A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews, they made me so happy! I hope you keep it up for this chapter too, so don't make me beg again :-P

Fifiotoole: Thank you, I'm glad you like it!

Guest: Here it is :)

Guest: It's all right..I hope you're better now! Glad you're still enjoying the story, and thank you for the suggestion regarding the summary.

Perhaps only after learning about Lily's death had Snape been as close to losing his mind as in the weeks that followed Dumbledore's murder. He had hoped that bringing himself to do it had been the worst of it, he had sincerely believed he would feel better once the deed was done. How stupid he had been, how naïve. He should have known it would not be so easy, should have predicted what he had discovered on the very first night of his exile from Hogwarts, which he had left, together with Draco, before anybody could think of stopping them: that with Dumbledore's death his nightmare had only just begun.

Tossing and turning in the unfamiliar bed in the guest bedroom of Malfoy Manor, where he was to lie low until the Dark Lord took over the Ministry and it was safe for him to return to the school, he found himself unable to fall asleep, no matter how hard he tried. His mind felt strangely numb, as if refusing to register the day's events, and there was a dull ache in his chest that was threatening to spread if he did not keep it in check. It was an odd sense of loss, undeniably connected with Dumbledore, but he could not, would not, explore it further. In fact, if he did not count giving a report to the Dark Lord about what had happened on top of the Astronomy Tower, in a cold and detached manner as if the matter did not concern him, ever since his flight from Hogwarts he had taken the utmost care not let his thoughts stray anywhere near Dumbledore. One slip, one unguarded thought, and a whole avalanche of unwanted memories and emotions would follow, burying him alive. No one would be there to save him now, no Room of Requirement, no Miss Lovegood. The Dark Lord, who had turned Malfoy Manor into his headquarters and would therefore never be far off, would reveal him to be a traitor, which would inevitably equal being marked for death. Then all the hell he had been through would have been for nought, his entire life would have been a waste. He could not have that. And so, to keep his mind away from dangerous waters, he did his best to recall those moments of his life when he had actually been happy. He thought of Lily, of the good times they had had when they were still children, fooling around their hometown, their friendship unscarred. He thought of Miss Lovegood, and of all the exciting things they had managed to do together during their one year in the Room of Requirement. He truly hoped the girl had followed his instructions and stayed safely in his office. Fate had always been cruel to him, yes, but to lose the last two people who had been dear to him in one day-

Feeling the pain in his chest intensify, he quickly left this train of thought and went back to reliving his memories from the Room of Requirement. Thus it happened that in the early hours of morning sleep finally claimed him, with his adventures in the room smoothly transferring to his dreams.

At first the dreams were harmless. It was just he and Miss Lovegood, visiting the Sistine Chapel, a theatre performance, the Stone Henge. Then, however, the scene shifted and they were transported to a medieval castle, a castle with a tower. There was an endless spiral staircase leading to the top, and so he found himself climbing it, up and up, higher and higher, until, at last, he was standing on the battlements. He had an odd feeling he had been there before, and that was when he realised where he was. The Astronomy Tower.

Dreading what he would see, he slowly looked around, and sure enough, there was Dumbledore, gazing at him pleadingly, begging him to spare his life, but Miss Lovegood, who was standing right by his side, ordered him to kill the old man, and so he raised his wand-

He woke with a start. Sweaty and trembling all over, he turned his head this way and that, disoriented, not knowing where he was at first, until, finally, he recognised his surroundings and breathed a sigh of relief. It was only small solace, however, for the memory of the dream still lingered; it was as if he had killed Dumbledore all over again. It seemed that, in the end, there was no escaping it: what he had been trying so hard to repress during the day had come back even stronger in the night, using the one thing he had no control over – his dreams.

Feeling like he would vomit any moment, he had to take a few calming breaths to keep the contents of his stomach down. Slowly, the nausea receded, but what remained in its wake was utter desperation. How was he to keep himself together when his dreams were forcing him to face something he was not ready to? He would, of course, though it would cost him enormous effort, push the memory of the dream deep down into his subconscious, where he would not accidentally stumble across it during the day, but what if the nightmare came back to torment him the next night? And the next? Naturally, he could, and probably would, ask Lucius for a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but he was well aware that it was not advisable to take it more than once a week, as more frequent usage could lead to addiction. On the remaining days he would have to cope on his own.

True to his resolution, the next night he did indeed enjoy nightmare-free slumber with the help of the potion Lucius had provided him. As he had feared, however, Dumbledore's lifeless eyes were there to haunt him, without exception, on every other of the six nights before his next dose, causing him to get very little sleep and thus making it even harder for him to maintain control throughout the day. It was therefore no wonder that on the third week of his confinement at Malfoy Manor he was slowly starting to lose that control, being unable to make his sleep-deprived brain obey his wishes. Images of Dumbledore now flooded his mind whenever he did not have the strength to banish them, regardless of whether it was day or night. He was barely managing to hold up when in the presence of the Dark Lord, but he did not know for how much longer.

