Child of the Dark Moon

by Sw-0608

Fleeing from Dudley and the 'Harry-hunters' under a full moon, Harry Potter saves his hated cousin from a giant wolf and is nearly killed. Severus Snape comes upon the bloody body not ten minutes later and takes the child into his home, against his better judgment. Can Snape come to terms with the vulnerable boy and help him to adapt to being a werewolf? (Manipulative Dumbledore)

31. Chapter 31: Allies in Strange Places

Rated T: flashback of punishment/torture, non-graphic, but implications of it. Some cursing

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)

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Chapter 31: Allies in Strange Places

It was dark by the time Remus returned to his cabin. Padfoot was dozing on the porch when Remus apparated into the yard and the Werewolf soon had an armful of slobbering, tail-wagging dog, but Remus wasn't in the mood to play. He quietly greeted his old friend and gently pushed him off before trudging into the cabin. A fire was burning in the little stove and he could see a covered plate of supper on the table. He grimaced, knowing Sirius wasn't really a cook, but the thoughtfulness was rather nice, and unexpected. Snape had insisted on feeding him already, so he wasn't very hungry … though Werewolves were always hungry, so Remus just might sample his friend's burnt offering to avoid fighting a growling stomach and a grumpy wolf in his head all night.

"Moony, what's up?" Sirius asked softly from behind. He had transformed silently and was now looking at Remus with concern, his head tilted to the side like his canine animagus.

Remus gave him a fake smile, but inside he was a bundle of terrified nerves. Sirius and Severus were getting along so well, (all things considered) and he truly didn't want to ruin that.

"You didn't have to make me supper, Pads," Remus said casually rather than answer the question. "What is it?" He cautiously lifted the plate and tried hard not to wrinkle his nose at the burnt (and soggy) grilled cheese underneath, beside a handful of very wilted-looking fingerling potatoes.

"Yeah, I'm not much of a chef," Sirius sighed. "But I gave you the better-looking plate, I promise."

"It didn't taste too bad?" Remus teased as he gingerly sat down. Maybe he really wasn't all that hungry, honestly …

"I've had worse," Sirius shrugged and then grimaced. "But it's really not very good. Look, Moony, just forget it. I ate my portion as Padfoot because dogs have way less taste buds than humans … and I know you can taste things better than me because of your better nose and stuff. So don't kill yourself trying to choke it down. I don't know why I even tried …"

"It was very thoughtful of you," Remus said graciously, hiding his relief at being able to cover the offensive plate and shove it out of sight. "But maybe the local wildlife will appreciate the burnt offerings."

"Yeah, right," Sirius snorted with that crooked half-grin of his. "Hey, do you like me with a beard? I think it makes me look dashing. What do you think?"

"You know I'm more of a mustache sort of man," Remus said carefully. "Maybe you should ask someone else."

"Who else?" Sirius snorted. "Snape? In case you haven't noticed, the guy's allergic to facial hair. And I wouldn't ask him for grooming advice if he was the last human on earth. His hair is still just as greasy as it ever was, if not more. Seriously, does he wash his hair with lard?" Sirius sniggered.

"Sirius …" Remus sighed, propping his elbows on the table and dropping his head in his hands. He knew that his friend was just masking his worry and anxiety with humour. It was part of Sirius' personality, but he really wasn't in the mood for teasing or joking right now.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop," Sirius sighed and dropped down in a chair. "So … how'd it go? Did you find him?"

"Yes," Remus murmured. "He's … Well, he's alright for now. Mentally speaking, he's very strong. He's sorting his mind out as best he can, and there isn't much we can do to help."

"Except find the memories he's missing," Sirius pointed out.

"I don't know that the memories are missing at all," Remus sighed, running his hands through his mousy brown hair. "He's remembering stuff … bits and pieces. And it isn't pleasant. Dumbledore covered up a lot of awful stuff, probably for his own good. But … well, you know. If somebody suppressed all my dreadful memories of waking up after Full Moons, I don't know that I'd be grateful."

"Same here," Sirius muttered. "Makes me almost feel sorry for ol' Snivellus."

Remus took a deep breath and wondered how in the world he was going to do this. "He did have a breakthrough, though," he said carefully. "He's researching some complex locating spells. Maybe we can just find Harry and … I don't know, kidnap him again."

"And make sure he stays kidnapped," Sirius grumbled. "How exactly is that supposed to work in our favour, Moony?"

"You tell me," Remus smirked. "You tried it first."

Sirius grumbled incoherently, but finally admitted that Remus had a point. "So, Snape's okay with us kidnapping the Boy-Who-Lived?"

"He thinks if he can get Dumbledore to attack us rather than the other way around, we can do something."

"Um … I know he's a slimy Slytherin and he supposedly was on our side in the war … But he doesn't seriously want to assassinate Albus Dumbledore, does he?"

"Want? Yes. Planning to? No."

Sirius sighed, looking forlorn. "You lost me, Moony," he complained. "So what's his plan? Are we killing the Headmaster of Hogwarts or aren't we?"

"We're not," Remus said quickly. "But Severus thinks we need him to attack us. He thinks Dumbledore's a bit … touched, if you know what I mean. A push in the right direction could make him go right over the edge."

"Well, I suppose that might work, if he's right," Sirius growled. "But what if he's wrong? Snape's one sneeze away from Azkaban, and I'm one Auror away from being kissed bye-bye for good. And you? You'll be beheaded and your body burned up for infecting a minor. Dumbledore could snap all our necks as easy as that." He snapped his fingers.

"No," Remus said quietly, resting his head on the table and lacing his arms over the back of his neck. "If Severus has proof that his memories were modified, and his son kidnapped, it'll be Dumbledore who faces Azkaban, not him."

"Hmmm," Sirius hummed as he thought it over. "Wait, did you say 'son'? Earlier he was telling me about some memory he thought might not have even been real. He really has a kid?"

Remus uncurled from the chair and stood up, pacing back and forth as much as he could in the small kitchen. He decided to tell Sirius the details first before the name. Hopefully his friend was too dense to see the obvious until it was too late. "Severus has a son," Remus confirmed. "When the boy's mother … died, Dumbledore took his child from him and placed in a horrible home and then erased Severus' memories of the fact."

"That's just … evil," Sirius said in disgust. "Who was the mom? Someone we know?"

"She was someone who was captured by Death Eaters," Remus said carefully. "Severus was part of them back then, and he was supposed to kill her. But he didn't."

"Well that's … sweet, I guess." Sirius wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Wait, so that means his kid was conceived through …"

"Yes, an awful crime," Remus interrupted, pacing a bit more frantically. "But she forgave him and even loved him, even though she was actually … married."

"Oh boy," Sirius muttered. He leaned back in his chair and squinted at the ceiling. "And her husband didn't kill him for it?"

"Obviously not," Remus shook his head. "I actually don't … well, he doesn't exactly remember if the husband ever found out or not. If he did, there was obviously some reconciliation of some sort. If he didn't, I'm surprised he wasn't suspicious about the baby."

"Huh," Sirius muttered pensively. "So … what about the kid? He still alive?"

"He is, and Severus needs your help to perform a paternal locating spell so we can rescue him."

"But we have to find Harry first," Sirius objected. He shook his head a bit sadly. "No offense to Snape, he does need to get his own son back. But Harry was first. Once we have everything sorted out there, then we'll help him find his kid. Hell, him and Harry can grow up as brothers, wouldn't Lily have loved that? She was always telling James he needed to lay off Snape, and now look, their kids can be friends and all that."

