The Other Side Of The Dark: Chapter 10
Harry Potter opened his eyes.
For a moment he thought he was back on the moor, for the sky was dark and clear, arrayed with stars like diamonds on velvet. But then he saw that he was standing at the edge of a calm sea, waves nuzzling the shore less than a yard away. A full moon hung low over the horizon.
Harry's feet were bare beneath the hems of his jeans, and there was sand, pale and fine in the moonlight, beneath his feet. It felt soft, and he scuffed it with pleasure, feeling it slide between his toes. He could see that he was standing on the far shore of a tidal lake; a mountain range climbed steeply from either side of a narrow gap to enclose the water and the narrow stretch of sand on which he stood. Turning, Harry could see the beach give way to scrubby grass which disappeared into a small wood, and behind that the mountains towered. The quiet bay seemed enclosed in a natural fortress which might have seemed menacing, but Harry surveyed it with a sense of joy and excitement. He felt supremely protected in this hidden place, and as he stood there taking in the sight and smell of it, an idea began to form that somewhere just up ahead was somewhere he really wanted to be.
He began to walk up the beach towards a place where the wood seemed to thin at the foot of the mountain. As he drew closer he could just make out an oddly regular shape to the shadows in the rock face which suggested... yes, some kind of carving... but of course, a doorway. He ran the last few feet, the sand petering out into a more solid path into the trees, and up to the place where a rectangular hole was hewn into the rock face itself. To Harry this seemed not at all strange, and no more strange than the contrastingly ornate wooden door hinged inside it and invitingly open. Now he was almost there, Harry could see that there was a dim light issuing from inside. He moved towards it, off the path onto a cold stone step, reaching to push the door the rest of the way open with a sublime, all consuming sense of... coming home.
The door opened onto a vast carven hallway, at the end of which was a sweeping stone staircase leading up to a narrower passage. Only the regular lines of the walls and the stairs indicated human intervention; stalactites and stalagmites covered the ceiling and lined the floors, petering out sufficiently to make a path from door to stair. Harry ran on, up the stairs and into another, smaller hallway, this one of more conventional panelled wood, dark and hard with age. Tallow lamps burned at intervals along its length, and now Harry could see several doors; two in each side, but these were closed; and at the far end, a door which stood half open.
Harry moved forward more slowly. Somewhere in the back of his mind was Hermione's voice, telling him that this might be a nice dream, but wasn't it terribly like the ones Voldemort had been giving him? But even as he listened he knew in his heart that there was nothing to fear. He walked into the mountain and up the stairs towards that half-open door, knowing that in here lay safety and peace.
Dumbledore sat down next to McGonagall, while Aberforth took a seat on his other side and helped himself to Tonk's untouched glass of firewhisky. Moody joined Shacklebolt on the opposite side of the table, facing them. McGonagall could tell from his closed expression that unlike Shacklebolt, he was not looking for direction; he believed he knew all he needed to about the man lying on the edge of mortality upstairs. But she could not entirely blame him, knowing as she did the details of the report he had brought with him. Moody put the scroll and a wooden box on the table while he angled his chair in order to stretch his wooden leg out comfortably. Then he pushed the box to one side and folded his arms grimly, the scroll lying like a barrier between him and Albus.
Dumbledore, she noticed, had also brought something: a large leather-bound book which looked as if it had spent many years unopened and forgotten. He placed it face down on the table in front of him, and neither she nor Shacklebolt managed to glimpse its title.
'You make a very reasonable argument, Kingsley,' Dumbledore began in the same calm voice, 'And I might invite you to consider the evidence logically. As Minerva points out, we are not dead, and we surely would be if Severus were not truly on our side. I can think of no reason why Voldemort would have spared us for as long as this if the opportunity to eliminate us were so easily in his grasp. Particularly now that the world knows he has returned.
'However, Alastor's report makes for unpleasant reading, and I do not doubt that you are not the only ones wondering where Severus' true loyalties lie. Indeed, most of the Order had no idea he was with us in the days before Voldemort fell; only that we had a spy in his ranks. Only when I had no choice but to name him did I risk anyone finding out about him.
