Disclaimer In chapter 1

A/N Wow, I never expected that type of response from my last chapter; I've never gotten so many reviews for only 2 chapters of a story (even though 3 of the reviews were from the same person [what happened with you, Stargrl123?])! I got so excited that I had to work on this chapter a bit, to live up to your expectations. I hope it works.

Enjoy

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Cold

Albus Dumbledore stood in front of the window, watching the flurries of snow pass by the glass. He was lost in thought as he awaited a message from his only Death Eater spy. Severus Snape had told the ex-headmaster that he would try to reach Harry and heal his wounds. The Potions Master had known the risk of trying to reach the imprisoned boy, Dumbledore had half a mind to tell him not to do it, because if Snape was caught, Dumbledore's only messenger of what Voldemort was up to would be gone, and there would be no stopping the Dark Lord from gaining power.

"Headmaster?"

Dumbledore turned to see the bespectacled face of his ex-deputy headmistress. "I haven't been Headmaster for sometime now, Minerva," he sighed.

"Any word from Severus?" McGonagall asked ignoring Dumbledore's last statement. In her mind he would always be the true headmaster of Hogwarts, no matter who was instructing it's students now.

The weary man shook his head solemnly and turned back to the window.

McGonagall saw that Dumbledore didn't want to talk, but she wouldn't let him leave her questions unanswered. "Do you think Severus reached Potter?"

Dumbledore remained unmoving by the window. "We shall know soon enough."

McGonagall nodded even though she knew that Dumbledore couldn't see her. The man's voice sounded so heavy; weighed down with grief, and sorrow, and guilt. The spark in those clear blue eyes had gone out long ago, and the headmaster seemed to find sanctuary in his own mind nowadays, getting lost in thought often. She turned and left the small room, and disappeared into the dark hallways of the house they had hidden away in, many miles from where Hermione and Ron's camp was.

Left standing by the window, Dumbledore's thoughts traveled many miles to the dungeons of Hogwarts. Severus had said that they'd been keeping Harry in the dungeon just beyond the Potions classroom. Dumbledore had only entered the room Snape spoke of once in his stay at Hogwarts, and even then he had thought it looked ominous. Something that had looked suspiciously like blood had stained the walls and floor, and just the feeling the room gave off sent a shiver down his spine.

He tried to keep his thoughts optimistic whenever they turned to Harry. Personally, Dumbledore had considered himself something like a grandfather figure to Harry, and it had pained him to see the boy he had grown to love sacrifice himself to save the school. But whenever his thoughts landed on a starving Harry dying in the darkness of a dungeon, he found his throat constricted and promptly changed his train of thought.

Dumbledore tore his mind away from thoughts of Harry and focused his eyes on the white sheet that seemed to be covering his window. He saw nothing for a brief moment, and then an owl appeared, an owl seemingly oblivious to the snow around it and undaunted by the lashing wind thanks to the spells Dumbledore had put on it. He opened his window quickly and allowed the graceful eagle owl to swoop in and land gently on his desk. The bird immediately held out it's leg, and Dumbledore untied the letter attached to it, opening it hurriedly. It was short, and seemed to have been written in a hurry.

Professor Dumbledore

My attempt to reach Potter was successful. I gave him a hydrating potion and some food, however I couldn't stay long to give him other potions he sorely needs. He seemed to be in an awful condition, but managed to speak to me, uttering three phrases. I healed as much of his wounds as I could, he told me they had broken his ribs, but my expertise doesn't cover that level of healing.

He is fading slowly. Though he won't allow anyone to see it, he is dying. I will do what I can to delay any further damage. I'll visit him again on Christmas with more potions to offer.

Severus Snape

Dumbledore lowered the letter and brought his hand to his face, sighing deeply. One sentence was emblazoned in his mind. "Though he won't allow anyone to see it, he is dying." Harry was never one to draw attention to himself. Even now, when he was dying, he didn't show any weakness. A true Gryffindor at heart, Dumbledore thought sadly.

Sighing again, Dumbledore pulled out a strip of parchment to write a letter to Ron and Hermione's group. They had a right to know what was happening. Dipping the quill gingerly in the inkpot, he let it hover above the parchment, considering how he would write this. He lowered it, and the scratching reverberated around the empty room.

