See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Chapter 5

Severus stared into the glassy depths of the mirror. His reflection looked back at him, sharply scrutinising his appearance. South Africa had changed him in some ways, he thought; he now more or less looked more like the older time-traveling Severus than the younger one. His skin was no longer the sallow paleness he had acquired from years in the dungeons brewing potions; the fierce African sun, having beat down upon him for a month, had made his skin several shades tanner, tight across his angular cheekbones. He had also cut his hair short, like before; he knew that Albus would be surprised, and his new look would be remarked upon, and his bright blue eyes would twinkle. His shoulders felt curiously bare without his normal shoulder-length straight black hair; it had been trimmed neatly, but Severus also knew, from his years of experience, that his short hair was easier to deal with when fighting, as it was not prone to fall into his eyes. He brushed away a strand of dark hair from his forehead, and turned away from the looking-glass, catching a last glimpse of his sharp dark eyes.

He exited the men's bathroom, leaving the Hogsmeade travel office. The muted afternoon sun cast its kindly rays upon the street, people coming in and out of shops. Severus was tired from travelling.

It's good to have you back, Hogwarts commented, nearly startling him. But he betrayed no sign of his surprise; instead, he clutched at the handle of his trunk more tightly. Quite a lot of events have been happening.

Well, of course they happen, was Severus's sarcastic reply, as he ducked into the Three Broomsticks and made his way up to the counter. Madam Rosmerta came over, smiling generously at him; it was evident that she didn't recognise him, and he felt inexplicably amused at her obliviousness. "Hello, what can I get for you, sir?"

"Chilled butterbeer," Severus said, pulling out a few coins and laying them on the counter. Rosmerta palmed the coins and went off to get his order.

More events than usual, said Hogwarts. Albus left Hogwarts for a while; he went off to retrieve something. I've been watching—he's been waiting for you to return, so he can destroy an object.

Even before Severus asked the question, he already knew the answer. What object?

It's a ring, the castle replied. A small silver ring. He probably would have destroyed it already, but I think that there are many spells upon the ring, so he decided to wait for you so you can help him with the enchantments. It feels dark, very dark.

The Gaunt ring. A faint scowl appeared on Severus's face, and he stared at the counter, only to have his inward annoyance interrupted by the arrival of his butterbeer, which Rosmerta placed cheerfully in front of him. He muttered some perfunctory word of thanks, and turned his thoughts inward, ignoring the quiet murmurs and chatter in the pub. So Albus has found fit to begin retrieving Horcruxes. I wonder why he didn't do so earlier.

Soul magic? That must be why I feel ill, said Hogwarts. I can feel the magic. It's so dark, and so twisted. Then the castle fell silent.

I would expect nothing less from the Dark Lord, replied Severus. But Hogwarts didn't say anything, having retreated back into the great magical stony building that was a magical school.

He heard the door to the Three Broomsticks open and close. He sent out a tendril of his magic, snaking out in the direction of the entrance to see who had entered. But then he didn't need to, because the next few words told him exactly who it was.

"My word! Remus Lupin," Rosmerta exclaimed, hurrying forward as the werewolf sat down at the counter. Severus turned his head ever so slightly as he sat ramrod straight on his stool, still sipping at his drink and discreetly observing. The werewolf looked somewhat healthier than his memories of Lupin, and Severus realised with a faint note of surprise that it was because he was, at least compared to his other memories—those of when Lupin had sat at the table in 12 Grimmauld Place after Black's death and stared into the flames of the flickering fire, the light playing across his greying hair. Times when Lupin had said to Severus some inane sentences, some fragments of conversation, as though to make up for the gaping hole, the absence of his last schoolboy friend from his life. To which he remembered, he had always replied with an insult and a sneer.

And then he had died in the war, of silver poisoning.

Lupin exchanged pleasantries with Rosmerta. Severus suddenly felt the butterbeer in his mouth turn flat and unpalatable. He set the glass down on the counter and stood up, an urge to leave churning in himself. As he passed by Lupin, the werewolf momentarily frowned, as though something had caught his attention (probably my scent), and then Severus was outside and striding down the street toward Hogwarts.

