Chapter Two

Snape groaned as he came to, pulling himself up onto his knees. He didn't think he could manage to stand up just yet. His vision was still fuzzy, clouded with a dull red light, and he could feel what seemed to be cracked tile beneath his fingers, the spaces between them filled with something unpleasantly sticky. The smell was the next thing he noted; the air was cool and smelled of frozen metal, but with a tinge of something rancid and decaying.

He shook his head and looked upwards from where he had come, but then repeated the motion. Instead of the darkness he was expecting to see, he noticed that the light was coming from behind a massive industrial fan suspended above him. With each revolution it sent a gust of stale air downwards on him, giving him chills. Gathering up the metal pipe- suddenly his most valuable possession- he stood and arranged his shirt sleeves and the bag around his shoulders. He would be able to recover in a few more seconds.

When he looked around to actually study his surroundings, he felt his stomach tighten painfully. The walls were covered in the plaster that the he remembered, but the once-yellow paint looked almost black in the poor light, and he could see a glittering liquid leaking from where most of it had peeled away. He quickly took his hands from the floor, realizing that they were covered in blood.

He leapt up onto his feet with a gasp, looking frantically around for something- anything- that seemed to belong in a stable reality. A part of him wanted to cry out for Lily again, but he knew she wouldn't answer. She had tricked him into this nightmare. Perhaps it was worse than a nightmare; was this Hell?

Suddenly a flash of white caught his eye, blinding in the crimson darkness, and he moved towards it desperately. He had seen war and death and more horrors than he could cope with; he couldn't take any more of this. He had seen enough blood, hadn't he? Hadn't he almost died in such decay? All he wanted was to see Lily. He wanted something pure and white and clean and something that made him happy, just once, just once before he died...

Amongst these frenzied thoughts he had forgotten about the torch, and he fumbled in the dark for the switch. He groaned as the light confirmed the blood in the walls, but he was distracted again by the white: a piece of cloth caught in some arrangement built into the wall. It calmed something within him as he reached out to take the material, grasping it firmly in his hand. But when he tried to pull it free, it wouldn't budge. He pulled harder, not caring if he ripped it as long as he got only a few meager threads, but it did not want to come loose. He reluctantly let it go after a minute or two, staring bleakly at the rusty streaks that he had smeared across it.

It was stuck beneath the corner of a tarnished metal plate, which had been placed in an indentation in the wall along with two others. None of this seemed to make any sense, until he caught sight of a plaque to the side, bearing an inscription.

"Each part of you devoured,

Each part of you condemned,

Each part of you that screams at night,

And watches Hell descend.

The part of you that thinks in darkness,

The part of you that loves in vain,

The part of you, you wish to save,

And take away your pain."

It was a riddle, laced with imagery designed to prey on his fears and magnify his grief. Then it was final, he thought. Lily intended for him to die here in what surely was, as the riddle suggested, the closest thing to Hell that this world could offer. He had tried so hard, had sacrificed everything in her name. And now she wanted him to die, no doubt to become like one of those monsters he had fought outside. She hated him, and she wanted him to suffer.

Snape couldn't remember the last time he had shed tears, and the trembling of his shoulders almost seemed unfamiliar for a moment. After keeping such impenetrable walls around his emotions for so long, after bottling them up and ignoring them for so many years... In the hospital he had been gripped by unequivocal apathy but now... He dropped the pipe with a clatter and let out a choked sob, letting the tears fall.

Twenty years. He hadn't allowed himself to cry for twenty years, knowing full well that doing so- that showing any emotion- would prevent him from completing his mission and watching over Lily's son. That was the only thing he had ever cared about, the only thing he had lived for. Did all of that mean nothing?

"Lily..." The tears came in earnest now, and he fell to his knees, not caring about the blood. He could drown in it for all he cared. "Lily, I tried," he called upwards, his voice echoing through the fan. "I tried, I tried, what more do you want from me!" He curled up on himself, his head bowed, his arms clasped around him as though he would fall apart. Perhaps he already had.

Love, Dumbledore had said, was the most powerful force in the world. "Lily," he sobbed. "I did it because I loved you; doesn't that count for anything? I loved you... I love you!" But there was no answer, and the only sound in the room was of the whirring of the fan, and of the man's deep cries and moans of agony. Dumbledore had lied, just like he had about everything else. Love was by no means the most powerful; hatred could prevail just as easily.

After a few minutes, Snape finally grasped for the vial around his neck, ready to be done with this place and move on to whatever true Hell awaited him. To die by his own poison had always been the most pleasurable option he could afford himself, ever since the night of her murder. He took a breath, wrinkling his nose against the rank air, and moved to pop out the cork.

