Harry Potter
and the Death Eater Menace

Harry Potter and all associate characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 25: Dreamscapes, Memories, and Nightmares (pt 1)

Many years ago …

Cautiously, Severus Snape made his way down the dark passageway, his Lumos spell the only dim source of light. A part of him still thought this was a bad idea, that Black had only given him the secret to bypassing the Whomping Willow so that he and his fellow miscreants could trap him with a sneak attack and do …. Well, he wasn't entirely sure what they could do that was worse than stripping him in the Courtyard in front of dozens of classmates. Then again, the Head Boy had intervened before he could be completely denuded. Perhaps their plan now was to complete the job – capture him (four-on-one like the cowards they were) and send him running back to the Slytherin dorms like a Muggle streaker.

Still, this was his best chance to catch the accursed Marauders in something so blatantly illegal that Dumbledore would have no choice but to expel or at least suspend them. Perhaps with them out of the way, Lily might ….

"No," he thought grimly. "She will never forgive me."

Still, if he could ruin Potter somehow, at least he could be spared the final indignity of watching Lily Evans date the wretched swine. He had no idea how Potter could have finally worn Lily down into going out with him – he suspected potions – but if the rumors were true, the two would be going to Hogsmeade together in a week's time. Admittedly, it was quite petty for Snape to go to such lengths to keep Lily and Potter apart. But despite Lily's rejection of him, Snape simply could not bear the thought of her throwing her future away for a reprobate who would most likely steal her virginity in a squalid broom cupboard … along with her underwear (which according to some rumors, he collected from all his conquests).

Finally, in the dim light of his Lumos, Snape could see a doorway twenty feet up ahead. He moved towards it carefully until, to his surprise, he heard a voice calling out to him from behind. A hated voice he recognized at once.

"SNAPE!" yelled James Potter in an urgent and possibly terrified voice. "COME BACK! YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!"

The Slytherin sneered. If Potter was here and insistent that he not proceed, then obviously, this wasn't a Marauder trap after all. He quickly darted ahead to the door, heedless of the panicked voice of James Potter who was sprinting up the passageway behind him.

"SNAPE! FOR MERLIN'S SAKE, STOP!"

The Marauder was close behind, but not close enough. Snape grasped the handle of the door and pushed with all his might. The door flew open, and inside ….

GREY FUR
SHARP TEETH
YELLOW EYES
HUGE CLAWS
HUNGRY, SO HUNGRY
AND SO FULL OF RAGE
MAD HOWLING
CHARGING TOWARDS ME
PLEASE, I DON'T WANT TO DIE!

Now ...

With a loud gasp, Snape shot up in bed. He sat there for several minutes as his heart rate and breathing slowed to normal. Then, he wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled himself out of bed, muttering curses as he did. It had been years since he'd had the nightmares. Indeed, he thought he'd finally gotten past them. But it seemed that merely hearing the details of a werewolf attack on nearby Hogsmeade had been enough to trigger them once more. A Muggle doctor would have described his condition as PTSD, but among wizarding healers, this specific night terror was known as wolf-fear. It was a well-documented aftereffect of surviving a werewolf attack without infection, as the supernatural fear induced by the beast lingered for years or decades. Only Animagi and fourth-tier Occlumens were immune. Had his own Occlumency been stronger back then, he might have resisted and been able to defend himself instead of curling up into a ball and relying on Potter – fucking Potter! – to save him. Instead, the wolf-fear dug its claws in deep within Snape's psyche, and it seemed no amount of psychic mastery could dislodge them for good.

That night wasn't the beginning or end of Snape's ruination, but it was certainly a factor. Not only had Dumbledore refused to punish his precious Marauders beyond giving Sirius Black a month of detention, he also forced Snape into an Unbreakable Vow never to reveal the secret of Remus Lupin's lycanthropy! After all these years, Snape still wasn't sure how that had happened, though he assumed the Headmaster had somehow taken advantage of him while he was still delirious from wolf-fear and trauma. If such oaths did not require completely willing participation, Snape might well have thought Dumbledore had Confunded him or worse.

But whatever oaths he'd been made to swear, he could still hold resentments. And he had. He almost didn't even apply for the Hogwarts Potions Master position after Slughorn's retirement announcement because it meant working under Dumbledore. And when he heard those fateful words from Trelawney, he fled straight to the Dark Lord in part because he feared what Dumbledore might do to keep the Prophecy a secret even before he learned that it applied to the Potters.