He knew why he felt this way. It was because in Johannesburg, in South Africa, a city in a country far away from England where the Dark Lord had never even so much as touched them in the shadows, he had forgotten, fleetingly, that ominous events were going on in his home country. Even now, Draco Malfoy was thinking with fear about his assigned task; even now, Albus was examining the Gaunt ring; even now, the Dark Lord was laying out his plans, coolly and unemotionally, planning to kill Albus, kill Black, kill Potter and kill the life and spirit and soul of the wizarding world and leave a shell of a thing behind him…

He cut off his train of thought, pushing it neatly into his pools of quicksilver, and instead pulled out a cigarette. He lit it with a small match, the red phosphorus head bursting into a small flame, which flared its way to the tip of his cigarette. He put it to his lips, and tried not to think about his memories, his dead, horrible memories that, if he dwelled on it too much, might drive him mad with anger and grief and shame.

oOo

Minerva sighed and took off her spectacles, rubbing wearily at her eyes. She was supervising the sending of Hogwarts letters to students, and it was no easy task. She murmured a quiet "Halt" to her self-moving quill, which obligingly did so. Perhaps she could do the remainder of the letters tomorrow. Certainly, she felt like she needed some rest, and there was an Order meeting that night at Grimmauld Place. Voldemort was striking more often, and they needed to plan, and Albus was closed off in his office, working on something he refused to talk about.

She rose from her desk, walked around it and opened the door. Stepping out into the corridor, she locked the door with a whispered incantation, and then she walked toward the Great Hall; most of the professors spent their time in the great entrance hall instead of closeted in their offices.

When she came into the Great Hall, her colleagues, almost all of whom were there, raised their heads. Astraea Sinistra smiled broadly at her and gestured to an empty seat. "Minerva! Glad to see you've finally got your head out of the paperwork."

"So am I," said Minerva as she took the proffered seat. All the others were there, except for Albus, Pomona Sprout, Rubeus Hagrid (undoubtedly outside on the grounds), Sibyl Trelawney, Firenze the centaur, Poppy Pomfrey in the infirmary, the ghost of Harold Binns, and Severus, who would be returning from his potions convention soon sometime; she had forgotten the exact date when. "Where's Pomona?"

"In her greenhouse, of course," squeaked Filius Flitwick. "Trying to coax some of her Ocram Pods to grow. Evidently, they've been feeling rather poorly lately."

"Which isn't so pleasant for me," Horace Slughorn continued. "I asked her if she could get some of the Ocram Pods for me—for my classes."

"Which potion?" asked Xiomara Hooch, and a cheerful conversation ensured over the Felix Felicis Potion.

Minerva was still a little unused to having Horace back, after so many years. He had retired a year before Voldemort's defeat, and Severus, in his own insulting, sardonic way, had taken his place. Severus must have been surprised to get the Defence position—good Merlin, Minerva had, at least ("Albus! What about that supposed jinx?").

But she liked Horace. He did tend toward the patronage system and the old political cronyism and the usual noblesse oblige, but that was to be expected. Slytherin produced a lot of politicians and power brokers, after all; their ambition was a driving force. In fact, now that she thought of it, Severus might even be an oddball, of sorts. Certainly, his lone operator style fit more the Gryffindor than the Slytherin. She imagined her saying that to Severus, imagined his no doubt indignant response, and stifled the urge to giggle.

Except he was a spy, and had to operate all alone.

Horace, on the other hand—Minerva stole a glance at her former, now returned, colleague out of the corner of her eye. He had always been a bit of an opportunist, she had to admit: vain, glib, and a flatterer. But he wasn't bigoted about blood purity—Lily Evans had been one of his favourite potions students long ago, and he trusted Albus with his life. She had pieced together his life for the past year from some of Albus's comments, and knew that Horace had, upon hearing of Voldemort's return, promptly left his home (which, she knew, must have been a highly comfortable one) and went into hiding. Which, considering Horace's general attitude toward comfort, must have been a huge sacrifice for him.

And he was a good, pleasant conversationalist, most notably unlike Severus, who was the master of sarcasm and wit, the broadsword and the rapier both.

"I was thinking of starting up my old club again," he was saying rather animatedly to Magna Vector. Minerva broke in. "You mean the Slug Club?"

"Yes, indeed, Minerva. It was such a success during my time, I was rather disappointed when Severus failed to carry it over during his term."

"Though you can't say you were surprised," Minerva pointed out. "Severus is hardly the type of person who throws parties every week or so. Unlike you, Horace."

"True, true. What are the students like right now, Filius? Attitudes change with the times, you know."

All the older teachers who had known Horace before exchanged knowing glances. Filius squeaked, "Well, what with You-Know-Who's return, everything is so tense, of course, but I think they're doing well overall. Would you believe Hermione Granger asked me for more extra credit, again?"

"Granger…" Horace mused, evidently trying to think if the student being mentioned was related to anyone he knew. Minerva said, to dispel his slight confusion, "Oh, Miss Granger's Muggle-born. Not related to the other Grangers."

"I see. You say she's bright?"

"Extraordinarily so. Of course, right now she does still have a bit of a conventional mind, not exactly the most inventive—she reads all the books and thinks she knows everything. But she is smart," said Minerva.