But then, after having just closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, he opened them and took in a sharp breath of surprise. Floating in front of him was the scrap of white cloth, once again clean and free from the blood and rust that had sullied it earlier. He dared not grasp for it, but he hesitantly held out his cupped hands for it to fall into if it wished. But at the same time, he could not help but look up in hopes that he might see a glimmer of Lily's arms reaching out to him.

There was nothing to be seen but the cloth, which hovered in one place before dropping into his dirty, outstretched hands. To his dismay, he left no fingerprints, and even as he wiped a finger across it, it remained pure. He held it reverently, clasping it to his chest.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," he said quietly, unsure if she could hear him. "I... I'll do my best."

It was a few minutes more before he felt able to deal with his surroundings, after which he rose and carefully tied the cloth around his wrist, tucking it safely beneath the cuff of his shirt. Then he went back to the riddle plate with a bit more confidence, looking to examine it more closely. It seemed to him, however, that the riddle and the empty dishes were requiring something, and he looked around at the blank walls. "Where am I supposed to find these things?" he asked in the general upwards direction.

He jumped as two slabs of the wall jolted out of place, moving aside more quickly than seemed possible for such heavy material. He was left staring into two opposite hallways, both so dimly lit that their ends were made immeasurable by the darkness. His only clue was in two signs that had appeared above either entrance: 'West Wing' and 'East Wing'. So he was indeed still in Riverside Elementary. Or Midwich, as this town called it.

He turned the riddle over in his mind again as he chose the East Wing, thinking that the triangular shape of the building would eventually lead him back here anyway. It was the second part of the riddle that was most important, he thought, and after focusing on it for a moment the answer came to him. The disturbing bits aside, it was looking for something that 'thinks' and something that 'loves'. Perhaps something symbolizing a heart and a brain? But then the last part... Something he wanted to save...?

"And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"

He stopped abruptly in the doorway, the memory coming on so strongly that it momentarily overpowered his vision. The thing he had wanted to save was his soul.

He was startled again as the concrete sealed itself behind him with a bang, leaving him in relative darkness. The scarce light that was present in the hallway seemed not to come from any particular source; it simply hung in the air like a blanket of thick smoke.

The beam of the torch wavered over each room number as he directed it, looking for a room he was familiar with. At least there was perhaps a better chance of finding what he was looking for there. Room 104; he remembered the one boy who he had actually been friends with had been placed in that classroom. But the door was locked. It made sense, he supposed; the boy had been murdered by a drunk neighbor just days before beginning fourth grade.

The teacher he had hated most had been in Room 109; that door was also locked. He wondered if any of these doors were open, or if part of the scenario was that they were all closed to him. Maybe it was just a hall of empty memories.

Suddenly the creak of a door was heard, over what he realized had been the whirring of the fan, carrying impossibly through the entire hall. This time he was not so foolish as to think it was Lily, and he cautiously readied the pipe as he watched a shadow emerge from Room 104.

It growled, and the beam of his torch fell across the form of what seemed to be some kind of dog-like creature. Of all things, thought Snape. Its eyes glowed red in the darkness, and they might have actually illuminated the air around it if it hadn't been bathed in his light. It paused a few meters away from him, close enough for him to see the blood caked in its yellow teeth, and then it pounced with a piercing snarl.

Snape swung at it and missed as it sailed by him. But it rebounded more quickly than he could and turned again -just narrowly missing the chance to get its teeth around his arm, but still managing to put a few deep slashes into it with its claws. Snape let out a cry of pain, but then turned into the creature's next pounce and hit it directly in the muzzle, sending it flying back against the wall with a yelp.

It seemed unfazed as it got up again, circling menacingly around him. He wasn't sure if he could kill this thing; it was much more solid than the creatures he had encountered outside, not to mention faster and decidedly more frightening.

The next move later occurred to Snape as a miracle: the monster attacked again, and he jabbed outward with the pipe in just enough time to hit it squarely in the chest. When it crumpled momentarily in front of him, he swung downward and heard its front legs crack under the force. It howled, a horrifying sound, and began to writhe on the floor, cutting itself on the broken tiles; as soon as he had a definitive aim, he brought the pipe down on the creature's throat and silenced it. After another moment, its eyes dimmed and went black.

Breathing heavily, Snape stared down at the thing, becoming more and more disturbed by the moment. It almost seemed familiar. Though the creature's large frame was wrapped mostly in rotten bandages, he could see through the gaps where tufts of shaggy black fur poked through.

