Harry couldn’t stop shivering as the storm raged outside the broken-down house on the craggy island. Uncle Vernon had given him the thinnest, most raggedy blanket available and it did nothing to keep him warm; the hard stone floor only seemed to seep away the little warmth he managed to gather. Dudley was sound asleep, the thunder drowning out the sound of his snores. His wrist dangled from the side of the couch and the glow in the dark arms of Dudley’s new watch showed that it was eleven thirty. Half an hour and then Harry would turn eleven.

With nostalgic longing Harry thought of his cupboard under the stairs. Sure, there were spiders and it was so small he usually felt the walls were closing in on him, but it was never this cold and at least it had a mattress…

A bolt of lightning illuminated the room at the same time as thunder cracked deafeningly once again. This time the rolling thunder covered not only Dudley’s pig-like snoring but also Harry’s cry of pain. The Dursleys slept peacefully on.

Clawing at his forehead Harry surged to his knees gasping. All of a sudden his scar seemed to be on fire, pain knifing through his head. Tears blurred his already poor sight as he made a grab for his glasses and put them on. The air in the room had changed subtly, and even before looking Harry knew they were no longer alone. There was somebody else in the room as well.

Lightning struck the little island again and again, providing a stroboscopic illumination of the small room. Harry looked up, gasping for air as he whimpered in pain, and could only stare at the house’s two new occupants.

A pale young man in strange and colourful clothing and wearing a turban on his head stood in front of the rickety shack’s door, blocking any escape; next to him stood a very short man with thin colourless hair. He couldn’t have been much older than thirty-five, and he was thin more from malnourishment than body type it seemed.

The young man raised his arm and was now pointing what looked like a finely polished stick at the older man. There was something stilted to his movements, as if he weren’t properly in control of them. Or as if he were a puppet and somebody or something was pulling strings to make him move. Then the older man pointed a similar looking stick at Harry.

“Imago Iunge,” he heard them both intone at the same time and a blue light filled Harry’s vision, seeming to surround him and the small man. A wave of dizziness swept over him, the burn in his scar intensified. The next moment Harry found himself lying on the floor again blinking his eyes open.

He groggily pushed himself upright, but what he saw made his breath halt in his throat. Standing next to the strangely dressed young man was no longer the rat-like middle-aged man but… himself. The eyes Harry stared into were as green as his own, hidden behind the same ugly glasses, and a lightning shaped scar was visible from behind unruly black hair. Even the same hand-me-down, too-large, pyjamas were the same.

The feeling of dread Harry had been experiencing from the moment the two men had suddenly appeared, as if by magic, intensified three-fold. His throat was parch dry; Harry wouldn’t have been able to cry for help even if he’d been able to move a muscle. It was as if he were petrified. He wanted to scream, he wanted to run. He wanted to get out of there, away from the pale young man who was now pointing the strangely threatening stick at Harry. The doppelganger Harry was putting his own stick. Wand, flashed briefly through Harry’s mind.

“You know what to do. Do not disappoint me, Wormtail,” the young man hissed to not-Harry.

“Yes, Master.”

Then, with one stride, the man in the turban stepped toward Harry and pressed the tip of the stick into Harry’s shoulder.

“Apparate Riddle Manor,” he spoke clearly.

Before Harry even had time to blink or flinch away from the sharp point digging into his shoulder, there was a ‘pop’ in his ears and the sensation of falling. There were suddenly wooden floor boards beneath him instead of cold stones, and dead silence instead of the raging of the storm.

The man took a step away from Harry, and Harry was able to move again. He scrambled to get away until he bumped into a wall, blinking away tears as the scar on his head continued to burn. They stared at each other for a moment, and the red gleam in the man’s eyes made Harry shiver even worse than the cold on that wretched island had.

“Who- who are you?” he managed to stammer. “Why did you bring me here?”

The man curled his lip in a disgusted sneer and turned to face the large double doors along one side of the room.

“Clausa Riddle Mansion Voldemort,” he intoned, pointing his stick at the doors, and the walls seemed to vibrate, humming for a moment. The man shot an amused smirk at Harry, pointed the stick at himself, said “Apparate Forbidden Forest” and disappeared with a ‘pop’.

An oppressive silence seemed to close in around Harry, and for a long time all he could do was listen to the thundering of his heartbeat as the burn in his scar faded away.

RIDDLE MANSION

Harry was dreaming.

He dreamt he was standing in front of a mirror. It was ornately decorated and in the frame the words Erised Stra Ehru Oyt Ube Cafru Oyt On Wohsi were carved. Beside him stood the wizard in the colourful clothes wearing a turban; his face was contorted, in anger or concentration, and there was a red gleam to his eyes.

“Get me the stone, Wormtail, now!” he hissed and Harry looked back into the mirror.

The reflection was a swirling mass of rapidly changing scenes. He saw a pudgy boy with a rat-like face being carried on the shoulders of three other boys; they were all laughing and cheering. He saw himself with a red-headed, freckled boy and a bushy haired girl with rather large teeth; the three of them were laughing and joking.

“Now, you miserable little wretch, he’s fighting me!” that voice hissed again and Harry concentrated and then he saw himself holding a stone, putting it in his pocket. He looked down, put his hand in his robes and pulled out a stone.

Excited, relieved, he held it out to the other wizard.

“My Lord, the Philospher’s Stone.”

The man reached out for it with one hand that started trembling heavily, while his other hand gripped a wand.

“Stop it, Quirrell! You are mine; it is too late to turn back now! I will punish you for this insolence!”

The hissing voice wasn’t coming from the other wizard’s mouth: his mouth was clenched shut and there was heavy perspiration on his brow. Rather, it seemed as if the voice was coming from the back of the man’s head, from underneath the hideously colourful turban. The wizard, Quirrell, no longer had red eyes, instead they were a bright blue and his face was a mask of agony, despair, and fear.

“Master?” Harry asked in confusion.

With a shout Quirrell grabbed his chest with the hand reaching out for the stone, holding it tightly as if to stop his hand from doing anything else, and he made a sharp downward motion with his wand, pointing it at himself.

“Incendio!” he shouted and then burst into flames.

“Nooooo!” the hissing voice cried out, and to Harry’s horror the turban slipped and Harry saw that there was a face on the back of the wizard’s head. Quirrell lurched forward, burning like a torch, his eyes flaming red again.

Harry backed up, he was terrified, and the stone was still clenched in his out-held hand.

“Save me, you fool,” the voice rasped and those burning hands closed around Harry’s arms, burning him. He tried to scream but was already blacking out. He imagined he heard somebody shout a spell, imagined a burst of green light enveloping Quirrell’s rapidly burning form. After that: nothing.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, blinking away a few tears of pain. The burning in his scar was quickly fading and his rapid breathing calmed. With a shudder he pushed himself upright and pulled the blankets tightly around him. He reached for the quill and ink on the bedside table and pulled the leather-bound journal from under his pillow.

This wasn’t the first dream he’d had about his doppelganger, but it was by far the most vivid and disturbing one. And it was the first one to prominently feature his other kidnapper. Who, he suspected, was apparently now dead. And maybe his doppelganger was too, although for some reason Harry didn’t think so.

As Harry unstoppered the ink pot and opened the journal, he wondered not for the first time just how long he’d been trapped in this place, in Riddle Mansion. Riddle Mansion that was silent as a grave; where the kitchens were magically stocked to provide all his needs; where the windows were all covered in grime obscuring any view of the outside world; where he could not get closer than two feet to any outer door, window, or wall; where time seemed not to pass, nor seasons, nor night or day, an eternal twilight. Well, it was pointless to dwell on such thoughts. And at least Harry wasn’t alone.

‘Hi, Tom,’ Harry wrote and he watched the words disappear into the page.

‘Hi, Harry, did you sleep well?’

Harry had found Tom’s diary on the third day of his imprisonment in Riddle Mansion. He’d explored the house from top to bottom, searching for a way out, for any sign of life other than his own.

With the exception of one door on the second floor none were locked. There was a spiralling staircase leading down to the cellars (or dungeons, as Harry later discovered); on the first floor there was a large hallway (where the red-eyed wizard had dumped him), a ballroom, a conference room, the kitchen and pantry, and a study. On the second floor there were five large bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, and a sixth room that was locked.

Harry had claimed one of the bedrooms for himself; it wasn’t the largest, but it had the most lived-in feel to it. He wasn’t surprised to find out later that it was indeed the master bedroom. There were all manner of clothes in the cupboard, robes and slacks, and shirts: most in black, a few in green, some with silver trimming. They were obviously meant for a man taller and with a broader build than Harry, but compared to Dudley’s cast-offs they fit Harry wonderfully.

On the third day he’d been lying on what he had started to consider as his bed, and desperately trying to think of a way out, of a way to contact help. There seemed to be some kind of invisible barrier that stopped him from getting close to any of the outer doors, walls or windows. In desperation he’d flung himself against it, thrown chairs and anything he could get his hold on at it, but all to no avail.

Then, as if his fervent wishing for help made it happen, a hidden door had opened and revealed a small chamber off the bedroom. In it Harry had found Tom’s journal, the quill and ink, a wand, and a snake. The snake was asleep, or in hibernation or something like that, but he’d overlooked it at first. As soon as he’d spotted it he’d grabbed the journal and writing instruments and bolted out of the room, closing the door and barricading it with a desk. Only afterwards had he realised he’d left the wand in there. That had probably been a good thing after all, for Tom had told him later that using another wizard’s wand was extremely dangerous and he could have been badly hurt, or even killed.

Not that Harry entirely believed that explanation after Tom had emphatically forbidden him to touch the wand, when Harry suggested he use it to try and open the locked library door. Harry knew there was a lot Tom wasn’t telling him, that Tom had motives of his own for helping Harry; Tom was always keeping him sufficiently occupied that thoughts of escape became secondary and were often completely forgotten. But Tom was also Harry’s friend, his first and only ever friend, and in the end Harry trusted that Tom would never see him fall to harm.

‘Not really. I had another dream about the other me and my kidnapper.’ Harry began to detail his vision, and elaborated on all the points Tom asked questions about.

The first time Harry had dreamt of his doppelganger he had experienced the impostor being sorted. Tom had explained the sorting, and the different houses, and what Hogwarts was like, and then taught Harry another spell to cheer him up. Being confronted in your dreams with the fact that somebody else has stolen your face and your life would hardly make anybody happy.

But Tom had taught Harry how to cast a light spell, Lumos, which allowed Harry to venture into the dungeons. He’d found an honest-to-gods potions laboratory. There were wards up, so he couldn’t attempt to brew a potion himself, couldn’t open any of the jars with ingredients. Tom had made him promise not to try either: creating potions was dangerous work, and in his journal incarnation Tom would not be able to protect Harry if something went wrong.

After Harry had discovered Tom’s journal, and they had discussed Harry’s imprisonment, Tom’s first task had been to get them into the one locked room in the mansion: the library. It had taken a lot of effort, but Tom had managed to teach Harry a little wandless magic: the Alohamora spell. Apparently you didn’t need a wand to practice magic, but it was extremely difficult to do anything without one, and it cost a lot more energy and focus to succeed. But because Harry had never used a wand, and had in the past in fact practiced magic without a wand (however subconscious and uncontrolled that had been), they had succeeded in the end.

When at first it hadn’t worked, Tom had show Harry how to enter the diary so they could speak face to face in one of Tom’s memories; that way Tom had been able to make sure Harry pronounced the spell correctly.

Harry had been pleased to discover that Tom was only a few years old than he was, sixteen, and also surprised at how much they looked alike: same dark hair, same green eyes. Of course, Tom was a lot taller and broader than Harry was, but maybe he’d grow taller as well. Now that he was no longer in the Dursley’s care he was finally eating properly, finally eating. Moreover, not having to spend nearly all his time locked in a cupboard or doing heavy and stressful chores had done wonders for his health. Harry was sure that in the time he’d spent trapped in Riddle Mansion he’d grown at least another four centimetres and gained at least five kilos. He was still short and thin, but at least there were no bones poking out anymore.

The library turned out to be a veritable treasure trove of knowledge. There were even a few old newspapers lying around, but none more recent than late October 1981. The vast majority of books were on the Dark Arts, but there was also a sizeable collection of Potions volumes and books in every other magical discipline.

Tom had at first promised to help Harry find a way to break the magical barrier keeping him trapped in Riddle Mansion, but nothing had come of that. Instead he distracted Harry by teaching him small spells and urging him to read the books on Wizarding History, Herbology, Magical Theory, and Potions. Harry had realised what Tom was doing; he knew that Tom was effectively keeping him too preoccupied with study to think or plan an escape, but with such interesting books to read and Tom’s journal to keep him company, Harry eventually resigned himself to his captivity.

This didn’t stop him from searching through the other books for a way to break the barrier (though he didn’t tell Tom about this), but he realised that even if he did find something he would need a wand to perform any greater magic than the simple Accio, Alohamora and Lumos spells he’d mastered. He didn’t want to risk an encounter with the diamond patterned snake in the secret chamber just yet.

‘If that Quirrell wizard is dead now, what does that mean for me? He and my doppelganger, Peter, they’re the only ones who know I’m here. Am I going to be trapped here forever? Because I don’t think my doppelganger is going to do anything to set me free.’

Harry’s dreams of Wormtail, of Peter, allowed him to sense some of his doppelganger’s emotions. He was aware that Peter was enjoying Harry’s life far too much to give it back willingly. There was this overwhelming feeling of gratitude, of being given a second chance.

‘Don’t worry, Harry. Quirrell will have only been a vessel. I doubt he would have been able to vanquish a powerful wizard like Voldemort. He’ll be back.

‘And you’ll be freed, Harry, I promised you that and Tom Riddle always keeps his word. You just have to trust me, you do, don’t you, Harry?’

Harry hesitated, and then penned a quick yes.

‘Good. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.’

Harry closed the journal and put it aside. He still wasn’t entirely sure of the relationship between Tom Riddle and Voldemort, or what part Tom had to play with his imprisonment in Riddle Mansion. Most of the books in the library were initialled LV, but there were a few – old school books mainly – with the initials TMR. Add to that the place was called Riddle Mansion, and the words Voldemort Salazar Slytherin were etched into the library door, and the Dark Mark was branded into nearly every piece of furniture and cropped up in every ornate wood carving, well, it was obvious the two were connected.

Tom had suggested that this might be his future self’s residence, but didn’t comment on what his future self might have to do with the Dark Lord who had terrorized Britain during the seventies, and maybe still did.

Harry had read the few newspapers that were lying around the library; he’d seen the photos of destroyed homes with the dark mark floating above them. When he’d told Tom about this Tom had become upset, said that in any war there were bound to be casualties, and then proceeded to tell Harry that all Voldemort was after was protecting the wizarding world from muggles, protecting people like Harry and Tom himself.

It was hard to remember that there were good muggles as well; difficult when Harry’s only experiences had been the Dursleys’ abusive care, the harassment at school and by Dudley and his friends; difficult when he read Magical History books detailing witch hunts and the prosecution of magic in ages past; difficult when Tom confided in Harry about his own youth spent in a muggle orphanage and how he was sent back there every summer by the almighty Dumbledore to endure even more, increasing, escalating abuse.

It had been conversations like these, confiding in Tom and Tom confiding in him that had made Harry feel that despite all the questions left unanswered, despite the ambiguities, despite everything he could trust Tom. Tom was his friend, his first, best, and only friend. Tom would never let him come to harm.

Harry spent the rest of the day in the library studying, reading Potions texts and books on Herbology (for the Potions ingredients), Magical Theory, and History. It was all fascinating, the Potions texts in particular, and Harry discussed the content with Tom: quill, ink, and diary always at hand. There was an air of distraction to Tom’s answers, and Harry knew he was thinking about what had happened at Hogwarts but he didn’t pry. Tom would confide in him when the time was right.

When Harry woke the next morning (or whatever time it actually was), he felt more tired than when he’d gone to sleep. There was no way to tell the time in Riddle Mansion that seemed caught in a perpetual dusk or dawn. Harry could just make out that it was probably night time outside, but how long he’d been asleep was impossible to determine. His limbs felt heavy and his thoughts were slow and sluggish.

Waking up feeling drained wasn’t a new experience; it had happened a few times before, and Harry couldn’t help noticing that afterwards Tom’s journal seemed to emanate an even stronger sense of magic. He’d thought about not sleeping with the diary under his cushion, he’d thought about questioning Tom, but in the end he kept sleeping with Tom’s journal and didn’t bring the subject up. Tom was his friend and he trusted Tom: Tom would not harm him.

As he did every morning he took up quill and ink and wrote in the diary.

‘Hi, Tom.’

‘Hi, Harry.’

‘Have you given any more thought to Quirrell and what happened yesterday?’

‘Harry, do you trust me?’

‘Of course I do, Tom. You know that, we’re best friends.’

‘Yes, we are. Harry, I need you to do something for me, and I promise if you trust me and just have patience it will ensure your freedom, will ensure that you’ll be able to start practicing magic properly and not just reading theory from a book.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I need to go to Hogwarts. In a few hours a wizard is going to apparate into the Mansion and I need you to put my journal on the table next to the front door and stay out of sight until he leaves.’

‘No, you can’t leave me here!’

‘I swear I will return as soon as possible, in a few months at most. I will return for you!’

‘No! You know of a way to get me out of here! You want me to stay here, locked away with not even you to keep me company? No!’

‘Harry! It’s not safe for you out there. Trust me, please. I’ve told you about Dumbledore, it’s not safe for you at Hogwarts and I can’t do anything while I’m stuck in this diary, stuck here. I need to go to Hogwarts and I need you to stay here. Please, will you do this for me? You are my best friend, my only friend, I know you don’t understand, but I promise this is the best for the both of us. I won’t be gone long. Trust me, Harry, my friend, please trust me.’

Harry was gripping the quill tightly; Tom’s last words were still displayed on the journal’s pages. How could Tom ask this of him? He’d admitted he’d found a way out, admitted that he was keeping Harry here, although he claimed it was for Harry’s own good. Harry bit his lip and his eyes were drawn to the hidden door in the wall of his bedroom, to the hidden chamber where a wizard’s wand lay.

Very well, Tom was Harry’s friend, he trusted Tom, and he would do this.

‘Okay, Tom.’

‘Thank you, Harry, you won’t regret it, I promise you.

‘Now, I need you to leave me on the table next to the entrance and after that I want you to go to the library and stay there. Stay away from the door, whatever you do, don’t let the wizard see you.’

With a heavy heart Harry left Tom’s journal on the table and went back upstairs, hiding behind a corner. He’d penned a short goodbye, stroked the leather one last time, and now he was waiting for the wizard to appear. He would keep out of sight as instructed, but he was going to watch.

He didn’t need to wait long, there was a ‘pop’ like the night he’d been kidnapped from the Dursleys, and suddenly a man appeared in the entrance hall. The man was tall and wore expensive robes, his hair was long and so blonde it was nearly white. A cane with a silver snake head was held in one hand, while his other held his wand at the ready.

Harry took care not to make a sound and his heart pounded while the wizard let his gaze sweep over his surroundings. Then he saw the journal and the blond wizard picked it up, flipped it open before putting it away in the folds of his robes. After a last look around, the man pointed his wand at himself, spoke a curt ‘Apparate Malfoy Manor’, and disappeared.

Time passed more slowly without Tom’s companionship. He didn’t dream about his doppelganger for a long time, and wondered whether that had anything to do with the fact Quirrell, and thereby Voldemort was no longer there. Even the books in the library couldn’t distract Harry from his loneliness.

On the third day since the blonde wizard had taken Tom’s diary, Harry gathered all his resolve and entered the secret chamber. He believed Tom that it could be dangerous to use another wizard’s wand, but he’d be careful. He just couldn’t stand this waiting any longer. There was of course the diamond patterned snake, but if he were quiet… It had slept for so long; there was no reason for it to wake now.

The hidden door opened easily and the room was just like Harry remembered it. Square, bare but for the table against one wall upon which Harry had found journal, ink, and quill. And there was the wand. The diamond scaled snake was still coiled up in one of the corners and Harry tiptoed past it, careful not to make any sounds or walk too heavily. He reached the bench and he could feel the magic radiating off the wand; slowly he reached out to pick it up.

Just before his fingers could touch it, just before his hands closed around the slim piece of wood, there was suddenly the sound of scales sliding against each other and an irate hissing. Harry spun around with his heart beating in his throat.

The white snake had uncoiled itself and had now reared itself up so that its head was at the same height as Harry’s. While he could only guess at its size while it was still dormant, now he could see that it was at least twelve feet long and two fists thick at its broadest point. Its eyes were red and burning and staring straight at Harry unblinkingly.

“Intruder,” it hissed. “That is my Master’s wand. You shall not touch it!”

“Don’t bite me! I promise not to touch the wand! It’s just, Tom’s gone, and now I’m all alone, and I don’t know what else to do!” Harry knew he was babbling but couldn’t stop himself in the face of the enormous, obviously enraged, talking snake. However, his reaction seemed to surprise, and calm, the snake. It settled down, backed away a little, all the while regarding him with its crimson coloured eyes.

“You speak my language and you know my Master.”

Harry looked at the snake in confusion. “What do you mean? Who is your Master?”

“My Master is the greatest wizard of all time, Lord Voldemort. He lets you call him Tom?”

“Do you mean Tom Riddle? He’s my friend.”

The snake started slithering toward Harry, moved around him while Harry kept himself as still as possible as his eyes tracked the snake’s every move.

“Yes, you must be his friend if he lets you call him Tom. All others must address my Master as Lord Voldemort, only his closest may call him Tom. And only I may call him Thomas.” The snake seemed extremely pleased with this last privilege. It was also forcing Harry toward the room’s exit, forcing him out into the bedroom and away from what was apparently Tom Riddle’s wand. With a flick of its tail it closed the hidden door behind it and Harry found himself backed against the edge of his bed.

“So, my Master has finally returned. I knew he would. Where is Thomas?”

“Um, he’s not here, or well, his journal was taken to Hogwarts.”

“What do you mean?” The snake looked at him suspiciously and Harry clambered backwards onto the bed to keep his distance. “What are you doing here?” It followed him onto the bed and now Harry was backed up against the headboard with nowhere else to go. He nervously wet his lips and his eyes darted about futilely looking for a way to escape as he hastily told the snake how he had come to be in Riddle Mansion. When he had finished the snake nodded (as far as a snake can do such a thing), and coiled around itself thoughtfully.

“I see. Thomas told you to stay here, he told you not to touch his wand?”

“He did, but…”

“Then you should not touch his wand! You will stay away from it and not try again!”

His mouth dry all Harry could do was nod. The snake nodded seemingly satisfied and moved its scales against each other.

“Good. My name is Nagini, what is yours? If we are to wait for Thomas together we may as well know each others name.”

“Harry, my name is Harry. Harry Potter.”

Something seemed to flash briefly over Nagini’s face, but was gone before Harry could decipher its meaning.

“Very well, Harry, pleased to meet you. You said Thomas helped you with your studies. I know I am no wizard, but I have been Thomas’ companion for many years and I have learnt a little in that time. Maybe I can help you? We can keep each other company while we wait for Thomas to return.

“But first, I am absolutely ravenous.” She noticed the look of terror that appeared on Harry’s face and erupted in a hissing laughter. “Do not worry, while you look to be a tasty little morsel,” Nagini’s forked tongue flicked the air in front of Harry, “I have been asleep for a long time and must start with something small. Let’s go down to the kitchens and eat.”

Nagini proved to be good company, and although it took a little while to get used to the presence of a twelve foot long, obviously venomous snake that could talk, Harry was glad that he’d disobeyed Tom and tried to take his wand: he was no longer alone. It was good to be able to talk to someone, not just correspond through writing; even if that someone was a snake.

Now that he had learnt what exactly the connection between Voldemort and Tom Riddle was, Harry was left with even more questions. He had been abducted by a wizard named Quirrell who was apparently possessed by the spirit of Voldemort, the future self of Tom Riddle. He knew that Quirrell had committed suicide to prevent Voldemort from getting his hands on the stone Harry’s doppelganger had retrieved for him; Tom had seemed convinced that this did not mean that Voldemort had been killed as well. While Nagini was prepared to speak about ‘Thomas’ and how they had met, she proved tight lipped when conversation veered to topics relating to why Voldemort might want to possess another wizard and lock Harry away in Riddle Mansion.

“If Thomas called you his friend, then you need not worry. He will care for you, he will return to us as soon as he can.”

Time passed. Harry studied all the Potions texts he could find, read about the Goblin Wars of 1276, about the magical theory behind spells, and looked up Potions ingredients in Herbology tomes. Nagini would coil herself around his chair and rest her head on his lap for him to stroke the soft scales. She slept with him in his bed, saying that it was Thomas’ bed and that she had always slept in it as well, and he would wake up with her half-wrapped around him. For a snake she was surprisingly warm and it only took a short time for Harry to get used to the sound of her scales sliding against each other, a soft lullaby that would ease him into sleep.

He still had the occasional dream of his doppelganger at Hogwarts, but they were mostly brief and happened when Wormtail was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with his friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, and Ron Weasley’s younger sister Ginny. Harry always awoke from those dreams with a feeling of envy. That was supposed to be his life; those were supposed to be his friends. But then he’d talk to Nagini, and immerse himself in the library books, and it wouldn’t hurt as much, and together the two of them waited for Tom to return.

Harry was dreaming.

He dreamt he was rushing through a tunnel, at the end of which was an open doorway. Then he was standing at the entranceway of a large chamber. Carved serpent pillars held up the ceiling, and there was an enormous statue of a bearded man against one of the walls. What caught his attention, however, was the body of a red-headed girl lying on the floor, next to her lay a leather-bound journal, and standing over her was a dark haired young man. His face had an aristocratic bearing to it, and he had bright green eyes, the same green as Harry’s own.

In the corner of his eyes Harry thought he saw something moving, he imagined he heard the scraping of scales on stone, and he resolutely kept his eyes on the two people in front of him. At the sound of Harry’s foot steps the young man looked up and those green eyes bored into him.

Harry’s mouth went dry and he quickly fell to his knees.

“My – My Lord?”

An amused smirk graced the boy’s lips, and he nodded.

“Yes, I am Lord Voldemort. And you would be Wormtail, also known as Peter Pettigrew. Are you not?”

“Yes – Yes, I am, my Lord. I live to serve you.”

Voldemort returned his attention to the red-headed girl with a brief nod. Her long red hair lay around her head like an angel’s aureole, her eyes were closed, and her skin had an ashen tint to it. Harry could only just discern that she was breathing very slowly and very shallowly.

“She’s – Ginny’s not dead, she’s still alive?” he asked anxiously.

“The girl is still alive.”

“You’re not – You’re not going to kill her, are you? You don’t need to – you said you were strong enough, that you didn’t need to. Please, my Lord, spare her, I beg you.”

Voldemort looked back at Harry in amusement. “You want me to spare this girl for you? Hmmm. Very well. I suppose I may have another use for her later. She will live. And this way you will have something to show that fool Dumbledore, it should help keep his trust and allay his suspicions.”
”Thank you, my lord, thank you!”

“Yes, yes. Stop snivelling,” Voldemort glanced at the girl and held out his hand imperiously. “Give me your wand.”

Harry fumbled in his robes and held out his wand for Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord took it, looked at it in disdain, and knelt next to Ginny. He took her left arm and pressed the tip of Harry’s wand against the inside of her wrist.

“Morsmordre.”

The red-headed girl moaned, a grimace of pain fleeting over her face, but she didn’t wake up. Under the wand’s tip the skin blackened to form a skull with a snake for its tongue. Afterwards Voldemort picked up the journal lying next to the girl’s still form and tucked it in his robes. He turned around to Harry and motioned for Harry to pick the girl up.

“Take her to Dumbledore, say you escaped before I could kill her.” He looked at the wand he was holding in his hand and after a moment threw it to Harry who clumsily caught it. “I’d hurry if I were you. I am going to send my pet after you; he will create a diversion so that I may leave Hogwarts.”

Harry gulped and quickly picked Ginny up after pocketing his wand. He tried not to look into the shadows, tried to ignore the sound of scales moving closer.

