Hi people. The beginning of this chapter is something which usually would be a big "No, no" in fic-writing, namely Info-dump. I apologize for that, but I don't want to kill off the plot by boredom, because there would be nothing really important happening for several chapters if I didn't do it that way.

Chapter 21:

Fears are coming true:

The next two weeks passed by uneventfully, if one didn't consider the now-daily reports of attacks on muggles and wizard in the daily prophet. The muggles were looking out for a maniac serial killer and were on highest alert, and only the ministry was still playing everything down as the work of some few scattered death eaters. Towards Harry, Dumbledore had vocalized that Fudge's attitude were more than suspicious. He hadn't said anything more, but neither Harry nor his friends were stupid and had for some times before thought about the possibility that Fudge may be on Voldemort's side. The headmaster, McGonagall, Lupin, and even Hagrid, seemed to become more and more edgy as time passed.

Proving Voldemort's growing strength, Harry's scar had started to hurt him sporadically, a fact which worried him above all else. Thank God the pain had never been more than a bothersome twinge, and had not overly worried the headmaster. The old wizard had contented himself with giving Harry a sleeping draught, so he would get at least some rest during the night. Otherwise, he held him at a distance, not telling him much about the business of the order. When Harry protested about that, Dumbledore had only told him that he didn't want him involved, for the only reason to protect him and keep him out of the danger zone.

Neither Harry nor his friends were really happy that Dumbledore held them at arms length. Lupin's excuse that they were still minors and had seen and suffered too much already from the war didn't console them in the least. Harry knew that it had something to do with Cedric's death, and that Sirius' murder had probably been the crucial point to keep him away from the war, yet he still thought it highly unfair. He, above everybody, had the right to be involved. The fact that the members of the order were seen at Hogwarts more and more often made Harry even angrier.

So they followed their classes with moderate interest. Arabella Figg turned out to have an extensive knowledge about dark arts, which she shared with them, and Lupin's exercises in Magic was just as interesting as they had been in their third year. Harry was very relieved about the old woman. There had been a time before her first class, when he had thought that she would bore them all by showing them pictures of her cats in class, telling them the life story of Missy, Burly, Kitty and all other felines she had ever possessed.

Professor O'Malley was also different to what his fragile appearance let on. Only after the first potions class under him could they have guessed that this man had taught Snape. Compared to the grumpiness and bad attitude of this man, Snape seemed like a sweet ray of sunshine. The old professor seemed to detest his own life so much that he let all his students be at the receiving end of his foul mood, not only the Gryffindors.

After the second week with the new teacher, all the houses had come to the conclusion that this time the house with the least minus points would win the cup.

Unfortunately, this fact angered the Slytherins even more and were it not for Dumbledore's strict hand, an open gang war between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins would have already broken lose in the hallways.

Because of the often-throbbing attacks from his scar, Harry half expected to have another vision at any time. Dumbledore had told him that he had sort of a connection to the dark wizard, and that the stronger Voldemort became, the more Harry would feel this.

Yet, when it happened and Harry had another vision it hit him when he was not expecting it.

He was standing in a douche stall of the boys' common bathroom under the spray of warm water, after having trained outside a bit for himself.

It didn't start with the throbbing to which he had gotten used to, but with a piercing pain that threatened to split his skull.

Both hands pressed tightly against the hurting scar, he skittered down to the ground, a loud moan escaping his lips. His surroundings started to blur and he drowned into darkness, away from the hardness of the porcelain under his skin, the steam in his face and hot water still raining down at him.

After only one second, however, the world around him grew back into focus. Except he wasn't in the bathroom anymore but in the same great room with the high windows in which he had seen Voldemort take Snape back. This time around, there were more people present. Around ten figures in dark cloaks and white masks stood in an irregular semi-circle in front of the throne, on which a domineering Voldemort sat. Siding the high chair of the dark wizard stood Severus Snape, wearing an identical robe as all the other death eaters, his own hood pulled down into his neck and no mask was hiding his face.

Contrary to the last time, Snape looked perfectly healthy again, as he stood there, looking with an almost bored expression into the middle of the death eater's circle. The whole thing had a surreal feeling to it and made Harry experience his fury, upon seeing Voldemort and Sirius' killer, like miles away from his body, even if he could still make it out. It was almost as if that anger did not belong to him, that it was as bodiless as his spirit here. He could not tell from what angle he was observing the scene; it was almost as if he would shift his position constantly without even moving. Like in a dream, he could see all that he wanted at once.

It was a pitiful, almost inaudible whimper that suddenly pulled his attention to the death eaters, and only now did he see the two figures in torn robes that were in their midst. It was a young couple in their twenties. The young man had reddish blond hair and a face full of speckles that reminded Harry strongly of Ron. The man was cursing and spitting in Voldemort's direction, even though he was firmly held by two death eaters. His mate sat sobbing on the marble ground, her maroon hair dishevelled and her amber eyes flushed with tears that were running down her cheeks, whilst she held what was left of her torn robe against her otherwise completely naked form. Both of their bodies bore small wounds and bruises, and her eyes were filled with terror as her husband threw cursed damnations at Voldemort. This, and the traces of blood, smeared on the floor around her, left no doubt about other things the deatheaters had done to her. Harry hoped intently that the blood didn't have anything to do with the baby that she obviously bore in her overly big swollen abdomen.

