Harry had two months to mull over what would happen next. His research on antidotes was at a dead end as he was currently unable to test his suppositions in practice. He couldn't begin to fathom if one should treat a Maledictus poison any different from its animal form and he had yet another year and a half to endure until he could even start asking those questions without appearing suspicious. His studies on advanced transfiguration seemed to be the only ones going well enough. He'd mastered several major metamorph alterations and he had good progress on meditation and visualization of his inner animal. He was yet to find its corporeal form but he was sure it would be a flying animal at this point.

Even so, this progress didn't serve to elate him in the least. Instead he spent his days very much dreading the upcoming year. He remembered vividly what it felt like to have Voldemort alive and in his head. And he felt sure that while Occlumency could prevent the curiosity of his benign teachers, these sorts of barriers would hardly hold the Dark Lord and the link they shared.

He had to remind himself constantly that everything would be alright as long as he didn't change anything, but couldn't quite manage persuading his mind's voice which continued its muttering that Voldemort would surely know once he saw him exactly what he was, where he came from and every last bit of his memories from the coming years.

Moreover his dreams now included an innocent dead boy which was a great addition to what was becoming the norm of his usual nights. He would not be able to do anything to save Cedric, he was certain knowing how the rules worked by this point. He would have to stand there once again watching or it would indeed leave him behind anyway. It was cruel to think that he had the chance to do something but only for one of them. It seemed awful that he'd made his choice, even before he knew he'd done such a thing, to effectually doom all the others to their fates.

With ample time to make his plans for the upcoming events, Harry went through the motions of the Quidditch world cup, the Dark Mark and his stay at the burrow, but only relaxed when he found himself back in Hogwarts.

With everything going on in his head, he felt more compelled than ever to do everything in his power to make amends with Severus Snape at whatever cost.

In his first potions class Harry botched the potion he was making on purpose and continued reading until Snape came to congratulate him snidely.

"It would seem some of us have their skulls so thick nothing can penetrate them."

Harry looked straight at the glaring eyes, his expression blank.

In his second potions class, he claimed he didn't have his homework. That got him detention with the potions master and elicited merely another blank stare from him.

In detention Harry had to scrub filthy cauldrons for the first time in almost ten years. It felt nostalgic. As Snape didn't utter a single word to him throughout the ordeal, all he could do was steal a glance or two of the man reading on his desk.

As he readied himself to go, he turned to the potions master.

"I'm sorry"

Snape narrowed his eyes and looked at him.

"If you've finished, leave."

"I've not finished speaking, sir."

"Get out, Potter."

"Not until I've said what I wanted to."

Snape glared.

"Fine. Be done with it and go. I don't have time for – "

"I know you don't. And I know 'sorry' isn't enough. If it was, I wouldn't be here. But I am. And I am sorry. I wish I could do something more than say that, but there is no use since I'm perfectly aware what a joy it is to be able to hate me with a clear conscience.", he finished stupidly.

"Leave, Potter", Snape prompted after a brief pause.

Harry went to do so but halted at the door.

"I dreamt of a woman trapped in the body of a snake." He said softly hating how much he sounded like young Riddle right there. "Is that even possible, sir?", Harry turned around to see if Snape had any reactions to show. He knew the Potions Master had to be well-acquainted with Nagini. He also knew that his mark had to have become clearer during the summer.

The professor had stopped moving his quill over the parchment and had instead turned to look at him.

"Have you dreamt of snakes before, Potter?"

"Quite often." He admitted calmly. "I'm a parslemouth, you see."

"It is very rare but it is possible."

Harry nodded and bid him good day leaving Snape to his thoughts.

The next couple of weeks Harry proceeded to perform miserably. On the forth week in which Harry claimed he didn't do his homework again, all that was left to do in terms of menial labor was rearranging the ingredients in the students' storage. As he came down to the dungeons, Snape approached him for the first time since the first night.

"Are you stupid, Potter, or are you merely masochistically inclined?", he asked silkily.

"The latter I should think, sir.", Harry replied quietly looking up at the professor. Was it not true? He still couldn't quite believe he'd gotten himself detentions on purpose.

