Notes:

Not gonna lie, this was a really fun one to write XD

Thank you guys so so much for your continued comments! They really are incredibly encouraging, and really do help me keep writing this!


Harry silently battled himself. Snape was not high—or even low, for that matter—on the list of people he wanted to talk to right now. Somewhere in the negatives, really. The question, was if the young Lord Voldemort was lower on that list. As he stared into those dark eyes that he once saw stained red, staring from the back of someone else's head, it didn't take long to come to the conclusion that yes, he was.

He turned on his heel and ventured into the hall, his footsteps rather loud as he marched, his head buzzing, a hive for fears, sorrows, and rage to nest.

Last he'd checked Snape was in the teacher's lounge, so he thought it best check to there first. He paused before the door, and could hear them chatting.

As he heard the words "…shut down the school…" Harry froze, his fingers lingering above the doorknob.

They had been talking about this before, but when he was down in the Chamber those thoughts hadn't made their way through his brain. All he had been thinking about was rescuing Ginny, and now that he hadn't been able to rescue her…

They weren't going to shut down Hogwarts, were they?

He shook his head. No. He couldn't think about that. He'd cross that bridge when they came to it. He had enough to deal with without worrying over that. Right now all that mattered was getting Snape to bring the truth serum as painlessly as possible.

He knocked, and opened the door to see many of the teachers where he'd left them. Flitwick sitting on the couch looking solemn, Sprout twiddling her thumbs nervously at the table, and Snape standing at the window.

"Professor Snape, Sir." He cleared his throat. "I'd like to have a word."

Snape turned to him, those black eyes narrowing.

"Pardon me," he said to the teachers he'd been previously conversing with. "It seems what Potter has to say is more important,"—a gust of wind from Snape's cloak hit Harry—"as usual."

Snape shut the door behind him, stopping in the hall, folding his arms over his chest.

"So, Potter, it appears you think yourself above the rules, even those designed to keep you safe. Weren't all the students explicitly told to return to their dormitories?"

Harry glared at him, wishing he could physically wound him with his eyes.

Two words fell to the floor, and he swore he heard them thud there:

"Ginny's dead."

Snape froze, his eyes wide.

"She's…what?" he breathed.

Harry nodded, looking at the ground.

"Slytherin's monster?"

"No. Well that was there too but I took care of it. It was…" he hesitated. "It was… Voldemort."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I have a hard time believing the Dark Lord could murder a young girl when he's supposedly in the forests of Albania…Not to mention why he'd have any reason to."

"He…" Harry paused. How could he explain this? "It wasn't….It wasn't that him—"

"Not everyone lives inside your brain, Potter; speak plainly"

"May I explain on the way, Sir?"

"To where?"

"To your office."

"My office," Snape repeated the words in a condescending tone. "And what, pray tell, do you need in my office this time, Potter? Besides a detention."

"Truth serum."

"Truth serum?" Snape raised an eyebrow, some real surprise in his eyes. "I must say, I'm surprised to hear someone as inept as you even knows about that potion.

"So." Snape folded his arms over his chest. "You've decided to ask this time instead of stealing from me?"

Harry froze, looking over at Snape, who's mouth had quirked up slightly.

"My apologies, but I'm going to have to decline. As much as I'd enjoy hearing you babbling your secrets to the school, I don't make it a habit to hand out valuable—not to mention, dangerous—potions to students. Especially students who previously stole from me."

"I don't need it!" He resisted the urge to stamp his foot on the ground. "Dumbledore does! He asked me to come get you!"

Snape quieted at that, before abruptly turning and marching down the hallway. Harry ran after him, and, after a moment of walking in silence, Snape spoke:

"You still haven't answered my question." He said more placidly. "How could The Dark Lord murder a young girl when he is in the forests of Albania?"

"His diary. And he didn't exactly murder her…not in the traditional sense at least…"

He looked down his hooked nose at him. "I hardly think a diary is capable of murder."

Harry glared at him. He was barely getting a word in edgewise. That's not to say he really wanted to explain all of this to him, or even so much as talk about it, but Dumbledore had told him to explain in as much detail as he could…so he probably should.

But, even if he were talking to someone he actually had interest in explaining this to, his thoughts were all jumbled up. He wasn't sure if he could string two words together, even if Snape wasn't interrupting him at every turn. Dumbledore told him to tell him everything in detail…but he could barely remember anything in the right order himself.

"It was his—Voldemort's—when he was sixteen. It was enchanted."

"Enchanted for what purpose?"