But that was in the past now. His relationship with Dumbledore was, if not warm then at least professional, forged as it had been through the fires of the last war. Right now, he needed to stay in the present, no matter how much Regulus Black's little conspiracy threatened to tear open old wounds. Thankfully, the conspirators had wisely concealed Snape's involvement from Sirius Black, but when that inevitably changed, Snape had made it clear that he would defend himself if attacked by his would-be murderer.

Slowly and stiffly, Snape made his way over to a nearby cabinet where he stored his usual remedies for the occasional wolf-fear nightmare. He eyed the two bottles cautiously. One was a vial of Dreamless Sleep. The other was a bottle of Firewhiskey. He considered them carefully, for later that day he would be entering the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange, and he would need all his mental strength. With a resigned sigh, Severus Snape reached for the Firewhiskey.

18 December 1993
Hogsmeade
10:00 a.m.

While known for his austerity in most personal affairs, Rufus Scrimgeour had one well-known weakness of character: an affinity for fine chocolates. Today, that predilection led him to the famous Honeydukes candy shop in Hogsmeade. Officially, he and a half-dozen faculty members, were here to provide additional security for today's Hogsmeade weekend, even though only a fraction of the normal swarm of students were in town. Sadly, despite the best efforts of Scrimgeour and young Marcus Flint, only a handful of students could cast a Patronus strong enough to win permission to attend this Hogsmeade weekend.

Scrimgeour had just placed an order for a dozen chocolate-raspberry truffles when he paused and quickly looked around the room. A door leading downstairs to the storeroom was open now when it had not been before, yet there was no one nearby who had just passed through. With a glance, he counted the people in the store and then closed his eyes to listen. After a moment, he heard the sound of the bell that rang when the shop door opened, and he looked that way, noting with quiet satisfaction that the door seemed to stick for a moment before finally closing. The former Auror smiled rather smugly as he paid for his chocolates.

Ten minutes later, the door to one of the private rooms in the Three Broomsticks opened on its own. The person who wasn't there paused for a few seconds before cautiously and quietly entering the room. Suddenly, an arm appeared from nowhere with a wand in its hand.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" exclaimed Harry Potter. The flash of his spell sped across the room only to be parried by Moody who suddenly appeared out of nowhere as his Disillusionment spell ended.

"ACCIO INVISIBILITY CLOAK!" Moody cast in response, but the cloak that Harry wore didn't respond to the Summoning Charm. Moody cursed under his breath and then jumped to one side to evade Harry's second disarming hex before taking him down with an overpowered Stunner. When Harry was revived a few minutes later, Moody had already removed the cloak from his body and was examining it.

"Impressive. The cloak that is, not you. You're still telegraphing your dodge direction even though I've told you about that repeatedly. So you somehow conned Wonder Boy into letting you borrow James's cloak?"

Harry sighed as he pulled himself up off the Floor. "No con jobs this time. He just let me borrow it. We are brothers, you know."

Moody snorted. "Yeah, and I also know how much affection there was between you two this time last year. How did you see through my Disillusionment?"

"I didn't," Harry answered. "I just aimed at the most boring surface in the room. I know it's hard to maintain Disillusionment while casting a spell. And even harder when you're trying to blend in with a complex background."

"Heh. Not bad. Seven out of ten."

"Thanks. So why are you so interested in the family cloak?"

"Well one, I was just surprised you had it. And two, I was even more surprised that the rumors were true and it couldn't be summoned. You blew an opening there, by the way. When I was wasting time trying to summon it off you, I was completely open to a Stunner or whatever else you wanted to try."

"Unfortunately," said Harry somewhat wistfully, "I didn't know it was immune to summoning either. One of many conversations my father and I never had."

"Don't get maudlin, Potter. The poor deprived delinquent act will never get you anywhere with me."

Harry chuckled. "Noted. And since I can't guarantee when I'll get the Potter Cloak again, when can I learn the Disillusionment Charm?"

Moody looked up at the ceiling as he considered the question. "Around Easter, I think. There are some preliminary stealth charms I want you to learn first that will make full-scale Disillusionment easier." He tossed the cloak onto the bed before focusing his attention on the boy.

"Well, you're here now. You still sure you want to do this? We could always spend the day working on other more practical things."

"No. I understand that you think I'm too young ... but I need to see it. I need to see ... him."

Moody nodded. "So did you bring it?"

Harry reached into his pocket to produce his shrunken Pensieve. Moody took it, expanded it, and set it on a nearby table. Then, he gestured with his wand and conjured a large bucket off to one side.