-

Severus Snape's robe whipped around the corner as he hurried to the headmaster's office. He ignored the vicious stares he got from the students as he passed them by, ignored the hisses of "traitor!" that followed him round. He had lost all of his authority when Dumbledore had left, and was no longer allowed to punish the students, a job left for the Dark Lord. The students didn't fear him anymore, and didn't bother to lower their voices as they called him "slimy git" in the corridors. This didn't daunt him, however, for in the back of his mind he knew that one day soon they would all be in Azkaban. One day Dumbledore would strike back and, with Severus' help, would regain control of Hogwarts. That was all that kept him sane in this school of hell. That was what kept him from running away after the frequent instances that the Dark Lord would use the Cruciatus Curse on him. . . for no apparent reason.

He turned the corner and found the door that led to the Dark Lord's chambers. The Dark Lord had been unable to penetrate Dumbledore's office, much to his despair, but it kept Snape smiling late at night when the coldness of the castle seemed to run beneath his skin. He knocked briefly on the thick wooden door.

"Come in, Snape," the cold voice said. It always made him nervous when the Dark Lord knew he was there before seeing him. Taking a moment to regain his composure, he swept into the room, immediately bowing his head as was expected of him.

"My lord," he muttered, keeping his voice smooth. He might despise the Dark Lord, but he couldn't risk acting any differently than the other Death Eaters. Dumbledore was depending on him, the whole Wizarding world was depending on him. . . Potter was depending on him.

"What do you want?" the Dark Lord questioned. Snape smiled inwardly. He knew that with any other Death Eater in the school, the Dark Lord would already know the purpose for the visit, but thanks to the Occlumency skills Snape had learned from Dumbledore, his thoughts were private.

"I have a request, my lord," Snape said silkily, keeping his eyes averted from the man sitting just in front of him. He longed to glare the Dark Lord in the face, to prove that he wasn't just another trembling Death Eater, to show that he wasn't afraid, but he remembered Dumbledore, and stared at the floor.

"Continue."

"As you know, I have taught at this school for many years, and a portion of those years included the Potter boy. My hatred for the filthy mudblood is only rivaled by my hatred for the filthy mudblood-lover," Snape said. It pained him to refer to Dumbledore like that, but he needed the Dark Lord's trust.

"Hurry up, Snape, my time is precious." Snape shivered with the way he said 'precious.' He exaggerated the 's' so that it sounded like the hissing of a snake.

"Yes, my lord. I was hoping that I would get my own time with the boy. I have not gotten the chance to express my hatred for Potter, and I so dearly want to."

There was a pause, and then, "You know very well, Snape, that you do not have to come to me for permission to beat Potter."

"Yes, my lord, I know that," Snape said hurriedly. "But I was hoping for permission to spend my time with Potter. . . privately."

Snape felt Voldemort trying to probe into his mind, to read his thoughts, but easily stopped him.

"Very well."

Snape heard the finality in the Dark Lord's voice, and immediately uttered, "Thank you, my lord, you are most gracious." He backed out of the room, not daring to show the Dark Lord his back, and hurried back to his quarters where he would have to start making the potions that Potter would need.

Once he had locked the door behind him, he pulled down his hood and mask and breathed deeply. It was stifling hot being covered constantly, and every chance he got he allowed his face to get some air.

He got the ingredients from his private storeroom to make several different Healing Potions, Strength Potions, and perhaps a Sleeping Draft so that Potter could sleep better. His own consideration disgusted the Potions master, and he busied himself over the several cauldrons he was using.

When the sun set, he had no choice but to clean up everything so that he could go to dinner. He pulled his hood and mask back on, and after making sure there was no evidence of what he had been doing, swept from the room. He wasn't hungry, but to miss dinner would mean several hours of enduring the Cruciatus Curse at the hand of the Dark Lord in front of the entire school. His mind still on what he needed to do for Potter, he emerged into the Great Hall and took his seat at the head table, next to the headmaster's throne where he had sat when Dumbledore had been at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord wasn't there yet, and so the hall waited in silence for him to arrive. No one dared to speak, and no one dared to start eating. If they had to wait so long that their food got cold, so be it. A cold chicken leg was better than being punished with an Unforgivable. Snape kept his hands folded on the table in front of him, and sat deathly still, his eyes moving beneath his mask, sweeping over the students.

