Chapter 8

Out of control:

Harry didn't pay any attention to where he was heading. Originally, he had wanted to go to the dormitories, or outside to the lake. He wanted to go somewhere where he would be alone and if possible, smash some things to pieces to give vent to his burning anger. He was angrier than he had ever thought possible. Not even when his relatives in Privet Drive continually treated him like shit did he feel such helpless rage; even Pettigrew who had betrayed his parents he didn't hate to the point that he now hated Snape. This time he had been present to witness the senseless and cruel murder of his godfather.

It was kind of strange. Only one hour ago, he had broken down in tears, but now he felt hollow inside, as if a part of him had died along with Sirius. His heart felt as if it had become a heavy rock, pressing painfully against his lungs and ribcage.

Only fury was the thing that still burned hotly within him, fury for Snape who had killed Sirius, but also fury at himself for being in the same room, watching, yet not doing anything to stop it happening. There was also fury at Dumbledore, for not seeing the signs sooner, realizing the danger and getting rid of Snape.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew that neither him nor Dumbledore were to blame, but he didn't want to think about that for now. He simply needed to put the blame somewhere, to find a way in which it could all have been avoided. Every possibility he found hurt, and every new pain stirred his hatred, which was suffocating the immeasurable pain. At this moment, Harry welcomed the hatred. Rather hate than suffer. It was so much easier, so much more satisfying.

"Mr. Potter? What are you doing down here?"

With a jolt, Harry came to a stop and looked immediately into the suspicious narrowed eyes of Mr. Filch, the caretaker.

Harry took a look around. He was in the dungeons, right in front of Snape's quarters. He had no clue how he'd gotten down here. Hadn't he planned to go outside? He glanced over to the wooden door, on the centre of which a winding snake was engraved. Yet again the hatred closed upon him like a warming cloak.

"I want to see Snape," he said menacingly.

Mr. Filch shook his head vehemently. "The headmaster has locked the room and I was ordered to guard it and not let anyone in or out of this chamber."

"And how do you plan on stopping him, if he wants to get out!" Harry exclaimed incredulous. "Out of all people, why did the headmaster choose you to guard Snape? You don't even know how to use magic. But I shouldn't be surprised. After all, it's so clear that this snake is getting away unpunished."

The eyes of the older man narrowed dangerously, and as he spoke his words came out a dangerous hiss. "Mr. Potter, I'll make sure that you'll be punished for your impertinence. I won't tolerate any student talking to me that way. Professor Snape has no wand and Professor Dumbledore put powerful wards on this door, so that no one who enters this room can get out without the headmaster's consent. Snape isn't getting past this door."

Harry didn't care about this. He wanted to be in this room with Snape. The Potions Master had killed Sirius, and Harry had made a silent oath not to stand by and watch as the murder went unpunished. Dumbledore was too soft concerning the potions master. No, if Harry wanted justice to be served he had to take the affair into his own hands. Without thinking about possible personal consequences he drew his wand, pointing it at a surprised Filch.

"Pertrificus totalus."

The caretaker's arms constricted to his sides and his legs snapped together, before he fell slowly, stiff like a piece of wood, backwards and stayed laying on the ground, unable to move be it just one muscle.

"I don't need to get out of the room again, Filch. I only want to go inside. Alohomora!"

The heavy door with the shake sprung open with a groan and without looking back at Filch or paying any more interest to the hissing Mrs Norris at his feet, Harry stepped into Snape's quarters.

Harry had never before been in the private quarters of any teacher, much less in those of the one he most despised, but he wasn't interested in the room with its stone ceiling, high shelves and antique furniture.

All he was interested in was the man clad in black robes, who was sitting in a stuffed armchair, looking at him with a startled raised eyebrow.

"Potter."

Harry didn't exactly know what he had been expecting, but it was hardly this arrogant boredom that was tainting Snape's voice. This man had killed his godfather not one hour ago, and now he was sitting there, relaxed and arrogant, as if nothing important had happened. This hit Harry like a punch to the stomach; Snape didn't even feel sorry for what he'd done, no flicker of regret was to be seen in those obsidian eyes. To the contrary, as he sat there, scrutinising Harry who was barely holding back his anger, Snape's lips curled into a minuscule smile.

"You've got a problem, Potter?"

Harry's hand rose of it's own accord, pointing his wand at the older wizard. "Get up, Snape. I don't want to kill you while you're sitting down."

Harry was determined to avenge Sirius. He had once shown mercy, when he had let Pettigrew live, something which had only led to a worse situation. This time he wouldn't hesitate. Snape would suffer the same fate as Sirius had. An eye for an eye, his uncle would say. Harry was determined and didn't show any sign of hesitation. His arm didn't tremble and his voice was sharp and threatening. He would have expected that his threat would wipe the self-sufficient smile off of Snape's face, but nothing like this happened. Snape just rose slowly and warily from his seat. He regarded Harry for a moment, seemingly highly amused, before he threw his head back and laughed out loud.

Harry blinked in surprise and unconsciously lowered his wand a bit. Snape was laughing. He was laughing loud and openly. There was not a fear of being killed and no anger of being threatened by a student, only maniacal laughter that loudly resonated around the man's quarters.