The amused smirk returned to Voldemort’s lips, and he made a shooing motion with one of his hands. “Run along, and whatever you do, don’t look back.” Then he turned toward the shadows and started to hiss commands to a long dark form hidden there.

Harry clutched Ginny in his arms and ran, cursing the day he had ever sworn his loyalty to the monster that was Lord Voldemort. Behind him he heard the basilisk start its pursuit.

*~*

Harry woke up, his heart still pounding. Nagini grumbled at the disruption of her sleep, but quickly released him from her embrace when she saw the look on his face.

“Did you dream again?”

Harry nodded and quickly told Nagini what had happened. By the time he’d finished describing his dream she was moving excitedly around the bed, and as soon as he was done she slithered off it toward the door.

“He is returning! Thomas will be here soon!”

Harry watched her leave the room and bit his lip. Tom would be back soon, of that Harry had no doubt. He had to admit that he was nervous. Tom was, after all, Lord Voldemort. Harry still hadn’t gotten used to the idea that his friend from the diary was the Dark Lord in the papers; or at least a younger version of him.

Pondering his sudden ambivalence and hesitation toward his friend, Harry showered first before slowly making his way to the entrance hall. He could hear Nagini slithering about, hissing Tom’s name impatiently, and couldn’t help himself from grinning at her behaviour.

Just as he reached the top of the stairs, he was still hidden in the shadows, there was that distinct ‘popping’ sound and two figures appeared in the hall below: sixteen year-old Tom Riddle and the blonde-haired wizard who had taken Tom’s journal earlier. Nagini sped to the black-haired, green-eyed youth and wrapped herself around his legs, slithered up his body, while she called his name.

“Thomas!”

Tom laughed and gripped her neck, halting the affectionate rubs against his face.

“And you must be Nagini; Lucius told me about you.”

She stopped and looked at him in puzzlement. He smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he carefully extracted himself from her coils.

“I’ll explain all to you in a minute.” As he said this he looked up and straight at Harry who was still standing in the shadows, with a minute shake of his head he indicated for Harry to stay out of sight. He turned toward the blonde wizard.

“If you would wait here a moment, Lucius, I will retrieve my wand.”

The wizard, Lucius, inclined his head. “As you wish, my Lord.”

As Tom bounded up the stairs, Nagini on his heels, Harry suddenly understood Nagini’s excitement. Tom was home!

“Come with me, we need to talk,” Tom whispered as he strode past Harry toward the bedroom. With a glance back at the wizard who was examining his surroundings but had still not noticed him, Harry quickly followed Tom.

When he reached his bedroom the door to the secret chamber was open and Tom was walking back out into the room with his wand held lovingly in his left hand. He caught Harry’s eye and with a brief flick of his wrist sent a black and red shower of sparks streaming from the tip of his wand. Tom sat down on the bed, Nagini slithered up onto it and around his shoulders, and Tom indicated for Harry to join him.

Tom looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, stroking Nagini, and then shook his head as if to clear it of troublesome thoughts.

“See, I promised you I’d be back.” He pressed another kiss to Nagini’s flat head and she hissed her satisfaction at the statement. “But I am afraid I am going to have to ask you another favour, I am going to have to ask you to be patient for just a little while longer. For although I have returned and although I once more have a corporal body, I am not whole. This is my sixteen year-old self, and thus I only have the memories I had when I created the journal and the knowledge that I have come by since you found it.

“I will be leaving with Lucius now, but it shouldn’t be for long. And when I return I promise you, your trust in me will be richly rewarded.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but after a glance at the blissful Nagini and Tom’s smile he nodded.

“Okay.”
”That’s my Harry!” Tom once more extracted himself from Nagini, stroking her soothingly, and he reached out to touch Harry’s face but dropped his hand at the last moment.

“I promise I won’t be gone long, I’ll be back before you know it and then things will really change around here.”

With a last stroke along Nagini’s scaled body Tom strode out of the room; Nagini and Harry followed him to the entrance hall, Harry remaining hidden in the shadows and out of the wizard Lucius’ sight.

The two wizards stood next to each other and pointed their wands at themselves.

“Apparate Black Forest,” and they disappeared with identical ‘pops’.

Harry awoke to Nagini leaving the bed. He groggily pushed himself up and made a grab for his glasses.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s back! Thomas has returned!”

At this Harry too jumped out of bed and hastily pulled one of Tom’s robes over his night shirt. He padded on bare feet after Nagini, through the hallway and down the stairs. It had only been maybe two weeks since Tom had returned to retrieve his wand, nothing compared to the months that had probably passed when the wizard Lucius took the journal from the Mansion.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked the excited snake but he could already see their destination. The door to the dungeons – or the cellar – was open and now light burnt in brackets against the staircase wall. Harry only hesitated a moment before following Nagini down the winding, stone hewn stairs.

The temperature dropped and Harry shivered, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to at least pull on some socks. Ahead of him he could hear Nagini’s excited hissing and Tom’s voice as well, although he couldn’t make out the words. His step faltered as the gradual burning sensation in the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead increased.

The staircase ended and Harry’s breath caught at the sight of the space in front of him. The Potions Laboratory was filled with light and the doors to the cupboards were open. Ingredients lay strewn about the various tables. Harry’s mouth went dry; the sight of all those cauldrons, jars with ingredients, knives, everything a Potions Master could want, no longer locked away in storage but actually being used momentarily distracted him from the pain in his forehead.

He finally noticed Tom standing by one of the benches, stirring in a cauldron as he affectionately stroked Nagini’s scales. There were ingredients spread out around him, Harry recognized most of them from his studies, recognized most of them to be dangerous poisons, nightshade, hemlock, aconite, belladonna. He also couldn’t help noticing the human skull, and the severed finger, left ring-finger, still bloody, lying there as well. Not once pausing the steady figure eight he was stirring through the potion, Tom looked up and pinned Harry with his gaze.

“Ah, Harry Potter. So good of you to join me.”

Unlike the last time he had seen Tom Riddle in the flesh, unlike the times Harry had entered the journal and spoken with the memory of Tom Riddle, unlike those times Tom’s eyes were no longer green but a burning crimson that reminded Harry of the wizard Quirrell. The pain in his scar flamed to life and Harry fought to stay upright, to meet that gaze.

“Voldemort,” he managed to whisper and an evil smile transformed that handsome face for a moment before it quickly lost some of its malevolence as the eyes became more green than red.

“No need to be so formal, Harry. To you I will always be Tom. You are my friend after all, my most trusted and best friend, are you not?”

Harry could only nod, and when Tom gestured at the stool to Tom’s left he quickly seated himself. Tom returned his attention to the bubbling content of the small cauldron.

“I have always been moderately skilled at potion making, no Master by far, but this potion I should at least be able to accomplish,” he looked up and his eyes showed only the barest tint of red, his tone just as it had been in the journal. “Do you still enjoy reading the Potions texts in my library, have you been studying them?”

Harry nodded and once again his gaze quickly travelled over the laboratory. He’d been down here often enough over the past two years, but never had it felt so alive, felt like a real laboratory. It was perfect, the wet dream of any Potions Master; although Harry had no practical experience he could see that. It made his hands itch like never before to take up a knife, to take up a ladle, a cauldron, and join Tom. Tom smiled at Harry’s longing look and picked up the skull beside him.

“Bone of the father,” he said, turning it round in his hands before carefully letting it sink into the potion. There was a sizzle and the potion turned white as the bone dissolved. “You’ve been reading my books; do you recognize this particular potion?” There was an indulgent look on Tom’s face, his tone was encouraging, as it had always been when they discussed magic and Tom taught him as much as he could from the diary. Harry looked at the left-over ingredients strewn around the table, tried to remember what potions called for flesh and bone. It could only be a dark potion with ingredients such as that, and a number of possibilities flitted across Harry’s mind.

“A restorative draught?” he hazarded a guess, and the proud look on Tom’s face made Harry grin, the pain in his scar temporarily forgotten.

“In a fashion. Well done, Harry.”

Those green eyes flashed crimson red again as Tom picked up the severed finger. “Flesh of a faithful servant, willingly given,” he whispered as he added it to the potion and continued stirring the now dark blue liquid.

“At Hogwarts I was able to regain a body for my sixteen year-old self, a re-incarnation of the Tom Riddle of fifty years ago, if you will. But what of my future self, of the great Lord Voldemort? I was not yet whole, I was missing my destiny, missing a great part of myself, my power, my memories.

“Quirrell was merely a vessel, an unfaithful one at that. I possessed him and would have been restored by the power of the Philosopher’s Stone had it not been for his cowardice and treachery. So I sought myself out, and now share this body. I am complete, but not whole. This potion will restore us; it will restore the great Lord Voldemort to his full power and none shall stand in my way.”

Tom looked aside at Harry and the scar on his forehead burned. Harry didn’t know whether to be afraid, didn’t know what to think. This was Tom, this was his friend; but this was also the dark wizard Lord Voldemort, the wizard who had abducted him more than a year ago and abandoned him here.

“And I have you to thank for my current situation, Harry Potter. All of it.” Tom paused and the red in his eyes faded a little. “Is your scar troubling you, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “It burns.”

“Never mind,” Tom said and he looked back into the potion he was still stirring. “This will solve all our problems.”

They sat and stood there in silence for a while. The potion bubbled, the fire beneath the cauldron crackled, and the rustling sound of Nagini’s scales as she contentedly moved around Tom’s legs.

“It only needs one more ingredient to be finished,” Tom said suddenly, and his eyes were bright green, his voice soothing. “The blood of a… true friend.” He looked up to meet Harry’s gaze.

Harry bit his lip and found his eyes drawn to the ornate knife lying on the table; he looked back up at Tom.

“Mine?”

Tom nodded. “You are my best friend, Harry. If I am to be honest, the only real friend I have ever had. Will you help me? Will you do this one last thing for me?”

Harry hesitated, torn between his willingness to indeed help his friend, and his fear for the unknown factor of Lord Voldemort who obviously possessed Tom’s body as well.

“I know I have asked much of you, Harry, have tested your faith in me many times with little to no reward from my side. But I promise you, do this for me and you will be rewarded beyond your dreams. I can give you your heart’s desire. I know you, as you know me. You are my friend, Harry. Please. Trust me.”

What to do? Should he refuse Tom? It was clear that Voldemort was a part of Tom, and while Harry trusted Tom not to harm him, he had no such certainty regarding the Dark Lord. And if he refused, would Tom, would Voldemort, take his blood regardless? He had said nothing to the effect that it had to be given willingly. Harry knew from his extensive reading that many dark spells thrived on violence and violation.

Harry looked at Nagini; she trusted Tom, trusted Voldemort. Her crimson eyes were also staring at him, seemed to be telling him to trust Tom. And he wanted to. Tom was his friend, his best friend, the only friend he had ever had. While he did not know whether he would not have been better off at Hogwarts, the truth was that in his own way Voldemort had saved him from the Dursleys; he had given him a home and a friend and taught him magic.

With a deep breath Harry stood up and purposely ignored the increased burning in his scar. He joined Tom next to the bubbling cauldron and picked up the knife. Tom was his friend, and he trusted Tom.

The smile that graced Tom’s features encouraged Harry that he was doing the right thing. Tom took a step aside, Harry noticed that he was taking care not to touch him, and let Harry bring his arm above the brewing potion as he gripped the knife in his right hand. It shook slightly as he pressed the blade against his arm. He pulled the razor sharp edge across his skin and a red line appeared.

“Not too deep,” Tom seemed to whisper in his ear, voice raspy with anticipation. “A little is enough.”

Mesmerised Harry watched the blood pool down his arm and drop into the potion that turned a deep red as Tom continued to stir it. Harry stepped back, carefully placing the bloody knife on the table. He gripped his bleeding arm as he watched Tom wave his wand above the potion and speak a cooling spell. Nagini slithered to Harry as he dropped to his knees, coiled herself around him in comfort, hissing in his ear reassurances that all would be well, everything would be all right.

The two of them seemingly forgotten, Tom ladled the potion into a chalice and lifted it almost reverently, staring at it with avarice in his red-tinted green eyes. He took a deep breath and then brought the chalice to his lips, tilted it and gulped the potion down in one go. Harry could see Tom’s throat working as he swallowed. The cup fell from Tom’s hand and he groped at the table for support, missing it and doubling over, coughing, retching. Alarm filled Harry, he made to move to his friend’s side but Nagini stopped him.

A stabbing pain exploded in Harry’s head, emanating from the lightning bolt scar, and there was a stretching sensation, as if a link he had previously only been vaguely aware of was pulled tight, was stretched and twisted. The pain escalated, and Harry escaped into blissful nothingness.

“Hush, my dear Harry, don’t say a word, Papa’s going to buy you a golden bird.”

A hand gently tracing the lines of his face, the lines of his scar. The warmth of a body against his, arms holding him, his head resting against the person’s chest. The slow slide of snake scales against his skin, embracing both him and the other holding him.

“And if that Quidditch snitch won’t zoom, Papa’s going to buy you a wizard’s broom,” sang a soft voice in his ear, whispered it, intimately, lovingly. It soothed the headache that was quickly disappearing; it made him shiver and forget the pain in his limbs.

Harry opened his eyes and looked up into eyes that were green and flecked with crimson. Tom’s smile became even wider, even more affectionate, and he gently pressed a kiss against the scar on Harry’s forehead. Harry felt those moist lips against his skin, his eyes fluttered closed again.

“And if that flying broom won’t go faster, Papa’s going to get you a Potions Master,” Tom whispered in his ear, promised him, and Harry was lulled back to sleep by the gentle caresses and that soft smooth voice.

DISCOVERIES

It was the end-of-year feast and spirits at Hogwarts were particularly low. Not surprising considering the fact that Voldemort, or at least his younger self Tom Riddle, had gained a body and was out in the world once more. The basilisk he had set loose on the school had fortunately not killed anyone except that worthless fop Gilderoy Lockhart; Dumbledore had managed to seal the serpent in the Chamber of Secrets just as Harry Potter escaped with the unconscious body of Virginia Weasley.

Professor Snape, sitting at the teachers’ table and for once not enjoying the students’ subdued behaviour, let his gaze wander to the young red-headed Gryffindor. She sat pale between her brother and Harry Potter. There were dark circles under her eyes and Severus could see her right hand drift to her left arm, rubbing at the Dark Mark concealed beneath the sleeves of her robes. He had to stop himself from rubbing the same mark on his arm in sympathy.

It was wrong that such a young, innocent girl be so hideously branded; it was wrong that after nearly eleven years of peace the Dark Lord had returned once again. Not yet in full, but Severus didn’t doubt that that was just a matter of time.

Harry Potter looked as depressed as they all did, and for a moment Severus nearly felt pity for the wretched boy, the son of James Potter. It had been a narrow escape, the two children were lucky to be alive. Yet Severus was not the only one to notice that there seemed to be an undercurrent of blame running through the students. As if they had expected a 12 year-old boy to defeat the Dark Lord once more. Severus sneered in disgust, not wanting to admit to himself that deep down he had expected the same.

Even his Slytherins were silent and keeping a low profile. They, more than any others, were once again viewed with distrust now Lord Voldemort had risen again. Uncertain of their place in the world, of what would happen; would they be required to follow in the footsteps of many of their parents? What would Voldemort do to those former Death Eaters who had done nothing to help the Dark Lord, and instead gone on with their lives as best as they could after his fall that fateful October night years ago?

Severus unconsciously rubbed at his arm, the mark was not burning but it had reappeared again. What was to become of him? He knew he would return to Voldemort should he be summoned, return to play the role of traitor and spy for Dumbledore. Severus had little hope of survival, but it was his path.

The Headmaster finished his speech and food appeared on the table. Severus poked at it, moved it around his plate and avoided the eyes of those around him; he knew he was not the only one lacking in appetite.

Desert was served and somehow spirits had managed to lighten over dinner. Albus was chatting merrily with Minerva and Sinistra; Hagrid’s booming voice sounded as he laughed at a particularly lewd joke by Iris. The students were talking a little more freely now, making promises to write over the summer holidays. Severus looked down at the chocolate pudding and fresh strawberries, his favourite, and scowled a little less fiercely.

Then suddenly a burning agony in his forearm; he gripped the mark and bit his tongue to stop himself from crying out. Vaguely he was aware of sounds of alarm coming from the Gryffindor table; he opened tear filled eyes to see Harry Potter bent over and clawing at his forehead while he clutched his left arm; the Weasley girl cried and pawed at the mark on her arm. The pain ended as abruptly as it had began, and Severus lifted the edge of his sleeve to chance a look at the inflamed mark, at the same time making sure no others had seen that he had been similarly affected as the two young Gryffindors.

Dumbledore clapped his hands to gain everybody’s attention and to curb the panic that was rising.

“I think it is time for you all to return to your dorms and start packing. After all, it has been a trying year and you need the rest before enjoying your holidays. You will be escorted by your Head of House to the train tomorrow morning, don’t be late!”

The twinkle in the old man’s eyes became less as he looked at the Gryffindor table.

“Before going to your dorm, could Mr Potter and Miss Weasley accompany me to my office?” With that Dumbledore stood and indicated for the two students to follow him out of the hall. He caught Severus’ eye, and Severus gave a slight nod that he would join them in a moment.

After making sure all his Slytherins were safely in their dorms Severus made his way through the school corridors, up to the Gargoyle statue and stairs to Albus’ quarters. A murmured ‘Chocolate Frog’ and he was ascending the winding stair case, in vain trying not to rub the now dark black skull branded into his left arm.

When he entered Albus’ office Potter and the Weasley girl were eating sweets and Albus had his grandfatherly smile working overtime.

“It’s all going to be all right, children. There are protections up at your relatives’ house, Harry, and at the Burrow too, Ginny, you’ll be safe there over the summer. And if anything happens, if the mark or your scar burns, you know what to do?”

They nodded. “Write to you.”

“Good. Minerva will accompany the both of you back to Gryffindor tower,” only now did Severus notice the strict looking woman standing in a corner, “and you can pack and get some sleep. Another lemon drop?”

They both took more of the proffered candy and let themselves be led past him by Minerva. She inclined her head to him briefly, he nodded, and as they left Potter briefly caught his eyes. There was something in that gaze, something that made Severus’ skin crawl more than the wretched boy’s presence normally did, but then the three were gone and he dismissed it as he took the chair opposite the Headmaster. The smile on Albus’ face was gone and he was looking like he’d earned every year.

“So Voldemort has returned? It’s not just a teenage Tom Riddle we have to deal with.”

Severus nodded and pushed up his sleeve to show the mark.

“It is as it was before he was killed.” Severus couldn’t stand the brief look of revulsion that flitted over Albus’ face and he hastily pushed his robe back down. The Headmaster had never really seen the mark on Severus’ arm in its full glory; the last time it had been concealed by a glamour cast by Voldemort himself, part of the task he had sent Severus to Dumbledore for. Severus closed his eyes briefly and pushed those memories away.

“Was it a summons?”

He looked up confused for a moment, before shaking his head no.

“It didn’t feel like it, more like the connection being renewed.” A bitter sneer formed on Severus’ lips. “Although I don’t doubt that the summons will follow soon. His Lordship will no doubt want to take his loyal servants to task for the past eleven years of inaction.”

“You know what I must ask of you…”

“I know. I will let you know when he summons me, before I leave.”

“Do you think he knows of your true loyalty? Quirrell - ”

“I don’t know. I never told Quentin – We never spoke of– He may.” Severus ended helplessly, then steeled himself and met Albus’ eyes with determination. “We will just have to hope for the best.

Now, if you will excuse me, Albus, there are a few things I need to tend to. I will see you in the morning.” With that he stood up and made his way to the door, wanting to escape this familiar scene, this situation he had thought, he had hoped, he had naively believed gone forever.

“Severus.”

He stopped and felt Albus stand behind him, felt the hand on his arm turning him around, lifting his chin to look into those bright blue eyes.

“Be careful, my child,” the Headmaster said as he gently stroked Severus’ cheek. Despite himself Severus leaned into the touch – it had been so long – then resolutely moved away from the other man.

“I will see you at breakfast, Headmaster.”

The summons came in the late afternoon the next day. Severus had locked himself in his lab and started preparing the Wolfsbane potion for Lupin. In his wisdom Albus had decided to hire the werewolf as the next DADA teacher; with Black loose once again, he had said, it would be good to have somebody here who knew the man and his methods. Severus thought that a good reason to not let the werewolf any where near the students, he trusted Lupin not much more than he did Black, but he also knew that protesting would be fruitless. When it concerned his Gryffindor golden boys Albus never listened to Severus, never had and never would.

Severus sneered again and set about making a start with the complicated potion. It would take time and concentration to make, and if he were to be honest he was glad for the distraction.

Black had escaped Azkaban shortly after news of the resurrection of a young Voldemort had become public knowledge; how, was still a mystery. The Ministry was searching for him, was even using its ties in the Muggle world. At the same time they were using Dementors to sniff the bastard out; they hated it when one of their prey got away. As the skull and snake on his arm burned and Severus hissed in pain, he fully expected to see the mongrel at Voldemort’s side.

He spelled the fire out, sent an owl to Albus that he was leaving, checked his rooms one last time (would it be the last time?), and hurried through the school, over the grounds to where the anti-apparition wards ended. Once in the forest he checked for onlookers, pulled the black cape over his robes, and pressed the tip of his wand against the burning mark on his arm.

“Apparate Lord Voldemort Morsmordre,” he said, and then he was stumbling on uneven ground in the afternoon sun. Quickly Severus got his bearing; he was standing on a hill, in a graveyard it seemed. Nearby the earth of one of the graves was upturned, the name Tom Riddle and the dates 1901-1944 it were carved in the headstone. To the side there was a large house, from the outside it looked run-down and derelict, but Severus suspected that was just a front. Riddle Mansion. He saw another black caped figure disappear inside through the main doors and he quickly hurried toward the house as he put the white Death Eater mask over his face; there were no others behind him, it appeared he would be the last to arrive.

When he entered the house the door closed behind him and he could hear it locking itself, could feel the wards going up that would prevent anyone from leaving before their creator allowed. In the large entrance hall he could see the others gathered in a circle around Him, one of the black hooded figures was just crawling back to his place in the ring around Lord Voldemort having just paid his respect. Severus swallowed, glad the mask hid his expression of fear and revulsion, and without looking at Voldemort directly he dropped to his knees, crawled forward and pressed a kiss to the hem of the Dark Lord’s robe.

“Master,” he whispered, daring a glance up into a face more youthful than he had ever seen it. But he’d always recognize those burning red eyes. They bored into him, and he quickly backed away, got up, and took his place among his fellow Death Eaters.

“Eleven years,” Voldemort began and his red eyes flashed over them all, anger contorting his handsome features. “Eleven years since I was cast from my body. Eleven years have I worked to return, and where were you all? What part did you play in my resurrection?”

The Dark Lord’s voice was a menacing hiss and the fear from the gathered wizards and witches was palpable.

“Master,” one of the wizards suddenly cried and he threw himself at Voldemort’s feet. “Forgive me, forgive us, Master!”

Voldemort sneered in disgust as he pulled the edge of his robes from the snivelling man and pointed his wand at the Death Eater.

“Crucio.” The wizard screamed and thrashed in pain until Voldemort ended the spell, still keeping his wand at the ready.

“Disappointed, I am deeply disappointed in you all. I do not forgive, and I do not forget, Avery. You all owe me eleven years of your lives, and only a two of you have started to repay that debt.”

He gracefully walked toward one of them as Avery shakily stood up and returned to his place in the circle.

“Remove your mask, Lucius. All of you! Show me the faces of my most loyal servants.”

Severus schooled his face and removed the white mask, tucking it in his robes. Besides Lucius he recognized many of them, and he committed names and faces to memory.

“Slippery Lucius, you claimed Imperius and slipped through the Ministry’s fingers. You work there now. And you have started to repay me those eleven years. A little late, one might say. But better late than never, is it not so?”

Voldemort reached out and took Lucius’ left arm, held it up for all to see the proud blonde wizard’s left hand. A hand missing a finger. Lucius’ face was an impassive mask and if he was afraid, or in pain, he did not show it.

“Lucius came when I called, brought me to Hogwarts where my sixteen year-old self was able to gain this body. But I was not complete, I was not whole. Lucius’ sacrifice helped remedy that.”

He dropped the blonde’s arm and moved on to the next Death Eater.

“Ah, MacNair. My ever faithful axe, my ever faithful executioner. You now exterminate dark creatures for the ministry. I will soon have more a fitting task for you once more.”

Voldemort continued around the circle in this fashion, skipping some, applying Cruciatus to others, saying a few words or berating the Death Eater in front of them all. He paused momentarily at the space where two people should have stood.

“The Lestranges. They alone remained faithful. Now they rot in Azkaban. They will be freed and rewarded, of course.”

Then Voldemort stood before him and Severus was very much aware of the empty spaces at both his sides. Voldemort looked at the empty space to Severus’ left where four people could have stood.

“Four of my loyal followers, they died for their loyalty, died in my name. You will honour their memory.”

He looked to Severus’ right where two others should have been.

“One of my faithful who has fled; he can run but he cannot hide. Igor will suffer for his cowardice, be sure of that.

“And my most loyal servant, more faithful than any of you. He alone sought me out, he alone has served me well all these years. His reward shall be great indeed, for he works even now, right under that old fool Dumbledore’s nose, closer to his precious children, his precious Harry Potter, than any of you could imagine.”

Severus kept an impassive face, trying not to show his surprise; Voldemort could only be speaking of Black, did that mean he was on Hogwarts ground? And how could he have been helping Voldemort while he was in Azkaban? He had only escaped a few weeks ago.

Voldemort fixed his red eyes on Severus and there was no room for any other thoughts.

“Severus, you return to me, I must admit to some… surprise.” He reached out a hand and pushed one of the greasy strands of hair out of Severus’ face. Unsuccessfully Severus tried not to flinch away from that touch, a twisted sense of déjà vu running through him.

“They say you betrayed me, that you spied for Dumbledore, and that you are a traitor.” The hand gripped Severus’ hair painfully and pulled him down face to face, a menacing scowl on Lord Voldemort’s lips. Eleven years ago Voldemort had been taller than Severus, but his sixteen year old body was still a few inches short of Severus’ height.

“Tell me, Snape, who are you faithful to? Who do you serve?”

“You, my Lord, only you, Master,” Severus gasped, trying to hold back the fear churning inside him. There was nothing else he could say, nothing more he could do to make Voldemort believe his lie.

With a disgusted look the Dark Lord released his grip on Severus’ hair and pushed him away; Severus stumbled and then froze when Voldemort pointed his wand at him.

“You shall serve me, my treacherous serpent, but first you shall suffer. Crucio.”

Molten fire on all his nerve endings, Severus tried not to scream but could not hold the cry in long. Tears tracked down his face, his teeth clenched and he clawed at the floor beneath him, breaking his nails. He had no idea how long Voldemort kept the curse on him, but when he lifted it all Severus could do was lie there and listen to the rush of blood in his ears. There was a metallic taste in his mouth and his muscles were experiencing a sensation much like pins and needles, only a tenfold worse. He fought to control the random spasms still wracking his body.

Vaguely, he was aware of the others being dismissed; he heard the murmurs of a quiet conversation between Voldemort and Malfoy before the blonde wizard was also dismissed. Footsteps neared him, a foot beneath him, flipping him over, and Severus stared up into the amused face of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The last time Severus had seen Voldemort had been just before the Potters’ death, nearly eleven years ago now. The Dark Lord had been just over fifty then, his dark hair specked with grey, and his body more filled out than it was now. This youthful Voldemort had jet black wavy hair, the same handsome, arrogant face but without the faint lines that had begun to appear. He was less tall, still not full-grown, and while his eyes were still crimson red Severus could now see that they were flecked with green.

“Do you need a hand, Severus?” Voldemort asked and offered his.

Not taking time to hesitate Severus took it and let himself be pulled to his feet: when the Dark Lord offered you something you accepted.

“Come, follow me. There is somebody I would like you to meet.” With that he turned on his heels and made his way up the stairs, his robes billowing around him in that fashion that Severus had emulated when he was a young man. Severus followed, uncertain by this sudden change of mood. He had to tread lightly, who knew what eleven years as a disembodied spirit had done to Voldemort’s already tenuous grasp on sanity?

