Beta Xirleb70 note: consider this beta'd. And Dev? sweet smile Do the hyphen thing again, and I'll go on strike, I SWEAR!! scowls, muttering about inconsiderate authors

CH10: Close Your Eyes

"Don't turn away

Don't give into the pain

Don't try to hide

Though they're screaming your name

Don't close your eyes

God knows what lies behind them

Don't turn out the lights

Never live never die."

July 30, 1996

Harry took a deep breath as he paused outside Cobalt's offices within the WIA. He was equally dreading and anticipating this, and with great effort he pushed open the door.

"Don't get too comfortable," Snape said, without preamble. "We aren't staying in here."

'Not one for pleasantries, is he?' Harry thought sarcastically. He obediently waited until Snape gracefully billowed past him. Turning on his heel, he followed Snape out of the room, glaring at Snape's back hatefully.

'Why did I ever get myself into this?' he moaned miserably. But, he knew why.

Harry kept his eyes peeled for familiar landmarks along the route, making sure to mark the way back from wherever Snape was taking him incase of an emergency. He wasn't sure where they were heading and he didn't like the feeling of traipsing blissfully unaware into the unknown.

Oh, no, Harry didn't trust Snape. Not even close. And Sirius was probably rolling over in his grave at the mere thought of Harry asking Snape of all people for help. Yet, the Sorting Hat hadn't wanted to place him in Slytherin without reason. Snape was the only way for him to get what he wanted... and to get what he wanted, he was going to do whatever it took.

Harry wasn't positive of when he had started to think more like a Slytherin, and he wasn't convinced he liked this new thinking style either.

"In here," Snape said, pulling on a handle to gain admittance into a small, rectangular room. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. It was a simple training room, very much like the ones he had spent his everyday in since he started his training. "As long as we are in the room, nobody can track what kind of magic we are doing."

Harry looked puzzled. "But I thought that all magic preformed inside Headquarters was untraceable."

"Untraceable from outside sources, not from inside," Snape explained, way too patiently, which set Harry on edge again. "There are just as many people inside the Agency that would not – approve – of what we are practicing."

Harry nodded, contemplating this. He spoke when Snape was quiet for a few moments, making it abundantly clear that he was not the one to break the uncomfortable silence. "So, what first?"

"What manner of training have you received?" Snape asked abruptly.

"What?" Harry blinked a few times, just barely restraining his reflex to gape like a bumbling fool.

"Just answer the question, Potter," he snapped. Ah, now that sounded a bit more like the Snape he knew and loathed!

"Er, traditional spy training, I suppose."

Snape sighed impatiently. "And what did that entail, specifically? I would assume you went through a basic two-week training program." At Harry's affirmative nod, he went on. "What did you study during those weeks?" he asked slowly, as if explaining it to a small child.

"Charms, hexes, transfiguration, knife fighting, hand to hand combat, defensive shields-"

"Alright, alright, I get it. Were you taught anything further as an extra course?"

"I've been studying foreign languages."

Snape's head snapped up. "Tu parle le francais?" Do you speak French?

"Oui." Yes. "I didn't know you spoke-"

"My grandmother always thought French was more cultured than English," Snape explained. "I always enjoyed studying languages as a child ..." He trailed off, reminiscing a bit.

Harry cleared his throat and Snape shook his head, pulled back into the real world.

"Now." He clapped his hands together. "I know you have bit of a talent for the Dark Arts-"

"I do?" Harry interrupted him, surprised. Snape glared.

"Yes, you have a talent for the Dark Arts. Don't interrupt me." He started pacing. "As I was saying, this talent is most obvious in your Parseltongue abilities." He eyed Harry closely. "While I highly doubt this, I must ask anyway: have you ever cast any other spells based in the Dark Arts?"

Harry opened his mouth slightly and looked hesitant. Snape rolled his eyes in silent, mocking disdain. "Just spit it out, Potter."

"Once," he said quietly, not meeting Snape's eyes.

Snape's eyebrows rose slightly and he looked skeptical. "Really," he said disbelievingly. "What, pray tell, did you cast?"

"I never said it worked!" Harry exclaimed, sounding panicked. "Because it didn't!"

"Potter, what are you on about? What spell did you cast?"

"It doesn't count if it didn't work, right?" Harry blurted, looking like he was going to hyperventilate.

"Potter-"

"I mean, if it didn't even properly-"

"Potter-"

"There is no way that it could-"

"Potter!"

Harry shut up, but his entire body continued to tremble frightfully. Snape stood in front of him, a strange look on his face. As Harry glanced up into his eyes he recognized it; compassion.

For the first time since Sirius had died, Harry actually felt like someone was watching out for him.

The fact that the person was Severus Snape only made him shake harder.

"Potter, sit down." A chair appeared behind him and Harry slid into it carefully, clenching his hands on the arms to try and slow his frantic breathing. Snape closed his eyes for a second, face scrunching up in concentration, and suddenly there was a tall glass of water in his hands. "Drink it. All of it."

Harry didn't bother disputing the order and he downed the entire thing in one gulp.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he whispered, finally getting the shivering under control. He had a feeling that the glass had not only been filled with water, but he was far too distressed to care.

"What spell did you attempt to cast?" Snape asked softly.

"You didn't answer my question." Harry pointed out petulantly.

"And you didn't answer mine."

There was an uncomfortable silence again. Harry couldn't bear to look up at the Professor's face again; he didn't think he could handle any more pity right now.

He didn't deserve pity, not after all he had done. Not after his parents, not after Cedric.

Not after Sirius.

"What spell was it, Potter?" No answer. "Harry."

"No. I can't ... "

"Harry, what spell?" Snape's acidic tone was now gentle, beguiling.

"You aren't going to be nice to me any longer," Harry mumbled incoherently.

"What spell was it?"

"The Cruciatus," he whispered.

"What?" Snape breathed.

"The Cruciatus, alright!" Harry yelled, the pain and torment over that night finally being released. "Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

"Where? Who? ...How?" Snape could barely wrap his mind around the fact that Harry Potter, the Gryffindor Golden Boy, had cast one of the worst curses in wizard kind.

"Why do you even care?"

"Harry, tell me."

"Why? You never gave a damn about me before. Why would you bother to start now?" A dawning of understanding appeared in his jaded eyes. "Unless..." Harry paused, his eyes narrowing. "You know! You know about the Prophecy."

Snape's eyes widened and Harry knew the truth at once.

"You do. Don't you?" Harry's voice was flat.

"Harry-"

"You know about the damn Prophecy!"

"Listen to me-"

"No! Why should I?"

"You don't understand-"

"That's why you were so nice in the club! I can't believe I didn't see it before!"

"Please, that's not-"

"I am not a fucking weapon, Snape!"

"I know-"

"Why the fuck do you care?!?"

"Harry-"

"Why do you care?!" Harry demanded.

"Harry-"

"Why!?"

"Because I don't want you to end up like me!" The shout was desperate, and there was something final about the older man's tone.

Harry stopped, staring into Snape's pleading face, his breathing erratic. He couldn't do this, he couldn't be here anymore. It had to stop... it just... he couldn't...

Harry turned and ran out the door, almost tripping over his feet to get away, leaving a startled Snape behind, too stunned to chase after the fleeing teenager.

"Harry!"