Harry Potter 1. My Mind Goes Sleepwalking

Title: The Hogwarts Redemption  
By: Spiral (spiral_24@hotmail.com)  
Rating: Rated R for violence (including torture), character death, swearing, sexual references (including BDSM) and mild slash (SS/RL). It is not rated NC-17 as there are no explicit sexual descriptions. If in doubt though, treat it as such.  
Summary: Snape is sent on a mission by Dumbledore to recover an ancient artefact from the British Museum in London. Will he reach it before Voldemort does?   
Timeline: Four days after the ending of GoF.  
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst  
Disclaimer: This is for love, not money. Severus and all the other characters portrayed here do not belong to me - I am just playing with them again before I put them back in J.K.Rowling's toy box. Oliver's Army was written and sung by the great Elvis Costello (all bow deeply).  
Note: Apologies to Steven King and Frank Darabont. It was inevitable, someone had to do it and it might as well be me. Sorry. Oh, and Nina is not me, honestly. Five points to Slytherin if you recognise where the character was taken from, before being warped and abused by me here. Many thanks to my superlative beta readers, Becca and Tanya.  


*

**

The Hogwarts Redemption

**  


Chapter 1  
**My Mind Goes Sleepwalking**

_Don't start me talking  
I could talk all night  
My mind goes sleepwalking  
While I'm putting the world to right  
Called careers information  
Have you got yourself an occupation?  
  
Oliver's army is here to stay  
Oliver's army are on their way  
And I would rather be anywhere else  
But here today.  
  
There was a checkpoint charlie  
He didn't crack a smile  
But its no laughing party  
When you've been on the murder mile  
Only takes one itchy trigger  
One more widow, one less white nigger._

  
Severus Snape jabbed the 'Stop' button on the CD player and walked over to the open window. His most constructive thoughts often occurred to him when gazing out of a window, especially when the view was as pleasing as this one. Some of his students back at Hogwarts seriously believed his private chambers were in the dungeons. This amused him. 

The words of the song played across his mind. He had been listening to the track on repeat for almost ten minutes. 

Cromwell. He had always admired Oliver Cromwell - the man's resolute control, his fierce mastery of mind, body and emotion. Cromwell chose his men wisely. He saw into men's hearts and felt their consuming passion, knew they would fight to the last breath for the cause as long as he led them. They fought not because they were forced to, or were convinced to, or needed to, but because they _wanted_ to. "Troops moved to victory with the precision of machines, while burning with the wildest fanaticism of crusaders ..." To Snape, the lines from Macauley's _History of England, Volume 1_ never seemed more apt. 

Voldemort, Snape knew, could also see into men's hearts and know their innermost desires. But had Voldemort been wrong about those Death Eaters who, like Karkaroff, had failed to return when called after the long years of silence? No. They had fled from cowardice. They still wanted what they always had, but were no longer prepared to risk their lives for it. As far as he could see, Voldemort had never misjudged any of his troops. It was merely that, for some, the fire had died down over the years. 

And him? Had not he, Severus Snape, offered his arm for the Dark Mark freely? Voldemort had not been wrong about him then, and when he had prostrated himself in front of the Dark Lord the evening after the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, he had simply been commanded to rise, return to Hogwarts and await his summons. There had been no further comment; it was an unspoken acceptance of his continued loyalty. 

That was what Dumbledore had predicted. 

'You are now Voldemort's only link to Hogwarts, Severus,' Dumbledore had told him. 'We both know how much he wants Hogwarts. He _will _accept you back into the ranks.' 

Snape had not looked so convinced. Dumbledore had smiled at him in his most fatherly manner. 

'I'm not saying it won't be highly dangerous, of course. You will need your wits about you more than ever. But Voldemort would be a fool to kill you when he can make such good use of you. Just play your strongest card, Severus, and you will survive.' 

His strongest card? The role of fence-sitter, poised to slide over the side that was ultimately victorious. Dumbledore believed it to be an act. All Snape believed was that Dumbledore had more faith in him than he had in himself. 

The noise of the traffic below in Park Lane was getting louder and drew him back to the present. Snape wrinkled his nose in distaste at the noxious petrol fumes and moved away from the window. The speed and determination of these non-magicals going about their business had made him apprehensive at first. He felt marked out as an interloper in their everyday dance of life, the only one not knowing the steps. Yesterday evening he had stood completely motionless amongst the mass of people crossing Tower Bridge, leaning back uneasily against the parapet, the only still figure amongst the constant human tide. He had felt disconnected, yet perversely superior in his aloofness. 

Muggles. He disliked the term. It made them sound harmless and inoffensive - comic, even. They should never be underestimated as such. They reminded him of honey bees, constantly on the move. Like bees, they went quietly on their way if nothing disturbed them, but were capable of a dangerous swarming given the provocation, and then Merlin help anyone in their path. 

How many had died the last time the non-magicals had swarmed out of control in their fear and hatred of his kind? It was the Witch Trials - what many had called _The Burning Times_. Some said nine million, but on closer reading of the primary sources that seemed a rather arbitrary figure. He concurred with Muggle historians such as Hutton that the real figure was closer to forty thousand. Yes ... Professor Hutton. Some of what Snape had read in his books was so accurate it made him wonder if the man truly was a non-magical. 

Forty thousand - the number appeared insignificant in comparison with nine million. But had he stood on Tower Bridge yesterday until sunset, Snape doubted whether as many as forty thousand souls would have passed him. And _how_ they had died ... it was the fortunate ones who had been hanged, given the dignity of a quick and efficient death. The others ... Snape thought of their screams and desperate pleas for mercy as he envisaged their torture and execution - flesh ripped from flesh, fat melting from charred bones, splashing and congealing grey and thick on smooth cobbles.The shrieks of agony of those broken and violated bodies echoed to Snape across history. It didn't require him to draw greatly on his powers of imagination. He had heard tortured screams as a younger man and would never forget them. Torture was the logical recourse of fundamentalism of any type, in any age. The cries still haunted his dreams sometimes, pulling him from sleep to wake with a cold sweat, and a sick emptiness in the pit of his stomach. 

Often, in those dreams, Snape heard Voldemort's voice rising above the screaming, a calming and yet impassioned counterpoint, compelling and strangely mesmerising. Theirs was a glorious mission of deliverance, he was telling them, the liberation from a thousand years of moving darkly through the shadows. No longer would they cloak themselves in anonymity to blend in with the mediocrity of the world 'outside', weaving deceptions and incantations to hide their every movement. Finally, they would reclaim this world 'outside' and make it their own, walking tall and proud in their rightful place as leaders in the land of their birth. Aged seventeen, Snape had wanted it, had _desired_ it, so intensely it had made him tremble ... and kill. 

  
_My mind goes sleepwalking  
While I'm putting the world to right_

  
The two lines came back to him suddenly. 

'Go with the certainty of sleepwalkers on the path laid out for you by Providence,' Voldemort had told them, the Death Eaters, the élite. They had done so. The seduction of Voldemort's dazzling charisma had brought about an unshakable faith in the guidance and protection of a higher force, external to them all - even their Dark Lord and Master himself. In this atmosphere of abandonment many of them had indeed been liberated, just as Voldemort had promised. It had taken the form of willing submission to the deadly, glittering impulses they had previously only barely held in check. Had he believed he was putting the world to right? For a brief, pure moment, yes ... before the blood, before the screaming ... 

Snape had listened to some of the Death Eaters at their trials, pleading the influence of the Imperius curse, the subordination of their mind and judgement to the Dark Lord. The majority of them had no more been the victim of that curse than Snape had. Their wills had not been lost; quite the opposite. They had been given free rein under Voldemort's careful ministrations. This was the true horror of it all. 

He checked his watch. 8.40 am - the British Museum did not open its doors until 10. Better make a start, though. He would walk. The Underground was loathsome, especially at this time of the morning. 

Snape closed the window and walked over to the small writing table on the opposite side of the room, where he picked up a smooth black leather wallet. It bulged slightly with the thickness of the Bank of England notes inside it. Their damned money, he had never been able to get used to it. Yesterday evening he had attempted to pay for a newspaper with a £20 note and had incurred an astonishing amount of verbal abuse from the street vendor. It had attracted too much attention from passers by. He would not make that mistake again. 

He slipped the wallet and his room keys into his trouser pocket and glanced up at the tall gilt mirror above the table. He adjusted his black silk tie for a moment and fiddled awkwardly with the cuffs of his black cotton shirt, pulling them further out from under the sleeves of his black suit jacket. His appearance was ... adequate, perhaps even slightly more than adequate. So it should be, he thought sourly, the amount the blasted suit had cost him at the tailor's - _ R. Marney: Muggle Clothing of Distinction_ - in Diagon Alley. He patted the left side of his jacket and felt the slim, reassuring presence of his wand and two thin crystal phials, held tightly inside the narrow concealed pocket in the lining. 

Snape handed in his keys at the reception, then crossed the cool, marbled, art deco splendour of the hotel lobby and pushed through the revolving mahogany door. The concierge on the pavement outside bade him a warm 'Good Morning, Professor' and Snape nodded curtly in acknowledgement. 

It was strange, he mused, that once he reaccustomed himself to it, it was almost comforting to be swept along in the flow of life outside, to be totally anonymous and blend in with it all, just another face in the crowd. This was the opposite of Diagon Alley, where it seemed as if at almost every other step he was acknowledged, or worse, forced into responding to some cretinous attempt at polite conversation by an ex-student or a parent of one of the current hoard. He kept his visits there to a minimum, always ensuring they were as brief as physically possible. 

As he walked, Snape cast his mind back to the previous morning's meeting with Dumbledore, and the reason why he was here in London in the first place. 

  


*

  
It had been well before breakfast, while Snape - a habitual early riser - was still dressing, that the house-elf had knocked on the door of his private chambers and delivered Dumbledore's note. The note had told him nothing, except that his presence was required in Dumbledore's office immediately. Curious, but not so curious as to walk the corridors in only his shirt-sleeves, Snape was being admitted to the large circular room more than ten minutes later. 

'Severus, do come in.' Dumbledore gestured towards one of the leather armchairs in front of the smartly crackling fire. 'Can I get you some tea?' he inquired. 

'No, thank you, Headmaster,' said Snape, sitting down stiffly. 

'Some toast, perhaps?' said Dumbledore, lifting the copper kettle from above the fire and warming the large willow-patterned teapot on the hearth, which promptly did a small jig to swirl the hot water around itself before settling back down again. 

'No, no thank you.' Snape crossed his legs and had to make a conscious effort to stop himself from drumming his long fingers on the arm of his chair as Dumbledore replaced the kettle, and then the teacosy on the now motionless pot, in a slow and deliberate manner. 

'You wished to see me, Headmaster - urgently?' said Snape, not quite succeeding in extracting the slight tone of sarcasm from his voice. 

'Yes, indeed I do, Severus, but first things first, eh? Are you sure you won't join me for a cup of tea?' 

Snape sighed inaudibly and nodded, smiling slightly, despite his mild irritation. 

'Very well, then.' 

He knew from long years of experience that there was no point in trying to hurry the Headmaster. It would be as useless as attempting to summon snow on the Summer Solstice. He would just have to hold his impatience, and his curiosity, in check until Dumbledore was ready. He inspected his fingernails lazily, while he listened to the spooning out of tea and the chinking of china cups. 

The teapot eventually became animated once again and obediently poured out two cups of steaming hot tea. Dumbledore settled himself in the chair opposite and sipped his tea thoughtfully. He put down his cup and picked up the morning's newspaper. It was not the _Daily Prophet_ but rather the Muggle newspaper that the Headmaster also took, called _The Guardian_. He began to flick through its pages. 

Snape sighed again, louder this time, and raised his cup to his lips. 

'You know,' said Dumbledore from behind the newspaper, 'I'm firmly of the opinion that it is important to get a balanced perspective on the world. It is most advantageous if one maintains an open mind.' He folded the newspaper in half and regarded Snape over the top of his half-moon spectacles. 

'What do you make of this, Severus?' he said, leaning over to pass the newspaper. 

Snape took the paper and examined the page. Occupying a prominent position at the top was a black and white photograph of what looked like some form of metal ornament, crafted in the shape of a snake swallowing its own tail. He read out the caption underneath. 

' "A silver Celtic torc, believed to date from the first century CE, discovered yesterday at a peat works at Hatfield Moor near Doncaster in Yorkshire, is due to go on display later this week at the British Museum." ' 

He looked up sharply at Dumbledore, his dark eyes gleaming. 'The Ouroboros torc of Salazar Slytherin,' he breathed. 'Can it be?' 