They walked through the corridor toward what Severus recognized was the library. Voldemort passed his wand over the door once, lifting a spell Severus didn’t recognize. He opened the door and indicated Severus to follow him.

Inside it was just as Severus remembered it: a fire burned in the fire-place, the walls were covered by bookcases filled with the darkest texts on any magic or potion imaginable; the long conference table, the chairs around it and in a corner two large comfortable chairs with a small table between them. Voldemort’s familiar, Nagini, slithered out of one of the chairs toward Voldemort, hissing her welcome which Voldemort returned in parseltongue. As Severus took in his surroundings he wondered who it was the Dark Lord wanted him to meet.

Then a third voice joined the other two, hissing in that snake-language, and a slight figure left the other arm chair and joined Voldemort, glancing at Severus with barely hidden curiosity.

It was as if he’d taken a bludger to the stomach. All the blood left Severus’ face and he actually swayed. Harry Potter. Voldemort had captured Harry Potter. His gut clenched and he looked at the Dark Lord in disbelief. How could that have happened? Only this morning he’d seen the brat safely onto the Hogwarts Express, he should still be on it!

Voldemort smirked and ran his hands affectionately through the boy’s hair, all the while continuing the hissing conversation the three were having.

“My Lord?” Severus croaked. Voldemort grinned malevolently before schooling his features into something more resembling a smile as he looked down at the dark haired boy under his arm.

“Severus, I would like to introduce you to the real Harry Potter. Harry, this is Severus Snape, the Potions Master I promised you.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Severus Snape? The Severus Snape? I’ve read Dark Potions and Hexes, Bezoar-Resistant Poisons, everything you’ve written! Oh wow, this is great! Thank you, Tom, thank you!”

Severus was in shock. He knew this, and could only stare at the boy who could not be Harry Potter, could not be the obnoxious boy he had taught for two years now. Something was very wrong here, and Severus struggled to get a grip of what it may be. The real Harry Potter, Voldemort had said.

Voldemort looked down at Potter with an amused smirk on his face, glanced briefly at Severus, and caressed the boy’s cheek.

“I think Severus is a little upset, Harry. Maybe we should have him teach you how to brew a calming potion; he certainly looks like he needs one.” He took the boy’s hand and led him out of the library, resting his other hand on Severus’ shoulder and pulling him along as well. Nagini followed them.

“How did your meeting go, Tom?” the boy asked, and Voldemort hissed something in reply, and soon they were talking in parseltongue – the boy spoke parseltongue! – again. They made their way down the stairs, then to the dungeons where the potions laboratory was situated. Once there Tom pushed the both of them toward one of the benches with the order to make a calming potion as he sat back on one of the chairs and Nagini coiled herself around him.

Grateful for something familiar to do Severus set the boy to work; he didn’t need to think, it was a simple potion he taught his second years every year. But when he noticed the trembling in his hands as he tried to chop the marigolds he instructed the boy to do that as well and just supervised.

How could this be? Harry Potter was on the Hogwarts Express, he himself had made sure of that. This could not be Harry Potter. Now that he’d had a moment he could see the differences. This boy was paler, as if he hadn’t seen the sun in years. There was no arrogance, no insolence. His bright green eyes shone with excitement as he cut and diced and crushed the ingredients, added them to the potion with a skill the Potter Severus knew from Hogwarts certainly didn’t have. It was clear the boy had no practice in doing it, but the talent was undeniably there. And yet… And yet, the boy had the trademark lightning bolt scar. Who was this boy?

The real Harry Potter Voldemort had said. Did that mean the Harry Potter at Hogwarts was an impostor? For how long?

As his thoughts churned and chased each other fruitlessly he interrogated the boy as he was wont to do in class, and to his surprise the boy answered him with care and correctly. And when the potion was finished – how had time passed so quickly, it was an easy potion but took at least an hour to brew! – and he inspected the result, try as he might he could find no fault with it; he could not have done better himself.

“Adequate,” he admitted sourly, his thoughts far off and his actions on auto-pilot. The boy literally beamed with pride and suddenly Voldemort was standing next to Potter, running his hand through that unruly black hair as he looked down at the boy with an affectionate look on his face, his eyes more green than red.

“Well done, Harry.” He looked up at Severus. “But now I think it is time for you to go to bed.”

”But Tom – ”

“No buts, Harry. It’s been a long day, and Severus and I need to talk, privately. Go to bed, take Nagini with you. I promise you Severus will return tomorrow and you can brew potions all day long, won’t you, Severus?”

“Anything, my Lord.”

“All right.” Harry agreed.

“That’s my Harry.” The Dark Lord leaned down and affectionately brushed his lips over the boy’s scar. “Good night.”

“Goodnight, Tom,” the boy pecked a kiss on Voldemort’s cheek before turning to Severus. “Goodnight, Potions Master Snape. Thank you for teaching me.”

At Voldemort’s nod Severus somehow managed to wish the boy goodnight as well; he watched the boy vanish up the stairs, deep in a hissing conversation with Nagini. Then Voldemort was standing beside him, pressing a cup of the calming potion into his hands. Severus gulped it down without a second thought and gratefully closed his eyes as the maelstrom in his mind came to a temporary rest.

With a deep breath he opened his eyes again and looked at Voldemort who was leaning against one of the benches and smirking at him.

“Who is he?”

“As I said before, the real Harry Potter.”

Severus was smart enough not to blurt out that that was impossible, and his grip on the cup tightened.

“Then who is the Harry Potter at Hogwarts?”

“Why, an impostor, of course.”

“For how long?”

The smirk on Voldemort’s face turned into an unabashed grin. “Since ten minutes before that bumbling oaf Hagrid took him from his Muggle relatives nearly two years ago.”

It couldn’t be, but from the look on Voldemort’s face Severus knew it was.

“Who?”

“That is something you do not need to concern yourself with, Severus.” Voldemort turned around and started pouring the calming potion into a number of vials.

“My future self, Lord Voldemort, had originally planned to return with use of the Philosopher’s stone. If it hadn’t been for that traitor Quirrell, I would have succeeded.”

Severus’ eyes widened; Quentin hadn’t been defeated by the impostor Potter?

“He abducted Harry Potter and imprisoned him here, in Riddle Mansion. Then he travelled to Hogwarts and with the help of my loyal servant I worked to obtain the stone.” Voldemort looked over his shoulder at Severus and narrowed his eyes. “I remember that you weren’t very… helpful, Severus.”

Severus paled but Voldemort turned back to the vials and sealed them with a wave of his wand, cleaning the cauldron with another flick of his wrist.

“And victory was within my grasp. But just when victory, restoration, was within my grasp Quirrell sacrificed himself, cast Incendius on us both and I was once again without a body, banished to the Dark Forest where I was safe from Dumbledore and awaited another chance to return.”

“But – We thought – His mother’s sacrifice: it protected him.”

Voldemort laughed as he carried the vials to one of the cupboards to put the calming draughts away.

“Only the touch of the real Harry Potter could have once harmed me. The potion that restored my spirit to my body broke through the protective charm his mother’s sacrifice left him, connected us even more than that fateful Avada did eleven years ago.”

Voldemort leaned back against the wall, one flask of calming draught dangling from his fingers, and he regarded Severus as he continued.

“Meanwhile Harry found my journal and struck up a friendship with sixteen year-old Tom Riddle. I realised that my future self wanted him here, although I did not know why, nor Lord Voldemort’s situation, and so I kept him distracted. I taught him magic, I encouraged his thirst for knowledge and we spent long hours in the library together. And when he slept, with my journal under his head, he fed me with his strength so that I might become more aware of the world around me.

“When Quirrell betrayed me and I was once again temporarily without a body, I resolved to take matters into my own hands and I appeared to Lucius Malfoy in a dream; I summoned him here, commanded him to take my diary and give it to an appropriate student at Hogwarts. Virginia turned out to be a true… delight. Such a strong willed little girl.

“I must admit I am glad that she did not need to die; I can use a witch like that. Harry had already strengthened me enough that it only took a few months in sweet Ginny’s hands to gain substance, to gain form once more.

“Lucius took me from Hogwarts, and together we travelled to the Black Forest and sought out my future self’s spirit. He possessed me; we were complete but not whole. Bone of the father, flesh of the servant, and blood of the… enemy cured me. Only I suppose in this case, it was also blood of the friend. Harry willingly assisted me last night; he gave me of his blood, as he had shared his life-force with me.

“And now I am restored, I have my body, I have my power. Lord Voldemort will rule!”

Voldemort prowled to him, and Severus couldn’t help backing away, backing away until he stumbled over a chair and was caught against one of the many work benches. There was an unholy look on Voldemort’s face, in his eyes, it could mean nothing good.

“And that is where you come in, my dear Severus. You see, Harry has developed a love for potions, and he has been very patient, very loyal: a true friend. And I reward my friends. So you will teach him all you know. Harry will have his own personal Potions Master; Lord Voldemort keeps his word.”

Severus nervously tried to swallow; his mouth had gone dry. Voldemort’s face was close to his and he could feel the Dark Lord’s breath against his skin as he continued to whisper in Severus’ ear.

“Only four people know that Harry is here: myself, Harry, my loyal servant, and you. The only one I do not know whether I can trust to keep this secret is you. If this comes out I shall know who has betrayed my trust. Choose your loyalty carefully, Severus. I will not be as lenient next time.”

The flask of calming potion was pressed into his unresisting hands.

“Here, you look like you could do with another dose. Go back to Hogwarts, get some sleep. I will summon you for Harry’s first lesson tomorrow.”

Feeling numb Severus started walking to the stairs, painfully aware of those red eyes watching him, burning into his back.

“Oh, and Severus?”

He gripped the bottle tightly, turned around and fought to keep a neutral face.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“I do not know why you have let yourself go so: Quentin might not have cared about the appearance of his lover, but I certainly do.” Voldemort’s lips contorted into a disgusted sneer as his eyes travelled over the lank and greasy hair, the stained hands, sallow skin, and yellow teeth. “Clean yourself up before you return.”

“As you wish, Master,” Severus only just managed to get out in a hoarse rasp, and then he was walking up the dungeon stairs, out through the doors, up the hill to the graveyard, past the wards. With trembling hands he downed the calming draught before pointing his wand at himself.

“Apparate Forbidden Forest.”

Albus was waiting for him at the edge of the forest.

“It went well?” the Headmaster said with a look of relief. Severus supposed it did look that way: he was physically unharmed, a cry different from previous episodes.

“As well as possible,” he answered, there was no point in saying more, here, now. They needed the privacy of the Headmaster’s office for anything more.

Albus must have sensed that something was very wrong; he put his hand on Severus’ shoulder and led him back to the castle in silence. Again a flash of déjà vu, Severus would have laughed at all the mocking similarities, doubles, in his life were it not for the calming draught. That second dose had succeeded in making him slightly numb, and, although the effect was fading again, for a brief moment it felt as if he were watching somebody else’s life not his own. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that, so instead he sneered at himself.

Severus hated not being in control of his mind, his body, his life. Since the last was a pipe dream, the second once more an illusion, the first became more important than ever; if he could not control the last two he would at least be master of his own mind. It was one of the reasons he seldom used such potions. But this entire night had been a shock to his system; he was still far from coming to terms with these upheavals of his life. He still fought against resignation to his fate, however futile that rebellion was.

Suddenly they were standing in Albus’ office and Severus cursed himself for his inattention – he was a spy again, he couldn’t afford such daydreaming – and forced himself to focus on the present. Later, when he lay in bed and could not sleep, then there would be plenty of time for such fruitless thoughts.

He accepted the Headmaster’s offer of tea and let the hot and sweet liquid sooth his spirit.

“What happened?”

Albus was sitting behind his desk, a grave expression on his face as he patiently waited for Severus to begin. Ah, where to start?

He recounted the details of his arrival at Riddle Mansion, enumerated as many of the wards he had been able to sense and recognize, and proceeded to give an account of the first Death Eater meeting in eleven years.

“Karkaroff didn’t show; he’s probably running as we speak. Voldemort’s going to catch him though. There was another Death Eater missing, ‘his most loyal servant’, I don’t know who that could be, not Black anyway. He said this Death Eater was close to you, close to the students, Potter in particular.

Then he turned his attention to me. He knows I betrayed him last time, of that I’m nearly certain. But he said that I would serve him now nonetheless and cast Cruciatus on me.”

Dumbledore held out the tin with cookies and Severus declined.

“While I was recovering – I don’t know how long he kept the curse on me – he dismissed the others. He talked to Malfoy for a while; about what, I couldn’t hear. After he dismissed him he helped me to my feet and said he had somebody he wanted me to meet.”

Severus paused and looked down at both his hands which were clenched to fists in his lap. He purposefully unclenched them and rested them on his legs before looking straight at Albus, straight into the Headmaster’s blue eyes.

“Albus,” he whispered roughly. “Voldemort has Harry Potter.”

For a moment the Headmaster froze, but then he shook his head and smiled benevolently, that annoying twinkle in his eyes again.

“Nonsense, Severus. Mr Potter is safe with his relatives. The wards around the boy have not been disturbed. Not even Voldemort could have gotten around them without alerting me. It must have been a glamour, or maybe Polyjuice?”

“You don’t understand! He has the real Harry Potter! He has for nearly two years!

“The Harry Potter we’ve been protecting, that’s been attending Hogwarts, is an impostor, a Death Eater!”

Severus’ voice rose in pitch and he stood up, pacing the office in agitation.

“Quirrell abducted Potter a few moments before Hagrid came to fetch him two years ago. He’s been locked up in Riddle Mansion ever since. The diary, it leeched life-force off him, enough to enable a sixteen year-old Riddle to summon Lucius and have him plant the journal with the Weasley girl. She’s only alive now because Riddle had already absorbed enough of Potter’s life force that he didn’t need all of hers!

“Your precious Potter is nothing but a Death Eater; if it hadn’t been for Quentin – Quentin killed himself, it wasn’t Lily’s protection that set him aflame, Quentin managed to gain control long enough to stop Voldemort from getting his hand on the Stone, not your Gryffindor golden boy! Quentin – I killed –”

Severus’ voice halted and he resolutely turned his back on the old man, tried to control his grief; a grief he had not allowed himself to feel for over a year. Albus’ hand came down gently on his shoulder but Severus shrugged it off and returned to his seat, folded his hands in his lap, and continued in a monotone voice as he stared unseeingly straight ahead.

“Tom Riddle regained a body a month ago, he and Malfoy then travelled to the Black Forest to find Voldemort’s sprit. It possessed Riddle, and with the aid of a restorative potion the two merged last night, Lord Voldemort has risen once again.

“He used his father’s skull, one of Malfoy’s fingers, and Potter’s blood to complete the potion. He says Potter gave it willingly, I’m inclined to believe him: the two are positively besotted with each other. The boy’s been studying dark potions and magic for two years, and now Voldemort wants me to tutor him, I’ll be summoned tomorrow for his second lesson.

“Oh, and the boy speaks parseltongue. That is everything.”

Looking older than his years Albus stood by his desk watching him.

“Everything?”

Severus thought for a moment.

“He said only four people know of the real Harry Potter’s whereabouts: Voldemort himself, Potter, the impostor, and now me. If this comes out, he’ll know I’ve betrayed him, and I don’t think he’ll let me get away with just a brush of Cruciatus for that.”

“Does he know you’re spying on him now?”

“I don’t know, I truly don’t know.”

Severus was tired, exhausted all of a sudden. All he wanted to do was leave, hide in his dungeons, maybe even escape into the oblivion of Living Death. This had to have been one of the worst nights of his life and he just wanted for it to be over.

Dumbledore nodded and turned toward one of the cupboards.

“You haven’t left anything out?” Albus asked in a neutral voice, it made Severus look up from his clenched hands.

“I haven’t, why?”

Severus was starting to feel uncomfortable, a sentiment that only increased when he saw what the Headmaster had taken from the warded cupboard.

“You don’t trust me.” It was more a statement than a question. Even though he should have expected this, even though he had no right to expect Albus to leave it at that, the sight of the flask of colourless liquid, the bowl and its mercury like content, it hurt more than any amount of Cruciatus could.

“It’s not a matter of trust, my dear boy. Such information I need to see for myself. Another’s perspective can shed more light on a seemingly dire situation.” The Headmaster had placed the two objects on the desk in front of Severus and rested one hand on Severus’ shoulder.

“I told you everything, Headmaster, this isn’t necessary.”

Severus tried to get up but the hand on his shoulder was unyielding and kept him seated, kept him from escaping.

“I am afraid it is, Severus.”

“Damn it, Albus, won’t you trust me to tell you all you need to know.”

“I think I will be the judge of what I do and do not need to know.” There was an edge of steel to the Headmaster’s voice and his blue eyes burned Severus as much as Voldemort’s crimson ever had.

Severus averted his eyes, tried not to choke on the words, a last, desperate, whispered plea.

“You promised, Albus, you promised me never again. Please not this.”

Albus gripped his chin and forced him to meet the older man’s gaze as his other hand released Severus’ shoulder and pressed the flask into his unresisting hands.

“I would not ask this of you if I didn’t deem it necessary, dear Severus.”

He closed his eyes and fought back tears as he brought the unstoppered vial to his lips and swallowed the modified Veritaserum in one go. Just before he lost all measure of control he bitterly acknowledged that a Potions Master should never invent a potion he was not willing to take himself, or at least had an antidote for.

During Voldemort’s first reign Severus’ had performed a number of tasks for the Dark Lord, inventing new potions had been one of them. The texts Potter had referred to, were the results of those endeavours and Voldemort held the only other copies than the ones he had stored safely warded in his chambers. The combining of Veritaserum and pensieve magic, however, had been one of the few finds Severus had kept secret from the Dark Lord. Albus was the only person he’d entrusted with that knowledge and the necessary instruments to implement it.

The principle was simple, a pensieve allowed memories to be seen and shared by others; Veritaserum dissolved the drinker’s control to a level that they could only speak truthfully, could not control their answers: combining the two prevented memories from being altered. But Severus’ genius had not stopped there. The pensieve itself had been cursed with a version of Imperius, and the Veritaserum had been modified, combined with other mind controlling substances, so that it allowed the interrogator to control the subject’s thoughts, allowed him to find and force the desired memories into the pensieve.

There was no resistance possible; it even rendered the strongest of Obliviates useless. Only if the memory had been removed, obliterated from the subject’s memory, only then the memory could not be retrieved, but the loss was at least made clearly visible as an outline of what had been taken.

Because the potion and the pensieve didn’t require the subject to be conscious, or even sane, it was invaluable when gaining information from people who could otherwise not be questioned. But the danger of abuse was extreme. No memory, no thought or feeling, could be hidden; all could be copied to the pensieve, stored there for all to see, for all to experience.

For an intensely private man like Severus, a man who hated any and all loss of control over himself, the use was more of a violation than any rape could be and he had hated every minute it had been used on him. Albus was well aware of this. Severus still had nightmares that maybe some of the memories taken were in a pensieve somewhere he didn’t know, accessible to the Ministry, Voldemort, anybody. And all those times it had been used on him it had been in the presence of Albus, done by Albus, the only person he’d ever trusted.

A detached numbness settled over his body and his mind. He was aware of the Headmaster’s hand on the back of his neck, bringing his head above the bowl, the Headmaster’s wand against his temple as he drew out the memories, as he searched through Severus’ mind. Every now and then the Headmaster would take his hand and they would descend into the pensieve together, the Headmaster would ask him questions and he would answer them – not aware of what he was admitting – until he was told to stop or questioned on another memory.

It was finally over, the Headmaster’s Finite Incantatem still ringing in his ears. Albus was putting away pensieve and potion, and Severus felt as if he had been dissected and then haphazardly put back together again. He shivered and pulled his robes tighter around himself, not able to prevent the deeply bitter scowl from forming on his face.

“Did you get everything you wanted, Albus?” he practically spit out.

The Headmaster nodded, and Severus quickly glanced away.

“Why can’t you respect that there are things I don’t want you to know?” he whispered. He pushed himself up and stood stiffly facing the older man.

“It is late, and it would appear I have class again tomorrow. If that is all, Headmaster…”

Albus looked at him a moment, piercing blue eyes pinning him where he stood, knowing his every secret, before he nodded. “Sleep well, Severus.”

The lack of a comforting touch, no matter how often he had shrugged them off over the past years, felt as if he had been slapped in the face.

The next morning Severus was roused from fitful sleep by a persistent knocking on the door to his chambers. Grumbling he pulled on a robe and went to open the door. Albus stood there, annoying twinkle in his eyes, with a tray of breakfast in the air behind him. The scent of tea and toast wafted toward him and Severus stepped aside, allowing the Headmaster into his chambers.

“Good morning, Severus. Did you sleep well?” Albus asked cheerily as he settled into one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace and put the tray on the table between them. Severus had seated himself on the worn couch.

“What do you think?” Severus couldn’t help snapping. He hadn’t taken Dreamless Sleep, couldn’t afford to take Living Death in case he was summoned. The little sleep he had managed to grab had been restless and filled with disturbing dreams. “What do you want, Albus?”

“Severus,” the tone in Albus’ voice brooked no insolence, and Severus looked up to meet those sharp blue eyes. Albus’ face was set in a grave expression, no twinkle, dead-serious. “We need to talk about what you are going to do when Voldemort summons you.”

Ah, of course. Potter again. He should have known.

“We have little choice than to play along for now, I am afraid. Exposing the impostor will reveal you as a spy to Voldemort; you are too valuable for that. And we do not know what lies Voldemort has poisoned the boy with. I want you to teach the boy, find out his feelings toward Voldemort, toward us, what he knows, what lies he’s been told.

“Find out whether he can be trusted if we retrieve him.

“I will keep an eye on the impostor: try and find out who we are dealing with.”

Severus nodded, accepted the cup of sweetened tea offered. There was nothing else to say; he was again to look out for Potter, the real one this time. And this one was no doubt even worse than the one he’d had the pleasure of teaching the past two years. A traitorous voice whispered in his mind that that was a lie, that the Harry Potter he’d seen the night before was nothing like the arrogant, foolish boy at Hogwarts. He ignored it ruthlessly.

They sat in silence, drinking their tea and eating breakfast. Severus was reminded of other times, happier times, when they had done the same, and he tried to forget.

“Severus.” This time it was a gentle whisper, and so close that it startled him. Severus looked up from the empty tea cup he had been staring into morosely to find that Albus had moved and was now sitting next to him. There was a sad look on the older man’s face. When he carefully took Severus’ hand in his own, this time Severus didn’t pull away.

“Dear Severus, I am so sorry you have to go through this. I know what I am asking of you, I am aware of your sacrifice, and I wish it could be otherwise.”

“Albus –”

“No, let me finish, Severus. I hate that I asked you to go to him, and I will never forgive myself for it. If there was any other way… But there isn’t, and it grieves me so.

“Look at me, Severus. I trust you, never doubt that, and you make me proud. I will be here for you when you return, I’ll be waiting for you, I promise.”

Albus’ hand stroked his cheek and this time Severus leant into the touch, closed his eyes and savoured it. It had been so long.

“Sweet Severus,” it was a whisper and Albus was pulling him against him, into his arms. Severus gripped the Headmaster’s bright blue robes tightly. He buried his head in the other man’s chest, felt the prickly beard against his face, as he tried not to choke on the tears fighting to surface.

“I’m sorry I got angry last night.”

“Shhh, it’s all right.”

“I understand why – It’s just – Albus, I’m sorry, I know you won’t betray me.”

“I have you, child.” Albus murmured in his ear, stroking his back soothingly until Severus started to relax. He did understand; he knew the Headmaster could not take a risk like that, that it was the rational thing to do in the circumstances. If only that knowledge would make it hurt less.

He didn’t know how long they sat there like that, Albus holding him for the first time in so many years. He didn’t want to analyse the ‘why now’. Instead he just let his mind go blank and enjoyed this brief taste of what he’d been denied for so long, what he’d ached for even though he understood why it could no longer be, even though he’d accepted Albus’ reasons.

It couldn’t last, of course. Pain knifed through the mark on his left arm, settled into a dull throb he couldn’t ignore. Albus noticed the sudden tension in his body, broke the embrace. He glanced briefly at the mark, hidden beneath Severus robes, and then took Severus’ face in both his hands.

“Be careful, Severus.” The Headmaster’s blue eyes roamed his face, seemed to search for something. After a moment he smiled, leaned forward and pressed his lips briefly, chastely, to Severus’.

“Come back to me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Not trusting his voice, Severus nodded dumbly. Albus smiled again, made the remains of their breakfast disappear with a flick of his wand, then squeezed Severus’ shoulder as he stood up and made his way to the door.

“Good luck.”

Severus shook his head when the door closed behind the Headmaster and grimaced at the pain in his arm. He needed to get going, to stop wasting time. He would not disappoint Albus.

He quickly got dressed, headed out of Hogwarts and to the Forbidden Forest where he could apparate. He reappeared in the same graveyard, standing next to the disturbed grave of Voldemort’s Muggle father. When he entered the mansion the hall was silent, but the Dark Mark pulsed and pulled him to the dungeon, down the stairs to the potions laboratory that had been a gift from Voldemort to him, to ‘his sweet Slytherin Potions Master’ over a lifetime ago.

Voldemort, the boy, and Nagini were already there, sitting at one of the tables eating breakfast and speaking in parseltongue. Severus stood watching them, feeling like an intruder, as he waited for the Dark Lord to acknowledge his presence.

“Ah, Severus, how good of you to join us. Have you already eaten?”

Severus knew it was paranoia, thinking that Voldemort knew what had happened at Hogwarts, there was no way he could know. Yet the impression stayed and Severus nervously licked his lips.

“I have, my Lord, thank you for your offer.”
”Think nothing of it. Come, join us.” He indicated the chair opposite him and Potter; Nagini was coiled around the chair Voldemort was sitting on, half in his lap and he was stroking her flat head while he spoke.

“Harry here is quite excited about his lessons, aren’t you?”

The boy blushed and smiled at Tom, nodding eagerly.

“I have some reading to do.” Severus’ eyes flicked to the pile of Dark Arts books on the table. “So, please, don’t mind me.”

“I’ll need to know what Mr Potter has already learnt.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m not the one you should be asking. And there’s no need to be so formal, I’m sure Harry would prefer to be addressed by his first name.” Voldemort flashed him a grin and then turned to the boy, ran his hand through Potter’s hair. “I’m sure Severus won’t mind you calling him that either.”

“You don’t?” the boy asked him, his green eyes, half-hidden behind those ridiculous glasses, were open and filled with a barely contained excitement.

“No, I would be… honoured if you called me Severus… Harry.”

Voldemort smirked at Severus’ obvious discomfort, then made the left-over breakfast disappear with an exaggerated wave of his wand and picked up one of the books. He made a show of opening it, looking for his page, and pretending to ignore them.

Severus closed his eyes briefly, breathed deeply, and tried to put on his most reassuring face for the boy. Considering the fact that he was not in the habit of reassuring his pupils the expression looked slightly pained.

“Very well…. Harry. Tell me what you already know about the subtle art of potion making.”

This caused a veritable waterfall of words as Harry proceeded to list all the Potions books he had read, nearly everything Voldemort had on the subject, Severus was sure.

Severus raised his hands to stop the flow and silence the boy.

“You seem to have a … firm grasp of the theory, so we shall focus first on putting it to practice. The potion you made last night was surprisingly adequate for such a novice, but you still have much to learn. There’s more to Potions than throwing the ingredients together, you need to know how to cut, how to stir. You need to learn how to see the magical properties coming together, becoming something new. Learn to discern the subtleties of changing colour and texture: this ability can only be learnt firsthand, not from a book.”

As he spoke Severus found himself relaxing into the role of teacher, and for once he seemed to have an appreciative audience, if the look of intent concentration on Potter’s face was anything to go by.

He led the boy to one of the work benches, had him cut slugs, dice dandelions, and grind beetles. He showed Potter how to hold a knife properly, and when they started on a third year level healing potion Severus taught the boy how to stir in a perfect figure of eight. The potion needed to be stirred at a constant speed for nearly an hour and Severus explained why it had to be done manually and could not be done by magic as he cleaned up. They discussed different kind of healing potions; Severus had the boy explain the difference between them, give reasons why certain ingredients reacted badly to others.