If only Dumbledore had never come up with his cursed plan! Not having killed anyone before, or at least not directly, he had naturally not expected to get rid of the memory with a mere swish of the wand, but he was completely unprepared for the hell that his mind had unleashed on him. In most of his nightmares, Dumbledore was gazing at him with accusation in his eyes, silently reproaching him for taking his life. It was utterly unreasonable, no one had to tell him that, but the dreams made it out to be so real that he was almost tempted to believe it. He was starting to crack up and he knew it, and it was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord noticed, probed his mind, and-

Fortunately, though, for once luck was on his side, as before it could come to the ominous 'and', the Dark Lord had gained control of the Ministry and Snape was finally allowed to leave the claustrophobic walls of Malfoy Manor and return to Hogwarts as its Headmaster, appointed by the new Minister of Magic – the Dark Lord's puppet – himself.

He did not quite know how to feel as he entered the Headmaster's office, which he had, as far as he could remember, always associated with Dumbledore. It was unusually empty without the man rising to greet him with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, offering him sweets which he knew he would refuse, and he sensed a myriad of emotions welling up inside him that he had no power to hold back. Then again, why should he? He was, at last, alone, with the Dark Lord far away, so there was nobody he needed to put up an act for anymore. With a wry smile, he remembered Miss Lovegood's advice about the therapeutic effects of crying, and so when the first tears appeared, just as he sat down in what used to be Dumbledore's chair, he did not resist and simply let them fall. Once he had started there was no stopping, and so soon he was sobbing uncontrollably as he slumped down on the desk and hid his face in the sleeves of his robes. All the emotions he had been consistently trying to bury during his time at Malfoy Manor now came back with full force, and it seemed the tears would have no end. He wept for Dumbledore, who could have stayed around much longer if only he had not played with that blasted ring. He wept for Lily, whose bright green eyes and dazzling smile he would never see again. He wept for Miss Lovegood, whose valuable friendship he was sure he had lost, and whose comfort he would now greatly appreciate. But most of all he wept for himself, for his miserable life, which he had, due to his choices, made so unbearably difficult to live. How many things he would have done differently, knowing to what they would lead! First and foremost, if he had had any way of predicting how much it would damage his psyche, he would never have agreed to being the one to kill Dumbledore. The old man would have had to find a different scapegoat, and hope that he, Snape, would have been made Headmaster nonetheless, being the obvious first choice. His second regret, of course, was that he had run straight to the Dark Lord with the news of Sybill Trelawney's prophecy, without knowing whom it concerned. If only he had guessed it referred to the Potter family, he would have never... he would not have...

Overwhelmed by fresh tears, he almost failed to hear the soft voice calling his name. At first he thought he had only imagined it. But when it spoke his name a second time, there was no doubt about it, and so he lifted his tear-stained face from his arms and glanced around to see where it was coming from. He saw it almost immediately: on the wall to his left, a new addition to the portraits of former Hogwarts Headmasters – a painting of Dumbledore, who had obviously been trying to attract his attention, for he now gave him a wave and a smile.

"Cheer up, Severus," he told him. "We have achieved what we have set out to do. You have been named Headmaster; our plan can go ahead. We have reason to rejoice, not cry."

Snape stared at him, paralysed; it was as if his nightmare had come alive. He had, of course, known that Dumbledore would come back as a portrait, it was a part of their agreement that he would continue giving him instructions even after his death, but he had not expected Minerva to put it up so soon, not to mention that, due to his mental state, he had momentarily forgotten all about it upon his arrival at Hogwarts. Eventually, however, he recovered from the initial shock, and his earlier dejection quickly gave way to anger, aimed at the man responsible for all the suffering he had had to endure while confined at Malfoy Manor.

"Does respecting one's privacy mean nothing to you, Dumbledore?" he snapped. "Are your plans all you ever care about? I see death has not changed you one bit."

"You are right, it was untactful of me to disturb you at such a moment," said Dumbledore appeasingly. "As a matter of fact, I do understand your suffering. I saw the pain in your eyes as you looked at me atop the Tower. However, you know as well as I do that it had to be done. There is no point dwelling on-"

But Snape cut him off. "Have you ever killed anyone, Dumbledore?" he asked viciously.

A cloud passed over the older man's face. "Perhaps. But not intentionally."

"Then do not pretend to understand how I feel. You would have never asked me to kill you if you did. You cannot even begin to imagine what committing such an act does to one's mind. Had it never occurred to you that the strain might cause me to break? That I would not have enough strength to carry the matter through?"

"You are the strongest and bravest man I know, Severus," said Dumbledore gravely. "I had complete faith in you."

"Well, you were wrong! The nightmares ... you have no idea ... I thought I was going insane! If I had not been sent back here, the Dark Lord would have made short work of me, I am certain of it."

"I know all about the nightmares, believe me. They had haunted me my entire life. But in your case they might be easier to overcome. After all, I am still here, in a way."

Reluctantly, Snape had to agree. He would not have expected it, but talking to Dumbledore, albeit in portrait form, had indeed made him feel slightly better. It was as if by venting his frustration on him he had, at the same time, transferred to him a part of his burden. He was quite sure the portrait Dumbledore would not mind.