'Yes, I believe so,' said Dumbledore slowly. He got up and walked over to his desk, returning with a thick leather and metal bound book, which he opened carefully at a bookmarked page and handed to Snape. 'It matches the sketches in Salazar Slytherin's journal exactly, does it not?' 

Snape held the two images side by side for a moment, and then half-closed his eyes and murmured softly. 

' "There is a plant that hides somewhere among the rocks,  
That thirsts and thrusts itself deep in the earth, with thistles that sting.   
That plant contains eternal life for you ..." ' 

'Yes, the Epic of Gilgamesh,' said Dumbledore. 'I felt confident you would grasp the situation immediately, Severus, having studied Salazar Slytherin's writings in some depth.' 

'Indeed, Headmaster. The serpent - ' 

'The serpent Ningizzida spoke to me of the blessing of the plant that restoreth the soul to the body,' quoted Dumbledore from memory. 'She told me that if my hands did obtain this plant, I may regain life's breath and youthful vigour. She showed me where this wonderous plant might be found.' He smiled. 'I have also made a detailed reading of Salazar Slytherin's most fascinating journal.' 

Dumbledore returned to his armchair and steepled his fingers thoughtfully. 

Snape's intent gaze never left him. 

'What do _you_ believe the Ouroboros could contain, Headmaster?' he asked softly. 

'I have pondered that question for over five decades,' said Dumbledore. 'Whatever I could say at this moment would merely be conjecture. But I believe it is vital to assume two things. Firstly, that this artefact in the newspaper is indeed the torq that Salazar Slytherin described in his journal as his hiding place for the powerful plant he claimed to have discovered. Secondly, that all of the information we have is also known by Voldemort, and that he will be most anxious to obtain the torq for his own purposes. Although Voldemort, of course, possesses a form of immortality, from the description of his appearance given by Harry, and from your report, Severus, he must now be a truly terrible sight to look upon. Consider, if the torq does in fact hold a fragment of Gilgamesh's legendary flower of youth, just how much more power this will give Voldemort. With his youth restored, he would become even more of an overwhelming and seductive presence than he was thirteen years ago.' 

Snape broke his gaze and shifted uncomfortably in his seat for a moment, before meeting Dumbledore's bright blue eyes once again. 

'What is it that you wish me to do?' Snape asked. 

'I want you to go to London,' said Dumbledore. 'Do your utmost to retrieve the torq from the British Museum before Voldemort does. Do what you must. Go today, as soon as you are able. It may take a few days - stay down there. I have an account at The Dorchester, I will arrange for you to use it. I know I need not warn you to use your discretion.' 

'It is assured,' said Snape, rising from the armchair. 

'And Severus ...' 

'Yes, Headmaster?' 

'Be careful.' 

The Potions master nodded, and swept silently through the door. 

* * *

**Author's note:** The comment about Professor Hutton is meant as a gentle compliment. I had the honour of meeting him once, at of all things, a Harry Potter fancy dress party. He was dressed as ... yes, you've guessed it ... Professor Snape. A very fine rendition of the Potions master he gave too, giving Alan Rickman a run for his money... well okay, just a little bit! 


	2. On The Murder Mile

Chapter 2  
**On The Murder Mile**

The British Museum. As Snape walked through its gates for the second time in as many days, he felt a growing sense of affection for the place. Certainly it was not the self-important neoclassical main entrance that inspired this in him. Rather, it was the ambience of the building, which wrapped around you like a thick winter cloak and was equally as comforting. 

Yesterday, after finally getting away from the damned tailor in Diagon Alley, he had arrived at the museum just before it closed. Although it had been the first time in his life he had set foot inside, Snape had immediately felt an easy familiarity with it. The atmosphere was universal and unmistakable. There was concentration, study and dedication - even a certain detached and restrained passion - in the rustles and whispers and measured footsteps that formed the low and constant background hum. 

A brief tour of the Europe and Roman Britain exhibitions on the Upper floors had revealed nothing, and at such a late hour he could find no member of staff to approach for information on the Ouroboros, apart from a rather surly security guard, who asked him to leave as the museum was closing. 

Today, he had the entire day to immerse himself in the bliss of wandering alone and as he pleased among the exhibitions. He relished the prospect and silently thanked Dumbledore for appointing him to the task. But first, to the business in hand. 

He strode from the gloom of the entrance into the bright expanse of the Great Court piazza, triangles of sunlight dappling its pale walls, and approached the curved information desk in front of the famous circular reading room. The woman sitting behind it looked up and smiled. 

'Good morning,' said Snape. 'I was wondering if you might be able to assist me?' 

'I'll certainly do my best,' she said brightly. 

'It regards the new exhibit I read about in the newspaper yesterday - the silver serpent torq, recently discovered? I understand it is to go on display, and I was hoping you would be able to tell me when this will be?' 

'Ah.' A slight frown crossed her face. 'I do know the piece you mean, but I don't know when it's being put on display. Hold on, I'll contact one of my colleagues who will be able to help you.' 

She picked up the telephone and punched in a short number. 

'Hi, Nina, its Carol on the Information Desk. There's a gentleman here who has an enquiry about the new exhibit that - yeah, that's right, the silver - well, yes ... oh, alright then. Are you sure you've got - ? Okay, bye.' 

She looked up, a slightly puzzled expression on her face. She smoothed it away, efficiently. 

'The member of staff who is handling the exhibit will see you in a moment, sir.' 

'Thank you.' 

He clasped his hands behind his back and moved away slightly from the desk. As he waited, he glanced up at the curved glass roof that covered the Great Court. It was beautiful in its mathematical precision, and Snape could not help but admire it. 

He was still gazing at it when someone addressed him. 

'Good morning.' 

He looked down sharply and saw a woman in front of him. 

'I'm Dr Nina Jameson, Keeper of the Department of Prehistory and Early Europe. I believe you're interested in the latest piece we're about to put on display?' 

'Thomas Fairfax ... pleased to meet you.' Snape smiled stiffly and held out his hand. She shook it briefly. 

He appraised her quickly. She was around his own age, he estimated. Blonde curly hair, just above shoulder length. Smart business suit. Firm handshake. She held herself well. 

'Yes, that's right,' he continued. 'I was wondering when it might be possible to see it.' 

'Tomorrow morning, when we open,' said Nina. 'The Department of Conservation is nearly done with it.' 

'I shall look forward to it,' said Snape smoothly. 

'Yes, there have been a number of people who've expressed a keen interest to view it, so I imagine we will be slightly busier than usual.' 

'Really?' 

'Yes, one gentleman in particular has been very ... persistent in his enquiries. I thought that you might be him, in fact.' 

'I don't suppose he left his name, at all?' 

Nina gave Snape an odd look. 

'No, he didn't.' 

'Could you describe him?' 

'I'm not sure.' She frowned and moved ever so imperceptibly away. 

Snape's mind raced like quicksilver down a plughole. 

'Oh, I'm sorry, I know those must have sounded like strange requests ...' He smiled again, and hoped he looked slightly ... pained. 

'It's just that ... I'm writing a paper on the symbolism of the Ouroboros, and I was rather hoping to be the first to publish an analysis of this particularly fascinating new find. One of my colleagues is, regrettably, rather hot on my heels.' 

_Academic pride. She will understand that._

She smiled. Warmth there, for the first time. Snape silently congratulated himself. 

'Well, I recall he seemed to be about the same age as you, Mr Fairfax.' 

'It's _Professor_ Fairfax,' he said gently. 

'Oh, I do apologize.' 

'It's quite alright.' _Thank you, Merlin._

'He was also dressed very smartly. His most striking feature was his hair though. It was very long, almost reaching down to the middle of his back - platinum blonde.' 

_Malfoy._

Snape recovered himself in a moment, but justified his slight reaction nonetheless. 

'It seems my colleague is closer than I thought. Well, may the best man win.' 

_Truer words I am unlikely to speak this morning._

Snape smiled again. A little ... vulnerable, perhaps? 

'Might it be possible to arrange a private viewing?' he asked. 

'Well, perhaps we could organise something for later in the week, Professor.' 

_Expected. No matter. Strange emphasis on my title there. She remains to be convinced, naturally._

'We would require your request in writing, of course.' 

'Of course.' 

'I will look into it today when I get the chance, and let you know. Where can I contact you?' 

'I'm staying at The Dorchester for the next couple of days, but I should imagine I will be here until closing time today. It has been quite a while since my last visit, and I wish to re-acquaint myself with some of the collections. Shall I enquire again at, say, 5pm?' 

'Yes, OK,' said Nina. 'Goodbye for now, Professor.' 

Snape watched her go for a moment before moving away himself, towards the tall, wooden double doors leading to the Egyptian exhibition. 

_Damn. Malfoy is here. Of course. How could I have doubted it? Never underestimate your adversary._

With that thought, Snape had a sudden realisation that made him go cold. The curator he had just spoken to, who Malfoy had obviously been harrassing, was in extreme danger. 

Perhaps Malfoy plans to wait until tomorrow night though, wondered Snape. Simply Apparate in after the museum closes and remove the Ouroboros from its display case? No. He knew this would not be Malfoy's intention, because it was not his own. The Ouroboros had to be located as soon as possible. That meant finding out which behind the scenes office or deep basement it was currently kept in. To do so meant 'persuading' the curator to disclose its exact whereabouts. The only difference between the strategies of the two men would be Malfoy's willingness, if not enthusiasm, to leave a corpse in his wake. 

Snape realised that, due to his tardiness, it was sheer good fortune the woman was still alive today - that, and a testament to Malfoy's sloppy workmanship. Now, even after he 'convinced' her in his own manner to tell him the location of the Ouroboros, he could not leave her on her own until tomorrow morning. He had revealed the name he was using and where he was staying in front of the receptionist at the information desk. If the curator was killed, he would be a suspect. Fool, he cursed himself. Use your discretion, Dumbledore had told him. So what had he done? Potentially led the non-magicals' police force straight to Hogwarts' Headmaster, all because he had allowed his vanity and self-importance to slip through for a moment. An adolescent attempt to impress. He doubted whether it had even worked one iota. 

So how would he keep her with him? Not for a moment did he think she would stay of her own free will. He would have to use Imperius. Then in the morning, when the location of the empty Ouroboros would be evident, he would administer the permanent and irreversible Memoriadeleo - memory erasing - potion. Nothing else, not even the _Obliviate_ charm, was strong enough to modify the memory of someone who had been subjected to one of the two non-fatal Unforgivable Curses. He had prepared a batch for such an eventuality yesterday morning, and one dose of the viscous black liquid was concealed in his jacket pocket. She would wake tomorrow with the only knowledge of who she was, and the life she had lived, being that which she could piece together from the possessions around her. A powerful and blunt instrument - but at least she _would_ wake tomorrow. 

He still had his work cut out for him though. How could he get her alone, so that he could cast the Imperius curse? Merlin's bones, potions were so much more ... prudent. Still, he had until 5pm to consider that. Snape looked up at his image, reflected in the Rosetta Stone display case, scowling back at himself. Today would not be so enjoyable, after all. 

*

At 4.55 pm Snape was back at the information desk in the Great Court. Today there was someone there at this time in the afternoon, but not the same woman as this morning. He recounted what Nina has told him and the woman at the desk contacted her. 

He waited. This time her appearance did not take him unawares. He watched her as she walked across the piazza towards him. 

'Professor Fairfax' 

'Dr Jameson' 

They shook hands again. 

'I've made some enquiries for you about a private viewing,' she began. 'It's as I thought, if you put your request in writing then it should be possible on Friday. Is that OK?' 

'Very much so - thank you for your time and trouble.' 

She hesitated for a moment. 

'I'm sorry Professor, but your name isn't familiar to me. Do you mind if I ask at which university you lecture?' 

'Not at all,' smiled Snape. 'It's actually not a university, but rather a small, private academy called The Durmstrang Institute. It's in Switzerland. It's unlikely you've encountered any of my work, as I lecture in chemistry.' 

'Oh, I see.' She looked slightly surprised, and was that just a flash of - disappointment? 

'But history is a passion of mine, it always has been,' he continued. 'I was very excited when I learned of the discovery of the torq, with my interest in the archetypal cross-cultural significance of the Ouroboros. I had been concentrating on the symbol in terms of the links between ancient Egyptian and Gnostic alchemical texts, and rather neglecting the considerably rarer Celtic usage of the symbol. In fact, I feel this artefact could easily warrant a paper in itself ...' 

Again she smiled at him with real warmth. 

'Yes, I certainly agree ...' 