Severus was grudgingly impressed by the boy’s skill and knowledge, his insight. He could rival that Granger girl in his obvious enthusiasm to learn, but with none of the obnoxious arrogance she displayed. Again the potion Potter made was perfect, as good as Severus could have ever made it. Despite the situation, Severus found he was enjoying himself, even looking forward to teaching this boy, already thinking out a curriculum that would improve the boy’s practical skills sufficiently to start brewing some of the really complex potions. During this all, however, he was aware of Voldemort, sitting at the table with his snake familiar, those red eyes watching them.

They had a break for lunch during which Potter questioned him ceaselessly about the potions, the poisons, he had devised for Voldemort and documented in his books. The boy’s innocent passion for the subject reminded Severus of himself, of how naïve he’d been until he’d finally seen the consequences of his experiments. Voldemort stayed silent, smiling indulgently at the boy every time he asked the Dark Lord a question and answering them all. There was hardly any red in his eyes – they were nearly the same green as Potter’s – and Severus was caught by the similarities between the two. If he hadn’t known better he would have thought the two were siblings.

After lunch he had Potter brew a more complex potion, sixth year level: Dreamless Sleep. It took them the rest of the afternoon and into the evening to brew, but not once did the boy become bored with the long periods of stirring, or the meticulous preparation of ingredients. Although he did complain about his arm threatening to fall off, which made Voldemort laugh and then take over the ladle for a while to let Potter rest. Potter pulled himself up onto the bench next to Voldemort and leaned against the Dark Lord as he and Severus continued to discuss the pro’s and con’s of Dreamless Sleep and other soporific potions.

After Potter had bottled the potion and put away everything they’d used, Voldemort led them upstairs to the kitchen where dinner was waiting for them. Severus was surprised by how late it was, and the boy was trying to hide his yawns. When Voldemort told him it was time to go to bed he protested, saying there was still so much he wanted to ask Severus.

“Severus will be here again tomorrow, Harry, there’s no rush. You need to be well rested; I’m sure Severus will agree with me that it wouldn’t do to fall asleep above a bubbling cauldron. Come, let’s get you to bed. Severus, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“But Tom…” the boy wheedled, Voldemort just picked him up and started hissing in parseltongue as he carried Potter out of the room, Nagini at his heels. Severus heard the boy laugh and he stared down at the empty tea cup in front of him.

“So, what do you think of Harry?”

Severus looked up startled; he hadn’t noticed Voldemort’s return.

“He is… talented, my Lord. And eager to learn.”

Voldemort smiled fondly as he nodded and sat down at the table again. “Yes, he is.”

They sat in silence for a while, until Severus finally found the courage to ask one of the questions that had been bothering him all day.

“Does he know about his parents?”

The smile disappeared from the Dark Lord’s face immediately and his eyes burned crimson.

“No,” Voldemort spoke harshly, “nor will he.” There was no mistaking the threat in those three little words, and Severus knew this was not a subject to raise again unless he wanted to attract Voldemort’s wrath.

“Tell me about Hogwarts, about Dumbledore. You’ve been close to the old fool for so many years now, tell me his secrets. What does he plan to do about me?”

“He is worried, but he has not told me much, my Lord.”

Voldemort sneered. “Tell me what you know, Severus.”

Severus swallowed and then began recounting Dumbledore’s reaction to Voldemort’s resurrection, how he had sealed the basilisk inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that there were special wards up protecting Ginny Weasley and the impostor Harry Potter. Albus and he had agreed that he could reveal this to Voldemort to gain the Dark Lord’s trust.

After a while Severus started to get the feeling Voldemort wasn’t really listening, and he squirmed uncomfortably under the Dark Lord’s roving gaze.

“Severus,” he interrupted.

“Yes, my Lord?”

Voldemort leaned back in his chair and let his legs fall to the side. He grinned and slowly moved one hand up along his inner thigh.

“That is all quite interesting, and I look forward to hearing you further betray Dumbledore’s trust. But for now, I think I’d rather have your mouth do other things than… talk.”

Severus closed his eyes as he only just managed to whisper his reply.

“Yes, Master.”

He got up and moved to Voldemort, knelt between those spread legs as he avoided looking up at the Dark Lord, instead concentrating on the task before him. He had done worse things before, it could have been worse, he could do this.

Voldemort ran one hand along his face, ran his fingers through Severus’ hair that he had spent last night washing several times. For years he had used a potion to keep it from interfering with his work, he didn’t care that it left his hair greasy and generally repugnant. Now he’d switched back to the charm he had used all those years back. He made a brief mental note to teach Potter the same charm while he carefully pushed aside the Dark Lord’s robes and undid his pants, pulling the slowly firming cock from his trousers.

“Yesss,” Voldemort hissed when Severus flicked his tongue across the cockhead, and his hands tightened in Severus hair.

Don’t think about anything, don’t think about who you’re doing this for, don’t remember the last time, don’t remember, don’t think. Severus repeated the mantra in his mind as he took Voldemort’s prick in his mouth and started sucking on it, moving down as one hand massaged the root and the others played with Voldemort’s balls. Maybe if he concentrated, did his best, he could make this fast, could end this soon.

But then Voldemort was tugging his hair, pulling Severus off his now spit shiny cock. He forced Severus to look up into those crimson eyes as the smirk on the Dark Lord’s face turned truly malevolent.

“Take your time, Severus, I am in no hurry. It’s been a while for me and I would like to enjoy this.”

His hand gently stroked Severus’ cheek, entirely at odds with the evil grin and his next words.

“When was the last time? Ah yes, I remember, nearly two years now. Quentin and I were both quite… distressed when you refused to let us into your chambers any more, or come to ours.”

Severus felt his throat tightening and he closed his eyes again, relieved when Voldemort said no more but urged him back to his groin. He pressed butterfly kisses along the entire length of his shaft, nuzzled at the hairy ball sac and took each globe in his mouth as his fingertips lightly traced the veins on Voldemort’s cock. He rubbed small circles on the sensitive glans with the top of his thumb and nibbled at the foreskin. Voldemort’s hands ran through his hair, held his head and urged him to take it all in his mouth.

He knew better than to restrain the Dark Lord’s hips, and let him thrust into his throat. He relaxed and swallowed, letting himself be fucked hard as Voldemort started hissing in that mixture of parseltongue and obscenities Severus hadn’t heard in over a decade.

Severus lost himself in the familiar motions and feelings, felt his own arousal growing. Voldemort went rigid, thrust deep into his throat, and came in his mouth, choking him with the bitter taste of his come. He swallowed and swallowed, knowing better than to spill a drop, gulping air in through his nose.

He heard Voldemort sigh and Severus glanced up as he pulled away; he gently licked the Dark Lord clean, careful of his oversensitive cock. Voldemort’s eyes were heavy lidded, a mixture of green and red, and there was a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched Severus’ gentle ministrations. Finally he pushed Severus away and tucked himself back in his pants, pulled his robes straight. The Dark Lord stood up and indicated for Severus to rise as well. He stepped up close to him, pressed his thigh against the bulge concealed beneath Severus’ robes before looking at his face again. Severus felt his cheeks burn in humiliation and he wished he could wash away the bitter taste of Voldemort’s seed on his tongue.

Voldemort brought his mouth to Severus’ ear and whispered. “It’s good to have you back, Severus. I will summon you again tomorrow.” With that he turned around and left, leaving Severus standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, still aching.

A short moment to regain himself enough to leave – he knew a dismissal when he heard one – and Severus pulled his robes tightly around himself, shivering despite the warm summer air outside.

“Lumos,” and he had enough light to guide him away from the Mansion, back to the graveyard.

When he appeared at his usual spot in the Forbidden Forest Albus was waiting for him. With the pensieveritaserum.

The majority of Severus’ summer holiday was spent at Riddle Mansion. He was summoned almost daily, early in the morning, usually just after breakfast, and then sent back to Hogwarts late in the evening. And although Severus didn’t want to admit it, tried not to think about it, it was probably the best summer he’d ever had.

Harry was a pleasure to teach, such a talent at potions. He picked up the practical side so easily, so quickly, they were soon attempting more difficult and complex potions, fiddling around with the simpler ones. It had been so long since Severus had been able to enjoy teaching, so long since he’d truly enjoyed making use of his Potion skills. They made the Wolfsbane potion together – Severus had to reveal the new DADA teacher’s identity and condition to Voldemort – and started improving on it. Harry was positively fascinated by dark creatures, and the Dark Lord had Severus tutor him in werewolves, vampires, veelas, Dementors, and all kind of other magical beasts.

In the beginning he was never left alone with Harry, Voldemort was a constant presence, watching his every move. After a while though he would sometimes leave them for part of the day to attend to business of his own, although he left Nagini to keep an eye on the two of them.

He gradually became able to piece the past two years together from the small tidbits of information Harry entrusted him with during their long conversations. Harry confided his loneliness and sense of isolation, the relief at finding Tom’s journal and somebody else to talk to, and after Malfoy took the journal, Nagini. His delight in all things magical was obvious, as was his fascination in both dark and light magic.

They got along well and soon Harry was questioning him about Hogwarts. This was a tricky subject; there were a number of things Voldemort did not want Harry to know and the Dark Lord was intent on keeping Harry at Riddle Mansion and happy about it as well. Harry for his part seemed content, if a bit wistful that he couldn’t attend the wizarding school.

The relationship between Harry and the Dark Lord was less simple. The level of… intimacy they obviously shared disturbed Severus. He had never remembered Voldemort as being a particularly tactile person, but he was always touching Harry, running his hands through Harry’s hair, caressing his cheek, resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder or arm. They could have been siblings, and often acted as such, but some of the looks Severus saw the Dark Lord giving Harry did not fit on a brother’s face.

Harry himself seemed to enjoy Voldemort’s attention, didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable with these touches. From the few things he’d let slip about his life before being kidnapped by Voldemort, Severus gathered that his relatives hadn’t been very caring. Harry actually seemed somehow malevolently gleeful by the fact that his double was now spending his summer with the Dursleys. He didn’t do much to hide his dislike for his doppelganger, even referred to him as ‘Wormtail’ for some reason Severus could not discern. While Harry seemed happy to stay with ‘Tom’, there was still resentment against this other wizard who had stolen his life.

Voldemort appeared to genuinely care for the boy, even if the way he sometimes expressed that care made Severus’ hair stand on end. He was always patient, always listened and was interested, like a parent or an older brother. Watching the two often playfully interact Severus had to sometimes forcefully remind himself that Voldemort was nearly seventy years old and not a teenager as his looks would suggest.

This new incarnation of Lord Voldemort was confusing as well. When he was with Harry he was nothing like Severus remembered him, although that power crazy wizard still surfaced from time to time. His cruelty was still there, his delight at playing with a person’s mind, hurting people if not physically than at least mentally; it was all still there but seemed tempered somehow by the boy’s presence, his influence. There were mood swings, times when the Dark Lord’s eyes would be nearly entirely red or green, and sometimes Severus wondered whether the restorative potion Voldemort had taken had really united the two minds or whether they were still separate, fighting for dominance.

It made Severus uneasy, and he was always on guard in the Dark Lord’s presence, even more so than he had been in the past. He could never be sure what mood Voldemort would be in, what whim would strike his fancy. At least Voldemort had never touched him in Harry’s presence, of that Severus was relieved. And if he were honest with himself, Severus had to admit the sex wasn’t bad either. Apart from that first time, Voldemort always made sure Severus was satisfied as well, even if Severus’ pleasure was obviously second to the Dark Lord’s.

Voldemort had always been a skilful, if demanding and dominant lover, and to his shame Severus found himself looking forward to his visits to Riddle Mansion as much for teaching and spending time with Harry as for sleeping with his Master. It didn’t help anything that Albus still used the pensieveritaserum every time he returned to debrief the Headmaster; the humiliation of knowing Albus witnessed the things he did with Voldemort, and the fact that he enjoyed nearly all of it, made him dread their meetings. While at the same time he found himself yearning for Albus’ touch and smile, the obvious confidence the Headmaster had in him. Serving two masters is a hell that any traitor, any spy, is sentenced to.

Severus had no illusions as to his position with Voldemort; he was tutor to the Dark Lord’s favourite, and he was a convenient body to fuck, a convenient body for Voldemort to satisfy the urges of his teenage body on. Well, better him than a thirteen year-old boy, and he had done far less enjoyable things in his career as a Death Eater and spy for both Voldemort and Dumbledore.

All in all, the summer passed in a deceptively calm and enjoyable manner. Until Karkaroff was captured and Severus was forcibly reminded that whatever soft and caring side Harry seemed to bring out in Voldemort, the man was still a ruthlessly cruel dark wizard.

It was in the afternoon of one of the last days of August, Hogwarts would be starting soon and Severus was busy making lesson plans while he had Harry making potions. They were alone, except for Nagini of course, who was coiled up in a corner apparently sleeping. Severus distractedly looked up when Voldemort came down the stairs. He was looking entirely too pleased with himself and Severus had a very bad feeling all of a sudden.

Voldemort ignored him, instead went straight to Harry and began talking to him in a soft voice, in parseltongue, so it wasn’t as if he could understand them anyway. Sometimes Severus got the impression that Harry didn’t even realise he was speaking a different language, but he had the distinct feeling that this was another topic Voldemort didn’t want Severus to speak with Harry about.

They seemed to be arguing for a while, until finally Harry relented and accepted a flask of something or other from Voldemort. Now Severus was watching with interest, and he tried unsuccessfully to identify what it was the Dark Lord made Harry drink. Voldemort put the empty vial away in his robes and then led Harry to the stairs, Nagini at their heels. He paused briefly to address Severus.

“Clean up here and meet me at the front doors in five minutes. Bring your strongest healing potions.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Severus wondered what was going on, that uneasy feeling growing rapidly. What would Voldemort want healing potions for? Why would he have drugged Harry? This boded nothing good.

Ten minutes later he was still waiting at the front doors when Voldemort finally appeared. His eyes were burning crimson and there was a malevolent look on his face. He led them outside and up the hill, to the Riddle family graveyard. All the time he said nothing, a charged anticipatory silence between them.

“Your arm.”

Obediently Severus held out his left arm, bared the Dark Mark, and Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand against it as he whispered ‘Morsmordre’. So, a full Death Eater meeting. The second since Voldemort’s return, if there had been any others Severus wasn’t aware of it.

It was a warm and sunny afternoon, the wrong setting for the figures in black cloaks and white masks, but this only added to his growing sense of foreboding. Severus knew he’d been correct in his fears when the last Death Eater apparated into the circle and dumped an unconscious body before the Dark Lord’s feet. Karkaroff had been captured.

“Take off your masks; let me see the faces of my loyal servants.”

Severus saw that it had been Lucius who had brought Igor, and he quickly scanned the faces around him. They were all hardened dark wizards and witches enough to not betray their feelings, but the tension and unease among them all was nonetheless palpable.

Voldemort toed the unmoving body, and then flipped Karkaroff over with his foot. Severus was reminded of a similar scene only a short two months ago. Somehow he didn’t think Igor was going to get away as easily as he had. The Dark Lord drew his wand and pointed it at the unconscious figure.

“Enervate.”

Karkaroff moaned and blinked; he pushed himself halfway upright and started looking around himself in confusion.

“What –”

He saw who he was surrounded by, saw Voldemort towering over him, and froze, his face turning an ashen white in terror.

“My Lord…” he managed to croak but Voldemort already moved his wand again, his face contorted in a disgusted sneer.

“Crucio.”

Karkaroff screamed and thrashed on the ground. Voldemort only held the spell on him for a few seconds before he lifted it. Igor was panting, shivering, and his eyes darted about looking for help, a way of escape. There was none and Severus took care to keep his face a mask, to not bring Igor or Voldemort’s attention to Igor’s old friend.

“Why did you not come when I called for you, Igor? Why did you ignore my summons last June, and every other summons I have sent you since?”

“I –”

“Let me guess,” the Dark Lord was prowling around the trembling man, his voice hissing in the way only a parseltongue can manage.

“You betrayed me, betrayed your brothers and sisters to the aurors, to Azkaban, in order to save your worthless hide. And when I returned you feared my wrath and fled from the cushy position you obtained for yourself at Durmstrang. Am I right?”

“My Lord, please, forgive me, I –”

Voldemort was kneeling down next to Karkaroff; he had gripped the Death Eater’s chin so tightly Severus knew he would leave bruises on the man’s jaw. Not that it mattered considering the only way this could end.

“You should have come to me when I called, Igor. I might have let you repay the debt you owe me. However, I do not forgive, and I will not forget.” With that he pushed the man away roughly and stood up, his wand pointing down at the man.

“Master!” Karkaroff implored and then he was screaming again as Voldemort cast Cruciatus once more. He kept it on him for more than a minute this second time, and when he lifted it Karkaroff was sobbing, blood was running from his mouth where he’d bit his lips and tongue. The Death Eater was panting, sobbing, babbling for mercy. Voldemort let him recover slightly before casting the curse again. This time he didn’t lift the curse until Karkaroff blacked out.

“Severus, revive him.”

Feeling sick, Severus knelt down next to the white haired man and forced a potion to revive him down his throat, and another to prevent the poor man from losing consciousness again. Karkaroff didn’t stop crying and he crawled toward Voldemort begging for mercy.

“Please, Master, no more, please, no more, please, Master.”

Voldemort let him grovel for a while and then looked around the circle of Death Eaters, scrutinizing them all ruthlessly. His eyes stopped on MacNair and he stepped back, pulled the hem of his robes from Karkaroff’s reach.

“Show us what you’ve learnt over the past eleven years, Walden.”

Severus kept his face impassive, forced himself to watch as MacNair grinned and took out knives and other sharp implements that were hidden within his robes. He realised that this was not so much punishment for Igor’s cowardice and treachery, as an example for the rest of them as to where they should keep their loyalty.

Severus let his eyes wander around the circle, examining the reactions of his fellow Death Eaters. They all seemed impassive, although some of them showed their fear and disgust more than others. He tried to block out Igor’s screams, tried to not reveal his own feelings as MacNair cut away at him, severed fingers and toes, emasculated him with the flick of a wrist and a particularly cruel looking knife.

All the while Voldemort watched Karkaroff suffer, had Severus dose the man with healing potions when it seemed he came too close to oblivion. The Dark Lord’s eyes blazed crimson and his face was flushed.

Finally Voldemort called MacNair off and he knelt down next to his servant again, almost gently wiped the bloodstained hair away from Karkaroff’s face. Those pale blue eyes focused on Voldemort and seemed to plead for mercy, for death. Only an eerie rasping came from his throat, his vocal cords had long since been shredded by his screaming. Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand under the man’s chin.

“Crucio.”

Karkaroff convulsed, pink froth appeared on his lips and his eyes rolled back in his head showing only the whites. His body spasmed for nearly a minute before it went rigid and then stopped moving. There were no other sounds than some birds flying past as Voldemort stood up and casually wiped the dirt off his robe. His wand was still in his hand, idly twirling in his fingers. He looked around the circle, caught each and every gaze.

“I do not forgive, I will not forget. You all owe me eleven years of your lives, be grateful that I give you the chance to repay me. You know what to do. Dismissed.

Oh, and Walden, get rid of the body. Preferably somewhere… public.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the repulsive man said and he gathered the bloody remains together before disapparating with the others. Severus remained alone with Voldemort.

The Dark Lord turned and walked back to the house at a brisk pace, Severus followed him, desperately trying to calm his churning stomach. Torture sessions such as these had been one of the reasons for him to rethink his alliance with Voldemort, one of the reasons he had been so grateful to Dumbledore for giving him a chance to redeem himself and maybe even escape this nightmare.

Once inside Voldemort continued up the stairs; Severus followed, still apprehensive. He had recognized the flushed look on Voldemort’s face. He remembered the way the Dark Lord used to get after witnessing or participating in torture like that, and he had been fully expecting to be shoved up against a wall and taken hard. A small part of him was slightly disappointed when this did not happen, while the major part of him was becoming increasingly worried.

They entered Voldemort’s bedroom, it was the first time Severus had entered it in over a decade; until now all of their ‘trysts’ had occurred either in the lab, the kitchen, the library, or occasionally one of the spare bedrooms. Severus’ gut clenched when he saw Harry lying in the Dark Lord’s bed, asleep with Nagini coiled half around him. The snake stirred when Voldemort sat down on the side of the bed. They talked in parseltongue for a while as he pushed aside Harry’s hair from his forehead and then bent down to kiss the scar.

Having apparently convinced himself that Harry was well and still in a drug induced slumber, Voldemort stood up, hissed some last instructions to his familiar, and indicated Severus to follow him out of the room again. They went into one of the rooms further down the hall. They had used it before, and Severus looked expectantly at the Dark Lord, awaiting instructions. He tried not to think about Harry sleeping in Voldemort’s bed and the evidence in the room that indicated this was not an uncommon occurrence.

Voldemort stood in the centre of the room and his eyes were a blazing crimson again; they had been flecked with green while checking on Harry. The corners of his lips tugged into a small smirk and he held out his hand.

“Your wand, Severus.”

Severus swallowed but did not hesitate to hand over the thin piece of wood. Voldemort looked at the wand. He examined it for a moment before tucking it into one of the sleeves of his robes. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the bedpost.

“Strip.”

Lowering his eyes Severus methodically undressed. He did not rush, but neither did he draw it out; he knew the Dark Lord did not so much want a striptease as to assert his dominance, his mastery. If there was one thing Voldemort was a master in it was in playing mind games such as these, forcing people to submit, to be unable to deny their servitude.

When Severus was naked, his clothes lying on the floor around him, he raised his eyes again to meet Voldemort’s gaze, awaiting further instructions. Voldemort raked his eyes over him, making Severus shiver under that appreciative look, making him harden slightly more. He was already half erect.

Severus knew he wasn’t ugly, but he was also aware he was certainly not what one would consider conventionally handsome. He was content with his body, it served him well, pleased him well enough. He had had three lovers in his lifetime, Voldemort had been the first, had given him confidence in his appearance, his skills. Only to later strip him of that confidence, but then Albus had been there to restore it. And many years later, even though he’d neglected himself after Albus, there had been Quentin who had been kind and loyal and had not had a duplicitous bone in his body… Severus closed his eyes a moment, forcing himself to focus on the present; it would not do to displease the Dark Lord by not giving him Severus’ full attention.

“Down on your knees, Severus, and worship your Master.” Voldemort’s voice was a husky whisper, his eyes blazing crimson and an imperious smile on his lips. Severus nodded and carefully knelt on the wooden floorboards. He kept his eyes on the floor demurely, aware of but ignoring his own, by now, aching arousal.

When he reached Voldemort he looked up and placed his open hands on either side of the Dark Lord’s legs; Voldemort parted his robes and nodded, allowing Severus to undo his trousers. Carefully Severus opened Voldemort’s pants, reached inside his underwear to pull out the hard cock, and proceeded to worship him with his mouth. He used all his skill, taught to him many years ago by this same man. He used his tongue, his teeth, his hands, licking, nibbling, toying with the foreskin, sucking and kissing the Dark Lord’s prick. It briefly flashed through Severus mind that he probably knew Voldemort’s cock better than his own.

It was of course all part of the game; Severus naked and unarmed, completely at Voldemort’s mercy, on his knees before the man; Voldemort armed with two wands, and completely clothed except for his sex that was currently in Severus’ mouth. The Dark Lord allowed him the initiative, for a while his hands only played with Severus’ hair, carding through the glossy, dark, shoulder length locks. Then it was time to assert dominance again, and his hands fisted in Severus’ hair, his hips took control and he thrust his cock into Severus’ mouth, down his throat. Severus closed his eyes, tilted his head back as he rested his hands on Voldemort’s hips for balance. He relaxed his throat and let himself be fucked and fucked thoroughly. He knew he would be hoarse for the rest of the day.

Voldemort stilled, jerked his hips one last time, and then he was coming and Severus swallowed, suckled on the rapidly softening cock. He nuzzled into the Dark Lord’s groin and listened to Voldemort regain his breath.

“On the bed, on your back.”

Severus hastily obeyed, wincing at the ache in his knees and the sound of his joints popping. Behind him Voldemort chuckled.

“Getting old, are you, Severus?”

“Unlike you, my Lord,” he replied with a rueful smile, for a moment relishing this extremely rare instance of familiar banter between them. He lay back on the soft mattress, his prick was an angry red, leaking and begging to be touched, but Severus knew better than to reach down and give in to the urge: any and all release he obtained would be granted by Voldemort and Voldemort only.

The Dark Lord pulled both their wands out of his sleeve and put them on the bedside table before he proceeded to undress; again a show of dominance, this time displaying his youthful and undeniably beautiful body. Severus could see the Dark Lord was already hardening again, and when Voldemort caught his gaze he smirked.

“The joys of being sixteen.”

Voldemort crawled onto the bed toward him as a predator. Severus breath hitched as a hand was wrapped around his leaking prick and Voldemort set a slow rhythm, jerking him off expertly. Closing his eyes Severus purposely relaxed his hands that had fisted in the sheets, trying not to show how much Voldemort’s touch affected him. Voldemort chuckled in his ear; Severus could feel his breath against the side of his face and the heat of the other man’s body, so close but not touching him anywhere other than the hand wrapped possessively around his sex.

“You are mine, Severus, you belong to me.”

“Yes,” Severus hissed as he arched up into that teasing grip, bringing him to the edge and then keeping him back.

“Only I can give you this, can give you what you want, what you need.”
”Please, Master.”

“Yes, beg me, Severus, beg your Master for release.”

”My Lord, ah! Please, Master.”

Voldemort kept up a hissing whisper of obscenities and parseltongue, Severus was lost, could only plead and beg and say yes to the Dark Lord’s every assertion.

“Dumbledore could not give you what you need –”

“No, Master, only you, only you.”

“Not that pathetic excuse for a wizard Quirrell.”

”Master, please!”

Severus was going crazy, he writhed on the bed, his hands fisting in the sheets to stop himself from grabbing the Dark Lord and kissing him, pressing himself against that now youthful body. Such liberties were a long time in the past, were from another lifetime. Now Severus ached for more friction, a firmer grip, release. He fought to keep his reserve, because he knew it was the struggle Voldemort wanted to see, that reserve, Severus’ control over himself, shattered. Finally Voldemort relented and Severus was arching off the mattress, coming all over his belly, his chest, Voldemort’s hand. He shivered and fought to open his eyes again. Blinking Severus looked at Voldemort; the Dark Lord pressed sticky fingers against his mouth and he pulled them in, sucked them and tasted himself. Voldemort took Severus’ hand and guided his fingers through the cooling, sticky mess on his body. Then he pulled his fingers free and leaned back against the head board with that amused smirk on his lips.

“Turn around; I want to see you prepare yourself for me.” Voldemort lazily reached down and began stroking his own cock, coaxing it to full hardness again.

Still shaky from release Severus obeyed, his face now flushing red with humiliation. He pushed himself up onto hands and knees, rested his weight on his left forearm as he reached back to probe his hole with semen sticky fingers. The angle was awkward, and his left arm was soon aching from keeping himself upright. He coaxed one finger in, and then two, pushing back and relaxing, trying to coat his insides with as much of his seed as he could. Semen made poor lubricant, but Severus knew always to be grateful for any and all preparation when sleeping with Voldemort.

There was movement on the bed, in the corner of his vision; three fingers were pushed into his mouth and Severus obediently sucked and coated them with saliva, twirled his tongue around them until they were removed. More movement on the mattress and first one, then two fingers joined his own. They pushed in deeper, rubbed against his prostate, opened him for his Master.

Voldemort was whispering in his ear again, telling him what an eager slut he was, such a good little whore. Severus could only moan and push back onto their combined fingers. To his surprise he was becoming aroused again; usually he was only good for one go. Suddenly those wonderful fingers were removed, and he was forced onto his back, his knees against his chest. Severus keened at the loss, pulled his legs back and apart even more, feeling vulnerable and needy at the same time.

Sitting back on his legs Voldemort watched him with that amused, superior smile. Severus reached for the Dark Lord imploringly; all he wanted was for that glorious, thick cock to be thrust up his arse. He craved for it to stretch and fill him.

“Master, please.”

