A/N: Many stupid, illogical things occur here, just go with it.

12. Lightening The Darkness

"I have the sinking feeling that there is something more going on in the castle than just the Tarantula Spell," Hermione said in her matter-of-factly voice. "Yesterday in one of the bathrooms, the mirror suddenly exploded. I was standing in front of it and it could have made a lot damage if it hadn't been for ... Professor Dumbledore, how does a wizard become a ghost?" She changed the topic abruptly, but the headmaster didn't seem in the least surprised.

"The chances for becoming a ghost are rather slim," Albus explained, a faint twinkling in his eyes. "A witch or a wizard has to have an anchor in this life which hinders him in getting into the afterlife. Sometimes, they have something left to do. But in the most cases the deceased's soul will leave this world even when he has not everything fulfilled."

"Professor," Hermione said, quietly. "I encountered Draco yesterday as a ... ghost."

"Draco Malfoy? Indeed?"

"Yes. He was the one who protected me. Alas, he vanished before he could tell me why the mirror exploded. He said something that he can't stay materialized in this world for too long full stops."

"Hm. His soul must adapt to the environment, in a few days his slipping should have subsided, I believe."

'-+-+-+-'

Snape still braced himself against the wall for balance. He had never wanted to be reminded of this little fact again. He a Gryffindor? Ha! Was the pope evangelic? Whatever.

Being nearly made a Gryffindor was nothing for Snape to be proud of. It was a secret, the kind of dirty little secret one used to hide between porn and buried corpses in one's closet. Not that Snape had porn to hide in the first place. Or corpses. Or corpses he used for sick pleasures simple porn couldn't provide ...

This was the simple direction his morbid thoughts went when combining his own name and Gryffindor House in one sentence. Nothing good could ever come out of this. Potter was the living example. Thinking of Potter (as if his mere presence at Hogwarts wouldn't be enough already, Snape really had to think about him, too?), Snape couldn't help but wonder how in the name of all Good and Justice he could have been considered a Slytherin. Even if he let all the cunning traits aside, Potter was no pureblood. And Salazar Slytherin prided himself in his pure and untainted house. There was no way the Sorting Hat could have suggested Harry into his house, unless ... Potter lied. It wouldn't be too far-fetched, naturally. But his entire behaviour after he'd slipped the info spoke against this theory. He seemed shocked and angry at himself for acting so Gryffindor, opening mouth before considering the potential consequences.

Harry Potter couldn't have been sorted into Slytherin because he was a half-blood. Wasn't he?

"... Professor?" a voice asked, tentatively, causing Snape to jump surprised and press a hand over his hammering heart, despite all the tentativeness. Severus paled slightly more as he recognised the ghost floating in front of him.

"If it weren't such a serious situation, I'd say you look as though you've just seen a ghost, sir," Draco drawled, a faint smirk tugging on the etches of his lips. His arms were crossed in front of his lithe chest, giving almost the impression that he was still the same old (and same living) Prince of Slytherin. Weren't it for the facts that he was half luminescent, faintly glowing blue, floating above the ground and carrying a cool aura around him, that was.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape tried to sound sternly, after his heartbeat was back to a healthier rhythm. "I am glad to see that you managed to obtain your personal traits even after your early demise ..." his voice petered out, unsure. Should he give his condolences?

"Sir?" Draco's voice rescued Severus from his misery. "There is a reason why I am here and I think we should head to the headmaster's office."

'-+-+-+-'

There was no real time of a reunion for Hermione and Draco this time as they saw each other. Hermione had been in the process of leaving to search for Harry and to begin the training for the spell that would take out the wards, as Snape and Draco arrived in Dumbledore's office. And after Draco had said his first sentence, every occupant, who hadn't been sitting at the moment, collapsed into the next available chair.

"Voldemort will strike soon."

"WHAT?" Hermione cried shocked, gripping the edges of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white and her nails drew splinters.

"Don't say his name," Severus hissed, automatically. It wasn't as if he feared his name, that had never been the reason behind his antipathy against 'Voldemort'. It was solely that Snape always feared that Voldemort might have the same gift as he himself. Would he know if someone uttered his name? Would he know that Snape worked against him? Fear nagged at him from the insides.

"He is back?" Dumbledore asked quietly, not a trace of a twinkle in his eyes, as Snape merely sat completely still.

"He was never gone," Draco replied, faintly floating back and forth.

"H-he can't be alive," Hermione said. "Harry killed him!" Snape didn't object, this was not the time to gloat.

"Draco?" Dumbledore redirected Malfoy's attention back. "Please tell us what you know so we shall decide on a turn of action."

