A/N: Thanks for all your reviews! I have replied to everyone who logged in. I hope this next chapter came soon enough, and hopefully you enjoy it. It continues three weeks after the last chapter. I know it looks continuous at the beginning, but it's not. It'll be explained further in the story.

Warning: Oh yes, Snape torture. It's not too bad though; at least I don't think so…

Chapter 3

The spell hit him squarely in the chest, the vicious pain immediately overriding all his other senses, until all he was aware of was the agony that rode through every vein in his body. It felt like thousands of invisible knives were being pushed into every square inch of his body, and then being twisted, slowly, their red hot blades burning his very muscles. His mouth clenched fiercely around his wand, refusing to open, refusing to let out his pain in a blood-curdling scream, his wand the only meagre sense of support in this sea of anguish his body had been thrown into.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. As his senses started to work again, he recognized the harsh, panting sounds as his own breath, and slowly became aware of a hard cold surface below his cheek. Forcing his eyes open, he was not very surprised to find himself lying on the floor. Although he had no recollection of having fallen down, he had been in this situation enough times to expect it by now.

Sitting up, he attempted to take deep breaths to slow down his racing heart. Realizing that he was still clenching his wand tightly in his mouth, he spat it out, sparing it only a brief glance, wondering vaguely if he should replace if with something else before it broke in two. It was already showing signs of wear and tear, covered in bite marks showing how often he had used it to stifle his cries. It was not only that he did not want anyone to be alerted by noises inside the room, no, that would have been easy solved by a Muffliato charm. It was not the people outside he was worried about, it was the person standing in this room, the one who had cast the spell that concerned him. His pride would not let him reveal his pain in front of one of his students, especially if that student happened to be Harry James Potter.

Said Harry James Potter was now moving towards Snape, his face a mixture of concern and disgust. He offered a hand to Snape to help him up- more out of habit than anything else- because as always Snape simply batted it away with a scowl, opting rather to stand on his own, slowly, painfully, each time weaker than the time before, but eventually making it to the armchair behind his desk, where he sank down gratefully.

Gesturing to Harry to sit down in the chair opposite, Snape permitted himself to rest for a while, head leaning back against the soft back of the chair, eyes closed, his thoughts drifting back to his first lesson with Potter. The boy had improved greatly since then. The first few days had proven to be complete disasters, he remembered. Snape had expected that the 'Golden Boy' would be unable to find the anger and hatred within himself needed to cast an Unforgivable, and so after a few ineffectual spells which confirmed this, Snape had moved to take matters into his own hands.

He cast a silent Legilimency spell and harshly tore through the various images that came rushing up, not having to look long before finding the one of Sirius's death. He held on to that image, playing it over and over again willing Potter to remember that day, how angry he had been at Snape, blaming him for Sirius's death, how much he wanted to have his revenge. He tore through Potter's other memories, finding previous happy moments with Sirius, projecting them to the front, forcing him to remember all that he had lost, the bitterness and grief he faced supposedly because of Snape.

That did provoke a reaction, but the spell Potter cast was brief and short-lived, barely causing Snape to twitch.

Again and again Snape repeated his method, prying through his mind, looking at memories that he knew Harry would want to keep private, and would get angry if anyone else saw them. He lingered over embarrassing moments, memories of a young Harry crying because of some injustice of the Dursleys, of the kiss shared with Cho Chang under the mistletoe, daring Harry, challenging him to fight back and stop him if he could by using the spell. He drew out every snippet he could find about his parents and Sirius, tearing up wounds that had long been hidden and buried and rubbing salt in them again. He could feel Harry trying to shove him out of his minds, but he had after all never managed occulemency, so Snape just ignored his weak efforts and continued his mental assault. And when all his mind-racking still only produced the most minimal of curses, he left his mind and taunted him, sneered about his worthless parents, how the world was better off without them, how he wished he could have killed them himself. Harry would get mad with rage, screaming and yelling, trying to take out his anger by throwing lesser curses at Snape, Stinging hexes and other jinxes, all of which Snape blocked easily, forcing Harry to use only one path to lash back at him.

And he had done it. It had taken almost a week with practices every night, but finally Harry had been pushed to the furthest limit, and had lashed back with an immensely powerful Cruciatus curse, which would have even put some of the lower-ranking death eaters to shame. Since then it had taken another week of nightly practices, before Harry was able to cast the spell without provocation and with enough power to make Snape writhe in agony. There was no doubting that Harry did have the potential to be a great wizard, Snape could sense the immense well of natural power in him, which once it had been accessed, helped Harry to cast more and more powerful curses.