Somehow, Harry had a terrible feeling of deja vu as he saw the young couple. They were barely older than his parents had been, and the baby was not even born yet. Still, the similarities were not too easily dismissed. Harry shuddered at that thought, yet, in a morbid fascination, his eyes stayed glued upon the tragedy that was displaying in front of him.

"So, my dear Charles", hissed Voldemort. "Are you quite certain that you have no further information for us?"

"Please", the redhead begged. "Let Emma go. She knows nothing."

Voldemort reached with his right hand to his chin, as if to stroke an imaginary beard. "You may even be right about that, yet she can still be useful. Perhaps your tongue would loosen up, if I let my men have some more fun with her, what do you think?"

A loud gasp came from the direction of the woman and the man struggled with even more vehemence against the death eaters who held him. "I have told you all that I know." Desperation was openly written on his face and excelled slowly all his anger, which he had displayed so strongly, only one minute ago. "I only work in Azkaban. I don't know how the Ministry is controlling the dementors. Please let Emma go. She's pregnant and has nothing to do with where I work."

Voldemort seemed to consider the pleas of the man for a minute, before he leaned over to Snape's side.

"What do you think, Severus? Would you be interested to have some fun with our Emma here?"

Snape shrugged listlessly but moved slowly over to the woman. He frowned down at the weeping prisoner as if he were not really sure what to do with her. After a minute under his silent scrutiny the woman lifted her head still sobbing and looked up at him. "P...please, let me go. Don't hurt me anymore."

Something in Snape's eyes changed at her words. It was like a dark cloud had moved over his features and his lips curled into a sneer. Harry recoiled mentally. Snape's eyes were full of a bottomless hatred, born out of a reason that Harry could not comprehend. Not even when Neville blew up another cauldron had Snape's eyes ever glittered so dangerously. He tilted his head slightly to one side and narrowed his eyes.

"Please have mercy. Spare my child at least. She's only a defenceless baby. You cannot hurt her."

Those were her last words. As fast as lightning, Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it at the woman. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry knew the green stream much too well, as it shot out of Snapes wand and hit the woman square in the chest. Eyes wide, she crumpled dead to the ground.

"No one will ever tell me what to do!" Snape thundered with wild eyes, his free hand clenched in a fist and waving menacingly in front of his face.

"You god damn fucking bastard. I'll kill you!" the redhead hollered, his tear-filled eyes full of hatred, grief and desperation.

Snape whirled around. "Avada Kedavra!"

Voldemort's second prisoner sank dead through the arms of his guards to land in a lifeless heap on the floor.

The death eaters took a startled step back, intimated by Snape's outburst. The potion master looked like a vicious animal at the moment, standing there with a lowered head and heaving chest. The greasy hair hung in strands in front of his face, sticking in places to the sweaty skin, making his black eyes glitter dangerously from beneath it. His body was rigid and his lips curled back into an inaudible growl.

The only one who didn't seem impressed by Snape at all was Voldemort. He only chuckled softly. "My, my, what a temperament, my dear Severus. Looks like we will have to question the boss of our now dead friend Charles after all, even if he's likely to be under more severe surveillance."

As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened he addresses the other death eaters. "Avery, you will observe Mr. Meaby. Find out more about him. Until next new moon, I want to know when he works, sleeps and who is close to him. Malfoy, stay here. All the others can leave."

The death eaters moved towards the exit, taking care not to come too close to the man called Snape, who still stood immobile with a dark scowl on his face. After they all had left, Voldemort addressed the potions master. "Would you be so good and wait for me in your rooms, Severus? I would like to discuss something with you."

Voldemort's tone was friendly and negligible as he spoke to Snape. Different from the voice with the commanding undertone that he had used towards his other deatheaters or even Malfoy.

Snape nodded briskly and left the room with his trademark billowing robes.

"You still doubt, Lucius. I can feel it," Voldemort said, after the door had closed behind Snape. He didn't look at the blond wizard, yet Malfoy still bowed slightly. "Forgive me, my lord, but Snape has become unpredictable. What if he turns against us again?"

Voldemort smirked. "My dear Lucius. Don't speak about things of which you have no understanding. I'm a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin and I understand the art of manipulation to perfection. Snape is easy to guide through his growing insanity. I can look through him easily. I give him bits and pieces of what he needs and with the right words, I steer him where I want him to be, without him noticing. Just keep in mind to never give an open order. At least until I have gotten him out of his present confusion and have him under my complete control. If you can understand his way of thinking, you have him eating out of your palm and can form him to be what you want, which I plan to do. I use his weakness and fears against him and feed him with enough dependence to keep him in line. He will entangle himself in my web more and more until he can't tell apart what he wants and what I ask of him."

The big salon disappeared; replaced by white tiles, hot steam and water, which was still raining down on his body. Harry felt miserable and hugged his knees, whilst he tried to get control over his feelings, which now that he had left the unreality of the vision, came crushing down with all their might. Snape had killed again and in cold blood. Voldemort would use him and the former professor would be a soulless marionette in his insanity. Voldemort's own little pet. His killer machine.

T.B.C.

Betaed by Slytherin silver snake. THANKS!