Harry entered the Potions dungeon, and resolutely went over to Snape's office. The door was open, and he let himself in out of habit, to find Snape grading some papers. He had a vague smirk pasted on his sallow mug. Harry reflected that the papers were probably quite awful, and Snape was having a grand old time practicing his cursive "D's."

"Ah," Snape said silkily as he put down his quill, and Harry almost immediately sensed him poking about his mind, as though he were scanning a magazine cover, "I trust you had a pleasant holiday, Mr. Potter."

"It was fine," Harry said, guardedly. Snape was making him nervous the way he was sniffing about...most likely trying to find out whether he'd told anyone he was a half-vampire – or more importantly, that he'd killed someone. His face clouded over slightly.

"You told someone," he said sourly, "Couldn't resist tattling to your little fan club—"

"Only Remus," Harry said, defensively, "And I wasn't tattling, he figured it out."

Snape squinted doubtfully.

"Go ahead and look," Harry thought viciously, "I'm not hiding anything."

"Hmmph," Snape muttered, and Harry knew from years of experience that it meant he could find nothing to complain about. He turned his back on Harry abruptly, and strode into his office, Harry following wearily out of habit. He wasn't looking forward to today's lesson, not by any stretch of the imagination.

After Harry had shuffled into the room as slowly as he dared, Snape flicked his wand at the door.

"Ferma. Impeterbatus," he said, matter-of-factly, then seated himself behind his desk, eyeing Potter with a look of strong distaste.

Harry let the minutes tick on. He didn't care if Snape wanted to sit here and wait out the whole lesson. He'd learned his – from now on, he was going to keep his questions to himself.

"What did the werewolf tell you?" Snape asked suddenly, his eyes cold.

"Nothing," Harry said, "Just that you were a half-vampire. He gave me a book to read."

"Bloodlines, no doubt," Snape snorted, "Rubbish."

Harry was momentarily tickled by the idea that Snape and Lupin actually agreed on something.

"I know," Harry said, "A lot of it's nonsense. But it was helpful anyway."

"Listen to me when I say this, Potter," Snape said, his cold eyes glinting dangerously with a sudden and suppressed fury, "Don't presume to 'understand' me. It is in no way a requirement of our Occlumency lessons, and furthermore, it's arrogant. To think that you've been reading up on me, as though I was the subject of one of your essays."

"Sorry," Harry said, his dander rising, "I didn't know reading was a crime."

"Mind your attitude," Snape hissed, and Harry bit his tongue.

There was another lengthy pause, in which Harry forced himself to count the jars on Snape's shelf, mentally chanting, "Keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut..."

"He didn't die. In case you were wondering. He survived."

Harry felt only a slight sense of relief – he hardly thought this mattered, seeing how he could just have easily not survived.

"We always kept a rather large stash of blood-replenishing tablets in our home – forgive me...our house," he corrected, and Harry detected a slight darkening of his expression, "for obvious reasons."

"Yeah," Harry thought, "In case you went mental and starting leeching off family members."

Snape's expression darkened, and his voice became curt again.

"If you had been paying attention in class, Potter, you would know that the Blood-Replenishing Tablet is not only a miraculous medical advancement, it is a great aid to vampires and half-vampires, essentially, eliminating the necessity of feeding for survival."

"So why don't all vampires use it?"

Snape shifted uncomfortably, and Harry noticed the by-now-familiar dart of Snape's eyes...down and to the right.

"The tablets eliminate the need, Potter...not the desire." Harry felt, more than witnessed Snape suppressing a shudder.

"So why aren't all these vampires in Azkaban, then, if they keep offing people?" Harry asked, irritably, "And don't give me some nonsense about 'the Ministry doesn't give a damn.'"

It was clammy and stuffy in Snape's dungeon, and he was tired of the "poor Snape" show. He wanted to go back to a time when things were less complicated. When Snape was just a greasy old git and he could hate him quietly and comfortably...when He, Ron, and Hermione were a trio of best friends instead of this new awkward, lop-sided thing. When Lupin didn't mutter darkly after lessons, when he didn't have to worry about some great evil lurking inside himself, and it seemed impossible that his best friends could ever die.

"Again, if you had thoroughly studied, you would know that vampires are by nature skilled in Legilimency and Occlumeny, Potter," Snape said, and Harry noticed an arrogant smirk creeping beneath Snape's hooked nose, "They are far more likely to ensnare their prey through subtle means of persuasion."

Harry shuddered. The thought of Snape persuading anybody to let him take a bite out of their neck was more nauseating than terrifying. Snape seemed to sense Harry's instinctive reaction, and scowled even more furiously.

