A/N: To my new readers: welcome, great that you've come so far! To my old readers: thanks for your patience and for just being around and sharing your thoughts these past 13 (!) years! Enjoy!

888

Hermione tried to stand as quietly as possible, lest someone order her out of the room. The three visitors were seated in front of McGonagall's hearth with a cup of tea. They were shocked and, in Neville's case, close to tears. Order members watched them from the drawing room table, some seated and some standing. Dean had placed his gun on the nearby coffee table.

They'd only just gotten him back, she'd had one study group with Harry. And that was all the time she would be getting with him for the foreseeable future, probably.

Albus, standing near the head of the table, listened attentively as Dean talked. After her classmate finished his account of events Albus turned to Neville's grandmother, whose mouth sat in a stubborn line. Unusually grim, he asked her: "Is this true, Augusta? You have delivered Harry to Lord Voldemort?"

A few people gasped, Arthur jumped and Moody scowled: "Taboo's gone here, Weasley."

Augusta Longbottom, who had sat in silence during Dean's story, straightened to regard Dumbledore. "What I did was awful, Albus. But I had no choice."

"You believe Mr. Longbottom is in danger because of the mission."

Mrs. Longbottom looked harried as she studied the other adults who gathered closer to hear. "Yes of course. Children are being interrogated at Hogwarts as we speak, everyone who attended the fake party. They will cave under the pressure, the ones who know something or think they know. If I hadn't offered him something else for my son's involvement he'd be on a hit list for certain, if not today than tomorrow."

"But why not come to us? We would have hauled him away at once." Kingsley said.

"I could not chance my son's life on how well you have read the situation, as I'm sure you," – she turned to Mr. Weasley – "will understand."

Mr. Weasley looked about to snap back, but was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore, who said in a quiet tone: "And as the leader of this mission I would not?" The near-whisperwas disappointment. The man watched her over the rim of his spectacles. "You should have voiced your concerns to me, Augusta. I would have acted immediately."

Mrs. Longbottom took this in stride, inclining her head. "What will happen now?"

"That," Dumbledore glanced at the assembled, "Is for those present here to decide."

There was a rumble of mutterings and exclamations. Dumbledore watched this for a moment, then said to Augusta: "Please wait outside while we discuss your situation." His eyes went to the Hagrid who was crouching a bit near the exit because of the human-scale ceiling. "Go with her, Rubeus, someone will come to get you when we're ready."

Augusta bent towards Neville who was clutching his tea hard. She whispered something next to his ear. He gave a firm shake of his head. Mrs. Longbottom stood stiffly and was guided outside.

"I'm sorry, professor Dumbledore," Neville said, and raised his eyes after a beat, as if he'd braced himself to look upon the Light leader.

Albus gave a light shake of his head. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Mr. Longbottom. I think it's best if you, Mr. Thomas and Ms. Granger go upstairs, please." He raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "I will be putting up the silencing charm this time."

Hermione felt her cheeks grow warm as she remembered the Extendable Ears incident two months ago, when the Order was discussing Harry's whereabouts. She had disguised the Ears, but someone's coughing nearby had made her jump and drop them. It ruined the charm that made them invisible.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, she sat in lotus position on the bed. Neville joined her and Dean took the chair. Susan came in and stood near the window.

"Dean," Hermione said then shook her head, marveling anew. "What you managed to do… unbelievable."

Dean nodded, looking pale. He shot a glance at Neville. "Sorry about your grandmother, Nev. Whatever punishment she might get, this sucks."

Neville shrugged and opened his hands in a picture of bewilderment. "I understand why they have to do something. I don't know why she'd think this would be a good idea. Betraying Harry like this. After all the trouble you took to get him out… "He glanced around, jaw clenched. "Now because of Gran Harry's back with Riddle again!"

"He hasn't killed Harry yet, so I don't think he suddenly will now," Susan said. "And I can understand that she wants to protect you at all cost. My aunt was also like that about me."

Was. Hermione glanced her way. Susan looked resolved, like she may have come to terms by now with her aunt's death.

"I wasn't even in on the mission to get Harry out."

Susan shrugged.

"Didn't know you carried a gun either, Dean."

"Haven't told anyone. I always carry it just in case."

"In case of Riddle?" Susan asked.

"In case of dark scum in general. At the start of the school year when the Slytherins started harassing me because of my blood status, I didn't feel safe any more. So I decided to owl my family to get me a weapon. Too bad it wasn't lethal. Guess I'll be staying here from now on, just in case Riddle's still got a bee in his bonnet about it."

They all grinned.

"One upside in all of this, well there is one more actually: he might get sick because I poison the bullets. But it's a small chance." Dean turned to Neville. "Your family is in good standing now, at least. Pureblood and helping Mr. Dork Lord with getting his number one obsession back."

