Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, associated characters, or plotlines and themes.

A/N: Well, at least it hasn't been six months since my last update. I got distracted by the creation of my Etsy shop (selling my miniatures, finally!), and of course, school, but this story managed to stay stuck in my head until I finally did something about it. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Thirteenth to Fifth

Severus Snape

Snow swirled around the bus stop shelter, wind whipping right through his thin jacket. The cold had almost numbed his limbs, but he still managed to jump two feet out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was only Hermione's cry that prevented him from revealing the knife that he gripped in his right hand. He hastily let it fall further into his pocket and brought his hands out into the cold.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you like that!" Hermione exclaimed, laughing. Harry smiled and gave a breathy laugh, more from relief than from amusement.

"It's okay. What are you doing out here?" he asked.

"Catching the bus, obviously," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "This is a bus stop, you know." Harry gave her a playful shove.

"I thought you normally went home with your mom," Harry clarified.

"Oh! Yeah, it's my parents' anniversary, so it's, you know, date night. I wish I had my own car…" Hermione pouted. "And look at you! You're freezing in that jacket!" Harry just shrugged.

"It's not that bad," he lied, trying to control his shivering.

"Don't be stupid, Harry. Here, I know I have a spare hat in my backpack," his friend said, immediately dropping her pack and rummaging through it. Before Harry could even refuse she had stood and crammed a dark blue hat on his head.

"Really, 'Mione…"

"Just be glad it's not my pink one. I would make you wear it regardless," she said seriously. Harry sighed.

"Fine. I'll give it back to you tomorrow."

"No until you show me that you finally remembered your own," she bargained. Harry just smiled at her and gave up. He knew he wasn't able to win. "So how's it going with Draco?"

"What?" Harry asked, startled by the change in conversation. He looked down the street for his bus…it was late.

"You know, that hot blond you've been spending every waking moment with lately," she goaded. Harry blushed.

"Oh, yeah. Um…I don't know. I guess we're…dating?"

"Well I'm glad. I mean, it took you both long enough. You've been dancing around each other since the beginning of the year it seems!" she said, giving him a big smile. Harry blushed deeper. Up the street he saw a man and wife leave a shop arm in arm, and a young boy follow them. Across from the bus stop several window shoppers were gazing into a bakery. He turned back to his friend.

"Well, what about Blaise? I know I heard rumors a while back. You still like him?" Harry asked. The conversation felt odd to him. Too…normal. He rarely got a chance to talk about silly high school stuff like this, it felt. The past two weeks he had spent very little time with his friends outside of school. He carried his knives in his pockets everywhere he went, save his dance classes, and he always held one in the palm of his hand while walking to or from the dance shop. He had automatically reverted back to scanning crowds for danger, watching passerbys out of the corner of his eyes, tensing when strangers came too close. The paranoia was wearing on him, but it wasn't without reason. He had seen several black cars—Tom's cars—following him or pass by him on the streets. He saw them drive by Snape's house at night when he couldn't sleep and stayed up, looking out the window over the street. Death Eaters seemed to be crawling everywhere around Hogwarts. He saw them everywhere—although Harry wasn't sure if they weren't just normal people and his brain was on hyper-alert, inventing threats when there were none. He had been attacked twice by young Death Eaters, but Harry had fought them off easily. He hadn't seen Tom since the car ride a couple weeks ago, though. He had a feeling he wouldn't be so lucky in the coming week—Tom wasn't known to be patient. By now the head of the most feared gang in the state knew his pattern—knew when he went to school, when he got out, when he went to work, and when he left. If it weren't for his past experiences in Thirteenth, Harry would have felt as helpless as a kitten.

So now the carefree conversation with Hermione just felt odd. It was hard to ask questions about school crushes when a vain megalomaniac was out for his blood, or his body.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't really know him the way I wish I did. I think I'm just physically attracted to him; I don't know if our personalities would really click," Hermione replied. She began rambling about Draco's best friend, but Harry's attention was diverted by the window shoppers across the street who had turned around and were now openly staring at him. A man behind the Plexiglas bus stop walls was moving closer, and the boy that Harry had assumed was with the couple leaving the shop had stopped near the bus stop. They could be anybody. Just shoppers. Normal people.

But that didn't explain the cold feeling in his gut, or the way his hands reflexively slipped into his pockets in search of a weapon. The heavy knife was a comfort to his now sweaty palm.

