I own nothing you recognize. I simply play in JKR's universe for fun.

Thank you to Julia, who has been critiquing chapters at a phenomenal pace. She's had a rough week, so everyone needs to send her some positive thoughts.

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Severus

February 1st, 1999

"This has got to be the coldest damn year I have ever spent at Hogwarts," I mutter over the chicken legs on my plate.

"Not by a long shot, Severus," answers Minerva, a thoughtful look on her face. "Well, perhaps the coldest you have spent at Hogwarts, but I can assure you that 1963 was far worse. And we had a good deal more snow in 1947, blizzards of the sort I have not seen before or since. We could ask Albus or Filius about their recollections."

"Mercy, Minerva. Have mercy." I surrender. She wins, but then she usually does.

"Have you considered the possibility that the treatment you had last month has made you more sensitive to the cold?" she asks.

"Yes," I answer in between bites of chicken flavored with rosemary and lemon. Quite good, actually. "I believe it has made me more sensitive to the cold, but it is lessening. The first week, I only felt warm in the classroom with every cauldron on full boil."

That and in my bathtub with the water set to a slow cook temperature, but Minerva does not need to know everything.

"Still, a small price to pay considering how much pain you did not have to go through

this time," observes Minerva.

"Indeed," I reply.

We pause in our conversation and I survey the room. The Great Hall is noisy with conversation as is usual on a Saturday night. The Ravenclaw table is busy planning a chess tournament for this evening. Hufflepuff is having a party in their common room tonight to celebrate the betrothal of Edwin Simplesford and Charlotte Winbigler. Slytherin has no particular plans that I am aware of, but I am confident the little sneaks will be up to something. Gryffindor will probably be having a snogfest, which is fine with me. I will suss them out all over the castle tonight with concomitant reduction in House points. Amazing that Hermione could come out of Hogwart's most libidinous House without….

I have to stop this kind of thinking. I know I keep saying it to myself to the point where I am dizzy with repetition. I know full well where this kind of thinking leads and I saw the first round of it last night. Those little reminders from my subconscious about the kind of heritage I have, the kind of man I am capable of being.

It has been a while since I woke calling out for my mother, begging her to forgive me. At forty, one would think I should have found my way past this.

That is the dream I hate the most, the one where I become my father, where it is my hand around her throat just as it must have been at the end when Father strangled her.

I do believe Mother has forgiven me, but now and then I get a little reminder.

My thoughts of Hermione have triggered it. I care about her and am confident that she cares about me. Until she took care of me after the Dark Lord's Crucio, I kept telling myself it was only physical. I only desired her because she was equal parts untouched and nubile enticement. She is forbidden fruit, another daughter of Gryffindor for me to lust after.

The attraction is so much more than her body. I could lose myself in her mind.

I remember the youthful enthusiasm for a new idea, a new concept. The universe unfolding itself before me, one bit at a time. The sheer joy of learning and the pure delight when the pieces of the puzzle fit together into a recognizable pattern. The unparalleled wonder of discovery. We are more alike than I would ever have thought possible a few months ago.

She is attracted to me, probably by that same quality that draws me to her. It is nothing less than a miracle. Hermione cares about me. Me, of all people.

"A knut for your thoughts, Severus."

"The monograph she sent me. I was just thinking about it."

"I read it and did not understand much of it. I believe they think this would explain Transfiguration, but only by dissecting it down to a level I really do not wish to explore," she replies. "In my mind, to transfigure an object is to grasp the essence and shift, recreate order in a new form and new manner. To analyze too deeply is to take away the poetry and the fundamental magic of it."

"Charms and Potions could certainly be viewed in the same way," I respond. "We know with charms that certain words and wand movements combined give us a particular result when imbued with the magic of the wizard empowering them. It gives the appearance of power and energy created from nothingness. Potions are not potions until the ingredients come together in magical hands that somehow manipulate the parts so they equal far more than their sum. All of these things change at a fundamental level to create something, whether a form of energy or matter. The physics, as described in the monograph could explain why it happens, though it does not truly explain the how."

"And have you ideas on the how of it?" queries Minerva.

"I might, but we are a long way from having proof of it," I reply.

Minerva reaches over and pats my hand. More of the hand patting she has taken to of late. Oddly, I do not really mind the contact.

The dinner hour is almost over. The students are trickling out of the room as they finish. Minerva and I are the last of the teachers present as we finish our tea and apple crumble.

"What would you say to some role-playing this evening?" I inquire.

