A/N I am not completely satisfied with this chapter, but I've had a really LONG week and wanted to get it out for you all, so I might change it a bit and make it better. Because of this, make sure you tell me what you like and don't like because that will influence how I edit it. THANKS

Chapter 25

Premeditation and Meditation

The headmaster looked at the pair expectantly when he walked back into his office some time later. There was no discussion going on, there was nothing but silence. Severus was staring forward, his lips pursed, deep within himself.

The boy had a concentrated frown on his face, although his eyes were closed. There was no movement in his body at all, save the slow rise and fall of his chest. The headmaster supposed that it was likely this is what druid meditation looked like. He was collecting himself, focusing himself, balancing himself, something which took practice, as the headmaster understood it.

Neither acknowledged any awareness that he had again entered the room.

"Have you come to a conclusion, Mr. Silver?"

The boy opened his eyes and the headmaster was stunned for a moment by their colour and intensity. He fought the frown off his face. It was widely known, if one was familiar with any ancient magical tradition, that eyes were a window into the power of the wizard. Many powerful wizards had very striking eye colour. Dumbledore's deep blue, Harry Potter's emerald green, Lucius Malfoy's sleek silver grey, Draco Malfoy's ice blue, Severus' charcoal, Voldemort's now red eyes were also once a striking blend of orange and brown. Grindewald himself had aqua coloured eyes. Slytherin a hazel green. He stopped his mind from running through other striking colours.

Mr. Silver's eyes changed colours, the significance of which he was not sure, but they most often looked unnatural, frighteningly unnatural. Right now, when the boy opened his eyes, he thought he caught a flash of something behind them, but it happened so fast, he could not be sure. They were amber and orange, fading slowly into green.

The boy stood up, which was a quite unexpected action.

He said, his voice clear and strong, "I can conscience no other decision but to go, headmaster. If my pain and suffering saves my Master's life, then that is the sacrifice I must make."

The headmaster caught Severus' eyes narrow, but the dark man said nothing.

"I am glad that you have made that decision, Mr. Silver, our side is appreciative of the advantage that you will continue to allow us to have over Voldemort."

Severus' eyes narrowed further now.

Osiris inclined his head shortly, the circumstances of the headmaster's desire to him to do this were not lost on him. He was no idiot. To the powerful wizard in front of him, he was but another pawn, and he was expendable.

He looked back at Professor Snape, "With your permission, sir, I'd like to return home to set things in order for my brother tonight and retrieve some things from home which I might be needing."

Severus' face didn't betray anything as he stood up also, "I will accompany you out, Mr. Silver."

When they stepped out of the staircase, Osiris said, "I will not be long, Professor."

"I trust you will not. I'd take some time to clear your mind tonight, Mr. Silver. Tomorrow promises to be unpleasant for us both."

Frowning, Osiris said, "What is going to be expected of me, sir?"

The Professor answered, "It wouldn't be creating memories if we planned it out completely beforehand, Mr. Silver. Clear your mind tonight as I will mine. We will break from our new course only when I am instructing you on Occlumency. The persona I must adopt will not do to teach you anything about Occluding, although we must be rigorous about Occlumency, as it is the most vital skill you need to master before He calls again."

"Yes, sir, I'll do my best to refresh my skills before we begin. I've been a bit out of practice on my Focus," he admitted, rather quietly, he regretted not practicing now.

Professor Snape anticipated his reason for not practicing and said, "Even when danger is not constant and predictable, Mr. Silver, as it was for you at your old school, it will not do for you to fall out of practice with your druidry. It is an advantage that none anticipate, and you must endeavor to always keep your mind strong, as you are honored with that gift."

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Osiris sighed deeply as he entered his home. It was quiet and empty, and he was alone. It smelled of disuse even though the house elves kept it. He walked soundlessly across the marbled floor, made possible by dozens of night coming home very late and not wanting to wake his mother. He would wake no one now.

He hastened down the chalky steps to the lab area in the basement of the manor home.

