It was like swimming up from a deep fog: tingles against his skin and blindness and his lungs felt heavy with something more than air.

The odd thing was that the feeling was familiar.

Harry managed to get his eyes open. He blinked at the sloping stone walls high above him, and groaned when he realized where he was.

"You absolute bloody idiot arsehole!"

He sighed. Lovely to be woken up by sweet words and a friendly voice.

A blur of red hair and pale skin appeared above him. "The bloody fuck were you thinking, you git? You unbelievable, stupid, incredible git."

"Ron! Stop it!" A blur of brown bushy hair replaced the red. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry shrugged, blinking until his eyes cleared as much as they would do without his glasses. "Alright," he rasped.

"Oh. Well, in that case. Ron, continue."

The red hair was pushed back into place. "Harry, you absolute birdbrained twat! What did you think"

Harry held up a hand. "Much as I love waking up this way, can you tell me what happened first?"

"You tried to stop You Know Who! Again! Alone! Like an idiot! And you took my ball with you!"

Harry frowned, sinking back. He remembered. And then... "Tried? That means..."

"It means he's bloody well not dead. And you were knocked out with the door wide open. If the guards hadn't found you he could have gotten away! You're such an idiot."

Harry shut his eyes, letting out a breath. "Well. That's it, then, isn't it? It doesn't work."

"What doesn't?"

"Any of this rubbish we've been working on. I tried. I did what Poddy told me to."

A hard slap on his shoulder made his eyes open. Ron glared down at him. "Harry, you tosser. Even Poddy knew you weren't ready yet. He's the one that told me to watch for you when I mentioned you took my trick ball from me."

Harry looked away, frowning.

Hermione finally intervened again. "We've got to go tell them you're awake. Albus has been waiting for a full story about the ball and the house elf magic and all that. I guess we're the ones who get to tell him." She sighed. "Come on, Ron."

Ron echoed the sigh, heavy and dramatic. His concern was now plain, and Harry knew it was the driving force of his anger. "Bloody just like you, mate. Always getting knocked out when the teachers want answers."

Harry nearly smiled.

Hermione squeezed his arm before pulling Ron away.

Harry sat up. No good faking sick. Though he was tired, and aching, and rapidly getting bloody depressed, he would sit up to face the firing squad when the time came.

He found his glasses on the table by his bed. He slid them on and blinked around him, where a surprising sight greeted his now clear gaze.

His first feeling was a flash of relief. Seamus was back. He was alright. The obvious questions rose to his mind, but they silenced themselves as he took in a shockingly sweet scene.

Snape held on to Seamus, who was wrapped in a blanket and clinging to Snape even in sleep. At least, he thought Seamus was asleep. Their eyes were both closed, but Snape was stroking the blanket-covered back, his mouth moving as he spoke too softly for Harry to hear.

Harry had been forced to revise his opinion of Snape a great deal lately. And even though he came reluctantly close to admitting that maybe the man wasn't evil, he wasn't prepared for this. He wasn't prepared to see how human and vulnerable his old teacher could look.

Snape must have felt his gaze. His eyes opened and he looked right at Harry.

Harry looked back, opening his mouth to apologize and shutting it again whan he couldn't think of what to apologize for.

Snape held a finger to his lips. He looked down at the boy in his arms and slid gently away, settling Seamus onto the bed and tucking the blanket tight around him.

Harry studied Snape as he stood and moved towards his bed. He tried to interpret the expression on Snape's face, but gave up. He might have understood more about Snape, but that didn't mean he was at all close to really understanding him.

"Potter."

Harry nodded his eyes towards the chair by his bed. To his shock, Snape took him up on the silent offer and sat.

For a long minute there was silence. Harry looked at Snape, looked back at Seamus. But he felt awkward asking about it after his own overwhelming defeat. A defeat that quite possibly doomed Snape to a lifetime of uncertainty thanks to that Mark on his arm.

Snape studied Harry without the usual contempt on his face. "Tell me why you failed last night." His voice was strictly Potions Professor.

Harry frowned. "What do you know about it?" It was supposed to be surly, but he could somehow only manage dim curiosity.

"I know that you tried and you failed. I know you're a foolish boy who thinks the moment he has all the answers he is ready to act."

"Well, shouldn't I be ready? What else do I need when I have all the answers?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You need to understand them."

Harry blew out a breath. "I have just about had it with this nonsense about understanding. I tried, alright? I tried to go in there and love the bastard to death, but it didn't bloody work."

A flash like a smile crossed Snape's face. "It sounds rather ludicrous when you say it like that," he stated.

Harry frowned, but thought about it. A small chuckle forced its way out. "I don't know why it failed. I don't know why it was ever supposed to work."

"What were you thinking about when you were loving him into a brief coma?"

Harry laughed despite himself. "I don't know. That he's a person, or at least used to be. And no person should ever be helpless and locked up that way. I thought it would be better for him just to end it."

Snape glanced back behind him at the bed where Seamus lay. "I can't believe I'm about to go along with this. I thought it was rubbish as well, Potter, and I made no secret of that."

"You make no secret of anything," Harry retorted mildly.

Another raised eyebrow. "You would be surprised."

Harry nodded, allowing it.

"Seamus tried to tell me why magic that came from love would be stronger than magic that came from hate. I thought him fanciful and foolish. Now I'm not as sure."

Harry waited, wondering what was coming. It was unusual, this quiet conversation, and he wasn't sure he minded it.

"Let me tell you a story that may sound familiar. There was a boy, a wizard boy, who lost both of his parents before he was old enough to understand anything. He was sent to live with completely abhorrent Muggles who resented him on all levels. He was subjected to forms of torture, being locked up, being starved. Deprived of the things any child ought to have, like a chance to ask questions about the world. Simple things like that, that can have such a strong effect."

