Still catching his breath Harry closed his eyes just for a moment, and those visions flashed before his eyes in quick success. His mother holding Snape at wand point while he tried to recruit her. Snape kneeling by a keyhole while Trelawney recited a prophecy, on his knees before Voldemort confessing his desire for Lily Potter - asking him to spare her. And then his parents, falling one by one as they died to protect him.

Pushing himself up to his feet Harry bent over double, clutching a shelf for balance. Overcome with horror he closed his eyes, hearing himself whimper oh as realisation came over him. The echoes of whatever that had been still lingered within him, he could still feel that all consuming pain. But worse than that was the ache inside his chest that came with knowledge he wished he could remain ignorant to.

Opening his eyes he looked over at Snape, finally seeing that had been in front of him all along.

'You did always hope my love for James was just a sham. That one day you could take your shot at me.'

The photograph he had taken to carrying around, the image of his mother with her arm around a boy's shoulder, posing together. The boy Harry had asked everyone about, who everyone denied knowing.

Snape.

Grief was like a physical wound, and it was all he could do not to howl in misery. 'What did you do?' he asked, finally standing to face Snape.

Snape stared at him. In his hand his wand was gripped tightly. 'What did you see?'

'You. You asking Voldemort...' he trailed off, barely able to utter these words they felt so disgusting in his mouth. 'Asking him for her! My mother.'

His reaction was muted. Snape merely closed his eyes for a moment as if being tested by a particularly inept student. 'The Dark Lord doubts my allegiance to him,' he said out loud, his eyes flickering open again to study him. 'He is attempting to erode your trust in me.'

'Is it true?' Harry demanded. He let go of the shelf he was clutching, taking an angry step towards Snape. 'You...you said you desired her,' he added, feeling like he might be sick.

Snape was trying to brush him off, but he knew he was hiding something. Harry shouted at him again, persisting even when he turned away, beginning to pace a few steps. He was muttering under his breath, torquing his jaw in frustration.

'You were trying to make her join you. And then you were going to let Voldemort kill her baby?' Harry questioned, still in utter disbelief. 'Why would you do that?'

'Enough,' Snape snarled, his hands beginning to clench.

'You're sick - what's wrong with you?'

Snape whirled around. 'I tried to save her!' With a swift lunge he seized Harry by the front of his robes, shaking him. 'I tried to save all of you!'

Harry held his breath and remained still, waiting. Snape was white faced and trembling, his teeth bared around the harsh snarl of his bellows - and it was frightening. It was perhaps the first time Snape had ever shown such true, unhinged fury, and Harry remained the sole recipient.

'Why would you do that?'

His question was softly spoken, afraid of what the answer would be. But Snape ignored his question and released him, shoving him aside. As if upset with himself for letting emotion get the better of him he turned away and walked a few paces, taking a moment to collect himself. The silence was painful as Harry stared at him in disgust.

'I desire her, my Lord. That is all.'

The pieces were all falling into place. The friend of his mother he had been trying to identify was Snape…of course everyone had lied to him about the boy in the photograph. He would have lost his mind had he known the truth, would have asked too many questions that no one wanted to answer. But now the moment was here, and now he needed those answers.

'You were listening at the door while Trelawney made a prophecy,' he accused, his voice level and calm. 'And you told Voldemort. Didn't you?'

Snape ignored him. He was still facing away from him when he spoke. 'My cover is likely blown. The Dark Lord knows I am Dumbledore's man. In response he is attempting to turn you against me.'

Harry didn't give a shit about Snape's cover. 'You're not denying it,' he pressed. 'You set him onto us, didn't you? Answer me!'

Snape did not respond to Harry's accusations, nor his shout. He continued facing away from him, apparently still collecting his thoughts, and it was only when Harry shouted a second time that he turned around. Still he denied nothing, the repeated accusations falling on deaf ears. But the way Snape was staring at him…he studied him carefully, and as if coming to a conclusion he let out a slow breath.