"Harry? Harry, are you listening to me at all?" Hermione said, poking him lightly in the stomach. Harry flicked his gaze back to the window shoppers, who were now clearly waiting for a break in traffic so they could jaywalk across the street. He didn't recognize them, but that didn't matter. Tom had plenty of people he didn't know. The boy down the street and the man behind the bus stop were both wearing hoods that obscured their faces. Another bad sign. "Harry! Hel-lo," Hermione exclaimed.

Without taking his eyes off the boy who was now only half a block away from them, Harry leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"'Mione, I want you to smile and say that you realized you forgot your textbook in your locker. Then grab your backpack and run down the block and cross the street. Go back to the school and catch your bus at the stop on the other side of 10th."

"Harry, what? What are you—"

"Hermione, just do it. Don't ask questions. You need to get the hell out of here."

"This is ridiculous! I don't see—"

"Hermione. You need to get the fuck out of here. Now!" Harry hissed viciously. Hermione took a step back, surprised. "Say it," Harry reminded her.

"Um…You know…I think I left my math textbook in my locker. I…should go get it. I'll…"

"Okay! Bye Hermione, I'll see you tomorrow." He pushed her when she started walking away. The two window shoppers were crossing the street at a jog and the boy down the block was jogging towards him too. The man behind the bus stop was now leaning on the Plexiglas. Harry could feel his gaze. "Hermione, run," he hissed. Hermione gave him a terrified and confused glance, but she started running just in time. Confident that Hermione was at least safe for now, Harry bolted in the opposite direction, toward the young man coming at him. The young man stopped, but the other men ran at him full tilt. Harry took his hand with the knife out of his pocket and flicked it open, turning around just in time to duck at vicious-looking blade wielded by one of the window shoppers. Well, Harry knew now that they weren't window shoppers. They were Death Eaters.

He heard a scream from someone near but didn't pause, instead lunging at the second 'window shopper' to fend off an offensive attack. The man that had been behind the bus stop caught him with a rush and Harry fell to the ground, rolling to lessen the impact. More screams emitted from pedestrians and Harry saw people running away. Before one of his attackers could jump on him Harry picked himself up, slashing at one man's leg. His knife came away with blood on it.

"Fucking punk," the man yelled, stumbling away to inspect the damage. His spot was filled by the man with the big knife, and Harry ducked another stab and pivoted around the man. He plunged his own knife deep into the man's back until arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him back. The younger boy, Harry figured he was around his own age, tried to throw him to the ground but Harry managed to kick the inside of his knee hard enough to break it. The boy's arms immediately released him and Harry whirled around to smash his fist into the kid's jaw.

"Jesus," one of the other men hissed behind him, and Harry turned around to catch a punch to the stomach and a kick to his left leg which sent him flying. He couldn't help but cry out when he landed on the ground and the man with the knife slashed his arm badly. Harry saw the Death Eater recoil his fist and tried to squirm out of his grasp, but the man was kneeling on his chest. This was going to hurt.

His jaw didn't break, but Harry couldn't see anything for a good five seconds. His face hurt so bad he barely felt the second punch to his stomach. Get up, Harry. Get up before they kill you. Harry forced his eyes open and managed to move his head to the side when the man swung at him again. He heard the man's knuckles crunch when they hit the pavement, and Harry used the distraction to swing his left hand up and jab a finger into the man's eye. His attacker screamed and reeled back, allowing Harry to scramble away and grab his second knife from his left back pocket. He could hear sirens coming nearer—most likely someone had called 911. Hell, Hermione probably had.

The youngest of the Death Eaters had picked himself up off the ground and was stumbling away in obvious retreat. He was followed by the man who he had stabbed with his knife. The sirens came closer and Harry tried to push himself up, but a man grabbed him and yanked him to a standing position.

"Get the fuck up, boy. And don't let the pigs pick you up," the man hissed into his ear. Harry tore his arm out of the man's grip and shoved him back, hard.

"Stay the fuck away from me, you Death Eater piece of shit. And tell Tom the same thing," he snapped, backing away. The man was already moving in the direction of the others; Harry figured there was a car waiting somewhere.