Harry stayed silent, but his brow furrowed. Why was Snape recounting his life? Was he trying to make a point, that he actually understood Harry better now?

"This boy made some odd things happen, mostly in self-defense or anger. But he had no idea what he truly was until letters started arriving by owl."

Harry grinned, distant enough to feel amused at Vernon's overblown attempts to dodge the owls. A lifetime ago.

"This boy arrived by train, knowing no one and only hoping that the world he was entering was better than the one he was leaving behind." Snape looked at him. "Sound relatively familiar?"

Harry nodded. "I'm surprised. I didn't think you knew the truth of where I came from."

Snape smirked, looking for a moment like his old disagreeable self. "Believe me, Potter, Albus saw to it that everyone on staff knew how unfortunate you were. You met Weasley on the train in. You had spoken to Hagrid about the school. You had already been informed about some of the ins and outs, including the dreaful fate that awaited you if you ended up a Slytherin." He raised his eyebrows, waiting for confirmation.

Harry nodded again, remembering his fervent talk with the Sorting Hat.

"Well, pay attention. This boy I'm talking about isn't you. This was a boy who made no friends on the train up, and who, when told Slytherin might be the house for him, didn't know to fear it and so accepted it. This boy found himself surrounded by other students who despised the sort of people he had grown up hating. This boy was encouraged to learn Dark Arts, to increase his hatred of Muggles. And every summer he was sent back to hateful people who were not his parents and didn't care for him in the slightest.

"You may think yourself stronger than that boy, Potter, but he became as strong as any who've ever been to this school. He came to believe that he was someone worth love and respect, and he began to hate Muggles so fiercely that it pained him. He knew the bad side of them, the worst side, and his new friends all supported and encouraged it. There are few strong enough to overcome that sort of impression."

Harry frowned, knowing where Snape was going. "You're talking about Him."

Snape nodded. "And he has more than an abusive childhood in common with you. He came here knowing nothing, yet he showed tremendous promise. Unlike you, however, he considered nothing more important than forwarding his knowledge. He lived up to his potential, becoming a prized student in every subject. He specialized in Defense Against the Dark Arts and like you learned to use spells in nontraditional ways. Like you he got into things he shouldn't have, and eventually he learned he was the Heir of Slytherin. His hatred of Muggles and pride in his own self were complete."

"And he became Voldemort."

Snape flinched but nodded. "You know of his life from then on. That's what you were told about. That's what you grew to hate so thoroughly. And what you never understood was that without Ron Weasley joining you on the train, or without Hagrid opening his mouth and prejudicing you against Slytherin house..."

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't have become like him."

"No? If the people you met here all told you that every Muggle was like that aunt and uncle of yours? That if they had a chance, they would destroy our world?"

Harry frowned.

"You suppose the Dark Lord became as he did for the sheer desire to be evil. You assume all his followers are simply cruel people. You don't think that very rarely does someone behave cruelly for no reason. Not for spite's sake did we follow him. Most of us thought his words were true. We thought Muggles would destroy us, or use us, or burn us at the stake as they did so long ago. Even the good side doesn't find the idea ridiculous. Why do you think they have entire Ministry departments dedicated to making sure Muggles are never made aware of us?"

Harry was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. "That's just it. If you're scared of them you should just avoid them. You don't have to kill them."

Snape smirked. "You're right, of course. We should hide and conceal any evidence we exist. We should reduce ourselves to small villages and back alleys in a few cities throughout the world. We should watch our backs all the time, because we don't have the right to exist normally."

Harry frowned.

"There's no good answer to the argument, but it's one every witch and wizard is involved in. The sad truth is that the core of the Dark Lord's beliefs is the same core that runs the Ministry itself. What's different is that He is willing to kill for his beliefs."

Harry stared at his lap, brow furrowed, thinking. It made sense, in a way, but it was too simplistic. Voldemort was a deranged killer.

"Tom Riddle was human, Harry." Snape's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

Harry?

Harry stared at him in surprise.

"As human as any of us. He was a product of his life, the same way you are a product of yours and I of mine. We all hate something, though others tell us its wrong. But few people dared to tell him, and he became strong enough to go further with his hatred."

"And that's how you think I can beat him," Harry said slowly. "Because hate is at the root of his magic."

Snape nodded. He glanced back at Seamus for a moment. "You love your friends. You love life, or you would not take death so hard. You can love a confused boy who was taught hate, if you try. You can free that boy of the life he allowed to grow so deformed around him."

"Love him to death," Harry repeeated wryly.

Snape shrugged. "At the root of it, yes. What you did last night was out of pity. Pity and love are nowhere close to each other."

Harry sat back, leaning against the wall lost in his own thoughts.

Snape stood up after a quiet moment. "Few people care to admit it, but the Dark Lord became what he did because that capacity to hate and fear lies in every one of us. The capacity to grow past it, to accept and act positively, lies in us too. It's simply not the path he chose."

Harry shook his head, not wanting to hear more. Not wanting to think about it. "And you?"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "I chose both ways, each in turn. Your road is hard, Harry. You're to be respected for taking it. Now go that one last step. Learn to accept and understand your enemy for what he is, not what you need to think of him as to be able to love him. It's harder, but I suppose if any of us can do it, it's you."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Bloody hell. You're just full of surprises today."

Snape hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm tired and ill, and unbalanced from the return of my potion-drugged slave." His mouth twitched in something that almost looked like a smile

Harry was gobsmacked.

"Now shut up and lay there until you know how to kill him, and then go do it so I can leave here and get on with my bloody life."