The Dark Lord moved in between his legs, leaned down atop him, practically folding Severus double. He started teasing the head of his cock against Severus’ entrance. Severus writhed to impale himself on that hardness but Voldemort held him effectively pinned.

“Do you want it, Severus?”

“Yes, Master, please, I want it, please, fuck me! Give it to me, my Lord! Fuck me! Fuck me, Lord! Fuck –”

He cried out when Voldemort plunged into him without further ceremony, it hurt and it felt so good. He tried to move with the other man, wriggled to feel that cock buried as deep inside him as he could. Voldemort had him folded double and was thrusting into him with vicious and violent abandon. Hands gripped his hips so hard they would leave bruises; his ears were filled with muttered obscenities and parseltongue. His prick rubbed against Voldemort’s stomach, he could feel the Dark Lord’s balls slap against his arse with every thrust. Severus was once more begging for release, swearing his loyalty, his servitude, Voldemort’s ownership.

Voldemort was biting and sucking at his neck and throat, marking him; Severus gripped the sheets so hard he was surprised he did not rip them to shreds as he made sure he did not grip the Dark Lord’s hair and force their mouths together. At last a hand grabbed his aching cock and pulled, as viciously as the thrusts into his arse. But it was enough and Severus was coming for the second time, his muscles clenching as Voldemort held still and enjoyed the sensation.

Gasping for air and shaky, beginning to feel the cramp in his legs and the burn in his arse, Severus managed to focus on the Dark Lord. Voldemort was still hard and watching Severus slowly recover, watching Severus attempt to shutter his emotions, regain control. Then he began to move, picking up speed and force in his thrusts as he took his pleasure from Severus’ body. It seemed to go on forever, until finally Voldemort was coming, still pounding into him, spilling his seed deep within Severus’ body and marking him with his bites.

This time seemed to not have left Voldemort as unaffected and he collapsed on top of Severus. A moment to catch his breath and he rolled aside, pulling out and whispering a cleaning charm for himself at the same time. Severus couldn’t stop grimacing as he eased his legs back down, as he rode out the cramps. He could feel the Dark Lord’s come trickling down his legs, out of him, but he knew better than to cast a spell to remedy that. Such decisions were Voldemort’s to make.

Voldemort was lying next to him, an almost contemplative look on his face as he started to trace lines on Severus’ skin, gently playing with Severus’ quiescent and extremely sensitive prick. Severus moved slightly to a more comfortable position and watched the Dark Lord; with the afterglow fading questions were rising again.

Glancing up Voldemort caught Severus watching him and he tilted his head, raised an eyebrow. Severus had rarely seen Voldemort so calm and pensive.

“Do you have a question, Severus?”

He had many, of course, and when the Dark Lord offered you accepted. He wanted to ask about Harry sleeping in Voldemort’s bed, but even in this mellow mood didn’t want to risk the other man’s potential wrath.

“Why did you drug, Harry?”

It was a dangerous question to ask, but neutral enough that if it displeased Voldemort he would probably just refuse to answer. Voldemort returned his attention to Severus’ groin, started playing with his balls. He was silent for so long and the ministrations were so distracting that Severus had nearly forgotten what he’d asked when the other man started talking in a strangely subdued voice.

“The Killing Curse I cast on Harry when he was a baby left a connection between us, the proof of which is the scar on his forehead. Until I used his blood in the restorative potion Voldemort’s presence caused him pain, caused the scar to burn.”

Severus gasped and tried not to move into the Dark Lord’s touch.

“I haven’t yet determined the full extent of our connection, although I have some ideas… Whatever the case, the magic I do can affect him; I believe he may even be able to see what I am doing when I am feeling particularly… angry. I did not want to risk him witnessing Karkaroff’s punishment.”

Voldemort looked up again and met Severus’ gaze, secure of his attention considering what he was holding in his hand.

“Harry has suffered enough in his short life so far; I will not let him suffer any more unnecessarily. He is an innocent in some ways, and I do not want to confront him with some of the… harsher aspects of my rule.”

Severus nodded; he saw the Dark Lord’s contemplative look fade and the familiar leer return. Fingers trailed down behind his balls and were pushed into his still relaxed and wet hole.

“Enough talk. Turn over.”

Severus gained an answer to his question whether Voldemort was sleeping with Harry a few weeks later. Term had started and curtailed heavily on his time with the Dark Lord and his young charge, although Voldemort still summoned him every weekend for nearly the entire day and most evenings for a few hours. Severus had taken to bringing along his students’ papers to grade in order to be able to finish them.

It was a Saturday evening, four weeks into term, and the four of them, Voldemort, Harry, Nagini, and himself, were sitting in the library. Severus sat at the desk grading the third year papers, feeling a vicious glee as he used his red ink in abundance on the impostor’s paper and all the other annoying Gryffindors. Occasionally he would look up to escape the dismal attempts of his pupils, and he watched the others in the room.

Nagini was coiled in a tight ball in front of the fire; the temperature had dropped and it was promising to be a cold winter. Voldemort was sitting, if practically hanging in a chair could be called sitting, in one of the comfortable armchairs while he read an ancient tome in parseltongue, written by Slytherin himself. One arm hung over the armrest and he was carding his fingers through Harry’s hair absentmindedly, occasionally massaging the boy’s neck as Harry sat on the floor and worked on the six feet long essay Severus had him writing on the properties of different variations of Polyjuice.

It was getting late and it was obvious Harry was nearly falling asleep over his parchment. They’d spent nearly the entire day experimenting with the Wolfsbane potion and Severus felt he could use some PepperUp himself.

When Harry yawned for the third time Voldemort looked up from his book and tugged on the boy’s hair to get his attention.

“Time for bed, Harry.”

“But, Tom –”

“Are you telling me you’re not tired?”

“No, Tom. It’s just, I’m nearly finished.”

“You can finish it tomorrow, I’m sure Severus won’t mind.”

“All right.” Harry started packing his things together, made a neat pile on the floor, stood up, and moved into Voldemort’s outstretched arms. He gave the Dark Lord a quick hug and Voldemort pressed an affectionate kiss to the curse scar.

“Goodnight, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Harry. Take Nagini with you, I’ll join you soon.”

Severus froze, his hands clenched so hard he was surprised the quill in his hand didn’t snap. He didn’t know whether the sudden pit in his stomach was caused by envy or disgust at the overwhelming intimacy between Voldemort and the boy.

After the boy had left, hissing to Nagini in deep conversation, Voldemort returned his attention to the book in front of him, but he must have noticed the look on Severus’ face because he raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?”

Hastily Severus schooled his features as blank as he could.

“Nothing, my Lord.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes.

“Nothing? Are you sure?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Severus could feel his hands starting to sweat.

“Don’t lie to me!” the Dark Lord snapped and he closed the book in his lap, set it aside on one of the small tables next to him.

“What is on your mind, Severus? Tell me.”

“I – My Lord –”

“Now, Severus!” There was no disobeying that tone and Severus found himself blurting out his thoughts.

“You sleep with Harry?” Severus cringed and closed his eyes as he braced himself for his punishment.

Voldemort went very quiet and Severus chanced a look at the Dark Lord. The eerily calm look on the other man’s face scared Severus more than Voldemort ever had before. When Voldemort spoke it was soft, almost contemplative, as if he were talking to himself.

“Yes, I sleep with Harry. We, Harry, Nagini and I, we share the same bed. When Harry was left here he chose my bedroom to sleep in. What can I say? The boy has taste. After I returned, well, I was hardly going to sleep anywhere else than in my own bed. And it was Harry’s now too, room enough for the three of us, no need for him to leave his room, his bed.”

Bright green eyes looked up and pinned Severus where he sat, a green to rival that of Harry’s eyes.

“Why, what are you suggesting, Severus?” Voldemort hissed and Severus shook his head in denial.

“N- Nothing –”

“Don’t lie to me!” Voldemort was across the room in a flash, his hand gripping Severus’ hair painfully and pulling Severus out of the chair so their faces were close.

“Are you suggesting I am sleeping with Harry?” he hissed in Severus’ ear, his grip so tight tears came to Severus’ eyes.

“No, my –”

“Are you suggesting that I would betray a child’s trust, that I would betray Harry’s trust so by using him for sex? The boy is only thirteen!”

Voldemort flung him across the room and Severus scrambled to get away in fear as he saw the Dark Lord raise his wand. Instead of unsurmountable pain, however, Voldemort cast a locking and silencing charm on the room and pocketed his wand again before advancing on Severus.

“How dare you suggest that I would abuse Harry so! How dare you imply that I, that I would do such a thing!” He grabbed Severus’ arm and hauled him upright, pulled him across the room back to the table.

“I would never harm Harry!” He threw Severus against the table, bending him over it as he pressed up against Severus’ back and hissed in his ear. “If I want someone to fuck, I summon you.”

With that he pushed Severus’ robes up and tore away his trousers, forcing Severus’ legs apart, and Severus’ limp member was pressed hard against the wooden table. Severus closed his eyes and fought to relax, his pelvis ached from where it had been slammed into the table edge, he knew there were bruises already forming there and on his arm.

He heard a muttered lubricating spell behind him, knew that Voldemort was only coating himself enough to make sure this would not hurt him. Then those hands were on his hips and the Dark Lord was forcing himself inside Severus. Severus’ eyes were clenched shut and he bit his lips to not cry out against the burn that seemed to travel all the way up his spine. He was adept enough that the Dark Lord could do this to him without tearing him up, but his body still fought the violent intrusion and the pain was no less. Voldemort made sure Severus found no enjoyment whatsoever in this coupling.

Voldemort let go of one hip and reached around to grasp Severus’ limp prick that had been slapping painfully against the table’s edge in time with Voldemort’s rough thrusts. When Severus recognized the spell he started pleading no, but Voldemort was relentless and didn’t pause in casting the dark hex. Severus felt himself grow hard, painfully so, and when Voldemort climaxed he did as well. It felt like acid being forced out of him and he cried out in agony as his pink tinted release splattered across the third year papers.

Still half hard Voldemort pulled out and stepped away as Severus slid off the table onto the floor. The Dark Lord knelt down next to him. He gripped Severus’ chin and forced Severus to look into those bright green eyes.

“F- Forgive me, my Lord,” Severus choked out, tears trailing down his cheeks.

“I do not forgive, Severus, I will not forget,” he replied and his eyes travelled over Severus’ form and the third year papers, both in disarray. His lips twisted in disgust. He released his hold and stood up.

“Clean up this mess you’ve made. I will summon you when I have a need for you again.”

With shaking hands Severus tried to salvage what was left of his students’ work as he heard Voldemort leave the library.

At Hogwarts time passed even more stressfully than normal for Severus. The year had begun bad enough with Remus Lupin as the new DADA teacher, but even Severus had to admit that the man was competent. He still didn’t like the idea of a werewolf free around so many children though, and he made damned sure that Lupin had his dose of Wolfsbane every month.

The impostor Harry Potter, or Potter as Severus still thought of him, had sighted Sirius Black just before the year’s beginning, and more sightings followed throughout the year. The Ministry had Dementors posted at the school gates and Severus was grateful Albus did not allow them onto the grounds. Those few days in Azkaban when Voldemort first fell had taught him to stay as far away from the wretched things as he possibly could.

Severus found himself watching Potter more than he had the previous two years. Then it had been to protect the boy, now he glared hatefully at the unknown Death Eater, trying to figure out who it could be. It was uncanny how much Potter reminded Severus of James and his three friends, the same arrogance, the same blatant disregard for rules, and Severus wondered what would have happened if Harry had come to Hogwarts instead of Potter.

Potter didn’t seem at all phased by the Potions Master’s glares. He glared back just as hard, and Severus wondered whether and how Voldemort kept in contact with ‘his most loyal servant’.

The Headmaster had said he would take care of Potter, and Severus did notice that Potter was called to Albus’ office regularly, but he had no idea what the two of them talked about. He didn’t think Albus had revealed that he knew of the deception; Severus was pretty sure if he had then Voldemort would know and then…

Albus had Lupin tutor Potter in extra defence, and if this had been the real Harry Potter Severus would have agreed, but why train an impostor, why train a Death Eater? It didn’t sit well with Severus, but the few times he voiced his concern to the Headmaster they were waved away. Instead Albus would take out the pensieveritaserum and insist on checking Severus’ memories of his encounters with Voldemort, no matter their nature, for more clues.

At least the continued threat of Sirius Black seemed to knock the arrogant blight down a few pegs, although that didn’t quite make sense either. Potter should know that Black was a Death Eater as well; and if Black were after the real Harry Potter and didn’t know that the one at Hogwarts was a fake, why didn’t Voldemort call him off?

When the Christmas holidays came round Albus sent Potter home with the Weasleys, which didn’t make any sense at all. Severus and Lupin both protested this, Lupin because he feared that Black or Voldemort might easily get their hands on Potter there; Severus because he didn’t trust the boy with the Weasleys, Virginia Weasley in particular.

Voldemort’s body might be sixteen, nearly seventeen, but his mind most definitely was not; there was no doubt in Severus’ mind that Potter’s young body was also only a disguise for an adult, and the looks Potter and Virginia had been sharing the past few months did nothing to reassure him. The way they stood close together, touching, the Weasley girl’s blush when they returned at the holiday’s end, told Severus his fears had been correct.

Severus himself spent Christmas at Riddle Mansion with Harry, Voldemort, and Nagini. Voldemort gave Harry a set of very obscure and rare Potions books. The Dark Lord winked at Severus when he said it was also for Severus a little, considering he’d get to read them too, but that Severus’ real gift would have to wait until Harry went to bed. Harry blushed and Severus tried not to show how uncomfortable he was; Voldemort was gradually becoming more open about his activities with Severus in front of Harry. Severus feared what that might mean.

Harry gave both Voldemort and Severus each a flask of Sweet Dreams, an extremely complex potion that guaranteed the drinker a restful night’s sleep filled with pleasant dreams and that had none of the negative side-effects most sleep potions did. Severus had thought long and hard about what to give Harry, and in the end he presented the boy with a delicate glass cauldron, the very one that had been given to him by Voldemort when Severus had achieved the title Potions Master. Harry was ecstatic and insisted on using it right away, while Voldemort seemed pleased as well. He certainly rewarded Severus later that night when Harry had been coaxed out of the potions lab and into bed.

As the school year progressed further and Black was even able to break into the Gryffindor tower, Severus began to wonder whether Albus was even going to consider rescuing Harry from Voldemort. After one particular episode in which Voldemort took him in his own bed while Harry was sleeping in it Severus knew it was time to get Harry away from the Dark Lord. He didn’t care what Voldemort had said at the end of summer, he recognized those looks. The boy would be turning fourteen in a few months: still far too young for that kind of thing, but would Voldemort continue to see it that way?

Severus pleaded with Albus, tried to impress the Headmaster with the need to get Harry out of Voldemort’s hands, but Albus again waved away his concerns. He was beginning to suspect the Headmaster would rather keep the Potter he had already trained, than exchange him for the real thing.

The only possible ally Severus could think of was Lupin. The werewolf was perceptive, and Severus had overheard him speaking to the Headmaster about Potter, saying that he felt there was something ‘off’ about the boy, something wrong he just couldn’t place. But he couldn’t risk revealing the truth to Lupin, Voldemort would kill him if he found out, and Albus would not be pleased either.

No, Severus had to find a way to expose Potter and reveal the whereabouts of Harry at the same time. And he had to do it in a way that would in no way point back to him.

It was the eve of the full moon and Severus was looking for Lupin. The werewolf hadn’t taken the Wolfsbane potion yet. It annoyed Severus to no end, Lupin’s carelessness; and that while Harry and he had improved the formula, making the potion more palatable and the change less painful!

After searching the castle Severus finally found Lupin on the grounds, near Hagrid’s Hut.

“What are you doing here, Lupin?”

The werewolf smiled at him and nodded his head toward the cottage.

“I’m waiting for Harry and his two friends to return from Hagrid. The Headmaster told me to expect them trying to see Hagrid before Buckbeak’s execution. He wanted me to make sure they got back safe to their dorms. He also said no points were to be taken.”

Severus sneered at Lupin’s grin, and he opened his mouth to tell the werewolf to drink the Wolfsbane potion he was holding. However, suddenly the other man went ash-white and his eyes widened in what could only be called horror.

“Oh, Merlin, it’s Padfoot,” he heard Lupin whisper and he followed the werewolf’s gaze.

There, in the distance, a black dog bounded over the grass toward the Whomping Willow, dragging Ron Weasley by the arm. Severus had his wand out and was running after them the very next moment, Wolfsbane potion falling forgotten to the ground. He was aware of Lupin running beside him, but by the time they reached the tree and its flailing branches there was no sign of either dog or boy. As they frantically searched for a stick to press the knot of wood in the Willow’s trunk Severus came across Potter’s invisibility cloak. Lupin blanched even more.

“He’s taken them to the Shrieking Shack.”

Severus didn’t bother asking who ‘he’ was.

They ran through the long tunnel and Lupin was ready to burst wand first into the shack, but Severus forced his colleague to calm down.

“We’ll use Potter’s invisibility cloak, that way we can surprise them.”

Lupin nodded and impatiently lengthened the cloak and then swung it around the both of them. They crept through the dusty and destroyed rooms, paused at the foot of the stairs. From above they could hear voices shouting; Severus recognized Potter’s, he could hear the Weasley boy’s moans of pain, and the panic in Granger’s normally calm voice. There was a fourth person up there as well, a man, his voice hoarse and rusty from disuse.

Severus put his hand over Lupin’s arm, stopped him from going any further. Things were starting to fall into place, were beginning to make sense.

“Lupin, wait. Does the name Wormtail mean anything to you?”

Lupin gaped at him.

“How did you know –” His face became guarded. “Why do you ask?”

Severus gripped the other man’s arm tighter. He was taking an enormous risk, but this might be his only chance.

“Lupin, when we’re up there I need you to do something for me. Cast the strongest dispel you can on Potter. Please, trust me, if you care for Harry at all, do this.”

Lupin looked at him a moment and then gave a curt nod. Relieved, Severus managed a tight smile and they hurried up the stairs.

The scene they found in the bedroom was one of utter chaos. Ron Weasley lay slumped on the floor, one leg obviously broken, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. Hermione Granger was at his side, sobbing. In the centre of the room Potter stood, screaming at the room’s fourth occupant.

Severus’ breath caught as his suspicions were confirmed: Sirius Black. But a Sirius Black nothing like the handsome and arrogant youth Severus remembered. His face and body were gaunt, his once sparkling blue eyes dull. His hair was long and matted, he looked miserable. Severus even found himself pitying the man he had hated for nearly two decades.

Black was holding all the children’s wands, had them pointing at Potter, but his hand was shaking and there were tears running down his cheeks as he begged.

“Please, Harry, listen to me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you have to listen to me. Nobody knows, you’re not safe, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me, I had to warn you, he’s still out there, it wasn’t me.”

“How could you, Sirius? How could you? You killed Lily and James, you killed them! You’re a murderer! I won’t listen to your lies!”

Beside him Lupin had stiffened and there was a look of dawning horror on his face. The knuckles of his wand hand turned white. With a controlled tug he pulled the cloak off them both.

“Professor Lupin! Professor Snape!” Granger cried out in relief and Potter spun around to face them.

“Remus, thank Merlin you’re here! He’s trying to kill me! Sirius is trying to kill me!”

“No, Harry, no! I would never hurt you, please believe me! It wasn’t me, we switched!”

Potter must have noticed there was something wrong from the look of horrified suspicion on the werewolf’s face. He stopped babbling and took a step backward away from the DADA professor.

“I hope to Merlin that I’m wrong,” Lupin whispered in a hoarse and raspy tone as his wand started making circular motions in the air. “But if I’m right, I swear to Merlin I’ll kill you myself. Revelatio!”

For a moment Potter glowed brightly blue, and then in slow motion his appearance changed. Bright green eyes changed to brown; unruly black hair gave way to a thinning dirty blond; years were added, features changed, and finally a short, middle-aged, rat-like man stood where moments before Potter had been. Blue light flickered and superimposed Potter’s image, fading and returning as the doppelganger spell fought to reassert itself.

Dead silence ruled the room for a second as they all stared at Peter Pettigrew in disbelief.

Black was the first to snap out of it. His face contorted in rage and hatred, and he launched himself at his former friend.

“Traitor! It was you! What did you do to Harry? I’ll kill you!”

He knocked the smaller man to the ground and fastened his skeletal hands around the impostor’s throat.

“Sirius, no!” Lupin fought to pull the enraged man off Pettigrew. “We need him to tell us where Harry is!”

Black twisted and turned, trying to escape the arms restraining him. Without warning he transformed into a huge, black dog and with jaws snapping he lunged at Pettigrew again.

“Ligamentum!” Severus shouted. Ropes flew from his wand and bound the ferocious animal. As much as he would have enjoyed seeing the impostor torn from limb to limb he couldn’t afford Pettigrew dying just yet: the rat had to reveal Harry’s whereabouts to the others first.

Pettigrew was a miserable heap on the floor, crying and snivelling, and he looked up at Lupin and Severus gratefully.

“Thank you, thank you! He was going to kill me!”

Lupin still had his wand levelled at Pettigrew, who was transforming back into Potter before their eyes. The werewolf’s face was a mask of loathing and his voice a soft and deadly whisper when he spoke.

“Where is Harry, Peter? Tell me now and I might make it quick. What did you do to Harry?”

Pettigrew’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to tell him.”
”I don’t care! Where is Harry?!” the normally gentle man shouted and he made a slashing motion with his wand. Pettigrew was thrown against the wall. He crumbled into a heap, sobbing pitifully. The frantically barking, black dog struggled against its bonds. Weasley and Granger were huddled together against the bed as they watched the scene unfold in horror.

“Where is Harry, Peter?!” Lupin raised his wand arm again and Pettigrew cowered, raising his arms to protect his head.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! You-Know-Who took him when we made the switch! I don’t know! I didn’t want to, it wasn’t my idea, He made me do it! I didn’t want to; He forced me to betray James and Lily!”

“How long, Peter? How long have you been parading around as Harry?”

“Three years, we switched just before Hagrid came. It wasn’t my fault, I didn’t want to but He made me do it!” Pettigrew was snivelling. Severus looked at the coward in disgust.

Lupin was eerily calm; he ignored Black’s barking and pointed his wand at Pettigrew.

“You should have died before betraying your friends. It is what we would have done for you. Ava-”

“No! Remus, no, please! I didn’t want to! He made me,” Pettigrew made an aborted move toward the snapping dog and then turned to the other two Gryffindors.

“Ron, Hermione, don’t let him kill me! You’re my friends, we’re best friends, don’t let him hurt me!”

Granger and Weasley pulled away from Pettigrew, who had by now reverted fully to Potter.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re not our friend.”

Potter reeled as if slapped, then turned to Severus, clutched at the hem of Severus’ robes.

“Snape, you’re a teacher! You can’t let him harm a student! Help me, he’s a werewolf! You hate Sirius! Help me!”

Severus’ lip curled. It was disconcerting to see Harry’s face on that wretch, but he knew what lay beneath that deceptive exterior.

“Don’t let him kill me, please.”

Severus gritted his teeth; he couldn’t let Lupin kill Pettigrew. Voldemort would know if he didn’t do his best to protect ‘his most loyal servant’.

“Wait, Lupin. We need to take him to Albus. Let the Headmaster see him, maybe he can find out more on Harry.”

Lupin hesitated and then nodded, slowly lowering his wand.

“Yes, take me to Albus, please don’t hurt me, take me to Albus.”

Severus didn’t like Pettigrew’s familiar use of the Headmaster’s name; just what had Albus revealed to Potter, what had he promised him?

“We’ll have to take Black along too, now that he’s innocent.”

And wasn’t that a turn for the books, him proclaiming Black’s innocence.

Lupin nodded and knelt next to the still barking dog, running his hands through its fur and calming it. He untied the ropes and Black reverted to his human form. He glared hatefully at Pettigrew and Potter cowered against Severus.

“I’ll take care of the traitor.”

“No, don’t let him near me!”

“Shut up!” Severus gripped Potter by the arm and pulled him upright. “I’ll keep an eye on Pettigrew. You two help Granger and Weasley. Let’s get moving.”

The two Gryffindors both looked fearfully at Black; not surprising considering the man had apparently somehow broken Weasley’s leg. However, they let themselves be led down the stairs and into the tunnel by Lupin and Black. Severus followed behind. Black kept casting suspicious look back.

“Professor Lupin,” he heard Granger speak softly ahead of him. “Is Harry really Peter Pettigrew? Wasn’t he killed by –” She stopped and Black growled in reply.

“Traitorous rat escaped and set me up,” his blue eyes returned to rest on Potter again, and he glared maliciously. “But he won’t escape justice this time.”
Potter snivelled and practically clung to Severus.

“Take me to Albus.”

Severus was somewhat surprised Potter didn’t plead for Severus to let him escape, to let him return to Voldemort. Although, on second thought, the Dark Lord had never been very forgiving of failure.

It still did worry Severus that Pettigrew seemed so eager to see the Headmaster. With the doppelganger spell still firmly in place… But no, Lupin and Black would never allow it. Now they knew the truth there was no way they’d leave Harry with Voldemort. No matter what Albus said.

They emerged from between the Whomping Willow’s roots and ducked between the branches. Their small group continued over the grounds to the castle until suddenly Lupin froze and looked up at the sky. Severus felt his stomach drop at the same time as he heard Black swear.

“Lupin, you idiot! You never took the Wolfsbane!” Severus shouted, but Lupin was already transforming.

Severus let go of Potter as he fought to point his wand at the werewolf, but the two children were too close, he might hit them instead. Then Black dropped Weasley and transformed into the black dog. Just as the wolf turned to attack the two students the dog closed its jaw around the wolf’s neck and violently pulled it aside, toward the Forbidden Forest. The wolf fought itself free, but the dog chased it away, both animals bounding over the grass toward the forest.

Relieved Severus turned his attention to Granger and Weasley. Weasley was pale white and looked ready to vomit, but he shook his head and shakily pointed behind Severus.

“He’s getting away.”

Severus spun around just in time to see a rat running in the other direction, towards the Lake. He cursed and set off after it, only to lose sight of the small creature when clouds moved in front of the full moon again.

“Lumos!”

As Severus looked around, searching, tendrils of cold seemed to snake into his soul. He cursed again. This night was just getting better and better.

He heard a cry of distress ahead, then ‘expecto patronum’ called again and again in a faltering voice. Clutching his own, glowing, wand Severus ran to where Potter’s voice was coming from.

He found the Dementors closing in on Potter at the Lake’s edge. Potter was clearly exhausted and faint wisps of silver smoke came from his wand; half-formed images of Granger and the youngest two Weasleys. They dissipated in the cold night air and before Severus could intervene one of the Dementors swooped down on the small form.

Severus could only watch in horror as Pettigrew was kissed, his soulless body falling to the ground where it was discarded: an empty husk. The doppelganger spell faltered, and the body flickered between the image of Harry and Pettigrew.

There was no time to be shocked, to think. The Dementors had sensed him and were now advancing on him. Backing away, feeling the familiar waves of anguish, Severus pointed his wand at the Dementors as steadily as he could. Merlin, he hoped it worked; he’d never been able to conjure a proper Patronus.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The bright silvery image of Harry stirring in a cauldron shot from Severus’ wand tip and the Dementors fled.

Albus looked down at Pettigrew’s body where it lay on the hospital bed. Blue light flickered on and off, the doppelganger spell slowly dissipating. He looked up at Severus gravely.

“This is very unfortunate.”

Severus straightened and met the Headmaster’s gaze without flinching.

“I was too late to stop the Dementors. But at least we now have proof of the deception. We need to get Harry away from Voldemort.”

Albus looked at him, his piercing blue eyes pinning Severus where he stood. He knew the Headmaster was aware of the part he’d played, knew Albus was disappointed. It hurt, but this had been necessary.

The Headmaster sighed and nodded.

“Very well, it seems we have no other choice. He is calling you now?” Albus’ eyes darted to Severus’ left arm that the Potions Master held stiffly against his chest. The mark had started burning immediately after Pettigrew had been kissed but Severus had ignored its call. He had to protect Granger and Weasley, had to get the body back to Hogwarts first. Voldemort would just have to wait.