Dumbledore paused to collect his thoughts before continuing.
'Severus became a Death Eater a month or two after finishing his NEWTS at Hogwarts, when he entered the employment of Octavian Malfoy. Malfoy's son Lucius was a fifth-year prefect in the year Severus started school, and after the incident to which you were referring, Kingsley, became very interested in him. At the time, I thought little of it. Severus was often at odds with James and Sirius, and Lucius had a knack for catching them. He soon gained Severus' trust and introduced him to children of his own age in Slytherin House, where he subsequently made most of his friends. I remember feeling pleased that Lucius had set such an example of inter-house tolerance and friendship, and pleased also that Severus, who was a rather lonely little boy when he arrived, had made some friends. If only I had fully realised' Dumbledore sighed.
'Realised what?' Shacklebolt prompted.
'Realised that a spell of the nature and magnitude which Severus had used would have been felt by more than just the teaching staff. Lucius Malfoy found out where the spell had been done, found out who was responsible – probably the same way you did, Kingsley, by simply asking the portraits and ghosts – and then set out to befriend the culprit. He was never Severus' friend – all he wanted was Severus' power.
'But Severus was too young and too unhappy to recognise this, and he believed he had found a friend and protector in Lucius Malfoy. Six years later when his father died, the offer of a job and somewhere to go must have appeared as another example of the Malfoys' generosity.
'I do not know exactly what happened, but after almost a year, Severus discovered that his friends were deceiving him, and that the Death Eaters were not the organisation he had believed them to be. He left the Malfoys' house, taking with him various of Octavian's papers, and attempted to give himself up to the authorities.'
Moody snorted. 'He did not. I was working the Malfoys' case; Snape never came near me.'
'No,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Severus did not know where to find you, and he did not want to risk being caught by the Death Eaters by going directly to the Ministry. So he went to the one person he could find, someone he had liked and trusted when they had been at school. Severus gave himself up to Frank Longbottom.'
Harry gazed around in wonder. The room in which he now stood was vast, and had evidently been carved from the mountain itself; the floor beneath his feet was cold, rough and uneven. Moonlight poured in through a large, glassless oriel overlooking the bay. The view was breathtakingly beautiful, a vast darkness littered with shining points of light, and Harry moved towards it, mesmerised. The constellations seemed far more distinct than they had on the beach, and Harry decided this place must be some kind of observatory, although there was no sign of any telescopes.
Illuminated in pale silver shadows was a vast inglenook fireplace and high curving walls veined with quartz. These were incongruously lined with large bookcases which stretched all the way up to the ceiling, far beyond the reach of any human being. And yet, while some shelves were crammed with scrolls and books of different colours and sizes, others were strangely empty, areas of deeper shadow set at irregular intervals. Harry stared up in awe, wondering if giants lived here and why they didn't spread the books out a bit more evenly. He could almost picture Hagrid sitting in front of that fire, reading a scroll and looking like a normal-sized human.
He moved into the room, finding himself powerfully drawn towards the fire burning cosily in its imposing grate ahead of him. Large furry rugs were strewn in front of it, and on either side was a wooden settee draped with more furs, large cushions and bright woollen blankets. It was an oasis of comfort and warmth in a room which looked as if it had never been meant for human occupancy; but as Harry drew nearer, he suddenly realised that someone was already there.
A dark-haired boy lounged in a nest of furs and pillows on one of the settees, deeply engrossed in a large book. He sucked absently at the tip of his little finger while his dark eyes darted back and forth over the tiny print, apparently unhindered by the dim light, and oblivious of Harry's presence. Harry stared at him in amazement. The boy looked only a year or two older than himself, but there was no mistaking the large hooked nose and the oily sheen of the long dark hair.
Severus Snape took his finger out of his mouth and turned to the next page, his gaze idly flickering up and over the space in which Harry was now standing. He blinked, his face a picture of blank amazement. Harry froze.
