A/N: Back again after a long time of RL-stress and writer's block. I wish to thank you for both your patience and your many encouraging reviews! Although I simply do not have the time to write any faster at the moment, please believe me that it is mainly your comments that keep me going!

I hope that I will be able to get the next chapter, as well as the "Lioness"-Update, up in about a week. Please let me once more remind you that update schedules, answers to your questions and further titbits can be found at my livejournal (homepage-link on my profile page).

I have also posted a new one shot from the "Lioness"-universe that might interest some of you – go and check it out!

That said, on to the story:

0o0o0o0o0oo0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

The Chosen One

When Snape walked into the kitchen the next morning, he was confronted with a plate full of pancakes, a smiling Potter nursing his morning tea, and a white envelope lying on what he had come to think of as his side of the table.

Potter had retired to his room soon after Shadow's departure, being uncharacteristically solemn and quiet. Snape understood him well. They both knew that Shadow would refrain from meeting Potter only for his safety – the worse Potter looked, the stronger would the other vampires demand his 'rescue'.

But still. Snape hadn't been forced to say goodbye like that often in his life – most people hadn't mattered enough for him to care, or had died too quickly and unexpectedly to receive his farewells. In a way he was glad about it.

Snape filled another cup of tea for himself, noting amusedly that Potter had at least learned not to hover around him and play the servant. But hours of caustic remarks had obviously taught him to do as little as possible. And pouring tea for his ex-Potions teacher certainly wasn't one of the must-does.

His amusement faded, however, when he turned to the table and the letter waiting for him.

"It's Dumbledore," He announced expressionlessly, once he had broken the seal and perused the content. "He wants to meet me again this afternoon. Alone, this time."

He was rather proud that that his voice showed nothing of the irritation and anger he felt at Dumbledore's commanding tone. What did the Headmaster expect? That he stow away Potter somewhere and simply leave him alone to satisfy the idle curiosity of an old man?

Who was he, anyway, to order Snape around like a general? The war was over and had been so for a long time.

Potter just shrugged and concentrated on his tea, a blissful expression on his face. It was still a surprise for Snape just how much joy Potter seemed to derive from the simple things around him. Like his preferred tea blend, something Snape seldom ever noticed.

"Perhaps he wasn't very satisfied with the way our last meeting went," He suggested, his lips slightly curled.

"Probably," Snape agreed, still frowning over the problem this presented. "But I can't simply leave you alone here. Your last fit proves that."

Instead of jumping at that solution, Potter just smiled, as if he knew exactly how badly Snape wanted to avoid that meeting.

"I could request Ayda to visit me this afternoon. You could initiate her into the great and solemn secret of slapping Harry Potter and be off without worrying."

Snape's irritation deepened when he could find no flaw with this plan, not even after close examination.

"There are a few books and potions I'd need anyway," He agreed, trying to sound as if he looked forward to meeting the Headmaster.

Harry's smile widened. "I will contact Ayda," He offered. "Shall I ask her to arrive around two o'clock? That would leave us time for my fifth year."

"Charming," Snape answered, wondering silently for a moment whether it was wise to leave Potter alone after a memory as harrowing and painful as this. But then he sneered his own sentimentality off, telling himself that Potter had, after all, survived many years without his professor to baby sit him. "I will write to Dumbledore then, and accept the… invitation."

They shared a short, conspiratorial grin, then parted to write their letters, agreeing to meet in the lab half an hour later.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o00o

They stepped out of the mist and into chaos.

From his knowledge of that famous night at the Department of Mysteries, Snape knew that the events had nearly run their course. The Order had already arrived, and although more than one of them was down with injuries, it was clear enough that they would defeat the overwhelmed and surprised Death Eaters.

Glimpses of students, all of them wounded in one way or the other, came to Snape as he was searching the room for Potter, who was trading spells with Lucius Malfoy, then grabbed Longbottom and tried to haul him out of the room.

Snape saw the prophecy crash to the ground and vanish, unheard, then saw their faces lighten up in reaction to Dumbledore's arrival, Dumbledore, who had even then been a hero to Harry Potter, as Snape could clearly see in the teenager's face.

But Snape did not watch Dumbledore capture the Death Eaters with the ease of a seasoned hunter. His eyes were glued instead to the last pair of enemies duelling, precariously close to the stone arch that dominated the middle of the room.