"Smart?" said Horace almost wistfully. "She does sound interesting. But you know, though, Lily Evans was the amazing one, back then. Her and Severus Snape both, absolutely brilliant in Potions and whatever they put their mind to. Could've been the Potions geniuses of the time, but then You-Know-Who killed Lily and Severus came here. I wonder why he hasn't gone to a research institute—it'd certainly be better for him than here. I'm afraid he hasn't got much patience for students. Truth be told, he never had much patience even for me."

The professors all laughed. "That's the understatement of the year," said Magna. "He has absolutely no tolerance for the students' shenanigans. I pity poor Neville Longbottom. I'll wager ten Galleons Longbottom won't be taking Potions this year."

"I'll take that bet," Xiomara said enthusiastically. "You forget, Magna, he also loves Herbology, and he will need some work in NEWT-level potions to become an Herbologist."

"So will Potter," said Minerva, suddenly remembering her promise to the black-haired boy that she would help him become an Auror, no matter what. And Minerva McGonagall always kept her word. "He wants to be an Auror—"

"No surprise there," chuckled Filius.

"—but he's not so good at Potions, and he does need the NEWT-level class…"

"I have no problem with either of them coming into NEWT-level Potions," said Horace cheerfully. "I remember Frank Longbottom, such a kind lad. And Harry Potter should have at least inherited some of Lily Evans's talent. I take those with Exceeds Expectations on the OWLS, you know."

Astraea said rather tiredly, "I only wish Astronomy held the same interest as your regular classes. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown are taking it, but only because they still believe that their destinies can be read in the stars. Maybe centaurs can do it, but not us. Really, Sibyl does tend to fill their heads with that kind of stuff, it's so unbearably annoying."

"You can say that again," Minerva replied. " 'Oh dear, it is the Grim! You will die from paint fumes, you will be crushed by a falling bookcase!'" She mimed Sibyl's usual actions. "More like she'll drink herself to death with sherry."

A great deal of merriment made its way around the table. "I don't even know why Albus hired her," continued Minerva. "I mean, Hermione Granger even stormed out of the class in frustration. That's a scene I would have liked to see, though I really don't blame her for doing so."

"People these days," sighed Magna. "The quality is declining. Look at the Defence position and that jinx, for instance. Jeannette Harlow was all right, but then she went off to be married. And then Slatero Quirrell died at the end of the year, which really isn't encouraging for any applicants."

Minerva tried not to shiver, remembering how Albus, his voice calm and implacable, had told her how Slatero Quirrell's body had simply crumbled into dust beneath Harry Potter's touch. Because of his mother's love, he had said.

That was something Minerva had to confess she didn't quite understand. Lily Evans Potter was only one of many who had pleaded for their children's lives. What had made her different from the others?

Xiomara nodded, added, "You remember, four years ago, when that idiot Lockhart was here? Those valentines!"

"Don't," said Minerva, "even remind me of that fraud. He tried to Obliviate two of my students, and he deserved to have it backfire on himself. Daring to go around and take the credit for things other people did—I'm absolutely ashamed that he was a Gryffindor when he was young. Really, he couldn't even deal with Devil's Snare at school! Why everyone was taken in by him…" she trailed off and sighed.

Paulina Scrivener, the Ancient Runes professor, finally looked up from where she had been engrossed in reading The Lay of Rh'kap-wah. "Gilderoy Lockhart? Oh, him. He claimed he could read any type of rune without any effort at all. A load of rubbish, of course." She snorted, and returned to her reading.

"Well, at least Remus Lupin was all right," said Xiomara. "Good with the children. But then he had to leave."

Horace blinked. "I think I heard about that, some years back. Didn't he turn out to be a werewolf? Very bad business, that is. I do feel sorry for him, he was a very capable student in school. I wonder where he was bitten, probably travelling somewhere in Romania or the like—vampires and werewolves are common out there, you know."

Minerva and Filius exchanged a secretive glance. No-one else, evidently, knew that Remus had been a werewolf even when he had been at school as a student.

"And then Alastor Moody taught for a year," said Magna. "Nice chap, even if he was a tad bit paranoid. I will never, ever forget Draco Malfoy, the unfortunate boy." But even though her words were sympathetic, the look of pure amusement on her face certainly wasn't.

"You mean when Alastor Transfigured him into a white ferret?" asked Minerva. What would you think, Magna, she asked silently, if you knew Alastor Moody wasn't Alastor Moody, and was a Death Eater bent on bringing You-Know-Who back and plunging the wizarding world into war? "I was absolutely shocked at his behaviour. Quite unbecoming of a teacher." And of a retired Auror, but he wasn't an Auror, he was Barty Crouch Junior, and he as good as killed Cedric Diggory. Dear Cedric Diggory.