"Your next detention will be served with Filch, for I fear I can't spend anymore precious time to indulge your whims.", Snape went back to sit in his chair. "And Potter, one more zero from you and you're out of my class for good."

Harry didn't react to this. Instead he went to the shelves.

He knew his little attention seeking game was up and Snape would tolerate none of it. The last thing he'd wanted was to enrage him further but at this point he had to face that this seemed all he was able to do with the Potions Master.

Once he was done, he went back to Snape's desk and cleared his throat to prompt the professor to look up from his reading.

"I'm done."

"Off with you then.", Snape spat.

"One more thing.", Harry said calmly and extracted a stack of paper from his bag.

The Potions Master took the papers noticing immediately the contents as well as the magically stamped date and hour to each homework attesting that he'd done his work on time, just hadn't handed it in.

"Exactly what game are you playing, Potter?"

"One I'm not very good at, sir.", he replied solemnly. "Good night."

Next month was a bit calmer as Harry went back to his pattern of doing alright in class and staring at innocent objects, mainly walls. Snape was his usual sour self and didn't miss an opportunity to indulge in tormenting the Gryffindors at large and Harry in particular when he got the chance. But Harry didn't give him an excuse to say much except for a few words muttered to Ron in class.

The peaceful time passed too quickly however and the official end of it came with the Triwizard cup naming him champion. Snape of course was livid and as quick to accuse him as ever, but Harry knew this was merely the beginning of a torture session..

Soon Harry found himself the butt of the Slytherin jokes with the badges to boot.

After fake-Moody had turned Malfoy into a ferret he seemed to become even more obnoxious than usual.

"Want one, Granger?" said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."

"Shut your filthy mouth, Malfoy!", Harry yelled at him, his anger welling up. "What kind of a pathetic freak of nature are you? You don't deserve to breathe the same air as she.", he went on while reaching for his wand.

Once again Harry had shot a hex at Malfoy just as he'd uttered his own and once again both curses ricocheted to hit Goyle and Hermione instead.

"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice.

Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."

"Potter attacked me, sir -"

Harry narrowed his eyes at him but said nothing as Snape assessed and sent Goyle to the hospital wing. Then when prompted, he looked once over at Hermione and pronounced coldly "I see no difference."

Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran, ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.

Harry grabbed Ron as he was about to start shouting at Snape and took over hissing lowly instead, "You see no difference? But of course. Why would you ever so much as look at a Mudblood know-it-all to be able to tell a difference if there is one?"

Snape looked outraged.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention for you – Potter. Now get inside!" his voice low and venomous.

Harry took a deep breath passing the potions master and realizing exactly what he'd said in his anger.

That must have hurt. It hurt him at least, enough that he stared at Snape instead of the wall for a change. He couldn't discern anything from the man ahead however, but that didn't stop him looking.

Once in class he didn't relish being called out by Colin Creevy for the Triwizard tournament photos, especially not given the further darkening of the professor's already foul mood.

"Fame-stricken, Poter?", Snape intoned just when his potion hissed dangerously ignored by Harry. "Imagine yourself the winner of the Triwizard cup already? Oh, the swooning faces." He deadpanned.

Harry stirred his potion trying and failing to concentrate.

"For the moment I'm more concerned with staying alive, professor." He muttered not looking up.

"Famous Harry Potter is scared?" he sneered.

"I'm concerned. Aren't you? Or do you think it's a normal thing to be happening?"

"Nothing is normal where you are concerned." Snape said icily and Harry huffed out a laugh.

"Of course." He said and when he tried to stir once again he found his potion cold.

"Gather your things, Potter. I don't tolerate looming explosions this late in the day."