"That would be fine," says Minerva with a mischievous smile. "I have some brandy we could sample. Would half-past seven do? I know you were planning to go stalking the unwary about the castle tonight."

"And a fine night it should be for it," I smirk. "Slytherin will have the House Cup this year, mark my words."

"Even if I put an anti-lust potion in the water coming into Gryffindor Tower?" she quips.

"Especially so, because I know the antidote and it would make lust potions fair game in the competition."

Minerva laughs and pats my hand again. Hmmm. Seems I got in the last word for a change.

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"This is bloody awkward, Minerva."

We are in Minerva's sitting room cuddled up on the sofa in front of a nicely crackling fire. My arm is around her shoulders and she is snuggled up against me. Two brandy snifters are sitting on the table in front of the sofa. With soft candlelight and the crackling log fire before us, it is a romantic scene.

We have tried three times to do a nuzzle and kiss while Minerva pretends to be inebriated and both of us start snickering like Third Year Hufflepuffs every time our lips get anywhere near each other.

"You are the one who is supposed to be the actor," giggles Minerva.

I do not believe I have ever heard Minerva giggle before.

"It is a well-known fact that Gryffindors cannot act worth a damn," she adds.

"It speaks volumes that the highly educated Heads of Slytherin and Gryffindor cannot manage to fake a snog," I retort, rather cheekily.

"Perhaps because of our titles we are only good for head." Minerva breaks into a belly laugh, turning scarlet with embarrassment, which probably matches the color of my complexion as well. I am choking with laughter. I cannot believe Minerva just made such a smutty joke and about the two of us no less.

It takes a few moments for the two of us to regain composure.

"Your students would be shocked and dismayed to think you even know that term," I manage to get out while gulping for air.

"The students think anyone over thirty is a fuddy-duddy," she snorts. "They know we know about sex, but cannot imagine a teacher indulging in it without getting squicked." Minerva pushes herself out of my arms and looks at me intently.

"This just is not going to work. We need to start out with something less ambitious than kissing," she says.

"It needs to fit in with the notion that you are drunk or at least tipsy," I remind her.

Minerva stands, puts her hands on her hips and purses her lips as she concentrates.

"What if I walk over to you carrying the freshly refilled snifters, set them down on the table, and prepare to sit down? I could lose my balance, being tipsy of course, and land in your lap. We could have a bit of a snuggle and a laugh. Then I move over off your lap and onto the sofa. It could be a first contact sort of thing."

"A sound strategy, especially since we cannot seem to stop laughing whenever we try to kiss. As it is, I am going to have an assortment of memories from tonight to put in potions bottles in my mental dungeon room."

"Then I shall start the scene by refilling our brandies and then walk back over here with them," nods Minerva.

"Do not forget to swish like you have been drinking," I add.

"Absolutely," she replies.

Minerva picks up the two snifters and tosses down the last of the brandy in hers. She walks to the cupboard she uses as a liquor cabinet (and quite a stock she has indeed) and removes the bottle of brandy. She refills the two snifters and turns to walk back to the sofa.

She stumbles a bit, as if she is tipsy and laughs. Nicely done, Minerva.

She walks back with just a hint of sashay in her step and puts the glasses down on the table. As she straightens up, she appears to lose her balance and starts to fall into my lap. She misses and lands on my knees, I attempt to catch her, but am too late as she is sliding down my shins to the floor and comes to rest on my feet.

We are rolling with laughter again. I am trying to catch my breath, but howling with laughter seems to be interfering. I reach down and pull Minerva up. This time she really is sitting on my lap and we pull each other into an affectionate hug.

"You are not hurt, are you?" I ask, once again gasping for breath.

"My pride is gravely wounded," she chuckles, "but the rest of me is unharmed."

"If only I could show the Dark Lord these memories. He would be laughing so hard; Potter could sneak up behind him and hex him into the inner circle of hell."

"It is a shame Riddle is so lacking in his sense of humor."

"I hope he develops one quickly. I shall have to tell him we cannot become lovers because we are liable to be injured in the process."

My mood changes instantly. I feel a burning on my arm.

"Minerva, do you have a Pensieve? There is no time for me to take the emotion out of my memory of tonight," I ask urgently, grasping my left wrist.

She looks at me with surprise and then alarm.

"Right here, Severus." She rushes to the cupboard and opens a drawer at the bottom, withdrawing a small stone Pensieve. She returns and places it in front of me.