The tone of the room shifted as confrontation faded into painful silence. Harry felt himself grow cold. What Snape just said began to sink in. Voldemort knew everything, or at the very least he suspected that something was afoot. His cover was blown, taking along with it any plans Dumbledore might have for his spy.

The implications of this were awful, and the silence was heavy with the realisation they were both coming to. Snape wouldn't abandon sixteen years of work without trying everything in his power to salvage it.

'If Voldemort gets into my head, it will blow your cover. What would you do if that happened?'

'Whatever necessary to repair the damage done.'

There was a silent realisation between the two of them, both trapped in their own individual horror. He knew what was coming next. It felt inevitable, like it was something he should have expected long before tonight. But he couldn't do it...he could never go through that again.

The first to break eye contact Harry looked at the stone floor by Snape's feet, locating his fallen wand. It was too far away, out of his reach. Noticing his attention Snape stepped forward and raised his wand.

'I take no pleasure in this.'

Harry lunged, making a desperate break for his wand. It was a split second opportunity, but he was too late. Pain engulfed him once again, the Cruciatus curse enveloping every fibre of his being until there was nothing more left but torment. But it was over almost immediately, the pain ended as quickly as it began. Crumpling to the cold stone floor a strained gasp was elicited from his throat, and for a split second he lay there perfectly still, his mind so paralysed he couldn't do anything lest it happen again - and then his brain clicked.

Snape loomed over him, his wand drawn. Making a second attempt for his wand Harry pushed himself up and lunged for where he last saw it, but his efforts were fruitless. This time he heard the curse coming for him, but he could do nothing to save himself.

'Crucio.'

It was worse this time, the curse making him writhe in agony and cry out, desperately seeking relief. When he came to his lungs heaved for breath while his body trembled, and it was all he could do. He found himself on the floor once again, one hand clumsily grasping at his face. It took him a minute to realise that he was bleeding. An unseen force acted upon him, forcing him to roll over until he was face down clutching the bleeding wound.

'Stay down.'

He couldn't get up if he wanted to. His body failed him, refusing to act even while in his head he screamed at him to get up, to fight for his life. The ground seemed to hold him firmly, encouraging him to just lay there as he wrapped his head around what just happened. Closing his eyes he shut everything out for just a minute. It was too much.

Sheer anguish welled up inside of him, and he held his breath against the miserable moan that nearly slipped out. Still clutching his bleeding face he slowly let the breath out, feeling his head beginning to clear a little. When he opened his eyes he saw the heel of Snape's shoes as he walked past him, and he lifted his head enough to watch as he bent down and picked up his wand.

A small iota of hope burned within him, clarity of thought aligning what had just happened. Snape had attacked him, had tortured him again, but nothing else had happened. He'd not been taken anywhere, no one else had arrived to help Snape deliver him to Voldemort. It was still just him and Snape alone together. What was more, he needed only a glimpse of his face to see that Snape lacked the cold, malevolent enjoyment of what he had just done. He hadn't relished torturing him the way others like Lucius Malfoy had.

Without a word Snape raised his wand and conjured a Patronus, one that shone so brightly Harry was almost blinded. Unlike earlier that night this time he saw the figure in full, a doe. In the back of his mind he made the connections, understanding. But he felt mentally depleted, so numb he couldn't really take in the implications. Besides, it was too revolting to even think...

Instead Harry focused his attention inward, for with every breath his strength was returning. Yet he made no move to attack, nor to defend himself. Any minute now would be the time to fight back, but he could not act too soon…he would get only one chance, and this time he had to get it right.

A loud smash came out of nowhere, and he lurched in fright, braced for the next attack. When nothing happened he pushed himself up from the floor just a little, turning his head and watching Snape who had rounded to the other side of the office. Unconcerned that Harry was watching him he smoothly ran his hand along a shelf upon which numerous jars and glass vials stood, and one by one they fell to the floor and smashed.

'What are you doing?' Harry asked hoarsely.