"B- Black...?"

"Hey Snivellus, I heard you used to go to a Muggle school before you got here."

Blood began to seep out of the corpse, oozing from between the bandages and pooling between the tiles.

"Maybe you should have stayed there; you're practically a Squib anyway. Besides, you must be cleaning out the school's scholarship fund by the looks of those robes, huh? What does your dad DO, anyway? Someone told me he was a mill worker; THAT makes good money, doesn't it?"

Snape felt tempted to hit the creature again for good measure, but he winced as the wound in his arms began to sting. He cursed aloud; he had forgotten all about that.

Moving away from the monster, he knelt down and directed the torch to examine the cuts in his arm, just below his shoulder. Judging by the filthiness that surrounded him, if one of the monsters didn't kill him surely the infection would. He should have been more careful; this practically meant the end of him.

In a move of desperation, Snape drew his wand and began to cast a nonverbal healing spell over it, though there was no reason it should have worked. Strangely, a blue glow emitted from the tip, and seeped into the torn flesh. The spell dimmed, and beneath the ripped material of his shirt, the skin was raw and new. His brow furrowed, and he looked curiously at his wand.

"Lumos," he whispered, pointing it outwards. Nothing happened.

He replaced his wand in the bag, wondering if perhaps he was only allowed healing spells. But then he noticed something strange; one of the gold discs he had found earlier had vanished, leaving only one. So that's what it was for, he thought, and the concept struck him as oddly funny.

The end of the hall was close, and he gathered himself before approaching the door that led into the next hall. It seemed not much different than the previous one, though he paused for a moment to scan the area for any more of the dog monsters. He rather hoped that it had just been the one, but he doubted it.

A few doors down was a hallway that led off to the left. He remembered that the school had been too poor to afford a playground, and so they had put concrete in the school's sole courtyard and sent the children out to play there. It was slightly safer with the walls rising up around them- one never knew who was lurking around the school- but it sometimes felt like a prison, too, with nowhere to hide.

As he passed it, he paused mid-step. Though he could still hear each of the fan's rotations- a notion disturbing in itself- he could have sworn to have heard the distant laughter of children. He shone his light down the dark hallway, and the laughter became louder.

The sound filled his ears as he approached the door leading outside, and it opened with a screech of rusty metal. But, as he stepped forward and let the door click shut behind him, the laughing stopped abruptly. Even the sound of the fan was gone, leaving him in complete silence. He moved forward to stand in the middle of the courtyard, noticing that the architecture of this school- with its three main halls and the open middle- was not wholly unlike that of Azkaban. The idea gave him shivers for a moment, before he was distracted by something sharp hitting him across the back. He turned quickly, seeing nothing.

The torch beam moved back and forth around the perimeter of the courtyard, though there seemed to be nothing to reveal. Perhaps he was just imagining things...

This time something hit his cheek, causing him to let out a cry of surprise as his hand went to it. A peal of laughter came from somewhere to the left of him, but he saw only a few remaining wisps of shadow once he shone the light there. Then there was another movement behind him, more laughter, and no matter how quickly he averted the light, the number of shadows and the volume of the laughter only seemed to increase.

Two more objects hit him, one in his stomach, the other in his shoulder. For a moment he dared to shine the light downwards to see what the objects were, though they seemed to just be a few small pieces of the broken concrete. Then the memories came back.

He had been sitting in the corner with a book, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. Today he was alone, with one of his friends dead and the other in the hospital with a mysteriously broken arm. Even as Severus was in the process of hoping the same would not happen to him, one of the largest boys had discovered that the edge of one piece of concrete was crumbling, and that the broken fragments would be perfect for throwing.

The first one hit Severus directly in the forehead, causing him to cry out in pain.

"Gonna cry, Snape?" the bigger boy asked, tossing another piece of concrete from one hand to the other. "It not like you can cry to your mommy anyway. She's too busy being a whore." A few more boys joined him, while the rest of the children watched from the corners of their eyes. They all knew what happened to those who got in the way of these boys- that was how Severus had become their prime target in the first place.

"How about we give you something to really cry about?" sneered one of the other boys, before promptly hurling his piece of concrete. They rest of them soon followed suit, and Severus could do nothing but try and shield himself with the flimsy book.

He was still alone. The stones were coming fast and hard now, from all directions, raining down in continuous waves. The laughter rang in his ears, disorienting him. He could do nothing but try to shield himself, unsure if he was supposed to do something or if this was perhaps all part of what was meant for him here. Even if there was something for him to do, he couldn't think of what it was.