He saw Draco Malfoy sitting at what had been the Slytherin table. He still sat there even though each table was the same now. There were no longer 'Houses' like there had been in the time of Hogwarts, there was just one large nameless house that everyone was a part of. There were, however, social classes within the student body itself. The rank of your Death Eater parent or parents decided who you were friends with. It disgusted Snape when he saw old best friends split apart just because the Dark Lord considered them to be of different importance in his eyes. Dumbledore had been correct when he had said that the Dark Lord had a great gift for spreading discord and enmity.

The school was just as full as it had been in Hogwart's time as well, many students from other countries had appeared a few weeks after Dumbledore had fled, wishing to study the Dark Arts. Indeed, many students from Durmstrang transferred to Hogwarts after hearing about the Dark Lord's invasion.

Watching Draco Malfoy now, Snape longed to hear what the boy was thinking, but didn't dare try to read his mind in front of everyone. Malfoy had been the first to join the Dark Lord that night, but a week ago, when Potter was brought in front of the school, he had definitely seen fear in the 16 year old's eyes. He had even seen, if only a fleeting trace, mercy.

The rustling of robes announced the arrival of the Dark Lord. A murmuring of "my lord," echoed through the hall, but instead of walking behind the head table to take his seat, the Dark Lord walked in front of it. In his pale, white fingers was clutched a piece of parchment. He turned to the students, all of whom were averting their eyes.

"We have a traitor in our midst." The icy voice managed to chill Snape the way no wind could. At this statement, he tensed, his eyes wide beneath his mask, but no one seemed to notice thanks to the billowing robes he constantly wore. The hall was silent as they waited for the Dark Lord to continue.

"One of my faithful students reported to me just now that they found this in the dormitory of one of their classmates—" he held up the strip of parchment, "—and I thought that maybe I could share it with the rest of you."

He opened up the paper, and read, everyone holding their breath

.

"Dear Professor Dumbledore— I want out. I can't live like this any more. You-Know-Who made me torture Potter, but I can't do it. I want to join you. Owl me at soon as you can.

"Sincerely—"

Here the Dark Lord looked up and into the eyes of Malfoy.

"Draco Malfoy."

Snape felt cold. His throat was oddly constricted as he watched the back of the Dark Lord's head.

"Come here, Draco," the Dark Lord said silkily.

The blonde boy stood up slowly from his table and walked cautiously to the front of the room, his terrified eyes on the headmaster. He stopped a mere five feet from the Dark Lord.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The pale, pointed-face of the boy slacked, and he fell to a heap on the ground. Snape watched in horror as the Dark Lord slowly pocketed his wand.

There was a stunned silence in the hall.

Snape realized he was trembling.

"The next person I find has tried to join Dumbledore might not be so lucky as Mr. Malfoy here. I ended it quickly for him because he was a model student." The Dark Lord strode around the head table and sat in the throne. "Eat," he said simply.

Snape scrambled to pick up his fork, but couldn't eat. He merely moved his food around his plate until dinner ended and he could return to his dungeons. He passed by Malfoy's lifeless body as he left, but looked the other way. He needed to hurry.

-

Christmas day came, and Snape joined in all the festivities he was expected to attend. Indeed, they were not nearly as cheerful as the Christmas' with Dumbledore, but he survived to the evening when his first meeting with Potter was scheduled. He hid the different bottles in his billowing cloak, and headed to Potter's dungeon. The Death Eater guard was still there, still without a memory, but he doubted anyone had noticed. The git had been an idiot before Snape had modified his memory.

He opened the heavy oak door, and the musty smell of the chamber met his nostrils. He stood for a moment in the doorway, squinting into the darkness. He could make out a figure on the opposite wall, slumped down on it's side asleep.

As he entered the room, a weak voice asked, "You're back?"

"Yes." Snape closed the door swiftly and lit his wand. He saw the boy cringe from the light.

"How long can you stay?" Harry asked wearily, sitting up slightly on the wall.

"I'm not sure. I requested private sessions with you from the Dark Lord. I have perhaps an hour." Snape knew that he didn't need to elaborate. The boy wasn't an idiot, he would know that by saying 'sessions' he had meant 'beatings.' Deciding not to waste any time, he sat down in front of Potter, pulling out the various bottles and lining them up in front of him.