Harry was too perplexed for a moment to do more than just stare at the professor, his confusion overlapping his anger for several seconds. It was only a moment before it was back with even grater force, strengthened by Snape's laughter.

"Stop it. God damn it, stop laughing, you bloody son of a bitch!"

Snape truly seemed to calm down; he was looking at Harry even now with a wicked smile and a raised eyebrow, his voice strangely high pitched. "But why, Potter? Weren't you one of the students always thinking I had no sense of humour?"

"Shut the hell up, Snape." Again, Harry lifted his hand, pointing his wand anew on the Potion Master's chest. Unfortunately, he had lost some of his former control and his hand was shaking faintly.

"You're crazy," he finally hissed between clenched teeth, trying to muster all his mental control to still the traitorous trembling in his hand.

Snape's voice had again dropped to his normal low baritone: "Am I indeed, Potter? Is it so crazy to survive? I won't take any more orders from Dumbledore. No more insolent students and stinky dungeons." A new grin flew over the teacher's face and a dangerous distant glimmer appeared in his eyes. The Potions Master's eyes held something that Harry had never seen before. Pure and raw insanity."

This discovery stole all the air from Harry's sails. Snape had gone crazy. Completely nuts, and he was back on Voldemort's side. His hand lowered his wand again, Harry able to do nothing but gape open-mouthed at Snape.

But his incredulous face only seemed to amuse the Potions Master more. "What's the matter, Potter? You look like a small boy whose dog has just died.

This mocking comment was about the worst thing Snape could have said in this situation. With a howl of rage Harry jumped at him, grabbing him by the collar. His wand fell forgotten, scattering to the ground. Harry wanted to see blood and he wanted to feel how Snape suffered. The death curse was too good for this monster.

Snape tried to steady himself as he was forced backwards by the sheer force of Harry's attack. He staggered a few steps backwards but Harry didn't let go. He didn't care at all if they were to fall over. He lifted his fist and smashed it as hard as he could towards Snape.

Since he was a good deal shorter than the potions Master he hit him straight into the abdomen. With some satisfaction he registered the painful gasp of the older wizard as Snape curled to try and block the pain.

Harry's conscious thoughts had left him at this moment and he smashed his fist over and over again at his hated adversary. So violent was his assault that the Potions Master had no time to counter attack. He could only so much try to protect his middle with his arms while he swayed dangerously. With an angry roar, Harry pulled back one more time and smashed his fist upwards, directly into Snape's face. The tall man stumbled two more steps backwards, his face disordered in pain and his eyes glazed, before he lost his footing and his legs gave in, letting him tumble to the ground.

For Harry, this was not enough and he got ready to move over the fallen wizard to beat him to death, but suddenly two strong hands grabbed him by his upper arms, efficiently holding him back.

"Let go of me! I'll kill this bastard!" Harry shouted in rage, still in the hold of his fury.

"Harry, calm down. Come on. You can't kill him. Don't do something you will regret later on."

The urging, calming voice Dumbledore's finally made it through the fog of his rage and Harry stopped struggling against the hold of the Headmaster's hands.

Desperately, he looked up to the old wizard who stood behind him, still holding him tightly.

If only Dumbledore would understand. Snape had to be removed. "Headmaster, he killed Sirius. He…he…"

"I know, Harry," Dumbledore soothed in a quiet voice.

A haughty laughter, ending in a hoarse cough, interrupted them. "What a touching scene, Albus. You've always been a sentimental fool, too compassionate and much too weak. But the weak will not survive this war. They will perish, them and this whole blasted school. All will perish. All of them…"

Again, the Potions Master smiled nervously.

"He has totally lost his mind," Harry whispered.

With some difficulty and a wince of pain, the potions master fought himself back to standing on his feet. A small flow of blood dripped from his nose down to his chin and with one sleeve he wiped it absently away, only smearing it further. In a millisecond, his smile vanished from his lips, only to be replaced by a dark foreboding look. "You are all going to die. The dark Lord will win this war and destroy you all. But I won't be here anymore by then."

Harry looked up into the sad eyes of the Headmaster, which were deprived of every living sparkle. "Severus, you know what awaits you. Your actions and your ruthless words will bring you in front of a court."

"So what?" Snape defied.

"You know of the decree that had been imposed upon you, last time you were accused of following Voldemort. One of the conditions under which you have avoided a trial; no unforgivable curses, no matter under what the circumstances, or you're getting the kiss of the Dementors straight away without any trial or hearing."

Harry's eyes widened surprised. He hadn't known that. He felt a satisfied warmth blossom inside of him at hearing this, but also he felt a small bang of regret. Not because of Snape, but for Dumbledore who looked like he was barely able to suppress his grief... If Snape would be executed it would be very hard for the Headmaster to handle.

"Something is wrong with you, Severus. The man that I knew is not the man who is now standing here in front of me. It's breaking my heart, my boy, but this time I can't protect you any longer. Not any more. I'm sorry, but I will be sending an owl to the Ministry right away. Until you're picked up and arrested, you'll stay confined in those rooms."

Harry thought he'd misheard something. Dumbledore was really going through with it. He was handing Snape over to the ministry. Normally he should be overjoyed at this. Snape would get his deserved punishment. A terrible punishment, which was much worse than death itself, but the sorrow that lay in Dumbledore's eyes dulled his joy considerably.

T.B.C.