"Little bird told me you have the same mark as the rest of us, so I'd be careful who you call a piece of shit," the man sneered, finally turning and running away. Harry heard the sirens turn a corner, then saw the police car swerve into view. Fuck fuck fuck. There was a crowd of people around him now, staring at him as if they were torn between helping him and running away. The cop pulled up by the curb, startling Harry into a run after he grabbed his knife from the ground and his backpack. People scattered in front of him but the street was just crowded enough to obscure any obvious escape route. He stopped, panicking as a police officer pushed his way through the crowd and began walking towards him.

"Hey, kid, are you okay? Let's just get you to a hospital—you're not—"

"Harry! Oh thank god!" Suddenly Hermione was by his side and pulling him back towards the bus stop. Harry stumbled with her and let her drag him onto whatever bus was waiting at the stop. It pulled into traffic before the two sat down. Harry slumped into his seat, gasping for air and trying to quell the shaking in his hands. He let his eyes fall closed. "Jesus Christ, Harry. What just happened? Who were those people? Did you know them?!" Hermione shrieked at him. Harry barely heard her over the din of the bus.

"I don't know what just happened, and I don't know those people."

"Did you know they were going to attack you?!"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"I don't understand."

"Look, 'Mione, I don't either. Okay. Maybe I just looked like an easy target. I'm small, skinny….You know."

"But where did you learn to fight?" Hermione asked, turning toward Harry and unzipping his jacket.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded, slapping her hands away.

"Checking to make sure you aren't hurt. And you didn't answer me. Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Who says I learned anywhere?" Harry answered. The adrenaline was rushing out of his system now. His stomach hurt, and his face really hurt, and his arm was bleeding pretty bad. Snape was going to be thrilled. "Look, I didn't grow up in some nice clean neighborhood, okay? You learn to watch your back where I'm from."

"I figured as much. We really need to get you fixed up. You're bleeding from somewhere, and half of your face looks like someone drew all over it with markers. Jesus," she whispered. "Do you know how to get to Snape's? Which bus route goes by his house?"

"He's going to kill me, Hermione. Oh my god he's going to kill me."

"I live all the way across town from here, it'll take us forever to get there. And I know Snape lives on this side of town."

Harry dug a worn slip of paper out of a pocket on the inside of his jacket and handed it to Hermione. "This is Snape's address." Hermione took the piece of paper from him and pulled out her phone. Harry let her work her magic and went back to trying to relax into the hard plastic seat. Several minutes later he felt Hermione lean over him and tug the wire above the window, signaling that they would be getting off at the next stop.

"Here's your paper. We need to jump on a different bus, but I looked at all the intersecting routes and getting off here will only make us wait for ten minutes until the next bus," she explained. Harry let her pull him off the bus and into the cold without questions. His head was whirling with theories about Tom's strategy. All the different possibilities made his head hurt.

Half an hour later Hermione pulled Harry off the last bus in front of what she hoped was Snape's apartment. Harry looked ready to pass out: he was pale, his face swollen and bruised, and blood was seeping through his jacket. He hadn't said anything for the last few minutes. Wrapping her arm around Harry's waist she took some of his weight and propelled them to the door. Taking a deep breath, Hermione knocked. Not thirty seconds later the door opened and Snape was staring down his long nose at her, one eyebrow raised in interest.

"What a pleasure, Ms. Granger," he drawled, glancing to the boy that she was half-carrying. He had to force himself to keep his face expressionless. What in hells name did Potter get himself into?

"I'm sorry to bother you, Professor, but Harry's really hurt, and I think he's going into shock—"

"I'm not in shock," Harry mumbled. Severus opened the door wider and ushered his students inside. Hermione managed to drag Harry inside the door before Snape took pity on her and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulders, taking his weight.

"Ms. Granger, if you'll remove his shoes and jacket? I'm going to get my medical kit," Snape said, depositing Harry on the couch and quickly walking upstairs to his bathroom. He heard the girl get to work, talking to Harry all the while. When he returned with his first aid bag Hermione had her friend's shoes and jacket off, revealing several bruises on his arms and a nasty cut. Without prompting Hermione made her way into the kitchen and returned with a bowl of water, while Snape inspected Harry's injuries.

"Are there any other injuries you know about? Are you hurt?" Snape asked without looking at Hermione.

"I'm fine, and I don't know if he's hurt anywhere else. He didn't tell me," she answered, setting the bowl of water down.