Draco nodded shortly and began. "I died by the hands of some random Death Eater, unbelievable, I don't even know who the bloody- sorry. The point is that I died, but I knew something was wrong because I couldn't move. I was still somehow trapped in here, even without my body I couldn't cross the wards. I could see everything going on around me, but I couldn't interfere. It was as if I was under a full body binding spell, even though I could move. I tried for the last days to make contact but it was too hard - it was so frustrating! - well now it worked." Draco shuffled his hair slightly with one hand and shot a glance towards Snape. He knew how Voldemort had died, but this was not his secret to spill. "I read the article about the Tarantula Spell. It said that the powerful wizard would be stripped from great parts of his magic. These are the repercussions. Voldemort did it on purpose, he knew he'd surely die, to both trap us here for enough time and become a ghost without raising too many suspicions. He killed the Bloody Baron and is now Slytherin's Houseghost. Actually, a simple plan. But it worked, didn't it? It was too easy, way too easy to kill someone as powerful as Voldemort. He had let himself get killed. This was the whole idea behind. Of course, it was a trap! Why hadn't anybody thought about this before?"

"Because his Death Eaters had been vulnerable to the Light afterwards," Snape said, quietly. He himself hadn't wasted one second to doubt that Voldemort indeed was dead and buried somewhere in one of Hogwarts' empty classrooms. His joyous pseudo-victory over his master had diminished his thoughts to a minimum. How could this have happened? He WAS a Slytherin for Salazar's snake's sake! A Slytherin that could have ended in Gryffindor, but a Slytherin nonetheless.

"How Slytherin of him," Draco said flatly, not at all happy with sharing the same house with Voldemort. It was those creatures that gave the word 'Slytherin' this bad aftertaste. "No sacrifice is too big for his goal."

"And his sole goal is ..." Hermione said slowly, recognition downing on her, "... Harry."

"There's no way Harry can kill Voldemort as a ghost."

'-+-+-+-'

"OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR THIS INSTANCE!" Ron yelled, banging against the wooden entrance to the 7th year boys' dorm. "I AM NOT PLEASED AT ALL!"

Harry didn't even seem to hear the screaming. He was paralysed, standing in the middle of the Gryffindor Common Room. His eyes were fixed upon the sinisterly smirking ghost floating mere meters in front of him. Any possible spectator would have said that Harry was part of the furniture, or somehow rooted to the floor. But unfortunately, the only possible spectator was one unnamed 1st year Gryffindor who would not say anything anymore.

"So we finally meet again," Voldemort hissed. "A nice little private party. It reminds me of home," he added, thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Harry managed to utter. His breathing was still ragged, but not due to some kind of exercise. How could he have guessed that after he came back from breakfast to fetch Ron, Voldemort would wait for him in the Common Room? How far-fetched was that? He wasn't a Seer, and Trelawney had not predicted anything in relation to Voldemort. As Harry's brain slowly went back into normal-drive, he registered the whole situation. He was in the Common Room. He was the sole living soul here. The corpse of an innocent mere meters away, who he hadn't managed to save. Voldemort being a ghost, pointing his luminescent wand at him. The circle was drawn closer. Now he couldn't even get out of the Common Room. At least, this also left Ron with no other choice but to stay in the dorm.

"Long time no see," Harry then regained his self-confidence back. "I'd rather it had stayed that way."

"As witty as always, I see," Voldemort tutted, waving his wand-hand disapprovingly. "Didn't your lovely relatives teach you any manners? Oh. I shouldn't have mentioned them. How inconsiderate of me."

Harry bristled visibly and clenched his fists. "You bloody-"

"Temper," Voldemort said, smiling a twisted smile. "It's always the temper the youth lacks these days. I," he then drawled, "wouldn't try this move now." His wand was pointed directly at Harry's head.

Harry grudgingly moved his hand back out of his robes. What to do? His mind wasn't too occupied, it was still a bit frozen. What should he do against a ghost? Even if he had managed to get his wand? Stalling. That was always a good idea. "Why aren't you dead? I mean, you know, dead-dead. The kind that never returned so that the rest of the world can live on in peace?"

Voldemort chuckled, clearly amused. "Now where would be the fun in that? Depriving the society of my precious presence is a crime against society itself, wouldn't you agree?" At the end, there was more malice in his voice.

"Whatever," Harry waved, then cradled his hand closely to his chest, hissing, because Voldemort had cursed it with a boiling spell.

"You are so ungrateful," the Dark Lord hissed, venomously. "Without me you would be nothing! Nobody would care if you lived or died. You wouldn't be special, anymore, and you wouldn't be the Boy-Who-Lived but the Boy-Who-Didn't-Matter! Show some gratitude!"

"Better nobody than nothing," Harry muttered, realizing that Voldemort was indeed far more sick than he'd thought earlier. Did he really believe he did Harry good with his doings? Harry thanked all gods that would listen that he had only to take a glimpse into Snape's mind, one into Voldemort and he'd be a permanent resident at St. Mungo's.