Neville shrugged one shoulder now, looking a bit dejected.

"Perhaps you can make use of that, somehow," Hermione contributed. "Maybe a... mentor-like position. I know Nott already has got Head Boy but something like that. A role that will give you influence to represent the student body to the Board of Governors. So that you can tell them how the Carrows have been treating the students. I don't think they're aware, or otherwise they would've-"

Neville interjected: "They must be aware of it, they just don't dare to intervene since he got to power."

She considered. "Yes, they have to know how awful things are right now. Though if the decision to hire the Carrows just came from Snape and not directly from Volde- I mean Riddle? In that case you could-"

Neville snorted. "Me? Go against Snape ? The same Snape who is now Headmaster ?" He laughed then. There were guffaws all around. Letting go of tension was quite contagious nowadays.

"Anyway," Neville got hold of himself again. "I know it's Riddle who's had the final say in the hiring this year. Because Snape just… he's disgusted by the Carrows, somehow."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, it's strange but I don't think he approves of them either. There are always students that need to be patched after punishment with one of them, which – he has to make the potions and hand them out, I've seen him doing that after class." If only she could steal some of those, instead of making less effective versions. "And his mouth just twists when he sees the Carrows in the Great Hall."

"You're keeping an awfully close eye on the bastard," Dean was saying.

"I can't afford not to, with his new position and when he's so close to- to Riddle. I know he hates incompetence. I just hope that will be enough to restrain the Carrows' sadistic urges."

A knock signaled they were allowed to come down. Neville would be going back, but he assured her he would visit when he could. In the meantime she would discuss it with Albus: who could be more perfect to help them?

888

In the dungeons of Hogwarts, water dripped along the stones while sweat fell down into his shirt. Harry winced as the salt bit into the slash along his throat. Glancing over, he saw Snape suitably occupied with his own potions, and dabbed the sweat away a bit. He had to wear the tailored black robes again, which Tadders had brought to him from Voldemort's manor.

As of this moment he was to accompany Snape at all times – a disturbing prospect Snape had assured him. The mental outlook boggled his mind as well. For how long? It would be slightly less grueling if he knew more about his near future. Voldemort was usually quite fond of his own voice. Not this time: he had left quickly after delivering him here with no explanation. And Harry, like a naughty little boy, had to wait until the man would return to hear the verdict. There was sure to be some of that on the menu.

Snape was already working on a few brews that morning. He'd frozen when his least favourite pupil walked into his domain along with his Lord. Harry was told to stay put as the men talked about him, silencing charm up, backs turned. Taking things in stride was Snape's second nature: an acquiescent nod and Voldemort left without a glance. He was put to coaching one of the potions already brewing towards further stages of completion. Out of the kindness of his heart of course: this way Harry could try to rescue his grade for the semester.

He gathered ingredients based on the manual that had been shoved at him, proceeding to walk towards his favourite bench from when he'd been a student. He was blessedly left alone to slice, soak, boil, squeeze and simmer. Now he slowly wrestled the thick mallowsweet roots into submission.

"Diagonal cuts, Potter, to free the juices. And even-sized slices – I teach this to first years. Here, let me."

Snape was at his side and held up his hand for the knife. He went on to demonstrate the cutting of precise diagonal pieces, as if the roots were merely french bread. After a minute he'd made a mathematical tableaux out of it. Harry stopped his stirring for a moment when Snape swept all pieces wandlessly into the cauldron.

Steam swirled up and out. He hissed, backing off as the searing droplets found his neck and the wounded part. Whatever was wrong there still, it burned worse now. Trusting that Snape would take over and keep stirring, he turned towards the faucets at the back.

"Your neck," Snape said, ever observant. "What happened there?"

He found a cleaning cloth to soak in the lower cabinet. Returning, he leaned against the back of the opposite bench to face him as if nothing much was amiss. He raised the wet cloth to hold it carefully against the spell trail. With his luck it would scar – ironic, that. Hermione would have a Muggle salve ready if she were here.

"A spell gone wrong." See how this is a non-issue for me? A curse to the neck, these things happen.

Snape moved forward a bit, hair swaying with the suddenness. Harry kept his eyes averted.

"Did the Dark Lord curse you?"

Suddenly his arm was grasped in a tight hold. He couldn't contain his shock, eyes flying to Snape's gleaming ones. Snape made sure to never touch anyone. During lessons, in the narrow aisles of the potion's classroom, Snape was almost compulsively avoidant of students. The bizarre experience of Snape imposing a physical presence, on him even, buzzed his mind.