'How did you get in here?' Snape asked, glancing from Harry back towards the door. A fleeting look of eagerness was replaced with a frown, and Harry wondered if Snape was about to yell and throw things at him like he had after the Pensieve incident in his office.
'The door was open,' he faltered.
Snape looked from Harry to the door and back again, and comprehension seemed to dawn in his face. There was a long pause in which his black eyes scanned Harry's face as if measuring every inch against some mental check list, calculating. Then the corner of his thin mouth lifted into a wry smile; but something bleak seemed to fill his eyes.
'Of course,' he murmured. 'I wondered what you would look like if you came here. You certainly don't look like James. Hello, Harry son of Lily.'
Harry stared at him. Obviously this was a dream, or Snape could not possibly look the way he did. But how could Harry look different too? It occurred to him that nobody had ever compared him to his mother before.
Snape turned back to the door with a strange look on his face, a mixture of longing and disappointment, as if he had been hoping for something particular to happen and had realised that something quite different and potentially unpleasant had taken place instead. He did not look as if he was about to fly into a rage, so Harry decided to risk a few questions himself.
'Where are we?' he hazarded. 'You look different too.'
'You're dreaming,' said Snape distantly. He tore his eyes away from the door and looked back at Harry. A hint of the old familiar look of loathing had now entered his expression, but there was curiosity and a tinge something which might almost have been despair in there as well. He waved towards the other settee with a long hand which, Harry noticed irrelevantly, featured an impressive set of long, manicured nails. Harry sat down in the furs and blankets, and as he did so, the same sense of warmth and comfort that he had felt on the moor enveloped him. His apprehension subsided, and the look of distaste in Snape's eyes seemed to fade.
'You're probably wondering how I managed to find you up on the moor,' said Snape quietly.
'You said it was because we hated each other,' Harry replied.
Snape smiled grimly. 'Yes, it was, in a way. Your hatred for me the last time we saw each other was almost overwhelming. Only once before had I experienced such a tangible wave of emotion from anyone, and it made me realise two things. One: you are utterly incapable of Occlumency as things currently stand. And two: your negative emotions will create a door into your mind through which the Dark Lord can enter any time he wishes.'
Harry frowned. 'Dumbledore said Voldemort couldn't get into my mind because it was full of love and that that was the thing he hated most.'
'Really,' said Snape drily. 'And is your mind full of love when you think of me?'
'No,' Harry replied coldly.
'Is it full of love every time you receive another irritating, inane letter? What about the time you're forced to spend living with your family? How loving is your state of mind then?'
Harry felt his scalp prickle with muted horror. Voldemort had possessed him with ease in the Department of Mysteries until he had thought about his friends with love; only then had he released him. What would have happened if he had felt hatred instead? And how else could Snape know how he had felt about his friends' letters if he too had not some way into Harry's mind?
'On the day I left Hogwarts, I created a charm to shut your mind off from the Dark Lord and anyone else who might try to break into it. For as long as it lasts, you are perfectly safe from any mental intrusions. However, I cannot guard your emotions.
'I found you today because your misery and grief reached an extreme point and became a beacon. To me, because the charm I created conjoins our minds. To the Dark Lord, inevitably, because you are linked to each other by your scar, although I believe I may have been able to keep him from finding you. To the Dementors because they feed off emotion and came in search of prey.'
Harry thought about the last two weeks as the full meaning of Snape's words sank in. There had been no nightmares - no dreams at all that he could remember. The pressure of his emotions had been steadily building, but the nights had been remarkably peaceful compared to the previous year. It had never occurred to him to wonder why.
'When the Dementors turned up, I didn't feel anything,' he said in a husky voice. 'I couldn't feel anything. I tried to do a Patronus, but I couldn't...'
His voice tailed off as he thought of the memory fragments.
'You felt no emotion at all. You had thoughts instead, and the thoughts suggested to you that you should not try to fight the Dementors.' Snape's voice took an uncharacteristically gentler tone. 'You thought that trying to save me would cause more harm than good and that you couldn't help me by staying, and so you went away.'
Harry nodded. 'Why?' he whispered. 'I hate you more than anyone, but I wouldn't leave even you to a Dementor. Why couldn't I do anything to save you?'