"Since you seem so comfortable rooting around my kitchen, why don't you go find the rags I keep under the sink?" Snape asked. Hermione blushed but did as he asked. "I'll also need the ice pack in the freezer and a clean dish towel—they're in the drawer next to the sink," he called. Hermione returned with all the requested items and Snape set to work icing Harry's face and cleaning his cut. Once he was satisfied that the boy wasn't going to die in his couch, the professor stood and beckoned Hermione into the kitchen. "I'm going to call you a cab, and while we wait, I want to know everything that happened," Snape explained, already dialing a number on his phone. A minute later a cab was on his way and Snape sat down at the kitchen table across from his student.

"Hermione? Snape?" Harry called from the living room.

"I'll be right out," Hermione called, at the same time that Snape snapped,

"Shut up, Potter. Ms. Granger, if you would explain what happened to my charge over there?" Snape asked again.

"I don't know much: I wasn't actually there for most of the fight. I was just talking to Harry at the bus stop near school when he really suddenly told me to leave. He was very serious about it, too, told me to run and not ask questions. There were these four guys that Harry was watching, and I ran as I saw them starting to run at Harry. People started screaming a minute later and I realized that those men had attacked Harry, so I called 911. I read in a book that a lot of times people don't call 911 if they think other people have the chance to do it, and so I called because I just couldn't assume someone else would and…"

"Back to Mr. Potter, please," Snape interrupted gently. Hermione looked down at her lap, wringing her hands.

"Right. The police came after a couple minutes but Harry ran away from the police and he looked stunned and panicked and really hurt, so I just grabbed him and got him on the bus. He didn't tell me anything except that he didn't know those people or why they attacked him," Hermione finished. "Is he in trouble?" Snape sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He had other things to deal with than a banged-up Harry Potter.

"I don't know. Thank you for explaining." There was a pause, and Snape could hear Potter attempting to move around on the couch. No doubt he was in a lot of pain.

"Professor? Harry, he's had a really hard life, hasn't he?" Hermione asked very softly. Severus was quiet a moment before he nodded.

"Yes, I dare say he has."

. . .

Harry had just managed to push himself into a sitting position when Hermione and Snape returned from the kitchen. Hermione gave him a quick hug and promised to come visit him tomorrow if he wasn't at school before she left. Snape walked her to the door, gave her money for the ride home—which Harry thought was very kind of him—and then shut the door when she was gone. He turned to face Harry, giving him a long, hard stare. Harry was pretty sure his life flashed before his eyes.

"What have you gotten yourself into?" Snape demanded, stalking across the room toward him. Harry shrank back into the sofa at his approach, but he kept his eyes on Snape in case the man totally lost it.

"I…I was just attacked! I didn't do anything," he stammered. Suddenly Snape's face was two inches from his own, his teacher's black eyes boring holes into his head.

"Do not lie to me, Potter. Do not be so stupid as to think I haven't noticed your recent paranoia, let alone the unexplained injuries you find yourself with several times a week." Harry's eyes widened. Snape had never seemed to notice when he came home from work with new bruises or scrapes. The man had never asked about them. "ANSWER ME!" Harry gasped for air, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach, face, and arm and suppress panic. Snape could never find out. He would be immediately expelled from Hogwarts for gang activity, he would be back on the streets, he would fall right into Tom's hands.

"I…It's nothing. I've just been going through Thirteenth to get back here. It's…rough there right now," he lied.

"Did I not…just…instruct you to…not…lie…to…me," Snape spat between his teeth. Harry looked away but his teacher grabbed his chin and forced him to look up again. Harry sighed.

"I can't tell you!"

"And why not?"

"Because everything is really fucked up and you don't want to be involved, and I'd be expelled from Hogwarts and have to live on the streets and then everything would be even worse! That's why I can't tell you!" Harry yelled. Snape let out a forceful exhale and pushed himself away from his student, pacing to the other side of the room. When he turned around again Harry was on his feet, but behind the sofa. His eyes were darting to the back door.

"Potter, Harry," Snape said slowly. "You need to calm down, and don't even think of running out that door. Take a deep breath. I am not going to hurt you, and I will stay on this side of the room while we talk, if that would make you more comfortable. But we need to talk. I think I deserve to know what's going on, and I may be able to help you." Harry rolled his eyes.