Remus swallowed hard. Yes, Sirius was just as thick as the Werewolf thought him to be. Not that Sirius wasn't smart, he was. But Sirius was blind to a great many things. In fact, Remus himself had been thick in this regard. Simply shifting one's thinking to count Harry's father as different from who they had thought was a huge undertaking. Harry was James Potter's son. That was simply a fact.

"Remus?" Sirius spoke up, eyeing him cautiously. "Are … you okay?"

"You're going to be so angry," Remus said quietly. "But I don't want you killing anybody. Got it? Especially not Snape. Harry wouldn't be very happy."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not gonna hurt Snivellus, Moony. You know that by now."

"I know how you are when you're angry," Remus said carefully.

"What do you want me to do?" Sirius demanded, throwing his hands up in the air. "Swear an Unbreakable Vow to 'be nice to Snape always'? Come on, if I owe him a punch in the face, that'll be the end of it. I'm not gonna kill anybody. Well, I might kill you if you don't quit being all mysterious and angsty. Just tell me your horrible depressing news already. I can take it."

"Fine," Remus huffed, even more desperate to get this over with. "Severus doesn't remember everything, obviously, but he has reason to believe …"

Sirius sighed gustily as Remus trailed off. "You're more dramatic than Dumbledore, you know that?" he complained. "Spit it out already!"

"It's Harry," Remus blurted out and quickly buried his face in his hands. "Severus' son is Harry."

Silence.

It went on for so long that Remus finally peeked out between his fingers. Sirius' face was very white and his blue eyes were smoldering with rage and horror and disbelief.

"That …" Sirius finally gritted out hoarsely. "That's not very funny, Lupin."

"He found a trunk of Lily's things in his attic," Remus said quietly. "Letters, journals, photo albums … you know, I think Harry's actual appearance might have been altered a little bit. He used to have straighter hair." He paused, but Sirius didn't react. He looked as if he had been turned to stone. "Severus doesn't remember more than a couple things, but the letters … I read a few and I don't need memories to confirm it."

Sirius cursed foully for about three minutes, running through every word and phrase in his arsenal (which was quite a few) before he turned and threw the door open, shifting into Padfoot. The big black dog disappeared into the night and Remus collapsed at the kitchen table, finally allowing the tears to come.

But he had to admit that it went well, actually. Better than he could have hoped.

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Sirius stomped back into the cabin close to dawn. It was still dark outside, but the moon had set and the sky hovered in that dark stage between night and morning. The animagus looked exhausted, but no longer angry enough to kill first and ask questions later. Remus hadn't slept either, and he looked up at his friend as the man slammed the cabin door and sat down in the chair across from the Werewolf.

"I'm not helping that son-of-a-bitch until he tells me what in hell possessed him to hurt Lily," Sirius snarled hoarsely. "I want the full story and I don't want it from you, Lupin."

Remus didn't want to admit how much it hurt for Sirius to be calling him by his last name after all these years. He silently nodded in agreement and got up from his chair.

"Where the hell are you going?" Sirius spat.

"To get Severus," Remus said softly. "He won't want you in his house, not when you'll probably destroy it and alarm his muggle neighbours. I'll be back, alright?"

Sirius grunted and put his arms and head down on the table. Taking that as agreement, the Werewolf slipped outside and disapparated in the chill pre-dawn air.

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Severus hadn't slept much. He woke up, plagued by nightmares, and didn't dare go back to sleep. The problem was, the nightmares had unlocked other memories. He now could recall bandaging Lily's arm and giving her terse instructions on how to make sure the cursed wound healed without much of a scar. He remembered bits of being tortured by the Dark Lord's servants for losing his prize. He had vomited violently on waking up from that one. Apparently the Dark Lord assumed he was careless with Lily and let her escape because she wasn't pleasing enough and punished him accordingly. The Dark Lord had always been generous like that. Severus shuddered and desperately thrust the memory away. That was one he wished Dumbledore had simply obliviated. He didn't need to remember the longest and most horrible ten hours of his entire life.

But he supposed it was why he disliked touch or the very idea of intimacy so strongly now, and various other quirks and tics of his that he had assumed were simply relics from the bullying and abuse he'd put up with as a child. No, apparently some of his personal phobias were relics of the Dark Lord's 'mercy'.

He still couldn't remember anything about the boy.

It hurt in ways he didn't think were possible. He had a son. That was the first hurt. He would be a terrible father, he knew that, and no child deserved someone so awful and unsuited to fatherhood, especially not a fragile, abused boy who carried the fate of the world on his small shoulders. His son would probably hate him after the novelty wore off. That was the second hurt. Harry was supposedly fond of him now, but a few weeks down the road … Severus knew he was a difficult person to get along with. Moreover, he hated children with a passion and would never open himself up for a human being. But then, according to Poppy, Minerva, and even Black, he actually had done just that, without even knowing who Harry really was, without the traumatic memories Dumbledore had taken. He had simply grown attached. And if they were to be believed, it happened in less than two weeks.

Severus was in his study taking notes on the ritual he'd found. It was fairly simple, but he would need cooperation from a wizard or witch willing to help. A connection with the boy wouldn't hurt, but according to Lupin, the godfather-bond probably didn't take because it required the blessing of the father. It would be fine either way. The Werewolf would just have to make sure to stay out of the way lest he contaminate the locating spell with his unique magic.

But Harry would have it too, a little voice in the back of his mind told him. What if the spell couldn't find him because he had the magic of a Werewolf now? Severus paused and then scribbled down a few notes, speculating on the effect of a Werewolf's magic in a locating spell for a Werewolf, moreover, a Werewolf he'd created. Wasn't that somewhat like fatherhood too? This entire ritual depended on the eternal bond of a father and son through the magic they shared. Perhaps he really would need Lupin's help after all.

Severus was completely absorbed in filling a parchment with his spiky handwriting that he didn't hear the knocking at his door until the visitor decided to ring the ancient doorbell. Severus startled at the harsh noise and spilled ink on his notes. Cursing, he carefully cleaned up what he could and left the study. It was probably just Lupin, but he kept his wand in hand and a stupefy on his tongue just in case.

It was the Werewolf.

He looked haggard and like he'd spent the night crying rather than sleeping. Despite how corpse-like Severus knew his own appearance was after his terrible night, he was pretty sure Lupin looked worse. He silently let the Werewolf in and slammed the door before he folded his arms and faced him.

"Well?" the Potions Master demanded. "I presume he took it well, seeing as you're unharmed."

"He took it better than I thought he would," Lupin sighed, running his hand through his already messy hair. "But he still didn't take it as well as I'd hoped. He wants to punch you in the face and then he wants to know exactly what happened."

Severus snorted and put his wand back in his sleeve. "Well, I suppose I'm not surprised. His reaction is just like Potter's …" he trailed off, blinking. Of course. He remembered now.

An angry fist is banging on the door.

Open the door, a fist in the face, falling back and hitting the floor.

"You monster! You vile, stinking, thrice-accursed fiend! What have you done?!"

"Kill me, Potter …" he whispers from the ground. "Please … kill me."

Boots stomp inside, cloak swirling above him, the door slams.

"I should, you know," that voice growls. "But then she would kill me if I did that. Get up. I'm not done beating the living daylights out of you yet."

He stands obediently and the fist connects with his jaw, making stars dance in his eyes.