"What's that for?" Harry asked in confusion.

"Vomit, Potter," Moody said flatly. "You're about to watch a lot of people die horribly. If you don't get sick at least once, I will really start to wonder about your character and upbringing."

Harry swallowed and walked up to the Pensieve as Moody poured the first vial of memories inside. Then, he paused and looked up at the grizzled veteran.

"By the way, can you see through the Potter cloak with that eye of yours?"

Moody snorted.

"Pfft. Like I would actually tell you if I could."

12 Grimmauld Place
1:00 p.m.

"I still can't see why you don't want me to come along," Sirius said petulantly. "I am a part of your little Horcrux-hunting conspiracy, aren't I?"

Regulus frowned while pulling on his coat. "Yes, a sickly, near-invalid part. Also an annoying one. Anyway, all we're doing today is standing guard while the Legilimens we hired tries to read the mind of dear cousin Bellatrix. There's no need for you to be there for that. Besides, the Legilimens is very particular about his identity and doesn't want anyone else to learn it. And if you did come along, you'd probably make a bunch of bad jokes and get on everyone's nerves."

"Hey!" the older brother exclaimed. "I can be serious when I need to be." Then, he smirked. "Hell, I've been doing it my whole life!"

"Exactly. Honestly, I can't imagine why so many people find your refined sense of humor to be puerile and childish. And anyway, Harry will be by for a visit tomorrow. Don't you want to be well-rested for him?"

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "Now you're just trying to divert me for some reason."

"Stop being so paranoid, Sirius. It's unbecoming." With that, Regulus threw a pinch of powder into the newly reactivated Floo. "Longbottom Manor!" he said after stepping into the green flames. Behind him, Sirius glared at the Floo with a disgruntled expression.

Seconds later, Regulus stepped out of the fireplace in the Longbottom parlor. Augusta and Lucius were waiting for him while Snape sat in a chair on the far side of the room, apparently in meditation.

Regulus nodded at his co-conspirators. "So, are we ready to do this?"

"No," said Snape from across the room. "But I doubt I shall be better prepared anytime soon, so we'd best be about it."

With that, the Potions Master rose and made his way out of the parlor towards the secret dungeon where their prisoners were housed, the other three following behind. A few rooms away, Lady Augusta carefully adjusted a particular wall sconce causing a seamless segment of the nearby wall to move aside, revealing a hidden door that led to the dungeon below. Moments later, the four had passed by three cells each containing an unconscious man under the effects of Draught of Living Death. From the last cell, "Tip Toe Through the Tulips" could be faintly heard. The fourth cell contained a female: Bellatrix Lestrange, the Dark Lord's most trusted assassin. Silently, Lucius and Regulus pulled the unconscious woman into a sitting position before conjuring a straitjacket around her. Then, Lucius produced a vial of the Living Death antidote and poured it down her throat. Seconds later, her eyes fluttered open, and the first face she saw was that of Severus Snape who had conjured a chair and sat down across from her.

"Snape!" she hissed angrily. But before she could say anything else, Regulus hit her with a Petrification Curse and she was frozen into place, her eyes wide. Regulus and Lucius both stepped out of the room as Snape leaned forward, his eyes locked onto those of the prisoner.

"LEGILIMENS," he said softly, and the interrogation began.

The Fifth Memory

Harry licked his lips nervously. He had not gotten sick yet, but he suspected that was just because Moody had started with the memories of the four people who'd fought Voldemort long enough to escape. Even then, the violence had been quite upsetting. All four had featured Aurors and Hit Wizards who Voldemort had targeted personally because they had arrested or killed prominent Death Eaters. And while they all escaped their duels with Voldemort, none of them did so without taking significant (and in a few cases, permanent) damage. Apparently, the Dark Lord's goal was to demoralize the enemy by making them pay a high price for their opposition. But now, the two were about to start on the fifth memory – the last stand of Auror Herbert Burke Jr. during the Battle of Diagon Alley in April of 1976 – a conflict which Harry already knew would end with Burke's courageous self-sacrifice that bought time for his fellow Aurors and many civilians to escape with their lives. Suddenly, Harry frowned and turned to Moody, who had accompanied him into the memories.

"Bones, Fawley, Shacklebolt, Abbot, and now Burke," Harry said referring to the family names of the men and women featured in the first five memories. "They're all Pureblood families, aren't they? Four of them are in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, I think, and the fifth one probably should have been."