It was a week before the first task that Harry decided he's had enough of children. As he was twenty two now, he couldn't begin to explain to the people around him how childishly they were acting and how much that pissed him off. He was having enough problems as it was without adding a headache into the bargain. That sort of reaction created a new habit of wandering around the dungeons as much as he could. Though he had asked himself on a few occasions in what exactly was he turning, he had to admit that darkness and silence were preferable to Gryffindor common room any time. Plus, he got to check on Snape several times a day walking briefly past him. The professor seemed above mentioning the strange change in Potter's pattern as he now passed by him so frequently. It must have bothered him, Harry thought but at least he wasn't attempting engaging the man in conversation of any sort. No, Potter was simply there to relax and in the meantime watch for any indication that the mark indeed bothered Snape. He witnessed no such occasions of course and frankly wasn't surprised. The Potions Master had been a good spy the first time. Thinking in that line made Harry realize exactly how concerned he was about Snape and the looming end of the year. He knew that if he unwittingly revealed something, the professor would be in even more danger and he would therefore lose any chance of preventing his death.

With the first task over, Harry was supposed to be friends with Ron again. Not that he'd really stopped but still it seemed important to fate that they now spent time together especially at the Yule ball. This was one thing he didn't appreciate as he could be doing much more relevant things instead. Like check on Snape – and learn nothing of value as usual. What was with him these days anyway? The more nasty the potions master turned to him in class, the more Harry seemed to seek his presence. It was only natural he'd want seek a chance to better his opinion of him but entirely not okay to continue this futile staring from a distance. It was good he wouldn't have the chance to do that tonight, he chastised himself.

At one point Ron dragged him out of the hall and into the garden. Then as he heard the two men, Harry remembered what was supposed to happen.

"…don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" Karkaroff's voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it _"

"Then flee," said Snape's voice curtly. "Flee - I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

Harry closed his eyes at those words not sure what to think or if thinking about it was the best course of action at all. Of course, Snape wouldn't flee. He'd never been a coward.

They proceeded to watch as the two men walked closer, Snape dispersing the 'love in the air' in the form of young student love.

So it had happened already? Good. This would give him something to latch on.

"Enter.", the cold voice said and so he did, hurrying to close the door behind him, lest Snape changed his mind and threw something at him. "Potter,", he sounded resigned.

Harry crossed the room to his desk.

"He's coming back, isn't he?", he asked softly. "Soon."

Snape took a long time to respond while his eyes traveled through Harry's face.

"I have no idea what you mean."

Harry took a deep breath. Denial was not a hex – yet.

"The Dark Lord." He clarified calmly.

The potions master narrowed his eyes.

"You're deluded, Potter."

No 'get out'? Harry's eyebrows lifted.

"I'm not deluded. He's coming back and you know it."

"And just how am I supposed to know this?", Snape sneered condescending.

"Your arm's been bothering you lately, has it not?"

The Potions Master rose at once, his expression suddenly angry.

"Just what are you accusing –", he stopped mid-sentence as Potter slumped in the chair across his desk.

"I'm not accusing. I'm concerned."

Snape winced with displeasure before retorting.

"I suggest you go be concerned somewhere else."

Ah how creative.

"And if I didn't have anywhere else to go?"

"Whoever gave you the idea this was an option?"

Harry warred with himself, the rational part of his brain telling him that this was enough and he had to leave now. However he felt pathetic enough as it was without the need for the Potions Master to be this snide with him.

"You think you're really special, don't you? Oh you're fine by yourself, you trust no one but yourself. Everybody else is below you, are they not? With your intelligence and magic power you think you can step on anyone. But you know what I can't figure out? If you really hate people like my father why are you insisting on being just like them?", he hissed in one breath and panted, standing up.

"Fifty –"

"You can take all the points and it won't change anything, sir.", Harry pushed, his hands landing with a thud on Snape's desk. The older man looked one step from taking out his wand. "You are every bit as arrogant as you accuse my father of being. As you accuse me of being."

"SHUT UP!", the potions master yelled.

"NO!", Harry's voice leveled his, mocking. "Voldemort is coming back and you don't think I of all people deserve to know." Snape sat back in his chair, deciding, it seemed, to ignore his presence since he couldn't explain hexing a student very well. That didn't stop Harry though. "Oh, you don't want to go through the trouble of talking to Potter – the nuisance! It's not like he's after him. No, his being a Triwizard champion is not at all strange or suspicious. He can go to hell and go there not knowing of the danger ahead and why should he? He's only a stupid boy. Let the grown-ups deal with the facts and let a fuckin' fourteen year old be the bait. I come here with a simple question and you again deny me of, oh, your precious time!"