"Not half so bad as Umbridge," said Filius darkly, small wizened face stormy with the memories of injustices done and authoritarianism gone beyond control over a year, in which the others had fumed and glared and grudgingly could not do anything, and now a rumble of anger rolled around the table as those memories surfaced once again. Horace Slughorn, who had been somewhat out of touch over the past year, said politely and inquiringly, "Umbridge? Dolores Umbridge?" But even he seemed to sense the hostility toward the woman, and the name itself.

"Giving us wizards and witches a bad name. Her and her educational decrees," muttered Astraea. "Merlin, her and Fudge. Those idiots, the lot of them. Her and her stupid braying about half-breeds—ha! I could show her a thing or two about people with half a mind, pull her up to the mirror and shove her ugly toad face in it."

Minerva shook her head. "She was a bigoted woman," she said flatly, "but she wasn't ever an idiot. Fudge was the unlucky one, having an Undersecretary like that spilling poison into his brain. Merlin, what an absolutely rabid extremist she was! I nearly cheered when I heard she got sent off to that sanatorium in Dubrovnik, Dolores Umbridge was."

"More like Umb—"

"Xiomara!" Minerva said.

Xiomara Hooch, who was the second youngest member of the faculty, and unlike Severus had no qualms about cursing, or, for that matter, any reservations about freely speaking at all, said with a toss of her greying head and a flash of her yellow hawklike eyes, "Oh, don't act the prude, Minerva. You'd say the same thing about her if you could."

Minerva ignored Xiomara's comment. Instead, she decided to strike the more optimistic tone. "Well, at least we all know Severus will do his best," she remarked. "Certainly, he'll be better than most of the others we've had."

A low voice, disturbingly soft and yet at the same time edged with steely hardness, said, "Really now, Minerva, I don't think that's a particularly great feat to be better than my predecessors, considering their absolute ineptitude. Do try to have more faith in me than that."

Minerva let out a half-gasp of surprise and whirled around. Severus stood behind her, one hand shoved into the pockets of his robes, the other holding the handle of his trunk. "Severus! When did you get back from Johannesburg!"

"Just now," said Severus, sitting down next to her. Filius said, "Did you have a good time, Severus?"

"Good? I don't know. Interesting, yes. I have a new project to work on. Professor Slughorn," he said rather formally to his former teacher, "I will probably be using some of the Potions labs this year, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, Severus. By all means, do so. It will be my pleasure."

The others were mostly silent, all of them looking at Severus in one way or another. Minerva herself was a little surprised at the way he had appeared, wraithlike and silent, so that none of them had even noticed his arrival. He didn't even look much like his old self—South Africa had tanned his skin, his hair dry and now cut short (still black, of course, but when had he cut his hair before?). But his once surly face had turned calm and smooth, vaguely weary but lacking bitterness. The angry lines etched into his face had faded. And his eyes, black as night—they held a hint of knowledge, of depths beyond and within the mind, guarding his close secrets and the years of life lived to acquire them. It was as though there was no uncertainty; he knew what he wanted to do.

No, realised Minerva suddenly. He was that way even before he left for Johannesburg, it's just that I didn't notice it before. He changed… she involuntarily furrowed her eyebrows, but could not remember when the "change" had occurred. He's changed. But for better or for worse?

And the answer came to her, all at once surprising and yet expected. I don't know. I don't know at all.

oOo

"Ow!" A swirling cloud of dust lifted into the air. "These bloody cabinets, stupid bloody cabinets!"

"Ron," Hermione said in resignation. "Here, let me help you—" She tugged at Ron's right arm and pulled him out from under a pile of trinkets that had fallen on his head. "You're lucky the cabinet didn't actually crush you, you know. Just the stuff on it."

"Wow, that makes me feel so much better, Hermione."

"Oh, shut it, Ron," Ginny Weasley yelled from across the room. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you." She was sprawled in a large comfy armchair, her legs flung over the chair's arms and her left hand trailing the carpeted floor as she flipped a page in her book. The firelight from the great stone fireplace danced in a cheerful golden red aureole around her head.

"Merlin, I'm sorry, a Bat-Bogey Hex?"

Harry grinned at Ron. "Wrong side of the bed this morning, mate?" he asked, and popped another Chocolate Frog into his mouth.

"Only Fred and George sneaking a Slimy Serpent Slinker into my bed," grumbled Ron.

Harry laughed. Ginny had already told him what had happened with that. Ron had woken up and started screaming so loudly that everyone in the Burrow had heard and come running. When they realised what was actually in his bed…

Needless to say, Fred and George had had a wild morning.