Snape leaned back in his furs, and drew his long legs up so he was sitting cross-legged. 'Because I was stopping you,' he said. 'I took away all your emotions so the Dementors could not find you, and used them to augment my own power in order to fight them. I stimulated your memory for examples of why you could not save me and would not want to. Apart from defending us both, I wanted to try something I had been researching. I am pleased to say it worked.'
He took another glance at the door as Harry digested this information. 'After Remus turned up, I managed to do two Patronuses,' he said. 'If you took all my emotions, how did I manage that?'
'Because at that point I... let go,' said Snape quietly, 'and you shared my power for a moment.' He sighed deeply, and seemed to be thinking hard for a moment. 'What happened after Remus arrived?' he said finally. 'I only caught a glimpse of him, but he looked distraught. Why was he there?'
'He came to save you,' Harry replied. 'Mad-Eye Moody came after you and he went with him. He was really upset when he thought the Dementor got you.'
Snape's face tightened and there was a sudden spark in his eyes. 'Moody?'
'Yeah,' Harry said carefully. Snape looked angry, but Harry no longer felt afraid of his temper. 'He's looking after you at the Headquarters. Um... you're really badly hurt, did you know that?'
Snape gave shaky laugh. 'Oh yes,' he replied in a bitter voice, 'I realised that when I saw you standing here. Harry, the charm won't last forever. You will find Occlumency much easier while it is in place, but you must learn how to close your mind for yourself it as soon as possible, because when the charm fails, you will be as vulnerable as you were before.'
'Why won't the charm last?' asked Harry.
'Because I'm dying,' whispered Snape, 'And when a wizard dies, his spells die with him.'
Harry Potter opened his eyes.
For a moment he thought he was back on the moor, for the sky was dark and clear, arrayed with stars like diamonds on velvet. But then he saw that he was standing at the edge of a calm sea, waves nuzzling the shore less than a yard away. A full moon hung low over the horizon.
Harry's feet were bare beneath the hems of his jeans, and there was sand, pale and fine in the moonlight, beneath his feet. It felt soft, and he scuffed it with pleasure, feeling it slide between his toes. He could see that he was standing on the far shore of a tidal lake; a mountain range climbed steeply from either side of a narrow gap to enclose the water and the narrow stretch of sand on which he stood. Turning, Harry could see the beach give way to scrubby grass which disappeared into a small wood, and behind that the mountains towered. The quiet bay seemed enclosed in a natural fortress which might have seemed menacing, but Harry surveyed it with a sense of joy and excitement. He felt supremely protected in this hidden place, and as he stood there taking in the sight and smell of it, an idea began to form that somewhere just up ahead was somewhere he really wanted to be.
He began to walk up the beach towards a place where the wood seemed to thin at the foot of the mountain. As he drew closer he could just make out an oddly regular shape to the shadows in the rock face which suggested... yes, some kind of carving... but of course, a doorway. He ran the last few feet, the sand petering out into a more solid path into the trees, and up to the place where a rectangular hole was hewn into the rock face itself. To Harry this seemed not at all strange, and no more strange than the contrastingly ornate wooden door hinged inside it and invitingly open. Now he was almost there, Harry could see that there was a dim light issuing from inside. He moved towards it, off the path onto a cold stone step, reaching to push the door the rest of the way open with a sublime, all consuming sense of... coming home.
The door opened onto a vast carven hallway, at the end of which was a sweeping stone staircase leading up to a narrower passage. Only the regular lines of the walls and the stairs indicated human intervention; stalactites and stalagmites covered the ceiling and lined the floors, petering out sufficiently to make a path from door to stair. Harry ran on, up the stairs and into another, smaller hallway, this one of more conventional panelled wood, dark and hard with age. Tallow lamps burned at intervals along its length, and now Harry could see several doors; two in each side, but these were closed; and at the far end, a door which stood half open.