Snape studied his neck and face in the time that he waited for an answer. Ah yes, a lot to see. He always forgot about his reddish eyes, since he avoided mirrors lately. There was also Nagini's scar.

"That stunt with the gun, that wasn't you; or I'd be patching up your flayed skin otherwise."

"So good of you to heal him," he smirked bitterly. "You must be proud, Snape. Another highlight of your Death Eater career."

Snape's eyes glistened a little with some kind of satisfaction. "Better not anger me now, Potter. Who knows what leeway the Dark Lord has given me to keep you in line."

He continued on when Harry stayed silent: "He wants to indulge me you see, for services rendered. Do what I want, for a change."

Harry stared, then with a jolt focused back on his working station. Not the eyes, not the eyes… But perhaps it had been worth the risk: it was interesting that they looked slightly off-kilter, the whites showing clearly.

"That spell residue is from a powerful curse – it's still eating away at the skin." He shook him a little. "Tell me what happened."

Snape's inexplicable interest only fed his anger. "Why the hell would I tell you anything?"

He felt the body connected to his arm tense as if Snape was restraining himself. "That will be sir for you, Potter. I can make your life easier or harder from now on, that all depends on you. I could tell the Dark Lord what a spoiled brat you're being, or sway him towards a more… lenient punishment."

Punishment? That would be a fine outcome under these circumstances. He chocked a laugh, imagining the scene. "You'll put in a good word for me. Sir." How would Voldemort tally his latest bout outside?

Something steamed with gusto near the front of the classroom – one of Snape's projects. It did not need inspecting, apparently. He noticed his arm was free again. And how long had he been staring into space, Snape quietly studying him?

Distract. "You know I've always wondered… How many people have you killed? Sir."

A deep intake of breath. Come on Snape, why restrain your temper now? "The Dark Lord asked if you were 'giving up'. Why?"

"Ask him."

"Don't be obtuse. I can get it out of you anytime I like. But let me guess anyway." While his gaze was averted, he could still see the man's eyes flying, calculating. "The way he was holding you, Potter…"

Don't finish that sentence.

"A tad… protective," Snape mused in a quiet tone that send a cold trail over his arms. "Yes. He was relieved to have you back in one piece." Disbelief now in each syllable. "Like it had been a near thing. No, the curse was yours, and you were able to get his wand. He must have been weak from the attack for you to manage that. But something went wrong."

Snape's mouth opened a little in rare surprise. "You used the wand on yourself. That was the near thing which he prevented. I've never seen him scared before, but here was the exception."

Bugger. Trust Snape to have a clue about attempted death spell trails. He wanted to deny – something sensibly rude was surely waiting, but his lips didn't move and his body had frozen, tellingly. He had this feeling of not getting any air – but why, what harm could Snape do with this information? Snape could hardly tell the Slytherins for laughs. He wouldn't take the risk since Voldemort had made it clear he was off limits. Snape had to be the best person Harry could've found to take the news that he'd nearly offed himself.

He knew his vague panic at Snape's knowing showed. He couldn't keep a smooth expression as he had before – before Riddle had left, or merged with him, or whatever it was. He could remember it though: layers locking down his face. First the strong emotions, those he felt but couldn't express. Then on the tail end of that, his milder responses to others – also erased from his features. And finally, Riddle would decide what visage would be shown to the outside world. All in the space of half a second. But his face felt exactly like his old face – like he'd never had the ability in the first place.

He sensed a wary regard through the inscrutable front, like Snape was forced to look onto something a little repulsive.

"You used the Avada, yes?" The headmaster raised his brows when he met with silence. "I know you did, Potter. Because the killing curse is for others: it does not work right for the self, as you can see."

What was he getting at? And why did this bastard think he would even listen? He abruptly made towards his bench to get back to work. Snape had put a stasis charm on the potion, which the man would need to remove. He could get by for now with preparing ahead. The next steps in his manual required cutting.

As if on cue, the knife vanished on the spot.

"Certainly not." The man strolled back over. "Not for you."

"What, I can't use a knife now? That's ridiculous" It was reasonable from Snape's eyes, of course. But he wasn't clear on how to proceed after this, and anyway, not death by knife. Seemed painful. But still, this was annoying: he was just getting used to this newfound hope of finishing the Hogwarts curriculum someday. A dream which had stuck like devil's snare. Getting a smidgen of a chance at graduating, that was a comfort he didn't want to let go of yet. But of course Snape was there to ruin the next little joy.

"Like you could give a fuck Snape, what happens to me one way or another." The vulgar word felt cathartic.

Snape abruptly vanished the potion with a wand wave. "No swearing from students. Guess that head-start I just gave you is gone now. Let me get a special knife for you."

