snape.

"Et servus."

Light coursed from Dumbledore's wand, hitting Snape squarely in the chest. The man made a startled grunt, and sank, to Harry's great surprise, down on his knees. The Headmaster faltered for a brief moment, and then pointed his wand at Harry.

"Dominum suum."

Apart form a warm glow in his chest where the spell had hit, Harry felt nothing. But Snape's hand jerked to his throat, as though he felt pain there, and he began struggling to loosen his stiff collar.

Where the pale skin became exposed, they could see a golden chain of light encircling his neck. It shimmered for a moment, and then seemed to settle into the skin and become less intense. By the time the glow had faded, the mark was a permanent brand, and Snape was panting heavily. Beads of sweat had formed on his sallow face, and had it been anyone else, Harry would have named the expression on his face to be fear. He turned to Dumbledore in question, but the aged wizard was focusing intently on the Potion's Master.

"Severus…?" The Headmaster's voice was brittle, and for the first time since Harry had known him, he sounded and looked his age.

It seemed to take an effort for Snape to collect himself, but in the end, he got to his feet and nodded his head at Dumbledore. "It's alright, Headmaster." He sounded hoarse. "I'm fine."

"Sit, my boy." Dumbledore took Snape's arm, indicating the nearest chair, but the man merely shook him off.

"Don't," he huffed, doing up his collar. "I'm fine." His voice was more familiar now, and for some reason, Harry exhaled a sigh.

"If you say so…" The Headmaster regarded Snape with scepticism, and then turned to Harry. "Harry, it is done. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I guess..." He looked back at Snape, with the desire to understand what had happened, but the man refused to meet his gaze. Harry shifted his feet, uncomfortable with the oppressing atmosphere. He needed time to think, and more importantly, to speak to Hermione and Ron.

"Alright, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Now I want you to be mindful of what I said before. During your classes with Professor Snape, it is important that you follow the directions he gives on the board, because he will be unable to act towards you as a regular student. He cannot dock points, assign detentions, or even raise his voice against you. For this reason, your behaviour in his class must be exemplary from this point on. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor," said Harry automatically, but his mind was elsewhere. Gaze locked onto the back of Snape's greasy head, he realised that he might not need to worry so much as he had thought. Yes, Snape was a Death Eater, and likely a traitor, but now it seemed, he was also bound to Harry's command. Which meant that he would be able to make sure that Snape couldn't betray them. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad idea, after all.

"Good," continued Dumbledore. "We will speak more when you have made another attempt at retrieving Professor Slughorn's memory. Now, I must send you back to your dormitory, as it is already past curfew, and I am sure you are eager to see your friends."

"Yes, Sir." Harry nodded, gathering his bag. He almost felt dizzy from all that had happened, and knew he wasn't going to get any sleep that night. Fortunately, it was the weekend tomorrow, and he didn't have to face Snape again until Monday.

"Goodnight Harry." The Headmaster waved his wand, and the door to the spiral staircase opened. "Severus, please remain. There are several things we need to discuss."

With one final glance at his teacher turned slave, Harry hesitantly left the office.