Snape finally looked up, his eyes-slits now.

"Let me ask you a question – Potter,", he snarled. "Why are you coming here of all places when you could have just as easily gone to the headmaster? And not just now. Why have you been pestering me for a good half year before that? What do you want from me, Potter? Desperate because there is someone who doesn't melt at the mere mentioning of the boy who lived?"

"You know me so well.", Harry sneered and turned to leave.

"Not so brave anymore are you?", Snape jeered behind him.

Harry turned to stare coldly at him, "You're the brave one, professor. I'm just a child."

In the next few days Harry still couldn't decide which he regretted more – that he said what he had said to Snape or that he didn't say the rest he was thinking. He was on the verge of giving up. Snape didn't want to have anything to do with him after all his effort of the previous years. So why couldn't he do as he wished? Abandon him to his own devices? Why couldn't he hate him like he used to? Like it was only natural to, given the loathing of the Potions Master towards him. After all, he should have felt some portion of anger every time he passed the hour glass as his little endeavor had cost his house a hundred points. But he didn't feel angry. He felt stupid and utterly alone with no idea what to do with himself. The only person he could've had a real conversation with was Snape. With every other human being he was bound to only repeat that which had been said long time ago already. As much as he was determined not to break his promise to leave Snape alone, he already regretted making it.

Harry endured fake-Moody's nocturnal interaction with Snape less than admirably – trying to change pivotal conversations it turned, even where Snape was concerned, proved impossible to the extent of propelling him forward literally into next morning.

In next Potions class, the professor turned his attention to a magazine brandishing the ill-timed picture of him and Hermione and Rita Skeeter's fanciful writing.

Snapes black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter's article. "Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings…"

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins' laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape's thinmouth.But of course, Severus, please go on. Read the fucking article aloud for everybody's enjoyment. Harry closed his eyes after one glance at Snape. He wasn't allowed to want to hurt him, was he? Even a tiny bit?

"How very touching," Snape sneered after reading a paragraph to the enjoyment of the Slytherins in the room.

After amusing himself properly, he ordered the three of them to their new seats, Harry again at the front so he could come for more bouts of vindictive pleasure when the first round didn't serve to satisfy him anymore.

"All this press attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head Potter," said Snapequietly. "You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you, but I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him."

To this Harry smiled and looked away his vision getting a bit too blurry to his taste. A nasty little boy indeed.

"So I give you fair warning, Potter," Snape continued in a sorter and more dangerous voice, "pint-sized celebrity or not - if I catch you breaking into my office one more time -"

"I keep my promises, sir.", he interrupted equally as quietly. "But you wouldn't remember any word I've uttered, would you? Do I have to spell it? I didn't break into your office.", he murmured back equally as quiet.

"Don't lie to me," Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Harry's. "Boomslang skin.Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them."

Harry huffed out a laugh.

"Supposedly I did. I can see what I'd use the Gillyweed for. Boomslang skin, however? Are you suggesting that the 'pint-sized celebrity' wants to shun the spotlight? Pick one, sir, and try sticking to it."

As Snape didn't say anything, Harry turned to his ginger roots, picked up his knife, and started slicing them.

When Karkafoff insinuated himself in the class hovering behind Snape's desk, Harry feigned ignorance even when Snape's eyes found him more often than usual to check his reaction. The man was deficient, blatant and too obvious, Harry couldn't imagine him being much more than a blunt weapon in the hands of Voldemort before his fall.

After class, not at all inclined to leave, Harry deliberately knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile, and bent under pretending to clear it up.

"What's so urgent?" he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff.

"This," said Karkaroff, and Harry, standing up and crossing his arms, saw Karkaroff pull up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and show Snape something on his inner forearm.

"Well?" said Karkaroff, still making every effort not to move his lips. "Do you see? It's never been this clear, never since -"

"Put it away!" snarled Snape, his black eyes sweeping the classroom.