"Correct," Moody said. "Do you draw any conclusions from that?"

Harry considered. "One possibility, I guess, is that he took a special interest in killing people he considered blood traitors," he said slowly.

Moody nodded. "Any other possibilities spring to mind?"

Harry looked up at the ex-Auror thoughtfully. "That despite his apparent Pureblood sympathies, Voldemort actually was happy to take out Purebloods on both sides of the war?"

Moody returned Harry's gaze. "An interesting theory, Potter."

Harry coughed delicately. "I, uh, had a conversation last year with Rufus Scrimgeour. He mentioned you'd advanced some conspiracy theories along those lines."

"Did he indeed? Well, it's true. By the end of the war, I was convinced that Death Eater murder victims fell into two categories. The ones where he just let his more psychotic followers go wild in order to terrify the populace. And the ones that were performed with exacting precision. The latter group always targeted Purebloods and usually targeted members of Wizengamot families, including some families that were considered Grey, and a few that quietly supported blood purism but weren't openly supportive enough to satisfy Voldie."

Harry absorbed that before turning his attention back to the frozen memory before him. It was in April of 1976 just a few hours after sunset, and the full moon hung low over Diagon Alley. Herbert Burke, Jr. – the white sheep of the Burke family – had been on patrol with five other Aurors when a pack of already-transformed werewolves led by Fenrir Greyback were Portkeyed into the Alley near its southern entryway. There were only about eight werewolves, but it would be enough to terrorize the Wizarding government into believing that the Dark Lord had some sort of control over the creatures, thus leading to several major amendments to the Werewolf Registration Act a year later. Greyback's pack killed twenty-seven people and infected a dozen survivors in just the first three minutes of the attack before Aurors showed up. Thankfully, Moody had started the memory with Burke's arrival on the scene, so Harry had been spared the sight of those savage killings.

Immediately, Burke took advantage of the fact that the transformed werewolves were nearly mindless. He had most of his Aurors cast protective shields down the sides of the street while he and a few others transfigured barrels into what appeared to be small children. Funneled by the shields straight down the street, the werewolves soon set upon the "children" and began tearing them to bits, a sight which triggered a queasy rumbling in Harry's stomach even though he knew they were fake. The true nature of Burke's trap was revealed when the Aurors ended the transfiguration, and the werewolves suddenly found themselves ripping apart wooden barrels.

Specifically, barrels full of pine resin, pitch, creosote, and other sticky and highly flammable liquids that had been commandeered from a nearby potions supply shop.

A few quick Incendios later, the entire pack was howling in agony as the viscous materials now stuck in their fur were set ablaze. That might well have been the end of Fenrir Greyback had the entire pack not suddenly disappeared with a loud pop. Surprised, Burke and his fellow Aurors looked around the now empty street for other hostiles.

They found only one.

He'd made no sound as he Apparated in, a feat that Harry simply added to the mystery that was Voldemort. The Dark Lord stood in the middle of Diagon Alley, about fifty feet from the Aurors. He wore night black robes that extended all the way to the ground, with a large hood that concealed his face and long heavy sleeves for the arms that were crossed in front of him almost as if he were in prayer. And despite the distance, there was no problem in understanding his voice as he calmly spoke to Burke.

"Your strategy was inspired, Auror Burke. You are as cunning as any Slytherin. Are you sure you will not rethink your rejection of my offer to..."

"BOMBARDA MAXIMA!" Burke cried out before Voldemort could even finish his invitation to change sides. A massive explosion at least twenty feet across lit up the Alley where the Dark Lord had been standing. But seconds later, the smoke and fire cleared to reveal Voldemort standing unharmed, his wand out casually to the side, and his hood thrown back to reveal the inhuman serpentine face that would haunt Harry's nightmares.

"A wordless Protego strong enough to block a Bombarda Maxima!" Harry realized with shock. And then he noticed something even more disturbing, for the Dark Lord was actually smiling as if pleased with Burke's resistance.

"As you wish, Auror Burke. AVADA KEDAVRA!" And again, Harry marveled. He'd seen Voldemort's Killing Curse in the previous memories, but never as fast as here. From his lessons with Moody, he'd learned many details about the Unforgiveable. Though deceptively simple in both incantation and wand movement, it was actually very precise in how the two needed to fit together. The curse also required considerable personal power compared to most spells (to say nothing of its esoteric requirement of hating someone enough to trigger homicidal rage in the first place). It was an experienced user who could cast the Killing Curse in less than two seconds, and an exceptionally powerful user who could cast it again in less than a minute without growing weak from the strain. Voldemort could do it in less than one second and then recast it easily after only a few seconds of recovery time.