Severus nodded and grimaced as the burn intensified.

“Go then. Be careful, we will discuss this when you return.” The Headmaster sighed again. “I’ll talk to the Minister and see if we can’t keep this quiet as long as possible.”

On his way out of the infirmary Severus was suddenly pulled into an alcove and shoved against the wall by Sirius Black. Poppy had tended to the wounds Lupin had inflicted, but the man had refused to take any sleeping draught or rest.

“You’re going to Him now, He has Harry?”

Severus nodded.

“Yes, Black.”

For some reason overcome by compassion for this ruined man, this entirely unexpected ally, Severus gripped the other man’s skeletal hands in his own.

“Don’t worry, Sirius. Harry is a fine young man, he’s all right, and we’ll get him out of Voldemort’s reach so he stays that way. I promise you.”

BETRAYAL

Life was good.

Harry smiled as he shifted in bed and watched Tom sleep. Nagini grumbled at the disturbance and slithered further down the bed. She’d been gaining weight lately and become quite moody, wanting to sleep a lot more than usual. Tom had told him not to worry, that it would pass within a couple of months.

“Sorry, Nagini,” Harry whispered, careful not to disturb the bed’s third occupant. Tom was usually awake before him and always went to bed later than he did. Harry was savouring this rare opportunity to watch Tom relaxed and completely unguarded.

The other boy seemed only a few years older than he, not the nearly seventy years Tom had finally admitted to being. They could have been siblings, Harry thought, and then blushed. He had to admit that some of the thoughts he’d recently been having about Tom were decidedly unbrotherly.

But Tom was, well, Tom. He was handsome and funny and intelligent and caring and powerful and ruthless, and he was Harry’s best friend; Harry loved Tom and he knew that Tom loved him. No matter blood ties, although Harry guessed they did have that as well after a fashion, they were family. Him, Tom, Nagini, and Severus.

Harry’s smile became broader: he had friends; he had a family. The early morning sun was shining through the windows; Severus’ absence in bed was the only thing preventing a truly perfect morning.

It was a weekday morning so Severus couldn’t stay the night. He had recently begun doing this on the nights he didn’t have a class to teach at Hogwarts the following day. Harry blushed and shifted, careful not to disturb Nagini again, as he remembered the time he’d walked in on Tom and Severus.

He’d been working on an essay Severus had assigned him and had not been able to find one of the books he needed, one of Salazar’s tomes on dark magic. So he’d left the library and Nagini coiled near the fire to find Tom and ask him whether he’d seen the book. He could of course have cast the simple finding spell Tom had been teaching him, but Harry had wanted a short break and this seemed the perfect excuse.

Harry found Tom and Severus in the kitchen. While they had obviously put up silencing charms, they’d forgotten to make sure the door was locked. Severus had been standing in front of the table, leaning forward and gripping the edge with both hands. Tom stood behind him, his body draped over Severus’ back as he thrust into the other man. Harry had stood transfixed in the doorway, and it seemed half the blood in his body rushed to his face, while the other half, embarrassingly, rushed to his cock.

It had only taken a moment for the two men to notice him. Tom must have sensed his presence, or heard his gasp, for he looked aside and stopped moving, which effectively gained Severus’ attention. Severus had been entirely naked, and whatever it was he did when he saw Harry, it made Tom gasp and close his eyes a moment. In the position he was standing, leaning against the table for support, Severus couldn’t move to cover himself lest both men lose their balance and topple forward. Harry’s eyes had been irresistibly pulled to the Potions master’s obvious erection. When Severus noticed what had caught Harry’s gaze his body flushed an even deeper red in embarrassment.

Then Tom had cleared his throat and moved slightly, causing Severus’ breath to hitch.

“Yes, Harry?”

Harry had to tear his eyes away, and his face burned as he looked up at Tom. Tom was still wearing his robe, but Harry could see that he was naked underneath; his trousers were slung over a nearby chair. There was an amused look on his face and he shifted, causing for Severus to moan involuntarily; Tom quirked an eyebrow.

“Was there something you wanted?”

Harry snapped his mouth shut. He swallowed, blinked, and tried to gather his thoughts.

“I was – Blood and Hexes?” his voice broke halfway, his question turning into an undignified squeak. Harry fought to keep his eyes fixed on Tom’s face, but his gaze kept wandering to Severus’ naked and exposed body, trying to see where the two men were joined.

Tom’s amused smirk turned into a grin and he shifted again, rested his chin on Severus’ shoulder as one of the hands that had previously been holding the Potion Master’s hips trailed up and down one of Severus’ arms. The other hand slowly moved up Severus’ side and then toward a nipple.

“Ah.” He started drawing circles around the small pink nub with the tip of a finger. Severus’ eyes were closed and Harry could see he was having trouble controlling his breathing; minor tremors travelled through the Potions master’s body and his cock strained upward, clear fluid gathering on the tip.

“Harry,” Tom’s amused voice sounded again and Harry wrenched his eyes away. “It’s on the table.”

Harry looked at the table and indeed saw the stack of books, Salazar’s tome among them.

“Oh.”

Tom laughed and Harry blushed even deeper. He hurried to the table and tried desperately not to look at the two men. From the corner of his eyes he saw Tom move both hands down along Severus’ now trembling arms; he saw Tom mouth kisses against Severus’ shoulders as he picked up a slow rolling rhythm with his hips. He kept his upper body pressed against Severus’ back, only withdrawing slightly but enough for Harry to catch a glimpse of Tom’s cock disappearing inside Severus’ arse. Severus’ eyes were clenched shut, his face averted, and Harry could see that his teacher was biting his lip in a desperate attempt to not make a sound.

Harry looked up and met Tom’s eyes. Tom, who was watching Harry watch them with an amused and indulgent look.

“I – I’ll just be going then,” Harry stammered, face burning, whether from embarrassment or arousal he didn’t know, though he suspected it was probably a good deal of both. He hurried out of the room, making sure to close the door behind him, and rushed up the stairs and back to the library where he buried his head in the book and ignored Nagini’s questions. Images of Tom and Severus flashed before his eyes and he had to adjust himself to sit comfortably.

It was a while later that the two men in question joined Harry and Nagini in the library. There was no sign of what they had just been doing, although Severus avoided Harry’s eyes and seemed slightly uncomfortable. Tom sat down next to Harry, ruffled his hair affectionately and then asked about what Harry was writing. They discussed the use of blood as a spell component in certain mind controlling spells and potions until Tom announced he had some business to attend to, and that he would return later in the evening.

“Severus will keep you company; I promise I won’t make it too late.”

He pressed a kiss to Harry’s scar, and there was a mischievous grin on his face when he left. Harry soon found out why, when Severus finally approached him and hesitantly asked whether Harry had any questions about what he had accidentally witnessed. Harry stared at the obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable man as he realised that Tom had told Severus to give him ‘The Talk’. He nearly laughed out loud, but didn’t want to hurt Severus’ feelings. For a moment he considered playing ignorant, but in the end he decided against teasing Severus like that. It was obvious the Potions master was unhappy enough with the situation as it was and Harry did not want to be cruel.

“It’s all right, Severus,” he said with a gentle smile, “Tom’s already told me about the birds and the bees.” Or rather, the snake and the animagus to be more precise: it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to wake up in the middle of the night to find Nagini and a black and green patterned snake curled around, and moving against, each other.

“And, well,” Harry coughed and blushed fiercely again, “there are some books here…”

Severus must have been aware of, and probably familiar with, Tom’s rather extensive collection of books on magical erotica and sex magic, for he reddened as well, and they both sat in silence for a while.

“I’m sorry I walked in on you two, I’ll make sure to knock in the future.”

Severus sighed. “It’s all right. We should have locked the door.”

Harry couldn’t help teasing his teacher just a little and he looked at the dark haired man earnestly. “Now that I’ve seen yours, it would probably only be fair that you saw mine.”

The Potions master reeled as if he had been struck and stared at Harry in shock, his mouth dropping open to gape. Then he saw the mischievous grin trying to break through Harry’s innocent expression. He threw up his hands in disgust and left the room muttering about incorrigible boys with bad role models.

Harry had laughed, but hurried to follow Severus down into the dungeons where they worked amiably on some experimental potions until Tom returned later in the evening.

Tom had laughed when Harry told him what had happened, later when they lay in bed together with Nagini, and he had teased Harry about his preoccupation with the Potion Master’s body. That had been in February.

Severus joining them in what Harry was coming to think of as ‘the family bed’ hadn’t happened until May.

Harry had gone to bed late and tired, he’d been working on an invisibility potion all day, and only gradually awoken to the sound of whispers and then the depression in the mattress that indicated somebody was joining him in bed.

“But Master, Harry –”

“Shhh, Severus, if you don’t want him to notice you’ll just have to be very, very quiet.”

It had taken a moment for Harry to fully wake up and realise he wasn’t dreaming. For a long time he simply watched the two figures undress each other and then get into bed. In the darkness he could just make out the two silhouettes, flashes of pale skin in the moonlight, and the glittering of a pair of dark ebony eyes and a pair of crimson flecked green eyes.

With fascination Harry listened to the small sounds Severus and Tom made, he watched Tom lie back while Severus kissed and sucked his cock. Tom’s hips had bucked upward and he’d grunted and sighed. After a while he pulled Severus up, they’d switched positions so Severus was on his back, and then they’d moved against each other. Severus had clutched the bedsheets with one hand, was biting on his fist to stay silent as Tom’s tongue played with Severus’ nipples. He’d heard the whispered lubrication spell, recognized it from his clandestine reading, and then Severus had spread his legs, wrapped them around Tom’s waist as he whispered for Tom to fuck him. Tom had muffled Severus’ cry with his mouth, swallowed it when he entered Severus in one swift thrust.

The bed rocked gently with their movement and Harry vaguely realised he was very much aroused. But it was a minor thought, all his attention was focused on the beautiful pair next to him. For they were beautiful, and Harry had smiled and without thinking reached out to touch Tom’s shoulder.

Tom had looked aside, their eyes had met and Harry knew Tom had known he was awake the entire time. Then Severus gasped and the scent of sex, already present, had become heavy in the air. Tom had stilled and whispered something Harry couldn’t hear.

Harry watched the two of them lie there, Tom still atop Severus, and probably still inside him, as they both caught their breath. He saw the exact moment Severus remembered his surroundings and company; Severus went rigid, but Tom was whispering in his ear and Harry heard him tell Severus to relax and sleep. It must have been a spell for the Potions master’s breathing had deepened nearly immediately and those dark eyes had closed.

Tom had carefully freed himself from Severus embrace and rolled off the man, coming to lie between him and Harry. Another whispered spell, probably a cleaning spell, and then Tom was lying next to Harry facing him. With a smile on his face Tom reached out and gently caressed Harry’s face, stroking his cheek. Then he leaned forward and very gently, very carefully, pressed his lips to Harry’s. Only for a short moment, and when he retreated Harry smiled back at him. Harry’s tongue darted out to taste his lips; he imagined he could taste both Tom and Severus.

“Go to sleep, Harry,” Tom whispered, still smiling. Harry’s lids grew heavy and he reached out, grasped Tom’s hand and fell asleep as Tom squeezed it reassuringly. It had all been very unreal, and if not for the fact that Severus was still in the bed when Harry woke up, he might have dismissed it as a dream. Although this time when a half awake Tom pushed a still-sleeping Severus onto his stomach, Harry and Nagini discretely left the room to search for breakfast.

Harry liked waking up in bed with Tom, Nagini, and Severus best. It filled him with warmth; he knew he was loved and that all the people he loved were with him. Harry was aware Severus wasn’t entirely comfortable with these new sleeping arrangements, so the times that he did wake up when Tom and Severus joined Nagini and him in bed Harry made sure to pretend he was still sleeping. Although he was certain Tom knew he was awake and faking sleep.

God, just thinking about Tom and Severus together made him hard and Harry laughed softly to himself; he was glad Tom never let on he noticed, it was embarrassing enough as it was.

“What are you laughing at?” he heard a sleep roughened voice speak beside him. Harry looked aside to see Tom was awake and watching him with that indulgent, amused look on his face.

“Nothing, just happy.”

Tom smiled and reached out to caress his cheek. Harry leant into the touch and then blushed as he felt himself become even more aroused. Damned hormones! The slightest touch or thought of Tom and Severus had him standing up straight so to speak. Ah well, it was clear Tom had the same problem, poor Severus. Harry giggled out loud at that thought which earned him another amused look from Tom.

“You’re extremely cheerful this morning.”

“I know, just slept well, I guess.”

“I’m glad.” Tom pulled him closer, into his embrace. Harry went willingly, he snuggled into Tom’s arms and sighed, content.

He remembered the first time he’d woken up with Tom in bed. It had been after Tom had taken the restorative potion; Harry had been completely out of it, only vaguely aware of being carried up the stairs and put to bed. And then the next morning he’d woken up snuggled next to Tom, Nagini half wrapped around the both of them, and Harry had known he’d made the right choice. Tom was his friend, he trusted Tom, Tom would never harm him.

Harry drifted off to sleep again, and when Tom tried to get up Harry held on tight and protested.

“Come on, sleepy head, time to get up. We’ve stayed in bed long enough.”

“But Tom –” Harry pouted and he wriggled against the other boy. Tom stilled and then very carefully extracted himself from Harry’s arms.

“It’s late,” was all he said, although he did press a kiss against Harry’s scar before retreating into the bathroom.

Harry knew Tom loved him, and he was certain Tom was interested in him that way too. There was no mistaking Tom’s reaction last week when Harry had climbed onto Tom’s lap and kissed him. But Tom had said he was too young, told him there was no rush, and that if they did do it, they’d do it when Harry was really ready, when Harry was old enough to make that choice.

Harry’s pout turned into a more mischievous grin, one that very much resembled Tom Riddle’s habitual smirk. Locked in Riddle Mansion for nearly two years without real human contact had taught Harry patience, and he was sure that if he worked at it long enough, he’d be able to make Tom see he wasn’t a little kid anymore. Harry could be patient; Tom was his best friend, he loved Tom and he knew Tom loved him.

Harry was dreaming.

The dream was a disjointed jumble of images and feelings. An enormous black dog, growling and attacking him. Ron and Hermione turning away from him in disgust. Overwhelming fear. Despair that his second life was being ripped away from him.

He needed to see Albus, he needed to speak to Albus. Albus would help him; Albus would stop them; Albus had promised he could keep his second chance.

A tunnel, a tree, the full-moon.

And then he was running, running away as he always did.

A sudden rush of cold went through him and Harry halted. He was surrounded by Dementors and they slowly closed in on him. Fighting not to give into the despair Harry gripped his wand and shouted ‘Expecto Patronum!’

He concentrated on happy memories, thought of his time with James, Sirius, and Remus when they were boys. But he had betrayed them. James was dead, Sirius and Remus wanted to kill him. A faint wisp of silvery smoke dissipated harmlessly in the cold night air; the Dementors ignoring it as they came closer.

Hermione and Ron and Ginny! His best friends, playing tricks on Malfoy, visiting Hagrid, doing homework, laughing together! His girlfriend, the first time they’d made love during the Christmas holiday! But Ron and Hermione had turned away from him in disgust when they discovered the truth. And Ginny would too when they told her. They’d loved Harry, not him, not him, not the real him.

“Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!’ he whispered it over and over again, even though it was useless. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground. The Dementors were close; one of them was hovering above him as he weakly moved his wand and kept whispering the words.

He could see its face beneath the hood. It was hideous, skin where eyes should have been, no nose, but a gaping hole for a mouth that was coming closer and closer.

There was a rushing sound in Harry’s ears, like water, like waves. Then from faraway he heard screaming. The screaming got closer; it became louder, and he could hear a man and a woman’s voice even as he watched that mouth move to his.

‘Lily, take Harry … I’ll try and hold him off…’

‘Not Harry… Please …’

‘…silly girl … Stand aside…’

‘Not … Take me… Harry … Kill me instead…’

The screaming stopped, familiar laughter filled the air.

‘Avada Kedavra!’

Green light rushing toward him, just like the Dementor’s mouth that closed over his. Then pain, immeasurable pain as he felt his soul being ripped away.

The first thing Harry realised was that he was screaming, screaming for parents he’d never known. Then he became aware of his name being repeated over and over again and he focused his eyes on Tom.

Tom was gripping his shoulders, shaking him and calling Harry’s name. At once Harry stopped screaming, instead called Tom’s name. He threw himself into Tom’s arms and buried his face in Tom’s chest.

“Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom.” It was an unsteady mantra as he sobbed, and he was grateful for the arms that held him tightly. Tom whispered his name reassuringly, promised he was safe, that Tom would protect him, he was safe, Tom was here, he’d never let Harry come to harm.

Harry tried to calm down, tried to stop crying, but he could still feel his soul being ripped from his chest, sucked from his mouth. That malevolent laughter, that had sounded so familiar but that he just couldn’t place, still echoed in his ears; and when he closed his eyes green lightning filled his vision.

“Harry, you’re safe now. It was just a dream; you’re safe; I’m here. Tell me what happened.”

The nightmare spilled from his lips; he was hardly making sense but Harry wasn’t really aware of what he was saying. He held onto Tom as tightly as he could, concentrated on the present, tried to convince himself that it had indeed been nothing but a dream. He was safe now. Tom was holding him, Tom would protect him.

During Harry’s story Tom went very still, and when Harry was finally finished and he moved back just enough to see Tom’s face it was more serious than Harry had ever seen it. There was a haunted look in Tom’s green eyes, and when he noticed Harry watching him he quickly pulled Harry close again. He pressed small kisses to Harry’s face, kissed away the tears as he whispered softly.

“I’m so sorry, Harry; I’m so sorry.”

Harry realised Tom’s face was wet as well. He realised that Tom was crying too. He didn’t know what Tom was apologising for, but he found himself crying again. He was only remotely aware of Tom grabbing his wand from beneath his pillow and summoning Severus.

“Morsmordre Severus Snape.”

He didn’t know how long he sat there rocking in Tom’s arms as he cried and Tom whispered comforting words in his ears, touched and kissed his face, held him tightly in his arms. He drifted off to sleep a few times, only to startle awake screaming again. But Tom was always there; Tom never left him alone, never tried to leave, just calmed him down and rocked Harry back to sleep. He did realise on some level that it was taking Severus a long time to join them, and he was aware of Tom’s growing agitation at this delay as he cast the summoning spell again.

Soft pre-dawn light filled the room when Harry woke again, this time to hushed and angry voices.

“…should have come immediately.”

“I’m sorry, my Lord, Dumbledore…”

“… when I call…”

Harry blinked and tried to focus on his surroundings. His vision was blurry, but then became sharp as Tom gently put his glasses on.

“Feeling a little better now?” Tom asked, searching his face.

Harry nodded, but was glad that Tom didn’t let go, instead hugged him tight. For some reason his teeth started chattering, and Harry realised he was shivering. Tom stroked his hair and told Severus to get some chocolate.

“I d-don’t know-w why I-I c-c-can’t st-stop shiv-v-ering.”

“It’s all right, Harry, just a delayed reaction to the Dementors. Severus is getting you some chocolate. Do you remember your lessons on Dementors? It’ll help. And I’m here, you’re not alone, Harry, I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.”

When Severus returned with the chocolate Tom fed it to him in small pieces, all the while keeping up a low and comforting murmur of words. After Harry had relaxed slightly, Tom pulled back a little so that they could see each other’s faces.

“Harry, I need to go now, but only for a short while,” he quickly added when he saw the rising panic in Harry’s eyes. “I need to speak to my Death Eaters: with Wormtail dead there are things that have to be done, precautions that need to be taken. Severus will stay with you, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. All right?”

Harry nodded and managed a weak smile.

“I’ll be okay.”

“That’s my boy,” Tom squeezed Harry’s hand and then extracted himself from Harry’s embrace. Harry was unwilling to let Tom go but Severus was on the bed and quick to take Tom’s place. Severus had shed his robes and was only in pants and shirt. Harry was grateful for the Potion Master’s embrace.

“Severus, your arm.”

Obediently Severus held out his left arm so that Voldemort could press the tip of his wand against the Dark Mark.

“Morsmordre.”

Tom leaned over and pressed a last quick kiss to Harry’s scar.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

Nagini moved back up the bed and pressed her long body against Harry’s back as Harry rested his head against Severus’ chest and they just lay there silently for a while.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” he said after a while, Severus didn’t need to ask who Harry meant.

“As good as. The Dementors destroyed his soul. His body is still alive but it’s nothing more than an… empty husk.”

Harry shivered at that thought, shuddered at the memory of Pettigrew’s soul being sucked from his chest. He knew he ought to feel sorry for him, but couldn’t really find it in himself to care that much. After all, the man had stolen his life, and now he’d paid the price. Harry found now that he had calmed down he was more worried what this would mean for him.

“I’m sorry you had to experience that.”

“S’okay, not your fault.”

They were silent again for a while.

“So they know he was a fake. Do they know where I am?”

Severus didn’t answer right away, instead gently stroked Harry’s back and shifted them into a more comfortable position.

“Pettigrew revealed that you were with the Dark Lord, yes.”

Harry looked up at Severus and gently brushed away the strands of black hair in the older man’s face.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

Severus pulled him closer again, tucking Harry’s head beneath his chin.

“I don’t know, but trust me, you’ll be fine. It will all work out all right.”

With a sigh Harry left it at that. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Severus’ heartbeat against his ear. There was nothing he could do anyway, and Severus was right. It would be all right: Tom would protect him, Tom would keep him safe.

The only real change Harry noticed now that it had become common knowledge that the Harry Potter at Hogwarts had been an impostor and the real Harry Potter was in Lord Voldemort’s hands, was that the Death Eater meetings were now held in one of the large ballrooms at Riddle Mansion and he no longer had to keep out of sight. Tom even made a point of introducing him to them, and had them swear their allegiance to the Dark Lord’s young charge.

It was clear that a number of Death Eaters were somewhat disgruntled at having been kept in the dark about such an important fact, although they were careful not to show it. Harry was aware that Lucius Malfoy in particular was envious that Severus Snape had been trusted with such information, but not him. This seemed to amuse Severus to no end.

Harry felt little inclination to stay at those Death Eater meetings, opting rather to spend his time in the dungeons with Severus, tinkering with complex and dark potions, or in the library studying. Besides, he had a more pressing project to work on than helping Tom with his quest for (wizarding) world domination. After nearly three years knowing he was a wizard, Harry wanted a wand.

He didn’t know why Tom refused to give him one, forbid him to touch Tom’s or Severus’, but he was getting tired of Tom changing the subject and distracting him. He was a wizard, so he should have a wand. He could do a fair amount of spells by wandless magic; he was probably more skilled in wandless magic than many powerful wizards, but it was still more tiring and took more effort than magic with a wand would. He’d spent nearly three years studying spells. He knew the theory by heart. It was time to be allowed to bring that knowledge into practice.

He tried subtle hints at first, but when it became clear Tom was playing oblivious he tried the direct approach. This resulted in a screaming match and their first fight ever. They had both become so angry that the books in the library started flying around and when one particularly large tome crashed to the floor, nearly hitting Nagini, Tom had stomped from the room and not returned for two days. He did leave Severus with Harry so that he wasn’t alone, and during that time Harry tried to get Severus to tell him why Tom was so adverse to Harry having a wand. Either Severus didn’t know or he refused to tell, but he did promise that he would try and convince Tom that Harry should get one.

When Tom returned they both made their apologies and Harry was careful not to bring up the topic of wands again. Or at least not for a week.

In the end it was Severus who finally got Tom to change his mind. Harry was a little reluctant to use the Potions master so, for while he knew Tom would never harm him, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t hurt Severus if the Potions master got him sufficiently angry. But Severus assured him he could hold his own, and in the end Harry was eager to accept any help that could get him his own wizarding wand.

He was hiding behind the door when Severus approached Tom about Harry’s wand, and he did his best not to make a sound so that neither wizard would notice his presence.

“Master, Harry is a talented wizard; with a wand he could cultivate that talent. He is an excellent potions maker, but even I must admit potions aren’t everything.”

“Severus, I told you I do not wish to discuss this.”

“But my Lord, whatever reason could you have to not allow Harry his own wand?”

“He can cast spells without them, he’s nearly as skilled as I am in wandless magic. He doesn’t need one.”

“There is a limit to the kind of spells a wizard can cast without a wand. Only simple spells. He can disarm another wizard but not much else; if he were to end up in a duel he would be in grave danger.”

“He has me! I will protect him!”

“My Lord –”

“Severus! I told you to stop this line of questions.” There was a dangerous tone in Tom’s voice but for once Severus paid it no heed.

“My Lord, I beg you to listen to me. Harry needs to be able to defend himself; even you can’t always be there for him. I can think of no good reason to deny him a wand. Don’t you trust him? He is devoted to you and would never raise his wand against you.”

Tom was silent and Harry held his breath. He was ready to jump forward and intervene, to stop Tom from hurting Severus which he undoubtedly would after being spoken to in such a manner.

But instead of anger Tom sighed and the dangerous silence was broken.

“I guess you’re right, Severus. It’s just – It would seem some habits are hard to break. Harry will have his wand.”

At this Harry couldn’t stop himself and he shouted his joy, ran to Tom and threw his arms around the other boy in excitement.

“Thank you, Tom, thank you! I promise I’ll make you proud, thank you! I’m really going to get a wand of my own?”

Tom laughed and ruffled his hair.

“Yes, Harry, I’ll get you a wand.” He looked mock-angrily at Harry and Severus.

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve been expertly manipulated?” he grumbled and Harry blushed, but knew that it was pride he saw in Tom’s eyes.

He looked at Severus and his face became serious again.

“You’re excused this one time, Severus, but I don’t recommend you taking that tone with me again.”

Severus lowered his eyes and bowed his head respectfully.

“Of course, Master.”

“When will I get my wand?” Harry interrupted and Tom smiled again indulgently.

“You’ll have to have a little patience, Harry. We need to go to Diagon Alley to get your wand, and we can’t just go there by floo, precautions have to be made. Especially now people know that you’re with me.”

Harry sobered at this piece of information. Of course it wouldn’t be safe for Lord Voldemort to just show up in one the British wizarding world’s most busy places.

“But not too long?”

Tom shook his head. “I promise, as soon as possible I’ll take you to Ollivander’s and you’ll get your wand.”

Harry was still excited by the time evening came round and it was time to go to bed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been difficult about this,” Tom said as he tucked Harry in. Severus was standing in the doorway, watching them, and Nagini, who had gained even more weight and become quite round halfway down her length, was coiled around herself at the foot of the bed. “There are certain things that you don’t know, things that happened and I sometimes forget that things are different now.”

“It’s all right, Tom. I’m glad you trust me now.”

“Harry, it wasn’t a matter of trust, okay? I trust you; never doubt that. I trust you more than I trust myself even. I love you no matter what, never forget that.

“Now, you’re still so hyper. Do I need to sing you a song to get you to sleep?”

Tom ignored Harry’s half-hearted protest and his green eyes twinkled merrily as he began to sing.

“Hush, my dear Harry, don’t say a word, Papa’s going to buy you a golden bird.

And if that Quidditch snitch won’t zoom, Papa’s going to buy you a wizard’s broom.

And if that flying broom won’t go faster, Papa’s going to get you a Potions master.”

Harry heard Severus’ snort of amusement and Tom leaned closer to whisper the next verse in his ear.

“And if that Potions master has you bored, Tom will see what kind of wand he can afford.”

They were both laughing then and Harry chased Tom from the room, throwing pillows after the two escaping men to Nagini’s amusement.

Summer passed slowly. Harry spent most of his time in the dungeon with Severus while Tom was busy making arrangements for them to go to Diagon Alley safely. Harry was excited, not just because he was going to finally have a wand, but it would also be the first time in nearly three years that he left the mansion. He’d long since become resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be going to Hogwarts, and ever since Tom’s return and Severus becoming his teacher Harry found he really didn’t care anymore. As long as he was with Tom and Severus it didn’t matter.

August turned into September and just when Harry started despairing they’d never go to Diagon Alley, Tom woke him up one Wednesday morning with the words: ‘Today you’ll have your wand.’