He put his mind to studying and collecting the ingredients. He should not let himself get riled like this. He started cutting with the blunt instrument he was given. This led to his beetles getting half squashed and to wasted juice – he now needed to cut more to get the same effect.

He had some time, at least a few days, perhaps a week. A week to fret about being awake or not, alive or not. Had he changed Riddle's plans with his reckless act, or was his regular business holding him busy?

"I remember your boasting to Madame Skeeter," Snape drawled in the silence from the other side of the room, as he too went back to his foaming work. "About protecting the rights of magical creatures. Takumi allowed you room to make it official, remember? He would free up personal, budget, and so on. All this at your fingertips. But that's not good enough for hero Potter. All these opportunities you get-"

"True, so many chances. I'm spoiled like that." He narrowed his eyes as if considering. "Voldemort is spoiling me rotten."

He flinched as a sting from Snape's wand went over his arm and chest. The fairy wings he'd collected fell out of his hands. He bent down to pick them up. Snape, he mused, had made the draught. Did he know how awful that potion was when you got out on the other side? You emerged from blackness. Time unknown stretching backwards. A thousand people could have touched him, moved him, studied him and he wouldn't know it.

He focused back on the noise – Snape was speaking again, a growl in the words. "- arrogance has cost you a lot of needless pain already, hasn't it? Those mindless escape attempts, and for what? All this gallivanting off. But this Potter, this takes the cake."

Another inexplicable wave of panic in his stomach made him shake with something volatile. How was it relevant to him what this bit of slime thought? He would think on this dissonance, but later.

Say he were Voldemort. What if he burrowed him, Harry, under the Draught of Living Death again, wherever that had been. Dumbledore told him the draught had malfunctioned somehow, probably something to do with the horcrux. So whatever other security measured he'd put in place, he would fear it malfunctioning for a second time. Also, he'd just proved to the man he was unpredictable, self-dangerous. Riddle would trust no one to guard him now, he was certain. Lying unconscious, he was too vulnerable to attack or rescue. Or to wake. With all that in mind, it made killing him the best option in the long term, didn't it?

So he'd better do it right when he got another opening. Make it a closed case. Before the choice was taken out of his hands and he'd die painfully, or just as bad – some kind of unconsciousness in perpetuity where he would take uncountable breaths, for years and years and years.

"Potter!"

"What?" Snape caught his gaze while he was still deep in thought. And so he noticed too late his eyes started to burn after a few seconds – a sign of Legilimency. He broke it just when the headmaster grimaced.

"That's illegal, Snape."

He clenched his hands around the work bench. His face felt hot. What of his thoughts had he seen? It was just a skimming of the surface, like Dumbledore sometimes did, but it had to be morbid in nature. Did he think he, Harry, actually wanted this? To precede the snake devil, to lose? It was a needs must type of situation.

Snape seemed restless, as if conflicted – about him, or of what to do with him?

"And you know this from which governmental rule? I told you: I can do whatever catches my fancy." A smirk that was clearly fake confidence – he knew the real smirks from whenever he'd messed up in the past.

He sat back on the bench. Could he just walk out?

This gesture seemed to invite the man into more spewing at his own station. "All of these people out there to help you, with risk to their own lives." In the meantime the man sprinkled leaves into a brew at precise intervals of about two seconds. "But no, Potter decided when enough is enough."

"That's rich coming from you Snape. You put me under with that Draught. Besides," he went on. "What is this obsession you have with me being unappreciative or a spoiled brat or… getting into danger? Sir. Whatever it is, whatever it's been since I first stepped one foot into this classroom – it's not your concern. So you can just-"

"It is my concern since the Dark Lord wants you healthy."

"Yes, your standard explanation for things nowadays." He looked up to study the uneven rock formation that went for a ceiling. The torches made shadows of the valleys and edges. "That's not what you're doing. You're invested, with you it's personal. All this harassing and interrogating me, for what? I know it's not about taking revenge on my father."

Snape tilted his head with rapt attention. "This makes you nervous, does it? The consideration of others for your welfare," he stated quietly. "You are used to being judged on what people want to see in you, superficial things."

The potion's master leaned one hip against a bench, one hand stirring clockwise and back, clockwise and back. "What aspect makes me care that you're suicidal? Oh you scoff – do you have another word for it? No. I am bothered, Potter. Your callousness bothers me. I don't believe your parents gave their lives for you to- "

Harry cut him off, thrilled to be rude: "So this is about my parents, then. You now feel like you need to do right by them? Instead of deriding me for daring to be their son." The man's words implied some emotion regarding his… action, but no. He felt weirdly relieved.

"I see your behaviour deteriorates when the subject makes you uncomfortable. Back to my point. What would your parents say, do you think, if they saw you tried to kill yourself?"