After years and years of feeling powerless, this was no different. There was nothing he could do.

There was nothing he could do. A stone hit him above the eye, drawing blood, and he could feel nothing but complete helplessness. No one would ever help him. He huddled against the brick wall with his arms protecting his head.

"Go away... Make them stop."

The memory came back to him, and though he seemed unsure if it would work, he clenched his fists with a new sense of determination.

"I want to make them stop," he whispered, thinking of the things his mother could do; those otherworldly, magical things. "I want that power." And as he began to focus, a wind began to whip around the courtyard, making him shiver. "I want it. I want it."

Snape stood with his brow furrowed, his eyes clenched shut.

"I am not powerless," he whispered, ignoring the stone that had just gouged a mark above his eye. He could almost hear the fan become louder, almost deafening. "I took that power. I have it. I have it."

"I want them to stop. I have to make them stop." The windows around them suddenly began to rattle in their panes.

"I am a wizard," he whispered to himself. "I have power. I can control that power." He took a breath and shouted as loudly as he could, not caring about the pieces of concrete that struck him, "I am not a child anymore!"

The next thing he heard was the shattering of glass and a number of screams from the boys and the other students alike. He peeked through his hands, seeing the broken glass as it tinkled to the ground. There were cries of pain, crunching of the shards underfoot, and the distant click of the courtyard door as it opened.

Snape opened his eyes, his hands trembling. It was silent. The window behind him had shattered and the pieces had flown around him, crashing to the concrete in thousands of tiny sparkling shards.

From the darkness, one final stone rose up and clattered to a halt in front of him. But this one, different from the grey and blood-soaked concrete, was a luminous violet, and seemed to fend off the darkness on its own. He picked it up, feeling oddly safer now that the whirring of the fan had returned, and examined it further. It seemed to be a coarse amethyst stone and yet... The explanation came to him: amethyst was widely known- especially among alchemists- to be the precious stone most closely in-tune with the human soul.

Though he was sure nothing else would harm him in the courtyard, he nonetheless tucked the stone into his bag and made a quick exit back into the school. He just wanted to be rid of the place.

It was not as though he felt safe back inside, but the feeling of exhilaration in his chest staved off the fear that had gripped him so firmly. His hand tightened around the end of the pipe, and he whispered to himself again, "I am not a child anymore." He felt suddenly as though he had power over his situation, and that this school was of no consequence, being so far in his past. "I am not a child anymore."

He could control this situation, he thought. This was nothing he couldn't handle, at least for a little while.

After passing a few more doors, Snape caught sight of a long, rusty metal box bolted to the wall, and an old story sprung to mind. About a decade before he had attended Riverside, the box had contained both a fire extinguisher and a fire axe. After an older student had gone mad and nearly hacked two other children to pieces, they refused to have it replaced. Though he did not like the idea of it, he almost smiled when he saw that the axe was where it had once been.

He broke through the glass with the pipe and carefully reached inside to retrieve the new weapon. Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised that there was already blood on it. What a town, he thought. Not everyone had come from drunken households; some children were simply poor. But it was safe to say that the bars downtown were never out of business, and as a result he was sure that the bullies were merely mimicking the abuse they received at home.

A noise caught his attention for a moment, but as he directed his light down the hallway, there seemed to be nothing. Almost as a precaution, however, he began to sharpen the axe head on the concrete of the wall.

There was another sound, like the squelch of mud beneath someone's boot, but the hall was again empty as he looked either way. He began to sharpen the axe more quickly. Another squelch, and another, and just as it was beside him he swung out with the blade. It connected with nothing, only leaving him to totter with the strength of his blow. He stepped forward, looking into empty space.

An ear-splitting screech came from behind him and he turned just in time to see a dark shape swing forward from the ceiling and narrowly miss hitting him full on. It moved too erratically to have a clear shot at it, swinging from side to side and writhing against itself. While the two legs seemed attached to the ceiling, a long sheet of flesh seemed to be pulled downwards over its head, leaving it to struggle against it.

But he had no more time to stare; a number of growls drew his attention to where three of the dog monsters had appeared, seeming to come out of nowhere. He backed away as slowly as he could while still avoiding the hanging creature, and after a few moments, he turned and made a run for it.

He could hear the claws of the dogs clacking against what remained of the tiles, and he could almost hear their breathing as he chose a door, hoping with all his might that it was unlocked. It swung out before him, and he slammed it shut just as several thumps sounded from the other side. "I have power, I have power..." He strained against the door, repeating the mantra to himself, and within a minute or so the sound died away. They had given up for the time being.

