Disclaimer: Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. I do not own Harry Potter, nor Severus Snape, nor Albus Dumbledore, which are the principal characters in this fic.

Chapter four: acceptance

After almost a whole week in his most despised teacher's body, Harry didn't flinch each time he saw it in the mirror anymore.

And he quickly found out that being in Snape's body had advantages… like no longer seeing Voldemort in his sleep, and waking up without a painful scar.

However, it didn't stop the regular nightmares about Cedric, Vernon and Sirius. He had them almost every night, and the closed atmosphere of the dungeons didn't help.

He needed to get out. He had, of course, taken advantage of the fact that he didn't need to hide as much in this disguise. He had gone to Hogsmeade and even Diagon Alley to buy some new clothes (he hadn't dare use his parent's money, in fear the goblin would refuse him access, and instead used Snape's).

He had taken a Butterbeer in The Three Broomsticks, but after a stern-looking total stranger had greeted him and began to talk about new potions, he hadn't dare to stay and taking the chance of saying some silly thing which would burn his 'cover'.

What he needed was to have fun. To fly. But wouldn't it be weird if someone saw Snape flying a broomstick? And his broomstick was in Snape's hands (or rather Vernon's) anyway.

His broomstick. His Firebolt. Sirius' Firebolt. In Snape's hands. It made him wanting to cry or strangle the man.

He needed to get out of the dungeons, or he would go mad.

And apparently, The Dark Lord thought so too.

Twice more this week, he had awoken with Albus Dumbledore sitting at the edge of his bed. They had taken breakfast together, and talked over it of what it meant to be Severus Snape. Including spying duties. But somehow talking about taking Snape's place as a spy in the snake pit had seemed so easy…

At first he didn't understand why his arm hurt. He was trying to learn something about potions, at least just enough to make it seem like he knew a lot, and he thought it was just a cramp for holding the book too long.

But, as painful as a cramp could be, it didn't burn your skin, nor did the hurt it provided increased the way the Dark Mark's did.

Abruptly understanding what it meant, Harry stopped dead, unable to move, to think. This was it. The question was: could he do it? Could he willingly go to meet Voldemort, and act as if he was his loyal follower? Kiss his robes? KNEEL before the man who had killed his parents, who was responsible for so many other deaths already? Could he?

Apparently yes. Or at least he would try, he told himself as Snape's subconscious made him take the Death Eaters attire and mask and lead the way to the apparition point. Was it something he was so used to do that it would pass to him with the body?

He quickly put away the smuggle amount of sympathy he might have for the ugly man for having to deal with his Dark Lord in a common occurrence. The man had chosen to take the mark, after all.

Granted, he had been almost as young as himself at the time, and Harry wasn't proud of all his choices either…

But he quickly stopped this line of thought. He could not and would not risk to feel sympathy at this time, not when he had to put a perfect act of someone consumed by hatred. Besides, he hated the man, more than ever. For having taunted Sirius so much he couldn't stand to stay one minute more in the bloody house. For hating him since first year just because he looked like his dead father. And lastly, for having such a greasy hair he was forced to wash it twice a day!

He let Snape's instincts lead him towards the Forbidden Forest, biding his lips at the now unbearable pain, repeating all the way to himself that it would be fine, that he knew well enough how Death Eaters meetings went, having witnessed many, to take part of one… that Snape's instincts would probably take over if only he let them… that in this body he could actually occlude enough, or at least he hoped so…

Snape was gardening. Like a muggle. In Potter's body.

And life at Privet Drive was quickly driving him mad.

After a whole week, he had learned never to question anything the uncle said. Which was much more easier said than done, for someone who had despised muggles since he was born. To just nod and be silent when a muggle called him a freak.

The only times he had fun, and allowed himself to grin internally, was when Potter's family would go on for hours about how worthless the Potter senior had been. Of course, he appeared to be angry and trying without much success to control himself, as he knew the Potter boy would be.

His spying skills were proved very helpful in the situation, for he was used to act as if he was someone else. If he was capable of fooling The Dark Lord, making him think he was some kind of cold-hearted murderer, he could easily handle to fake Potter's poor character.

But it was much harder than he thought. For everything he learned about Potter's life hurt a bit more, for he had to prevent himself from being surprised when, for example, the whole cupboard issue came out for the first time, for he had to do whatever jobs they made him do, all the while loathing him and "his" parents, and avoiding Dudley…

Yes, this summer proved to be much harder than he first thought. And it was only the beginning.

He was gardening, under the warm sun, and his skin was burning. His head was beginning to feel dizzy (he hadn't got very much to eat these days), and suddenly a violent headache caught him, and he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he wasn't in the garden anymore. Instead, he found himself in front of … himself, or at least his body, with supposedly the Potter boy inside.