He drew in a painful breath – his midsection wasn't dealing well with that image. It looked like that from the outside, true, but his parents would've understood the reason behind it. It was different if the act was for a bigger purpose: a matter of cause and effect. He was deriding him. He would never have done anything remotely close to this if not for this clusterfuck of a life.

"No idea, haven't met them. Yet." He pasted on a grin. Irritation always worked well to distract the Potion's Master. So, done, yes? This wasn't worth the bloody grade, that was for sure. Better walk now rather than listen to more of that vitriol. He set pace for the dungeon doors.

"Potter!"

The call made him jerk around – six years of indoctrination was hard to shake.

Snape beckoned with an ugly expression of all-around distaste. "Take me through yesterday's events."

"Damned if I'm going to listen to you tell me what my parents would be thinking, Snape." He put his back to the man and snug out onto the darkened hallway. There he sped up. Something snapped his body backwards like a piece of rope, making the little content inside his stomach pulse upwards. He cursed as he skidded right past the potion's master to bump into the desk at the front. He groaned, numb from the impact on his wrists and knees. Snape turned to keep him in sight, wand held loosely.

His trembling hands found the wooden edge to hold him up. He swallowed down the acid, telling it silently to stay down. Shook his head at Snape's continued interest. "What are you getting at?"

"Why did you feel the need to… end it."

He huffed a laugh, though it didn't calm his nerves. "I did it for attention, obviously."

Snape's gaze bore into him. "You'll have to do better than that." Nope, not your student any longer. "Point-blank, even. You were in a hurry."

"I'm bursting to share my thoughts with you, Snape, just thinking on how to begin." He traced the array of shallow and deeper cuts that the desk had taken over the years – some of them so deep that they made shadows in the dim lights of the torches.

He saw in the corner of his vision that Snape's left wrist twitched. "Shall I or shall I not sway him towards more leniency in the coming days, Potter? I won't offer again."

Circumstances considered, swaying sounded better. In exchange for a little faked politeness on his side. He tilted his buzzing head towards the ceiling again. "Yes please, sir."

Snape waved a palm – go on.

He blinked his dry eyes. "I thought it was something I needed to do."

"You needed to do."

He nodded at the torches.

"So given how all these people have bend over backwards to keep you safe over the years, killing yourself felt like the best option?"

He twisted his sleeves. "I can't tell you why. Sir."

Snape sneered. "You can't or you won't?"

"To Volde- Riddle it's a personal thing. He won't like it if I tell you." He met the black eyes: he could see and know the truth.

Snape lifted an eyebrow as if to say: and that would deter me?

"There was an actual vow involved."

The man's eyes unfocused for a beat. "I don't need specifics. Something the Dark Lord wants you to do makes you feel like this is the only way out? It never is, Potter. Nothing is worth dying for without a fight."

He tilted his head, feeling the solid desk behind him. "You want me to fight? Sir."

"I don't really care, Potter, as long as it isn't giving up." A few twitches played out in Snape's face at the last bit. "Who needs enemies, when you'll just do their job for them? For that matter who needs friends, allies?"

Why do you do this, why.

"I see your wound hasn't been treated," Snape suddenly switched tack. "It needs essence of Burlap, the trail end of a curse like this. Come here."

Snape walked off to the alcove on the left behind the ingredients cabinet. Harry followed, his chest searing more, though he hadn't thought it possible.

In this part of the classroom, students were sometimes ushered for quick treatments after a mishap with a potion, burns, cuts, or allergic reactions to ingredients. He'd been there once but never paid much attention to it otherwise. Only the most severe situations warranted a trip to the hospital ward. A shelf ran along the length of the small space. It boasted a medical kit as well as a small sink.

Snape had whirled down on the low rotatable stool and gestured Harry towards the recliner. He was already soaking some kind of fabric in a wide glass jar of what was presumably the Burlap essence.

"Hold this."

The potion's master let the fabric unfold out of the liquid and held one end of the long strip of... bandage apparently, against his throat, waiting for him to cover it with his own fingers, which he did. This bit fiercely into the trail burn, like holding a candle close might. He hissed a sharp breath and clenched the fingers of his other hand to bite the nails into his palm.

Snape was awfully close and intent on the injury. And him. He seemed patient. The feeling that came with this kind of careful attention was an old and worn one, and therefore stubborn and vicious to his sense of balance. Or was the man just savouring the moment? The pain was a distraction from these emotional spikes, but it lessened as the concoction did its work.

The next part was introduced to him with deliberate slowness, as if to make sure he didn't bolt: Snape gradually came forward, elbows on knees, and placed two fingers to his cheek. His breath turned shaky as he drew a blank trying to match Nagini's scar to anything that could be relevant now.