Holding my wand in my right hand and doing my best to ignore the pain in my left forearm, I move the tip to my head and remove the silvery traces of the memory of my evening with Minerva. I place the tip of the wand into the Pensieve and deposit the memory.

"Be careful, Severus," she whispers.

I rush to my dungeons to retrieve my Death Eater robes and to report to Voldemort.

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Once again, I have no idea where I am. Join the Death Eaters and see the world. A new recruitment motto, perhaps?

It is desert here. I am dressed for a bitter Scottish winter and I am standing in sand with air that is like a blast furnace.

I turn in a circle to see where I should go. Aha, a hut to the left of me. I cast a cooling charm over myself and breathe a little easier as I make my way towards the baked mud building. It is hard work to walk in dragonhide boots through the sand. I hold my hand up to shield my eyes from the glare.

A doorway with Pettigrew framed in it once again. How many times shall we replay this scene? However, this time I have mentally planned what I shall say and how I shall say it. Lucius has advised me of Pettigrew's boast that I now owe him a wizard's debt because he stopped the Dark Lord from killing me.

"Pettigrew," I nod.

"Snape," he returns with a sneer, "You remember?"

"Not entirely," I respond. "Lucius told me. Shall we discuss this later?"

"We certainly shall."

The vile little cocksucker stands aside to let me in. I look around and there is only enough magic here to keep the temperature tolerably hot. Of course, Voldemort would prefer the heat, being part snake.

Voldemort is here. Today, his black robes are lined with red. A frisson of fear makes its way down my spine as I bow and await his signal to approach.

"Come forward, Severus," he invites, his voice a soft hiss.

I take the half dozen or so paces forward and drop to one knee, my head bowed. I must appear the humble penitent.

My master holds out his hand with the skull and snake ring, which I dip my head to kiss.

"Rise, Severus." There is formality in his voice, unlike the last time we visited.

I stand before the Dark Lord with my head bowed. He steps back from me and sits in a chair. A plain chair and the only chair in the room, very unlike his usual thrones.

"You requested a private audience with me," states Voldemort. His red eyes are on me.

"I did, my lord." Now is the moment where I must bring up what happened. I hope I am alive five minutes from now.

"I have given much thought to the events of our last meeting and why I failed to elicit the mystical union from you." I speak as humbly as I can, giving the image of a repentant acolyte.

I can feel his anger flare without looking at him.

"How dare you?" his voice is dangerously soft.

"Master, if I cannot serve you in all ways then I have failed. I must explore my own failure. I cannot grow in my service to you and the Circle if I do not face my failure."

"Look at me," he hisses.

I am already prepared for the onslaught. I meet the Dark Lord's eyes.

I am sitting in my seat in the Potions classroom, smiling in anticipation as James Potter and Sirius Black add the moonflower petals to the asp blood. The cauldron meltdown is spectacular. Albus standing at the front of the staff room talking about the fair application of the House points system. Minerva smiling and inviting me into her rooms as she sees the bottle of brandy in my hand. Sitting in my favorite chair in my sitting room listening to the Wizarding Wireless as Madame Bones explains her plan to restructure the Ministry. Standing in the circle beside Lucius as the Dark Lord speaks to the Solvo Ira debacle.

"You are making progress with Professor McGonagall?" he inquires, unsubtle in his change of topic.

"Slow progress, master. McGonagall has been a widow a long time and is not comfortable with casual touch. Nor is it typical of my character as she knows it."

"Have you revealed your impotence to her?" asks Voldemort, surprisingly unperturbed for a being who really does suffer from impotence."

"No, Master," I reply. "I intend to use the necessary potion to relieve the condition when the time comes."

"Confess it to her," orders Voldemort. "Do it while she believes you are inebriated. Allow the confession to pose a challenge to her. She may find the notion of helping you with your problem irresistible. An older woman to help a younger man with his sexual dysfunction may prove a lure to her."

"An excellent strategy, Master," I reply with all the sincerity I can muster while I cringe inside. "I had not considered such a possibility."

"Pursue this strategy. If Dumbledore will not tell you where Potter is living, she must. Even if she cannot reveal a Secret-Kept location, she can give you some idea of the region where he is housed. Better yet, she can be persuaded to have the Secret Keeper reveal the location to you."

"I will, my Lord." I pause and bow my head respectfully.

I must try again.

"Master, I believe it is my duty to you to discuss my thoughts about my failure to achieve the mystical union. It is an uncomfortable topic. If my thoughts on this matter trespass where I am not permitted, I will humbly accept your correction in whatever manner you deem fit."