Now there was no artifice in Snape, only sincerity. With his fascination for the Ouroboros, brought about by studying Salazar Slytherin's journal, and related alchemical works in his own private library, he was genuinely captivated by the discussion. Although discretion tempered his enthusiasm and he was careful not to give away too much, he made references to one or two theories from works he knew Nina could not possibly have read, and put forward his own views about them. Nina appeared equally as animated, and they talked until the Great Court was almost deserted. 

'... of course, ... and considering that, it is certainly surprising that Jung did not write more on the subject ...' Snape checked his watch. 'My goodness, I did not realise the time. I must apologise, Dr Jameson, for detaining you.' 

He took his chance. 

'Perhaps ... we might continue over a drink?' 

She looked at her watch. 

_No wedding ring. Interesting - and convenient._

'It is a little early ... but why not? I need to go back to my office to get my bag ... you'd better come with me, otherwise security will ask you to leave.' 

He walked with her across the Great Court and through security protected double doors into the 'back of house' area of the museum. They turned right up the corridor and then climbed a flight of stairs. At the first door they came to, Nina swiped her security card along the adjoining small grey box, and they entered. 

'My office ...' she said, almost apologetically. That it was really quite amazing how many piles of books and periodicals she had managed to cram into such a small space was the only coherent thought Snape was able to register. He waited politely by the door as Nina retrieved her bag. 

When she turned around, he was pointing his wand at her. 

'What are you doing?' She sounded more confused than angry. 

_This must look insane to her._

'I am sorry to have to do this, please believe me.' 

_To have to take all that knowledge, all that learning, away from her because of this. You bastard. _

'Imperio!' 

The look of confusion on Nina's face was replaced by a blank, dream-like expression - but this did not last for long. After a few seconds, she frowned and held her hand up to her forehead as if she had a migraine. 

'Sit down, Dr Jameson,' said Snape softly. 

'What?' 

A slight look of concern crossed Snape's face. 

_Merlin, she's fighting it!_

'I said, sit down.' Slower, more of a dangerous edge to it. 

She obeyed, and he relaxed slightly. 

'I need you to tell me where in this building the Ouroboros torc is being kept.' 

Nina stared at him. 

He bent forward, bringing his face inches away from hers. 

'Where is it, Dr Jameson - the Ouroboros?' 

Again Nina put her hand to her head, an expression of pain crossing her face. 

'It's down ... no ... why should I tell you where it ...?' 

She stopped and pressed both of her hands to her temples. 

Damn this esoteric wand-waving, thought Snape furiously. Potions were far more efficient. They did not rely on one's state of mind in order to be effective. 

'Dr Jameson, gather yourself. Allow me to fetch you a glass of water.' 

Snape walked over to the water cooler in the corner of the small room and poured a glass. Quickly, he drew the phial of Veritaserum from his concealed pocket and tapped three drops into the glass. 

'Here, drink this.' 

She did as he asked. 

'Now, tell me again. Where is the Ouroboros being kept?' 

It's downstairs in Andrew's office, Room 342, in the basement.' 

'The time is ten minutes to six. Will anyone still be there?' 

Nina smiled. 'No, Andrew isn't one for overtime at the moment, what with his wife just having had a baby.' 

'How touching. Very well, please rise, Dr Jameson.' 

Snape took her by the arm, and Dispparated ... 

... Apparating to another, this time much larger and windowless, room. 

Nina looked dazed and more than a little disorientated. 

'What the hell happened there? How did we get here?' 

'It is a little difficult to explain', said Snape. 'Are you unwell?' 

'No, I'm alright, I suppose.' 

'Good. Then please bring the Ouroboros to me.' 

Nina hesitated ... and then pulled open a drawer and brought out a small black case. She snapped it open. Inside, lying on a bed of protective foam, was the Ouroboros torc. It gleamed in the fluorescent light. Gently, she picked it up and carried it to Snape. 

He took it from her as reverently as she had picked it up. He held it at eye level and marvelled at the detail of the Celtic knotwork engraved on it. 

'Exquisite ...' he breathed. He placed it on the desk in front of him and slid the tip of his forefinger inside the serpent's mouth, pressing down gently on its tongue. Finally, he had the opportunity to use the charm he had read a thousand times ... 

_'Benedictovitae.'_

There was a small 'click'. A section of the serpent's underbelly slid open near the hinge at the back. Snape could see that there was something inside. 

Nina was watching him, her mouth slightly open, mesmerised. 

He teased out the contents of the compartment - a minuscule, and very fragile, leather bag. Fingers shaking slightly, Snape opened it ... 

A leaf. A single bright green leaf, attached to a thorny stem. It appeared as fresh as if it had been picked that morning. Could it be ...? 

'What is it?' asked Nina. 

'It is of no consequence to you,' said Snape coldly. 

Again, he cursed himself. Why had he not thought to bring a container? Why had he not thought before he opened his damned mouth earlier? 

'Are there any specimen jars here?' he snapped. 'Anything secure to store this in?' 

She shook her head. 

'No, there's no need for them with the type of work that's carried out down here.' 

_Damn. I will have to take the torq, for now._

Snape eased the leaf back inside the leather bag, and placed that in turn into the belly of the silver serpent. 

_'Benedictovitae,'_ he whispered again as he pressed down its tongue. The panel clicked back into place, leaving no trace of its presence. Snape picked up the torq with one hand and with the other he grasped Nina's arm again, and Disapparated ... 

... Apparating to a medium sized, opulently furnished room with a large, comfortable looking double bed and two equally luxurious armchairs in the corner by the window. 

Gently, Snape placed the Ouroboros on the table beneath the mirror. Only then, in the security of his hotel room, did he feel his heartbeat return to something approaching a normal pace. He walked over to the window and opened it, sounds from the street below spilling suddenly into the room. 

'Where am I now?' asked Nina. 

'You are at The Dorchester hotel,' answered Snape. 'You are in grave danger tonight. But if you remain here until tomorrow morning, when the Ouroboros is put on display, you will be safe, I swear it. Do you understand?' 

'No,' she said. 'But I believe you.' 

'Please, sit down,' said Snape, gesturing to one of the armchairs. 

'Is that an order or a request?' said Nina icily. 

'That ... is a request.' He sighed. 'Please, Nina. May I call you Nina?' 

'All right.' She sat down under the open window 

Snape settled himself in the other armchair, next to the huge mahogany wardrobe. They were separated by a side table which had an extremely tasteful arrangement of fresh orchids placed on it. 

They sat in silence for a time. Snape wondered just how much Nina had been able to fight the Imperius curse. It wasn't supposed to happen, especially with non-magicals. She must have an immensely strong personality. 

'Nina, stand up please.' 

She stood. 

'Thank you. Sit down on the bed please.' 

She did as he bid her. 

'Why am I doing this?' she asked. 'Why am I doing everything you tell me to, answering all your questions ... _wanting_ to, even though I can hear my own thoughts every now and again like a whisper at the back of my mind?' 

'You have no choice but to obey me, Nina.' Snape arched an eyebrow. 'In theory, anyway. You fought it well back there. You seem not to have defeated it though, for which I am truly thankful. The Ouroboros must mean a lot to you, to have resisted telling me its whereabouts.' 

'Yes, it does,' she said angrily. 'It is a significant find. What makes you think you have the right to take it?' 

'It is more significant than you could ever know. But do not ask me about it again, I am weary.' 

Snape got up and walked over to the stereo. He opened the CD tray and on it placed Mozart's _Requiem_ Mass in D minor, one of the CD's he had bought in Piccadilly Circus last night at the astonishing time of a quarter to midnight. When the music began, he smiled to himself. 

'Please excuse my lack of manners,' he said, turning round. 'Can I get anything for you - a drink, perhaps? Are you hungry?' 

She shook her head. 

'Can I get Room Service to bring up some newspapers? Magazines?' 

'No, thank you.' 

He paused. 

'Perhaps ... you would like to watch some television?' 

'No.' 

Snape sat back down in the armchair, crossed his legs and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. This was going to be a long night. Perhaps he would use the remains of his Sleeping Draught on her. It would be a kindness after what he had put her through this evening. Besides, he did not require it for himself, not tonight. 

'Can I do anything at all for you, Nina?' asked Snape, a little exasperated. 

'Yes, ' she said. 'I'd like you to touch me. I'd like you to let me undress you, and then I would like you to make me come.' 

* * *

**Author's note:** I've realised that as GoF is set in 1995 (I think) then the beautiful glass roof spanning the Great Court in the British Museum would not have been built, as it was opened by the Queen in December 2000. Ho Hum. It's one of the reasons I set it there, so suspend a little disbelief if you can. 'Give me an artistic licence, or I shall run mad ...' Also, if you've realised who Nina is based on, you will understand why she feels so strangely attracted to Severus. 


	3. I Could Talk All Night

Well done to Enfleurage, Coesius and Nostradamus - points to all of you for recognising that Nina is indeed (very loosely) based on the wonderful character played by Juliet Stevenson in _Truly, Madly, Deeply_, one of my favourite films of all time. Enfleurage - you are right, Veritaserum is colourless. Severus has a phial of that and a phial of black Memoriadeleo potion (which I invented) in his jacket pocket. Many thanks for all the reviews, they are very much appreciated and encourage me more than you can know.  


*

Chapter 3  
**I Could Talk All Night**

Snape was stunned. He had not expected this. He had not even considered it. 

It took him a minute or so to recover his wits. 

It was not that he didn't want to touch women, it was that he chose not to. He seemed to bring out the darkest desires of those few who found him physically attractive - the desire to be controlled, to be wholly and totally subjugated to his will. They begged him for the pleasure of pain, and the pain of pleasure that they somehow knew he could provide. This released an aspect of his darker self that he found difficult to master. He remembered the last woman he had touched in that way, nearly seven years ago, when she had first arrived at Hogwarts. Almost unbelievable as it was now, back then she had a slightly intriguing, Romany kind of vague attractiveness. She had pursued him relentlessly for weeks with talk of their 'destiny' and it being 'written in the stars'. Eventually, more to restore the peace than out of any real desire on his part, he had responded. He had kept her tied and writhing on his bed for over four hours. When he finally released her, she had gathered up her clothing and fled. She never spoke to him again, even shut herself away most of the time to avoid him, and whenever they did happen to be in the same room together she would refuse to meet his gaze. 

'What would you like me to do to you ...' his voice was suddenly so languid that it was barely more than a whisper, '... before I make you come?' 

She told him. Her secrets, her fantasies, all the shadowy corners of her sexuality exposed. Listening to her was appalling and yet gloriously pleasurable, like eating rich, dark chocolate cake for breakfast. As he listened he became aroused, but did not move from his seat or take his dark gaze, eyes half closed, from her face. He was transfixed, unable to make himself stop her, and he loathed himself for it. 

Then he heard a voice - his own - inside his head. 

'No more now, Severus,' it said. 'You are as bad as Malfoy, except you rape this woman with words rather than your touch.' 

But this is her truth, he argued back at himself. 

'Not given willingly.' 

Snape pushed this internal argument to the back of his mind, along with his sexual hunger. 

He closed his eyes. 

'Stop' he finally croaked, and she obeyed. 

'I will not ... do those things that you have asked of me,' he said. 'You are not yourself. Trust me on this.' 

'Perhaps,' said Nina, 'I am more myself than I have ever been able to admit.' 

Snape held up his hand. 

'Enough. I will ask you no more questions. You will remember none of this tomorrow, I will see to that. I suggest that you sleep, now.' 

'I don't feel tired.' 

'Evidently.' 

Nina blushed, and looked away. 

Snape cursed himself. It was his fault, his _weakness_, that had made her part with her most private desires. 

There was an awkward silence. 

'I expect you could just make me fall asleep though, couldn't you?' She clicked her fingers - Snape almost flinched - 'Like that?' 

'Something like that.' His tone was softer now. 

'Please don't.' 

'All right.' 

He waited. No more questions that might force a painfully truthful answer. 

'Could we talk?' she asked. 'I need to know why I'm here, what's happening ...' 

'It really would not do you any good, Nina. As I said, tomorrow you will remember nothing of our meeting.' 

_Nor of anything else. Oh Merlin, forgive me._

'But I need to know now, at least.' 

Snape did not respond. He had closed his eyes, Mozart drifting over him ... 

'Please, Thomas - talk to me.' 

'My name is not Thomas,' said Snape quietly. 

'Oh. Yes ... Thomas Fairfax,' she smiled faintly. 'I should have guessed. So, what is it?' 

'Severus.' 

'After the Roman Emperor? What does the name mean again? I forget.' 

Snape opened one eye and regarded her with it. 