Severus shook himself, realizing that he was on the floor. Had the flashback knocked him down?

"Severus? Are you with me?" Lupin's anxious voice was somewhere in the hazy blur above his face. "Can you hear me?"

"Stop hovering," Severus growled, pushing the Werewolf away. He sat up and marveled that he didn't feel bruised after his fall. "You caught me?" he demanded incredulously.

"Reflex," Lupin muttered, flushing anxiously. "You're welcome, or I'm sorry, whichever one you prefer."

"You are utterly ridiculous, Lupin," Severus muttered.

"Flashback?"

"Potter," Severus replied tersely. "He … found out, I suppose. Punched the living daylights out of me." Severus paused to rub his jaw, which was still throbbing with phantom pain. "I … I begged him to kill me, but he didn't," he said softly. "How about that?"

"Well," Lupin smiled nervously. "I'm not letting Sirius kill you, and he only asked for one punch, so that's all I'll give him. Maybe once he hears that James already gave you a licking he'll ease up."

"Unlikely," Severus grunted, easing himself off the floor. "I must collect my notes. Wait here, I'll be right back."

"Bring some bruise balm too," Lupin suggested. "Before Azkaban he had a mean swing."

"I am not so certain about that," Severus sneered as he left the entrance hall. "Black told me that we got into a fist fight when he kidnapped Harry and I got the better of him."

Severus didn't hear the Werewolf's reply. He reached his study and collected his notes and two books, shoving them in a bag he used for this sort of thing. He went down to his lab next and filled his satchel with ingredients he would need for the ritual, a sharp knife, and some medicinal potions, just in case. He was planning to bring them anyway, so Lupin's suggestion didn't matter. Honestly, Black wasn't going to stop at one punch. The memory was more solid now, and he could recall that Potter beat him into a bloody mess before simply leaving. Had he come back? Severus couldn't remember. He could remember waking in the morning, sick and dizzy, and treating his injuries and after that, there was a haze of memories, and a disjointed thought: Why did everybody who punched him have to aim for his nose? It was only hooked and ugly because it kept getting broken. Slowly, Severus reached up and touched a scar near his left eyebrow as another piece of that memory surged to the front of his mind.

The fist that connected with his forehead had a wedding band in it. The ring gashed his skin and blood gushed over his eye.

"Get up, you coward! You can rape defenseless women but you can't face me? Get up and quit your sniveling!"

Severus sighed and dropped his hand. Potter had had a right to be angry, of course. But he'd never thought that pureblooded snob would ever stoop to bloodying his fists like a common muggle. It was surprising, but he supposed that Potter's fury had just been too great for reason.

Leaving his lab, Severus locked the door behind him. Lupin was waiting patiently by the front door and Severus grabbed his cloak. He threw it on and pulled up the hood, since it was drizzling rain outside, judging from the droplets on Lupin's shabby robes. Severus turned toward the back of the house and jerked his head at the Werewolf.

"Back door," he said tersely. "I have an apparition point in the garden where I can come and go unseen by the neighbours."

Lupin followed silently, watching as Severus locked the house behind him. He didn't know when he'd be back. Dumbledore was more than aware of his home address, and after they found Harry, they were certainly not going to let that old man get his hands on the boy again. Never. Severus would kill anyone who tried to take his son from him again.

Give me back my son!

Severus winced at that memory, the one that had started this. It was one stray thought he had clung to as his happier memories were being taken, he knew that. Somehow, in stirring the muddy waters of his mind, Dumbledore had disturbed the filth that had long since settled at the bottom, lost in oblivion. It was now swirling in his mind, choking him with its foul miasma. This was why he needed to unlock his good memories, so that he could have something to balance out the horror and pain that was consuming him. He silently disapparated to the cabin in the mountains and arrived with a soft pop. The sun was just starting to glow on the horizon and Lupin arrived next to him with a crack like a whiplash.

Severus winced. "Not much of an apparating expert?" he asked drily.

"Not exactly," Lupin winced. "I'm not much of an expert on anything, really."

"Well, I suppose I ought to face the lion's den." He shoved his satchel at Lupin, who instinctively caught it. "Take this, will you? I don't want Black breaking the delicate vials when he inevitably breaks my nose. Again."

Without a backward glance, he marched toward the cabin, the dawn-breeze swirling his black cloak around his legs and tossing his cowl back from his pale face. He reached the door and quietly opened it. No use in startling an angry Gryffindor, after all. He deserved this, and he needed Black's help. He could pay for it with a bloody nose. He'd paid worse prices. At the unconscious reminder, he screwed his eyes shut, gasping at the effort it took to shove that memory away.

Death Eaters closing in, hungry lights gleaming in their eyes.

No, no. He refused to fall into another flashback.

"You must be punished …"

He wouldn't think about it. He wouldn't …

"You know how I hate ingratitude, Severusss."

The hissing. He couldn't stand it. Just stop. Stop it. Stop hissing.

Hands grabbing, voices laughing, cold air chilling him to the bone. Nononono …

"No," Severus gasped, curling in on himself. How had he ended up on the floor? "Stop it. Stop," he whispered. "No. Stop. Please."

Laughter, faces above him mocking his pleading, hissing. Flat on his back, helpless, cold skin, warm blood, painpainpain. Please, Mother in Heaven please stop this!

"Severus!"

A warm hand fell on his shoulder and Severus cried out, flinching away and covering his head, pleading with them not to touch him, to please stop, stop this pain. It hurt. His head was splitting apart and he couldn't tell when or where he was anymore.

"Please … please stop it," Severus whimpered, too terrified to snarl or snap or growl. He clutched his head and curled up even more tightly, trembling fitfully and struggling to reorient himself. Was he talking to his own mind? To his remembered torturers? To the warm hand and concerned voice that sounded somewhat familiar? He struggled against his own mind, knowing somehow that the fear and the images were mere memories; they weren't real. But knowing it made no difference. The terror was real, the phantom pain certainly felt real, and he truly didn't know where he was or who was with him. All he wanted was to be left in peace while he fought this battle with his own reality.

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Sirius felt his anger at Snape draining away at the sight of him, a pathetic, shivering heap on the floor, eyes clenched tightly shut, pleading for relief. It made his innards curdle in horror.

Snape had always projected an 'I-don't-give-a-damn' attitude about the world, while fiercely controlling himself and his reactions to everything. Sirius had never really seen a big range of the guy's emotions, besides rage and disgust. In every memory Sirius had that involved Snape, the guy was either angry or sneering. But in the past week he'd seen several sides of the man that completely turned his previous views on its head. He saw Snape concerned, curious, and apprehensive, and in only the last day had seen him vulnerable and breaking apart. Right now, seeing the man fall on the floor, whispering under his breath, his face contorting in agony, hands clutching at his head … it caused his previous rage at the man to drain away, for now. If this was Snape's idea of a joke, Sirius was going to kill him. If it was an act, it was a pretty damn good one; but really, Sirius couldn't see Snape humiliating himself like this just for an act. That was what made him uneasy.

"What's the matter with him?" Sirius demanded peevishly to hide his concern.

Remus entered the cabin at a run and dropped to his knees beside the man curled up on the floor. "Severus!" he shouted, grabbing Snape's shoulder and giving him a shake. "Come out of it, Snape!"

The man jerked away and curled his arms protectively over his head, pleading pathetically. "D-don't touch me!" Snape gasped hoarsely. "Please, no. Just s-stop. Don't touch me. Please. Stop."

