When Harry had been alone, inside the area under the stairs, he'd often wondered if angel's existed. If they, in all their beauty, wisdom, and supposed truth could help him face the loneliness that he'd known his entire life?

Now Harry knew differently, angels where just legends, something made by people who could not face the pains in their lives. Only demons really existed, they were the Dark Wizards; the men that came into this world to utterly destroy what was good.

Oddly enough, that idea offered some amount of comfort.

He found, that in the darkness, sitting alone in the Divination's tower beneath his fathers cloak he could nearly glimpse those other individuals in the nights sky. The uncertain, mismatched evil men with souls so dark; the boy supposed that the mass of it could be compared to a pit of tar, trying to consume the radiant stars above.

Harry was curious, what was he in this grand scheme? A star, defined by the divine light that he gave so very easily, or one of the black holes that devoured relentlessly unseen in the night? The young man knew he would find out, in the pressing electricity that had claimed Hogwarts; the other students could feel it just as he did. The world, their world was changing, mutating as the shadows of the hidden wraiths came closer to their door.

Shivering in the night's cold, Harry drew his long black cloak closer; he'd bought it on the last trip to Hogsmeade. It was thick made of magic wool (this was a rare material, made only, in the most southern part of Italy) which prevented chill, it possessed an inlay of dragon scales on the outer edge to prevent flame and lightning attacks, as well as several invisible charmed runes on the shoulders and just above the wrist.

Severus didn't know about the cloak, but then, he didn't now much about what Harry had done lately. A small wry smile came to the boy's lips as he pulled the hidden book from the floor, touching the dark ancient lined words with the tip of his fingers.

The pages of the book were worn, an ancient tinted yellow color with thin elegant black handwriting. Small intricate dictations of the necessary magical symbols drawn in, small circles surrounding ancient runes and mathematical calculations inscribed for the reader.

Harry had taken care to hide his research, carefully using the hidden library in the Room of Requirement, as well as midnight trips to the forbidden section to attain what exactly a Joining was. That was when he'd found the book, not in the library as he would have guessed…but in Severus's chambers.

The Potions Professor had needed to leave early the previous week to help with an escaped Mordoce (a creature similar to a cross between a rather large slug and a lion, very hard to clean up after and quite annoying to boot.)

Harry had remained behind in the study and discovered the book tucked away on his new cohorts desk. It was an odd place to find it, considering how very neat the dark haired man normally was, a fact that had not gone unnoticed.

Harry read over the words once more, taking a deep breath into his lungs letting it out with a shuttering drawl.

The Joining ritual and its Effects by Morgodan Mumps

The Joining is an ancient ritual that has been outlawed (though in its time was very effective) mainly because it creates a bond that cannot be broken even by death. As well as the fact that it was corrupted by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, in his attacks on the Wizarding world, and used against his fellows. This is considered far too dangerous by the Ministry of Magic, considering that it does not only cause strain on the users, but can strengthen a wizard to a dangerous level, as well as cause bouts of pain that cannot be truly measured and emotional turmoil to the users.

Process- Stage One

The Giver, or Miscopent (a term developed some time after the spell had been established, its meaning was lost), offers up his (or her) energy to the Receiver, or Discopent (similar to the Miscopent's origins) so that their life force can be repaired.

(An intricate prewritten ritual is required, inscribing the necessary mathematical and symbol magic's that create the portal into the Miscopent's soul, see page 879 for the calculated dictations of this prerequisite) This can be accomplished through chalk on the skin, pen, or even a tattoo in some cases. (Most wizards in ancient times were more likely to use the tattoo, as it was considered a very serious matter to mark ones soul, and should also be represented on the skin.)

Thirdly, the Discopent accepts the energy. This does not necessarily have to be a conscious action as in ancient times it was a matter of survival. If the energy is not accepted, death is most assured, a fact that gave rose to the popularity of this spell in the earlier part of the Grindel Wars. (See page 406). Normally the exchange is through blood, or a kiss, sometimes through sexual relations.

The fourth process is more of an after effect, the joining once accomplished makes the Miscopent connected to the magical and mental state of the Discopent. Thus the wants, needs and feelings of the Discopent become a nearly overwhelming urge for the Miscopent,

Notes

-A Miscopent will do whatever it takes to please its Discopent, although in many cases it causes mental strain or extreme personality changes.

- In the past Miscopent's have been known to commit murder under the orders of their Discopent, with no memory of the action.

This spell was specifically designed to eliminate the Avada Kedavra, or Killing Curse. It is the only known outlet that can prevent instant death.

Two wizards are so deeply bound that the spell itself is also named, One-Soul.

Although trained Occlumen have in the past had some relatively undocumented resistance to this effect. Some wizards supposed that it is because their minds have been separated and contained

Closing the book Harry stood, putting it away into his bag; it was one he'd picked up some time ago, maybe at a sale in one of the muggle stores. Worn the muted cream color that most things seemed to get after so much time (or when they'd been washed with the wrong sort of clothing), it had a small tear on the left arm, several mismatched patches on the bottom. Harry knew he should get a new one; it's not as if he couldn't afford it, but something just felt so…familiar about something so abused. He shook his head and put it over his shoulder.

Silently the young man slipped into the rear bedroom, he'd taken off the invisibility cloak tucking it onto his chair in the den. He was nearly shaking, he shouldn't be here, but he had to prove he was right.

If Severus, if the two of them where joined as the book had said, then this could mean a whole new outlet for Harry, the boy couldn't let it rest, not anymore.

It just wasn't in his nature.