Despite the Dark Lord's speed, Burke was able to narrowly evade the initial attack by feinting right and then flinging himself to the left. Immediately, the other five Aurors opened up on the Dark Lord with their deadliest legal curses, and Harry recalled that this battle took place before the Auror Corps was permitted to use Unforgiveables. Indeed, this battle was in large part why the Auror Corps would be permitted to use Unforgiveables. For while all of the Aurors' spells struck home, none of them could penetrate Voldemort's shield. Finally, as if bored by the proceedings, Voldemort pointed his wand straight up and hissed. Harry paled and struggled to keep emotion from his face, for he had no desire to let his teacher know he was a Parselmouth and thus knew exactly what spell Voldemort was using: Serpensortia Horribilis augmented by the power of Parselmagic.

There was a brief sickly green light that flashed across the night sky, illuminating the darkened alley in its emerald glow. And then, it rained cobras. Dozens, even scores of the deadly venomous serpents fell down onto the street and instantly went on the offensive at their master's hissed commands. Horrified, Auror Burke cried out instructions to his fellow Aurors who were desperately trying to defend themselves against the serpentine horde.

"EVACUATE THE CIVILIANS! I'LL HOLD HIM OFF!"

And as he cried out those orders, the Auror ran towards the patch of still-flaming liquids in the center of the street ... and then jumped into it. Stabbing his wand into the very heart of the flames even as his own robes began to catch fire, Burke gave a mighty roar before raising his wand up and thrusting it towards Voldemort. In response, all the flaming liquid on the street rose up and blasted towards the enemy even as Burke cried out an incantation. "ENGORGIO MAXIMUM!" Instantly, the liquid, which by this point was essentially wizarding napalm, doubled and then quadrupled in volume.

Voldemort didn't even flinch. He simply stood his ground until the fire was almost upon him before thrusting his wand into the vanguard of the flames at the last possible second. And instantly, the entire mass of napalm, consisting of thousands of gallons of burning liquid, simply turned to water ... and then to ice, leaving a gargantuan frozen crystalline structure suspended in mid-air above Diagon Alley as much in defiance of gravity as of all the established laws of Transfiguration.

"… impossible," the now-exhausted Burke said weakly, oblivious to the popping sounds of his fellow Aurors fleeing, carrying with them every civilian incapable of Apparition. Those would be his last coherent words, as at that moment a cobra bit into his calf. He fell to the ground screaming in agony, and at Voldemort's hissed commands, a quartet of cobras each grabbed one of his limbs to hold him immobile.

"Does it hurt much, Auror Burke? The bite of a cobra?" Voldemort said as he casually moved towards the fallen man. "Permit me to give you some perspective on the matter. CRUCIO!"

At that, Harry had to look away from the sight of the doomed man as he screamed and writhed on the ground. Sickeningly, he realized that the hissing sounds made by the four cobras binding him were, to his ears, the sounds of laughter not unlike that of Nidhogg when he was particularly amused by another's cruelty.

"Your heroism does you credit, Auror Burke. Were you a Gryffindor? A Hufflepuff? No matter. Sadly, such heroism is only a path to martyrdom, a path only fools take. But at least your suffering will be brief."

Voldemort knelt at the side of poor Burke who was still moaning incoherently, and he placed his wand just a few inches above the man's head. Then, as if to show his contempt by drawing out the proceedings, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse once more, only this time with a deliberate and exaggerated slowness. There was a flash of light, and Herbert Burke Jr. went still and silent. Then, Voldemort rose and regarded the scene. That whole area was a veritable sea of deadly snakes, but there were six people still alive, though the cobra bites they'd already suffered meant they wouldn't last for much longer. Still, it was apparently too long for Voldemort's taste. Five blindingly fast Killing Curse's later, there was only one left, a female Auror who'd only taken a few snake bites before casting a shield over herself but who was too weak to apparate away. Voldemort glided towards her, dismissing the army of snakes with one swipe of his wand and shattering her shield with a second. Weakly, she raised her wand in Voldemort's direction, but a third wordless gesture sent it flying.

He pointed his wand at the woman's center-mass and she closed her eyes while waiting to die. But to Harry's surprise, Voldemort instead cast a healing charm designed to neutralize snake venom. Her pain diminishing, the Auror opened her eyes in surprise and looked up at the Dark Lord, confused by his apparent mercy.