'I was not aware that it meant _anything_.' 

'Be gentle with her, Severus. Remember what you have just done to her, against her will.' The voice inside his head again. 

He sighed and opened the other eye. 

'It refers to a person who is of a - stern disposition.' 

'Yes. Fitting for you, then.' 

Snape was more than a little taken-aback. Then he chuckled to himself. 

'So, Severus, what was that thing you pulled out of the -' Nina's words were cut off mid-sentence, and her face took on a glazed expression. 

Of course, he had asked, _told_, her not to speak of it again. 

'Ouroboros,' Snape finished. 'You may speak of it if you wish.' 

'Yes, Ouroboros.' She frowned. 

'It is that which humanity has been searching for forever, and was found and lost, then found and lost again.' 

She watched him carefully. 

'Do you know the Epic of Gilgamesh, Nina? But of course, you must ... Forgive me.' 

'It is the earliest recorded narrative in history,' she replied, 'inscribed on tablets of clay from the Sumerian city of Uruk in Mesopotamia, two thousand seven hundred years before the birth of Christ.' 

Snape nodded. 

'And what did the immortal Utnapishtim tell Gilgamesh, as he prepared to take his leave for Uruk?' 

'He told him of a plant, or a flower - found at the bottom of the sea. Some have described it as granting immortality, others as restoring lost youth, it depends on the translation.' 

'And what became of that plant?' 

'In the legend, while Gilgamesh is bathing, the plant is stolen ...' Nina hesitated. 

'By a serpent. What if I were to tell you that the legend was true, and the secret of the plant was passed on a thousand years ago to a man who had the ability to speak with serpents?' 

'No, that's impossible. The flower of eternal youth?' 

'The Ouroboros is merely a container, Nina - as you have seen for yourself. My rather vicious colleague is also seeking its precious cargo.' 

'Your colleague - you mean the man with the platinum blonde hair?' 

'Indeed.' 

'So, do you mean to use it, Severus - for yourself?' 

'No, it will be kept safe.' 

'What about the other man?' 

It was the first time the concept had crossed Snape's mind. 

_Never underestimate your adversary. Could Malfoy really be pursuing the plant for himself?_

'No ... I think not. His mission is simply to retrieve it for his master.' 

'His 'master'? Who is that?' 

'That, I will not tell you. Believe me, it is better that you do not know. Suffice to say, if he succeeds in obtaining the leaf that the Ouroboros holds, it will make it all the more likely that soon you _will_ know, and wish that you did not.' 

Snape closed his eyes again, and sank back into the blissful release of the music. 

'Who are you, Severus?' 

'I'm just a man seeking atonement.' 

'For what?' 

'Past mistakes. Past ... errors of judgement. Have you ever done anything that you regretted, Nina?' 

'Lots of small things, missed opportunities, chances not taken when I should have. Not anything that I've done, but what I didn't do ... the only thing in my life that I have ever truly regretted was not being with my partner when he died ... not being able to tell him that I loved him.' 

Snape opened his eyes. _Damn, the Veritaserum._

'Please, there is no need to continue,' he said quickly. 'If I ask you a direct question at the moment, you are compelled to answer it truthfully. Although tomorrow you will not remember what you have spoken of, _I_ will. The details of your life are none of my business.' 

'You already know more about one aspect of my life than anyone else alive, Severus. I don't think it matters anymore.' 

'I'm sorry. It was very wrong of me to ask you the question that I did before. I hope you can forgive me.' 

Again, there was silence between them. 

After a short while, Nina spoke. 

'I would _like_ to continue, if that is all right?' she asked a little timidly. 

He owed her that, at least. 

'Yes, it is all right.' 

'Have _you_ ever been in love, Severus?' 

Snape opened his mouth, then choked back what he was about to say. He had abused this woman. Was it not fair that he gave something of himself in return? 

'I am not sure I understand the meaning of the word.' 

'Oh, I don't mean the fireworks of first discovering passion, when you can't eat, can't sleep, can't think. No, I mean _love_ - what's left when all that madness wears itself out. Have you ever seen a stranger approaching you on the street, and felt your heart leap just because, for one second, you thought it was the person you love? Or stood in front of a door, that moment just before you open it, and felt a small thrill about who was going to be there, even though you had seen that person just a few hours before? That was how I felt about him, Severus. I went to work one morning, and never got the chance again to tell him that he made me feel these things ...' 

Snape could see the light shining in Nina's eyes, more pronounced than it was before. 

'Yes,' he said finally. ' I know something of the emotions of which you speak.' 

'Tell me, Severus. Remind me that it _is_ human to feel these things. Sometimes I feel that I am the only one ...' 

'You are not alone,' Snape almost whispered. 'I have felt these things too about someone ... He was ... beautiful ... and deadly. Sometimes I did not know whether I wanted to hold him ... or to kill him.' 

He paused. Her expression had not changed, and he had half expected that it would. 

'Of course, you are not surprised. You are an educated woman, and this is London, after all. I was surprised. Until I realised my feelings for him, I never would have imagined that my tastes could run ... in that direction. Oh, please do not misunderstand me. I would have enjoyed _fulfilling_ -' he arched an eyebrow and paused on the word, his voice becoming, for that moment, unbearably lascivious '- some of what you spoke about earlier. But I will not allow myself that, not under the present circumstances.' 

'I understand,' said Nina quietly. 

'You spoke in the past tense,' she went on. 'Is he dead, this man?' 

'No,' said Snape. 'But if I do see him again, I fear I will ultimately kill him, one way or another.' 

He hesitated ... then continued. 

To the amazement of something that was inside him yet strangely apart, listening as if part of a distant, objective audience, it was as if he had been the one to whom the Vertiaserum had been administered. Snape found that he could not stop. The relief of unburdening things kept silent for almost twenty years was so overwhelming that he could not stop. 

He talked of school days, of vindictiveness and viciousness, and unexpected gentleness from a most unexpected quarter. He talked of an expedient alliance and the growing respect for each other's abilities born from it, developing into a friendship bound by an understanding of minds. He talked of a bond nurtured by evening meetings in quiet library corners and long walks by the lake, where preconceptions and prejudices were challenged and broken down. He talked of a relationship that gradually developed into something more than a friendship - uncertain first touches leading to clandestine midnight couplings in the boathouse and at the edges of the forest under a moonless sky. He talked of times together and times apart, of passion and jealousy, of ultimatums given and choices made. And he talked of the night he almost lost his life. 

'After all our times together, after all that we had shared, I still could not make myself believe that he had chosen his _friends_ -' Snape almost spat the word, '- over me. That he would rather walk away from me than reveal where they went together that one night every month. I was consumed with anger and jealousy, and a desperate curiosity. I had to find out where they went - and one night, Black told me. I found him, Nina - I found him and he was -' Snape paused, '- he had a terrible sickness ... a lunacy you might say. It sent him into a violent madness ... he was raging, crazed. He hid himself in this place while he was afflicted. They would stay with him through the night and attempt to ensure he did not hurt himself. They were able to control his rages a little, you see. _Them_ - he told _them_, he chose _them_, he trusted _them_ - and not me. That night, in his blind frenzy, he tried to kill me ... _they_ tried to kill me. It was deliberate of course, his friends wanted me dead, they always had. But Potter came after me - at the last moment he got cold feet about being involved in murder. He got him away from me, but not before I received some quite serious injuries. I lost consciousness and woke up in the hospital, days later.' 

'And Remus?' asked Nina. 'He really wanted you dead, too?' 

'He was used, Nina,' said Snape softly. 'But by the time I accepted this, it was too late. I hadn't spoken to him for months, I avoided him whenever I saw him. I couldn't bring myself to approach him again, even when I knew that he had been Black's victim as much as I had.' 

'Did you ever see him again, after you had left school?' 

'Last year. He came to teach at the school, of all things. We maintained a tolerable civility - ' 

'He was teaching at a school, teaching _children_? Was he still ill?' exclaimed Nina, sounding shocked. 

'Yes, but I made him a ...' Snape paused, searching for the right word '... a _medicine_, which kept it under control so that the children would not be in any danger. One night though, he forgot to take it, and the sickness came back. He came to my door at the break of dawn, and I knew straightaway what he wanted, remembered from our school days. When he is done with howling at the moon he needs to feel warm flesh underneath him.' Snape smiled slightly to himself. 'In the absence of that, mine appeared to suffice that morning.' 

'So ...' 

'I still wanted him, Nina. I had not been able to admit it to myself until that moment. I could not forget the times, years before, when he had come to me in the early morning after vanishing for the night. He was so different ... he would hardly speak, just come into my room and ... take. No, not rape, he was always considerate, even then. In truth, I enjoyed it - more than at any other time when we were together. I _enjoyed_ it ...' he emphasised the word with a fierceness that made Nina shiver '... like I enjoyed it that morning.' 

'And then ...?' 

'I betrayed him. I revealed his ... illness and sent him into exile because I knew that if I did not, sooner or later he would try to kill again, and I would have no option but to stop him, by any means in my power. So there, Nina. For tonight, you have as much of me as I have of you.' 

Snape got up suddenly and walked over to the stereo. The music had long since ended. He picked up another CD case and put the disc into the player. The haunting, melancholic trumpet of Miles Davis threaded through the drone of London traffic and the distant call of sirens. 

He checked his watch, but the fading light already told him it was getting late. 

'I must return the Ouroboros,' he told Nina. 'Will there be anyone in that room now?' 

'No, definitely not at this time of night.' 

'I just need something to put ...' he muttered to himself as he scanned the room. He strode into the en-suite bathroom and picked up a small glass jar of complementary bath salts. '... yes, that will be perfect.' He emptied the jar into the basin, rinsed it out and placed it next to the Ouroboros. 

'Do you happen to have a pair of tweezers at all?' he asked, turning round. 

'Er ... yes, I think so.' Nina rummaged in her bag and held a pair out to him. 

'Excellent.' He took them and slipped them into his trouser pocket. Gently, he picked up the Ouroboros and examined it again. 

'So beautiful ...' he said. 'Such a great pity I have to return it to the museum.' 

At that moment there was a small noise, something mechanical. It did not come from the direction of the open window, but from the door. Snape froze, his eyes widening. The door was opening - neither very quickly nor very slowly, but in a normal, relaxed way as if the person opening it had every right to do so. 

'That,' said Lucius Malfoy, 'will not be necessary.' 

* * *

**Author's note:** If you know the music of Miles Davis, then you will get an idea of just how melancholy Snape is feeling if I tell you that the CD he puts on is the soundtrack to the Louis Malle film _Ascenseur pour l'échafaud_ - known in English as _Lift to the Scaffold_. Oh, and five points to Slytherin if you can guess who the woman is that Snape recalls, right at the beginning of this chapter ... 


	4. One Less White Nigger

Enfleurage, little_alley_dawg and RaspberryPele - five points each for Slytherin. Yes, the woman Severus recalls is Sybil Trelawney. Sorry, I didn't mean to squick you but I just couldn't resist it as an explanation of why Trelawney hardly ever comes down from her overheated and overstuffed tower classroom and why she really didn't want to sit down next to him at Christmas dinner! Thanks again for the reviews - I really do appreciate them, please keep them coming, as long as they are constructive :)  


*

Chapter 4  
**One Less White Nigger**

'Severus,' said Malfoy, his grey eyes glittering coldly. 'How very nice to see you.' He turned and bowed slightly. 'Dr Jameson, we meet again. Well, isn't this cosy?' 

Malfoy turned back to Snape. 

'So, what on earth would make you want to return the torq to the British Museum?' he drawled. 'Surely you wish to depart immediately for Hogwarts and present it to Dumbledore? The old man would expect no less from his tame Death Eater. Has Dr Jameson come to her senses and offered you an incentive to give it back to her, hmm? Was it sex, Severus? ... No, I thought not. Money, then? Or drugs, perhaps?' 

'Amazing,' sneered Snape. 'You've worked this all out already.' 

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. 

'You have no idea what it is, do you, Lucius?' Snape continued. 'Just an errand boy, dispatched by our Lord to collect a parcel, not trusted to know its real worth. Whereas I did not have to be sent, I recognised the torq for what it was straightaway. What it contains is more precious to our Lord than even the Philosopher's Stone.' 

Malfoy looked as though he wanted to kill Snape with his bare hands. 

'So why were you not intending to take an item of such importance directly to our Lord?' 

'I am, but the _wrapping_ I intend to take back to the British Museum. It is of no significant worth, and I have been witnessed speaking to Dr Jameson about it. If it was reported as stolen, things might become a little awkward for me next time I stepped out into Muggle London.' 

