Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Nope, not me.

A/N: After our little detour through the mind of Remus Lupin, we're now taking a wander round the head of everyone's favourite Potions master. Severus's self discovery will be the focus of 'his' next few chapters…

...but the next chapter - much to Severus's chagrin, who hates it when this man has chapters - belongs to Sirius Black!

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Severus's first thought when he Apparated into Telae Domus was, Sweet mother of Merlin, no wonder they make such good potions!

He had landed in the middle of a medicinal garden, and with his long-trained eyes, he could immediately sense the potential for exceptionally potent potions.

His second thought was, Where is everyone?

He wondered for a second whether or not he had Apparated to completely the wrong place, but discounted that theory almost immediately. There could be nowhere else in the world that would have such a remarkable herb garden - otherwise, he would have been there. I would have been to pillage this garden long ago, he thought, apart from the little no-man rule.

"So."

He resisted the impulse to wheel at the voice. He had spent many years learning control, and no-one, no matter how powerful their most potent potions were, was going to shake it from him. He turned slowly to face the speaker. "So," he replied, making sure than every iota of the suspicion he felt was voiced.

"Severus Snape, I presume." The priestess's robes were grey. Second circle, then Severus thought.

"Yes," he answered. He was not going to give her the satisfaction of asking her for her name.

"You may call me Aralinda," she told him haughtily.

"You may call me Professor Snape," he replied. He hoped she would appreciate the snub.

Her face hardened. "And you will not insult a priestess in the Goddess's own garden!"

His face grew sardonic. "I do not believe I was insulting anyone."

Her eyes, green as new spring leaves, narrowed, but she did not rise to his bait. "Come," she said shortly.

He refused to ask where she was taking him. He would not grant any woman - especially not one of them, who had taken and wasted such great talent - the benefit of advantage over him.

"I am taking you to the temple," Aralinda told him over her shoulder.

To the temple, then, he would go.

Out of the frying pan, he thought, and into the fire.

*

There was another priestess waiting for them outside the gates to what Severus assumed was the temple of Arachne. Her robes were black. "Sister Aralinda," she acknowledged the younger priestess coldly. "Professor Snape."

He nodded coolly in acknowledgment.

The priestess turned to Aralinda. "The High Priestess has declared that he must stay here until Midsummer Eve."

"Perhaps you would care to address me about my plans," Severus remarked frostily.

The priestess looked at him coldly. "I do not think so," she told him shortly, and turned back to Aralinda. "You know the lore."

Aralinda inclined her head slightly. "I know the lore. May Arachne hold fast your thread, sister."

"Arachne hold fast your thread," the other priestess replied, and Disapparated.

Aralinda turned to look at Severus coldly. "You are not to go to the temple, then," she told him icily.

"That, I gathered. I am not a fool."

"And neither am I, Professor Snape. I at least know my place."

Without another word, Aralinda turned, and Severus had no choice but to follow.

*

And then, later, alone in a glade with night encroaching, the crescent moon on the horizon, Severus damned his pride and his ego to hell.

It takes a wise man to ask questions, Dumbledore had told him once, and a wiser one to answer.

Janus Snape had tried to answer his own questions instead of asking, and it had ended with his death.

And his son had made the same mistake.

Enjoy the night, Aralinda had said to him when she left him here, and there had been no mistaking the malice in her voice.

This was a test that would prove him worthy or prove him dead.

Men like me are not often favoured by the gods, Severus thought, and much less by the goddesses. And I have no idea what I am to face here, tonight.

For one wild moment, he thought that perhaps there would be nothing to fight. Just the encroaching night and the fear of what might be to come might be enough to drive a man to madness.

But he was dealing with a goddess here, and things were rarely as simple as that.

Professor Snape…

The voice was insistent and the darkness was deep. He could not see anything around him. "I am here," he replied simply.

You would spend a night in the Glade of the Lady?

Severus gulped. Easy, Albus? he thought. But he already knew what his answer would be. "I would," he replied.

Then look in the mirror, the voice whispered inside his mind, and see true.

*

"What comes next?" she asked, stirring the cauldron with the tip of her wand.

Severus consulted the book. "Ah… two ounces of crushed Billywigs," he said, smiling at her. Enemies in daylight, friends in secret, he thought. It had an odd romance about it - even he, who had never been romantic, could see that.

"Could you start chopping the dried Flobberworms, please?" she told him as she measured out the Billywigs. "They will need to go in soon."

He pulled the chopping board towards him, still looking at the book. "You'll need to stir that in an anticlockwise - Sweet mother of Merlin!" He clutched his bleeding hand to his chest.

She looked up, saw the dripping blood. "Show me," she commanded him, holding out her hand for his.

He shook his head. "No… it's okay."

"Stop being stubborn, Severus, show me." Her voice was lilting, calming, like trickling water on a day in new spring.

"No," he said firmly. "You need to finish the potion. I will go to Madam Pomfrey and be back soon."

"Severus -"

"Keep going," he told her. "I'll only be a second."

The flickering light caught the gold in her hair. "All right," she said softly.