"I never was good at Potions," Harry said with the trace of a smile, his eyes on the glass bottles.

Snape chose not to respond, and instead pulled the tiny stopper out of the first bottle. "This will help with the ribs," he said, handing Potter the first bottle.

"You're sure it's not poison?"

"Was the first one poison?"

Harry smiled. Snape was amazed the boy could still manage it. If it had been him, he would have bitten the head off of the first person he saw, enemy or ally. Harry lifted the bottle up, shaking the contents gently. With a look at Snape, he said, "Bottoms up," and swallowed it in one gulp.

Snape handed him the next potions, several were to heal bruises and bones, a clear liquid was to strengthen his muscles, and the final two were Sleeping Drafts. Snape was amazed that Potter swallowed each of them, except the Sleeping Drafts, without question. When the bottles were drained, Potters emerald eyes met Snape's black ones.

"How's everyone," Harry asked, leaning his head back against the wall.

"Fine," Snape answered, "they're all in hiding."

Harry nodded slightly, and then closed his eyes. Snape thought that the small movement had caused him pain, but the next moment Harry opened his eyes, and Snape clearly saw the suffering in them.

"Who did Voldemort kill?" he asked, his eyes locked on Snape's face.

Snape marveled at this, and asked, aghast, "How did you know?"

Harry raised a blood covered hand and pointed to his forehead. "Scar," he said simply.

Snape looked away. "Draco." The image of the boy falling to the ground was still imprinted in his memory.

From the silence Snape could tell that this hadn't been what Potter had suspected.

"Why?" he asked finally, his voice trembling. "Why Malfoy?"

Snape answered quietly. "Malfoy had a letter to Dumbledore lying around in his dormitory. One of his classmates turned him in."

Harry took a moment to absorb what Snape was telling him. "So. . . Draco was on our side?"

Snape nodded briefly.

"Did he. . . do it in front of the. . . the whole school?" Harry asked.

Again, Snape nodded.

Harry looked away. With the boys face turned, Snape could see dried blood covering his cheek in the faint wandlight. The entire boy looked a mess. His hair was matted to his head in several places. His shirt was partially ripped, his jeans torn and bloody. He wore no shoes on his feet, and his toes seemed to be curled in a permanent cringe.

"Dumbledore will get you out of here," Snape said after a moment of silence. He didn't quite know why he was comforting Potter, he had loathed the boy since their first encounter. But no human being deserved what this boy was getting. No living being, human or not, deserved this.

Harry's eyes grew wide. "Tell him no," he said sternly. "I'm not worth that."

"Harry, you're the one who has to defeat the Dark Lord! If you die in here, what will the rest of us do? Wait until he dies of old age?"

Both Harry and Snape sat in shocked silence. Harry was shocked for two reasons: One, he had used Harry's first name, and two Snape knew of the prophecy. Snape was shocked because he had never thought he'd be in the position to give Potter a morality boost.

"How do you know about the prophecy?" Harry asked after a moment.

"You forget I was a Death Eater, Potter," Snape said, resuming his icy demeanor.

Harry's eyes were still locked on Snape's. It was chilling how the boy could give the same searching look as the Dark Lord. It was a pity the boy was no good at reading minds, he could be very powerful if he were.

Snape rose from the ground. "I'll come again in a few day's time," he said. And then, "Take care of yourself, Potter."

Harry watched the man glide from the room and close the dungeon door.

Outside, Snape leaned against the wall to catch several gasps of air. That dungeon had turned his limbs mysteriously into Jell-O. He glanced briefly at the memory-less Death Eater who was now humming beneath his breath and playing an imaginary drum set.

Save us, he thought, walking along the dark corridor. Somebody save us all.

-

A/N That chapter was slightly longer than the rest. Sorry about Draco, by the way, had to do it. Draco was one of my favorite characters too. . . oh well. Life goes on.

To answer a question brought up by one of my beloved reviewers, this whole thing is taking place nearly 4 months after Lord Moldyshorts. . . er. . . Voldemort moved in, as you can probably gather from this chapter. Sorry about that.

Next chapter won't be up for a bit.