12 Grimmauld Place was a much cheerier place than it had been the year before. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione had come over for a visit, and they had spent the entire day exploring the attic. Of course Sirius and Remus Lupin had insisted upon coming with them—"In case there's anything unpleasant my dear ugly mum left behind for us," was Sirius's statement—but they had had an uproarious time once they found some ancient articles of clothing from across the many centuries. Hermione had vehemently rejected the corsets ("They're so tight, I'll suffocate!"), and they now knew that Sirius looked especially ridiculous in a white cravat. Ginny had found a large floppy brimmed hat, with a myriad of elaborate ribbons and beads decorating it, and she had pulled it over Lupin's head in fun. Harry had discovered a glistening silver and diamond tiara, which Ron had in awe informed him was goblin-wrought. "Just like my Great-Aunt Muriel's…" Sirius had given it to Hermione, saying she might as well have it. Hermione said she thought she might give it to her mother.

"I wish they would let us in on the Order meeting," said Ginny suddenly, closing her book with a snap and arranging herself in the armchair so she was facing the rest of them. "We're old enough to know what's going on."

"Well, maybe it's best for us not to know," said Hermione, standing in front of the bookcase and perusing the titles leisurely. "I mean, you know about Legilimency, anyone might be able to glean information."

"What about the other members of the Order?" asked Harry challengingly. "Those that don't know Occlumency."

"Then they're in no position to be exposed to it, like Mr and Mrs Weasley and Sirius. You know, Harry, you'll need to start your Occlumency lessons again soon."

Harry's eyes darkened. "With Snape?"

"Well, maybe you could talk to Dumbledore. Have him teach you instead of Snape. But you need to learn Occlumency, Harry. Don't you remember that Voldemort tried to trick you into going to the Ministry by sending you false visions? You'll have to block them."

"I know," Harry said in a moody tone. "I just don't like facing Snape, that's all." Ron shot him a sympathetic glance.

Then they heard the murmurs, growing louder from the kitchen. Ron got up and went to the door, opening it. "The meeting's over," he said. "Harry, maybe you can talk to Dumbledore while he's still here."

Harry leapt from his chair and looked down the corridor, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny next to him. The Order members were beginning to come out of the kitchen and disperse to their respective abodes. Quickly, Harry and the others walked past the ones already leaving and into the kitchen, hoping to see Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore was indeed still there, and speaking to Mr and Mrs Weasley, while others were chatting and drinking cups of tea. "Perhaps you should ask Bill," he was saying. "He is a Gringotts cursebreaker, maybe he and Remus could help set up some more wards around the Burrow, just in case."

"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore turned to look at him. "Hello, Harry, how are you?" His blue eyes twinkled at him.

"I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment," Harry said. "About—um…"

Dumbledore obviously sensed Harry's slight discomfort, because he said to the Weasleys, "I do hope that you will think about it of course, it's best to be safer than sorry," and then he gestured for Harry to step into one of the corners of the room. "What is it?"

"Um, about the Occlumency lessons, sir," Harry began. "I don't really want to have them with Snape again."

Dumbledore smiled at him. "Harry, I wasn't planning to," he said quietly. "Originally I hoped that the two of you could have worked together, but I see it didn't happen. I'll be teaching you, Harry, over the year. Occlumency, and," he lowered his voice, "also something that may help you against Voldemort." And he smiled over his half moon spectacles.

Harry was suddenly feeling rather warm with happiness. No lessons with Snape… and he would be able to start working against Voldemort in earnest! "Yes, sir," he said, a little rushed in his words. "Thank you, sir."

"No need to thank me, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "I am only telling you what I should have told you years ago." And for a fleeting moment, his voice grew darker, and not as cheerful as it normally was.

oOo

Albus had told him he might be held up by a few other matters at the meeting, and so told Severus he could leave early and wait in his office (after raising an amused eyebrow at Severus's appearance)—there were things he needed to tell him, Albus had said. Severus hadn't contributed anything to the meeting, just stood in the corner and listened and then left early. Severus had a very good idea of what those things to be told were; wondering if he should yell at Albus for going off and retrieving a Horcrux by himself (and then he realised that would be a very hypocritical action, considering his own plans), he instead poured a cup of tea for himself. As he was sipping at the scalding liquid, the fire flared green and Albus stepped out of the flames, his pointed hat slightly askew. "Lo, Severus," he said amiably. "Would you mind pouring a cuppa for me as well?"

Wordlessly, Severus made a gesture with his wand, moving it to the side before abruptly flicking it down. The flowery porcelain teapot, hovering in mid air, tilted and poured tea into another cup. Then the cup floated over to Albus, who took it and settled down in another armchair next to Severus's. Severus did not miss the concerned look Albus gave him. "I hope you're doing well, Severus," said Albus after a momentary silence.

"Hmm," replied Severus. "Don't bother with the pleasantries, Albus, what is it?"

Albus sighed. "All right, then. About a week ago, I went to the Gaunt house to retrieve the Gaunt ring."

"You mean the Gaunt hovel, yes." Although Severus already knew the answer to his next question, he asked it anyway, because Hogwarts had informed him and not Albus, and thus Albus would expect him to ask it: "Have you already destroyed the Horcrux in the ring?"

