A/N- Alright, so because you guys were awesome, and gave me 80 reviews in total, I'm posting this chapter a day earlier than I planned. The plot bunny strikes again, in a mysterious way, and a few things are explained on Severus's end, along with a slightly OOC discovery about our favourite Potions professor (I had to throw in my love of Poe in this story somewhere!). Almost to a hundred reviews, I can't believe it! But thank you to those who reviewed so far, it really is why I spend hours a day writing. Thank you, and enjoy!

A tall, broad man leaned against a tree, watching the thick snow flutter around him. The dark trees masked his presence, and he vanished the footprints he had made. Essentially invisible, he got comfortable against the tree. It was early, and the person he needed to meet would be there later. Looking down at his hands, he twirled the thin stick between his fingers. This wand was so unlike his, and he found he didn't like it. The thick wood of his old wand suited him much better, and he enjoyed the feel of it in his rather large hands.

No, he didn't like the wand he had taken from the elderly wizard. Looking around, he heard the faint crunch of fresh snow being trod on, and he straightened, backing further into the shadows. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of a human shaped shadow, and he turned to look at it slowly. Sudden movements gave great hiding places away, and he wasn't about to make that mistake again.

The figure came closer, and stopped suddenly, peering around suspiciously. He opened his mouth, and spoke two words in a rough whisper. "Forferdelig natt?"

The man under the tree nodded to himself, and stepped out from under the shadows. "It's good you came on time, Vegar."

They two men studied each other carefully for a moment, and the one called Vegar stepped forward. His hard features were set in a stony look, and his cloak gave him the appearance of being very large and very broad. "How is it vorking?" He asked quickly, his rough accent distorting the words.

The nameless man shrugged, his hard eyes shifting often. "As well as can be expected. I can't be doing all the work, and Imperiusing people is harder nowadays, with all the protocol the damned Ministry has set in. If I'm seen in more than one place at a time, the whole things for naught."

Vegar nodded, his face remaining expressionless. "I vould hope that you vould haf cursed more than a dozen or two," he said harshly, his dark eyes glinting dangeriously.

The man scoffed quietly. "It's harder than you think, and that curse you found drains a lot of out a man. I'm surprised you had the courage to cast something you found scrawled on a wall, Vegar," the man said easily, his tone belaying his slight worry. "I'm not complaining, though, it is effective. And seeing the Ministry scramble around like idiots trying to find what they can is certainly amusing."

Vegar ignored the mans harsh laughter. "I vant you to go back, and continue. The more people ve have under the curse, the better. More important people this time too," he added firmly. "Civilians vere fine for the first few veeks, but now ve must move on to influential people. The Ministry vill be hard pressed to rally themselves if they are the vones being attacked."

The man nodded in agreement. "Where are you going with this, Vegar?" he asked quietly. "Don't get me wrong, attacking the Ministry is something I am enjoying, but what is the goal? Are you taking over the Ministry?"

"That," Vegar hissed, "Is none of your concern. Do vat I told you, and you shall be rewarded. Be content in the knowledge that the Dark Lord's ideals did not die vith him."

The man cringed slightly at the mention of the Dark Lord. "He isn't coming back, Vegar. He's dead. Gone. Potter made sure of it. Whatever your plans are to try to bring him back, they won't work."

"I do not vant to resurrect that maniacal fool," Vegar said with a sneer. "He vas too volatile, too consumed vith his own vants and needs to focus on ruling the wizarding vorld. No, I do not vant to bring him back."

The man nodded, apparently satisfied with Vegar's reassurance. Vegar bowed stiffly to the man, swiftly turned and walked away. The man watched him walk away, and chuckled to himself. He didn't need to know what plans Vegar had. He enjoyed seeing people suffer, and that was good enough for him. It was good to be out.

Severus awoke with a ragged shout, trying to grab the air in front of him. Sitting up he stared wildly around, gasping, trying to get his bearings. He groped for his wand, trying to bring light into the world of terror his subconscious had created.

The girl's face as Yaxley shoved her down and ripped her robes off...

He cringed, flashes of the nightmare were slowly returning to him. He placed a hand on his forehead. He felt feverish, and was drenched in sweat. Untangling himself from the sheets, he slid his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up, and took a step towards the bathroom and collapsed with a cry.

Voldemort's high pitched laugh as the Death Eaters circled the boy and his sister as they cried for their parents.

"Ooh, do the poor little things want their mummy and daddy?" Bellatrix said with a cackle as she leaned close to the whimpering boy. "They aren't coming back, you know," she hissed. "They're dead, just like your little sister will be." a flash of green light, and the little girl crumpled to the floor. The boy let out a piercing scream...