His breath caught in his throat as he passed the open archway that led to his mother's workspace, and he continued to the next door and opened it.

Immediately he was acosted by the lights coming on and a loud noise he had forgotten to prepare himself for.

Lyrics jumped at his ears, "The world is a scary place now that you've woken up the demon in me. You know, you might get down with the sickness."

He raised his hand and muttered, "Finite Incantatem," not wanted to hear the dark lyrics of the band 'Disturbed' at this particular moment in his life. They were, perhaps, not too far from the truth, he lamented in his head… at least in the near future.

Not far from the doorway, he stood in what was his workspace. It was still in disarray from the many sleepless hours he had spent researching, trying to find the answers to his mother's death.

He didn't want to linger, did not want those memories to resurface now. Purposefully, he made his way to his cabinets and methodically began placing vials and jars into the black leather bag he had slung over his shoulder.

After a brief stop in the library to gather and shrink some necessary books, Osiris ran noisily up the stairs to his quarters. There was only one thing here which would be useful to him. The ornately designed metallic box was covered with Runes and Hieroglyphs. Running his hand over the top, he concentrated, and the top clicked open.

He pulled out one of the Egyptian daggers encased within and flipped it around in his hand deftly and then back again.

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It was late when he returned to Hogwarts, and he had yet to begin the task of clearing his mind, centering himself, finding his Focus, his Balance.

During his Rite of Passage he had been able to do it at will in a matter of seconds. These were all lessons he would need to relive in order to progress as fast as he needed to for his new task.

Druid practice was not well-known to the wizarding world, but what was known was what was told by those who turned their back upon their Druidic blood, those who chose not to follow in the tradition, those who chose not to send their sons through a Rite of Passage. As such, it was seen as much more evil and Dark than it was in reality or if it were to be properly explained.

During your Rite of Passage, you were broken in every sense of the term. There was no magic unless you could perform it without a wand, which meant that you spent the vast majority of your Rite without something that you had grown to rely on. You spent your Rite relearning how to do magic, how to do magic more powerfully than you ever could at such an early age. How did you learn to do that… Lessons were well-learnt and learnt fast when they were painful. You learned fast, you progressed fast, you put everything into what you learned in order to prevent pain.

The first lesson was finding Balance. In that, the door to everything else opened. One must be balanced to infuse both the light and the dark effectively, to not be consumed by one or the other. Furthermore, Balance and Focus unleashed ancient powers by strengthening your mind in a way that took most wizards a lifetime.

You were attacked with painful curses during your meditation. The desire to avoid that pain was what drove you to perfect your Focus. If you were in that state, you Llywen or Otherworld as druids referred to it, you would feel only a shadow of the pain.

If you failed at a task, or somehow defied tradition, you could most assuredly expect to be beaten. Unless you were able to Balance, you could expect that to be a lesson you would not forget easily.

Pain disciplined the mind.

The disciplined mind could perform wandless magic, could move faster, could sense things, could avoid pain. This was the druidic advantage that the Professor was alluding to in his short lecture to Osiris about falling out of practice.

That strength, that practice, was what had kept him alive at his old school, of that he was sure. Hogwarts, however, did not impress upon him the need as Scyon did. He had not consistently cleared his mind or meditated in months.

His lackluster attempt during the silence in the headmaster's office showed him how far out of practice he was.

He got down on one knee on the floor in his room and focused on his breathing, attempting to clear his mind. His eyes were closed, but his sense of being in the room was still real, still there, and he knew that this was a bad sign. He shouldn't feel the presence of anything physical around him in his meditation.

With a small movement of his hand he summoned one of the daggers in his pair and caught it, his eyes still closed. His body felt relaxed, but his mind was not clear, not in the least, he was so far out of practice. He put his left hand out in front of him, palm up, and with a deep breath he swiped the dagger deeply across it from the web of his thumb clear across the other side.

He cringed and then stealed his jaw.