He hissed with irritation when he saw Black taunting Lestrange, but then a red flash of magic hit the man's chest and his expression turned from an alive, triumphant smile to the horrified realization of his own mistake.

From his position to the side, Snape noticed Black's eyes flicker towards where Potter-the-boy stood. It's a bit late for that now, Black, He sneered inwardly, but all his thoughts died at the inhuman, desperate howl that burst forward from Potter's body.

"SIRIUS," Potter yelled. "SIRIUS!"

He ran towards the floor, panting in shock and horror, and Snape had to avoid his eyes from the pain in his face. He had always hated the mutt, and secretly, deep down, he had been immensely satisfied with his rather pathetic death, but now, in the presence of Potter's suffering, as he watched the boy being bodily kept from jumping after his Godfather by Lupin, he could feel no satisfaction, only horror.

"Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!"

Denial is such a powerful thing, Snape thought while Potter-the-boy's face contorted into a terrible mixture of pain and hope. But then Black had been the only grown-up Potter had fully trusted, the only one that had even remotely counted as family to him.

It was a sad state of affairs when the only trust a boy like Potter could develop was in a more than slightly mad ex-convict that had never shown the slightest trace of responsibility.

But oh, how longing the boy had been, Snape thought as he watched Potter-the-boy struggle with Lupin and Potter-the-man calmly stand in front of the veil that had cost him his godfather.

How needy.

How empty his circle of trust must have been that the removal of such an unreliable presence as his godfather could have ripped such a hole into it, a hole that even now was filling the boy's eyes, that had cut a wound so deeply that he was even now bleeding to death, bleeding and suffering, invisible to those around him who were concerned with the battle that was winding to its end.

"SIRIUS – SIRIUS!"

"He can't come back, Harry," Said Lupin, his voice breaking as he struggled to contain Harry. "He can't come back, because he's d-"

"HE – IS – NOT – DEAD!" Potter roared. "SIRIUS!"

Whenever Snape had remembered Potter's fifth year, it had been in a red haze of rage and hurt, and the boy's face had been indistinguishable from that of his father. Gloating, triumphant James Potter, enjoying his power over those weaker and less golden than he was.

He had tormented Snape's years at Hogwarts, had made his home, the first home he had ever known, a place of danger and humiliation and had turned Snape into a laughing stock. And now his son had come back, that snotty child with the self righteous eyes and impertinent manner, had come back to haunt Snape, to revisit the old shame and spread the ugly truth among the school.

That had been the Potter he had seen and hated during fifth, sixth and seventh year, the taunting, gleeful spectre of his dark nights.

And only now, that he watched the memory of this boy for signs of the Fading, did the red haze finally die away.

There was no gloating in Potter's eyes, none of the cocky, holier-than-thou attitude he had hated with the father. Potter's eyes were swollen, blood shot and full of horror, circled by dark shadows that stemmed from too many sleepless nights.

Clotted blood was clinging to the side of his face where Lucius' curse had cut through his shields.

The boy looked so weary.

Even as he was fighting his way over to the veil his body screamed exhaustion. Even as his body tensed with shock and panic he seemed tired, too tired to even move.

And while Snape watched, standing quietly by the side of a boy he could no longer hate, he saw the old Potter die, saw a huge wave of guilt and realization crash against the barriers of his mind.

Saw him drown in pain, his disbelief a last shield from the endless breakers around him that weakened, failed, and gave way. And then there was only pain in his eyes.

Such pain, Snape knew from his own experience, would cause a man to do anything, to submit to any stupidity, if only it would lighten that leaden pressure on the heart and mind.

From the darkness, Snape saw a glow slowly built in his eyes, the glowing green of the killing curse that spread through Potter and fed on his pain.

Snape didn't need to see Potter's eyes fall on Bellatrix, did not need to see themharden in hate, to know what the boy would do.

"SHE KILLED SIRIUS! SHE KILLED HIM – I'LL KILL HER!"

And he was off, scrambling up the stone benches; people were shouting behind him but he didn't seem to care. Snape wasn't sure whether he was even able to hear them in his state.

Snape had already reached the door through which Potter had vanished, waiting for the other Potter to join him, when he realized that he was the only one who had moved.

Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt, all those who had come here tonight to save their Chosen One, who had battled the Death Eaters to rescue him, stood frozen in their tracks, seemingly unwilling to follow the one they had come to protect.

They simply let him tear off on his own.

"Why didn't these incompetent nitwits follow him?" Snape hissed, not trusting his own eyes. He had always questioned the Order's competence, but this went way beyond even his worst fears.

"Dumbledore told them not to," Potter answered from his side and Snape nearly jumped in surprise. He hadn't heard or seen the other man move. "At least he sent them Patronus messages a few minutes ago, before he slipped out of the room."

"He slipped out of the room?" Snape echoed stupidly, only just now realizing that Dumbledore, who had grandfatherly consoled generations of students, had made no move towards the boy who had just lost his godfather and nearly all of his friends in a battle.

Why hadn't he tried to keep Potter here, in safety? After all, he had to know that there would be more Death Eaters out there!

"Of course he knew," Potter once more answering his thoughts as if Snape had spoken aloud.

"But this was a turning point, Professor. The last person I really trusted had just been killed and I went crazy for a moment, I believe. Only think what would have happened if Tonks had gotten to me first, or Lupin, if they had said something that would have snapped me out of it, or if they had managed to make me trust them…"

Snape wished that he didn't understand, that neither he or Potter had lived through enough to see the sense in that statement, to understand that Dumbledore was using this moment of complete and utter terror to his own advantage, that he was using Potter's pain to control him.

"Black's death has isolated you," Snape whispered, not because Potter expected an explanation, but because the truth was awful enough to constrict his throat and hinder his breath. It wanted out. "You are now totally alone and unable to deal with your pain."

"And whoever offers me an explanation right now, whoever channels the feelings that overwhelm me, will have power to control me," Potter nodded, as if they were talking about the weather, not the destruction of his own life.

"He is very close now to getting what he always wanted – an isolated, frightened boy with power who wants nothing more but a focus point to direct his hate and pain."

„And what was that focus point?" Snape asked, although he already knew the answer. Shortly after this night, the Order had been informed fully about the prophecy, and less than two months later Potter had begun his training.

Once more the enormity of what he was witnessing dawned on Snape, and he wanted to follow the memory of Dumbledore and strangle the manipulating old man to death. And to think that he had once trusted that man!

"The trip down memory lane is not very pleasant, is it?" Potter suddenly inquired, his voice that of a tourist guide that had failed to please his customers.

"You could phrase it that way," Snape whispered as his legs automatically carried him towards the Ministry's entrance hall.

"After all, you are experiencing only the negative things," Potter continued in an apologetic tone. "Fights, pain and fear. But there were all these good things that you never even glimpse. This whole experience must be rather depressing."

"Depressing," Snape echoed hollowly, unable to make the transfer from the howling chaos of understanding in his own mind to that light, conversational tone.

"Yes," Potter agreed. "And to think that the beginning was so wonderful – magic, and Hogwarts, and my first friends ever. Only that, somehow, these things started to disappear along the way. Soon, it will all get very dark, and dreary, without a single ray of light. Or at least that's what I remember. You know how melodramatic one tends to see his past."

"You are telling me that it will soon get very dark, Potter?" Snape asked, not sure if he wanted to believe his ears. So far, Potter had had a knack for understatements, and he suspected this one of being the worst.

„Yes," Potter answered, his face suddenly cold and void of any feeling, an expression so close to Snape's normal one, and so terribly far away from everything he had seen on the other man's face over the last weeks that Snape shivered. „Soon, every single light will go out and leave me in darkness. It wasn't a pleasant time."

As if on cue, they rounded a corner and saw Potter jump towards Bellatrix from behind the tasteless golden fountain, his wand trained towards the witch, an expression of utter hate twisting his face.

"Crucio," He yelled, his eyes the colour of the killing curse, and Potter-the-man shook his head sorrowfully.

"No," He repeated quietly. "Not a pleasant time at all."

0o0o

A/N: I didn't mention that in my other pensieve scenes, but of course every piece of writing you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and to her alone. I try to quote as little as I can, though.

Just so you know, all those capital letters normally aren't my style, but it's in the book and I thought I'd keep it.