"But you must have noticed -" Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.

"We can talk later, Karkaroff!" spat Snape. "Potter! What are you doing?"

"Something suspicious, surely, professor.", he smirked unashamedly.

Karkaroff turned on his heel and strode out of the dungeon. He looked both worried and angry. Not wanting to remain alone with an exceptionally angry Snape, Harry threw his books and ingredients back into his bag.

"Not so fast, Potter."

Harry lifted an eyebrow turning around, taking a measuring glance of Snape and smiled sweetly.

"He's a dead man.", he chose to comment. At the look the potions master gave him, he decided to clarify. "Karkaroff. And he knows it."

"I see you're not concerned anymore."

"It's counterproductive.", his voice full of ice, he stared right into Snape's eyes. "Besides there's no one I care for so what use of being concerned?"

"Why did you break into my office?"

"What do you want to hear?", Harry glared. Why did he bother to ask questions if he disregarded all answers?

"Don't give me such disrespectful tone, Potter, I'm not one of your – "

"I'm not being disrespectful, sir. I'm being bitter. You of all people should be able to distinguish between the two."

"You don't have a reason to be bitter, Potter.", Snape drawled, obviously against his better judgment as he frowned immediately after it.

"You mean I don't have the right to feel that way. That I should just take whatever card's dealt to me and learn to live with it.", Snape stared transfixed. "I'll see what I can do about that. Good day to you, sir."

'And here I thought things couldn't get any worse', the little voice kept telling him a week later after a disastrous potions class after Snape had assigned him a new partner. Neville Longbottom was a good kid really, but not your dream brewer buddy, certainly. The accident had been prone to happen so Harry didn't actually see what he was so surprised about but for Snape to sink so low as to let Neville's toad die right there was a bit overboard even for him. To top it all, they both had been assigned detentions for the following Friday.

Harry had been helping a first year brew a simple enough potion in his detention so far, so when the minute student was gone, he glanced around wondering what his detention really would entail.

"Potter, come here.", he obliged without hurry. "Sit."

"What is it, sir?"

"I am incapable of understanding how you could possibly allow Mr. Longbottom enough freedom to reign in his miserable –"

"You realize with such long sentences one cannot cope remembering both the beginning and the end, sir."

"Don't interrupt me."

"You murdered Trevor."

"Who?", asked Snape incredulously and then it clicked. "The toad you mean? Really, Potter is that what's got you concerned? The toad? You realize, don't you, it could have been Mr. Longbottom or even yourself at its place."

"I realize, sir, and I fear to think what you'd have done in such a case. Kicked us to see if we still moved?"

"Hold your tongue! I will not accept such manner of talking in my classroom of all places. You've gone far beyond acceptable, Potter. But I'll indulge you by pointing out how severely your knowledge is depraved. – "

"It's not depraved. You killed it."

"Suppose you're right,", Snape sneered. "I killed it. And what are you imagining would have happened had I not? The toad would simply hop out of a cauldron full of poison and go catch a fly?", Harry narrowed his eyes. "I spared the stupid toad vast amounts of pain while its infinitesimal brain processed the information it was slowly decaying."

"There's an antidote!", he protested.

"Very clever, Potter. Antidote for a toad, ingenuous!", Harry had the impression Snape would at any moment guess he was making him talk of a ridiculous subject. Tick! "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?", the potions master hissed.

"I was merely alluding.", Harry confessed.

"Alluding to what exactly, Potter?"

"Your hand was steady, the movement was careless. It was hard to watch. But not for you."

Snape's eyes widened in realization of Harry's actual question.

"Yes.", he ground out somewhat resigned.

"I gathered as much.", he sighed standing up. "Listen, professor, I'm sorry for what happened and I'll try my best to bear in mind not to turn my back on Neville around a cauldron in future. But you must have realized I couldn't have known for the life of it that he'd decide to deposit a cauldron full of poison on the floor the second I wasn't watching."

"What else were you expecting from Longbottom?"