'Our Lord has asked me for the torq and that is what he will receive,' Malfoy hissed. 'Give it to me.' 

Snape arched an eyebrow. 'In that case, I rather think that as I am the one who went to the trouble of retrieving the Ouroboros, I should be the one to present it to him.' 

For a moment, Snape seriously thought that Malfoy was going to strike him. Instead, he found himself facing the tip of Malfoy's wand. 

'Give it to me,' snarled Malfoy. 

Snape hesitated. 

'Very well.' He placed the Ouroboros back on the table, and Malfoy took it with his free hand. 

'Put your wand away, Lucius.' 

Malfoy did not move. 'So, what is the Muggle doing here anyway, Severus?' he asked. 

'Dr Jameson has been ... assisting me.' 

'Of her own free will?' asked Malfoy incredulously. 

'I have her under Imperius,' snapped Snape. 

'What?' snorted Malfoy. 'You have this woman completely under your control and you sit here having a - a _conversation_? How very _you_, Severus. Well, it seems that her job is now complete, so let us dispense with her and depart.' 

Malfoy turned towards Nina and raised his wand ... 

'No,' said Snape sharply, moving to stand directly in front of him. 'Were you not paying attention to what I just said? If you kill her, then I will be the last person witnessed with her while she was alive. I'm sure the inconvenience of that situation is not lost on you. I will take her to her home and administer Memoriadeleo.' 

Malfoy looked past Snape at Nina, and smiled unpleasantly. 

'No - give her to me for an hour. I'm sure she will be able to provide further _assistance_ before you resort to that particular concoction.' 

Suddenly, Malfoy winced and grasped his left forearm. 

'Our Master requires my presence,' he hissed through gritted teeth. 'Yours too, I see.' 

Malfoy let go of his arm and gestured at Nina with his wand. 

'Bring her with us.' 

'Nina, stand up please and come here,' commanded Snape. 'Do not speak unless I tell you to.' 

Snape took his right hand from his burning Dark Mark and grasped Nina by the wrist. 

They Disapparated ... 

... Apparating into the centre of a cavernous hall, illuminated only by the fire filling the huge fireplace at the far end. By that fireplace stood a tall, thin and motionless figure, his back turned to them. Lord Voldemort. 

'Good evening, Death Eaters,' Voldemort said, and then turned around, his gimlet eyes fixing on them. Malfoy and Snape approached him and dropped to their knees. In turn, they crawled forwards and pressed the hem of his robes to their lips. 

'My Lord,' said Malfoy, 'I have returned with the torq.' 

Malfoy proffered it from his kneeling position, and Voldemort took it in his thin, skeletal fingers. As he held it up, the Ouroboros reflected the fire's flames. Voldemort's eyes glowed equally as brightly. 

Nina stood a short distance behind Snape and Malfoy, horrified and repulsed by Voldemort's reptillian features. She watched him insert a finger into the snake's mouth and heard him whisper - _what_ she could not tell - as Severus had done a few hours before. Again, the concealed compartment in the belly of the snake clicked open to reveal its treasure. Voldemort drew out the leather bag with a long fingernail and extracted the leaf from it. The expression of triumph on his inhuman face was unmistakable. 

'Finally, Salazar ... finally,' he breathed. 

Voldemort closed his eyes and stroked the leaf slowly along the lipless gash of his mouth in an almost sexual manner, before snapping his attention back to Malfoy. 

'I am pleased, Lucius ... you may rise.' 

Voldemort then shifted his attention to Snape, who remained kneeling at his feet. 

'Severus, what brings you to my friend Lucius this evening?' 

'I asked him to accompany me to obtain the torq,' Malfoy lied smoothly. 'He provided a most useful diversion, engaging the curator here - ' he nodded towards Nina, ' - in conversation on some theoretical matter or other, while I Apparated to her office and retrieved it.' 

Snape, his head still bowed in obsequience, remained silent. He had felt certain that Malfoy _would_ lie about how the torq had come into his possession, his pitiful need to claim some glory from Voldemort for succeeding in his mission would be too strong for him not to. Unknowingly though, Malfoy had just done Snape a great service. Although _he_ had quickly accepted the explanation of why he had taken the Ouroboros, Snape doubted that Voldemort would be quite so straightforward to convince. 

'Can the Professor not speak for himself?' asked Voldemort sharply. 

'It is as Lucius has said, my Lord,' said Snape, looking up at Voldemort's ghastly face. 'I - I admit I was not totally altruistic in accompanying him. I wished to see the torq for myself, as I have read about it in Salazar Slytherin's journal.' 

Voldemort regarded Snape for several moments. 

'Very well,' he said finally, and gestured for Snape to get off his knees. 

'So, this woman is a curator at the British Museum?' Voldemort continued lazily. 'Why, may I ask, have you brought her to me?' 

Now it was Snape's turn to think swiftly and lie effectively. He had kept quiet and allowed Malfoy his creative interpretation of the evening's events. Snape only hoped that Malfoy would reciprocate. It might just be enough to save Nina's life. 

'I considered that she may be useful to you, My Lord, if you choose to put her under Imperius. She is in a position of some importance at the Museum. If you require any further artefacts she is well-placed to procure them.' 

'Really? I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Severus,' said Voldemort, a strong note of sarcasm pervading his thin voice. 'Wormtail!' he shouted, and Pettigrew appeared instantly at his side. 

'Master?' 

'Take our guest downstairs. Return immediately. No loitering with her - yet.' 

Wormtail obeyed, grabbing Nina roughly by the wrist with his inhumanly strong silver hand. Snape could not bring himself to look at her as Wormtail pulled her away. But Nina's imprisonment had been by far the best outcome that Snape could hope for. If she survived the night, she may yet live. 

When they had gone, Voldemort seemed to become aware again of the leaf that he still held tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He twisted it slowly by the stem, before placing it back inside the open Ouroboros. He sealed the compartment and snapped the torq around his neck. 

'I am calling a gathering of Death Eaters,' Voldemort announced, his crimson, feline eyes staring fixedly into the middle distance. 'Tonight shall be ... momentous. Finally, my time has truly come again.' 

Voldemort paused and focused back on the two figures before him. 'You are both inappropriately attired ... Wormtail will escort you to chambers where you may cloak and mask.' 

Wormtail had appeared back at Voldemort's side as suddenly and as silently as before. 

Snape and Malfoy followed him out of the hall and up the wide, curved staircase to the first floor. Wormtail silently showed Malfoy into a room and then, after closing the door, beckoned for Snape to follow him down the landing. He opened the door to another room and gestured for Snape to go in. With his silver hand on the door, Wormtail suddenly spoke in a scratchy whisper. 

'Our Master has something most entertaining planned for _you_ tonight, Severus ...' 

But before Snape could even open his mouth to respond, the door had shut and Wormtail had gone. 

*

When Snape re-entered the hall, Voldemort had already begun addressing the assembled ring of what appeared to be around thirty hooded and masked Death Eaters: Voldemort's Inner Circle. Snape took his allotted place amongst them and listened. 

'... and so, Death Eaters, the hour is almost upon us. We stand at the eve of victory and tonight you will taste some of the many glories to come. Rejoice! This is your time ...' 

Voldemort stalked around the inside of the circle while he spoke. Every so often his long, white fingers would caress the torq around his neck. Snape watched and felt helpless. Dumbledore had trusted him with this mission and he had failed. Voldemort now had in his possession what was very probably a leaf from the flower of eternal youth. Once Voldemort took it, he would be unstoppable. 

Snape brought his attention back to the Dark Lord. 

'... but before we depart, there is something that I want you all to know,' Voldemort continued as he paced in front of his troops. 'There is some information that I have been aware of for quite some time, information that I will now share with you, Death Eaters. Now is the time for the record to finally be set straight. One of my guests this evening has been given too much credit for far too long by all of you here. For thirteen years he has been known as one of my loyal followers when, in fact, this could not be further from the truth. For all of this time his true allegiance has been to that Muggle-loving fool at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore ...' 

Instantly, Snape felt his stomach knot. His heartbeat quickened and the palms of his hands began to prickle with sweat. 

'... Ah, Crabbe, Goyle,' Voldemort called as two bulky, masked men entered the hall. 'Thank you for kindly escorting our _special_ guest. Welcome to our little gathering, Mr Black.' 

At the end of the long coil of rope held in one of the men's meaty hands was Sirius Black. Black's wrists were tied behind his back and a large, dark bruise marked his left cheek. 

'Severus,' Voldemort wheeled round to face the Potions master. 'We encountered Mr Black on the moors outside Whitby, on his way to visit your special friend, Professor Lupin. Of course, I am aware of how close Mr Black also is to your heart.' Voldemort shot a look at Wormtail, who appeared to shrink away slightly from his gaze. 

'As such, I considered it would be fitting if you utilized your expertise to convince Mr Black here to tell us all about his new employment with Professor Dumbledore.' 

Snape bowed his head stiffly to Voldemort. He suddenly became acutely aware of the slim phial held tightly in the secret jacket pocket under his cloak, which pressed ever so slightly into the left side of his ribcage - the contents of which would make Sirius Black reveal all that he had ever known about everything, and everyone, connected with Hogwarts. 

'Thank you, my Lord, for your consideration,' said Snape silkily. 'But I regret that, as I have just returned from Muggle London, I am not equipped for such a task.' 

'My dear Severus,' replied Voldemort, 'You should not let a lack of your beloved Veritaserum impede you in this matter. Considering your past experiences with Mr Black's rather _unique_ sense of humour, I thought that you might wish to opt for more traditional methods. All the suitable implements are here at your disposal.' 

Snape bowed again briefly. 

'My Lord, I appreciate the opportunity. But I believe that my collegue here -' Snape gestured to a small, stooped figure to his right in the circle '- has far more ability in that area than myself.' 

Voldemort looked at Snape. The Dark Lord's slit of a mouth twisted into a sneer. 

'You disappoint me. But I recall you always did have a weak stomach, didn't you, Severus? However, you are correct. Nott takes considerable pride in his work. With any undertaking, you must gain a certain _pleasure_ from applying yourself to it, in order to produce the very finest results -' Voldemort nodded to the hunched man who Snape had indicated, '- and you are indeed a true craftsman, Augustus.' 

'Oh, thank you, my Lord,' simpered Nott. 'Your praise makes my very existence -' 

'Enough,' commanded Voldemort, cutting short the man's fawning speech. 'Very well. You may proceed.' 

Nott bowed deeply and left his place in the circle. 

He approached Crabbe and Goyle and muttered something to them. Immediately one man threw the end of the length of rope he was holding over one of the beams in the roof of the hall. Both then proceeded to hoist Black up by his bound wrists. Black's arms were wrenched behind him at a sickening angle and his whole body tilted forward. Snape could see that he was gritting his teeth with the pain. When Black was hanging two or three feet from the floor, the end of the rope was secured to a small iron ring bolted into the bottom of the wall behind him. Crabbe and Goyle then carried on hauling. When they stopped, Black was suspended around fifteen feet in the air. 

'Mr Black ...' Augustus Nott's whining voice had taken on a smoother, more commanding tone. 'Tell me, how long did you spend in Azkaban?' 

'Why are you asking me that? You fucking well know,' spat Black, sweat beginning to run down his face and into his eyes. 

'Just answer my question, Mr Black. How long did you spend in Azkaban, before you escaped?' 

'Twelve years.' 

'For what crimes were you imprisoned?' 

'Tell them yourself, you already know the fucking answers.' 

Nott repeated the question. 

'Murder ... betrayal ... but I was innocent wasn't I, Peter?' Black sneered at Wormtail, who appeared to shrink even further into himself. 

Voldemort moved his fleshless mouth into a perversion of a smile. 

'Thank you, Nott. Yes, Mr Black is being quite truthful. It was my servant Wormtail here who betrayed the Potters to me ... and then went on to kill twelve Muggles.' 

There were low mutterings as some of the Death Eaters exchanged glances. 

Voldemort turned to Pettigrew. 

'Now you may receive due recognition for your work, Wormtail.' 

Pettigrew smiled weakly. 

'Thank you, my Lord.' 

'But prey continue, Augustus,' said Voldemort. 'I believe we are all highly interested in how Mr Black is currently spending his most deserved freedom ... especially with regard to his visits to Hogwarts and its environs.' 

Nott turned back to Black. 

'What mission did Albus Dumbledore send you on, Mr Black?' he asked. 

'Go fuck yourself, you snivelling little cunt.' 

'That was the wrong answer, Mr Black.' 

Nott nodded at Crabbe and Goyle. They both let go of the rope. 