Snape murmured a stream of Latin below his breath, hard to make out, while drawing the fingers lightly downwards. After getting to the end of his jaw and the cut, he started again with a new tracing. It was meticulous work, as thorough as he knew the man was about his potions. His cheek itched. He had to be healing the skin, fixing something as irrelevant as a scar along his cheek.

Snape sat back, gestured to move the dressing. He studied the result. "Spells made for destruction and death are resistant to change, as you yourself are in a unique position to know."

He shrugged. The man once more soaked the linen and redressed. Head close to Harry's, hands round and round his throat, it all had an eerie familiarity to it. The wizards' long robe had caught a speck of dust from the floor. Large garments were just bothersome when making potions. You could trip, fall even, catch a sleeve in a corrosive substance, drag ingredients from your table if you didn't watch out – magical people and their customs, weird.

And here was Snape being weird. He wanted him to live, to not kill himself – which yes, he should be against as a teacher. Snape was diluting the matter, but below the surface his mark seared a little – an intense sort of irritation, or resistance even. Needing Harry to behave differently, but hiding this urgency below an aloof exterior. It strained his sense of reality. Wasn't this in some way caring just a bit? It was something he would've asked Ginny or Hermione.

His eyes ached with a hurt beyond his energy to repress it. If he did not close them, there would be nothing to mock. He choked down a noise. Back at the Dursleys he'd also managed to hold things in until the right moment, which was usually inside his cupboard or bedroom.

"Stop that biting, it's bleeding."

Oh, his mouth burned. He focused on this while continuing his study of the floor.

A sigh. "Why do this now that he's actually being more considerate of you? He must find you risky to kill after the many brushes you've had with death, not to mention all the public uproar you bring with you. He wants to 'tame' you, if his recent actions are any indication."

"I don't think so. He'll lock me up again."

"He told you this, exactly."

He nodded, shifting back on the recliner to lay down, feeling the events of the day. "Below-ground, under the draught. The one you gave me last time. He managed to say it as if it were a gift. 'I might allow you…'" Harry chuckled at the memory.

"From him, anything less than murder is indeed a gift. So this is what is compelling you to go to such absurd lengths? Observe that you're not put away under Living Death yet. So you have room for negotiation. I want you to use that, Potter. Make him see the value of the role you can take at Hogwarts, or at the Ministry. Use that righteousness for something constructive."

He'd had this conversation before, just with a different person. He clenched his jaw hard. "So that's what you want: me to convince the Dark Lord I can be valuable to him."

Snape flicked his hand as if to say: I want many things.

"It won't go over well if I try to..." He couldn't find the word.

"Coerce him? We all try to persuade him at times, Potter. You didn't even bother. You just wanted to quit. Now, imagine being Muggleborn right now. Imagine for one moment not living in the Dark Lord's manor or under my private tutelage, but forced into the poorest neighborhoods because you're not allowed to go to your old work anymore and you no longer have a bank account of your own. Needing to count every knut. And yet these people persevere. They try."

"Noted, sir." He snug his arms behind him, palms flat against the recliner to cover his shaking.

Snape's eyes glittered, as they always did when he felt challenged or wanted to make a point. "Too much catering in your upbringing, too righteous to put your mind to this and work from what's possible within the system."

Catering, nice. "Why, actually? Aside from the system bringing me so many wonderful things of course, like flowers and rainbows."

The man's fingers were mashing around his wand again. "Instead of my duties as Headmaster and potioneer, I am minding you , Potter. I shouldn't be surprised that all things just bend around you: regimes change, but the considerations made for the Chosen One stay the same."

Ah, familiar ground again. He'd so often been called a waste of time or space by the Dursleys, he'd lost count. Harry pointed at the man's face, enjoying the next twitch this caused. "See? There you go. That's what this is about."

"You're just a mediocre boy, with no discipline or ambition. Somehow convinced that you're the hero everyone needs, the chosen one who has to sacrifice himself for all others, because he started to believe in his own legend. Always ready to do what others want you to do. You never once think for yourself, do you Potter? It's Ms. Granger who got you through your courses most of the time, is it not?"

He felt something sizzle in the air in sync with the blood thrumming in his temples. "It's Voldemort who you want to impress the most, is it not?"

He felt Snape's own magic cold and sharp through the mark. His face was distorted in familiar derision. "Disrespect me one more time, Potter, and the deal will be off. I hope you do, in fact, because it proves to me how small of a boy you still are."

He turned his face away from the way Snape had zeroed in on him again. Despite the words nothing remotely eager sounded in Snape's tone: just a resolve, a stubbornness that was actually for Harry's benefit.

"Aren't you getting tired, Potter, of other people always deciding what they want you to do?"