Snape ignored his question. He raised Harry's wand he pointed it to the other side of the room, and a flash of bright light bolted out and hit the opposite wall. A gas lamp exploded, showering them both in fine fragment of broken glass, and then a mortar and pestle soared through the air and smashed into a book shelf. Using Harry's wand he systematically went about his office and destroyed it, the smell of spilled potion ingredients creating a heavy dissonance throughout the room.

On the floor behind Harry the contents of two broken glass tubes had combined, the ingredients beginning to smoke ominously. Seeking cover he scrambled out of harm's way. Near the door that would lead to Snape's private quarters he took a breather before pulling himself up to his feet. He was shaking hard, his hands slippery with blood that had finally stopped coursing from his cheek and lip. But inexplicably he escaped further harm. Snape wasn't even looking at him.

Slowly he began to back away, putting more distance between himself and Snape who had surely gone mad. His heart was racing, legs feeling weak beneath him, but holding all of that inside he told himself to wait. The right moment would eventuate, and this time he couldn't stuff it up. His life could very well depend on it. Not yet...not yet.

'What are you doing?' he asked again, demanding an answer this time.

Snape now used his own wand, and he sent a pair of brass scales across the room where they smashed the glass front of a cabinet. 'I am salvaging what is left of my cover,' he snarled in Harry's direction, sparing him only a brief glance. He swapped wands again, pointing Harry's at his desk. It lifted off the floor and tipped over, giving a tremendous crash. 'Have we destroyed quite enough tonight?' he bellowed.

The office desk chair went soaring across the room, striking a book shelf and sending dozens of books down to the floor - and it was then Harry saw the right moment. Snape was swapping wands once again, exchanging Harry's for his own, and in the split second he was distracted Harry took action. Reaching out his hand he focused as hard as he could, aware of what was resting on his success, and very firmly he said 'Accio, wand!'

Most true to its owner his wand came soaring towards him, easily slipping out of Snape's lapsed grasp. 'Stupefy!'

Snape was too fast, he had conjured a shield charm before Harry even uttered the spell. The jet of red light rebounded back, leaving him only just enough time to move out of the way.

'Potter,' Snape began firmly, his wand pointed at him now. 'Lower your wand.'

'Expelliarmus!'

Again Snape easily deflected the spell, and he seemed neither alarmed nor perturbed by the attack. If anything he seemed exasperated. 'That is enough. Lower your wand.'

'Impedimenta!' Harry shouted, growing more angered and desperate with each miss. 'Bombarda!'

This time Snape was annoyed, looking mildly offended that Harry would use such a spell. Instead of shielding himself he stepped aside and allowed the spell to strike the wall behind him, the stonework breaking apart and sending debris crumbling down.

Finally Snape shook his head to himself, apparently reaching a resolution. 'So be it then,' he snarled, raising his wand and flicking it almost lazily at Harry.

He blocked it easily, sending the unknown curse elsewhere. 'Expelliarmus. Petrificus totalus!'

Flashes of light filled the office, shouts coming from Harry while Snape made only silent responses, apparently not needing to utter a single word. Again and again Snape parried Harry's efforts and knocked him back, sending him stumbling back against shattered cabinets. In a moment of sheer desperation he pointed his wand at the armchair they used in Occlumency. 'Depulso!'

The armchair went soaring across the room, and finally he landed something - it hit Snape hard and knocked him clean off his feet, giving Harry just enough time to find an advantage. Scrambling over broken furniture and destroyed belongings he advanced on Snape, holding him at wand point while he pathetically extracted himself from beneath the armchair, panting and wincing.

'Stay down,' Harry ordered, turning the tables on him. 'I said stay down!'

Ignoring him Snape staggered back to his feet, concerned more with clutching his side than the fact he was held at wand point. Stumbling a little Snape made it back to his feet and slowly stood up, straightening his robes and fighting to catch his breath. And for whatever reason Harry let him.

