Harry's blood was pounding in his ears. The merciless wind seemed to steal his breath and replace it with an icy emptiness so that no matter how hard he gasped for air he never got enough. "Help him!" he yelled hoarsely, looking up at the teachers.

First he saw Snape over his shoulder. The professor's face was contorted by a combination of nausea and deep, twisted satisfaction as he stared at Sirius's prone form. Harry felt his breathing quicken further in impossible rage as Snape turned his back and swept over to the unconscious Death Eater.

Gentle hands tugged Harry away from Sirius. Dumbledore was at his side, his face grim and concerned, but his fingers were steady. "A splint," he murmured, delicately probing near the fractures in Black's limbs.

Harry's stomach heaved and he quickly looked away from the blood. "Can't you...can't you heal..."

"I dare not," said Dumbledore tersely. "This is Poppy's field, not mine. He is most likely still in shock." Dumbledore tapped Sirius's arm with his wand, "Ferula," and several bandages appeared from the air, wrapping around the fracture and binding it tightly to a splint. Black twitched and moaned; Harry winced.

"It's a Death Eater, Headmaster." Harry heard Snape's voice say emotionlessly from around Sirius's feet. "But I don't recognize him."

Long, thin fingers came into Harry's field of view. They rested on Black's hip. Slowly, slowly, Harry raised his head and saw Snape's other hand on Sirius's broken leg. The black sleeve of his teacher's robes were pulled up, up, exposing pale skin and a horrific tattoo of a skull with a snake issuing from its mouth.

Death Eater.

Harry's green eyes blazed as he stared at that mark, that ugly, damning mark. The rage flared again--how dare he?!

"Get away from him!" screamed Harry, throwing himself over Sirius's body into Snape. The Potions master was knocked backwards by Harry's attack. A wave of snow flew into the air as Snape struggled to dislodge Harry without injuring him.

"Potter, get off him! Potter!"

Rysk's order was lost on deaf ears. Only one thought ran through Harry's mind: that Snape was a Death Eater, that Snape wanted to kill his godfather. His teacher's hateful words in the Shrieking Shack two years ago hissed with the wind in Harry's ears. "Give me a reason. Give me a reason to do it, and I swear I will."

Harry's trained Seeker eyes saw Snape's hand grab his wand; with a viciousness Harry didn't know he possessed he knocked it out of the older man's hand. "Stop it!" snarled Snape, "Potter!"

"Stupefy!"

An explosion went off inside Harry's head, and he knew no more.

****

"I am displeased, Peter." Lord Voldemort's red, slit-like eyes and the terrible anger in them contrasted sharply with the smooth, reassuring, and familiar tone of his voice. "Displeased indeed."

"M-m-master." Peter Pettigrew cowered before the Dark Lord. The cave was large but damp and dark; the floor was treacherous. As Voldemort advanced Wormtail took a step backwards and tripped over a protruding rock. The rough ground drew blood from Pettigrew's hands. "Master, please, surely you know--"

"Of course I know, Peter," said Voldemort silkily. "I know everything that concerns my followers." Wormtail remained on the cold stone floor, curled in on himself, as Voldemort crouched down next to him. "Every movement." His voice grew still softer, still more terrifying. "And every failure..."

Pettigrew whimpered. His eyes darted wildly to two black hooded figures standing at their posts like silent statues of death. Neither of them moved.

"My lord, it...it wasn't my fault. Goyle, he...he...."

"It wasn't your fault?" A serpent's amusement coiled through Voldemort's voice. "I put you in command, Peter, did I not?"

There was a silence. "Y-y-yes, master." Barely a whisper.

"And thus you are responsible for everything that happens to those under your command." Voldemort drew his wand slowly, torturously, as he spoke. "Are you shirking your responsibility, Peter?"

"No! No, my lord!" gasped Wormtail, "Never!"

"Then you are responsible for the deaths of Malfoy, and Goyle, and Tantra!" hissed the Dark Lord, the thin, poisonous coating of kindliness disappearing from his tone. "As you are for the fact that Dumbledore's Aurors have knowledge of our operations far too early into the game." Pettigrew whimpered and shook in overwhelming fear. "This merits punishment, Peter."

Wormtail's eyes grew unnaturally wide; his shriek was one that froze blood. "No, master, please, no!"

"Crucio!"

Pettigrew screamed and writhed and twitched, his silver hand clattering against the stone, but no sooner had Voldemort cast the curse than two Death Eaters appear at the mouth of the cave, one holding a torch. Between them they held a limp body by its arms; the prisoner's head dangled limply. The two servants recoiled at the sight of Wormtail flailing and shrieking on the cave floor, his eyes empty and his mind gone, but one of them recovered in time to shout over the heart-twisting noise: "Master! We have a prisoner!"

They forced the hapless man's head up roughly for Voldemort to see. His face was bruised and a trail of still-fresh blood glistened from the corner of his mouth.

It was Lupin.

A soft, unearthly voice was suddenly heard in the cave. It seemed to expand and fill all space, gently echoing off of the rock walls. "Enervate."

Harry shot bolt upright in the hospital bed, covered in cold sweat, one hand clapped over his burning scar.

****

The faces in the room confused Harry...there was Dumbledore...Lupin, a cave...and Wormtail, something about Voldemort...

"Harry? Harry, how do you feel?"

The words didn't register; Harry was desperately trying to salvage the scattered fragments of his dream. Lupin. Something about Voldemort and Lupin...