"Nine times anti-clockwise," he told her, and left the room.

Out in the corridor, he pulled up his sleeve with a gasp. His finger was still bleeding quite profusely, but he knew it was only a shallow cut. He'd done it on purpose, and he wasn't fool enough to slice off his own finger.

And the pain was nothing compared to the pain of the Mark, burning black on his arm.

The sound of her voice floated out into the corridor. She was singing over her cauldron. "From skies of blue you call me… run far from the light. From skies of blue you call me… kiss the night, kiss the night…"

What was someone like him doing - someone with the Mark burned black on his arm - consorting with someone like her? By all rights, he shouldn't even be within ten miles of her. She was so far above him that she was like a star, burning brightly but ever so far away in the sky. So pure, seventeen year old Severus Snape thought, so innocent.

So brave, so courageous, that other little voice inside his head mocked. The voice that had taken the Dark Mark with pleasure and served Voldemort with relish. So very Gryffindor.

Gryffindor…

And he segued…

*

"Stay away from her!"

Seventeen year old Remus Lupin was practically growling. Like the wolf he is, Severus thought dryly. "Now, now, Mr. Lupin, why should I do that?"

Remus's eyes bore into his, and Severus returned the stare with great pleasure. "You honestly have no idea of what she is to me, do you?" he snarled.

Severus pretended to be cleaning his nails. "Don't really care either, Lupin," he drawled.

Then, faster than he could see, Remus had him against the wall. So the thing about werewolves having superhuman strength really is true, he thought wryly, and not at all appropriately to the situation.

"Don't think I can't see what you are, Snape," Remus growled. "Don't think I can't see the dirty little Death Eater under your robes and your Concealment Charms."

So he did notice the Concealment Charm, Severus thought. That's interesting. That's very interesting.

"I know the Dark Mark is branded black on your arm," Remus grated. "I know where your loyalties lie, Snape. So stay away from her!"

"You know what?" Severus said sardonically. "I don't think I will."

Remus had reached the end of his tether. He swung, connected, and Severus's head was smashed against the wall, bruising the entire left side of his face.

"So much as go near her again," Remus snarled, "and it won't just be your face that's black and blue."

The door slammed as Remus left the room. "Stop me, Lupin," the younger Severus whispered before he fell into unconsciousness.

The darkness surrounded him…

…and he segued…

*

His dungeon classroom, now. Yesterday.

"So the spats in the hallways weren't just for show, then?" Aemilia asked him

Severus felt a moment of terror. She knows! "How do you know about that?"

Aemilia laughed, although it was not her usual ringing laughter. "You must be getting slow in your old age, Snape. I was in your year, remember?"

Thank Merlin. "I'd quite forgotten," he replied coolly. "I believe it's called wishful thinking."

"Mark the return of Severus the Snarky," Aemilia noted dryly.

"Get back to your point, Fudge, whatever it was," he snapped. And away from… her…

"Fine," she snapped back. "Well, you know about the Arachniae, so there's not too much explaining to be done. That comment of Shacklebolt's tonight just sent him over the edge. Ever since Sirius died… I think he's been bottling all his pain up inside himself and tonight the floodgate burst. I sat with him for over an hour and from what I gathered, he was practically torturing himself with every bad memory he could think of."

"Lycanthropy?"

Aemilia nodded. "A lot of that - but I realised tonight Remus has had a harder life than anyone I know. The lycanthropy alone would be enough to send any sane man over the edge. Remus has had to deal with so much more than that."

So much more to deal with…

Remus Lupin had suffered more than Severus could imagine. He had lost Sirius Black, James Potter, Lily Evans… his dearest friends in the world. He had had to deal with the perversion and corruption of a fourth in Peter Pettigrew. He had been discriminated against for his lycanthropy all his life. His mother was criminally insane. He had lost Aemilia in his Seventh Year. And… he had lost her, and no-one, not Severus, not Sirius, no-one that had ever been bewitched by her serene demeanour and tranquil eyes, could have even begun to understand how much she had meant to Remus.

You self-pitying weak fool, Severus, he thought fiercely. Oh, you made a point of not complaining to Dumbledore - oh Dumbledore, my Mark is hurting; oh Dumbledore, Voldemort put the Cruciatus curse on me again - but you pitied yourself the whole time.

But this man… this man has suffered beyond all belief…

And, for the last time, he segued…

*

Severus opened his eyes.

He was flat on his back in the glade. The stars had changed and the moon had left the sky, and he knew - even though he had, as Aemilia had once told him, completely failed his Astronomy OWL - that many hours had passed.

He sat up, rubbing his temples. He felt the beginning of a pounding headache.

"So."

This time, he dispensed with his pride, his ego, his hubris. "I am here," he said simply.

She came towards him, carrying a taper. "You have passed the test, Professor Snape."

"Please," he whispered, "call me Severus."

She extended him one lovely, white hand and, when he took it, pulled him to his feet. "Welcome to Telae Domus, Severus," she told him. "I am Helena Seraphim."

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Next chapter: Some Siriusness…