He finally unclenched his jaw. "What would you suggest I do, sir."

"You should decide for yourself what it is you want to achieve, and the steps needed to get where you want to be. Then go about making that happen."

"Of course, just the matter of the mass murderer to get out of the way, then I'll do that."

"No, Potter." Snape leaned forward a little, he was so set on his point. "Stop wallowing in popular discourse which is not in your interest. And use your influence to make others do things for you, to reach your goals, for a change."

You're one to talk to me about my interests, he thought. Who was he to refuse such a peace offering though, if that's what this was? He tilted his head. "Is that a hint from the Hogwarts Headmaster, an offer for assistance?"

Snape sat back with a hint of humour at the directness of the question, which he should have expected.

"If said assistance is directly in line with my interests who knows – I might consider it."

888

Voldemort's next move was a bishop to F5. Severus had just reported on Potter's injuries as asked.

"Why do I get the sense, my Lord," - he took it in exchange for a knight – "that you'll miss him if you put him under again."

No good to look up now, not for such an idle and bold thought.

"Are you accusing me of getting sentimental?" Riddle spoke, keeping his gaze on the board as well set between them on the Headmaster's desk. "The symbolism or myth-like status around him, that I can use. But aside from that he is a nuisance, just uncommonly persistent at it. You can hardly stand him, I've been told."

He gave a modest smirk. "You've been told correctly, my Lord." Castling. Riddle was getting a bit too comfortable keeping his pieces on the defense, when he could have gained ground by being bold. Not what he'd expected.

"Forgive me for the impertinence my Lord, but… Instead of the Draught, which didn't work right on Potter – of course he's the exception to the rule once again – why don't I provide him with a potion of unremarkable look and smell that can quieten his wayward mind into obedience? Or let's say… a lethal poison? Saves us the dramatics."

Though actually, let's not. He swept his pawn to C4. Gaining more central ground and supported by another pawn. Riddle's Black rook next pulled away from the eight rank to strengthen the attack forming at the board's edge – finally.

"I don't want any irreversible solutions at this time, Severus. In fact, your old intel is what decided it for me. I can accept for this moment that the boy is my companion in faith, even now that I've negated the threat from the prophecy. He'll be my hero for the masses, when the time is right. Killing or altering him would make him a martyr for the Order. Killing him later, in a few years' time, when things have come to fruition and he's irrevocably associated with my goals, well…"

Snape pushed onward with a second supporting pawn. "Public opinion will be more mixed, might even have turned completely."

"Aside from wanting his little friends safe, he begs for some kind of… solid presence. Consistency. Based on your reports I expected him to be more spoiled. But his needs are easily met, I find."

Snape was aware of the airy tone, which signaled a deeper annoyance. Voldemort played his next move but the board had blurred in the face of this near scolding.

"Perhaps not as spoiled in his upbringing as I thought until recently, my Lord," he inclined his head in concession. "Though he remains stubborn and insubordinate at every turn."

Riddle tilted his head, watching him now – maybe because Snape wasn't studying the board or because he mulled over his words. "He has a general problem with authority figures, yes."

He now spotted Riddle's new move – the knight threatening his pawn build-up. But the man's words pulled him away from the chess game again. And on we go...

Snape murmured: "In case you find both options of draught and death undesirable for Potter, my Lord, I would like to point out another option. It minimizes risks while still keeping Potter in the public eye – a good reminder of your benevolence and strength." He waited. It was not wise to take command of the conversation without approval. Voldemort gestured impatiently – go on.

"As the true headmaster as recognised by the castle," - and oh how that chafed on him and Albus – "you have the liberty to calibrate Potter's magical signature to Hogwarts runes. I hadn't thought of this option before to keep him on a leash, I must confess. I was not aware of the remaining secret tunnel at the Room of Hidden Things. The others are now all checked and sealed, of course."

He defended the weak pawn at the back by putting a Bishop in line. Voldemort put it in a pin with his rook, at the expense of his own. He moved it to negate the threat and continued:

"With these runes keyed towards Potter specifically, it does not matter if there are any exists left still functioning we don't know about. He won't be able to set one foot outside the official castle boundary. Even were the rebel forces to dig a hole right into his bedroom, the outer wards would remain impenetrable."

Voldemort took this in. "I know of it. Hogwarts does not work for me as it should, however. When I think of what Dumbledore still manages to pull off around here, when he's not even close…. It barely tolerates me as Headmaster, I find. I did force the issue – it may have reacted badly to that. Or it's a parting gift from Albus, who knows? It's what I would've done."

It's what you did when you didn't get the Defense post. Disconcerting to hear the Dark Lord talk about an inadequacy of his own. This kind of sharing did not come without a price to the person listening.