"You will live, woman, at least for now. There should be a witness to testify as to Herbert Burke's heroism ... and to how futile and pointless it was against my power. I have selected you to be that witness." He tilted his head slightly, and the corners of his lips rose sardonically. "Sadly, having witnessed firsthand the power of Lord Voldemort, I fear any future sights would only pale in comparison. And so, I shall free you from the burden of such disappointment."

Then, Voldemort hissed out a word that Harry didn't recognize, and the woman screamed in agony as her eyes swelled in their sockets before exploding out of them. And with that, Harry had finally reached his limit. He staggered back and put his hand over his mouth. Swiftly, Moody grabbed his other arm and guided him out of the memory with the high-pitched laughter of the Dark Lord echoing behind them. The boy barely made it to the bucket in time.

After a few minutes of vomiting (and a few tears to his embarrassment), Harry got hold of himself. Moody handed him a wet towel and a glass of water and then directed him to a chair.

"Do you need a Calming Draught?" he asked softly.

"No ... maybe. Just give me a second." Harry rubbed the wet towel over his face, as much to wipe away the tears as to clean off the sick. Intellectually, he knew that it was important to allow himself to feel emotions even at times like this, but that did not make the desire to block them out recede.

"The woman, the auror he allowed to live..."

"Nancy Kent. Half-blood. Gryffindor Class of '74. Just a year out of the Academy when this happened. The Healers concluded that the bastard hit her with the Conjunctivitis Curse augmented by Parseltongue." Moody paused diplomatically. "You begin to understand, I hope, why so much of Wizarding Britain has an almost hysterical fear of Parseltongue now?"

Harry nodded without looking up.

"Anyway, the inclusion of Parseltongue made the curse impossible to reverse with any magic the healers knew. Kent was rendered completely and permanently blind. She was able to give a Pensieve memory of the attack – as Voldie intended – but she never recovered from the trauma. She took her own life in November of 1981, ironically the day after hearing that Voldemort had been destroyed by your brother."

"So," Moody continued, "what have we learned so far?"

Harry sniffed and shook his head as he tried to absorb everything he'd seen. "That Voldemort is insanely powerful and can't be beat in a duel unless you're Albus Dumbledore?"

Moody practically growled at that. "Have I been wasting my time with you, Potter? I told you before that I wasn't training you to beat Voldie but to survive him. If you haven't been paying attention to those lessons, we might as well have spent the last few hours working on prep for your OWLs. Now again, what have you learned that's relevant to the topic of survival?"

Harry wiped his face again. Then, he closed his eyes and thought – really thought – about the memories he'd been shown. Suddenly, he opened his eyes almost in surprise.

"Feint in one direction and then dodge to the other," he said with authority. "That's what all the people so far who survived Voldemort's first Killing Curse did."

"Close, Potter. Eight out of ten. But I can show you scores of memories in which victims tried that unsuccessfully. You've seen how fast Voldie is. You must realize how hard it is to just dodge him like that. The real secret is to feint in one direction and keep it up until he commits to his spell. And since he's so fast, it's really hard to do that and still reverse direction in time to dodge the curse."

Harry thought about that. "I also noticed that four of the five we've seen so far moved right and then dodged left. Is that significant?"

Moody actually gave what for him was a smile. "Getting better, Potter. Nine out of ten that time. Voldemort's right-handed. His technique with the Killing Curse is immaculate, and if the target is stationary, he generally hits center-mass perfectly, usually right through the breastbone. But if the target is moving to his right, he will naturally try to lead with his shot. An analysis of victims he killed while they were on the move showed that he struck off-center to the right about 60% of the time, so moving right-then-left should logically allow you to dodge at that rate if you can time it right."

"That's ... not great odds," Harry said dubiously.

Moody shrugged. "We're talking about going up against the deadliest dark wizard in living memory. You take what advantages you can get."

Harry considered that, and suddenly, his face adopted a rueful expression, as if he regretted what he was about to ask.

"Mr. Moody, what do you know about ... Wu Xi Do?"

Moody seemed nonplussed. "... apparently nothing. Tell me more."

Meanwhile, in the mind of a madwoman ...