Was this...? He nodded to himself, remembering this room. Without the money for a gymnasium, they generally put the students in the courtyard; when it rained, they put them here. The mats that were usually laid down were slippery with what he didn't want to think about, though it seemed odd to him that the large mirror was undamaged. In fact, it seemed almost to illuminate itself, allowing him to see the room clearly, despite the darkness.

He hesitantly approached the mirror, examining himself for the first time in at least a year. Of course, this was hardly a time to be admiring himself; on the contrary, he looked terrifying. Blood from the various monsters had splattered up onto his clothing, and his face was covered with sweat and grime from the mere contact with such a disgusting environment. Two small bruises had begun to form on his face as well, marks from the experience he had just had in the courtyard.

He sighed audibly, unsure when it would be safe to go back into the hallway. For the moment, his eyes were again drawn to himself in the mirror, as though it was odd to see himself with such a sense of mortality. He watched in the mirror as his brow furrowed, and then he froze as something changed. His eyes became darker, and a stain began to seep from his lower lashes, making him gasp and wipe at his face. Though his hands came away no dirtier than they had been before, he looked back at his reflection to plainly see the blood dripping down his cheeks.

The room around him suddenly began to morph as well; bits of plaster were falling from the ceiling and causing him to leap aside, the mats became spongy and swollen with blood beneath his feet... The air became thick with the smell of what he knew was rotting flesh. Suddenly the sound of the fan was deafening, almost enough to make him cry out in pain.

He looked back at himself in the mirror, where his reflection was not fumbling for the door with one sleeve over his nose, but instead standing passively in the center of the room, blood pouring from his eyes and nose and mouth and seemingly every pore until his entire body was painted crimson. Snape turned desperately at the doorknob, and watched in horror as his reflection let out a pained moan and began to claw at itself in its agony. He had to turn away, though the sound of ripping flesh was loud enough over the fan to make him sick.

He chanced to look back, still pounding at the door, and began to feel even more ill than he had before. His reflection had chunks of its own bloody flesh clutched in its hands, its chest torn open to reveal bone and muscle and all of its internal organs. It took hold of two ribs, snapping them as its screams rang out, and then it reached deeply into itself, grasping at its heart and then pulling it out, veins and ligaments ripping, blood pouring from the empty cavity, the thing's screams echoing painfully around him.

But just as his reflection raised its arm as though to throw the still-pulsing organ, the doorknob came loose and Snape practically flew back into the hallway, slamming the door behind him and sinking down its length. He pressed his hands firmly against his chest, as though suddenly very conscious of his own innards, which were presently squirming in a way that was more than a little uncomfortable. His forehead rested on his knees for just a moment, as he tried to calm his churning stomach. Luckily the hallway was clear at least. Luckily he hadn't eaten anything for a while either.

Then something occurred to him. One of the things he needed was a heart, wasn't it? He looked upwards where the doorknob glimmered ominously.

"Oh hell."

After another moment he rose and took a deep breath before chancing to crack open the door. It seemed quiet enough, and though he could not say that the smell was pleasant, it at least didn't reek of week-old corpse.

He entered cautiously, keeping the door open, and he stayed by it for a moment to make sure it would stay that way. The room seemed for the most part exactly as he had found it when he had first entered, only this time his light found what seemed to be a real human heart resting in the center of the floor. He approached it carefully, and then looked up at his reflection to make sure it was still actually his own.

After a moment, he realized that he had no reflection at all.

The next thing he knew he had already snatched up the heart and was darting for the door, slamming it behind him for the second time. He caught his breath and then looked down at the organ in his hands, wrinkling his nose in disgust. He stuffed it into his bag with only enough care to be sure it wouldn't be crushed, thankful that at least it wasn't covered in blood like it had been before.

Snape was not surprised when he heard the approach of one of the dog monsters- he was still not inclined to call them 'Sirius Black monsters' or 'grim monsters', though either of those might have described them more accurately. On the other hand, perhaps his aversion of the fact was what made them keep coming as they did.

"Alright," he said aloud, beginning to understand. "Your little test, Lily? You want me to face Black?" The creature approached and growled again as it tossed its head, sending blood-streaked slobber in every direction. But it wasn't the head that Snape was interested in, rather what was within it. "I can do that for you."

