"Come with me, Potter," Harry opened his mouth to protest but Snape cut him off, "Not. One. Word." Harry glared holes into the man's back as he was led to Merlin–Knows–Where. He knew he was being petulant and he ought to have been listening to the lecture earlier, but Snape already thought he was a spoiled, pampered prince who constantly made a mockery of his parents' sacrifices by putting himself in danger every opportunity he got. How much worse could he think of Harry?

Snape led them to a sparsely decorated but homely room with a kitchenette to one side and a large, comfortable-looking sofa in the middle of the room. The room was adorned in deep shades of greens and silvers. Slytherin colors. Harry realized with a pang that these were Snape's personal quarters. He had almost expected a dungeon with a moat and a couple of coffins. Or, more realistically, a miniature Malfoy Manor. He hadn't expected it to be this… nice.

"Quit gawking and take a seat", snapped Snape. Harry immediately sat down on the oversoft couch, cheeks flaming at being caught staring. Snape took a seat at the chair across the couch and looked at him expectantly, "Talk, Potter,"

"About what, Sir," Harry looked up at him with innocent eyes. He was careful to keep his tone respectful. The sorting hat was wrong to put him in Gryffindor if lying came this easily to him.

Snape's expectant gaze turned into a glare, "Don't play dumb, Potter. You know exactly what I'm asking. What the hell was that?!" Snape had almost yelled the last part, and Harry was surprised by his language. He had always thought the man was above such 'vulgarities' with how eloquently and properly he spoke.

Harry sighed. He knew the man was not above accidentally-on-purpose feeding him Veritaserum to force the truth out of him. But how could he tell him what he had been told without telling him what his true intentions were? And how could he tell him what his true intentions were without him running to the headmaster?

"Fine." Harry stated blandly. Snape almost looked relieved. Until he heard Harry's condition. "But I need an unbreakable vow."

Snape spluttered for a moment. Harry was vaguely reminded of Uncle Vernon. "Absolutely not," Snape's tone was firm, but that didn't stop Harry from negotiating. "Fine, then a magical oath,"

Snape looked like he wanted to refuse for a moment but seemed to mull it over for a few seconds. Harry could almost hear the gears turning in his brain. "That is… acceptable." Finally. A magical oath was pretty much the same concept as an unbreakable vow except if you went against the oath, you'd lose your magic instead of die and a caster wasn't required. It was similar to the oaths magical healers took and it came with a warning system. It wasn't as secure as an unbreakable vow but it would have to do. Harry knew that the man had made two other vows and was practically living his life on a tightrope. He understood the dangers of the vows clashing and killing the man. He may not like the guy, but he didn't want to complicate things further and accidentally get him killed!

Snape gave a long suffering sigh that Harry thought was far too dramatic and raised his left hand. "I, Severus Tobias Snape, swear on my magic that I will not relay to another soul, living or dead, any information that Harry James Potter reveals to me in this room without his explicit permission to do so,"

Magic had been hanging in the air, and the moment Snape had finished the vow it snapped and sizzled in such a way that indicated the terms were binding. Harry blinked in befuddlement; it was someone else's magic—not Harry's or Snapes'—magic old and strong.

Snape gave another sigh. Did the man have any patience? "Talk, Potter," Harry gave a sigh of his own. He was really going to do this, then. Best to get it over with.

"Um, do you have a Pensieve? It's easier to show you this, it's rather complicated, and you'd probably think I was lying or something,"

Snape gave yet another sigh and Harry thought the man was doing an awful lot of sighing. At least he wasn't glaring. He flicked his wand and muttered a low, 'Accio Pensieve' and the next second a smaller version of Dumbledore's Pensieve was sailing into the room.

Harry had gotten his wand out when it hit him that he had no idea how to extract a memory. "Er, how do I do this, exactly?" He ventured, partly sheepish and mostly embarrassed.

Snape looked beyond exasperated. "Just focus on the memories you want to show me and draw it out with your wand! It's not rocket science, Potter! Even Longbottom could figure it out," Harry blinked at the muggle reference, confused as to how his professor could possibly know what that was when he remembered that Snape was a half-blood.

Harry followed Snape's instructions and managed to put the memory in the Pensieve and on second thought, drew out a couple of other memories of when Dumbledore had not done things that he ought to have done. Like his conversation with Ron and Hermione about what the Headmaster should have done when his name got chosen for the tournament or when he didn't try to vouch for Sirius' innocence when he got sent to Azkaban. He even put in a couple of memories from the Dursleys when they had been particularly bad, like the time his aunt had whacked him with a frying pan, or when that nasty beast Ripper had chased him up a tree, and all of the times he had been locked in the cupboard and starved. Last, he put in the memory of Dumbledore's visit to Wools' and he secretly hoped Snape would see for himself what Dumbledore did was wrong.

Snape was beginning to look annoyed so Harry hurried up. He could have sworn Snape had muttered 'finally' under his breath before going into the Pensieve, the impatient twat. Harry silently waited for Snape to come back up and hoped it hadn't been a mistake to trust him.