"You can't help me," he said. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Harry, I know what you have been through. I have had many similar experiences growing up—trust me."

"You don't know anything!" Harry yelled. "You can't! You're a teacher at the best school in the city, you went to college, you…you live here!" the dancer exclaimed, motioning around the house.

"I worked hard to get through college, and I made a lot of mistakes that I will forever regret. I can help you avoid those mistakes," Snape said calmly.

"What are you even talking about? What mistakes?" Harry asked, confused. He brought a trembling hand up to his tender face, feeling the swollen tissue and wincing. Snape held his hands up and approached the couch.

"You need to keep that ice pack on your face if you want to keep the swelling down," he explained, taking the pack off the couch and holding it out to the skittish teen. Harry grabbed it, but immediately backed away after. "Look, Harry. I'll tell you about my mistakes, and if you think that I may have an idea of what you're going through, then you have to talk to me, okay? Deal?" he offered. Harry looked hesitant, and Snape waited patiently. After several minutes Harry opened his mouth.

"Deal," he whispered. Severus barely heard him.

"All right. Take some clean clothes upstairs and shower. We'll talk over dinner," Severus said, giving Harry another long look before turning around and going into the kitchen to start dinner. "Does Italian sound good?" he asked.

"Um. Yeah, sure," Harry replied in a halting voice. Snape had never asked him what he wanted for dinner before, or even checked if he liked something. This nice Snape was a little disarming, he decided. Not wanted to test the man too much Harry did as he was told, gathering some clean clothes and going upstairs to shower.

Harry entered the kitchen fifteen minutes later, and Severus turned away from the stove to look at him.

"I'm just simmering an alfredo sauce. It should be finished in ten minutes or so. I'd like to take a better look at your arm before we eat. If you would sit down?" Snape requested. Harry obediently sat down, too drained to do anything but what his teacher told him to. The man pulled the other chair around and sat next to Harry, pulling his medical kit across the table towards them. "Knife, I presume?" Severus asked quietly. Harry bit his lip but nodded. The shower had caused the long cut to start bleeding again, and even Snape's gentle fingers caused pain. "It needs stitches, if you want to minimize scarring and have it heal quickly. I dare say you've missed enough dance classes in the past month, miss too many more and you ensure you won't be in the recital at the end of the year." Harry rolled his eyes.

"I don't care about the recital," he said.

"No? I know for a fact many of your teachers had hoped to include you in their pieces," Severus mentioned.

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. His teacher nodded.

"But about your arm…would you allow me to stitch it for you?"

"You know how?" Harry asked.

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't know what I was doing. I have had a lot of practice," the chemist answered vaguely. Harry nodded.

"Fine." Snape brought his hand up slowly and turned Harry's head to look at the bruising. The swelling would be almost gone by morning, but the bruising would still be dark, especially because Harry seemed to bruise so easily.

"Let me turn the sauce off, unless you'd rather wait until after dinner?" Harry shook his head, so Severus turned the stove off and opened his kit, finding his curved needle and stitching thread. Harry sat silent while Severus sewed up the four inch cut on the outside of Harry's upper arm. He never flinched or cried out, indeed, he remained completely still and didn't complain at all. Snape had expected no less.

It took the chemist twenty minutes to properly sterilize and then stitch Harry's wound. Finally he cut the last stitch and went to throw the needle out.

"Does it feel all right?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah. Thanks, I guess."

"Let's talk. And eat," Severus suggested, returning to the stove to turn it on and warm the sauce again. Harry jumped up from the table to help, and Severus handed him a plate to serve himself pasta on. Harry took the hint and served himself, setting the plate on the counter while they waited for the sauce to heat. Severus served his own pasta and set it next to Harry's plate. "I might as well tell you a bit about myself, but mind, I expect you to do the same when I'm finished." Harry looked away. "To put it plainly, my father beat me when I was little. He was an alcoholic. We lived in Twelfth District" Harry couldn't hide the shock on his face. "I worked three jobs, did well in school, and tried to pay for college with scholarships. But the funding for my scholarship program was cut after I was only a year in. I had to drop out and move back in with my father. It was an…uncomfortable year." Snape's eye flickered down to the floor, and a picture of him as a young, abused teen popped into Harry's head. "Desperate to resume my education, I began…mixing with the wrong crowd. I joined a gang, with the agreement that the gang would pay for, and allow me, to finish school. I ran with them for six years; even after I graduated I worked for them. I was in my late twenties when it was decided my debt was paid," Harry knew there was more to the story, but didn't interrupt Snape's abbreviated storytelling. "Then I began my teaching career. Worked at several different schools around the city, and in neighboring cities. I was loath to return here, but it's hard to pass up a job at the best school in the state," the chemist gave a half smile. Harry didn't know what to say, so he said so. "Deal's a deal," Snape mentioned.