Harry moved forward more slowly. Somewhere in the back of his mind was Hermione's voice, telling him that this might be a nice dream, but wasn't it terribly like the ones Voldemort had been giving him? But even as he listened he knew in his heart that there was nothing to fear. He walked into the mountain and up the stairs towards that half-open door, knowing that in here lay safety and peace.
Dumbledore sat down next to McGonagall, while Aberforth took a seat on his other side and helped himself to Tonk's untouched glass of firewhisky. Moody joined Shacklebolt on the opposite side of the table, facing them. McGonagall could tell from his closed expression that unlike Shacklebolt, he was not looking for direction; he believed he knew all he needed to about the man lying on the edge of mortality upstairs. But she could not entirely blame him, knowing as she did the details of the report he had brought with him. Moody put the scroll and a wooden box on the table while he angled his chair in order to stretch his wooden leg out comfortably. Then he pushed the box to one side and folded his arms grimly, the scroll lying like a barrier between him and Albus.
Dumbledore, she noticed, had also brought something: a large leather-bound book which looked as if it had spent many years unopened and forgotten. He placed it face down on the table in front of him, and neither she nor Shacklebolt managed to glimpse its title.
'You make a very reasonable argument, Kingsley,' Dumbledore began in the same calm voice, 'And I might invite you to consider the evidence logically. As Minerva points out, we are not dead, and we surely would be if Severus were not truly on our side. I can think of no reason why Voldemort would have spared us for as long as this if the opportunity to eliminate us were so easily in his grasp. Particularly now that the world knows he has returned.
'However, Alastor's report makes for unpleasant reading, and I do not doubt that you are not the only ones wondering where Severus' true loyalties lie. Indeed, most of the Order had no idea he was with us in the days before Voldemort fell; only that we had a spy in his ranks. Only when I had no choice but to name him did I risk anyone finding out about him.
Dumbledore paused to collect his thoughts before continuing.
'Severus became a Death Eater a month or two after finishing his NEWTS at Hogwarts, when he entered the employment of Octavian Malfoy. Malfoy's son Lucius was a fifth-year prefect in the year Severus started school, and after the incident to which you were referring, Kingsley, became very interested in him. At the time, I thought little of it. Severus was often at odds with James and Sirius, and Lucius had a knack for catching them. He soon gained Severus' trust and introduced him to children of his own age in Slytherin House, where he subsequently made most of his friends. I remember feeling pleased that Lucius had set such an example of inter-house tolerance and friendship, and pleased also that Severus, who was a rather lonely little boy when he arrived, had made some friends. If only I had fully realised' Dumbledore sighed.
'Realised what?' Shacklebolt prompted.
'Realised that a spell of the nature and magnitude which Severus had used would have been felt by more than just the teaching staff. Lucius Malfoy found out where the spell had been done, found out who was responsible – probably the same way you did, Kingsley, by simply asking the portraits and ghosts – and then set out to befriend the culprit. He was never Severus' friend – all he wanted was Severus' power.
'But Severus was too young and too unhappy to recognise this, and he believed he had found a friend and protector in Lucius Malfoy. Six years later when his father died, the offer of a job and somewhere to go must have appeared as another example of the Malfoys' generosity.
'I do not know exactly what happened, but after almost a year, Severus discovered that his friends were deceiving him, and that the Death Eaters were not the organisation he had believed them to be. He left the Malfoys' house, taking with him various of Octavian's papers, and attempted to give himself up to the authorities.'
Moody snorted. 'He did not. I was working the Malfoys' case; Snape never came near me.'
'No,' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Severus did not know where to find you, and he did not want to risk being caught by the Death Eaters by going directly to the Ministry. So he went to the one person he could find, someone he had liked and trusted when they had been at school. Severus gave himself up to Frank Longbottom.'
Harry gazed around in wonder. The room in which he now stood was vast, and had evidently been carved from the mountain itself; the floor beneath his feet was cold, rough and uneven. Moonlight poured in through a large, glassless oriel overlooking the bay. The view was breathtakingly beautiful, a vast darkness littered with shining points of light, and Harry moved towards it, mesmerised. The constellations seemed far more distinct than they had on the beach, and Harry decided this place must be some kind of observatory, although there was no sign of any telescopes.
