Part III

Later that night, Harry found himself happily ensconsed in bed. He hadn't mentioned his concerns to
Ron and Hermione yet. He wanted to do some snooping himself first, before getting them involved in
a task that would take them on a direct collision course with Professor Snape. After all, why should
they all lose points?

His mind spinning as he tried to plan his investigation, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

It seemed as though Harry had fallen backwards in time. He stood once again in the cemetary where
he first faced Voldemort at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He recognized the gravestones,
including the one belonging to Tom Riddle's father.

There was no cauldron now. Instead, Harry stood in the middle of a large circle of Death Eaters.
Before him stood his enemy, Voldemort. Fear raced through him at the sight. How was he going
to escape? He could see no easy way out, and found himself clenching his wand. If nothing else,
he would take as many Death Eaters with him as possible when he died, he decided.

Then came the paradigm shift. Voldemort looked him directly in the eyes, and rather than the disdain
and hatred he had come to find familiar in those red, glaring eyes, he saw suspicion, and anger. Then
Voldemort spoke.

"Severus, you did not come to me when I called you. Yet now you stand before me, decaring your loyalty
to me?" His anger was apparent in his voice.

Harry found his body moving forward, and kneeling at the feet of the Dark Lord. As he looked down, he found
black hair falling in his face, and saw a familiar black robe. Neither of which were his.

"Master, I could not come to you easily without arousing the suspicions of Dumbledore, as well as others.
I was in the presence of the Minister of Magic as well as Dumbledore, and Apparating to you at that time would
have lent credence to Potter's story upon his return. My presence nearby did much to reassure Fudge that Potter's
story consisted of the mad ramblings of an unstable boy." Harry found the smooth words rolling off his tonge in a
voice he knew all too well. Only one man could speak with that smooth, black, velvety voice. What was going on here?

He was distracted by the swift movement of Voldemort's wand in his direction.

"Crucio."

His entire body shook in pain. His muscles shook with the effort to maintain upright on his knees.
His pride refused to allow him to fall to the ground. His jaw clenched shut, allowing no sound to
escape. He would not scream, not for Voldemort, not for anyone. Where was this determination coming
from? Harry knew very well that he had, and would, scream and fall under the Cruciatus Curse. Was
this emotion coming from Snape? Was Snape truly strong enough, proud enough, to resist the effects of
the most painful curse ever invented?

The pain seemed to last forever. He could feel it wearing on his resolve, but he would not surrender
to it. It was, after all, only pain. In a way, the pain felt almost familiar to his body.

"Finite Incantatum."

A deep, shuddering breath was the only sign he gave that he noticed the release from the curse. Slowly,
his muscles began to unclench. He knew better than to relax, however. Harry had the feeling that this
scene was a familiar one to Snape. The fact that he seemed to know that this was not the end of the torture
was clear enough. How could Snape bear it?

For that matter, why was he dreaming about Snape? Why was he walking in Snape's body, of all people?
Why was he dreaming about being Snape, and more importantly, why was Snape placating Voldemort? Was
Ron right, was Snape really a traitor? Harry simply couldn't believe that. Albus Dumbledore trusted
Snape, and Harry would as well. He knew Dumbledore had asked something of Snape at the end of Harry's
fourth year, but he'd had no idea this was what Snape had gone through.

His body had started to relax slightly, as the curse had not been cast again. His breathing slowed, and
his jaw unclenched. He could still feel the effects of the curse as pain sang out occassionally along his
nerves, never in the same place twice. He sagged back somewhat on his heels, and lowered his head to the
ground before Voldemort.

"Master, I beg of you, forgive my absence. My loyalty to you is absolute. I simply did as I thought best
to protect you, so soon after your return." His voice was no longer smooth, but more like fine sandpaper. The
strain of holding in the sreams had strained the normal fine velvet of Snape's voice.

"Severus, you were once my finest servant. Your cruelty had no rival, except in myself. Now I fear I cannot
truly trust you. What would you do to restore my trust in you? What would you do to restore the trust my loyal
servants once held in you?" His body tensed at the trap Voldemort carefully wove into his words. Knowing he
had no choice, he answered carefully.

"Anything you wish, Master."

"Very well Severus, I will test your resolve. Come, my loyal servants. Severus has promised he would do anything
to restore your trust in him. Come, and test him."

The evil laughter of the Death Eaters gave Harry a good idea of what was about to happen. As the hands reached for
him, touching, hurting, tearing, he felt himself forced violently from the dream.

He woke screaming in his own bed, safe in the Gryffindor dormatory. His whole body was trembling, and he was soaked
with sweat. His stomach began to churn as his mind tossed up the last few images from his dream, and he bolted for the
bathrooms, falling to his knees and emptying his stomach. After he was finished, he rested his sweaty forehead against
the cold porcelain and allowed the coolness of it to seep into his body.

He reviewed the dream carefully in his mind. It hadn't been prophetic, his scar hand't hurt at all. The more he
thought about it, the more he realized that what he witnessed must have happened soon after the Tournament. Snape had
allowed his hair to grow over the last year or so, now reaching well below his shoulders. He realized the hair falling
in his face as he knelt before Voldemort in the dream had been barely shoulder-length.

He realized Snape had returned to Voldemort's service soon after Harry had returned to Hogwarts with Cedric's body.
He had managed to buy his way back into the circle of Death Eaters with the pain and torment of his own body and soul.
Harry shuddered at the thought of the pain and torture he had witnessed in his dream. If this is how Snape had bought
his way back in, Harry couldn't believe that any information was worth what Snape had experienced. Dumbledore had no
right to ask Snape to go through this kind of torment just to act as a spy. Was Dumbledore even aware of what Snape
went through to collect information for him?

As he slowly made his way back to his bed, Harry was faced with one more question he couldn't answer. Why was he
dreaming of Snape, and more importantly, why was he dreaming of himself as Snape?