"What? Where's all the Gryffindor braveness? Don't you want to do anything?" Voldemort mocked. "Or are you tired? Would you like to take a break and go soothing your little redheaded friend for the loss of his sister? Or the little mudblood for the loss of her lover?"

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. "Why do you wait? I can't do anything against you. The both of us know that. So why are you waiting?"

"Oh," Voldemort sounded almost disappointed. "Too clever a boy. I wait for the last to arrive."

"The last," Harry repeated, dully.

And then the portrait hole swung open and Snape climbed through it, closely followed by Dumbledore, who didn't get through the barrier.

"Still alive, Potter, I see," Severus growled, lightly, checking quickly if the boy was all right. Then gritting his teeth as his eyes fell upon the dead corpse.

"Disappointed?" Harry asked in return.

"Always."

"Enough with the pleasantries," Voldemort cut in, then casting a glance towards Dumbledore who tried futile charms and spells to counteract the wall in the portrait hole. "Don't even bother," he sneered. "It's a family matter and you are not invited."

Harry made a faint gagging noise. Family? This was not the right time for using such ill-fitting pseudo-phrases. "I'd rather marry the squid than sharing the same family tree with you!"

"Aside from marrying the squid," Severus drawled. "I have to agree with Potter for once."

Voldemort frowned slightly. "But I said you wouldn't get rid of me," he reminded his former Potions Master.

"And here you are. I have eyes and know how to use them."

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Voldemort asked, his ghostly self even more chilling than his half-human form. "I can't believe you could be so daft, my boy."

'-+-+-+-'

"How is my little darling today?" Danae cooed, rocking her baby gently. "Better, aren't we?" she added smiling, as the baby gurgled happily. Danae smoothed out the soft tufts of hair on her daughter's head, then she planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. So soft was she, as if her skin was covered with silk.

"Petunia, sweetie," she then addressed her second daughter. "Would you hand me Lily's jacket, please? We're going for a walk."

"Sure, Mom," little Petunia replied, handing her mother the tiny jacket. "Can I carry her?"

"Are you sure?" Danae smiled. "Won't you let her drop?"

"No!" Petunia retorted, indignantly. "Lily is sooo light, I won't let her drop. And I'm already four," she added, showing five fingers, "I can hold my sister."

"Right, sweetie. Here you go." Danae watched proudly as Petunia held her little sister securely to her chest, telling her quietly that she didn't need to be afraid because her big sister was watching over her.

The homely domestic bliss didn't last long, though, only a few weeks later it should be over. Danae's father was a man who thought a lot of premonition and divination. He trusted them with his life, and as they told him that he would die by the hands of his own grandson, he needed to react. He ripped his daughter out of her home, leaving her husband to fend alone for their two daughters. Danae's father put her into a secluded tower. Danae couldn't believe what was happening at first. She hadn't done anything wrong, had she? Why would her own father fall back on such drastic measures like imprisoning his own flesh and blood only because of such a silly premonition? Had one of his experiments finally gone horribly wrong and caused his mind to shut down?

All those questions swirled around in Danae's head as the redheaded woman sat on her bed, staring off into space. She longed for her man, his warm embrace, his reassuring words. She wanted to see her daughters again. Their smile was everything Danae needed to feel elated again, being able to forget every dark thought in her life. But it was not to be, as Danae stared out of the small window.

She wished she had told her man everything, told him who she really was. How would he react when their daughters suddenly would develop magical powers and receive their Hogwarts letters? Danae held little hope of being able to watch for herself how her precious daughters would grow. Lily was just a baby, she probably wouldn't even recall her at all. And Petunia ... Danae missed her so much, but at the same time, she hoped that she would tell Lily everything about her. Petunia was the only person in her own family who knew that Danae was a witch. She had told her daughter various stories of her life, but she wasn't sure if Petunia really believed them. Danae hoped so.

Time crept by slowly; at least for Danae. She wasn't exactly sure how many days had passed, isolated in her lonely tower. Food had never been a problem, though, as she knew that her father himself was also a wizard, and as such he had his ways to let meals appear magically in the cold room. The water in her tiny bathroom, though, was not quite so cool, fortunately, otherwise she would have died from hypothermia a while ago.

It seemed a day as any other before, as Danae woke early to the sound of faintly bird twittering. They sang from the pretty things of life, of freedom, of joy, of hope, of love. But for Danae the birds' song sounded so utterly sad that it forced tears to her eyes.

Suddenly, Danae had to shield her eyes from a sudden brightness, which didn't seem to come from the sun. So early in the day the sun couldn't possibly stand so high. Danae glanced towards the window and blinked. Twice. There was a delicate branch laburnum growing into the tower. The leaves glowed brightly, so intensive as if they were made of pure gold, pouring down. As the common parlance said 'gold-rain'. Danae couldn't help but be mesmerized by its beauty, she didn't bother to ask herself how the tree could have grown so rapidly during the night, she didn't bother to ask herself how such a tree could have grown so much in the first place, as her prison was so high in the air that no plant could reach it.