Harry sincerely hoped that Severus's private area in the back of his quarters wasn't charmed; he would be hard pressed to get any poison darts out of his blood quickly enough to prevent their horrible effects.

He lifted his hand, silently twisting the intricate brass handle and pushed it forward. It was dark; the only light a low fire in the front of the room.

"What are you doing in here Harry?" Severus questioned, though he didn't glance up, his long pale body keeled down and back slightly into a large plush chair, it was red.

He held a thin whisky glass in his left hand, carelessly held by the tips of his fingers, it was nearly empty, the residue of the last of the foul liquid lofting through the air. His voice seemed nearly…slurred, though not broken; Harry could never imagine that in his Potion Master's personality.

The younger man was hesitant, dark green eyes watching his slovenly companion with a distinctly worried emotion rising from his bowels, upward into his heart.

"Come now Harry, don't be so shy." He slowly leaned his head back, staring at the younger man with such dark cold black eyes, his voice gaining a coil with the sneer that had come to his face. Harry felt a part of his own mind shutter. Breathing slightly hallowed as in irrational fear arose in the boy's marked heart.

The elder man stood, swaying lightly, dropping the glass to the ground with a despairing crash. Harry drew himself away, this was a bad idea, and one that he felt could lead to actions both of them would regret.

"I should leave." Harry managed to find his voice, drawing his smaller form away from the obviously impaired other.
"No, no you shouldn't. You wanted to come here didn't you? To see what a bloody mess I have become." Severus's drawl became embittered, his long dark clad legs propelling him forward to place his hand upon the top of the fireplace. He was nearly shaking, messed slick hair falling over his face as he spoke, voice containing the last bit of his strength.

"How humorous it must be, to find that your fathers' loathed enemy…has finally become the disposable monster that he seemed to be convinced I was." The black haired man lowered his head slightly, placing both palms outwards as he stood before the flames.

Harry watched, oddly entranced by the self-degradation that flittered so easily over the sallow skin of his newest companion. "I have little left now Harry. Very little for which I held any sort of want, or need, and now it seems that even the most basic desires that I might hold, are for nothing. That is my role."

Harry could feel a brush of forgotten emotion, one that he could not place. Not pity, he'd lost that when murder had become just another facet of the things that would happen around him. Pity did nothing.

These emotions, feeling drone, whatever one wished to call it was mimicry of desperation, something Harry had nearly forgotten. Now, he could do nothing but face it.

"Do you have nothing to say Potter? No witty comments on the creature you see before you? No insight into what pitiful slime I have spouted to try and destroy you once again?" Severus lifted his gaze, staring at the boy, and his own self-loathing seeping upon the air, nearly as pungent as the very potions that he had spent his years brewing.

Harry straightened himself, inhaling through his nose as he stood off with the drunken man before him, his tan boxed fingers curling into his palm as he gave his response.

"Shut up! Just shut up, if you want to insult yourself that's fine. But don't you dare drag me down into it. I might be a pompous little asshole a lot of the time, but I don't insult the people I respect!" Harry felt the words more than he actually spoke them, eyes glittering vehemently as he shouted with growing volume.

Severus straightened himself, lifting his impressive nose into the air, black eyes watching Harry with a distinctly unhappy expression.

"You honestly believe I share that respect in kind?" he sneered as his voice drifted to the boy ears.

"No. I know you don't but that doesn't matter anymore. I'm your Discopent." Harry smirked, spite raising as the other insulted him, although he didn't actually know what it meant, he did see how Severus faltered. Well worth any of the strain he'd gone through to attain that information.

"How do you know about that?" he shuttered with anger, Harry's smirk widening, as he watched the rage inside the other double, then seem to expand uncontrollably.

"What's wrong Severus? Scared, after all I have control over you now don't I? You can't treat me as if I'm just some moron beneath you now." Harry nearly laughed, bitterly speaking although in the back of his mind he knew this wasn't right.

Severus hadn't treated as if he was his father…for quite awhile.

"Get out." Severus turned away, bowing his head slightly, his hands clenched tightly (so much so that one could see the whites of his knuckles protrude).

"No, I won't get out; I'm not someone you can just order around as if I was a mindless drone! I'm fucking important!" Harry shouted glaring at him, his voice breaking in the half meter of his statement, breathing uneven.

Severus turned around taking Harry up by his collar and lifted him into the air. The younger boy felt his feet wave uselessly in the air.

"You are nothing, and no matter what magic's I have done to save your pathetic hide. I will not be ordered by you Potter!" He snarled into the shorter man's face glaring cruelly as he tossed him to the floor.

Harry skid against the wood, feeling the distinct pain of his arm being rubbed by his rough wool cloak. His head hit the side of the table, vision wavering as the pain thudded through his brain.

"Ah!" Severus fell forward to his knees eyes wide and unseeing, dark magical swirls pulsing over his face, down his arms and across his throat. He screamed shuttering as his body was sent into convulsions legs flinging outwards with violence into the flooring. Harry's eyes widening in fear and shock, dark splits of energy shot out of his palms and down into the floor.

The elder man fell over in a silent slump, unable to take the pain anymore, a fact that worried Harry greatly. Severus had before endured the Cruciatus curse; several hours in fact, while trying to prove his worth to Voldemort.

Harry closed his eyes and moved over to the now unconscious man, small-unnoticed tears running down from the boy's eyes. He drew Severus's head into his lap, silently closing his eyes to try and control his own breathing.

"I-I'm sorry Severus." He whispered softly, more to himself than anything else…he doubted that the senior man could hear him. The boy ignored his own pain, the blood from hitting the table seeping down the back of his neck, until darkness claimed him.

For the first time in months, Harry didn't dream.