"Be very careful, Severus." The Dark Lord's voice is dangerous again.

I school myself to calm and begin.

"I have considered two possibilities, Master." I look at him respectfully. "The first is that I lack the skill and attraction to elicit the union. I am reclusive by nature and tend to live a celibate life both by choice and lack of opportunity. It is a failing on my part, but I confess I lack the necessary skills to bring my partners to a state where they achieve satisfaction."

Voldemort has not killed me, yet.

"Another possibility may rest with the dual nature of your body."

"Dual nature, Severus?" he asks, looking at me under the lids of his eyes, which have no lashes.

"You are an immortal being encased in a mortal shell."

"Explain," he demands.

"Dumbledore believes I am his man within the Death Eaters. Under the guise of needing more information about your nature, I asked him to tell me what Potter told him about his encounter with you at the Mirror of Erised. Potter reported that at the end, you appeared to be a mist or smoke and disappeared into the night. There is no doubt in my mind that you are immortal in that form and that that is the very core of your being."

I am not dead, so I take a breath and continue.

"Master, you created a new body for yourself using flesh from Pettigrew, blood from Potter, and a bone from one of your ancestors. What we know about the spell you used is limited. There are few reports of the long-term effects of living in a body created from it.

"Is it possible that a weakness from any one of those sources could appear in your body?"

"For example, Mulciber's mother is almost blind without her magical spectacles. Mulciber has the same problem. It appears to run in his family. Every living being inherits traits from his ancestors. Is it possible that your new body has inherited traits from Pettigrew, Potter, and your ancestor?"

I drop my voice to a whisper. "Potter's grandfather had diabetes, a condition that can run in families."

Voldemort is looking at me intently, but I cannot read his expression anymore than I could that of an asp.

"Tell me more," hisses Voldemort.

This is encouraging and I am not dead, yet.

"Diabetes is a condition where the pancreas does not produce sufficient insulin to allow the body to utilize blood sugar and keep it at a safe level. Symptoms can include excessive thirst, hunger, tiredness, weight loss, and vision problems. Complications from it can include heart disease and circulation difficulties."

I hope the Dark Lord will understand the reference to circulation difficulties.

"How is it treated?" asks Voldemort, pensively.

"Reducing sugar in the diet and if that does not work, then a potion to control it. A cure has not been discovered, but it can be controlled with charms and potions." I put a note of pleading into my voice. "I am your Potions Master and your loyal servant. My skills are yours to command. Allow me to be of service to you."

Voldemort sits silent. It appears I have struck home, because he is considering what I have said. I stand before him, silent until he gives me an indication to speak.

"You are dismissed, Severus. You are forbidden to speak to anyone of this." He raises a hand to waive me off.

"Thank you, Master." I drop to one knee again to kiss the ring, rise, and back out of the room.

I am more relieved than I can say. I was not entirely certain the Dark Lord would accept this from me. He denied nothing that I said.

Once again, I am outside. I see Pettigrew. He has transfigured something into a chair with a sun-shade and has a cooling charm in place. He appears quite relaxed as he looks up at me.

"Snape."

"Pettigrew."

"I saved your life, Snape."

"That is very likely so. Without your intervention, our Lord would probably have killed me. I owe you a debt that I am pleased to have repaid," I say snidely.

"What do you mean the debt is repaid?" replies Pettigrew, his squeaky voice nasty with malice.

I lean down and put my face close to his ear and whisper.

"Your mother had a heart condition. She died of it, as did her father and his father before him. I did not tell the Dark Lord this bit of information, nor do I intend to."

Pettigrew looks confused and then panicked as the realization sets in.

"Get out of here, Snape," he snarls.

"A pleasure as always, Pettigrew," I say smoothly as I turn and walk to the apparation point. He glares at me as I disappear.

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"I have laid the groundwork with the Dark Lord," I report to Albus.

We are sitting in Albus' office, his bizarre magical toys and devices making whirring and clicking sounds around us.

Minerva hands me a cup of tea and summons another chair. She sits, the three of us forming a triangle in front of the fireplace.

"The important thing is that you have returned with your hide intact," she says. "You took an enormous risk by revealing what you know about his dual body."

"Dangerous, indeed," says Albus, "But absolutely necessary if we are to gain insight into the weaknesses of Riddle's mortal shell."

"Our only viable strategy is to use my role as the Dark Lord's Potions Master," I insist. "If he will trust me enough to allow me to participate in developing treatments for his medical problems, I can learn his weaknesses. We will find the weapon we need to defeat him."