This time it was he who attacked first, the axe swinging wildly as the creature just barely leaped away. But Snape, driven by determination, was too quick to let it recover and swung the blade directly into its throat. It let out a choked yelp, falling to the floor, and before it had a moment to recover Snape had sunk the axe head into its skull.

It was spewing a fluid too dark to be blood, but he unwaveringly twisted the blade so that the bone around it gave a sickening crack. His hands already covered with gore, he ripped away what was left of the skull and looked expectantly downwards, hoping to find the last key to the riddle.

There was nothing more than a soup of the thick blackness, leaking like tar onto the floor. It had no brain at all, leaving him to stare down at it in disbelief.

He looked up as he heard a familiar squelching, seeing one of the hanging monsters from before. He rose and hefted the axe in his hand. "I don't suppose you have a brain either?" he retorted.

But something about the creature struck him then: the way it struggled as though tangled in its own hanging flesh, the way in which it seemed unnatural in its upside-down state, the occasional grunt or moan it made as it trudged forward.

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

Any of the confidence he might have had left him suddenly, and he backed up along the hall. After all, the hanging creature did not seem to pose any immediate threat, and something about killing it struck him as unsettling. He could practically feel the blood drain from his face.

He had been keeping his eye on the thing, and so he jumped noticeably when the metal pipe he had discarded earlier suddenly sprouted from its chest. It let out a scream and fell to the ground, the pipe ripping through it as it hit the floor. Snape stood frozen in terror as the fan became louder, and he strained to see past the range of his torch. A figure plodded into view, walking as though weighed down by a heavy burden.

The smell of rotting flesh grew strong again as Snape stared. It was draped in sparse, ragged black robes that hung over skeletal limbs; there was no muscle or flesh to be seen about it, just tight blue-grey skin. Its face- if it had any- was obscured from view by a hood tied tightly at its neck, and even at this distance he could hear its labored breathing. Its hands moved towards its chest, the fingers long and bony, and Snape realized that he had neglected to notice the protrusion from the split front of its robes. It seemed to be the hilt of a large sword...

Snape didn't need any more details. He bolted for the end of the hallway and ripped the door open, closing it behind him and wildly looking about the new area in search of anything that might try to attack him. It was empty. The fan had resumed its regular volume, and he didn't think he could hear the monster pursuing him. But that was no ordinary monster; he could feel it. Just in case, he found the lock on the door and clicked it to the left.

He paused, collecting himself for a few moments, and began to think of where he could get a brain. The science lab came to mind, but in the real Riverside, the only thing the science lab had to offer was an extra sink and a yellowing poster of Einstein. They never had specimens available, even for the oldest students. But of course, this was an entirely different world, and he was sure that a brain wasn't the only thing he would find.

Room 306. The door creaked open and he tentatively took a step inside, trying to see into the darkness with the torch. But despite the fact that he had firmly kept his hand on the doorknob, it wrenched out of his grasp and slammed shut. There were a series of clicks as the lights in the ceiling flickered to life, filling the room with a dark blue glow.

He readied his axe only to find himself swept off his feet by some unseen force, which then thrust him into a rusty chair that sagged under his weight.

He had gone up to the teacher with tears in his eyes, his hands tenderly cupped against his face. One of the larger boys had punched him, thoroughly breaking his nose with a crack. He wiped the blood away, whimpering quietly, and lowered his hands to reveal that the feature in question had been smashed into an awkward and painful-looking angle.

"I see no difference."

Snape clapped a hand over his mouth; those had not been his words. They hadn't even come from his lips and yet he had felt his tongue slip cruelly over the syllables, each one slithering vehemently from his mouth.

"Laziness," the woman had whispered silkily. "Sheer laziness."

"I was working as hard I could, I swear!"

"But you were not working hard enough."

He writhed in his seat, trying to break free, but the voices in his head and the spinning of the room were proving too powerful. "I am not a child anymore," he repeated. "I am not a child anymore." But this had nothing to do with his childhood and he knew it.

Her lips curled cruelly as she swept towards him, her steps undistinguishable from each other. She seemed to glide across the room, hovering over him. He had been trying to arrange his tattered shirt to hide the grass stains on it. "Such a pig," she hissed, her voice becoming increasingly waspish.

"Just like your father."

A paper of his fluttered into the garbage can beside her desk.

"Oops. Looks like another zero, Potter."

"Enough, enough!" He looked wildly around, seeing his old potions classroom as images of himself and the teacher he hated most flash in and out of his vision.

"I think I'll have you scraping the gum off the desks after school."

"I'll have you cleaning ingredient barrels..."

He had been clawing for the axe handle that had fallen beside him, and his fingers were just barely able to wrap around it.