Black fell around twelve feet and was pulled up sharply just before he hit the floor. The jerk snapped his whole body backwards, and Snape swore he could hear the crack of bone breaking. 

Sirius Black screamed, raw and agonised. 

'Yes,' said Nott. 'An effective little procedure isn't it, the Strappado? Kindly given to us by the Muggles in the seventeenth century. I do admire the inventiveness they showed towards us in those times ... It may interest you to note, Mr Black, that if I ask my collegues here to continue in this manner, your arms and your shoulders will soon be dislocated ... Now I ask you again, and this time please consider your answer carefully, what was the mission Dumbledore sent you on?' 

Taking advantage of his sudden close proximity to his torturer, Black spat in Nott's face. 

Thick spittle dripped slowly from the end of Nott's mask onto the floor. For a moment, Nott did not move. 

'Goyle,' he said calmly. 'Please would you fetch me a towel - and bring my briefcase.' 

There was silence until Goyle returned. 

'Lower him, but not quite to the ground. Tie his ankles,' Nott commanded. 

When this was done, Nott moved closer to Black. 

'You wish to play do you, Mr Black? Very well, let us commence.' 

He snapped open the briefcase and removed a scalpel. Slowly, Nott cut through Black's thin shirt from the open collar to the lowest button. He moved the two pieces of cloth aside to reveal Black's torso. He then caressed Black's bare chest with the cold blade, almost lovingly. 

Snape watched in revolted fascination and suddenly, shockingly, became aware of his growing sexual arousal at the scene before him. 

'So,' said Nott slowly, 'You thought that was ... amusing?' 

In one swift movement, without warning, Nott switched from caressing to slicing. A thin red line appeared, stretching from the centre of Black's chest to his stomach. Black screamed again, his face a mask of agony. The red line grew thicker. 

Snape's arousal was instantly replaced with disgust. He felt nauseous, but did not dare turn his head away from the scene in front of him. 

Nott repeated the action, a second red line joining the first, blood now dripping onto the floor. 

'Talk to me, Mr Black.' 

'Please ... please ...' moaned Black, 'I have nothing more to tell you ... I was asked to alert all those who remain loyal to Dumbledore that the Dark Lord has risen ... I know nothing else, nothing of Dumbledore's intentions ...' 

'Augustus, a fine performance. My congratulations.' 

Nott turned to Voldemort and bowed. 

'Do you wish me to continue, my Lord?' 

'No, there is much yet to be done. Have our guest cut down and chained as I instructed ... let us take the hound back to his master.' 

'Death Eaters, the hour is at hand,' announced Voldemort. 'Prepare to Disapparate ... we go to Hogwarts.' 

The reaction was instant - a sudden loud exclamation from all those present. 

Voldemort raised his hand and there was silence again. 

'You ask how we are to do this? Do you not trust in my power, Death Eaters? Do you forget that my most devoted servant, Barty Crouch, was at Hogwarts for many months? Do you think he remained idle in all that time? Do you sully the memory of this faithful Death Eater? Unlike you, he made good use of his time before I regained my strength. He provided us with a breach in the castle's defences, creating an Apparition point from which we may enter the grounds undetected. Now go - gather outside, and ready your wands.' 

The Death Eaters filed slowly out of the hall. Crabbe and Goyle cut Black down, and dragged him between them. 

'Severus, wait a moment,' said Voldemort softly. 

Voldemort strolled over to Snape as the hall emptied. It was at moments like this, Snape thought, that he understood how his students must feel when he held them back after class - fear in the pit of the stomach, a terror of what may be about to come. How else was he to prepare them for the far greater terror that was Voldemort? 

'My Lord?' 

'When we return, and if he remains alive, I will give you Black ... you may kill him however you please. I shall enjoy watching you do it.' 

'My Lord, I thank you for your gift. But after all these years, I am indifferent to the man. Give him back to Nott, if it pleases you - although it appears to me that Black knows nothing of Dumbledore's plans.' 

'He does not,' said Voldemort flatly. 'We have been holding him here for over twenty four hours. If he had anything useful to say, be assured that Augustus would have discovered it by now. I know that Black has no more information than I am already aware of - as, I believe, do you.' 

Voldemort smiled, a sick rictus. 

'A precious liquid indeed, isn't it - Veritaserum? You would not want to waste it.' 

Voldemort turned towards the door, then looked back at Snape for a moment. 

'Welcome back, Severus.' 

Snape was silent, and watched Voldemort sweep out of the hall. 

Voldemort was right, Snape thought numbly. Black would not have exposed him as a spy if he'd administered Veritaserum, because he could not. The previous week, he had been so enraged to see Black in the Headmaster's study that he had demanded to see Dumbledore in private to find out what Black knew of his resumed activities. Dumbledore had calmed and re-assured him, as he always did. Black knew nothing - it remained a matter solely between Dumbledore and himself. 

Tonight, Voldemort had offered him a choice. Just three drops, and there would have been no need for Black to have suffered, no need to resort to torture to obtain the information he'd given ... but he had chosen Black's suffering, had welcomed it as a release from almost twenty years of hatred and desire for revenge. He hadn't had the stomach to do it himself, though. Augustus Nott was a brutally efficient torturer; Snape remembered the results of some of his 'work' he had the misfortune to witness one night, many years ago. When Nott had finished, the body was barely recognisable as human. He had just handed Black to a master, who dispensed cruelties that few could bring themeselves to imagine, let alone inflict, while all the time convincing Black of his growing lack of enmity towards him, and his continued loyalty to Dumbledore. It had been the action of a true Slytherin. But here was the real twist - the revenge he had believed would bring him satisfaction had, in fact, brought revulsion, and what he had thought would bring him freedom had branded him Voldemort's creature as much as the Dark Mark on his forearm. Voldemort, though, was refusing to let him off the hook. Later, he would have to kill Sirius Black to order to prove his loyalty - or be killed himself. 

Shaking slightly, Snape walked quickly from the manor house into the gardens, and resumed his place in the circle of Death Eaters. 

In the centre, Voldemort held Sirius Black at his feet. Encircling Black's throat was a thick metal collar, and running from the collar was a heavy chain. Voldemort gripped one end of the chain firmly in his right hand, inches away from Black's face, while the bone-white fingers of his left played idly with the other, loose end. Sirius Black's face was still ashen. He was on his knees, arms hanging limply by his side, but his head remained unbowed. 

'Draw your wands, Death Eaters,' hissed Voldemort. 

Snape slipped his right hand into his trouser pocket and grasped the smooth hawthorn and phoenix feather wand that had not left his possession for twenty five years. Next to it, his fingertips touched something metal, pointed ... the tweezers that Nina had given him, back in the hotel room in London. 

'The Apparition point is small, and the location dangerous,' Voldemort continued. 'It will only admit three people at once, and you may be attacked as soon as you Apparate. Myself, Wormtail and Dumbledore's lapdog here -' Voldemort hauled Black to his feet with a savage jerk ' - will Disapparate first. The rest of you, Disapparate the instant you feel your Mark burn.' 

Voldemort and Black vanished. Almost immediately, Snape felt his Dark Mark flare and Disapparated ... 

... Apparating to a small, grassy clearing in a forest. The bright light from the moon waxing almost to full turned the leaves of a large beech tree at the southern end to dancing flakes of silver. Snape knew this clearing - it was where one of his little 'chats' to the traitor Quirrell had taken place, three years before. Visible in the moonlight was a small circle of burnt ground where there appeared to have recently been a camp fire. Clearly, Crouch Junior had been working on this project up until the end. Voldemort stood under the beech next to a narrow path. Sirius Black was still on his feet next to him, but standing at the farthest distance the chain in Voldemort's hands would allow. 

As Snape looked around, two more Death Eaters Apparated next to him. 

'My Lord ...' Snape strode towards Voldemort, sweeping past Black. As he did so, Snape swiftly and surrupticiously pressed the tweezers into Black's palm. 

_Take them, man. Take them_. 

For what seemed like an eternity, but was just a moment, Black did not move. Then Snape felt Black's fingers begin to curl around the small, metal implement. 

'... It would not be wise to linger here,' continued Snape crisply, coming to a halt in front of Voldemort. 'The Forbidden Forest is home to many creatures that remain loyal to Dumbledore. The castle may be alterted to our presence at any moment.' 

'Do not be alarmed, Severus,' said Voldemort. 'Barty was thorough, as always. He cast a silencing spell over the entire clearing.' He waved Snape aside lazily. 'We are all now gathered - let us proceed.' 

Snape glanced behind him and saw that all of the Death Eaters who had assembled in the gardens of Voldemort's manor had arrived, wands in hand. 

Voldemort strode down the track that led away from the clearing, pulling Black so violently alongside him that the chained man almost lost his footing. Pettigrew followed, his small, watery eyes regarding Snape quizzically as he passed. Snape held the shorter man's gaze, and then pulled his wand from his pocket as he followed him from the clearing. 

When they emerged from the forest, they launched into a swift run, moving past the greenhouses and the neatly tended vegetable garden - shadows gliding quickly in the ethereal light, across the lawns that sloped gently down to the steep stone steps which reached up to the great oak main doors of Hogwarts Castle. 

They halted on the grass before the front steps, and the Death Eaters arranged themselves in a wide semi-circle behind Voldemort. 

'Albus Dumbledore ...' Voldemort hissed, his cold, high voice amplified by a _Sonorus_ charm. 'Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School ... Lord Voldemort wishes to speak with you.' 

They waited ... 

The huge wooden doors remained firmly closed. 

'Albus Dumbledore,' Voldemort hissed again. 'It would be most advantageous for one of your servants if you opened these doors - _now_.' 

With one deft movement Voldemort drew Black to his chest, wrapped the chain which connected them around Black's throat, and began to pull. 

Black started to choke, his face darkening. Frantically, he scrabbled at the links which were tightening around his throat. 

'Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School,' Voldemort called for a third time. 'If you do not come out and speak with me now, I shall be forced to kill Mr Black ... I am sure you would not want that to happen.' 

Slowly and soundlessly, the great wooden doors swung open. Dumbledore stood in the Entrance Hall, the light from the flaming torches behind him streaking the edges of his long silver hair and beard a fiery red. Surrounding him were many of the current Hogwarts staff: McGonagall - her mouth set in a thin, determined line - Flitwick, Sprout, Hooch, Sinistra, Vector ... even Madam Pince and Argus Filch stood grimly in the dancing shadows that the firelight threw onto the solid, granite walls. 

There were three others who Snape also recognised instantly. The first was Arabella Figg, who had been Head of Slytherin house when Snape had been a student at Hogwarts. The small woman stood squarely and gripped her wand in readiness. Then there was Alastor Moody. The grizzled old Auror's giant blue eye continuously swivelled around as he bared his teeth in unconcealed hatred. But it was the third figure to whom Snape's eyes were drawn, and lingered upon for the longest time. This was the slim man with short, light brown and silver-flecked hair who stood at Dumbledore's side. The man whose amber eyes were locked onto Voldemort and Sirius Black, and whose normally calm features displayed barely contained rage. A man who Severus Snape had last seen over a year ago, but who had occupied his thoughts far more recently. That man was Remus Lupin. 

'Dumbledore, I have found your hound,' sneered Voldemort, his voice restored to its normal volume. 'He appears to have strayed - most careless, letting him off the leash like that. He obviously requires more training ...' 

Black's tongue hung from his mouth and his dark eyes bulged as he strained to breathe. His fingers clawed ineffectually at the chain which was slowly strangling him. Voldemort slackened his grip and Black slumped to the ground, shaking and retching. 

'I think that I will keep him though, for he amuses me,' Voldemort continued. 'And is it not true that in keeping a dumb creature, one turns a house into a home?' 

'You already have your pet rat, Voldemort,' said Lupin quietly, drawing his wand and moving forwards. Dumbledore placed a warning hand on his arm and Lupin stopped. Lupin's hand tightened so hard around his wand that Snape could clearly see the whiteness of his knuckles. 

'Very wise, _werewolf_,' mocked Voldemort. 'One more step and your long-lost friend will breathe his last - as will you. Dumbledore, you really must keep your _creatures_ under better control.' 

He held out Black's chain and either Crabbe or Goyle - Snape could not tell which - came forward and took it, dragging Black across the grass as he returned to the line of Death Eaters. 

'What is the purpose of your presence here, Voldemort?' asked Dumbledore calmly. 'Is this ...' he gestured around him with an open palm '... what you call an invading army?' 

'True, it is a small force, but mighty when compared to the pitiful band who stand with you,' Voldemort retorted sharply. 

'Hogwarts has its own defences,' said Dumbledore. 