Even while Snape's mind was pleased with this progress, his body screamed in protest at the daily dose of torture he subjected himself to. Every night for a week the same scene had been replayed; the same horrible curse, the same terrible pain. His muscles ached throughout the day from the aftermath of the curses, bruises were starting to from on his chest where the spell hit him directly, a natural effect of prolonged use of the curse, his knees hurt from crashing against the stone floor every time he fell down in his agony. Even his teeth felt stiff after clenching his wand so tightly.

But his body's concerns were irrelevant in light of the importance of what needed to be done, so once again he pushed down its complaints and focused his attention back on the present.

Gazing appraisingly at Harry, he said, "That was good, Potter. More powerful and longer than the last time. Many grown wizards would not have the power to cast that."

Harry looked surprised. It was probably the first time he had received such an outright compliment from Snape, without any back-handed insult in it. 'It's ironic, isn't it?' he thought. 'The first time he praises me, and then for something I would never wished to be praised for.'

Aloud he asked, "So, is it over now, am I prepared enough? Can we stop doing this?"

Snape smirked at him. "Why, didn't you enjoy my company? Are you so anxious to leave? Strange, I was under the impression that you were having the time of your life, getting the chance for the revenge you have always wanted."

Harry said nothing, too drained to even feel anger at Snape anymore. The Cruciatus curse left him exhausted as no spells previously did. The moment the spell ended, his body would feel worn out and shattered, a feeling that stayed with him throughout the day.

Snape must have noticed this, for he asked in a slightly softer tone, "What's the matter, Potter? No insults, no witty comebacks? Silence from you, while really pleasant I must admit, is highly unusual."

Harry hesitated a bit before answering. He could tell that despite the taunts, Snape was genuinely concerned. His exhaustion must have been really obvious then. Deciding to finally unburden himself, he confessed, "I feel…exhausted, Professor. It's as if the spell takes with it all my energy, everything I have inside. No other spell has done that before, made me feel just so horrible."

"The Unforgivables are not like any other spell, Potter," Snape said. "They require a tremendous amount of magical power, and it is natural to feel tired at first, when you are not so used to casting them. But more then just the power they require, it is the nature of the spell itself that makes you feel as you are feeling now. Have you thought about why they are termed Unforgivables, Potter? It is because these three spells go against the very basis of human nature itself, they are so contrary to human nature that using them against another human being is like committing a sin against humanity. And that is why casting them feels so terrible, feel so wrong because it is wrong, it is the most wrong you can ever do. Killing is never easy, it is not meant to be. You feel almost as if you are loosing a part of your soul. It is the same philosophy as that of the horcruxes, Potter, doing something so evil that it splits your very soul."

Harry looked up in shock at this revelation. He had never really connected the two together like that, but what Snape was describing was exactly what he was feeling. Looking down at his hands, Harry said in barely a whisper, "It feels so bad knowing that I can cast such a spell. I would never have believed that I could hold such evil inside me." Harry laughed, the sound hollow and mirthless. "I guess this makes me the same as him doesn't it?

It was something Harry had been thinking of for some time now, ever since he had first cast the curse, and what Snape explained today only made it worse. What right had he to call Voldemort evil when he was just as capable of doing the same evil as him? As he improved in casting the curse he became more and more horrified as what he was doing. To so casually, without provocation use that kind of evil daily against someone who had not really even done anything to him…how did it make him any better than Voldemort?

"Well, Potter," Snape replied, "If you would only think a little deeper I am sure that you would see the stupidity of that question. I could recite for you a million ways in which you are different from the Dark Lord, that the Dark Lord has used the curses infinitely more times than you ever will, that he has used it on the innocent where you will use it on the guilty, that he has destroyed the world with it and you will be helping to save it, all of the many things that anyone will be able to tell you, truthfully, that make you different from him."

"But," Snape continued, "You have stumbled on a very important realization, the fact that you can be the same as the Dark Lord. Let me ask you something. Do you remember the feeling you get when you actually cast the curse? I don't mean the drained out feeling after it is over, but during the actual casting of it?"

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat and averted his eyes. He had spent the past week trying to convince himself that he had felt nothing, because the implications of what he had felt were something he did not want to consider.