Sirius flinched at the pain and raw terror in the man's voice. Severus sounded almost twenty years younger right now, and it was really annoying to see the guy he was supposed to hate in a state like this.

"Moony?"

Remus sighed and leaned back, glancing up at Sirius. "Another flashback, I guess," he explained. "Except, I think this one's pretty bad."

"Never could've guessed," Sirius muttered. He glanced at the water pitcher on the sideboard. "Should we splash him?"

"I think that's a bad idea," Remus said with a scowl. "What if it triggers another flashback? We could be here for hours trying to get him out of it and just pushing him further into awful memories."

Sirius sighed and slumped down into a chair. Snape was no longer muttering, but he was making soft sounds that sounded like sobs and it made his insides feel all squirmy to listen to. "So we just wait it out?"

"I'll make some tea," Remus muttered. He got up and set a satchel down on the table while he busied himself with the kettle.

It was dreadfully uncomfortable, sitting and twiddling his thumbs in the same room as Snape while he was moaning softly and shivering in a pathetic ball on the floor. The chap's mind really was falling apart, Sirius thought grimly. Snape would never show such weakness in front of the last two Marauders like this unless he really had no control over himself.

It really wasn't fair. Snape deserved to get the living daylights beat out of him and here he was too pathetic even for Sirius Black to kick. Sirius distracted himself by pawing through the bag Remus had brought in, which obviously belonged to Snape. There were some potions, a couple of spell books, a plain, sharp knife in a sheath, and some bottles of common herbs and things used in family rituals. He held up a Calming Draught and eyed the light pink potion pensively, glancing between the tiny bottle and Snape, who was still curled up, shivering on the cabin floor.

"Moony, do you think …?"

Remus glanced up at him from the tea mugs. "If you can get him to drink it," he shrugged wearily.

Sirius nodded grimly and got off his chair. Snape wasn't muttering anymore, but his lips were still moving silently. His body was wracked with shivers and his hands were twitching in his lank hair. Sirius sighed and grabbed Snivellus by the shoulder, pulling the cork out of the potion bottle with his teeth. Snape jerked violently at his touch and let out a scream that made Sirius flinch. He had heard men crying out in agony before, and it was always a terrible sound. Snape was making sounds now that sounded like he was being tortured. He fought Sirius while the animagus growled and wrestled Snape easily onto his back. When he managed to get the bottle to Snape's lips, the man shivered and stiffened, probably recognizing the taste or maybe the smell. Without warning, Severus Snape's eyes opened and he violently hit the bottle away from his mouth. It spun out of Sirius' hand and splashed on the floor in dozens of glass fragments, Snape scrambled away and pressed himself against the wall, and they both scowled at each other for several seconds. At least the flashback seemed to be over now.

"The only reason I'm not beating you into a slimy puddle is because you're too pathetic to punch right now," Sirius sneered, sitting back on his heels. His heart was still pounding, but he hoped it didn't show.

"I'll show you pathetic; get over here," Snape rasped, his black eyes burning with fury and humiliation and his fists twitching at his sides. But he didn't look in any way ready for a fight. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, his body was still trembling, and his eyes, while focused and angry, held a sick look of fear and horror in their inky depths.

"I don't think so," Sirius smirked. "When you're man enough to get up and throw a punch at me, I'll know you're not as pathetic anymore."

Remus suddenly stepped up to him and grabbed his shoulder. "Lay off, Black," he snapped, shaking his shoulder a bit before he let go. The Werewolf stepped forward and held a mug of steaming tea out to Snape.

The Potions Professor glanced up at him, still scowling. After a few seconds of glaring, Snape grabbed the mug and took a gulp of the scalding liquid without seeming to care about the temperature.

"If you try to hit him, I'll throw you out of my house," Remus muttered as he walked back to the stove past Sirius.

Aghast, the animagus stared up at his friend and watched the Werewolf busy himself without a backward glance. "Hey, you can't just call me that!" Sirius protested, scrambling to his feet and planting his fists on his hips. "Remus!"

"You called me 'Lupin' earlier," Remus replied coolly without turning.

Sirius winced. That was true, but he had been so angry he didn't really remember. "Well … I was mad," he said lamely.

"You should control yourself," the Werewolf tossed back.

"You're being an arsehole," Sirius muttered. He glanced at Snape, who looked a little better. He wasn't shaking anymore at any rate. "What about you?"

Snape scowled at him and sipped his tea. "What about me?" he asked in a low voice.

"What was with the …?" Sirius gestured at the floor and then at the mess.

Snape silently drew his wand, vanished the spilled potion and repaired the bottle, all with a few silent flicks of the black stick. "The potion was … good thinking," the Potions Professor suddenly said, grinding out the words as if it was physically painful to give Black a compliment, and maybe it was. "But how long did it take you to come up with that brilliant idea?"

"I came up with it the minute I saw the potion," Sirius snorted truthfully. "So what was that flashback for?"

"I … what?"

"Usually something triggers a flashback. So what was it?"

"Anticipating you punching me in the face," Snape spat. "I was thinking of it as I came in … and I …"

"Yeah, yeah, you got caught up in your own head," Sirius interrupted. He waved his hands in agitation. "Well, all I can say is, that was a really Slytherin thing to do. Not even I'm heartless enough to beat up somebody who's already so –"

"Pathetic, I know!" Snape snarled viciously, interrupting the animagus. "You don't see me as human, you already said so all through our schooldays, I'm little more than an animal to you! So to see me cowering and groveling satisfies your urge to grind me under your heel, and that is why I never bowed or gave an inch to you! So if it helps you, I could stand up so you don't have to dirty your morals by striking an enemy who's already down."

Sirius was taken aback at such a vicious description of his own actions, and although he opened his mouth to defend himself, he stopped. While it was true that he and James had picked on Snape mostly out of boredom, had they truly seen him as less than human? It was an uncomfortable thought, and one he didn't want to dwell on, much less admit.

"I'm not gonna hit you," Sirius sighed instead. "I'm not mad anymore. Well, not mad enough to punch you, anyway. But you need to talk. How'd it happen?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on!" Sirius growled. "Don't be such a stick in the mud, Snape! You know what I mean!"

"I do not remember," Snape muttered through clenched teeth. "Whatever Remus told you is what I recall, and it isn't much."

Remus spoke up from where he sat at the table. "I only told him the basics."

"He told me the Death Eaters captured Lily, you raped her, and then let her escape."

Snape flinched and his dark eyes seemed to grow strangely distant. His body shivered in full-body tremors and his hands curled tightly around his mug, as if he wanted to shatter it in his grip. Sirius hoped Snape wasn't falling into another flashback. He leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of the Professor's big nose. Snape jerked in surprise and glared at him, though not with too much heat.

"So?" Sirius demanded. "Is that what happened or not?"

"I suppose so," Snape rasped. He gulped the rest of his tea and staggered to his feet. He stumbled over to the table like a drunken man and leaned on it, breathing hard and trembling. His hands were taut and white-knuckled where they gripped the table. "We …" the Professor whispered. "We need to do this … before I lose lucidity. I can't … I cannot hold onto reality with any certainty."