And then, the leaves suddenly exploded into a gently rain, spraying golden sparks all over Danae, enveloping her. Danae wasn't afraid, which was odd in itself, but Danae herself couldn't feel more natural. It felt so right, she felt so warm, being covered in a blanket made of gold, soaking into her skin. Her heart felt at ease, it felt elated, she felt weird and she felt ... loved.

And in the next moment, it was over, and all what was left, was a strange tingling sensation in Danae's stomach. A tingling she was just all too familiar with.

Danae's father was understandably not too pleased with the development of the events. What should he do more? He already had his daughter imprisoned in a secluded tower, but even there she had gotten pregnant. Sometimes, he cursed the fact that they were wizards, it made everything so much more difficult. And it wasn't worth the effort. Nothing was. He wouldn't die by the hands of his own grandson. He wouldn't die at all. For he would be immortal. And to regain this goal he would do anything, he would sacrifice anything necessary. Even his daughter. A daughter he never wanted in the first place. A problem he would take care of, once and for all.

Danae and her unborn child wouldn't have survived if it hadn't been for the protecting hand that was shielding them from every evil. The wooden box Danae was trapped in was even tinier and more uncomfortable than the tower she had been, and the rocking motions weren't soothing in the least, as the make-shift boot slashed through the cruel river. Silent tears ran over her cheeks as she stroked her stomach tenderly. She wouldn't waste time for prayers to non-existing gods, she knew in her heart that she wouldn't survive this trip. But thankfully she was wrong.

How could her own father try to kill her in such a terrible way? Confined in a suffocating wood-box, thrown into the rushing stream. He didn't care, if she would choke to death or drown. All he cared for was that she and more importantly her unborn son was dead in the end. So heartless, so cold and calculating. Was this really the same man Danae had worshipped as a small girl? Well, a child couldn't quite grasp the personality of one's parent. In their eyes their fathers and mothers could do no wrong, they were perfect. Perfect.

Days later, Danae's box stranded on an empty beach. It was a miracle for her that neither she nor her unborn child had been harmed. The same kind of miracle that had impregnated her in the first place. But all the strange things happened to witches, so she didn't bother questioning her state. All that mattered was that she was alive and that her son (she hadn't any doubt that it would be a son, for why else would her father had taken up such drastic measures?) would be born into a world where he would be welcome. Yes, a world where he was welcome, but where he most likely wouldn't have any siblings. Petunia, Lily. Danae's heart ached for them, but for the sake of them and for the sake of her son, she wouldn't return. She would do anything within her power to ensure all of them happiness, even though in this doing her own happiness would be mostly denied.

Fortuna meant good for her, one last time. The brothers Diktys and Polydektes Snape took her in. Diktys married her, raised Danae's son as his own. Diktys never knew who the boy's father was, Danae never told anyone of the miraculous circumstances he had been conceived. Even why Danae had been shipping through the cold river had never been a question. Danae and Diktys had been happy, well, as happy as Danae could get anyway with missing her 'real' husband and her daughters, but her life went on and its sometimes cruel routes managed nothing but strengthened her. She needed to live, for her man, for herself, but most of all for her son. A newborn boy was always innocent and shouldn't be put down with the weight of problems even Danae found hard to bear. He was as light as he could be, cut off all ties of a past he never knew he had, unknowingly being deprived of his genuine name. Severus Snape. Never known as Perseus Evans.

By the time Severus turned seven, fate again decided to turn things to worse. Diktys died, leaving Danae and his adopted son behind. They had nothing left, their hands were bare and they were forced to look the next morning proudly into its ugly face. But as it was common in these late days, Polydektes saw himself forced to look after his brother's widow and her son. He wasn't all too pleased about that, of course, as he would have liked all for himself. Many had wondered in hushed voices how Diktys and Polydektes could have possibly been brothers, so differently they were. Where Diktys had been gentle and sensible, Polydektes was rough and cruel. The traits hadn't been shared fair amongst them. And the sudden change of 'Snape's' attitude had left their scars on both Danae and Severus.

Danae's father knew nothing of the survival of his daughter and her son for a long time. It was only many years later, as this man came to him, writhing in long-denied weakness, seeking for long-denied power, that Tom Riddle knew his grandson was alive.

A/N: How could Tom Riddle be Snape's grandfather? He must be too young. Yes. Maybe he is in fact older but rejuvenated himself and went twice to Hogwarts? Please try to just ignore the fact that it's absolutely impossible ... But maybe Tom fathered Danae with 8 and Danae got pregnant very early ...