"I don't know. To deposit himself inside, to chop off the head of Trevor which by the way was a close call even when I was paying attention to his actions, or to otherwise incapacitate himself without endangering everyone else.", Harry noticed the corners of Snape's mouth had lifted an inch as if he was trying hard not to smile at the image. "But what is most important is that I still fail to understand what you were expecting of me assigning him as my partner."

"I expected better.", Snape conceded.

"Ah,", Harry smiled. "I live to disappoint.", and bowed comically. "Good night, sir."

Their last conversation kept Harry busy for a long time so, even as it was progressively turning to be the last real one for the year, he didn't try changing the fact as he wasn't certain he knew the right things to say anymore. While he was glad that the professor still harbored some expectations for him, he felt even further away from his goal than he had been in the beginning of the year.

Have you killed before, he had asked him and Snape had confirmed what Harry had only suspected so far. He had guessed, even as he heard his painless shit of excuse but was it important? Harry had never killed, so he wouldn't know what that entailed. Sure, there were times when he was close but he knew that to be different from Snape's variation. The man had been a Death Eater, had been obsessed with the Dark Arts his whole life. Was he tainted by them and if yes, just how much? The question wasn't so much as to was he worthy of saving or did he hate him knowing this. He was sure his father too had killed at least once, fighting Voldemort one-on-one two times and surviving, he had to have had some sort of experience in combat, surely. No, the question was, were there anything Harry could offer him by saving his life. What would be left of him if he survived? It wasn't a pleasant thought but he had put it off long enough already. Snape must survive, he still felt it only right for this man who had helped him despite everything, including his own life. But allowing him to survive really wasn't worthy enough goal. No, Snape had to be glad to be living, otherwise it would mean nothing. How he was going to accomplish that though, he couldn't imagine.

During the third task and the rebirth of Voldemort ,Harry felt sure he'd die, if not killed by the Dark Lord then certainly of a heart attack with the amount of guilt and self-loathing he felt when he saw Cedric drop dead once again. This time he really killed him and nothing anyone said could assuage him to change his mind.

From then on everything happened so fast it was a blur. And suddenly with startling clarity there was Snape. Snape, who witnessed the transformation of Barty Crouch Jr. and provided Veritaserum. Snape, who in an hour time would be at Voldemort's side, trying to assure the snake of his unyielding loyalty. It made Harry sick that all he could do was stare. As he was pushed to the hospital wing, he knew what was happening at the other side of the castle. Knew Crouch would receive the kiss any moment now. And sure, there came the three of them, the cowardly excuse of a minister and at his heels, McGonagall and Snape. And then Harry was listing Death Eaters and knew Snape to be on the verge of confirming that these were indeed supporters of the Dark Lord, itching to ask Harry for details and Harry's heart felt as if it was breaking for a second time this evening. He wanted to reach out, to speak to him, to tell him he knew what he had to do, to tell him he'd do anything for him to be useless, not to have to risk his life again, not to humiliate himself at Voldemort's feet. But he couldn't. Even if it wasn't for the other occupants of the room, he knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to speak those useless words. Snape had to go, because he was needed, valuable, indispensible part of the Order. And what a way to treat a weapon like him. It was evident how much Snape feared the Ministry. A whole year with a fake Moody and a fearful Snape, and even now while entering, his voice had lost all of his malice, afraid that perhaps he'd be the one sent to Azkaban this evening. And still mere minutes after his entrance Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.

"There," said Snape harshly. "There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."

Harry couldn't and didn't wish to vanquish the painful lump in his throat. Severus Snape might have been many unpleasant things, including a Death Eater, but he was no coward. Harry had spent many useless hours trying to do the impossible and change their relationship, when the bottom-line was just this – this man did not deserve to die. Pleasant conversations or snide contemptuous remarks, this person deserved his time. If he would only be so lucky to succeed in this task, Harry would have no regrets, even if Snape continued to hate him, he was sure.

And next, when Harry had a chance to breathe freely and not in the center of attention, he heard what he had anticipated and dreaded.

"Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…"

"I am," said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

"Then good luck," said Dumbledore, and Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

All Harry could do was watch.