Tom summoned Severus first and the three of them went outside where Tom summoned the rest of his Death Eaters. While he addressed them and gave them their final orders Harry stood next to Severus and tried to contain his excitement. The Death Eaters apparated and Tom joined Severus and him again.

“Are you ready, Harry?”

“Yes, Tom.”

“Remember what I told you?”

Harry nodded and grasped Tom’s hand. “I am to stay near you at all times, keep my hood up, and if something happens hide at Gringotts.”

Tom smiled and pulled the hood of Harry’s long black cloak over his head, effectively hiding Harry’s features from view.

“Good.” He pulled up the hood of his own cloak as Severus did the same. “Let’s go.”

Severus pointed his wand at himself and said ‘Apparate Diagon Alley.’ Tom pointed his wand at Harry and did the same.

For the second time in his life Harry felt as if he was falling and he heard that strange ‘pop’ in his ears. When he opened his eyes they were no longer standing in the grass before Riddle Mansion but in what was obviously a shopping street. The street was empty, although Harry could hear shouts of distress further along, but he paid them no heed. Instead he looked up at the store they had appeared in front of. Its front was narrow and shabby and over the door Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC was painted in peeling gold paint.

Severus pushed the door open and as Harry and Tom followed him Harry saw a big black dog amble up the street toward them. But then they were inside, a faint tinkling bell rang out. Still holding Tom’s hand Harry looked around in wonder: the shop was filled with long thin boxes, undoubtedly wands.

“Good morning,” a soft voice said and Harry jumped in surprise. He turned his attention to the man standing in front of him. He was old and thin and had wide silvery eyes that seemed able to see him despite the hood obscuring his features. Tom pushed back the hood of his own cloak as Severus did the same, Harry quickly followed their example.

The man’s eyes rested on Tom a moment, and then he lowered his lids in what might be called respect.

“Greetings… your lordship.”

Tom smirked and rested his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“It is good to see you again, Ollivander. We’re here for Harry’s wand.”

Ollivander returned his gaze to Harry, who tried not to squirm beneath those pale silvery eyes.

“Ah yes, Harry Potter. The real one. I must say, that was quite an impressive spell, even had me fooled.”

Tom smirked but said nothing, Severus stayed silent in the background, standing near the door in case somebody came in despite the diversion Tom’s Death Eaters were creating a little further down the road.

“You have your mother’s eyes, why it seems only yesterday –”

“We’re here for Harry’s wand, Ollivander, not to chat.”

“Of course… Very well, what is your wand arm, boy?”

Harry looked to Tom for support. Tom nodded and smiled encouragingly.

“My right.” He held out his right arm. Ollivander took out a tape measure and started measuring Harry’s arm, shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, and then he moved toward the shelves with boxes as the tape measure kept taking measurements: his legs, his waist, between his nostrils.

“It is the wand that chooses the wizard, and all Ollivander wands have a core of a powerful magical substance. No two Ollivander wands are the same, and you will never get as good results with another’s wand as with your own. Ah, here. Beachwood and dragon heartstring, nine inches, just take it and give it a wave.”

Harry took hold of the wand and waved it through the air as he’d seen Tom and Severus do. However, nothing happened and Ollivander snatched it back before looking through the boxes.

Harry lost count of all the wands he tried, none seemed to work properly or pass Ollivander’s scrutiny. He started to despair and become worried that there might be no wand for him, but Tom squeezed his left hand and Ollivander reassured him they’d find one.

“Here, try this one. An unusual combination, holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

This time when Harry held the wand it felt warm to his touch, and when he moved it through the air in a wide arch it emitted red and green sparks like firework.

“I’ve got a wand!” Harry cried out in excitement and Tom laughed and hugged him.

“Well done! Very good!” Ollivander said; he seemed just as pleased as Harry. “But curious, very curious.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked and they both looked at Ollivander, who now had a pensive look on his face.

“Well, Mr Potter, I remember every wand I’ve sold. And it just so happens that the phoenix that gave the feather for your wand also gave one more, just one. That other feather is in the very same wand that…” and now Ollivander’s silver eyes rested on the lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry’s forehead before they flicked to Tom who stood there silently, watching. “The very same wand that… your companion received.”

Harry spun around to Tom.

“We have brother wands?” He’d read all about the phenomenon and the thought that he and Tom shared this as well made his heart swell.

Tom smiled and reached inside his robes.

“It would seem so,” he looked back to Ollivander. “Seven galleons, is it not?”

“That is correct. It was a … pleasure doing business with you.”

Tom nodded and pulled the hood of his cloak up again.

“Time to be going, Harry.”

Harry nodded distractedly and pulled his own hood up as he followed Tom out the store. Severus held the door open for them, Tom went through first and then Harry. Tom looked toward the other end of Diagon Alley from where shouting and screaming could still be heard. In the air above the Dark Mark hung now like an ominous cloud.

“Ah, that brings back memories, Severus,” Tom said.

“Yes, my Lord.”

While they spoke the large black dog Harry had seen approaching when they entered Ollivander’s crept forward and then flopped on its back before Harry, wagging its tail. Without really thinking Harry let go of Tom’s hand and reached down to pat the dog.

The moment Harry ran his fingers through the dog’s thick black fur he felt a tug behind his navel and the world seemed to spin; he experienced that same falling sensation as when he apparated and he heard Tom shout his name. Then he was stumbling on uneven ground and surrounded by trees.

The black dog morphed and changed into a man with pale blue eyes and half long black hair.

“Harry,” he said reaching out for him, but Harry scrambled away in panic as his fevered eyes took in his surroundings and the three other people standing there. A woman with black hair held up in a bun, a brown haired man he recognized from Severus’ description as the werewolf Remus Lupin, and finally an old man with a long white beard and sparkling blue eyes: Albus Dumbledore.

Clutching his new wand and holding it out in front of him Harry frantically looked for a way of escape, looked for Tom.

“Harry…” Dumbledore said and Harry spun round to face him.

“Get away from me! Tom! Tom, help me! Tom!”

“You’re safe now, Harry, you’re safe now,” the black haired man said and Harry turned round to face him. The man was slowly walking toward him, reaching out to take Harry’s wand.

“No! Stay away from me! I want Tom! What have you done to Tom? Tom! Help me, Tom!”

“Harry, give me your wand. It’s all right, Harry,” the man said and his hand inched closer to Harry’s wand.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry had only ever used wandless magic before, and he had practiced this spell with Severus. But nothing could have prepared him for the added power using a wand would give. The magic surged through him and the black haired man was thrown back nearly thirty feet, clipping his arm against a tree; Harry heard the bone snap.

“Harry!” Lupin called and in a panic Harry turned and shouted ‘Expelliarmus’ again. This time he missed, Lupin only just managed to duck the spell.

Then from behind him he heard someone cast a spell, ‘Stupefy’, and the world went dark.

“Enervate.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he sat up straight. A hand rested on his shoulder, holding him restrained and on the bed.

He was lying on a bed in what could only be an infirmary. It was Dumbledore who was holding him in place, Harry felt the additional restraint of magic and he suspected that even with his wand he would hardly be able to cast magic while Dumbledore held him. His eyes darted around the room and he kept his face carefully blank, not wanting to show his captors how distressed and scared he was.

Tom, where are you? I need you!

“Harry…” It was the black haired man, the one he’d thrown halfway through the clearing. His right arm was in a sling and he was again reaching out to Harry. Harry shied away from his touch as much as Dumbledore’s hand on his shoulder allowed.

A pained look crossed the man’s face and his left hand fell back to his side.

“Harry, you’re safe now, we won’t harm you.”

“What have you done with Tom? I want to go, let me leave.”

A look of surprise passed over the man’s features, but it was Dumbledore who spoke.

“Harry, we did nothing to Tom.” Harry riled at Dumbledore’s use of Tom’s name; only he and Nagini were allowed to address him so familiarly. He only just bit back a snapped reply that the other wizard should refer to Tom as Lord Voldemort. “You’re at Hogwarts now, safe. I am so very sorry we didn’t realise we were dealing with an impostor, but the moment we found out we did our best to bring you here, where you belong.”

“I belong with Tom! I want to go!”

There was no mistaking the looks of dismay on the black-haired man’s face and that of Lupin and the dark haired woman. Dumbledore, however, showed no surprise, nor any sign of releasing Harry.

“I believe you think you do, Harry. But there are things you don’t know, things Tom Riddle has failed to tell you. And you do belong here, at Hogwarts, where you can get a proper education.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and looked at Dumbledore suspiciously. He knew about this wizard, nearly as powerful as Tom, he’d defeated the previous Dark Lord, Grindelwald. But a manipulative man, not to be trusted. For the moment he would play along, but the first chance he got… And where was Severus? Probably still with Tom. Harry relaxed slightly. It was going to be all right. Tom would send Severus and Severus would get him out of here, away from these people and back to Tom.

Taking Harry’s silence for assent Dumbledore continued.

“What do you know about your parents?”

“The Dursleys said they died in car crash, the same one that gave me this scar.” He heard the other three people in the room gasp in disbelief, but Harry kept his eyes on Dumbledore, carefully watching the man for any reaction. “They told me my parents were drunk and got themselves killed. They told me I was a freak and kept me locked in a cupboard for nearly ten years and treated me like a slave until Tom took me away. Obviously they lied.” Harry bared his teeth. “You were the one to leave me with them, weren’t you?”

Unphased, Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, it seemed the right decision at the time. I am sorry it turned out the way it did. But don’t worry; you won’t ever be going back to them.”

Harry snorted. He would like to see Dumbledore try and send him back to his relatives. He might have been able to do so with Wormtail but the only reason Harry was ever going back there was to deal out some long overdue retribution. A cruel smile twisted his lips; maybe he could convince Tom to pay them a visit when Severus got him back home.

“You’re right; they lied to you about your parents, James Potter and Lily Evans.” Despite himself Harry listened more closely. He knew very little about his parents, practically nothing actually. Severus had let slip he’d attended Hogwarts at the same time they had, but not much else. Harry admonished himself, it didn’t matter; they didn’t matter. He had a family now: Tom, Severus, and Nagini.

“Your parents were good wizards, powerful and kind. They were both Aurors and I remember their joy when you were born. Sirius,” Dumbledore indicated the black-haired man, “and Remus were their best friends. Sirius is your godfather by the way.

“Whatever the case, by the time you were born, they had become quite a thorn in the side of the rising Dark Lord, Voldemort, and we knew they were high on his hit list.”

Harry froze. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking.

“So when you were born we decided the safest thing for your parents to do was to go into hiding. They used the Fidelius charm, and we all thought Sirius here was their secret keeper. However, at the last moment they chose Peter Pettigrew instead.

“Pettigrew betrayed the location of your parents to Tom Riddle, who came to Godric’s Hollow, your parent’s house, Hallowe’en night 1981 –”

“No.”

“Your father stalled him while your mother took you and tried to flee. Voldemort killed your father –”

“No, you’re lying!”

“He cast the killing curse on your mother while she pleaded for your life –”

“No, that’s not true, you’re lying!”

“And then he tried to kill you –”

“No! Tom would never harm me!”

“But your mother’s sacrifice protected you. The Killing Curse was reflected and disembodied him, leaving you with the scar on your forehead.” Dumbledore concluded his tale, ignoring Harry’s interruptions and protestations.

“You’re lying! It’s not true! Tom would never hurt me! No!” Harry was screaming, and he covered his ears with his hands. “I’m not listening to you, you’re a liar! Tom would never do that to me! Tom wouldn’t lie to me! He wouldn’t! No!”

He struggled to get away from Dumbledore, screaming for Tom all the while. More hands gripped him and he fought, clawing and biting, until something was poured into his mouth and he was forced to swallow. His struggling became weak, darkness pulled at his vision and he lost consciousness again.

The next time he awoke Harry felt sluggish and dizzy; he recognized the after effects of one of the heavier calming potions. Groaning he struggled to open his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. The infirmary was empty this time, except for Severus sitting in a chair next to his bed.

Severus! Harry practically threw himself into the Potions master’s arms in relief, and he realised he was crying, babbling about the lies Dumbledore had told.

“Severus! I’m so glad you’re here, you can get me out! Take me back to Tom!”

Severus stayed silent however, and with a growing feeling of dread Harry pushed himself away; Severus made no attempt to hold him.

“You are here to rescue me, aren’t you?”

“Harry –”

Harry’s eyes widened in horror. “You helped them. You knew they were going to kidnap me, you helped them,” he whispered. Severus didn’t speak, just kept staring at him steadily.

“How could you? Traitor!” This time when he launched himself at Severus he did so hitting and screaming, spitting in rage. “Traitor! How could you betray me like that? Betray Tom?! He’s your Master! How dare you!”

Severus grabbed Harry’s flailing arms and forced him back onto the bed. Harry twisted and turned, trying to get away, to summon his magic to hex the treacherous snake, but he was too upset to manage. Finally Severus managed to get Harry on his back. He straddled Harry’s hips and held his wrists above his head in an iron grip.

“Harry, listen to me, you have to listen to me, please.”

Panting Harry glared at Severus. “I hope he kills you when he finds out you betrayed him,” Harry hissed. Severus went very still, a sad look on his face, and he closed his eyes a moment before speaking again.

“I’m sorry, Harry. But it was for the best, I know it may not seem that way right now, but it was.” He looked away and sighed, then met Harry’s eyes with a serious look on his face.

“However, that’s not what I’m here for now. Albus was telling the truth –”

“No,” Harry shook his head in denial, feeling the tears return. It wasn’t true. Tom would never do that; Tom would never keep something like that from him.

“The Dark Lord did murder your parents and he lost his body when he tried to kill you.”

“No, you’re lying, it’s not true.” Now Harry was crying, because while he could deny it when Dumbledore told him, Severus telling him was a different matter. He remembered the dream he had when Pettigrew was kissed, remembered the man and woman’s cries for mercy, his parents he now realised. He remembered that cruel laughter and he now recognized it as Tom’s.

“Shhh, Harry, it’s all right. It’s okay, I’m here.” Severus had let go of his wrists, had pulled him into his embrace and was now running soothing hands along his back.

“No, it isn’t! It’s not all right! Tom murdered my parents! He tried to kill me! Tom!” Harry wailed and he buried his face in Severus’ robe sobbing.

It was true. Tom had killed his parents. Tom had abducted him and kept him locked in Riddle Mansion for three years for whatever nefarious purpose he might have. Tom had tried to kill him. No, not Tom. Tom was his friend. Voldemort. But Tom was Voldemort, Harry knew this, they weren’t separate entities. Tom was Voldemort just as much as Voldemort was Tom. It was a lie, all of it. He was alone again, Tom had lied to him. Harry was alone.

“I hate you,” he finally managed to whisper when the tears stopped and Severus stayed silent. “I hate you both, you both lied to me. I hate you and I hope he kills you and the Death Eaters betray him too and kill him!” Harry was shouting again, and this time Severus let him.

“Get away from me! I don’t want to see you, get away! Leave me alone, I hate you both!”

Severus let himself be pushed from the bed and Harry pulled the blankets over his shoulders, turned his back on the other wizard.

“Harry…”

Harry shut his eyes and ignored Severus. He heard the Potions master sigh again and then leave the room. Opening his eyes Harry stared unseeingly at the wall as he tried not to think of the horrible mess his life had become in only a few hours.

Some time later Sirius Black, his godfather, and Remus Lupin came back into the infirmary and tried to talk to him. There were hardly any safe topics and conversation was stilted, filled with awkward and uncomfortable silences. When evening neared they took him to Dumbledore’s office. Harry sat in a chair in front of the Headmaster as he listened to Dumbledore go on about how he would take his classes and what measures they’d taken to prevent Tom – no, Voldemort, his mind interrupted, not Tom – from kidnapping him again.

He would be tutored in the classes he had no experience in until he reached the appropriate level, although he could join his year mates in History, Herbology, and Magical Theory. He was excused from Potions considering he could probably already take his NEWTS with flying colours in that subject.

Besides Remus, Sirius, and Dumbledore there were four more people in the room, the four Heads of Houses. The dark-haired woman, who he now remembered was Head of Gryffindor and called Minerva McGonagall; a small dwarf-like man, Filius Flitwick, the Head of Ravenclaw; Iris Sprout, the Head of Huffelpuff, and of course Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin. Harry purposely refused to look in Severus’ direction. Their presence was soon explained when Dumbledore took the Sorting Hat and put it on Harry’s head.

He could only see the inside of the hat. It fell over his eyes and Harry waited impatiently for it to be over with.

“Ah, Harry Potter. The real one, finally. I must say, that was quite an impressive spell, even had me fooled.”
”Just get on with it.”

“Impatient one, aren’t you. Very well, where to put you? Difficult. You would do well in all the Houses –”

“Listen, just get this over with. I don’t care, as long as it’s not Slytherin. Anything but Slytherin.”

Tom had been in Slytherin, as had Severus, and Severus was the Head of Slytherin as well. Harry’s lips twisted in a bitter sneer. He remembered fantasizing about being allowed to go to Hogwarts, being sorted into Slytherin, Tom and Severus’ house.

“Not Slytherin, you say? Very well, then you shall go to GRYFFINDOR!”

Dumbledore seemed way too pleased with himself, but Harry ignored him, avoided looking at Severus, and let Sirius and Remus lead him to the Great Hall where students were beginning to gather for dinner. Just before they entered Sirius transformed into his animagus form, he would be staying with Harry at all times to keep him safe.

Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table but didn’t look up as the Hall steadily filled. He was aware of the whispers, the curious stares, but kept staring at the empty plate in front of him. Sirius whined and placed his head on Harry’s knee. Absentmindedly Harry patted the dog’s head then pushed it off his lap.

When all the students had arrived Dumbledore stood up to make an announcement. This time Harry did look up and he noted that Severus was absent from the teachers’ table. He wasn’t surprised; he’d felt the tingle in his scar that usually meant Tom – no, Voldemort – was summoning one of his followers. Harry didn’t even try to keep the bitter smile off his face.

“As you may have noticed, another student has joined us a little later than usual: Harry Potter. I trust you will all do your best to make him feel welcome. He has been… home-trained for the past three years, but we are glad that he is here with us at Hogwarts now.”

Dinner appeared on the tables and Harry morosely pushed it around on his plate, forcing himself to take a few bites. There was no point in starving, even if he did feel more like throwing up than eating at the moment.

He felt the other Gryffindors’ stares and finally could take it no longer; he looked up and glared back, only just refraining from snarling at them. His eyes met those of a pale red-headed girl; there were dark rings beneath her eyes. Ginny. When her brothers saw who he was looking at, they quickly placed themselves between Harry and her and Harry looked away. The girl next to him, a bushy haired girl with brown eyes, gave him a tentative smile.

“Hi, I’m Hermione Granger.”

Harry looked back but didn’t smile. “I know who you are,” was all he said and he returned his attention to the food on his plate, slipping most of it to Sirius. They didn’t try to talk to him again.

After dinner McGonagall lead them all to the Gryffindor dormitories, gave Harry the password to the Fat Lady’s portrait, and showed him his room, his bed and his trunk with belongings. Harry stood staring at the bed and trunk for a long time after she’d left. The other Gryffindors were still downstairs in the Common Room, studying, or gossipping about him more likely. Sirius lay down next to his bed and whined, but stayed a dog thankfully, and Harry ignored him.

Here he was, at Hogwarts, a student. This was his life, the life that had been stolen from him. Harry laughed bitterly. It didn’t feel like his life, it felt like he was the thief. This was not his bed. These were not his things. They belonged to the other Harry Potter, not him.

Finally Harry just climbed onto the bed, pulled the curtains closed and whispered a privacy charm. They hadn’t given him his wand back yet, but he didn’t need it. He lay there in bed, alone, lying on his back, for what seemed like hours. He listened to the other boys come into the room, their whispers, and he could feel their furtive glances at the bed he was hiding in. They got ready for bed, and soon Harry listened to their snores, he could hear Sirius’ doggy snores and whimpering on the floor next to his bed.

He lay there, staring at the bed’s canopy, not seeing it, and he tried to go to sleep. But the bed was too small, was too empty. He realised he hadn’t slept alone for more than two years, first Nagini, then Tom too, and the last few months Severus as well. And before that, there had been Tom’s journal under his pillow. But that was all a lie.

There was a faint tingling in his scar and Harry knew Severus had returned from Voldemort. He closed his eyes and turned onto his side, blinking away tears, desperately trying to fall asleep. It didn’t work.

In the end Harry gave up and he carefully slipped out of bed. He whispered ‘Somnus’ to make sure neither Sirius nor his roommates would miss him and then rummaged around in the trunk at the end of his bed. He found the invisibility cloak just as he remembered it from his dreams of Wormtail.

He slipped out of the Gryffindor dorms and picked his way through the empty corridors to the dungeons. He knew the way; he’d dreamt it enough times over the past three years. Besides, he could feel the pull of Severus’ dark mark in his scar. When he knocked on Severus’ door the Potions master opened it and stepped aside as if he’d been expecting him. Harry only dropped the invisibility cloak after Severus closed the door behind him.

They stood opposite each other in silence for a while, until finally Severus looked away and gestured Harry to sit in one of the chairs around the fire place. Severus himself remained standing, resting his hands on the back of the battered couch; his movements were stiff and from his pale colour Harry could tell he must be in some amount of pain but there were no visible injuries.

“Does he know you helped take me?” Harry broke the silence.

“I’m not sure, although I think he suspects so.”

“Did he harm you?”

“Voldemort was… upset.”

“Did he harm you?” Harry asked again through gritted teeth.

“Not really. He was… rough, but nothing I could not handle, nothing he – we haven’t done in the past. At the moment I am the only one of his followers who can get close to you, he doesn’t want to lose that advantage.”

“So. He wants me back.” It was more a statement than a question and Severus sighed before he nodded.

“Of course he does.”

“For what? Why would he want the Boy-Who-Lived, the very child who nearly killed him thirteen years ago?”

“Harry,” and now Severus’ voice was soft. “Whatever the Dark Lord did fourteen years ago, he does care for you now.”

“That’s rich, coming from you! You took me away from him, and now you defend him?!” Harry stood up and flung the invisibility cloak around his shoulders.

“Tell Voldemort to stay away from me. I want nothing to do with that lying, murderous bastard. I hate him and I hate you!”

With that Harry pulled the hood up and disappeared. Severus didn’t stop him from leaving, didn’t stop him from slamming the door behind him. Harry ran all the way back to the bed in the Gryffindor fourth year boys’ room. He huddled under the blankets and tried not to think about how cold and empty the bed was.

Tom wanted him back. Voldemort wanted him back and he knew Voldemort stopped at nothing to get what he wanted. It was an oddly comforting thought, although Harry didn’t know what he’d do if Voldemort succeeded in abducting him a second time. He finally fell asleep to those conflicting thoughts.

Adjusting to life at Hogwarts was difficult. The size of the place, and the number of people always around him, made Harry uneasy. For ten years with the Dursleys he’d lived in a cupboard, gone to a small school where he had no friends. Then the past three years he’d spent in near isolation: the first with a sentient diary, the second a talking snake, and only in the third year had Tom, and later Severus, been there to keep him company. He found the sudden number of people around him overwhelming. The fact that there were always people with him only served to heighten his sense of loneliness. He might be sharing a room with four other boys, but his bed was still too small and too empty.

Matters were not made easier by the fact that he was constantly being watched, constantly being compared and judged. The Huffelpuffs and Ravenclaws weren’t too bad: mild curiosity but they kept their distance and mainly went about their own business. The Slytherins kept their distance and treated him with a cautious respect; Harry suspected Tom had something to do with this, and if not him then at least the Death Eaters on their own initiative. He had, after all, until recently been the Dark Lord’s favourite, however uncertain his current status might be.

The Gryffindors didn’t seem to know what to do with the new Harry. The previous Harry Potter had been outgoing and friendly, had played tricks on the Slytherins, had been bold and fearless. The previous Harry Potter had been a true Gryffindor. Oh, it wasn’t that they resented Harry, but it was clear that this version of Harry Potter was most definitely not what they expected, nor would have preferred.

Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, child saviour of the wizarding world, and figurehead in the fight against the Dark Lord Voldemort. He’d done some reading, searched the library to see what else Tom had lied to him about, had conveniently forgotten to tell him. It was clear what the wizarding world’s expectations were of Harry Potter and Harry found he had little desire to live up to them. Did they expect him to lead the fight against Voldemort? He was a fourteen year-old boy, how could they expect that of a child? Besides the fact that Harry did not know if he even could raise his wand against Voldemort, against Tom.

His feelings towards Tom were an even greater mess than the rest of his life and most of the time he tried not to think about it, tried to ignore the overwhelming sense of betrayal and loss he felt. Tom had been his best friend. He had loved Tom, but Tom had murdered Harry’s parents, had lied to him. It was all a terrible jumble of mixed emotions that kept Harry awake at night.

To distract himself he did what he always did: he studied. He received private tutoring in Charms, Transfiguration, and a few other courses. His professors were all impressed with his extensive knowledge, and he quickly learnt how to bring it into practice with his new wand. History of Magic was boring, so Harry tended to shut out professor Binn’s droning and read in the back of the room. Herbology was interesting, everything he’d expected it to be, and at first he enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, the person who had apparently retrieved the other Harry, was nice enough, but Harry soon felt as if he were disappointing the half-giant. Another person Harry bitterly suspected would have preferred the doppelganger to the real thing.

Defence against the Dark Arts was unsatisfying. Grindylows and werewolves were interesting, but the ridiculous restrictions on learning about the Dark Arts annoyed him. How could you learn to defend yourself against something you were not allowed to study. Remus Lupin was a competent teacher, but he lacked Tom’s knowledge, Tom’s enthusiasm for what was essentially an art. It irritated Harry to no end that his learning was restricted, that he could not study what he wanted as he had at Riddle Mansion. He missed Tom’s library and had unsuccessfully tried to get a pass for the restricted section of the library at Hogwarts where the few Dark Arts tomes were kept. Harry suspected this was Dumbledore’s influence and he had already started contemplating sneaking in there with his invisibility cloak, permission be damned.

Because Harry’s abilities at Potions far surpassed that of the best seventh year he was exempt from those classes. To Harry’s relief: he was still angry with Severus and at first he’d done his best to avoid his former tutor. He knew Severus was watching him, keeping an eye on him for Tom and by default for Dumbledore as well. But Potions were still his passion, and he didn’t want to lose yet one more thing. So he’d approached Severus and asked for permission to use the Potions Master’s private workrooms so he could continue with the research and work he’d done at Riddle Mansion. Severus had agreed without hesitation, without asking Dumbledore, something for which Harry was grateful.

He could see that Severus was having a hard time, running to please two masters, being called nightly to Voldemort and having to report to Dumbledore afterward. Harry felt little compassion for the traitorous Potions Master, but could nonetheless not stop watching Severus. Often he would lie awake in bed at night until he felt that tell-tale tingle indicating Severus had once more safely returned from a visit to the Dark Lord. Usually he would then turn around and go to sleep. But sometimes he would slip out of the Gryffindor dorm, his invisibility cloak keeping him from being caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, and go to the dungeons where he would wait for Severus to return from his debriefing with Dumbledore.

Apart from that first time he never asked Severus to give Tom a message, never asked whether Tom had a message for him. Severus would let them into his chambers, make them something warm to drink, hot milk, chocolate, or tea, and they’d sit in silence before the fire. It was the closest Harry had been able to come to the feeling of belonging he’d had with Tom.

Sometimes Severus would ask him how he was doing, how he was adapting to Hogwarts. Harry knew that anything he said would most likely be reported back to Tom and Dumbledore, but it was good to talk to someone who listened and did not judge, did not compare. Severus was one of the few people that seemed to grasp that Harry and the doppelganger were two entirely separate and different people. Severus did nothing to hide the fact that it was the real Harry he preferred.

Sirius Black was a troublesome aspect in Harry’s life. The man had been exonerated from his alleged crimes now that Pettigrew had been revealed, and he assisted Lupin in teaching DADA. He also tried to spend as much time with Harry as humanly possible, often reverting to his animagus form so that he could keep an eye on Harry. Harry didn’t mind Padfoot too much, for then Sirius was at least quiet, but the attention was smothering and served to increase Harry’s sense of claustrophobia.

