A/N: Ahh, I forgot how much I love reviews. A big thanks to everyone. I hope any questions will be cleared up shortly.

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"Your compassion shows weakness, Severus," the dark man chided.

"Give her the choice," Snape sternly maintained. "Tom," he added cooly, garnering a slap across the face from his master. It didn't faze him in the least. "Give her the choice," he paused, but decided against using the man's first name again. "Or it'll be the greatest regret of your life, I swear it."

"Oh, Severus, don't be naive," Voldemort snarled, red eyes ablaze. "You and I both know just as well that the second you start taking orders from that optimistic fool, you're as good as dead." Snape noticed his lord could not even bring himself to say the man's name. Dumbledore

"Oh, but I don't think that would be the case," he exhaled complacently. "I doubt I'd do you a fat lot of good dead, either way." He paused, and then his tone became more urgent. "You need me, master." He emitted the word "master" sardonically, with a twist and curl of his thin lips. His master was not pleased. "You need me because I'm the most powerful wizard there ever was, save Dumbledore," he said with relish, "and yourself, of course." That bit, however, was emitted in the most admirable tone. "I'm beginning to think," he inserted another pensively placed pause, "that there are times upon which you are... afraid of me." The Dark Lord's expression did not change, despite the glimmer in Snape's dark eyes. "Would be an abhorrent shame if we had to duel on opposite sides, then."

"Bluffing? To the Dark Lord?" He let out an empty laugh. "You'd never defeat me. No wizard can surpass my greatness. Not even..."

"Albus?" At this, Voldemort spit in Severus' face. He moved his long forefinger to remove the thick sputum impassively, as to give Voldemort no sign of his impotence. "Save the girl," he affirmed, and by the look on the Dark Lord's face, he knew the feat would at least be attempted.

Severus Snape awoke in the late afternoon in a thick sweat, breathing heavily. He guessed he'd managed to doze off. He hadn't had that dream since Dumbledore had jinxed him upon joining his forces. He supposed that with the man's death, his magical influence in worldly matters was slowly weakening. It was about time, but enduring such painful memories would be less than salutary to his efforts. At least it hadn't been a dream of that night. He shuddered at the mere thought of it.

Dumbledore had always been far too trusting, but his judgement of character was never too far off nonetheless. Above all things, he was set in believing love as the universe's ultimate determiner. People were always doing the most peculiar things whilst in love, it seemed. Dumbledore was quite observant, and for all his years, such a prominent factor could not be blatantly ignored. But Severus questioned the validity of his opinion. Had Albus Dumbledore, a man who fancied socks and sweets about as much as he did women, ever truly experienced what it was to love and lose and do unspeakable things consequently? Thus, his trust was true but weak. And men who wore their hearts on their sleeves nearly always fell to torturous destruction. In that way, his one true enemy was correct. Severus was grateful, nonetheless. The light wizard was always right, anyhow, thank Merlin.

Too bad Harry never shared the same trust as his most favoured mentor. Like his father, he remained brazen and quick to judge, acting on impulse depending on his influences. He'd probably felt remorse or even rage upon viewing Snape's most hated memory (That precocious little prick, how could he have invaded his privacy like that? Mortified him like that? Again?), and maybe wondered how on earth his spotless father had managed to conjure up such cruelty. All children have some drastic epiphany–a moment in which they discover their father's moral mortality. Draco had his; but that was Harry's. Harry probably had felt empathy–empathy! for him then. Probably thought he knew what it was like. But Harry would never know what it was like–the way Snape truly burned internally. Harry had his friends, his girlfriend, and countless adoring advisors. Snape couldn't even manage to keep a hold on the only spitfire of a woman who ever... Oh, it was no use dwelling on the past. What was important was that Harry would never know, and that killed him. And then there was his moment, with his father...

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Ginny and Hermione were giggling boisterously over a few butterbeers when Ron entered the room. The girls did look truly astonishing when they laughed–Ginny glowed, and Hermione, well, Hermione had always been gorgeous, in a rather unconventional way, of course, even before she got out of that awkward teenage stage. The laughter quickly subsided upon his entrance, however. Hermione never lifted her stare, but Ginny switched between the two, shooting equally as nervous glances.

"Oh, look at the time! I must be off," she said before leaving the couple alone. Of course, she'd managed to squeeze in a girlish grin and wink aimed at her best girlfriend. In her absence, they stared at each other for a few stern seconds.

"Ron."

"Hermione." Another pause. Now beads of sweat formed at Ron's brow and he ran his fingers through his fiery red hair. He took a deep breath. "Hermione, we can't go on like this forever, you know." Hermione maintained her unforgiving stare. "Er, I mean, well," Ron's cheeks flushed a bright red. "It's just that," Ron was at loss for words again. "Here." He leaned in for a repentant kiss, but before he reached Hermione's lips, she turned aside, leaving him munching on a fistful of golden-brown hair. He stepped back, hurt.

"Ron, it's not like that. You can't think you can fix everything with a snog. You hurt me, Ron, you just never think about what you're say--" Her impassioned monologue was interrupted by an even more passionate kiss, despite her attempts to prevent that form of reconciliation. Ron's roughened hand found her cheek and his other brought her to her feet to share their embrace from a more comfortable position. He pulled her close to him, and at that moment, Hermione thought everything would be alright. She spoke breathlessly after a release. "Ron, do you honestly think I'd do anything with that pretentious git?" It was a laughable proposition, but Ron's face hardened at the sound of it.

"Well, I mean, you never know," he spat resentfully.

She pushed him away. "Unbelievable!" Rage burned in her honey eyes once more. "Ronald Weasley, you'll just never learn, will you?" she nearly screamed before stamping out the door.

She walked purposefully, running her fingers through her hair and brimming with hatred. How could someone she loved so deeply be so unsure of her affections? How could– thud. She found herself staring into the blackness that was Draco Malfoy's robed chest.

"Don't you ever watch your step, mudblood?" he remonstrated her. Judging by the scourging look on her face, she was not in the mood to deal with such banter. "Or do you have something on your mind?" His tone, whether intended or not, was dripping with sarcasm.

"Move aside, Malfoy," she instructed coldly.

"Ho ho, a bit resentful, aren't we? Tsk, tsk, and to think, after all we've been through," he wondered with a mocking nostalgia. This seemed to get her attention. A wave of hair whipped around and soon she was staring him down, wand in hand. With a quick flick of her wrist, the wand was pointing squarely at the chest into which she had previously crashed.

"Say another word, and I'll hex you into the next millennium," she fumed.

"Granger," he gnarled. "Don't think too much of it. He doesn't mean it; he's just unsure. That's his nature. He's got a lot to think about."

Hermione renewed a hopeful, innocent look. "What?"

"Just what I said. Oh, don't seem so surprised, Granger. It's not like it's anything new."

"No, it's just..." she thought for a moment. "Thank you."

He then donned a horrified look as though he were expecting a hug from her. "Don't get so emotional on me. It was the least I could do. Cold Malfoy blood may run through my veins, and I may be cruel and ruthless, among other things which I hope you've overlooked considering our... situation..." He raised his eyebrow wickedly. "But if there's one thing a Malfoy is not, even Draco Malfoy, the apparent betrayer of them all, it is ungrateful. I won't lie; I owe you much more than this petty pep-talk." And with that, he was gone.