Riddle pushed through with his rook-and-knight attack, disrupting his line of pawns on the other side. The Dark Lord led his interest bled into his next words: "I have seen the castle's capabilities for warfare, back in Grindlewald's time. Through the windows of the Astronomy Tower one could see the highlands far and wide, as if through a magnifying glass. There is latent protective magic in the stones in all kinds of places – at the entrance gates, in the great hall doors. Perhaps you've seen it yourself in the dungeons?"

"The lake water is rumoured to be changeable when Hogwarts is under attack," Snape remembered. "Healing to its inhabitants, poisonous to its enemies. I have yet to see these protections in action, however." Pity they didn't help when you came knocking.

Snape's bishop and queen were forced into the fight, when he needed them on the other side. No side held the material advantage yet, though. Voldemort smirked, but he somehow sensed it wasn't about the game.

"This castle is a stubborn old lady, we don't quite know what makes her tick. I'm done negotiating with her. Were I to transfer the official contract to you, I sense you might entice her more, Severus, with your… let's say awareness of the students as a teacher."

Snape went back to his pawns when all was quiet again. "Overexposure to the brats, I'm sure."

Voldemort had smoothed his expression. Something entertained him and it spiked Snape's blood pressure to see it.

"It must grate on you, to have the title but not the magic."

The right answer was a humble one. A lie, but not in the way Riddle would think. "This position you have granted me gives me all the recognition I could want, sir."

"Hm." He hadn't taken the bate and so Riddle was bored again – the mood-swings could be dizzying to an observer, but you had to keep up. "You don't ask for things like the others do. You could, you know: you were instrumental in weakening Albus for me. So why is that, Severus?"

Lucky for him, the Dark Mark didn't sense sweat. "What do the others ask, aside from the obvious? Older Muggleborns for Nott and young men to be sliced and devoured for Bellatrix?" Snape felt the stare and braced himself to meet and hold it. Up close, the redness was not like what Potter's had become – his eyes were more brownish, green and red mingling.

Riddle, rook in one hand, spread the other one invitingly. "Have it then."

This was unexpected. He had passed some kind of test. He bowed quickly and rasped his gratitude. He was grateful: this meant the kind of influence and authority towards the other teachers that they'd always hoped for, but had despaired of recently.

"Potter's quirks and emotions," Voldemort continued onto the matter at hand. "He is currently… unpredictable, a danger to himself. More intensive monitoring is in order. You can read him almost as well as I, Severus. Which is why you'll be his supervisor from here on out. He is to report to you each night after dinner." He waved as if ushering away a nearby cat. "You may decide on the purpose of these meetings, I care not."

"Of course, my Lord," his mouth responded on automatic.

"His only trips outside this castle will be with me from now on, no exceptions. He's mostly docile. He knows what's at stake for him. But below the surface he's still resisting me."

Well, did you expect smiles and hugs?

Voldemort was hissing his annoyance more and more as he continued, as if on a slippery slope towards Parseltongue: "I have no interest in his adolescent opinions, as long as he doesn't voice them to others when they are not in line with my views. I do want him more pliable. If I grant him leniency yet again for the purpose of his education, I want his gratitude in spades. And I will have it. You will aid him in this. You've had ample exposure to his thought patterns throughout his Occlumency lessons, correct?

Snape inclined his head. Pity that he had to figure that out. "Any specifics my Lord?"

"The dueling club, I want him to participate. And the Slug club. Even better that he hates social situations. Make sure he presents himself as motivated, not dragging his feet. Show him the larger picture outside his tiny world. Of course," Riddle waved a palm carelessly again. "Use whatever method you feel is effective. Discipline as you see fit. No permanent scars or injuries – though that is not your style, is it?"

Voldemort's eyes glinted – he did like to be reminded of Snape's particular expertise in poisons. He'd been practically unrivaled at it when he was young and stupid. Severus had managed to avoid going back to it after the first war. Albus had been spot on as usual. He also wanted him to share in the Dark Lord's interests more...

But not now, not this subject. He ignored the silent inquiry as if the idea of disciplining Potter filled his whole mind, murmuring some kind of gratitude.

"I have not seen you fail at anything, Severus, unlike my other most trusted followers."

Voldemort let that hang for a bit as they want back to the game.

"I shall continue to succeed in this, my Lord." Snape wasn't fooled: everything always hung in the balance, even when you were – or appeared to be for the moment – the Dark Lord's favourite.

Although Voldemort had won all other times, the game ended in a draw.


A/N: I loved going back to my dear fic, now that I had enough time these past months to write. It was a lot of fun to write these delicious interactions as well. What do you think of this chapter? Make me happy and write a review!