Illuminated in pale silver shadows was a vast inglenook fireplace and high curving walls veined with quartz. These were incongruously lined with large bookcases which stretched all the way up to the ceiling, far beyond the reach of any human being. And yet, while some shelves were crammed with scrolls and books of different colours and sizes, others were strangely empty, areas of deeper shadow set at irregular intervals. Harry stared up in awe, wondering if giants lived here and why they didn't spread the books out a bit more evenly. He could almost picture Hagrid sitting in front of that fire, reading a scroll and looking like a normal-sized human.
He moved into the room, finding himself powerfully drawn towards the fire burning cosily in its imposing grate ahead of him. Large furry rugs were strewn in front of it, and on either side was a wooden settee draped with more furs, large cushions and bright woollen blankets. It was an oasis of comfort and warmth in a room which looked as if it had never been meant for human occupancy; but as Harry drew nearer, he suddenly realised that someone was already there.
A dark-haired boy lounged in a nest of furs and pillows on one of the settees, deeply engrossed in a large book. He sucked absently at the tip of his little finger while his dark eyes darted back and forth over the tiny print, apparently unhindered by the dim light, and oblivious of Harry's presence. Harry stared at him in amazement. The boy looked only a year or two older than himself, but there was no mistaking the large hooked nose and the oily sheen of the long dark hair.
Severus Snape took his finger out of his mouth and turned to the next page, his gaze idly flickering up and over the space in which Harry was now standing. He blinked, his face a picture of blank amazement. Harry froze.
'How did you get in here?' Snape asked, glancing from Harry back towards the door. A fleeting look of eagerness was replaced with a frown, and Harry wondered if Snape was about to yell and throw things at him like he had after the Pensieve incident in his office.
'The door was open,' he faltered.
Snape looked from Harry to the door and back again, and comprehension seemed to dawn in his face. There was a long pause in which his black eyes scanned Harry's face as if measuring every inch against some mental check list, calculating. Then the corner of his thin mouth lifted into a wry smile; but something bleak seemed to fill his eyes.
'Of course,' he murmured. 'I wondered what you would look like if you came here. You certainly don't look like James. Hello, Harry son of Lily.'
Harry stared at him. Obviously this was a dream, or Snape could not possibly look the way he did. But how could Harry look different too? It occurred to him that nobody had ever compared him to his mother before.
Snape turned back to the door with a strange look on his face, a mixture of longing and disappointment, as if he had been hoping for something particular to happen and had realised that something quite different and potentially unpleasant had taken place instead. He did not look as if he was about to fly into a rage, so Harry decided to risk a few questions himself.
'Where are we?' he hazarded. 'You look different too.'
'You're dreaming,' said Snape distantly. He tore his eyes away from the door and looked back at Harry. A hint of the old familiar look of loathing had now entered his expression, but there was curiosity and a tinge something which might almost have been despair in there as well. He waved towards the other settee with a long hand which, Harry noticed irrelevantly, featured an impressive set of long, manicured nails. Harry sat down in the furs and blankets, and as he did so, the same sense of warmth and comfort that he had felt on the moor enveloped him. His apprehension subsided, and the look of distaste in Snape's eyes seemed to fade.
'You're probably wondering how I managed to find you up on the moor,' said Snape quietly.
'You said it was because we hated each other,' Harry replied.
Snape smiled grimly. 'Yes, it was, in a way. Your hatred for me the last time we saw each other was almost overwhelming. Only once before had I experienced such a tangible wave of emotion from anyone, and it made me realise two things. One: you are utterly incapable of Occlumency as things currently stand. And two: your negative emotions will create a door into your mind through which the Dark Lord can enter any time he wishes.'
Harry frowned. 'Dumbledore said Voldemort couldn't get into my mind because it was full of love and that that was the thing he hated most.'
'Really,' said Snape drily. 'And is your mind full of love when you think of me?'
'No,' Harry replied coldly.
'Is it full of love every time you receive another irritating, inane letter? What about the time you're forced to spend living with your family? How loving is your state of mind then?'