Finally Snape turned around to look at him, his eyes darting down to Harry's wand before looking away. A grimace came over his face, making Harry wish he knew what he was thinking. From around them came the steady drip of potion ingredients, the sizzling sound of chemicals mixing and their respective panted breaths. Snape's wand was gone, lost somewhere amongst the mess that had been created, but he seemed quite unconcerned.

Taking a step back to better secure himself Harry glanced around the office, slowly beginning to understand what had just happened here. Snape had taken his wand and systematically destroyed his own office, and when disarmed he had returned the sparring with halfhearted efforts. Harry was under no allusions as to his own duelling skills - Snape could have disabled him in half a breath...but this wasn't about that.

A scene had been staged...a scene that ultimately became real. Harry and Snape had fought one another, a vicious duel that had started with the Cruciatus curse. An explanation that, in Snape's own words, salvaged what was left of his cover.

Nearby the pensieve lay on the floor. It had been tossed when Snape upended his own desk, undamaged though the silvery tendrils of Snape's memories were scattered. Harry looked at them from the corner of his eye. They served as a harsh reminder of what started all of this; the vision Voldemort had just shown him…Snape and his mother. It was this that brought it all back into perspective for Harry, reminding him of exactly what he had come to learn.

'Give me your full attention. Now, Potter.'

At this order Harry tore his eyes away from the memories, and he stared at Snape with all the hatred and disgust he could muster. Ensuring he was listening Snape waited, and then he stepped towards him. His shoes crunched over broken glass.

'You will Stun me, and you will then flee on foot to Hogsmeade. Professor Dumbledore will be waiting for you in the Hog's Head. Do you understand?'

Harry looked back to the silver memories scattered on the floor. The image of Snape on his hands and knees before Voldemort came back to mind, asking for his mother to be spared. He was tempted to take one of the memories on the floor, to forcibly investigate what else about his past Snape had been keeping from him.

'Do you understand me? Potter!'

'Yes,' Harry snapped. He took a step forward now, tightening his grip on his wand.

'Then go,' Snape replied, his tone equally sharp. 'Go through the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow. Speak to no one. Go!'

Harry didn't move a muscle. He stared at Snape, struggling to comprehend the enormity of everything that had just happened. Deceiving Voldemort, the agonising pain of feeling Voldemort forcing his way into him, the visions he had seen...

'Flipendo!'

Snape was jerked up into the air, Harry's charm sending him soaring back to crash loudly into the cabinets behind him. He gave a muffled shout when he was dropped, and then he slumped down in a rather dramatic fashion.

He lay sprawled out on the floor. This time he was bleeding from the side of his head, but still conscious. Harry watched on as he clumsily touched his face before letting his hand fall back to the floor, giving up on any more fight. A hatred rose within him that he'd never felt so intensely before - not even for Voldemort. Not even for Malfoy.

'You set him onto us. Didn't you?'

At this question Snape gave a soft groan, but Harry knew that he had heard. His eyes fluttered open as he began to move, pressing his hand to the floor in order to push himself up, but Harry quickly advanced on him. Hatred coursed through him so intensely it felt like an out of body experience, like he was watching himself from afar.

A rough swipe of his wand forced Snape to turn over, to roll onto his back so Harry could see him. He gripped his wand so tightly his whole arm was shaking, because right on the top of his tongue was the unforgivable curse, Crucio. With every fibre of his being he wanted to make Snape suffer, to make him feel the agony he himself had inflicted. It would be justice, he reasoned with himself. It would be right.

'Answer me!' he roared. His voice caught in his throat, betraying how close he was to losing control. 'You set him onto us!'

This time Snape sighed. He slumped down to the floor, one hand falling limp across his chest. To Harry's frustration he merely looked up at the ceiling as if having accepted his fate, welcoming whatever Harry was going to do to him next.

'Yes,' he finally admitted. He spoke softly, confessing the secret of sixteen years. 'Unknowingly, yes.'