Albus shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "I was waiting for you to get back. Now we can work on it together."

"Right now?" Severus swiveled his head around to look more closely at Albus, whose bright blue eyes looked back. "Where's the ring?"

Albus got up from his chair and walked over to a chest. With a murmured incantation, the lock clicked; the lid raised itself up. Albus reached in and brought out a small box. Severus nearly hissed at the twisted magic (No, it doesn't deserve that name, merlin it's filthy and horrible); although he could now control his excess magical energy, it did not prevent him from having an acute sensitivity to magic around him. Albus turned to look at Severus when he heard the intake of breath. "Something wrong, Severus?"

Severus closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at Albus and see the soft concern in his eyes. Instead, he said, his voice slightly strangled, "How do you want to destroy it, Albus?"

Albus was silent for a moment. When Severus opened his eyes again, Albus was sitting in his chair again, the box open, the Gaunt ring flashing in the light. Even the glint seemed dark and malicious, if it were possible for an inanimate object to do so. But this is no ordinary object.

I want it gone, said Hogwarts sulkily. I want it gone. Get rid of it, and get it away from my children. I want it out of here.

Albus said quietly, "I've been picking at the wards on the ring. When the last one is gone, all the defensive safeguards Tom put on there will spring into action. Try and lash back at us. If you can help with a shield while I destroy the Horcrux—"

"I can do that," Severus said automatically. It had been much the same, the other time. Only Albus had tried by himself, and had lost the use of one of his hands as a result; Severus's potions had barely saved it. "I can do it."

Albus nodded. He stood up, motioning for Severus to do the same. "Where will we do it?" Severus asked.

The safe room, said Hogwarts.

"The safe room," Albus replied.

Oh. I should have known. The safe room, as they simply called it, was a bare room with nothing in it except a cold fireplace full of ashes and a square table tucked into the corner with two chairs. Severus was aware that Albus had done some experiments with alchemy in the past, Nicolas Flamel's aid helping as well. He hadn't used it in a while, though.

Albus walked up to one of the office's walls, and pressed his hand against it. "Open Sesame," he said, and the wall shimmered and revealed a sturdy door. Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Albus's password. He followed Albus through the door and closed it tightly behind him, sealing it to be sure. "What type of protections did the Dark Lord put on the Horcrux?" he asked Albus. Then he flicked his wand at the fireplace and a fire sprang to life, casting its warming heat upon them.

"A lot of runes and quite a few nasty spells," said Albus. "But considering him, that is to be expected."

Severus snorted. Albus walked to the center of the room and turned the box over. The Gaunt ring clattered out of the box onto the floor, making a clink clink clink as it clattered, silver and shadows combined together. They both stared at the ring for a moment, frozen as they stared at a fragment of a soul, a torn, destroyed soul; and then they both blinked, and once again came to life. Albus moved forward and knelt down, murmuring, "Revealo," and glowing wards around the ring appeared, blazing defiantly at them, challenging and taunting them (how dare you try and bring me down!). Severus stepped back, bringing up his magic, ready to step in when needed.

Albus moved his wand negligently, and the glow faded slightly, leaving only runes written around the ring in a ball of smouldering light. The aged wizard squinted at the runes through his glasses, and Severus strained to read them. "Not bothering to conceal his purpose, was he?" Severus murmured. "Those runes are Aramaic, aren't they?"

"A bit of that, yes. Also I believe I recognise some Old and Middle English." Albus muttered something under his breath, and another layer of runes appeared underneath the ones they had seen. "And some more, evidently. I wonder how many more…"

Five minutes later, they were giving each other exasperated looks as Albus reached the seventh layer. "Sanskrit," Albus said, standing up. He repeated the charm again, and nothing more appeared.

"Don't you notice something about the number?" asked Severus. "Seven layers, seven pieces of his soul. The Dark Lord seems to like everything to be neat and tidy. Well, except for the killing and torture part."

"Yes, well," Albus looked almost annoyed, a rare expression on the headmaster's face. "He could've been kind and spared us the trouble of this all in the first place."

"When is he ever kind, Albus?"

"An unfortunate point to you, Severus. Let's start with the first layer, shall we?"

Severus stared at the Aramaic runes. "All right, the first one's 'invincible.' Be careful, Albus."

"I shall be as careful as I can be," said Albus. He reached out with his right hand and touched the glowing rune with his forefinger. Then he slowly passed it over the others, murmuring the translations to himself. He finally stopped over a rune, elaborately made. "I think the keystone is this one," he said.

"What is it?"

" 'Life.'"

Severus made a sound of disgust. "What a life he has. Are all the others tied into this 'life' rune?"

"I think so—check for me, Severus."