"I understand the reasoning behind the choice the two of you have made to pursue this strategy," says Minerva. "My fear is that Riddle will use you in the manner you intend, but will never trust you with the knowledge you must have to help him. He will use you for research, take the knowledge, and hide how he uses it. When all is said and done, he will kill you, because anything you know will be too much."

Albus leans forward and strokes his beard thoughtfully.

"For twenty years," says Albus, "I have relied on Severus' ability to take the minutest pieces of information and recognize the pattern that others miss. The first clue we had in this mystery was a seven sided clover leaf that Severus plucked from the hem of the Dark Lord's robes."

Albus pauses to sip his tea and then continues.

"It is very likely that Riddle will do most of the research himself. Anything else would be foolish on his part. He will not trust anyone, including Pettigrew, with knowledge that can be used against him."

"However, Riddle does not have Severus' skill or judgment as a brewer. He used Dark potions and sorcery to make himself immortal. He made mistakes and in the process and was becoming increasingly inhuman. When the killing curse bounced off of Harry Potter, Riddle turned into a being of smoke and mist."

"In that form," continues Albus, "He was barely capable of interacting with the physical world and had only a fraction of his former ability to use magic. Until he used the Blood, Flesh, and Bone spell to create his new body, he was weak and nearly helpless."

"Riddle made enormous errors in his rapid pursuit of immortality. He created an immortal form, but a hugely flawed one. This is especially so when one thinks in terms of ruling the wizarding world."

Albus turns to me, smiling and twinkling.

"It is fortunate for all of us that he did not use your talents to their fullest potential. You would never have made the errors he did. You could have aided him in becoming immortal while remaining human in form and a powerful wizard in magic. Riddle has an enormous ego, but he is not stupid. We must assume he has learned something from his past experience. I doubt he will err to the same degree he did before. For the second time, he is living in a body that may betray him at any time. He must repair it if he is to pursue his plans for world conquest."

"I am his only Potions Master," I add with a smirk. "I shall appear to do all within my power to aid him. Unfortunately, the cure will always be a few potions away. In the process, I will learn enough about the flaws of his body to defeat him."

Minerva has been silent, her eyes moving between Albus and me.

"Take care, then," she says softly, turning her worried gaze to me. "You will place yourself only two or three potions away from Riddle doing away with you. This game you play is more dangerous than ever."

She is right.

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Author's Notes

If you check the weather records for Scotland, 1963 was the coldest and 1947 had the most blizzards during modern times.

For those who were unclear about it in the last chapter, Patrick Pellworthy is Peter Pettigrew and Simon Solomon is Severus Snape. Severus used these names in a letter to Pettigrew in one of the early chapters.

I received more e-mails about the NyQuil incident in the last chapter than just about anything else in this novel, so far. Apparently, quite a few of the readers have had bad experiences with it. Experiences range from racing heart beats, paradoxical effects, to feeling drunk (which was Hermione's experience). For those who haven't used it, you have been warned.

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review! Amsey, Bakaonigirii, SSHGDMLOVE, Hebi R., Excessivelyperky, Tranquility, Potionscat99, Ms.understood, Joani-the-unique-being, Koliber, Mara Angel, Beate, Not So Chicken Little, Arime Setta, Jin's Girl 6, HPWylie, Duj, SevvyLover, Notwritten, Ami Mizuno1, Doodles Divine, Kirien, Latinachikita, Darque Hart, Snape's Witch, Severus-Fan, Evilmastermind666, Rinny08, Jocemum, PiperPaigePhoebe1, KKDuke, Maddie50, KarenDetroit, Droxy, Green-eyed-angel, Mrs. Touchstone, MollysSister, Ohhdarkstonedone11, LettyBIRD, Strangelittlefeeling, Adele Rose, Lyndie578, Mugglemomof3, Wynnleaf, and PinkWands.

I've got about ten of you I haven't replied to yet. Thanks for your patience. I've gotten more reviews and e-mails about chapter 50 than any other so far.

Julia and I have kept up a pretty brisk pace in posting this story weekly. We are now both coming up on a season where we have massive Real Life commitments that won't allow us to do that. For the next few months, we will switch over to posting every other week. I've been revising and Julia has been critiquing chapters 51 through 60 like mad, so they will be posted on the every two weeks schedule. I would have liked to keep up with the weekly serial format, but it just isn't possible right now. Thanks for sticking with us!