"You do not think me capable, Potter?" he hissed quietly, "Yes...you see me much as your father did – some overgrown, greasy bat, swooping about the castle, whose sole delight is making your life miserable...No, don't deny it. Neither of you could ever hope to understand."

"So why don't you just explain it, then?" Harry said, growing even more irritable. His scar was prickling vaguely.

"I am a predator, Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, "It is my birthright."

And to Harry's discomfort, he saw a light gleaming in Snape's eyes he only seen once before – when he had cornered Sirius and Lupin in the Shrieking Shack.

"But I am a hunter who can not hunt. I am denied my prey, Mr. Potter. Or more specifically, I deny my prey. I choose to master my baser instincts rather than allowing them to master me. Discipline. It is a trait, I fear," Snape laughed derisively, "That neither you, James Potter, nor Sirius Black possesses. Possessed, rather."

Harry felt his blood boiling, and he wondered briefly if Snape could sense it too – hot and angry, throbbing through his temple. Snape was nearly on top of Harry, now. His beaky nose was in danger of colliding with Harry's at any moment. Harry looked at the dangerous gleam in his eyes, and knew instinctively that if Snape wanted to, he could open his mouth wide, let his pupils roll back into his head like a shark's, and plunge his teeth into his neck. Harry swallowed and was made painfully aware of his voice box, the ligaments connecting to his jaw, the throb of his jugular...Snape narrowed his dangerous eyes.

"But do not think that because this 'old bat' does not bite...that he does not have teeth, Mr. Potter. Legilimens!"

Snape had given no warning, and this was a particularly powerful attack. Harry mind was a blur as he raced through images. He hardly rested in one place long enough to get his bearings.

He was up in a tree – Marge and the Durlseys were laughing...

Ron was shyly giving Harry a chocolate frog as Hermione stared awestruck at her present...

Ginny was lying cold as ice in the Chamber, the journal lying just out of reach of her pale fingers...

Sirius was falling in a graceful arc...

"Stop," Harry thought, desperately, "Protego!"

But there was a great surge of pain in Harry's scar, and Harry thought he heard Snape's voice catch, and cry out sharply as well.

There was a crackling noise, and the smell of smoke lingered in Harry's nostrils – smoke, and putrid, garlicky, sulphuric smell. All around him, the walls of Hogwarts were flickering orange, but not from torchlight – no, the fire was as bright and as brilliant as phoenix flame. Students were running, shrieking, bits of masonry exploding near them, as multi-coloured jets of light exploded into the walls.

"No!"

Harry forcibly shut his mind. The scar immediately ceased hurting. Somewhere, dimly, he thought he heard Snape gasp slightly, and the scrape of the wood against stone which meant he'd either sunk onto a chair, or was leaning on his desk.

But Harry did not return to Snape's office immediately...rather, he saw the corridor in Snape's office – like two films being projected at once.

Ron's dead body was lying on the floor, staring up at him with lifeless blue eyes.

"NOOOOO!"

Harry forcibly jerked himself back to reality, forced himself to focus on Snape, panting as he leaned backwards onto his desk with a horrorstruck expression.

The door to the Potion Master's office banged open on its hinges to reveal Sybil Trelawney, her hair standing wildly up at ends, her eyes magnified in her round spectacles as she stared straight ahead, her hands clenched into loose fists at her sides.

"Sybil?" Snape asked, unable to mask his incredulity, "What in Merlin's name possessed you to –"

But slowly, horribly, she directed her unseeing gaze to Harry. She took a deep, rattling breath, and in a harsh, horribly familiar voice, began to speak:

"THE SECOND GREAT WAR BEGINS AT THE DEATH OF THE THIRD MONTH – THE DARK LORD DRAWS NIGH – AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER. BEHOLD THE CONFLAGRATION, THE DEATH, THE BIRTH – THE GREAT DIVIDE! IT BEGINS AND ENDS IN THE ASHES! THE SECOND GREAT WAR BEGINS AT THE DEATH OF THE THIRD MONTH."

Sybill drew another hoarse, rattling breath, and then, suddenly, sneezed mousily.

"Oh," she said feebly, reaching into the folds of her flowing robes for a small purple handkerchief, "Do forgive me...Must be coming down with something."

She stopped herself suddenly, and blinked owlishly at Snape and Harry.

"What are you two doing up here?" she asked, all the mistiness evaporated from her voice.

"I think, Sybill, that I will take it from here," came Dumbledore's serene voice, and everyone jumped as he appeared in the doorway, Professor McGonagall close behind, pinching in an expression of utter shock.