Sirius blinked once before he launched to his feet and began grabbing the other things they would need, namely a bowl for the water and a cutting board for the herbs. Snape was right, for once. They were running out of time. Between Albus being a total bastard and Snape losing his sanity, Sirius knew their options were narrowing. They needed to figure out what to do, and fast. Hopefully finding Harry would be a good first step.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Harry sighed unhappily. Life in the old Headmaster's house was dreary, lonely, and a bit frightening. He was lying on the bed, staring up at the blue velvet bed hangings, bored out of his mind. He was supposed to be having quiet time, by which Kooky meant that he should take a nap, but he was too restless. He hoped it wasn't his wolf self, because the last time he felt like this, he'd ended up transforming under a Full Moon. But it wasn't a Full Moon yet. At least, he was pretty sure it wasn't. Kooky didn't answer him when he asked what day it was or even what the weather was like today. There were no real windows in this tower; only slits to see the daylight. He could tell if it was sunny or gloomy, but that was about it. He couldn't even see clouds or stars through the high-up air vents. That's what he thought of them as. His cupboard had an air vent so he wouldn't suffocate, and he couldn't see much out of it, like the slits in this round stone room.

A few days had already gone past since he'd come to live here and he already hated it. Kooky was the only one he ever saw, and the weird little elf only came to bring him meals, make sure he took a bath every night, and make sure he was doing the chores he was assigned. There wasn't much to do. So far, Kooky had made him change the sheets on the bed once and clean the spotless bathroom twice, and that was it.

Harry was given schoolwork in the mornings and he had to write with a feather. It was really messy and frustrating, and what made it worse was that he got punished. When he made mistakes, the elf scowled at him and snapped his fingers and Harry got a sharp stinging feeling either on his hand, (for sloppy writing or wrong answers) or on his bum (for talking back, daydreaming, or whining). It hurt worse than a smack with a ruler, but it didn't last long. At least it helped force him to focus.

But afternoons were awful, even though lessons were over. Kooky deposited a box of toys in his room right after lunch and ordered him to 'play', and then proceed to stand there and glare while Harry silently freaked out and wondered if it was a test or something. He didn't even know what to do with most of the toys. Most were obviously girl's toys, and some were really old-looking, but the only ones he had any clue about were a set of little figures. They looked like pieces from an adventure board game. Dudley had some games like that, but he preferred video games and he didn't even play board games with his friends, though he guarded the cool little robots and spaceships with his life and heaven help Harry if he'd ever so much as looked at one of them. But these little toys were a bit bigger and way cooler, because they moved when he directed them. There were a couple dragons, some wizards and a witch, a wolf, and a unicorn. Once he could ignore Kooky scowling in the background, he played quite happily with the figurines, inventing great battles for his good guys to fight against the dragons and their evil wizard boss. Of course the wolf was a good guy, even though his black fur and red eyes looked scary. He was pretty sure that when he turned into a wolf he was black too, and maybe his eyes turned red, but he wasn't a bad guy. He was just a kid. Kids couldn't be bad guys.

But playtime was always over too quick. Without warning, Kooky would snap his fingers and make the toys just vanish, tell him time was up, and then it was Quiet Time.

Harry sighed gustily and dangled one of his bare feet off the edge of the bed, wiggling it impatiently. Quiet Time lasted two hours, Kooky said, and then it was tea-time. After tea he could read a book or draw a picture, or if he'd been a good boy, Kooky said he would bring the toys back, but that hadn't happened yet. He just wasn't a good boy, and he knew it. But he tried, he really did. It was just so hard to be good all the time.

"I miss you, Professor," Harry whispered into the silence. He really hoped Kooky couldn't hear him, but so far, the elf didn't seem to know that Harry spent his Quiet Time talking to himself, imagining that the Professor or Snuffles were here with him. "I wish you could've been here to help me, 'cause my math work today was really hard and I got almost every problem wrong. My hands hurt kinda bad when Kooky was done punishing me. 'Course, he gives me extra 'stings' if I cry like a brat, so I hafta stay really quiet. I close my eyes and it kind of helps … but I can't see anything anyway. If that's what magic is really for, I don't think I like it." Harry sighed and kicked his bare foot a little harder. "But I know you'd never use magic to hurt me, Professor. I just wish you'd hurry up and find me … oh!" The child yelped suddenly as a weird glow suddenly started in his chest. It was warm, but it didn't hurt.

He stared down at the soft white light burning through the threads of his shirt for several seconds before he cautiously sat up and yanked the T-shirt off. His scars were still the same, just as ugly as ever. He'd been worried that maybe his freaky Werewolf cuts were acting weird. But the glow seemed to be coming from inside his skin and it was getting warmer. It felt … nice. Like a warm hug from deep inside … Harry closed his eyes and lay back on his pillows, basking in the weird glow and the warmth. He smiled as the glow started to spread until his whole body was humming with that weird soft light and warmth. It was lovely, and he didn't even question what it was or why it was happening. It felt nice, and he basked in it until he fell into a peaceful doze.

He thought of his Professor as he slipped off to sleep and dreamed that he was being held in a rocking chair by the dark-haired, scowling man … except, he wasn't scowling in Harry's dreams. The Professor had a small, happy smile on his face.

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Severus pulled his magic back in hand and marveled that he could feel it still; a golden thread connecting him the mysterious boy who held the key to his past. He blinked and fell unsteadily into a chair. The spell itself had been relatively simple, but remarkably draining. With three of them to share the burden, it had not been overly painful, but the strain had been uncomfortable at best. He could feel the pressure in his chest, tugging him toward where the child … his son … was.

He looked up at Black and Lupin, who were both blinking owlishly as they came out of their own trances. Black absently pressed a hand to his own sternum where he could likely feel the tether as well. Lupin's eyes were bright gold, but he looked peaceful, not angry or violent. Even so, Severus stared at the Werewolf uneasily until Lupin stirred and blinked the gold from his eyes. Once they were their normal brown-flecked-with-yellow, he gave Severus a faint smile.

"I think it worked," the Werewolf said softly.

"I believe so," Severus muttered.

"At least he seemed okay," Black sighed. "But we've got to get him out of there."

Remus nodded in agreement and turned to Snape. "When do you want to do it?"

"Let's do it now!" Black shouted, with typical Gryffindor bravado. "We shouldn't waste any time!"

"Do calm down and think," Severus ordered, his voice sounding rather hoarse. "I could not detect any immediate discomfort on the … the boy's end. Did either of you?"

"The child's wolf is restless, but that's it," Lupin volunteered.

Black folded his arms petulantly. "So, where is he?"

"South of us," Severus snapped. "Surely you can sense the direction?"

"Gee, I don't know Snape; maybe I'm too stupid," Black growled sarcastically. "I meant where is he? I got a sense of stone walls and a colour … hmmm, was it red, maybe?"

"The boy was lying in a bed in a circular tower room of stone," Severus snapped again, feeling completely fed up with Gryffindor blockheads. "If you had focused harder, you would have been able to see that much."

"Well excuse me," Black growled. "We can't all be as skilled as you, can we?"

"No, you can't," Severus sneered. "Which is why you will kindly keep your stupidity to yourself. We need a plan, not half-baked ideas of heroism."

"I think … I saw the outside of the house as the spell brought us toward it," Lupin said slowly. "Did you see more than that, Snape?"

Severus had indeed seen more, and he recognized the place besides that. He really wasn't sure how they were going to go about this. The child was being held in Bumblebee Manor, the home of Albus Dumbledore, and quite possibly the very last place on earth he wanted to invade right now.

"We will need Minerva's help," Severus announced abruptly. "I must return to Hogwarts now as I have been away too long. I will send a Patronus if I require assistance, but rest assured, I am going to fight for my life if the old man tries anything."