Severus moved forward, and Albus moved back. Severus knelt down on the ground and stared fixedly at the runes. But he didn't try to touch it. Instead, slowly, carefully, painstakingly, he let his magic spread toward the runes, making sure Albus wouldn't feel it, inspecting the runes and letting the carvings lie smoothly on his streams of controlled magic. If he wasn't careful, his magic would become tangible, something to be seen, and then what could he say to Albus but tell him the truth? But he wasn't going to tell Albus; he would not let Albus know that he had killed him, once upon a time that was no more.

His magic curiously licked at the runes. The one labeled "life" felt larger than the rest, a myriad of magical strands spreading from it. He warily followed each strand to each rune, feeling and matching them up, checking and rechecking them. To Albus Dumbledore, it looked nothing more than his long time friend and confidant squinting at the runes, but for Severus, his magic flowed around the runes, and shuddered at the darkness.

He stood up. "Yes, I think it's that one too," he said, and tried not to instinctively move away. "If we start with that—"

"Yes, that'll work," Albus said softly. "Here—" And a tendril of white light spiraled out of the tip of his raised wand, gently snaking toward the life rune. It ever so slightly pried under the rune, and with more prodding, the rune broke free. It seemed to float away from the ring and into the air, bringing the others along with it. Severus hastily cast a Containment charm, catching the line of runes in a box of magic, enclosing them and squeezing them together. For a moment, the runes seemed to let out a last gasp—they gleamed more brightly than ever—and suddenly the glow vanished, and they dissipated into the air.

The process was repeated several more times. When they got to the last layer of Sanskrit runes, Albus paused and looked at Severus. "Ready?" he asked. "Tom's precautions and curses should begin to manifest right after we destroy the last set of runes."

"Quite ready," said Severus, and brought up his magic, still shielded from Albus. It hovered, ready, a blaze of gloriously burning black fire. And Albus pulled at the last set of runes, and they flew from the ring, and the world—

The world is dark.

A wave of mindless, irrational anger and fear and rage sweeps over them. He runs over next to his friend, but the darkness screams defiance at them, eager to devour them first before they destroy it. Albus reaches toward the ring, but Severus grabs his hand and holds it back, because he remembers what happened once to the hand. No, he says. Don't.

Then the black abyss comes, and Severus—

He stands, alone. It is the Great Hall, and, except for him, the place is empty of life. But it is full of death. The smell reaches his nose, he shudders, opens his eyes. Sees the others, frozen in a rictus of mocking cheerfulness. They stand in a row against the wall, all the people who made a niche in his soul—there are very few.

Albus, whose blue eyes are dead without life, dead without recognition and that oh so familiar twinkle. The silly half moon spectacles are perched precariously on his crooked nose, but it doesn't matter, because he's dead and YOU KILLED HIM COWARD what Potter said how dare he—

Severus savagely cuts the thought away from his mind and throws it into the dark, into the overfilling pool of quicksilver that rests in the back of his mind.

There are only two others. Brilliant Lily Evans, whom he never loved romantically—never that way—but respected as a intelligent witch, inventive and who grew to respect him as well, as intellectual equals—Potions genius of her time, and even the Dark Lord knew that, offered her her life if she would work for him (even if he chose to go about it the wrong way; she never hated death the way the Dark Lord did, chose death so her boy would have life—)

And—

The last witch is not particularly pretty in any way. She is of average height, with dark hair and tired dark eyes. But Severus loved her first, of all of them. He stops in front of her. "Mother," he says.

But she doesn't reply. She hasn't replied in twenty-eighty years, because a nine-year-old Severus came home and found her dead, dead on the floor, dead like any other person, except that she was already one of the Dark Lord's victims, and Severus didn't know that. He only knew after four years at Hogwarts, when the spectre of the Death Eaters was drawing ever closer, and his housemates spoke with expectation of how they would rid the world of Mudbloods and blood traitors. And indiscreet, grandiose Bellatrix Black laughed loudly and said, Yes, they'll all die. The Prince traitor already did, the Death Eaters made sure of that, and my repulsive sister will as well. Those Death Eaters will purge the unworthy.

And after that, he sought revenge. There is the burning sensation again in his heart, his soul, and he wants to follow it, to surrender to the pure rage, but want is not his master.

No, he says, and plunges away, turns and walks away from them. That's the past. I work to stop the future. He sees their eyes in front of him again. Two of you have died, he says, so let me do the best I can and save the last!

The words ring out in the cold, lifeless hall, and the eyes fade from view.

He passes through the doors, and enters the Great Hall again. Except this time, there are many more there, and Albus kneels on the ground before him. No, he says, I don't want it to happen, let me go! Severus shakes his shoulder, and Albus sees him.

Severus looks up, sees all the people Albus has ever met in his life strewn around. Come on, he says to Albus, don't say, do.