"I can see that this education had been wholly wasted on you."

"Pathetic."

"You stupid boy."

He let out a shout and heaved the weapon upward, letting it go with as much strength as he could muster. It twirled through the air almost audibly, until the sound of shattering glass rang out, mingling with that woman's scream, and his own scream. The room spun more violently for a moment, images of his classroom and his office flashing clearly in his eyes...Then it went still, leaving him in the science lab as he remembered it.

His knees wobbled as he rose, determinedly making his way to the front of the class where the teacher's desk stood. Though she had taught first grade science in Room 109, her major had been in chemistry.

Breathing heavily, he rounded the desk and looked down on the seat of the chair. The brain seemed unharmed by the glass that surrounded it or the axe head that had buried itself just a few centimeters to its left, and so he automatically picked it up, retrieved the axe and made for the door. At this point he couldn't even process all of it.

The door closed behind him, and he found himself sitting at the foot of it as though his legs could no longer support him. He sat there for at least a full minute, staring blankly at the wall in front of him with the brain still clutched in one hand. The room with the mirror had certainly made him feel nauseous, but what he had just experienced had sickened him in a very different way. It wasn't until he realized how disgusting the organ in his hand was that he managed to pick up the axe that had fallen next to him and haul himself to his feet. He was feeling lightheaded, and barely even registered the squishing sound of suctioned feet between himself and the door that led back to the main room.

Now that he was able to stand again, he looked at the approaching creature with a mix of curiosity and pity, unsure if he should kill it or leave it alone or if there was any other option... It made a particularly erratic motion, ramming itself against the wall and sending a sprinkle of broken plaster to the floor.

There was really nothing he could do. He could not help that it had happened; it had. He only wished his own actions during the incident had been a little less... Erratic.

So, with the brain cradled in the crook of his arm, he took a running start towards the creature and managed dodge and duck beneath it, leaving it hanging as he reached for the doorknob. But, just as he was closing the door, he noticed that it had stopped its swinging and was simply hanging there benignly.

This left Snape in the main room again, the fan still whirring just as loudly as it had in any other point of the building. He did not have time to think this odd, however; he simply went to the riddle and the plates spread out in the wall. The brain he was glad to be rid of, and he quickly placed it in the first dish. The heart came out of his bag next, still pulsing slightly, and went into the third dish. And then, finally, the amethyst came out of the bag's front pocket and was placed into the last available space, and it glowed slightly as it hit the metal.

He stepped back, his eyes tracing the wall, and then the sound of grinding stone was heard as it was pulled back and slowly pushed to the side by some unseen force. The new room was nothing more than a sea of darkness, and no matter where he shone the torch there was nothing to be seen but the black. Snape looked down at his blood-soaked sleeve and drew out the piece of cloth, still white and as clean as when he had found it. He nodded to himself, as though for encouragement, and he stepped into the inky darkness.

Within a few steps, he heard the wall begin to close behind him, and terror began to grip him as he watch the sliver of light grow thinner and thinner. With a bang, it was pitch-dark, with nothing to guide him.

There was a click, and he saw above him another fan come into view, the same as the one outside except that its light was white and pure. "Lily?" he called out. He stared up at the light, thinking that it had to be like a spotlight for an angel, a galleon-sized gift of silver purity from heaven, a stage for Lily when she appeared to him. After all, she had said she would be there.

A sound- almost like a roar- made him look upwards, and his eyes widened helplessly. A balcony bathed in darkness encompassed the circular room, and along it nearly two dozen of the dogs were stationed, all of them growling and barking down at him. He was dead, he thought, staring into four dozen glittering red lights. He didn't stand a chance.

But then another growl came from behind him, and it was this that caused him to break out into an uncomfortably cold sweat. He turned slowly, not really wanting to know where the low howl had come from. It cantered into his line of vision: a massive beast covered in ragged brown fur, its limbs thin and sinewy, its teeth bared into a razor-sharp snarl.

The he realized that the galleon-sized light, the one that shone like the silvery gift from heaven, also resembled a perfectly full moon. He stared frozen with the deepest terror, and then the werewolf pounced.

Snape just barely dived out of the way. The creature was much faster than any of the dogs he had encountered; speaking of which, he was rather hoping they just stayed where they were. But with another lunge towards him, the most immediate threat pushed this thought aside. He managed to land a blow on its arm, but it did nothing but recoil and snarl louder. He had only made it angry.