Snape must have noticed his movements, for he continued without waiting for an answer, his tone now mysterious and strangely warm. "I see you know what I am talking about. It is nothing to be ashamed of, it is not unique to you, it is just an emotion that accompanies the curse. It is the feeling of immense power running through your body, the joy of mighty supremacy, the ecstasy of raw strength, the satisfaction of crushing your enemy beneath your heels. You can feel it rising inside of you, a dark, ancient, elemental force, and at that moment you know without doubt that you hold the reins of the world in your hand and you love it. And all you can think of is what you would give to be able to cast this again and again. It is an addiction, the world's most tantalizing drug. It is the seduction of the dark arts, stronger than any love potion; the alluring temptation that draws you in willingly even eagerly and then entraps you in its charms. Even when you see the effect of all you have done, when you know how wrong it is, you cannot stop hearing its call, longing, ever-longing to feel that raw power, that immense joy."

Snape's voice faded into the silence of the room. He was no longer looking at Harry, not even seeming to realize he was there, his eyes holding a far-away quality as if he was lost in memories only he knew. Harry waited awkwardly for Snape to continue, wanting something to break the surreal silence that stretched between them, but somehow not daring to do it himself. Snape's words had left him uncomfortable. He could not deny that that was exactly what he was feeling, but hearing Snape talk of how he felt with an almost loving caress in his voice was…disturbing to say the least.

Luckily, Harry did not have to wait long. Snape suddenly snapped out of his reverie, seeming slightly shocked to see Harry there, as if he had completely forgotten he existed. Gathering his thoughts, he once more focused his attention on Harry, his voice back to his business-like tone.

"If you understand this, Potter, you will understand how easy it is to become like the dark lord, how easily you could truly become the same as him. You will begin to see, I hope, the truly seducing power of the dark arts. It is the trap all dark wizards have fallen into. The start is usually innocent, a quest for knowledge, a desire for power. But one taste of that power, and the desire becomes a hunger, an obsession that overrides everything else. The overpowering appeal of the dark arts is what makes them so dangerous because anyone can fall prey to it, no matter how good and upright he used to be. It is imperative that you understand this, Potter, I cannot stress this enough. It is the most important thing that separates you from the Dark Lord. He has given in to this temptation, you must not. The moment you start craving that feeling, wanting to perform the curses again just to get that ecstasy of power, enjoying what you are doing instead of seeing it as a necessity, that is the day you will become the same as him."

Snape fell silent, his eyes still fixed on Harry, watching him as he tried to process everything he had just been told. It would take him some time to come to grasps with it, but it was very necessary that he understood that he had to resist the seductive power that had pulled so many others to their own destructions. It was a great burden for one so young to bear. He knew, oh yes Snape knew how hard resisting that power could be. After all, he was not much older when…

No, he would not think of that now. Those memories would come back to haunt him in the silent dark of the night, he knew, but not now.

Forcefully pushing his thoughts away from that direction, Snape glanced at the clock. It was still early, but Snape had a feeling that further practice that night would not prove very effective. And they could both use a break right now.

"Let's call it a night, Potter." Snape said, drawing Harry's attention back to himself. "We'll start again tomorrow, at 8 sharp."

Harry looked up at him, a pleading look on his face. They had come back to the beginning, to his very first question. How much longer, Harry wondered, how much longer would this go on. How much longer could they both take it? "Please, Professor." He said. "Can't we stop doing this now? I don't want to do this any longer. Isn't it enough?"

Snape's body screamed at him to say yes, every fiber of his being wanting him to take this escape presented to him. But he knew that however powerful Harry's curse currently was he would still need a lot more practice to be sure that he could cast the Avada Kedavra when it was time. So he just kept his face impassive and shook his head, watching as Harry's face fell in disappointment.

"How much longer? When can we stop?" Harry asked quietly.

Snape contemplated the question for a moment. There was no way of fixing a specific date or time period because he did not know how fast they would progress. And how would they be able to judge when he was prepared enough? Thinking through it, Snape reached a decision and replied, "When you make me scream."

Harry accepted this without question, and nodding slightly moved towards the door. Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he turned around and said softly, "Thank you, sir.", before leaving the room and shutting the door gently behind him.

A/N: Well, there it is! I really hope you liked it. Review, please!
And if anyone was wondering, this is set at the beginning of the sixth year, so Harry shouldn't by right know about the horcruxes yet. But, well, this is kind of AU, so I'm just pretending that Harry already knows…