"To…" He swallowed, speaking the next words as quietly as he could; "bring him back…"

Snape stopped in his tracks, apparently having heard him even so. "Bring him back?" His eyes narrowed. "Potter, once again you prove yourself prone to wild fairy tales. A diary cannot commit murder in as much as it cannot resurrect the dead. …Unless—" he paused.

"Unless what, Professor?"

Snape said nothing.

"Why does the Headmaster need Veritaserum?"

"It's for…him." He said softly.

They arrived at his office. Snape silently got a step stool from the corner and put it on the floor in front of the shelf. He ascended it and began picking up the potions in turn, examining their labels.

"Oh, and Dumbledore mentioned to bring that bottle of mead too, if you happen to still have it." Harry interjected nervously, unsure what to make of Snape's lack of a response, doing anything to avoid the topic at hand.

"You yet again failed to answer me," Snape spoke after a moment as he picked up a green potion from the front, examining it, a disdainful look marking his face. Keeping in in his hand, he reached behind it, picking up a clear potion. "Who is this Veritaserum for?" He held up the clear potion to indicate it was what he was referring to.

"I did tell you. It's for…him."

"You're going to have to be more specific, Potter." He barked as he stepped down and set the clear potion on his desk. "By the way, if this is your doing—" in lieu of a finished sentence he held up the green bottle to reveal there was a crack in it.

"For him!" Harry ignored his unfinished threat. "Tom Riddle!" The words rang through the air.

But Snape didn't react like Harry thought he would. There was no shock on his face. Instead he simply said, "Forgive me Potter but that's not a name I'm familiar with."

Harry tried not to growl, his fingers curling into fists at his side.

"Tom Riddle!" he shouted. "You know, Voldemort?! But when he was younger?!"

There was the sound of shattering glass. He looked up to see the green potion in Snape's hand had shattered, the glass pieces tinkling along the floor. His expression was imperceptible as ever…it was like his body had betrayed him for just a moment. Blood began dripping from the hand previously holding it, but apparently he hadn't noticed.

He took slow calculated steps towards Harry, his black eyes boring holes into him. His words were level but something behind his voice quivered,

"You mean to tell me that the Dark Lord is…"

"Here, yes, Sir. But as Tom Riddle—a sixteen-year-old boy who doesn't remember anything. Hence why we need that." He pointed at the potion on his desk. "Dumbledore wants to make sure he doesn't remember anything before we proceed."

"That's not possible." He murmured. Then, without warning, his eyes locked on Harry like tiny drills, and his voice boomed, "Tell the truth!"

Harry stared at him, eyes half lidded. He quirked an eyebrow, tilted his head to the side, and made a decision. A decision he knew he was liable to regret very soon…but the only one he could currently make with his tangled, disarranged thoughts, and Snape's penchant for interrupting him with unnecessary insults. The only way he saw that he could adequately follow Dumbledore's orders and tell Snape what happened, without this ending in an even worse shouting match, not to mention also making sure the details actually made their way out of his stammering mouth.

He reached forward, grabbed the Veritaserum, uncorked it, and drank it.

Well, not all of it—he may be reckless, but he wasn't that much of an idiot. Just a few drops. Just…enough.

Snape stared at him for a few moments, blinked, then;

"I knew you were daft, Potter, but I didn't take you for a complete and utter dimwit! What else would you like to have for an afternoon drink?! My Polyjuice potion while you're at it? How about a draught of living death? Or my last stores of—?!"

"I could have killed him." The words were barely a breath.

Snape's eyes widened at this, and Harry's hands flew to his mouth.

That wasn't what Harry had planned to say. Not at all. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd tell anyone that fact. Maybe Ron and Hermione, maybe Dumbledore, but never never Snape. He'd only wanted to get the facts out straight…but apparently the truth had a mind of its own.

Yup, he was regretting his decision already.

But Harry was surprised to see the anger in Snape's eyes give way for a gentler kind of surprise.

"I wanted to." Harry said into his hands, (even though he really really didn't want to), a darkness behind the quiet words. He stared at the ground, at somewhere far from here. "He was out cold…I had the sword in my hand…not to mention my wand…and a Basilisk tooth…"—(Why couldn't he stop?! Snape hadn't even asked him a question!)—"I could have stabbed him, or poisoned him, or at least cursed him…"

Snape drew out his wand and ran it over the cuts in his hand, muttering an incantation like a song, healing them. Then he waved it again, cleaning up the broken bottle. When he was finished he asked softly;

"Why didn't you?"