It turned, its eyes dark with rage, and raked its claws across his chest, pinning him to the ground. The only thing preventing it from taking a large bite out of his throat was the handle of the axe that he had managed to get between them. With a roar of effort and pain, Snape managed to wrestle it away from him before it could sink its claws into him again. The werewolf retreated for a split second, leaving him to breathe heavily in the rancid air. He really wasn't strong enough for this.

It came again, and this time Snape summoned all of his strength to swing with the axe, catching the monster under the chin and throwing it aside with a bodily thump. His arms were beginning to ache with the strain, but he moved forward to again hit the monster with the flat of the blade, hard enough to hear the cracking of bones in its muzzle.

It was slower in getting up this time, and it seemed to be choking on the blood in its mouth. Snape gave it no time to recover and made one last swing into its throat... But it sprung up suddenly, fueled by death's adrenaline that ran through it, and latched its teeth into Snape's shoulder.

He swore loudly and tried to throw it off, but every attempt only brought the monster's teeth deeper. Blinded by pain, he tried to jam the end of the axe handle into its face, and it hit the corner of its jaw, forcing it open. Then, before it even had time to hit the floor, Snape managed to bury the blade of the axe deep into its chest. It thrashed only briefly, its limbs flailing helplessly as it whimpered, and then it went still.

There was a silence as Snape almost dropped the axe and fell to his knees in exhaustion, but he heard the clicking of claws from the balcony above him. With dread in his eyes, he looked upwards towards the pairs of glowing eyes... But they had turned away from him, and were disappearing into the darkness.

He heaved a sigh of relief, still struggling to catch his breath. Surely Lily had been helping him to some extent, or perhaps that hadn't been a legitimate werewolf. In the real world, it would have been difficult to kill such a creature even with magic, never mind with a clumsy Muggle weapon. But then it occurred to him. Perhaps... Now that he thought about it, werewolves had always been one of his greatest fears. After the incident under the Willow in his sixth year, just the thought of their teeth and claws and the sheer ferociousness of their manner...

It hadn't been just Lupin, though he could not say that he wasn't afraid of him either. Perhaps Greyback had instilled that fear within him, as he had with all other people. Simply... It was so difficult for him to think of werewolves as people, rather than ticking time bombs set to go off once a month. Perhaps in some ways, he wasn't any more stable than they were.

He looked back to where the werewolf lay and was startled to see that it had changed in form. It still retained some of its general lupine qualities, but it was unmistakably more human in appearance. It had lost its muzzle and ears, and its limbs were no different from that of a lean, slender man. In fact, the longer Snape stared down at it, the more human it seemed until it appeared to be nothing more than the battered, rag-draped corpse of a thin man. Something like pity stirred in Snape's heart, and he was about to look away when something caught his eye.

Around the werewolf's- the creature's, the man's- neck was a small vial that he had neglected to notice in the panic of their fight. He severed it with the blade of the axe, careful not to damage the flesh of the bring that carried it any further, as it suddenly seemed too fragile and vulnerable at his feet. He noticed only that there was a piece of parchment and what seemed to be a key inside; the rest he decided could wait until he was outside and away from this corpse that was making him more and more uncomfortable.

The other side of the room was fitted with the desk of the administrative office he had seen upon first entering, though the shade was drawn and almost black with decay. Surely he could find a way through it, he thought, until the feeling that he was being watched made him turn.

Snape's eyes widened as he saw a silver stag begin pawing at the corpse of the once-monster, bathing that side of the room in light. He dipped his muzzle down to nudge the hand, then the head, and his ears flattened suddenly as though he had just discovered that it was dead. He looked slowly up at Snape, stepping over the body, and let out a menacing snort as he pawed at the air.

Before Snape knew it, he had covered half the distance between them, and the man could do nothing but brings his arms up and wait for the impact.

The stag itself passed straight through him, but he could not help but let out a scream as it did. The sound of Lily's own scream rang out in his ears, and he could feel her terror as she spent her last seconds worrying for the safety of her child. He heard every harsh word he had ever spoken to a guiltless student; he could feel their fear and their pain through undeserving lectures and detentions. He heard the ill sentiments spoken against Remus Lupin, and he could feel anguish the man had felt at knowing that so many perceived him as a monster. He felt Sirius Black's guilt over not being there for his godson. He heard his own vindictive prodding, the goading that had resulted in Black leaving Grimauld Place and being killed at the Ministry. He felt every ounce of Harry Potter's loss.

The room became dark again, as all of these things swirled simultaneously inside him, and after they had ebbed even in the slightest, Snape staggered for a moment and collapsed onto the floor.