First he focused on reciting the Rune alphabet, and then pain began subsiding. As soon as the feeling started, he turned his mind to it. There was no thought, just feeling, and he focused on the magic within himself, much similar to how he would to do Transference.

Slowly, he allowed the feeling to expand, feeling the magic that formed his magical aura. His own personal magical signature.

Then on ambient magic that was always present in the world around him, outside of his body.

Finally, he felt the strange, distant feeling of the magic present on other dimensional planes, an ability that was somewhat unique to him. He held onto it for awhile, but fear did not allow him to feel it for long, to manipulate it for long. Fear was the swiftest counter to Focus.

His druid Master had told him that his fear of this piece of himself was something that he would have to overcome on his own and until that happened, he would not be whole. If that was the truth, Osiris was perfectly happy not being whole.

He opened his eyes.

There was no pain, there was no blood, because there was no cut on his hand. Not anymore.

And that was what scared him. That was not normal, even by Druidic standards.

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Osiris exited his room the next morning not knowing what to expect but wanting to do some reading before breakfast. He stopped short, however, when Professor Snape's looming figure was sending a harsh, black glare his way, with his arms crossed imperially.

Osiris didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say, so he waited for the man to make the first move. And make the first move he did.

"Mr. Silver, you will not dare enter my presence again in such a state of dress. I will not have my apprentice looking like a Gryffindor or some Muggle school-boy. I expect that same standard to be upheld even when classes are not in session."

Osiris raised an eyebrow half in shock, and then looked down at his clothes. He rolled down his left sleeve and buttoned the cuff, and began the same for the right while he said, "Yes, sir."

As he was looking at the button of his cuff, trying to get it through the hole, he completely didn't see it coming and definitely didn't expect it.

With a resounding crack, he stumbled backwards, knocked completely off-balance, and rammed his shoulder into the doorframe before he caught himself.

He almost allowed his jaw to drop as he registered that the man just backhanded him clear across his face, hard.

The man snarled, "I expect you to know the proper form of address for a Potions master when you are an apprentice, boy, and I expect it to be employed whenever you address me not in class."

Osiris refrained from touching his cheek as he answered, "It won't happen again, Master."

"I won't be so forgiving next time," the man hissed. He grabbed Osiris by the tie and collar and pulled him forward away from the wall and then pushed him towards the door before releasing his collar. "There is work for you to tend to in the classroom. I need ten gallons worth of infusion for the bolbeck potion for my second years. I suggest you get working, or you'll be late for your first class."

Although he felt the need to stare, Osiris fought it and turned his head away for an instant. He may have known that things would be different, but this was very starchy indeed.

"Yes, Master," he said, looking back at the man. His chest was tight, but his resolve was strong. He would definitely need to practice clearing his mind.

The Potions master turned to head back into the living room and then stopped short, "And, Mr. Silver, I don't suggest you sleep so late again, or you will risk my severe displeasure."

Osiris also turned around at this, one eyebrow pressed down, "Yes, s-Master."

"If you ever hope to eat breakfast again, I would suggest six."

The man slammed the door to his room before Osiris could answer.

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Severus had given up nursing his drink slowly, he was already on his third glass, which was somewhat of an oddity. He stalked back and forth in front of his fire, feeling ill at ease. His lip curled as he thought, "What the bloody hell is wrong with me. This shouldn't be so…" He downed the rest of the glass to avoid finishing that thought.

Being a Death Eater was never something that was not second-nature for him. It was a persona he could lapse in and out of at the drop of a pin. It felt real for him in the moment, as if those thoughts and actions were his own, always his own, not simply his own under particular circumstances.

It felt wrong now, foreign. With practice, he was sure that would change, but that did not make things easier in the moment now.

His mind replayed the last events of the evening for the fifth time…

With everything going on, he knew that the boy wouldn't have done any preparation and wouldn't have been perfectly up to task on his readings, but still he knew what he had to do.

He watched now as Mr. Silver tried to prepare the potion, his eyes stalking the boy's every movement, waiting for a mistake he could pounce on.