'Do not be so certain, old man. My servant was most industrious while he was in your employ. As you can see, we had no difficulty in Apparating within the castle grounds.' 

Dumbledore was silent, and Voldemort continued, gloatingly. 

'But it is not for Hogwarts that we have come, not this night. No, I simply wished to grant you the honour of being the first to congratulate me on finally claiming my birthright.' 

Voldemort pulled the torq from his neck and held it up triumphantly. 

'I have the torq of Salazar Slytherin, rightfully mine by his blood, and I have the precious leaf contained within it.' 

Voldemort brought the torq down in front of his face and muttered to himself for a moment. He withdrew the leaf and held it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. 

'A leaf from the plant of eternal youth,' he proclaimed and looked up at Dumbledore. 'You shall witness its power and know that I am now _invincible_, and soon shall be master of Hogwarts. Your feeble struggles against me are almost at an end. You have lost, old man.' 

Voldemort replaced the now empty torq around his neck and then turned to look directly at Snape. 

'As you have indicated familiarity with my forebear's writings, you are presumably aware of his directions concerning the preparation of this plant?' 

From behind his mask, Snape felt the stares of his Hogwarts collegues fall upon him. 

He bowed to Voldemort. 

'Indeed, my Lord.' 

Voldemort drew his wand and flicked it almost imperceptibly. Before him, blue flames appeared, dancing in mid-air underneath a small cauldron of boiling liquid. Next to this hovered a golden goblet. 

'Then come forward, my Death Eater, and prepare my glory.' 

Voldemort held out the leaf. 

Slowly, Snape walked towards the Dark Lord. 

Voldemort's claim on him was complete. He, Severus Snape, would be the means by which Voldemort not only regained the striking beauty of his youth, and so his deadly charm, but retained it for eternity. He would perform this simple, yet irredeemable, act of betrayal while Albus Dumbledore, the man who had taken him in at the lowest point in his life and offered him a second chance, the man who had been more of a father to him than his own, watched him do it. 

When he finally stood before Voldemort, Snape took the leaf from the Dark Lord's icy fingers and gazed at it. 

There was no sound except for the bubbling of the liquid in the cauldron. 

It was a straightforward enough procedure, Snape recalled numbly, his rational, scientist's mind automatically taking over his thought process. Decoction for three minutes, then the liquid to be shaken for ten seconds and poured for immediate ingestion ... 

'Stop,' said a voice. Snape looked up and glanced around him, hopeful for something, anything ... only to realise with a wave of nausea that the voice had merely been his own, inside his head. 

'You cannot do this, Severus.' 

I must, Snape argued with himself. What purpose would it serve to die a futile death? I have no choice. 

'There is a choice. You must choose - now. Once and for all time. The fence is burning, Severus. On which side will you stand?' 

'Is there a problem?' 

Voldemort's voice pulled Snape back into the present, and as he looked up into those blood-red eyes, he knew what he would do. 

'No, my Lord.' 

'Then please continue.' 

Snape held the leaf over the boiling liquid in the cauldron, but instead of dropping it in, he moved his hand downwards to the flickering blue flames underneath, and thrust the leaf into them. Instantly, it caught fire. 

The pain hit him almost as soon as the leaf began to burn, sending him to his knees. As he listened to himself screaming, it spread out and intensified, excruciating, from his abdomen to every nerve in his entire body. Through his agony, Snape saw the leaf - already extinguished - flying towards Voldemort's outstretched hand. 

Then the pain subsided, and Snape laid his head on the cool ground, attempting to regain control of his breathing. 

'So, you do have a little spirit after all, Severus?' drawled Voldemort. 

Snape forced himself to his feet and met that terrible, intense gaze once more. 

'You never cease to surprise me. You were, of course, of no further use as soon as I obtained the torq - I neglected to thank you earlier for retreiving it, I must apologise. But your little show of bravado has made this moment more _entertaining_ than I envisaged. As such, I shall make it quicker and less painful than I had originally intended. Goodbye, Severus.' 

Snape never heard the words of the killing curse that Voldemort must have spoken. He did not have to. As the blast of emerald light enveloped him, he knew he was about to die. He expected the pain to hit him again - but only, he imagined, far, far worse than before. To his surprise, it did not. Instead, as he fell back on the damp grass, he felt all of the muscles in his body sag as his life force was drained almost instantly away. The sensation diminished as green faded rapidly to black, and the last sound that Severus Snape heard was his own soft laughter. 

* * *

**Author's note:** I did warn you. This is not the end though, there's another chapter to go. By the way, five points to Slytherin if you can spot the quote from _Die Hard_ in this chapter ... 


	5. I Would Rather Be Anywhere Else But Here...

Here is the last chapter - I have been dancing in the woods celebrating Beltaine - sorry to keep you waiting!  


*

Chapter 5  
**I Would Rather Be Anywhere Else But Here Today**

It was a moment that Remus Lupin would recall with clarity for the rest of his life. 

Time seemed to slow down as the tall, hooded figure fell and then lay still, bathed in green light from Voldemort's wand. Dimly, Lupin was aware of the angry shouts and cries of horror from everyone on the steps around him. Only Dumbledore was silent. The old man looked on at the scene before him with a curiously impassive expression. 

A tiny part of Lupin's mind hung on to a wild and desperate hope - perhaps this man behind the mask was not Severus? Perhaps this was all a twisted and cruel joke perpetrated by Voldemort? But in his heart, Lupin knew this was not the case. The way the figure had stood - rigidly erect, shoulders back and head held proudly, even arrogantly, high - had been achingly familiar. Even before the man had spoken, Lupin had felt his stomach knot and his breathing quicken with certain recognition. The rumbling baritone with which his few words had been uttered was confirmation. That voice could have belonged to no other. 

Then, as if to leave absolutely no doubt in the minds of the observers on the castle steps as to the man's identity, the hood of his cloak slipped back a little and some of Severus' unmistakable, unruly black hair spilled out - long, dark strands falling across the blank and motionless silver mask. 

Severus Snape was dead. 

Lupin turned to Dumbledore. 

'You sent him back, didn't you?' Lupin whispered, his voice tight and hoarse with barely supressed emotion. 'You sent him back to spy again, and now he's dead. Why didn't you stop this? Why are you allowing this to happen?' 

The Headmaster met his gaze and, as he looked into those bright blue eyes, it felt to Lupin that Dumbledore attempted to reach into the depths of his soul to comfort him. 

'I'm so sorry, Remus.' 

Lupin turned away, mute with anger and grief. 

'Trust him, Remus,' he heard himself think. 'If you do not, then all hope is lost.' 

Everyone else standing by the Headmaster had fallen silent as well. Lupin wondered if perhaps they had the same thought as himself. 

'Wormtail!' called Voldemort harshly. 'I know that you are able to perform this preparation, it is quite simple.' 

'As you command, Master.' 

Wormtail came forward, took the leaf and placed it in the cauldron. After a short time, he removed it from the flames and swirled it around, before pouring the liquid and the remainder of the leaf into the golden goblet. He then approached Voldemort and presented it to him. 

Voldemort took the goblet and held it aloft as he turned to the Death Eaters. His eyes blazed with victory. 

'To Salazar Slytherin,' he cried. 'His heir shall reign - _forever_!' 

As they cheered, Voldemort drained the goblet and threw it to the ground. He turned back to the small group standing on the castle steps and bowed ironically. 

'Headmaster, I thank you for your time. My apologies that you shall now have to find a replacement for one of your teaching staff, although -' he smiled cruelly, '- as I shall be visiting again very soon, that may perhaps not be necess-' 

He broke off and staggered backwards, clutching at his stomach. Several Death Eaters moved forwards to aid their master. But before they reached him, Voldemort's body folded to the ground. 

'Nnnnooooooooooo.......!' 

The scream was high-pitched, inhuman and savage. The figure on the ground that was Voldemort was writhing madly and increasingly being hidden by thick, black smoke. 

Lupin fought back a primitive instinct to run, and felt his flesh crawl with revulsion. 

Voldemort was burning from the inside outwards. 

Frantically, he mouthed spells. Lupin caught snatches of Latin and Ancient Greek, then a language, perhaps older, that he did not recognise. 

Nothing worked. Voldemort continued to burn. 

Flames were engulfing Voldemort's torso and rising towards his face. He rolled on the ground, his arms flailing wildly at himself, but to no avail. The fire that came from within him and was consuming him could not be staunched. 

Finally, sharply hissed siblants reached Lupin's ears. Voldemort was speaking Parseltongue. 

The masks of the Death Eaters near him were illuminated by the obscene glow of their master's rapidly incinerating body. They stood silent and frozen in shock. Only Wormtail attempted to get close, his silver hand outstretched towards the flames it reflected. But he was finally beaten back by the intense heat. 

Voldemort was now a dark mass at the centre of the fierce flames and acrid smoke. Globs of blackened flesh began to fall from his body, but still he continued to hiss the indecipherable language of the serpent. 

In the grass, through the smoke, Lupin caught sight of the quick movement of a snake. It had thick black zig-zag markings running along the length of its body - an adder. It raised itself up like a cobra and moved its head back, loosening its jaws and widening its mouth until it gaped as if attempting to swallow an egg whole. Then, a thin plume of grey smoke rose from Voldemort's immolated form and arced downwards, straight between those waiting jaws. 

At that moment there was a yell. The squat, thick-set man who had been holding Sirius Black had fallen to the ground and was clutching his head. Sirius was free, having somehow escaped the chain that bound him. He had ripped the mask from the other Death Eater standing next to him. This was a much smaller and thinner man, who was struggling vainly to escape. Black grabbed him by the throat and brought his fist down into the man's face with a powerful stabbing motion. The Death Eater shrieked and his hands moved to his right eye, from which something small and silver protruded. Then he fell forwards and, abruptly, he stopped shrieking. 

By this time, the Death Eaters were in disarray and a number of them had already begun to flee back in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. The remainder, faced with increasingly less favourable odds and the now lifeless, smouldering remains of their master, hesitated only briefly before turning and following. 

Dumbledore watched them as they disappeared from view, then descended the flight of stone steps and approached Voldemort's charred body. He bent down and picked up the silver torq, carefully wiping ash from it with his fingers. Dumbledore held it up and inspected it in the light streaming from the Entrance Hall. Despite the inferno it had been within, it appeared unmarked. 

'I believe our next meeting may not be quite as soon as you had hoped,' he said softly, and placed the torq in one of the pockets in his robes. 

He looked up at the figures standing on the steps watching him. 

'Colleagues - _friends_,' he said gravely. 'Tonight we have faced danger together and survived - together. Make no mistake though, Voldemort may be gone, but as he promised, he _will_ return. We must continue our work to strengthen the Order of the Phoenix if we are to see him destroyed forever.' 

He turned to Siruius Black, who now stood beside him. 

'Let us be thankful that one of our number has returned safely to us.' 

'And let us remember, Albus, the one of our number who did not.' Professor McGonagall's voice contained none of its usual sharpness. 

'Indeed, Minerva,' said Dumbledore. 'Severus gave the ultimate sacrifice and we will never forget that. _I_ will never forget that. Yes, Remus - he was at Voldemort's side because I sent him there as my agent. But he was aware of the dangers, and accepted them. I know that some of you here have doubted his loyalties in the past. Tonight, he proved you mistaken.' 

There were murmurs of assent - even, Lupin noted, from Alastor Moody. 

'It is late,' continued the Headmaster. 'Please - return to your beds. We will speak further in the morning.' 

Silently, everyone departed, except for Lupin. He stood motionless at the top of the steps, as if gathering his courage. 

Black started to move towards him. 

'No, Sirius - give him a moment,' said Dumbledore quietly. 

Black turned to the Headmaster, a puzzled expression on his face, but he stayed where he was. 

Lupin walked slowly down the steps and then across the grass towards Snape's body. Part of him - _most_ of him - did not want to, and screamed at the rest of him to follow the others' example and go quietly to a potion-induced dreamless sleep. Yet he kept on walking. His legs did not seem to be listening. Instead, they brought him resolutely to the spot where the man he loved lay dead. 

He crouched down and removed the mask from Severus' face. 

Severus' eyes were open, their black depths dulled and unfocused. His mouth was curled into a slight smile. He looked peaceful - relieved, even. 

'_Precious friend ... hid in death's dateless night_,' murmered Lupin. 

He touched his fingers lightly on the pale skin of Severus' throat. There was no pulse, of course. Gently, he closed the dead man's eyes. 

'Journey well, Severus,' he whispered. 