"Don't be scared of killing him," Black snorted. "I'm sure Remus and Minnie will back you up if you say it was in self-defense."

Severus fought the urge to shrug. He was still squeamish about the idea of killing Albus, but if the old man did attack him, he wouldn't go down without a fight. He gathered up his things, but he left the medicinal potions behind. Since Lupin could probably use them after his next Full Moon, he was welcome to them. If the Werewolf noticed, he gave no sign that he had. Black was totally oblivious as usual.

Once Severus had his satchel packed and slung over his shoulder, full morning was shining over the hills. He stepped away from the cabin and looked back once before he apparated back to the school. Lupin and Black were both on the porch to watch him leave.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Did Dumbledore ever leave Hogwarts in the Summer? Severus wondered. The old man was chatting with Hagrid almost right in front of the gates when Severus apparated in, and it took all of his will and training to give the meddling old fool nothing more than a strained glare before he swept past, when all he truly wanted to do was curse him into oblivion or at least give him a piece of his mind.

"Ah, Severus!" Albus Dumbledore cheered when he spotted the Potions Professor. "I was worried when you disappeared yesterday! Are you well?"

"There was something that needed doing," Severus grunted, swerving around Hagrid to keep the half-giant gatekeeper between himself and Dumbledore. The large man looked puzzled and amused at how Severus went the long way around, and the Potions Professor dearly hoped Dumbledore wouldn't read too much into the 'avoid Dumbledore' tactics Severus was employing.

"You seem troubled, my boy," the Headmaster said sympathetically.

"Don't call me that!" Severus snarled, part of his self-control snapping in his rage. But he was terrified too. He didn't want the old man to take more memories, or get him put in Azkaban if he was no longer useful. He had never appreciated until the last twenty-four hours how truly dangerous his employer could be. He glanced over his shoulder at the Headmaster and forced every ounce of his emotions behind his occlumency shields, however wobbly they were right now. "Please," he amended. "I have a headache."

Dumbledore nodded, looking sympathetic. "I understand, Severus," the old man replied. "I did want to speak to you about something, but perhaps it is best if we wait a bit."

"Perhaps," Severus muttered. "Excuse me."

As Severus hurried on toward the building, (hoping against hope that Minerva was still in) he heard the half-giant gatekeeper comment, "I do think the Perfessor could do wit' a vacation this summer, 'Eadmaster."

I certainly could, Severus thought grimly.

"Severus always works so hard," Dumbledore answered, his voice growing fainter as Severus grew further away. "I'm certain he'll take some time to rest in the coming weeks."

The Potions Master shook his head minutely, dismissing the conversation from his mind. Thankfully, Dumbledore didn't seem overly worried. The Headmaster was probably suspicious, but he couldn't possibly know that Snape would be willingly in cahoots with the last of the Marauders. That was just impossible. Even Severus had a hard time believing it.

He entered the hallowed halls of Hogwarts and let the heavy front door boom shut behind him. In the dim coolness of the entry hall, he caught his breath and tried to maintain some level of control and dignity. Images, half-forgotten faces, and voices echoed and bounced about in his skull, but so long as he maintained a distracted state of mind, he couldn't focus on anything and get sucked into another flashback. He needed to find a place where he could investigate his damaged mind and repair his occlumency shields without alerting anyone of the fact. His house would be ideal, but he could be disturbed there. Dumbledore might figure out where he lived even though he'd blocked the floo, and Lupin certainly knew his address.

First though, he needed to find Minerva.

Flich was mopping as he turned a corner and nearly tripped over the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris.

"Blasted cat!" Severus snarled, almost kicking the cat as he regained his balance. Mrs. Norris hissed reproachfully at him as if telling him to watch his step, but she danced away in a hurry.

"Snape," Filch grunted without looking up at him, pushing his mop aggressively over the smooth stones of the hallway.

"Filch," Severs returned, just as tonelessly and courteously. Ever since his schooldays, he had maintained a civil relationship with the old squib, who was old back when he was a boy. The Marauders had tormented Filch, so it had only been logical for Severus to form an alliance with the enemy of his enemies. Contrary to popular belief, Argus Filch really wasn't so bad, once you peeled back about twenty different layers of nastiness. He had a passion for adventure novels and cats, (of course) and hated disorder or messes. He was a particular old bachelor, and a lonely one as well. Severus could relate.

"Heard you've been makin' quite the hullaballoo lately," Filch muttered out the side of his mouth.

"Have you?" Severus replied neutrally. He was pretty certain that the janitor wouldn't take Dumbledore's side over his in this matter, but it was always wise to test the waters first. What exactly had the old squib heard?

"Minnie arsked me ta keep an eye on you," Filch explained in an even lower mutter. "Di'n't tell me much, o' course, only that yer in trouble o' some sort wit' the boss."

"You could say that," Severus sighed, his shoulders sagging as he raked his hand through his greasy hair. Merlin, he needed a shower, he thought as he rubbed his greasy fingers together in disgust. An idea popped into his head and he dropped his hand back to his side. The squib caretaker was leaning on his mop, watching him with beady, intelligent eyes. Severus stepped very close to the man and spoke in a soft whisper. "Say, Argus, have you ever been to Dumbledore's house?"

"Loads o' times," the squib replied cautiously, and just as quietly. "Why?"

"The old man stole something of mine and I'd really like it back," Severus whispered in the old man's ear, even more quietly than before. "I'm not asking you to help me break in … Only; anything you can tell me would be appreciated."

"The old man's got wards on top o' wards," Filch muttered derisively, his bulging eyes seeming to bulge even more from shock. "Yer crazy, lad."

"I know, but what he stole is very important."

"Humph," the caretaker huffed, back to his more normal rasp of a voice. "I'll see wot I can do. You'd best go take a nap. And a bath. Ye look half dead."

Severus grimaced. "Thanks, Argus," he muttered sarcastically. "But I need to find Minerva first, before I sleep or wash."

"Minnie's gone," Filch shrugged. "She were lookin' for Sev'rus, she tells me, but as she couldna' find yeh, she tol' me to keep an eye on yeh and she left."

"I see," Severus huffed, disappointed. "Well, in that case, do you know who's actually still here at the school?"

"Me, you, Dumbledore, an' Hagrid, o' course. That's it. I think Perfessor wot's-his-face wit' Magical Creatures got bit by summat again an' went to St. Mungo's. Poppy went wiv 'im."

"Kettleburn," Severus muttered, speaking of their current Magical Creatures Professor. It seemed every other month the poor fool had to go to the hospital on account of some animal accident or other. "Very well, thank you for the help, Mr. Filch. I'll be going now, and I'll come find you in your office later sometime ... for tea."

"Got it," the caretaker grunted, and he went back to his work.

Severus turned on his heel and marched off. He passed two ghosts on his long walk through the familiar castle corridors, but they only nodded silently at him and continued on their way. The Gray Lady stayed near the top of the school and hardly ever spoke to those who were not in her own house, while the Bloody Baron, who stuck to the dungeons and ground floor, never talked to anyone, period. Slytherin's house ghost sometimes communicated mentally with the head of his house in an emergency, but actual words? Severus had never heard a single one from the somber ghost's lips. He and the Baron had a working relationship, one that was probably warmer than any sort the Bloody Baron would give to anyone else in Hogwarts. But Severus was not a fan of the gloomy, gruesome specter and made no effort to befriend it … not that he made an effort to befriend anyone or anything normally.