Severus opened his eyes, and scrabbled for his wand. Standing up he stumbled to the bathroom, and leaned over the toilet rim. He retched, sides heaving as his stomach emptied itself. Shuddering, he slid to the ground and stared up at the ceiling. Why did these nightmares still haunt him? Over four years ago Voldemort had died, along with most of his followers. It was in the past, all of it. None of them were returning, he needed to move on from the guilt. He didn't want to, though. In a perverse way he wanted the nightmares to continue, they kept the sorrow of what he had done fresh, and he never wanted to forget it. Never wanted to forget the lives he had taken. It would be an insult to their memory to just forget they ever existed, or had families, friends who still mourned them.

Exhaling, he stood up shakily. He walked back to his bedroom, and went to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed. Rummaging through it, he grabbed a small box and climbed back into bed. Opening the box, he pulled out a piece of chocolate and started to nibble on it, praying he could keep it down.

Severus leaned against the headboard and looked up. He regretted all the things he was made to watch and partake in as a death eater more than anything. The Dark Lord had taken pleasure in the torture of muggles and muggleborns, and had ordered his followers to do the most depraved things to the unfortunate souls he captured. Severus shivered, the faces of the people he had been forced to torture flashed across his eyes. All nameless, he could never have bore through the death eater meetings if he had known the victims as anything other than random persons.

He cringed, and felt nauseous again as the grisly images of his fellow death eaters making an old man into their target practice, and Bellatrix's deranged laughter assaulted his mind. Shoving the memories down as best he could, he studied the ceiling, and distracted himself by running through the ingredients for the Wiggenweld Potion.

He had everything but moondew, and he had to wait until the next full moon to gather some. The plant only bloomed under the light of the waxing moon, and was most powerful under the first couple hours of the full moon. It would be easy to acquire, and Severus wasn't worried. He had placed more wards over his private stock and his laboratory, wards that caused the intruder to suddenly think of something else and wander off. The castle wouldn't allow him to place a ward that directly prevented them from walking into a room, but he could get around that by simply sending the person elsewhere.

Severus knew perfectly well who had stolen the dittany. It was a student under his House, a third year Slytherin. Oliver Blackwood was a shy student, but he did well in his classes, and Severus was mildly surprised that he had the gall to steal from his stores. He had spent the night after he realized he had been stolen from patrolling the corridors in his animagus form. The boy was being treated quite viciously by a gang of older Slytherins, and he had been acquiring various cuts and slices on his arms and legs, and Severus had a good idea where the cuts were coming from.

He had let the dittany theft slide, and the next day in class he had slipped Oliver a book stating the exact usage and correct dosages of raw dittany essence. Severus knew all too well what it was like to be bullied, and he felt a modicum of sympathy for the boy. He vowed to punish the group of boys that were toying around with Oliver for anything he could.

Severus's thoughts flashed to Hermione, and the strange look she had given him inside his study. He supposed it was only fair, as when they had landed on Montecristo and she had fumbled for footing, he had given her a look as well, and he didn't blame Hermione for being confused. Severus didn't actually know what possessed him to look at Hermione, but he did, and her mind was so open that he didn't need to employ any of his Legilimency skills to read what was on the forefront of her thoughts.

It was mostly confusion about where she was, but there had been a split second where she had thought about him, and his eyes. Severus felt slightly guilty about glancing at her thoughts, but he had been unable to stop. Hermione was not an Occlumens at all, and her throughts had been almost projecting themselves at her. Severus mused over that for a minute, and summoned a piece of parchment and a Self-Inking quill. He wrote down a few words reminding him to research Legilimency and Occlumency the next day, as it could lead to some new information.

Sighing heavily, Severus knew he couldn't go back to sleep for some time, so he summoned a small book from the shelf by the fireplace, watching as it zoomed neatly into his lap. He picked it up, enjoying the feel of the well-worn leather in his hand, cracked it open and started to read by the light of his wand.

"But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."

Severus read the poem over a few times, feeling his mind relax from the mellifluous words on the page. The poem of Annabel Lee, written by Edgar Allen Poe, was one of his favorite pieces of written work. He had never let anyone know that he had a penchant for muggle poetry, and Poe's works were nothing short of brilliance to him. The power behind the words, the raw emotion of the words, struck him deeply, and he valued the book greatly as it had been one of the rare gifts from his mother. He made sure to keep his collection hidden away, he would never hear the end of it if Minerva, Lucius, or anyone else discovered his enjoyment of muggle poetry.

He read the rest of the poem, and closed the book. Settling back down into the pillows, he closed his eyes, drifting into an easy sleep.