"Harry?"

He blinked. The room ceased to swim as Albus Dumbledore's tired but kind face came into focus. His breathing gradually slowed. Snape stood behind Dumbledore, staring emotionlessly at Harry.

Snape. The Dark Mark. Sirius...

"Where's Sirius?" he blurted out wildly, slapping the hand on his forehead down onto the bed. "Where is he? Is he all right? Did--"

Dumbledore held up a hand as he stepped closer and Harry fell silent. The Headmaster sat down beside him. For a brief moment, his blue eyes lingered on Harry's scar. "Sirius is fine," he said quietly, calmly. "Madam Pomfrey is tending to him."

"What? Where? No! You can't--Pomfrey, she can't--"

"Madam Pomfrey, Harry." Dumbledore studied him gravely. "You must promise not to get excited, otherwise I'll be chased from this ward."

Harry nodded, shaking from the effort of controlling himself.

"I've explained Sirius's situation and his wrongful accusation to Madam Pomfrey, and she's been quite cooperative." Harry blinked, finding this hard to digest. A dry smile tugged at Dumbledore's lips. "She's in such a state of shock she can't do much but go along," he clarified. Harry nodded.

"Is he...is he awake?"

"No, he hasn't come around yet."

Harry stared at the white sheets covering his knees. "How...how long have I been out?"

"About an hour. Your shortest time ever."

Harry smiled wanly in spite of himself, but it was short-lived. "Do...do you know what he was doing here? What's going on?" He glanced over Dumbledore's shoulder at Snape, who stood still as a statue, a faint sneer on his lips.

"I'm afraid," said Dumbledore somberly, "that I won't be able to give you an honest answer until Mr. Black himself comes around and tells us."

"Oh." Harry dropped back against the pillows in a daze. He was wondering whether or not he should make any mention of his strange dream when the door opened and Madam Pomfrey stepped in.

"Headmaster." She sounded as disoriented as Harry. "Professor Harrison wants to see you."

An emotion Harry couldn't identify flickered in Dumbledore's eyes. "Of course, Poppy--Severus, if you could watch over Harry?" Not the best of ideas, perhaps, but give the circumstances Harry supposed there wasn't much else Dumbledore could do. "Rest, Harry," he murmured, then rose and followed Madam Pomfrey out of the ward.

Harry closed his eyes. The pain in his scar was fading and so were all the remaining shreds of his dream. Except for Lupin. Something happened to Lupin. His brain, not quite yet under his control, continued to replay the events of what seemed eons ago. Sirius on his broomstick, the Crutacious Curse, Rysk's blood spreading over the snow...

"What happened to Ry--Professor Harrison?" he said suddenly, having quite forgotten.

There was a moment of silence before Snape replied, as though he wasn't quite sure that Harry had been addressing him. "What did you call her?"

"Professor Harrison," said Harry, hiding a wince. He'd almost let her real name slip. He raised his neck a bit to look at Snape.

"She was tended to," replied Snape shortly. After a moment he added, "Blood loss, mainly."

Harry stared up at the ceiling, picking at the covers. "Who stunned me?" He regretted the question the moment it left his mouth.

Snape's voice grew even colder. "Professor Harrison did. By the way, Potter, you face expulsion for physical assault on a teacher. And minus a hundred points from Gryffindor."

Harry laughed, shocking himself. It was a scornful sound. "I doubt I'll get expelled," he said. "Sorry, Snape."

"You will address me by my proper title," snarled Snape. Harry sat up, his eyes flashing. "Ten more points from Gryffindor."

"Do you think I care?" challenged Harry.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?" His voice was soft and dangerous as he took a step toward Harry.

"Do you think I care?" Harry threw off the sheets and jumped to the floor. His legs wobbled but held. He raised his chin defiantly. He would only get into more trouble continuing like this, he knew, but something in him wouldn't let him stop. The slow, boiling rage that had been sparked outside in the snow was rising to the surface, and nothing could be done to stop it. "You and your schoolboy grudges, you wouldn't even help him at first. You were glad!" Harry's voice quieted from a yell to the spiteful blade of a knife. "What was that, an old Death Eater habit?"

Snape had turned livid. "Silence!" he bellowed, shaking in rage. "You don't know what you're talking about, fool boy!"

It felt good. Harry didn't want to admit it, but it felt so painfully good to provoke Snape to such anger; because what he had said hurt, and he knew it. "I know you have that thing on your arm!" he retorted recklessly.

Snape jerked as though he'd been slapped. "This?" Harry heard something in Snape's voice crack despite the vicious hiss it had become. The Potions master rolled back his sleeve and held up his arm, displaying the Dark Mark and advancing on Harry. "This mark that's damned me in the eyes of the world, that damned me in the eyes of your righteous, strutting father and his righteous, strutting friends?" Harry took at involuntary step back at the tortured expression that twisted Snape's face. "Does it disgust you so much, Potter?"

"You disgust me," said Harry harshly.

They stared at each other long and hard for several moments. Hatred blazed in Snape's eyes, hatred almost as intense as the kind that he harbored for Sirius. Then he turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of the ward, nearly ripping the door off of its hinges as he went.

Harry let out a breath, shaken. He had felt pure hatred, true loathing, for the first time in his life. It was an all-consuming feeling, and it was also disturbingly welcoming. Reassuring.

He dropped onto the bed. For some reason, he desperately wanted to call his words back.