Harry was teetering on the edge, control slipping through his fingers. It was the final crescendo of the last eleven months. He wanted to hurt Snape, to return the agony he and so many others had caused to him. The ostracism, being tormented by Lucius Malfoy over and over again, the attack on Mr Weasley and the loss of the DA…retribution was right on the tip of Harry's tongue, he just had to do it. He would do it…

Harry lowered his wand and stepped back, removing himself before he could do something that could never be taken back. A cry of anguish erupted from him, and it grated at his aching throat when he released it. Behind him on the floor Snape was slowly turning onto his side, beginning to push himself up from a sitting position - but Harry wasn't having it. He thought of his mum and dad, the entire family that he would never know…Snape had taken them from him.

'You tried to turn my mother into a Death Eater,' he accused, advancing on Snape again. 'And then you got her and my dad killed! You did that to us!'

Amazingly, Snape nodded in agreement. He was propped up on his elbow now, his long hair falling in curtains across his face, but still he looked Harry in the eye. 'It remains my greatest regre-'

'No!' Harry shouted, feeling himself becoming crazed. 'Don't pretend you're sorry!'

Positively sick to his stomach he thought about that photograph from his mother's album, her with her arm around the black haired boy…his mother with Snape. He could stand it no longer - he was done. He followed the instructions Snape himself had given him.

'Stupefy!'

With a sense of finality Snape slumped down to the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head before they drifted shut, and then finally he lay still and silent. Giving it not a single more thought Harry fled, slipping on something wet when he seized his schoolbag a bolted from the office. The previously locked door opened without resistance.

He tore through the dungeon corridors, blood streaming down his face as he burst into the Entrance Hall. In a stroke of fortune he encountered not a single other soul. Being after eight o'clock in the evening the castle was quiet. Dinner had finished more than two hours ago, and by now most students were in their Common Rooms or the Library, leaving him free to make his escape unnoticed.

He had already started down the front drive when he remembered his cloak. Skidding to a stop on the gravel drive he fumbled with his bag, trying to wrench the invisibility cloak through the small gap without opening the clasp - and then his legs buckled.

Not realising how hard he was breathing he sank down to his knees. His lungs seared for breath as he wrenched open the clasp and yanked his invisibility cloak out of his bag - books, quills and ink came tumbling out too. But he didn't pay them any attention. The cloak was in his hands, his wand and mirror in his pocket. Everything he needed was with him and so he made to get up, abandoning the rest of his belongings for the sake of a fast getaway…

His History of Magic textbook lay discarded, the pages fluttering in the evening breeze - and laying on the gravel nearby was that photo, the one that had caused so much agony that night. Despite everything, his need to find safety and protection, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Harry stopped frozen. The photograph was face down. He stared at it, tears welling up in his eyes as he struggled around the lump in his throat. His mum and Snape…friends from childhood.

'I can pull no more favours to offer you safety…I can no longer protect your interests.'

A breeze picked up, taking with it the photograph. Harry considered letting it go, relieved to see it lift off the ground and begin fluttering across the gravel, but a split second later he lunged and slapped it down with his hand. A pained breath released itself from his throat. Emotion that he didn't know what to do with welled up inside him, screaming for release.

With great care he picked up the photograph. He wanted to crush it in his fist, to pummel it into a ball of scrap and throw it away, and with it the knowledge of the truth - but he couldn't. In spite of anything that had happened, many things he still did not know or understand, his mum had kept this photo. He couldn't do that to her.

Aware of how much time he was wasting Harry pulled himself together. Hand trembling he slipped the photograph into his pocket, not looking at it, and then he hurried to his feet. Abandoning his schoolbag he donned the cloak and took off. He was sprinting across the grounds as though his life depended on it, and he realised it might. Voldemort could attack him again at any moment - he needed to get to Dumbledore. He needed to find safety.

A/N Thanks for hanging in there wonderful readers - and thanks for the awesome response to the last chapter, I'm thrilled you enjoyed it!

Now that this part is over the pacing of the story will slow down, but there's still a lot left to happen, and roughly 12-15 chapters left of the story.