Author's note: This story keeps jumping back to two previous points in time. But it should be easy to catch on after a while.

"You're pronunciation was better the last time," Harry snapped at Ginny. "Aren't you paying any attention at all?"

"She's doing her best, Harry," Hermione commented.

Harry sighed. His head ached and his temper was shot. His patience for repeated mistakes had worn thin an hour ago. "That was not her best. That was a pitiful attempt, and any first year could point out the fault with her wrist motion."

"My wrist is tired from doing this a hundred times," Ginny defended herself. "And I am trying."

Harry wanted to roll his eyes at her but merely sighed, taking a deep breath in order to calm himself. His friends acted like such children sometimes. But then, they were all only children after all, weren't they? It was hard to remember they weren't already older. "Try harder. Because I don't care if you're doing your best. Your best doesn't matter. What matters is getting it right."

"Lay off," Ron butted in. "She didn't do that badly. And we are all tired."

"Do you expect to only be attacked when you're prepared, Ron?" Harry asked in agitation. Did they think the Dark Lord would offer to hold off on slaughtering them until they had a chance to take a nap first? "Expelliarmus!"

Ron's wand flew from his hand.

"Accio wand." Harry called it to him in disappointment. "You're never ready, are you, Ron?" And that perhaps saddened him more so than it irritated him. Expelliarmus could easily have been countered. It took several syllables to say. Short spells, even those seemingly useless such as stupefy and avis, could have been shouted before Harry had finished his. If Ron had still lost his wand, at least he'd have caused a distraction that could buy him precious seconds in an actual duel.

In fact, the unforgivable Cruciatus Curse could be cast with a simple "crucio." That was one they all needed to learn. It didn't matter that it was a dark spell. They couldn't hesitate to cast it. It was short, and it was powerful, and it could save their lives. The best spell in the world wouldn't matter if they never got a chance to say it.

"We're all stressed out, let's call it a night," Hermione said before Ron could get upset. "I still need to study for Potions tomorrow anyway."

"We are not stopping," Harry stated as if that was that, as if they would continue just because he had said so. But they had to keep working. Time was drawing short. It would only be a matter of days now.

"Hermione's right."

"Hermione is not right! She only thinks she's always right." The words were out before Harry could think better of them.

She stubbornly refused to look hurt, though they all knew otherwise. "I'm leaving now. This is our final year, and I've no intention of not having perfect marks."

Harry grabbed her wrist as she tried to go. "All the tests and quizzes you take don't matter. They only make you stand out, they draw attention to you. Did you ever consider it might suit you best to only appear average?"

"Tests do matter, Harry," Hermione stated with certainty. Her entire world depended on her grades. "I have plans for my future, and passing my classes does matter."

She wouldn't have a future at all if Voldemort decided she was too powerful. She was outspoken as for what she believed in. She would soon be viewed as a potential threat. "This, this is what matters, Mione. Learn this. Not the answers to some bloody test."

"Well, I for one would like to graduate," she replied, still upset.

"You won't. None of you will." His tone was deadly serious.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron snapped.

"It means people are going to die, Ron!" Voldemort wasn't going to allow Harry to graduate and become who he was supposed to be. He would move to stop that destiny. Something inside Harry told him this. Something screamed it would be soon. Soon, he would face the Dark Lord. And all who stood with him would be required to fight. "You will die. Ginny will die."

With a glare at his friend, Ron wrapped his arm protectively around his little sister. "What the hell is wrong with you, Harry?"

Hermione cast him a look he couldn't quite translate. "I think we should go before anybody says something they might regret later." The statement was pointedly directed at Harry. He'd already crossed the line. She turned to leave, and Ron and Ginny followed.

This time, Harry didn't stop them.

He sank to the floor and put his head in his hands. A moment later, his left forearm started to burn.

"This is a very dark magic, Mr. Potter," Snape reminded him.

And dangerous. Harry stared at the blade in the fire. "I've made my decision." He knew the risks.

"Very well. Remove your shirt."

There was something in the Potions Master's eyes that said it was a foolish, Gryffindor thing to do. And yet also, there was a trace of what was as close to... pride... as Harry had ever seen from the older man. At least that was ever directed at him.

Harry swallowed as he removed his robes and then pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head. His Gryffindor colors fell to the floor. And he swallowed once more, his throat feeling dry. Then he sat in the chair by the fire.

The blade was withdrawn from the coals, its tip glowing red-orange. Harry's breathing deepened, controlled and steady, as he steeled himself.

Uncorking a small vial, Snape poured the contents onto the blade, and it hissed a black smoke. The potion contained several drops of Snape's own blood. The blood of a Death Eater.

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the discipline of his mind. He felt a light touch of fingers on his left hand. A last offer for him to back out. He didn't speak.

"Silencio."

The command was almost gently cast. And now Harry knew that he could not turn back. He no longer had the option to speak.

He kept his eyes closed. But the anticipation of pain was perhaps more intense than its actual infliction. And on some level, he wanted to watch.

The burning blade touched his skin, and he tensed yet didn't flinch away. Each movement increased the pain. Harry's breathing quickened. It hurt like nothing he'd expected. It was acid. It was fire.

As the final line was drawn, he screamed as Snape had known he would, his cry silent. He bit his lip 'til it bled, and then he cried out again. The mark was made, but the pain only grew worse.

Positive he was about to throw up, Harry tried to shove himself up from the chair and make a sprint for the bathroom. Instead, he fell to his knees and then collapsed completely. He rolled onto his back and fought to breathe.

The burn of the mark spread into his chest and then stretched throughout his whole body. He suddenly thrashed and his body twisted in agony.

Snape's hands pressed his shoulders back down against the floor as his writhing became more violent and uncontrolled. He was being held to prevent the spasms from causing injury.

The mark sought to call out to its dark master.

Harry refused to let it. He focused on the work he'd done to train his thoughts.

Snape was talking to him, coaching him through this... but his voice was a hum in Harry's ears. The pounding of his heart roared louder.

Not Slytherin. He repeated the thought in his mind. It was his request to the sorting hat so many years ago. His wish when he learned he could speak Parseltongue. His desperate prayer now. Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin.

He would not let the mark claim him.

The grip Snape had on him tightened. Harry's internal struggle left no lingering thought of concern for command of his body. His silenced wailing ripped his throat raw.

And then Harry finally succumbed to the fierceness of the seizure and passed out.

TBC...

Nyoka Li, fire-icecat, Sunshine-Girl03, and Ghost of Allknowing - thanks for reviewing