"Right," Harry mumbled. Severus continued talking while he spooned sauce onto their plates and handed Harry's back to him. Harry took his plate and sat down at the table. "I don't know where to start. It seems like it's a long story." Snape shrugged, and Harry marveled at how human the movement made him seem. He almost smiled.

"We have all night."

"It's a school night," Harry protested weakly.

"Then you best start talking sooner rather than later," Snape said dryly, taking a bite of his dinner.

"I still don't think you should know."

"What are you concerned about?" Harry sighed.

"I don't want to be expelled. I know I don't have a perfect record, and I know that I could probably be expelled for some of the things I've gotten myself into. But Hogwarts is my only chance to get out of…this place," Harry said. He tried not to tear up, but the realizations were painful and the possibilities of expulsion never seemed so real.

"Harry, look at me," Snape softly requested. Harry managed to drag his eyes upward to meet his teacher's. "I told you once before that if you chose to confide in me I would hold everything confidential. That still stands. You don't have to fear expulsion at my hand." Harry dropped his gaze. "Do you have other reasons for not wanting to confide?"

"I…I don't want you….to get in trouble. For knowing, or…I don't know. I just don't want anyone else involved," he mumbled, stabbing his food with his fork.

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Potter. You on the other hand, seem like you could some assistance, being that you keep coming home looking like you got hit by a car," Severus drawled. "Please, Harry, tell me. I'll do everything in my power to help. I promise you," he finished. Harry blinked furiously, the kind words only encouraging his tears. He wiped angrily at his face.

"Someone is feeding information about me to…the person who is causing problems for me. How do I know it's not you?" Harry asked, his gaze flicking upwards for a moment. Snape sighed and put is fork down, moving slowly around the table and kneeling down next to Harry.

"Harry, I am not giving information to anyone. I paid dearly to leave the gang life behind: nothing, nothing, could make me return to it. I have nothing to do with any of that anymore. I suppose you'll just have to trust me."

"It's hard," Harry admitted, pushing his plate away and holding his head in his hands, careful not to push too hard on his bruises and swollen jaw.

"I know. It always is," Severus replied quietly, returning to his place at the table. They sat in silence for almost five minutes until Harry opened his mouth and began talking.

"When I was little, about eight or so, I spent a lot of time on the streets. Aunt Petunia would lock me out of the house and I would wander. It's how I met my best friends, Ron, Fred, and George Weasley. When I was ten I was mugged by a group of gang members. The leader of a rival gang intervened and probably saved my life. He told me that his protection would come with a price, but I was too young to understand. Months later he found me again and asked me to do a favor for him. Somehow things just led on and I became his drug runner. I was more of a pet, now that I think about it," Harry spat angrily. "I left the gang before I turned thirteen. I had started to get in fights with other members of the gang, and finally the leader just…let me go. I just walked away. I should have known it wouldn't be that easy." He rubbed his eyes hard. "He came back a few weeks ago and made it very clear that I'm expected to sign up again. I told him to fuck off, but there's people following me, and jumping me almost every day. I've been dragged into cars and beaten up and tattooed and it's only getting worse!" Harry choked out. He couldn't bring himself to look back up at his teacher.

Snape couldn't help but sympathize with the young boy in front of him. Albus had told him several times that he and Harry were very similar, and that was all-too-clear now.

"Harry, what gang are you talking about?" Snape breathed. He thought of the flecks of the black paint on Harry's face that day months ago, and the mentioned of being tattooed. He almost didn't have to ask, but it would be better if he could Harry to volunteer the information. Harry took a deep breath.

"The Death Eaters."

Severus' jaw clenched as he mentally cursed Tom Riddle to hell and back.

Thanks for reading! Love it? Hate it? Please let me know—nothing inspires me more than your comments.

Wykkyd