Harry felt his scalp prickle with muted horror. Voldemort had possessed him with ease in the Department of Mysteries until he had thought about his friends with love; only then had he released him. What would have happened if he had felt hatred instead? And how else could Snape know how he had felt about his friends' letters if he too had not some way into Harry's mind?
'On the day I left Hogwarts, I created a charm to shut your mind off from the Dark Lord and anyone else who might try to break into it. For as long as it lasts, you are perfectly safe from any mental intrusions. However, I cannot guard your emotions.
'I found you today because your misery and grief reached an extreme point and became a beacon. To me, because the charm I created conjoins our minds. To the Dark Lord, inevitably, because you are linked to each other by your scar, although I believe I may have been able to keep him from finding you. To the Dementors because they feed off emotion and came in search of prey.'
Harry thought about the last two weeks as the full meaning of Snape's words sank in. There had been no nightmares - no dreams at all that he could remember. The pressure of his emotions had been steadily building, but the nights had been remarkably peaceful compared to the previous year. It had never occurred to him to wonder why.
'When the Dementors turned up, I didn't feel anything,' he said in a husky voice. 'I couldn't feel anything. I tried to do a Patronus, but I couldn't...'
His voice tailed off as he thought of the memory fragments.
'You felt no emotion at all. You had thoughts instead, and the thoughts suggested to you that you should not try to fight the Dementors.' Snape's voice took an uncharacteristically gentler tone. 'You thought that trying to save me would cause more harm than good and that you couldn't help me by staying, and so you went away.'
Harry nodded. 'Why?' he whispered. 'I hate you more than anyone, but I wouldn't leave even you to a Dementor. Why couldn't I do anything to save you?'
Snape leaned back in his furs, and drew his long legs up so he was sitting cross-legged. 'Because I was stopping you,' he said. 'I took away all your emotions so the Dementors could not find you, and used them to augment my own power in order to fight them. I stimulated your memory for examples of why you could not save me and would not want to. Apart from defending us both, I wanted to try something I had been researching. I am pleased to say it worked.'
He took another glance at the door as Harry digested this information. 'After Remus turned up, I managed to do two Patronuses,' he said. 'If you took all my emotions, how did I manage that?'
'Because at that point I... let go,' said Snape quietly, 'and you shared my power for a moment.' He sighed deeply, and seemed to be thinking hard for a moment. 'What happened after Remus arrived?' he said finally. 'I only caught a glimpse of him, but he looked distraught. Why was he there?'
'He came to save you,' Harry replied. 'Mad-Eye Moody came after you and he went with him. He was really upset when he thought the Dementor got you.'
Snape's face tightened and there was a sudden spark in his eyes. 'Moody?'
'Yeah,' Harry said carefully. Snape looked angry, but Harry no longer felt afraid of his temper. 'He's looking after you at the Headquarters. Um... you're really badly hurt, did you know that?'
Snape gave shaky laugh. 'Oh yes,' he replied in a bitter voice, 'I realised that when I saw you standing here. Harry, the charm won't last forever. You will find Occlumency much easier while it is in place, but you must learn how to close your mind for yourself it as soon as possible, because when the charm fails, you will be as vulnerable as you were before.'
'Why won't the charm last?' asked Harry.
'Because I'm dying,' whispered Snape, 'And when a wizard dies, his spells die with him.'
Thanks for the reviews everyone!
Melwasul: Relax! Absolutely NO slash in this story, not even Remus and Snape, although that idea that does make me go all warm and fuzzy...
Lilith11: Glad you had a good holiday and still like the story. No comment about Snape and Tonks... ;D You'll have to wait and see!
risi: Thank you thank you, and rest assured all your questions will be answered! (Eventually! ;D )
LinZE: More MM definitely coming up :> Soonish...
BekaJWP: *hugs* drive you insane? As if! *evil laugh* Yes indeed, 'tis Sev with the foreign accent... but as for the rest, you'll have to wait and see
Everyone else: I love you all dearly and hope you continue to enjoy the story :D *large warm cuddles all round*