Once Severus reached the seventh floor, he took a deep breath. Out of habit, he glanced up and down the corridor for observers, but he was completely alone. Only the picture frame for Barnabas the Barmy was behind him, and Barnabas was currently in another portrait engaged in a drinking contest with the Irish Monks; Severus had passed them singing raucously on the way up.

He was completely unobserved.

Taking a deep breath, Severus Snape walked back and forth in front of the wall across from the portrait, concentrating as well as he could on his very simple request.

I need a safe place to enter my mind without Dumbledore bothering me. I need a safe place to enter my mind without Dumbledore bothering me. I need a safe place to enter my mind without Dumbledore bothering me.

Severus glanced up, mentally struggling against an unfamiliar barrage of images in his head that involved a Wizarding bar, a mug of something bitter and alcoholic, and Lily, and nodded in satisfaction. There was a plain door in the wall where one had not been before and Severus pulled it open before he ducked inside. The room was cozy and intimate, with soft candle and lamplight, no fireplaces, and several cushions to sit on in the middle of the room. As Severus shut the door behind him, it shimmered and disappeared. It would appear when Severus approached it to leave, but nobody would be able to see the door or access the room while he was inside. Moreover, the entire room was unplottable. Dumbledore would not be able to see him here no matter what the old fool did.

"Well, it's back to the room of requirement for me," Severus muttered under his breath, though a fond smile twitched the corner of his mouth. He nodded at the room in general as if greeting an old friend and stepped toward the cushions. Each one was more than big enough for him to sit on comfortably, and against the far wall was a large, wide sofa that was more like a bed. On a table next to the bed was a fresh tea-tray, along with a full decanter and a small glass. The light was just how he liked it, not too bright and not too dim, he could smell the woodsy scent of his personal headache tea from here, and the alcohol would likely be welcome to help dull the excruciating emotions this exercise would no doubt uncover.

Casting aside his cloak, and boots, and loosening his shirt a bit, Severus sat down cross-legged on a moss-green cushion, marveling again at how perfect the room always was. Somehow, it responded to his subconscious desires and gave him even more than he had envisioned. The atmosphere was relaxing and safe, and even the familiar scent of beeswax candles helped to calm and ground him. He had not had occasion to come to this particular room in years, as he preferred to keep his personal knowledge of the magical chamber a secret, even from Dumbledore. But he had made use of it as a child. Although the Marauders knew of its existence, if he was in first and demanded the room to keep everyone else out, he was pretty certain that not even the Headmaster could open the door. At any rate, he had used the room as an escape. Sometimes it had given him a little library, other times it had been a comfortable room. During his sixth year, it had often given him a potions lab to keep him occupied or even a little hospital room to treat his injuries in. Once, soon after becoming a Professor, he had fled a staff meeting, ending up here, and it had given him a training room to vent his frustration. The room of requirement was a life-saver for him, and Severus wondered if he had perhaps also used it on occasions now long forgotten. Well, right now, he was going to enter his own mind and probe the damage for himself. He could not afford to confront anyone in a mental state like this. He might be here for hours, or days, or just a few minutes; time worked differently in one's head, and time in general was strange in the room of requirement. His little stipulation about hiding from Dumbledore might mean that the room would manipulate time in a way to allow him to slip out when he was finished without the Headmaster being aware that he could have done anything suspicious.

Taking deep breaths, Severus closed his eyes and rested his hands in his lap as he prepared to sink into his mind. His occlumency wrapped around his mind like a shroud, and he fell past images and thoughts without acknowledging them. When he was at the core of his mind, wrapped in a true meditative trance, Severus opened his mental eyes and observed the map of his mind.

It was a war zone.

His mindscape, unique to himself, was a maze of passages and rooms, modeled off the dungeons he had spent long hours exploring as a youth. The upper layers were laid out like an ancient temple, with locked doors and booby traps and confusing passages. Here he kept his surface thoughts, immediate emotions, and the memories and thoughts that were integral to his personality. The underground tunnels held darker things. Monsters from his past lurked there, as well as memories he preferred not to think about. But other things, not quite so dark, were down there as well, including subconscious thoughts and emotions, honestly forgotten memories, and useless things that he relegated to the back, or rather the bottom, of his mind. But instead of a pristine temple of obsidian and black marble, neat passages twisting and turning in precise, ordered lines, and large rectangular windows to let the sunlight in, he saw a temple falling into ruin. The light outside was red like fire and choked with smoke. There were cave-ins and unfamiliar magical blocks across many underground passages, some of his upper levels had been pillaged and left open. Blood slicked the cracked marble under his bare feet and rubble filled the halls. It was enough to make him stagger to his knees in shock and horror. His mind truly was falling apart, and he could see far older scars and cracks under the fresh blood and destruction.

How long had it been since he had descended so far into his own mind that he hadn't noticed such damage? He could see the superficial supports and facades that had once covered the worst of the damage before, and it sparked with magic that was both familiar and foreign to him. Frescoes had been painted over yawning splinters in the walls and they were now peeling away, passages had been sealed up with blocks of stone, but some of those blocks were now falling out. The passing destruction had looted his temple, but it had uncovered treasures long hidden in the darkness. Methodically, Severus moved forward, brushing his hand along flaking frescoes and vanishing them, along with their magic, which felt cloying and sweet and filled his mind with the nauseating scent of lemons. Under the frescoes he could see older images made in mosaics, memories that comprised his very being and personality. He could see childhood memories and adult memories, all laid out on the walls of his mind. Others who entered his mind would see what they wanted to see, but this representation of his consciousness, of his very soul, was his alone. If he wanted to, he could invite a legilimens into his mindscape, but so far, he never had. Over the years, he had constructed a different one for the Dark Lord, and later for Dumbledore, and he hoped they believed his mind really was a dark, airless dungeon where his memories were caged up in cells like prisoners and the passages echoed with groans of horror. Actually, his true mind was a hushed place; quiet and magnificent, filled with artifacts of times gone by and an air of reverent prayer and mystery. It was somewhat damaged, yes, but the temple was still standing. If it fell, his sanity would fall as well, and if the foundations of his mind were shaken or erased, he would die. There was still hope.

Moving toward one of the rooms that had been blocked up with unfamiliar black stones like volcanic rock, Severus heard echoes of one of the memories that had been nagging at him for the last ten minutes and braced himself as he approached it. In such a controlled environment, deep below his consciousness, memories did not rush upon him in a barrage of images and sounds. They existed as floating orbs of light about the size of his head. This one was a pale blue, burning like a star, shot through with red. He knew from the way his mind worked that the blue meant it was a memory associated with positive emotions, though shot through with the red of pain. Whether that pain was physical or emotional depended on the shape of the streaks, and this one had jagged streaks of red dancing in it, indicating more emotional stress than physical.

He raised his hands and plunged them into the globe, allowing the memory to swallow him whole.

He walks into a tavern filled with harsh voices, discordant music from a hired musician, and smoke from hookah pipes. Is he in Knockturn Alley? The pub looks quite disreputable indeed, filled with wizards, witches, and other magical creatures. He is fighting tremors in his limbs and lingering spasms of agonizing pain. He recognizes the after-symptoms of Cruciatus exposure, but he doesn't recognize this place, although his past self seems very comfortable here. His past self keeps his cowl up and glides across the crowded, smoky room to the bar at the far end. The proprietor betrays no surprise at seeing him, but there is a flash of recognition in his ugly face. It looks like he got chewed on by one of Professor Kettleburn's creatures.