The few hours of Snape's intrusion were surprisingly straightforward. Naturally, he was unable to penetrate directly into the core of Bellatrix Lestrange's self which was encased in a minefield of psychic traps and shields. But while the number and scope of those traps and shields were excessive, he had thus far not found any which were beyond his experience and knowledge. Snape did not know whether to be relieved, disappointed, or concerned – he had expected something more exotic in one of Augustus Rookwood's personal projects than he'd encountered so far. About twenty minutes later, the Legilimens had finally disarmed the last of the exterior defenses that barred his way before projecting his mind deeper into that of his subject.

The feeling of weightlessness and ethereality that accompanied entry-level Legilimency fell away, and Snape became aware of the sensation of having a body again even though he knew that such sensations were illusory. He closed his (illusory) eyes for a moment and allowed his other (illusory) senses to come to the fore. Satisfied that there were no cognitohazards nearby, Snape opened his eyes, looked around ... and blinked in surprise.

"Well," he thought to himself, "I suppose that counts as ... exotic."

The fact that Snape was nude was not particularly surprising under the circumstances, and with a casual thought, he altered his psychic avatar to include his customary black robes. He stood on a gravel path that cut through a snow-covered field, which was not the starting point that Snape had expected for this journey, but neither was outside the range of his expectations. But what did stand out as highly unusual was where the journey seemed to lead. For up ahead on the path was not some kind of dwelling as he'd expected but rather what appeared to be a truly massive wall of boxwood trees that reached up fifty feet or more into the sky and off in either horizontal direction as far as the eye could see. The trees were interconnected with thick brambles, nettles, thorn bushes, and other hedge plants that made the wall seem impenetrable. The pathway led right up to the edge of the wall before terminating in front of what looked like two identical passageways cut through the hedge.

Rather more troubling, Snape thought, was that the two passageways were guarded by two gigantic trolls each armed with double-bladed axes that were longer than he was tall. The situation did not improve when Snape drew closer and realized that the trolls looked like misshapen imitations of Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. Snape approached cautiously but confidently. A psychic representation of a troll was likely a powerful defense, but in this context, he could use Sectumsempra or even the Killing Curse as a manifestation of his own will, thus evening the odds. But presently, neither troll seemed intent on attacking. Snape drew nearer, and when he was within fifteen feet of the two passageways, a high shrieking voice called out from everywhere and nowhere.

"Ahahahahaha! Itsy-bitsy Sevie-poo thinks he can walk willy-nilly into my mind, does he?" cackled the mad voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, who truly had been driven insane by her Azkaban experiences. "Well, Sevie-poo, let's see if you're as clever as you think you are. My Roddy and Rabby guard the ingress and will kill you if you choose the wrong door. You may ask a question of one of my boys. One will answer true and the other false. Or you could just let them kill you now if your wits aren't up to my little challenge. Ahahahaha!"

Snape's lip curled up in contempt. It was a child's riddle he'd solved at the age of nine. The correct solution was simply to ask either of the guardians which doorway the other would identify as the safe path. The nature of the scenario ensured that the guardian asked would always choose the unsafe path, as either the true guardian would repeat the false guardian's untruth or the false guardian would lie about the true guardian's correct response. The true safe path would then be whichever one wasn't chosen. If Snape had still been a child, he would have been proud of solving the puzzle. But seven years in Slytherin followed by another fifteen as a spy had taught him to look past obvious solutions no matter how clever. In this case, his experience immediately led him to notice the non-obvious question: Why would anyone other than an idiot provide a clue for how to penetrate their own defenses?

With that realization, Snape ignored both the doors and the trolls who guarded them and expanded his legilimency senses. Then, he calmly marched right up to the space on the wall between the two doors and then straight into the wall. As anticipated, the sharp thorns and nettles fell back at his approach, for he had noticed that the plants in that patch of wall were Nervous Nettles, a breed often incorporated into magical hedge mazes specifically to conceal hidden passages because they would only withdraw from someone who intentionally went straight for them. And sure enough, there was indeed a hidden third passageway which he entered without incident.

Snape hoped the rest of the traps and diversions ahead could be so easily circumvented, but somehow, he doubted it. The passageway he'd entered was narrow, and while it cleared a path for him, he had to move slowly and carefully, for he soon realized that after a few feet into the passage, the Nervous Nettles were quickly overgrown by other, more dangerous stinging plants, some of which he did not recognize.

"Assuming they're even real plants incorporated from Bellatrix's memories," he thought ruefully. "And not fantasy plants concocted out of her nightmares."