The Horcrux, says Albus. Don't you see it?

Severus sees. The darkness encroaches upon them, grinning sadistically and cruelly. Expecto Patronum, says Albus. Clever Tom, he tries to feed on us.

They grip each other tightly. A voice says, what about me what about me let me go!

They let go, lower their shields. The magic swirls around them. Albus blinding silver, Severus darkly black. But the darkness sweeps forward, you think that can stop me—

Severus steps in front of Albus. Yes it can. And his black magic surrounds the darkness, dark to dark, a blazing black phoenix that rises (rises from the ashes of the future), tears and savages the dark. Fight fire with fire, dark with dark. The phoenix tears the darkness to shreds, and he thinks for one last moment that he hears a faint wail, as the last bit of self-consciousness flees towards the walls, before a white phoenix (Albus's fire) engulfs it and it screams as it is crushed out of existence.

It's gone, says Albus.

Severus shakes his head, and says, Yes, it's gone, but there's more to come.

And then the veil draws over their eyes, and they pull their magic back into themselves, and they sink into dreamless sleep.

oOo

Ocram Pods and Slimy Serpent Slinkers are my invention. As for Minerva McGonagall's statement in PoA that she never speaks ill of her colleagues—really now, she was talking to her students then. And practically everyone else on the faculty probably agrees with her.

Ancient Runes Professor Scrivener and The Lay of Rh'kap-wah come from Pavonis's fic Furious Wielder of Storms.

Horace Slughorn: "I wonder where he was bitten, probably travelling somewhere in Romania or the like—vampires and werewolves are common out there, you know." It is a slight reference to the WolfieTwins's Call of the Wild.

My concepts of SS's history and background have been greatly influenced by RedHen's series of essays on Snape and Nomad1's Conspiracy of Silence series (which I urge everyone to read; see my favourite authors listing). From the Pensieve scene in OotP, I believe that Tobias Snape probably left Eileen and Severus when they were young, and, after reading RedHen's essays, I agree with her excellent reasoning that the Death Eaters, beginning to become active, saw Eileen Prince as a blood traitor and killed her when Severus was young, thus making him live with his Prince grandparents, who most certainly weren't the most friendly of relatives to him (after all, he is half-blood). Of course, he wouldn't have known that. Upon going to Hogwarts, he was taken up by the other purebloods, who saw him as a useful source for hexes and jinxes—then dropped by them, to his dismay, but still the target of certain Gryffindors.

Undoubtedly, he would have resented it, and as the Death Eaters grew more prominent in the wizarding world, he would have realised that they had killed his mother (victims of a Killing Curse can't be that difficult to identify, after all, and what with the Death Eaters' loud rhetoric…), and turned to Dumbledore. When Sirius says in PoA that Snape was poking his nose in other people's business, i.e. inquiring about where the Marauders went, I felt that it was too blatant for Snape. Pointedly asking others about them? Sounds rather Gryffindor to me, no offense. I am more of the opinion that Snape, being a literal half-blood, needed a good reason to show Voldemort that he supported him, and Dumbledore agreed. What Dumbledore probably didn't intend to happen was for Snape to use Remus Lupin and a supposed murder attempt as the reason—he would have thought of something more… nice. And not as life-threatening.

But Snape, not being so bound by Dumbledore's line of thought, probably picked Sirius to irritate for a specific reason: not Remus, of course, nor James, who would have at least the presence of mind to not say anything, nor Peter, who might very well blurt out the entire thing and ruin his objective of having them lure him to the Whomping Willow without telling him a werewolf was there, thus allowing him to claim they had been trying to kill him. Sirius—having already seen his temper in the books—seemed to be the best to irritate, and aggravate, until the fuse was finally lit and the angry, annoyed bomb exploded. (Though SS certainly didn't want a life-debt to James Potter; that was something he probably hadn't counted on.) And so it goes from there.

As for him overhearing the prophecy and turning to Dumbledore at that point out of guilt about the Potters—rubbish. If he had indeed only heard the first half, by the time he was "discovered" and thrown out of the pub, there would have been enough commotion that Dumbledore, listening to Trelawney, would have been disturbed and his attention wavering. Which, according to his memory in OotP, it wasn't. I am more of the opinion that Snape wasn't even there, and, between the two of them, they agreed to release the first half, which simply stated someone would be able to vanquish LV. Frankly, LV had the upper hand in the war by then, and they may have hoped that the prophecy would distract him—they wouldn't have known then to whom the prophecy applied.

Apologies for the extremely long author's note. But it was information that I thought I should give, to clear up any confusion about Snape's role. If anyone need it to be explained more, please say so in your review.

And now that you have finished this chapter… I see a very interesting button down there… that says "Review"…

Talriga