Severus silently slaps a few sickles down, makes a brief gesture with his fingers, and takes the drink that slides across the bar-top toward him. He takes his pint-mug and slinks away to a back corner with it, hunching in an empty booth like a drunk nursing his last firewhiskey. He takes a deep swig of bitter, burning liquid that leaves an aftertaste like menthol in his mouth. But it isn't unpleasant, and his shivering slows as the liquid races through his veins and warms him. After a few more drinks, he sighs in relief as the lancing pains in his nerves die down to manageable throbs. The alcohol is numbing, and that's what he wants tonight. Oblivion.

He is halfway through the mug when suddenly someone taps his shoulder. He spins around, his wand out and pointed at the person's throat before he blinks. It is a young man in shabby gray robes, with dark brown curls and green eyes … terribly familiar green eyes.

"Nice night for a fire," the young man murmurs while Severus' brain hits the pause button.

"And flying," he mutters back automatically.

"It dies," the young, green-eyed man replies casually.

"And rises from the ashes," Severus whispers, returning his wand to its holder and relaxing only the least bit. It is only an Order contact. The code this month is awfully ridiculous, but nobody ever accused Albus Dumbledore of being boring. No, what really worries him is that he's reasonably sure he knows who his contact is.

The Order member slides into the bench on the other side of the booth and a passing waitress approaches to take an order. Severus orders a plain soda water for his young companion, since he … or probably she … doesn't know the code here. Once the lady saunters away, he casts muffliato and leans across the table, his heart pounding on his aching ribs.

"Are you completely mad?" he hisses. "Or is that man the one I need to kill for sending you out here tonight of all nights? And in your condition?"

"Relax, Sev," the young 'man' replies, his voice too soft and high for the gender he is impersonating. "I came on my own, and it's unofficial. I'm perfectly safe."

Severus glares, his visitor smiles slightly, and finally the wizard sighs and breaks eye contact.

"You know I hate it when you do that," Severus mutters, taking a burning gulp of his drink.

"I know," 'he' replies. "But I needed to talk to you."

"Lily," Severus sighs, before she cuts him off.

"I'm Linus tonight," Lily corrects him.

"I see," Severus curls his lips. "So … polyjuice?" Even though he's reasonably certain that it isn't Polyjuice potion, it can never help to be sure.

"Nothing so complicated," Lily replies calmly. "The charms will wear off in a few hours."

Severus narrows his eyes at her and wonders what she's doing here at all. If it is unofficial and she's gone to such lengths to disguise herself … what's up?

"You couldn't wait for an owl?" he demands.

"No," Lily replies calmly. "It's too sensitive for that. I want to know about the prophecy."

He freezes. For a minute, he can't say anything. His blood runs cold and he wonders frantically how she heard about that.

"Whatever you heard, whoever told you, it wasn't me, I swear," he whispers desperately. "I was there, yes, but it wasn't me! I don't know how he learned of it!"

"Sev, calm down," Lily says softly. "I know it can't have been you. But you were there. I want to know what exactly you heard."

"Exactly?" he mutters, clenching his hands around the mug.

"Word for word."

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, bringing up the exact memory. Remembering memories in a memory is strangely disconcerting, but Severus stays with his past self until he hears his own voice starting to speak.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him. In the twilight of the seventh month shall he appear; and he shall have power that the Dark Lord knows not …"

"And?" Lily asks when he trails off.

He shakes his head. "There was more, but I did not hear it. The tavern keeper came up and threw me out."

"Were there any other D.E's there?" Lily demands. "Anyone who could have taken the information to Volde— I mean, you-know-who?"

"I wouldn't know," he says bitterly. "We all wear masks. I know a few, but there are over thirty marked ones in the Inner Circle, and the dozens of others also cover their faces somehow. I saw no one I recognized at the Hog's Head that night."

"No one?"

"Lil—! I mean, Linus ... I mean ... you … you know I wouldn't lie about this. The problem is, he can't decide whether to go after you or the Longbottoms. I'm doing my best to convince him to go after the Longbottoms, even though it's despicable, but you know they have a stronger support network. And if the Dark Lord goes after a Pureblood family, it might very well rile up some of the neutrals."

Lily nods, her pensive look out of place on the mild young man's visage she is cultivating. "Not many people know that you're the double agent," she suddenly says. "You need to be very careful."

"I'm always careful."

"I just don't want our baby growing up without a daddy."

"Don't mock me," he snarls. "James is the brat's father. We already decided. And if you ever decide to tell your son about me, I'll kill you myself."

Lily shakes her head in joking disapproval, trying to tease him into a better mood. "You're terrible."

"And you're crazy," he growls, taking another deep drink before he abruptly stands, dropping a few knuts on the table and canceling his muffliato charm in the same movement. "Come on; I'm walking you home."

Severus gasped as he opened his mental eyes, finding himself back in his mental landscape. He could feel the new memory settling comfortably back where it was supposed to be and he took a few minutes to process what he'd seen. Now that the memory was ensconced in his mind, it felt more natural. It felt familiar. Other tiny bits and pieces were falling into place, connected with the one he'd just seen. Mostly, these small, insignificant recollections involved stumbling into random bars after Death Eater meetings to drown his pain in alcohol … Funny, before he'd thought that habit actually stemmed from Lily's death. But it actually preceded it.

Taking a deep breath, he continued onward, working through forgotten memories, accepting them, and replacing them where they should be. He watched as his past self raged and self-medicated in varying degrees of madness, contemplated the end of it all by poison or a knife, and wrote letters to Lily. He walked through the broken doors and shattered barricades and cleared the rubble as he went, blocking up the windows to the outside to keep the smoke out. The smoke smelled like lemons and filled him with vague confusion, and as such was a threat to be kept out. Of course, without the light in his mind, he was liable to become depressed and angry, but for now, he could afford it to protect himself. Once he purged Dumbledore's stain from his mind, he would open the windows again. Little by little, he was able to shore up and repair the damage to his mind. But since there was always the danger of another assault, he spent some time creating constructs, soldiers created from his own occlumency shields that could fight and distract an opponent if needed. He left them standing like statues in the alcoves and at the doors, knowing that while they would drain him a bit to keep them watching and alert all the time, he could afford it to defend his mind against further violation.

When Severus emerged from his own mind, he was utterly exhausted, but he felt much better. His mind was more or less clear, he felt calmer, and the tea which had been kept under a warming charm by the Room was still enticing him with its scent. He stretched his stiff limbs, staggered over to the table, and drank two cups of the headache brew before he fell into the bed without ever touching the alcohol.

Before he drifted off into a much needed healing sleep, he realized that today had been a surprising success, all things considered. Not only had he found some allies in a place he never would have looked for them, he had managed to uncover some of what he had lost, and his mind was more or less stable again. Soon, he and his newfound allies would move against the old meddler, and hopefully Dumbledore wouldn't give them a reason to fight, because Severus was angry enough to kill. Even Sirius Black could have warned Albus not to make Severus truly angry, because his cold rage was a hundred times worse than a Gryffindor's burst of temper would ever be.

Feeling strangely peaceful, Severus drifted off into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and sorry for the wait. And yes, I changed the prophecy a little bit and the fact that Severus didn't actually report it to the Dark Lord in this universe. So now the question is: who did?

Thank you for your reviews!