Sure enough, just as that cheery thought passed through Snape's head, he moved just a bit too fast and caught his hand on a long sharp thorn. He hissed in pain and then froze, as he heard a man's angry yell from somewhere nearby followed by a woman's scream of terror. He wondered if it was one of Bellatrix's memories before his face went pale. It was not Bellatrix's memory that had been summoned but his own. The poison in the thorn was causing him to remember one of his parents' many arguments. Specifically, one from his early childhood that ended with his mother in hospital with a fractured jaw.

He closed his eyes and concentrated both on the pain from his hand and the pain from the memory. Carefully, he examined the psychic connection between the two before gently severing it. The voices faded away, but Snape was unnerved by how easily the psychic poison bypassed his defenses. He would have to be even more cautious now, as sustained injuries might incapacitate him or worse despite his psychic skills.

After about twenty feet, the passageway abruptly forked, and when his legilimency senses provided no guidance, he simply went to the right. When the path forked again, he turned once more only to quickly find a dead end. Snape grimaced in frustration. Apparently, this mental defense manifested as a maze of dangerous psychic plants, a fact brought home when he was caught by another poisonous nettle while trying to backtrack. This time, the induced memory was of when he received his Hogwarts letter at age eleven … and of the beating he took from Tobias Snape afterwards. Even more troubling was the fact that the pain of the memory-beating lingered on Snape's psychic avatar even after he'd neutralized the attack. He wondered if the nature of this defense could cause actual physical harm to his body.

Then, Snape froze in place at a sudden horrible realization before closing his eyes to assess the seriousness of his mistake. For what he had suddenly realized was that in his zeal to defend himself from the psychic hazards in the maze bushes, he had committed an elementary dunderheaded mistake, one he should have been on guard for, and one which might yet prove fatal.

He had treated the maze as if it truly were an actual maze instead of a mental construct, thereby submitting himself to the reality imposed by what was, in truth, nothing but a hostile idea.

Unfortunately, that mistake, once committed, was nearly unalterable. At this point, he was into Lestrange's mindscape too deep to even try imposing his own will upon it. He had only two options now. He could reject this false reality and withdraw completely knowing that the Death Eater's psychic defences would only grow stronger. For it is the nature of such defences to study their intruders as much as the intruders study them. Or he could press on knowing that the ideas he would encounter would be far more real and deadly than anything he'd seen thus far.

Meanwhile in reality …

Lucius pulled out a gold pocket watch to check it. "He's been in there for longer than the first two times."

"Yes," answered Regulus quietly. "He expected as much given the nature of defences he'd anticipating her having."

"Still, are we to wait here all day? Draco will be returning from Durmstrang tomorrow. I still have preparations to make."

Regulus sniffed. "I thought that's what you kept house elves for, even if you sold one of them to Harry Potter. As for Severus, this will take as long as it takes. We have no way to contact him about his progress that would not be a distraction to him, perhaps a fatal one. So, we wait. As for your homecoming fete, Augusta will be back from her errands in a few hours. She can take over your watch if you want."

Lucius considered that. "No, no. Severus and I go back too far for me to leave him to his fate now. I will stay here to make sure he remains undisturbed."

Regulus nodded at that, oblivious to the nature of the disturbance that had just arrived via the parlor Floo. For as the green flames died down, the new arrival brushed the soot from his shoulders and then cautiously looked around, at once both pleased but also somewhat put-out that no one had responded to his presence.

Sirius Black did so love to make an entrance.

Next: Harry sees another side of James Potter and learns why Voldemort feared Albus Dumbledore, while Sirius sticks his nose where it doesn't belong, and Snape travels farther into the heart of Bellatrix's darkness.

AN 1: Update Schedule
11/28 (today) – Ch 108 of POS.
12/5 – Next chapter of Strangers In Boston, available to Patrons through
12/9(ish) – Ch 109 of POS, available to Discord followers through
12/12 – Ch 109 of POS, here and at AO3.

AN 2: Thanks again to my awesome editors at the Discord POS-Editorial chat: Aich, patronus, Imperialanrudh, FeatheryMinx, Black Stag, and the indefatigable Ozzie.

AN 3: And thanks also to my awesome followers, as we have broken the 10k Reviews barrier and are approaching 10k Favorites and 11k Followers!

AN 4: UPDATE REGARDING UPDATES! (12/15/18). Obviously, I've completely blown my update schedule. Sorry. All I can say is that I was unexpectedly given the chance for a 5-day weekend over Christmas but only if I added a few additional days of business-related travel to my already hectic schedule. The next chapter is about half-finished, but unless things at work miraculously slow down this week, don't expected it before Christmas.