"Mr. Silver, dried belladonna! Are you that much of an imbecile? Are you not prepared?"

The boy looked up at him, his mouth parted slightly, his cheeks slightly flushed. The tension showed all over him, clearly, all over him. Good, this is exactly as it should be.

He imagined one of the many previous times that he had strongly wanted to smack the boy and then he did it.

"When I ask you a question, you'll answer it, not just stand there stupidly."

"Yes, Master," he answer, quite fast this time.

Silver was learning the act rather fast and playing it fairly well.

"Are you not prepared?" he asked again.

"No, si-Master," the boy answered, the automaticity of 'sir' not yet out of him yet.

This was the exact reason this needed to be done. One slip of 'sir' in front of the Dark Lord and there would be suspicions. The backhand he delivered was almost satisfying this time. The title of Master needed to be automatic and effortless, not ackward or forced.

"I think you may be in need of a lesson about the respect due to the Master you are studying under, Mr. Silver."

He pulled the boy away from the simmering cauldron by the front of his shirt and then pushed him toward the wall as if he were a much smaller boy than he really way.

Silver allowed himself to be manipulated, either because a piece of him was really afraid, or because he knew he was to go along with it. Severus would not have been able to push or pull him with such ease if he didn't allow it.

There was anger on his face, he knew, but his entire body was seized up with tension. He smacked him again with a growl and tried to force it away.

"You will be prepared, at all times, to brew any potion through the sixth year curriculum."

He forced him to back up towards the wall further with another smack.

"You will have studied the readings so as to not waste my time."

Another step back.

"You will not step foot in this lab and attempt to complete a potion you are not certain that you know. I should not have to remind you of the dangers of such idiocy."

The wall was coming closer now.

"You will address me properly at all time and without hesitation."

Against the wall and cringing in anticipation.

"If you do not meet my expectations as an apprentice," he grabbed the boy by the throat and pushed him up against the wall, " you will sorely wish you weren't bound to me for the next seven years. You will wish that I did not have the happy power to do with you whatever I wish."

There was fear in the boy's eyes, and something which was probably shock, and his shoulders were pulled up protectively.

He growled viciously when the boy reflexively tried to get his hands away from his throat, "Touch me again, Mr. Silver, try to hold me off and you'll be sorry indeed."

The image faded away as it had the previous times. But Severus could not shake the way the boy's eyes closed then as he hit him. The manner very defeated. Nothing like the defiant and impulsive Osiris. It was troubling when it should not have been. He was right when he anticipated with Dumbledore that this would be very difficult to do.

The way the boy's shoulders closed in around his neck, the way he turned his body, the way he held his arms, the way his lips pursed, the way his brow furrowed.

Those brief images wouldn't stop flickering across his awareness.

Even the sound of his voice when he called Severus, 'Master.'

The whiskey wouldn't drown it out, he knew that for certain. It never had for any of his memories, even those that were much worse. The only things that would drown it out was discipline and clearing his mind. It would become easier, of that he was sure. It would meld into second nature, into his alter persona.

He only hoped that Osiris had the discipline to separate out the two himself, that his mental discipline was strong enough. Occlumency training would help. The boy could Occlude somewhat, but it remained to be seen how much they would have to achieve. Severus had a bad feeling that every minute they spent together was going to have to be a lesson in control.

After today, Severus knew that Osiris would need to learn to make his body language and his face and eyes unreadable. There were many things which could easily betray you to the Dark Lord and unfortunately that meant a lot of painful ground to cover in very little time.

A/N – I had a brief thought of naming this chapter 'getting in touch with your inner evil' but that just wasn't serious enough. Although, in reality, both of them are going to get in touch with a much darker side of themselves. This poses much more of a problem for Osiris because of reasons unknown to ya'll (except maybe linden, winks).

Review responses in the next update, I want to get this out. But I have one.

Emma – what is the turn that you do not like? It would be really helpful to know. Maybe more than one person feels like you. So let me know what it is please. I don't freakj out about negative stuff. ;-)