It had probably only been a couple of minutes when Snape emerged from the pensive but it had felt like hours to harry. When he finally emerged, his face was ashen and paler than Harry had ever seen it before. Harry realized that he had never seen Snape looking so dishevelled before. Harry could practically hear the cogs turning in Snape's head. He seemed to process what he had just seen for a few seconds before his expression hardened and turned to one of loathing. Except… it wasn't directed at him.

"That meddling old coot!" Snape yelled, all semblance of calm gone from his face. Then, he seemed to remember himself and he closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths before he was calm enough to speak without raising his voice. He cleared his mind and threw up his occlumency barriers. He opened his eyes and looked at harry. "Is it true?" His voice was rough, and it had a slight desperation to it that he had never heard before. Harry closed his eyes, nodding his head. Ignoring the anger bubbling up inside of him as he was painfully reminded of what Dumbledore had kept from him, he managed to ground out, "to— to kill Voldemort… I have to die," It scared him to hear those words stated so clearly… as if saying them had solidified something that had seemed so unreal. Sure he had flirted with death more than several times over the years, but this was… different. He had to walk into death's arms, willingly, to save the Wizarding world. That was another level of martyrdom.

"You are serious," Snape stated without emotion. An observation. Harry spluttered, "Wha- of course, I'm serious, did you really think I would joke about this sort of thing?!"

"You still have not explained why you were laughing hysterically earlier," Harry bristled. Of course, he would remember that. He had just given the older man life-shattering information and that was his second question. Only Severus Snape would do that.

"I was not 'laughing hysterically', I just found it rather amusing that you thought I care about house points when it's likely I'm not going to live to see who wins the house cup!"

Snape rolled his eyes but looked admonished.

"This is certainly news to me. I did not expect Dumbledore to behave in such a manner,"

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "Join the club,"

"I find it hard to believe that the Golden Boy would destroy the Headmaster's office in such a fit of rage. That was quite…" Snape paused to find the right word, "Amusing," Harry sneered at the term, "He deserved it," He sniped.

"I hate him now, you know. He manipulated me and used me. And now he's asking me to walk to my freaking death!"

"Will you?" Snape's tone was only slightly mocking.

Harry's reply was immediate, "Hell no! Dumbledore and the Wizarding world can go screw themselves!

Snape looked like he wanted to grin but stopped himself. Harry was sure that if he had, he would have wiped it off his face. "So what's your plan, Potter, surely you're not thinking of relying on your infamous Potter luck," Snape snarled, but it looked forced. He still looked slightly shaken from what he had just seen.

Harry contemplated it for a moment. Then it hit him like a truck. Oh, he was so stupid! The answer had been under his nose (excuse the pun) the entire time! He could use SNAPE to get to Voldemort! He looked up to see Snape looking at him curiously, not like he was seeing him for the first time, but like he was an expired potion ingredient that he was trying to figure out how to use.

"What is it?" He snapped.

"Brace yourself, snape,"

"Wha-"

"I'm going to tell Voldemort that I'm his Horcrux."

Snape closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face, "The Potter insanity has finally caught up with him. We're doomed. DOOMED!"

Harry mentally sighed. He knew it was going to take a lot to convince Snape to help him get to Voldemort.

"And how, pray tell, are you going to do just that, Potter," Snape had apparently decided to humor him.

"Why, I thought you'd never ask! It's really quite simple, you see, the next time Snakeface summons you, just bring ME along!"

Snape looked like he wanted this conversation to be over a year ago. "Potter, you'll be dead before you can say 'Horcrux'" his tone was condescending like he was trying to explain it in a way that a three-year-old could understand.

"If he kills me he destroys one of his Horcruxes,"

"And if he doesn't like what he hears and decides you're not worth keeping alive?"

Then it's his loss I guess, I'm a great guy," Harry shot him a cocky grin. It was a terrible smile, with far too many teeth to be friendly and Snape looked like he wanted to hex it off of his face.

"Absolutely not,"

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No, Potter,"

"Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Potter," Snape growled. There was a definite warning tone to his voice.

"If you do this I'll be out of your greasy hair for the rest of the year,"

Snape looked like he was going to refuse, but gave an exasperated sigh and gave in, "Very well," Harry was surprised that Snape had ignored the barb, he must have been more out of it than he realized.

Harry wanted to jump for joy, "When's your next meeting?"

"6 o'clock, next Saturday and don't blame me if he kills you," Snape hissed as he hastily shoved Harry out of his chambers, slamming the door in his face. He needed a drink. Or ten. Potter was going to drive him to an early grave. He threw himself rather ungracefully onto the couch, summoned an entire bottle of Firewhiskey, and drank his troubles away. So much for keeping Lily's son out of harm's way.

On the way back to his common room, Harry was internally whooping with joy. Now he could only hope that Voldemort was still open to his offer from first year.