Lupin looked up and saw Dumbledore standing next to him, holding the golden goblet that Voldemort had drunk from. 

'I'm sorry to intrude, Remus,' he said softly, crouching down next to Lupin. 'But there is something that I would like you to do for Severus.' 

Lupin stared at him blankly. 

'What do you mean, Headmaster? What can I possibly do for him now?' 

'Do this, Remus. You see that there is a little liquid left at the bottom of this goblet? Dip your finger in it, and place a drop on Severus' lips.' 

Lupin staggered back, aghast. 

'My god, no - I won't do it! I've seen what that leaf does! Severus is dead, do you want to deny me a body to bury?' 

'I understand your concern,' Dumbledore soothed, 'but please - trust me.' 

He held out the goblet and, reluctantly, Lupin took it and followed Dumbledore's instructions. 

'Now,' said Dumbledore, 'do the same for yourself.' 

Lupin hesitated, then did so. 

'Why ...?' he began. 

'You will see,' said the Headmaster, standing up carefully. 

Dumbledore walked towards Black and smiled. 

'I think Remus would like to see you now, Sirius,' he said. 

Lupin saw Black approach, but did not rise from Snape's side. 

'Well, I guess you've finally got what you wanted, Sirius - after all these years,' he said quietly. 

Black regarded Snape's body for a moment before he replied. 

'What I wanted twenty years ago, Remus, wasn't what I wanted now,' he said heavily. 

'He was a good man,' said Lupin, looking up at his old friend. 'I want you to know that.' 

'I know, Remus.' 

Absently, Lupin smoothed back a lock of Snape's tousled black hair. It was a small gesture, but one that did not pass unnoticed. 

'Remus, was ... was there ... something _between_ you and Snape?' asked Sirius, as calmly and gently as he could manage. 

Lupin hesitated. 

_Why fight this battle with Sirius now, now of all times, now that Severus is dead? Why not let the past lie undisturbed?_

He shook his head. 

'I - er - did admire him, Sirius. He ... he helped me a lot, last year ... but no - there wasn't.' 

He stood up and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his robes. 

'You always were an appallingly bad liar, Lupin,' sneered an icy cold voice from the ground. 

'Severus?' Lupin looked down into the now open, and furious, dark eyes beneath him. 'How ...?' 

'How are you feeling, Severus?' asked Dumbledore. 

'Much better than a moment ago, Headmaster.' Snape's lips twisted briefly into a sardonic smile and then, slowly, he sat up. 

'Headmaster, how can this ...?' Lupin began to ask again. 

'Myths and legends, Remus, are often a reflection of people's hopes and desires,' said Dumbledore. 'People believe what they wish to, and ignore everything else.' 

Lupin shook his head, uncomprehending. 

Dumbledore smiled and continued. 

'How do we define a plant that acts to restore the dead back to life, without making that plant sound as if it is the means of gaining life eternally? It is a matter of semantics and difficult enough to explain now, let alone across the span of thousands of years.' 

He paused. 

'Do you know of Aesclepius, Remus?' 

Lupin furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. 

'I'm not sure ... a Greek god, wasn't he?' 

'Yes, that's right, but it is believed that he was also once a man, a great healer. It is said that as he was out walking, a serpent coiled itself around his staff. Alarmed, he crushed and killed it. A second serpent then appeared, bearing a leaf which it placed in the dead serpent's mouth, and revived it. Aesclepius took a piece of the leaf and with it was able to bring his patients back from the dead. What you administered to Severus is what Aesclepius called 'The Deathless Drink' ... it grants a return from death, but not immortality.' 

Dumbledore looked back at Snape, who was listening intently. 

'Severus, you will enter into the great adventure just like the rest of us, but you have been given the gift of life for a second time. Use it well.' 

'But what of Voldemort?' asked Black suddenly. 'If the leaf brings people back to life, why did it destroy him - well, his body at least?' 

'Yes, I was coming to that, Sirius,' replied Dumbledore. 'The leaf is a powerful curative indeed, as you have seen. But some ailments are beyond even its powers. Some sicknesses run too deep, and death is the only cure.' 

'So that is why you did nothing tonight, when Voldemort appeared with the leaf,' mused Lupin. 'What made you so certain, though?' 

'Over fifty years of study, Remus, mixed with a little common sense and experience. The charm that Salazar Slytherin created to open the torq was what really gave it away, however. _Benedictovitae_ - blessing of life. Life can only be a blessing when we are given another chance to live it, in all its fleeting beauty. I know very well from many long nights talking with my old friend Nicolas Flamel that life, if gained for an eternity, eventually becomes a burden not a blessing, something to be endured rather than lived. 

'So,' said Snape slowly, 'You knew all along what the Ouroboros contained - that it was not the leaf of Gilgamesh, but rather that of Aesclepius. You knew that what Voldemort believed would bring him eternal life would, in fact, bring about his destruction.' 

'Severus, don't you see?' exclaimed Dumbledore. 'They are one and the same. Gilgamesh's leaf never brought eternal life, it was just that many of those interpreting the Epic belived it to be so, because they _wanted_ it to be so.' 

'Oh yes, Headmaster - I _am_ beginning to see ... but what of the 'flower of youth'? Surely, that is different?' 

'Ah.' Dumbledore paused and smiled, the lines around his dancing blue eyes creasing even deeper. 'Merely a side-effect. The leaf has rejuvinative as well as curative properties. Taking it causes a person to, er - very soon appear somewhat more youthful than they did previously.' 

*

Severus Snape put down his quill and pushed the roll of parchment away from him across the desk. Finally, the damned report for the Ministry of Magic was finished - three feet in total, covered in his dense and angular writing. 

He blew out the guttering candle. Not that it made much difference. The light of the full moon streamed through the open window of his bedchamber, bright and silver. He could almost have read by it. 

It was full of lies, of course. No, he thought, correcting himself in Ministry-speak. He had 'not judged it prudent to be liberal with the facts of certain events'. Most notably, one event in particular. 

At dawn the following morning - _this_ morning, after a short but deep and restful sleep, he had returned to Voldemort's manor house. Dumbledore had advised against it, especially his going alone. 

'Leave it to my contacts at the Ministry, they will clear it up. That's their job, Severus,' he had warned. 

But Snape was determined that he would be the one to clear up his own mess. 

As he had suspected, the place was deserted. It had not taken him long to find her, and he made short work of the door. Why bother to Wizard-lock a room occupied only by a Muggle? 

He had not considered what her reaction to his arrival might be, now that his Imperius curse had undoubtedly worn off. He had deliberately forced the thought from his mind whenever it had arisen. Snape only hoped vaguely that she was not an expert in some deadly Eastern martial art. 

To his eternal relief, she was not. As he swung open the door of the tiny, filthy cell, Nina simply looked up at him and began to weep. 

In many ways, this was worse. Physical pain he could have comprehended and dealt with. 

He looked at her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. 

'I'm not here to hurt you, Nina, I swear it. You will be safe now. I've come to take you home. Do you understand?' 

She nodded and he sat down gingerly on the edge of the narrow bed. 

_How many times did I enter one of these cells and 'safe' would have been the very last thing the person inside it was? Merlin, why do I still live and breathe?_

Nina's crying did not diminish. She hid her face behind her hands, her body shaking. Snape hesitated, then leaned forwards and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed while he gently stroked her hair and concentrated on examining the brickwork in the wall behind her. They remained like that until she grew quiet. He had held her for a long time. 

In her cramped and untidy flat in north London he had waited, sipping a mug of strong black coffee, while she showered and changed. He fingered the phial of Memoriadeleo. He had to use it. If he didn't, the Ministry would. 

She had looked better, but only a little, when she re-appeared, drying her hair with a towel. 

'You seem different, Severus,' she said. 'Is it supposed to have that effect, er - you know ...' her voice trailed off. '... on my memory?' 

'You mean the ... controlling spell that I cast on you yesterday?' he asked slowly. 

'Yes.' 

'No.' 

'Oh. So ... why do you look so much ... oh, I don't know ...' 

Snape got up and inspected his features in the mirror above the fireplace. She was correct, he did look different, he had to admit. He had noticed it earlier, while shaving, but now it was even more evident. The small lines around the corners of his eyes were gone, as were those across his forehead. His skin looked clearer. It felt more ... taut, and had a certain glow about it. As for his hair ... he could not recall when it had ever been this sleek or soft. Only the vertical crease between his brows, which had been there since he was a young man, remained - although perhaps slightly less pronounced. He was relieved about this. If it vanished too, he would have difficulty recognising the face in the mirror as his own. 

'Younger?' he asked tersely. 

'Well, yes.' 

'If I told you, you would not believe me, Nina,' he said, sitting back down on the sofa and crossing his legs. 

'Try me.' Her voice was suddenly serious, and hard as steel. 

'Are you going to go to the police?' Snape asked quietly. 

'What would I tell them? "Officer - I wish to report a crime. Yesterday, I was kidnapped by a wizard, who cast a spell on me which made me do anything he wanted. I helped him to steal a priceless solid silver Celtic torq from my employers, and then we beamed over to his deranged boss's house, whose servant locked me in a cell all night." I would be sectioned faster than you can say "Mental Health Act".' 

He chuckled. 

'Seeing as you put it that way ... Oh - ' he reached into his robes and pulled out the torq. 'This is yours, I think.' 

He placed it on the coffee table. Nina looked at it as if it was about to explode. 

'It's empty,' he re-assured her. 'No-one will come for it now.' 

For a moment, there was silence between them. 

'So when are you going to do it, then?' she asked suddenly. 

'I beg your pardon?' 

' "Administer Memoriadeleo",' she quoted him. 'I can read Latin, Severus. Memoriadeleo? When are you going to cast this spell to wipe my memory of everything that's happened?' 

He regarded her for a moment and then shook his head. 

'I'm not.' 

'What?' 

I'm required to use this ... _spell_ on you, but I will not.' 

'Why?' 

'I was not entirely truthful with you before, Nina. Yes, you would remember nothing of the past twelve hours. You would also remember nothing, _nothing whatsoever_, of your life up until this moment. I will not do that to you, no matter what the consequences to myself.' 

She was quiet and looked away, biting her lip. 

'What might be the consequences?' 

'I don't know. Az - prison, I would imagine.' 

'There is a prison for wizards?' 

'Yes.' A strange, indecipherable expression crossed his face and then was gone. 

'Is there anything I can do to help ... to stop that happening, I mean?' 

He leaned forwards, his eyes locked on hers. 

'Do not say a word about ... recent events, to anyone. Return the torq immediately, then visit your doctor for advice about your 'blackout' that occurred from around 6pm yesterday until you woke up in your bed this morning. My _superiors_ -' he sneered the word '- will be certain to check on my compliance with their regulations via your medical records. I shall have to explain the er - _spell's_ failure to work properly ...' He smiled ruefully. 'A dent in my professional reputation will be an unfortunate, though necessary, price to pay.' 

'All right, Severus. I'll do that ... for you.' 

'You must - for your own sake, as well as mine,' he said sharply. 

He rose from the sofa. 

'I must depart, I have much to attend to.' 

Nina stood up as well. 

'Will I see you again?' she asked. 

He fixed her with his piercing black eyes. 

'Do you wish to?' 

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow as he waited for her response. 

'Yes, ' she said quietly. 'I want you. You know that.' 

He moved faster, and more gracefully, than she would have believed possible. In a moment he had crossed the room and was in front of her, his lips brushing against hers, then across her neck and reaching her ear. She closed her eyes to better savour the sensations. He begain to whisper softly. The combination of his seductive yet arrogant voice, the dark, explicit words that he used and his hot breath on her skin sent shivering waves of pleasure rolling deliciously down Nina's spine. Inadvertently, she let out a slight moan. 

When he finished speaking she kept her eyes closed and nodded her assent - 

'Yes. Oh god - yes ...' she breathed. 

When she opened her eyes, he had gone. 

*

Snape rolled the thick yellow parchment into a tight cylinder, tied it with black ribbon and placed it in the top drawer of his desk. He reached up to close the window and, as he did so, caught sight of a solitary figure standing by the shore of the lake. 

He paused and watched for a moment, before realising who the distant figure, face uplifted to the moon as if drinking in its light, must be. 

It was Remus Lupin. 

He closed the window quietly. 

'All you needed to say was "Yes", Remus,' Snape whispered sadly. 

He turned away from the window and stared at the coiled black leather whip that lay on his bedside table. He picked it up and, without looking back, strode towards the door. 

* * *

**Author's note:** I wanted to write a happy one. Really, I did. But they wouldn't let me. Sorry. 


End file.

Harry Potter, Adventure, Angst