Sirius obviously felt guilty that he hadn’t been there for Harry, and he was trying his best to become an important part of Harry’s life. He felt it was his duty to look out for Harry. But Sirius’ clear ideas on a few issues soon had them arguing. Harry didn’t want to argue with Sirius, but he couldn’t just sit back and listen to Sirius badmouthing Severus and Tom and the Dark Arts indefinitely. It didn’t matter that Harry was angry with Tom and Severus both; it was something between him and Tom and him and Severus. Sirius had nothing to do with it. It all exploded quite nastily after one of Harry’s Quidditch lessons.

That first flying lesson with Madam Hooch had been an epiphany. The freedom in soaring through the air on a broom, the exhilaration. And he was good at it, the other Gryffindors had watched him in awe and McGonagall had set up a try-out for the Seeker position immediately. Finally something that he did better than his doppelganger, something his house-mates would accept him for. Sirius had had the happiest grin on his face Harry had ever seen, and the years wasting away in Azkaban had disappeared. For a while Harry had felt that wonderful feeling of belonging, of seeing pride in the eyes of someone who loved him. It had washed away the bitter feeling of resentment toward Tom: flying was yet another thing Tom’s lies had denied him the chance of discovering.

That weekend Sirius and Remus had taken him out to the Quidditch pitch and the three of them had flown together. They’d helped him practice catching the snitch. High on adrenaline and happiness Harry had laughed for the first time since they’d taken him away from Tom. They landed to take a break, and Sirius had smiled and looked at Remus, grasping the other man’s hand.

“Doesn’t he remind you of James? James was a superb flyer as well, the best Chaser Gryffindor had in years. The Slytherins never stood a chance, Snivellus was so jealous.”

Harry’s face fell, and he stared at his parents’ friends for a moment before abruptly turning away and walking off the pitch.

“Harry!” Sirius called, running after him. “What’s wrong?” He grabbed Harry’s arm and turned him around.

Harry shook his arm free as Remus joined Sirius, the same look of worry on his face. “It’s nothing. I’ve had enough, I think I’ll go down to the dungeons and do some Potions work.”

“Come on, Harry, it’s obviously not nothing. And do you have to spend so much time with that greasy git? Stay with us. Why don’t we sneak into Hogsmeade with your dad’s cloak? Moony and I’ll keep you safe from You-Know-Who. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Harry grit his teeth and shook his head. “No, and stop calling Severus names.”

“Listen, Harry, I don’t know why you’re spending so much time with Snivellus –”

“Could it be because I enjoy his company, we have the same interests,” Harry said defensively.

“He’s a Death Eater, Harry. Not somebody you should be associating with, I don’t care what Albus says, once a Death Eater…”

“You should be more grateful to him; after all, he’s the one who saved me from Tom.” Harry was rapidly losing the tenuous hold on his temper. He could feel the frustration of weeks clawing its way up his throat, demanding to be released. But Sirius remained oblivious, ignoring the cautionary hand on his arm from Remus.

“Snivellus just did what Albus told him to, you don’t know him like we do, he can’t be trusted –”

“Severus forced your precious Headmaster to act. Dumbledore would have preferred to keep Pettigrew parading around as me!”

“That’s not true. We love you, Harry, and Albus would never –”

“Harry, make more friends. Harry, stop spending so much time in the library. Harry, why don’t you play any pranks on those slimy Slytherins? Harry, why won’t you lighten up? Harry, the Dark Arts are evil. Harry, don’t say Voldemort, it’s You-Know-Who. Harry, potions are smelly and a waste of time.” Harry’s face had contorted into a bitter sneer as he imitated Sirius’ voice. “Harry, be more of a Gryffindor, be more like your parents!

“Well, I’m not like them. I’m not like Peter-bloody-Pettigrew’s interpretation of what Harry Potter should be! I don’t want to play pranks! I want to learn! I love Potions! Restricting knowledge on the Dark Arts is stupid! Albus Dumbledore was this close to making a deal with my impostor! And I bet that if you’d known me before Wormtail was killed you wouldn’t have taken me away from Tom but kept the Boy-Wonder!”

“Harry! That’s not true, your parents –”

“Shut up about my parents! So what if Voldemort killed them! Why should I care about them? They didn’t care enough about me to not annoy a notoriously dangerous, powerful wizard! They didn’t raise me! Tom did! Tom saved me from the Dursleys and gave me a home and cared for me. Do you think I like being reminded that Tom killed them? Do you think I enjoy being told constantly Tom tried to kill me? Stop badmouthing Tom! You don’t know anything about him! You’re just feeling guilty he did a better job of caring for me than you, my godfather, ever did. Whose brilliant idea was it to make Wormtail secret-keeper anyway? Just shut up about my parents: I. Don’t. Care.” He hissed the last sentence and glared at the two surviving Marauders.

They’d both gone pale. Sirius looked stricken and was staring at Harry in horror.

“You ungrateful little brat! I spent twelve years in Azkaban for that mistake. I escaped to warn you, to protect you!”

“A bit late, weren’t you? Where were you when the Dursleys locked me in the cupboard under the stairs? Where were you when they used me like a house-elf, when they told me my parents were alcoholics and had killed themselves and it was a shame they hadn’t killed me too? Where were you when Voldemort abducted and imprisoned me? Where were you then? All you wanted was revenge on Peter for betraying your trust. I wish you were still in Azkaban keeping the Dementors company, because I sure as hell don’t want it!”

Sirius narrowed his eyes and he struck Harry in the face. Harry stumbled backwards, hands flying to his nose and mouth. His lip had split and he could taste the blood, while his nose felt broken.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. You are nothing like James Potter.” Sirius made to step forward but Remus grabbed his arm and opened his mouth to finally start placating the two of them, but it was way too late for that.

Harry’s arms dropped to his side and he narrowed his eyes, staring at Sirius with all the hatred and frustration and anger and betrayal he’d been feeling these past four weeks.

“How dare you hit me?” It was a whisper but the menace was enough to make even Sirius Black pause in uncertainty.

“Sanguis Ignis!” Harry didn’t even draw his wand, he pointed at his godfather and Sirius collapsed on the grass screaming and writhing in agony as his blood literally boiled. It wasn’t an Unforgivable curse, even in his rage Harry was not stupid enough to cast the Cruciatus on Hogwarts’ grounds, but it was close. From the corner of his eyes Harry saw Remus reach for his wand but Harry was quicker.

“Expelliarmus!” Remus’ wand slapped into Harry’s open hand and the other man was thrown thirty feet over the Quidditch pitch. Harry released the spell on Sirius and knelt beside his moaning and twitching godfather. He gripped Sirius’ chin in his hand and forced the older man to look up into his eyes.

“Don’t you ever strike me again: next time you won’t get away this easy. You will stop belittling Severus and you will stop badmouthing Tom. Any disagreement between me and them is just that: between the three of us. You have nothing to do with it.”

Harry stood up and dropped Remus’ wand on Sirius prone figure, before abruptly turning around and walking back to the castle. The angry grimace on his face was enough to scare away the boldest of Gryffindors and he reached Severus’ quarters uninterrupted. Whispering the password he slipped into the potions laboratory and for a moment he stood staring at the various experiments laid out on his bench. But the adrenaline was finally catching up with him and he collapsed against one of the walls. Tears fell silently from his eyes as he stared into nothing. The salt made his split lip sting and his nose was throbbing.

He had no idea how long he sat there and only noticed the Potions Master’s entrance when Severus sat down next to him and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Shh, it’s going to be all right, Harry, don’t cry, I’m here for you.”

Harry rested his cheek against Severus’ chest and let his roiling emotions calm. It was good to be held again, to be comforted; he’d missed this so much. He missed Tom so much.

“Is it wrong of me to wish I never knew Tom killed my parents? Is it wrong of me to want to forgive him, to want to forget that? Am I a disappointment to them? Am I betraying them?”

Severus pulled away slightly so they could look at each other.

“You have to make your own choices, Harry. Do what you think is right, make the choices you can, you want to live with, because you’re the one who’s going to have to live with them.” He smiled briefly, more a grimace really than a smile, and turned his head to one of the benches as he summoned a wet towel. “Here, let me have a look at your nose and that lip.”

Harry tilted his head back and watched Severus carefully and gently wipe away the blood and inspect the damage.

“While I must admit to being flattered that you came to my defence, I would ask you not to pick any more fights with your godfather just because he calls me bad names.”

Harry chuckled and winced as the grin trying to break through aggravated his split lip. “I’ll try and remember that next time.”

Severus smirked briefly and returned his attention to Harry’s face, muttering about mangy, rabid mongrels under his breath.

“Your nose isn’t broken, as far as I can tell. But you might want to have Pomfrey take a look at it just to be sure. Do you want me to heal your lip?”

Harry shook his head and stood up, reaching down to help Severus up as well.

“No, leave it like it is, it’ll heal and in the meantime Sirius can feel guilty for hitting me.”

“Why, Mr Potter, what a positively Slytherin attitude!” Severus exclaimed in mock surprise.

Harry smirked. “What can I say? I learnt it from the best.” But he soon turned serious again.

“What’s going to happen, what’s Dumbledore going to do? I cursed two teachers.”

Severus shook his head and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder as he guided them to the work benches.

“The Headmaster is going to do nothing. It wouldn’t look good to expel the Boy-Who-Lived for hexing the recently exonerated martyr Sirius Black for hitting him. I suspect you’ll be called to his office and given a talk on appropriate conduct at Hogwarts and told to make amends with your father’s friends.”

Severus sneered, his opinion on Sirius obvious, but Harry was grateful that he, unlike Sirius, did not attempt to influence him toward the other man. Sirius Black was still his godfather, the only real link he had to his parents. While he had never known them it wasn’t entirely true that he didn’t care. How couldn’t he? They were his parents and he was already regretting some of the things he’d said to Sirius. But not everything, and certainly not hexing Sirius; he still got angry when he remembered his godfather hitting him. He would never let anyone hit him ever again. In the meantime, it was probably best to make amends; he knew he’d miss Padfoot’s company otherwise.

“Why don’t you show me what you’ve been up to lately? Calming potions, am I right?”

That evening Harry sat down with Sirius and apologized for blaming his parents’ death on him. Sirius apologized for hitting him, saying he was horrified that he’d struck Harry and would never do such a thing again. He said he’d try to be more polite to Severus. Conversation was stilted and it took some time to regain the level of familiarity they had managed to achieve before. Harry asked Sirius to tell him more about his parents, saying he could not remember them and had nothing of theirs except for his father’s invisibility cloak.

They got along well enough after that, and Sirius learnt to avoid talking about Severus, Tom, Slytherin, Gryffindor, Potions, the Headmaster, and many other things. But Harry could always sense his godfather’s disapproval, and oftentimes disappointment. Something had been irreparably damaged that day and Harry could still not shake the feeling that Sirius would have preferred the doppelganger Harry, no matter how much or often Sirius denied it. But at least Sirius now saw Harry for Harry, and not for his predecessor or the Gryffindor he should be or his parents. It was just too bad Sirius didn’t like what he saw, although his godfather tried his best to hide it.

Harry missed being accepted for himself. He hated being viewed as some kind of figurehead in the battle against the Dark forces, hated that Dumbledore was doing his best to manipulate him into that position. But the bottom-line was that Harry missed Tom, he missed his life at Riddle Mansion, but he was still angry at Tom. He still felt betrayed. He felt torn between the memories he had of his time with Tom and the loyalty he should have toward his murdered parents. He worried what would happen if Tom did manage to kidnap him again, worried what he would do, what Tom would do. He didn’t want to be afraid of Tom.

And there was the very real danger of being manipulated into the conflict between Voldemort and Dumbledore; Harry knew the purpose he was supposed to serve according to Dumbledore. He knew that the Headmaster would have preferred to keep the Harry he already had, that he had trained, rather than this independent Harry who could still go either way.

Adjusting to life at Hogwarts was difficult, but as time passed Harry did and he realised that while he was not as happy as he had been at Riddle Mansion, he was glad that he was at Hogwarts. His physical freedom was only slightly less restricted than it had been at Riddle Mansion, but he knew that he now had a chance to learn for himself, and decide for himself. He only hoped that Dumbledore and Voldemort would allow him to make that choice on his own.

When the Christmas holidays came round a large number of pupils decided to stay at Hogwarts. The Headmaster even invited the families of some of the students to visit; mainly Gryffindor families, the Weasleys being the most obvious. Harry was well aware this was all part of Dumbledore’s plan to bind him to Hogwarts and the ‘cause of the light’. Having Molly Weasley cluck over him like a lost son, and the other boys start to include him in their games and pranks, might have had more effect if at the same time they weren’t doing their best to keep him away from Ginny.

It wasn’t as if Harry wanted to spend time with the youngest Weasley, his doppelganger’s girlfriend, but it didn’t engender feelings of friendship and trust when he noticed that they didn’t trust him with their sister. She had the Dark Mark. Her boyfriend had turned out to be a Death Eater in disguise. They didn’t want to take any risks with somebody who had spent the past three years with the Dark Lord himself, even if he was the real Harry Potter.

Many of the Slytherins had decided to stay as well, a most unusual state of affairs. Harry recognized most of them to be children of Death Eaters, and he suspected this was on the behest of Voldemort or their parents, he suspected the latter. Apparently the time to wait and see had passed, and now they were actively seeking to gain his friendship and ensure his loyalty, or perhaps their loyalty to him as Lord Voldemort’s favourite.

For it was clear that Harry still was Voldemort’s favourite. Although there had been no attempts to recapture him, in the weeks after Harry’s abduction the Dark Lord had increased his activities, in particular against those people he saw as having a hand in the theft of his charge. For a short while there had even been talk of negotiating a truce with Voldemort: Harry in return for peace. Fortunately that had never got off the ground. Voldemort had shown no interest and Dumbledore had made it clear that he was not going to relinquish the Boy-Who-Lived to the Dark Lord.

The past month had been quiet, and people feared that Voldemort was just waiting to make his move. Harry hadn’t asked Severus whether he knew what Tom was up to; he doubted that Severus would allow for Harry to be kidnapped by Voldemort again, not after the trouble the Potions Master had gone through that summer.

When Draco Malfoy walked up to him during dinner one evening and offered his friendship, Harry accepted. The next few days he hardly had an opportunity to even speak to the Slytherin, or come near any Slytherins for that matter, as the Gryffindors seemed to have made it their task to keep him occupied all the time. They too tried to make friends with him, and never ceased to disparage the other side.

Harry knew none of them wanted to be his friend because he was Harry. He was starting to feel suffocated by the persona of the Boy-Who-Lived, and he took to spending most of his time either in Severus’ private potions laboratory, or hidden in a corner of the library.

Sirius and Remus weren’t too bad, although Harry felt they were predominantly looking after him because they had been friends of his parents and the fight they’d had hung above them like an omnipresent cloud. It had been fun for a while to hear stories about James and Lily, but the truth was Harry had never known his parents and so could not really miss them. There was really no point to it either: they were dead and had had no part in his growing up. But of all the people at Hogwarts except Severus, he felt Sirius and Remus came closest to seeing him for Harry, and not as the Boy-Who-Lived, or a tool to use either against Voldemort or to gain the Dark Lord’s favour.

When Christmas finally arrived, Harry spent most of the day with Sirius on the Quidditch pitch flying with the new Firebolt his godfather had given him. The air was cold, but the sky was blue and the sun was shining; flying had been exhilarating and helped to distract him. Harry was glad that he’d been left alone for the rest of the day; he didn’t want to deal with the Weasleys and the Gryffindors attempts at befriending him, nor those of the Slytherins. Dinner in the Great Hall had been all right, they’d all sat along one large table as the house elves served up a veritable feast. But Harry had excused himself early, told Sirius to enjoy the rest of the evening with Remus, and then secluded himself behind the curtains of his bed.

Severus hadn’t been present, the only staff member absent. But Harry knew where he was, he’d felt the tell-tale tingle of Severus’ summoning early in the afternoon. Harry remembered his last Christmas at Riddle Mansion with Severus, Tom, and Nagini. He bit his lip and tried to think of other things. Dumbledore had given him an ancient Potions Tome, written by one of Gryffindor’s students. The Headmaster was obviously not above bribes in an attempt to gain Harry’s loyalty. Harry had accepted the book; he was hardly going to turn something like that down, even if it was given with such blatant ulterior motives.

He spent the rest of the evening reading; the other boys would return late from the festivities in the Great Hall. Besides, they had learnt not to intrude on Harry’s privacy. It was just past eleven when Harry sensed Severus’ return. Earlier than normal, and he wondered if something was wrong. After a brief hesitation he put the book aside and took his invisibility cloak from the chest at the foot of his bed.

He made his way down to the dungeons and Severus’ quarters. Severus always reported to Dumbledore first, and after finding Harry sitting on his doorstep a few times, waiting for him, he’d given Harry the password to his chambers. Harry lit a fire in the fireplace and curled up on one of the couches in front of it. He picked up the Potions manual he’d been reading the last time he was here, and continued where he left off.

Harry still wasn’t sure what he thought about Severus’ spying for Dumbledore. On the one hand he was still angry with Tom, and this kind of betrayal of the Dark Lord pleased him; but on the other hand, Harry had little love for Dumbledore and Severus’ treachery to Tom felt like Severus was betraying Harry as well. Like so many things in his life now, it was all a mess and he tried not to dwell on what he could not change, on what he did not want to become involved in. It was enough that he’d been able to come to a tentative truce with Severus: he needed his time with the Potions Master. Severus was the only one, beside Tom, who really saw Harry for Harry and the Potions Master didn’t seem to want anything from Harry but his company.

It was maybe an hour later when Severus entered his chambers, not at all surprised to find Harry reading on his couch. He shrugged out of his robes, carefully taking a small object wrapped in dark cloth from one of his pockets. He sat down on the couch next to Harry and the serious look on his face made Harry straighten up.

“Is something wrong?”

Harry normally never asked about Severus’ meetings with either Tom or Dumbledore. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to be pulled into the conflict. He didn’t want to be forced to choose. Severus never volunteered information either, other than that first time when he’d said Tom did care for Harry, in his own way. Their conversations were rather on school topics, Quidditch, Potions, and the like.

Severus glanced down at the round package in his hands before answering.

“Not exactly. Voldemort gave me this: it’s a Christmas present for you. Albus – The Headmaster was reluctant to allow me to give it to you, it took some convincing.” He offered the bundle to Harry, but Harry made no move to take it. This was the first communication from Tom, the first attempt as far as he was aware. For three months he had had no word from Tom, not through Severus, not through anybody else.

“What is it?” he asked, looking straight into Severus’ dark eyes as the Potions Master continued to hold the gift out to him.

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me, and Albus could not open it. The Headmaster checked it for spells; there don’t seem to be any dark spells on it, nothing that will harm you. We’re sure it isn’t a portkey, Albus was very thorough in checking for that.”

Harry hesitated. A Christmas gift from Tom. But did he really want to accept something from the man who had murdered his parents, who had attempted to murder him?

“You think I should have it?”

Severus breathed deeply and then nodded. “The choice is yours, but I had to offer it to you. He would know otherwise, that’s why Albus finally agreed.”

“Will he get angry with you if I don’t accept it?”

“He might. But it’s your decision. He said the gift would explain things, and that he means you no harm.”

Harry bit his lip and then reached out to take the bundle from Severus. He could at least have a look; there wasn’t any harm in looking, was there?

He unfolded the dark cloth to reveal a perfect sphere made of dark wood. There were intricate carvings on the outside and Harry carefully turned the globe round in his hands, looking for a way to open it. He looked up at Severus questioningly, but the other man shook his head slightly to indicate he didn’t know how to open it either. After a minute Harry took out his wand and placed the sphere on the coffee table in front of them. Severus pulled his own wand and was eyeing the mysterious gift cautiously as Harry tapped the tip of his wand to the wood.

“Alohamora.”

Vertical lines appeared along the orb’s surface, and the wood fell in parts aside, revealing the globe’s content.

A small diamond and black patterned snake uncoiled and flicked its tongue to taste its surroundings as its crimson eyes immediately focused on Harry.

“Are you Master Harry?” it asked, ignoring Severus who had backed away slightly but still kept his wand trained on the serpent.

Slowly Harry nodded. “I am Harry. Who are you?”

The snake rubbed its scales against each other in a pleased fashion before slithering to the edge of the table.

“I am yours.”

“What is your name?”

“I am yours to name, Master Harry. I am a gift from Thomas; I have a message for you. Will you hear it?”

Harry glanced aside at Severus who was watching them. He looked back at the snake and nodded.

“Thomas says he is sorry that he hurt you. He regrets killing your parents, and he regrets trying to kill you. But, he says, he does not regret abducting you, getting to know you; he does not regret caring for you. He is sorry for causing you pain; all he wanted was for you to have a happy childhood, like you both talked about. He is glad to hear you are doing well in your studies; he is proud of you and says he always will be.

“Thomas does not ask your forgiveness for something that is unforgivable, but he wants you to know that he never lied to you when he said he cared, when he said he loved you. Thomas wants you to be happy. Thomas says he realises that you will be happiest at Hogwarts at the moment. He wishes you good luck and fun at school. He hopes you make many more friends.”

The little serpent paused for a moment, and continued when it saw Harry was indeed still listening.

“Thomas promises he will not interfere. You are safe to stay at Hogwarts, he will not take you away, and he will do nothing to Hogwarts until you have finished your schooling. He will not try to persuade you to join him. Thomas says you are to make up your own mind; he will not attempt to unduly influence your choice, and you will only have to choose once you’ve finished school. He wants you to have a happy childhood unlike he had.

“Thomas loves you and he wants you to be happy.”

Its speech finished the serpent watched Harry expectantly. Harry breathed deeply and closed his eyes.

A truce. Tom was offering him a truce. Harry would be free and safe from Voldemort until he graduated; Harry was free to use that time to make up his mind. And Tom cared enough to give him that freedom. A knot in his stomach, a tension that had been bothering him ever since he’d learnt of Voldemort’s part in his parent’s death, seemed to dissolve and for the first time in three months Harry felt at ease. Tom would not come for him, would not force him to choose, at least not for the next three and a half years.

Harry realised he was smiling, and he reached out to pick up Tom’s gift. The small snake slithered onto the palms of his hands and then wound itself around his left forearm. He looked up at Severus who was watching the both of them warily.

“A truce. He is not going to attempt kidnapping me again; he is not going to attempt anything against Hogwarts until I’ve graduated.” He looked down at the snake wrapped around his arm and gently stroked a finger along its scales. A small smile tugged at his lips. Tom always knew the right thing to do.

Severus nodded, a look of relief on his face, and he put his wand away.

“What’s its name?”

Harry frowned. “She hasn’t got one yet. I’m supposed to name her.”

Severus’ lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Harry nodded and then stood up.

“It’s late; I guess I should be going, you’re probably tired.”

“A little. Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Smiling Harry leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Severus’ cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Severus,” he said with a grin before pulling the invisibility cloak over himself. Severus shook his head and held the door open for him to leave.

The corridors were empty and silent on his way back to Gryffindor tower. All the students would have returned to their dorms by now and be fast asleep. So he was surprised when somebody said his name as he slipped in through the portrait hole to the common room.

“Harry.”

Ginny was sitting on one of the couches in front of the fire. She must have been staring at the fire, there wasn’t a book in sight and except for their presence there was nobody else. She’d looked up and didn’t seem surprised at all by the fact the portrait had opened to admit seemingly nobody. Harry nearly checked to see if the cloak was still covering him, but then remembered that she’d probably had experience with the other Harry using it. After a moment’s hesitation he dropped the cloak and sat down on one of the other couches.

“The others have already gone to bed,” she said. She avoided looking at him, had averted her gaze the moment he’d dropped the cloak.

Harry joined her in her staring into the fire, idly stroking the snake coiled around his left forearm. What should he call her? At Ginny’s gasp he looked up to find her half standing and staring wide-eyed at the snake.

“It’s all right, she won’t hurt you. Do you want to touch her?” Harry looked at the snake. “This is Ginny, you’re not to bite her.”

“Yes, Master.”

Ginny continued to stare at him, making no move to sit back down let alone touch the snake.

“You speak Parseltongue?”

Harry frowned and then nodded. He’d forgotten about that. During his search for more information on Tom in the library he’d discovered that being able to talk to snakes was a rare ability. It was considered to be dark and until Tom Marvolo Riddle there had been no Parseltongues for centuries. He’d never noticed that he was speaking in a different language, but it did explain some stilted conversations with Severus. He still wondered why the Potions master had never told him. But then again, maybe Severus thought he knew. Or Tom had told him not to, that was also a possibility of course.

“Yes.” There was not much else to say.

Ginny eyed the snake cautiously but when it made no sudden moves and just lay there languidly coiled around Harry’s forearm she carefully sat down next to him on the couch. With a determined look she slowly reached out to touch it. She said a small ‘Oh’ when the snake moved beneath her fingers.

“What’s her name?”

“She doesn’t have one; I’m supposed to give her a name.”

“Do you have any idea yet?”

“No. Do you know any good snake names?”

They both laughed and then fell into thoughtful silence.

“What about Sandra?”

“From Cassandra? Kind of an ominous name, don’t you think?”

Ginny shrugged and Harry lifted the snake to his face.

“How would you like to be called Cassandra, little snake? Is that a good name for you?”

The snake twisted around his arm and flicked her tail a moment. “Yes, Cassandra, I like that name. A good choice, Master.”

Harry grinned and looked back at Ginny. “She likes your idea.”

“I’m glad. Where did you get her?”

Harry hesitated a moment before answering, but he figured if there was anyone beside Severus who would understand, it would be Ginny. She’d had Tom’s diary for months. “She was a gift from Tom.”

“Oh.” Ginny bit her lip and looked away. Harry didn’t know what else to say so he just watched Cassandra as he stroked her head.

“They don’t trust me anymore,” Ginny said all of a sudden. “Not that they think I’ll suddenly start killing Muggleborns and such, but… You-Know-Who is alive again because of me, I’ve got his ruddy mark on my arm, and then to top it off my boyfriend turns out to be the Death Eater traitor responsible for the death of the Boy-Who-Lived’s parents!”

“Hey,” Harry said and he reached out to touch her shoulder.

“I can’t go anywhere without people watching me, waiting for me to slip up and show that I knew what was going on. That I meant to help You-Know-Who, that I knew Harry – That I knew it was Pettigrew!” She laughed bitterly and Harry felt uncomfortable. It was clear this had been wanting to come out for a while, just his luck that it had to happen with him. Although, he guessed he was probably the only one who might understand. “And you want to know what the worst part of this mess is? I miss them both. Merlin, I was so stupid. I trusted Tom and he used me. I trusted Harry and he used me. They both lied to me and I loved them and I miss them and –”

“Shh, Ginny.” He pulled her into his arms and let her cry against his chest. “Shh, it’s going to be all right.” Harry didn’t really know what else to say, he understood her pain, understood the conflicting feelings. And while Tom had used him, had lied to him, he knew Tom did love him. He doubted Tom had loved Ginny, or even really cared about her. He remembered that dream of over a year ago, remembered Pettigrew pleading for Ginny’s life. Pettigrew. Maybe if he told her about Wormtail…

“I used to dream about Wo – about Pettigrew. When he was here at Hogwarts I mean.” Ginny had stopped crying but she stayed where she was, Harry found his arms settling around her shoulders as he continued talking. “It was mainly when he and Voldemort were in each others presence, so in first year I only ever dreamt of his DADA classes, sometimes when he was in the Great Hall. After Quirrell was killed I didn’t dream of him for a long time, not until you got Tom’s diary. Then I’d dream of him whenever you two were together and you had the diary with you.

It wasn’t exactly as if I dreamed I was him, but I’d feel that way, know what he knew, feel what he felt. And when you were in the Chamber of Secrets, when Tom was going to kill you, Peter stopped him. He did save your life then.”

Harry paused a moment, but Ginny didn’t move, didn’t tell him to stop or ask him to continue.

“After Tom returned to me I hardly ever dreamt of Peter again, only when his emotions were really strong and vivid, and then it wasn’t as clear as the other dreams had been. I remember one dream around Christmas time.”

Ginny giggled, slightly hysterically, and Harry chuckled as well, despite himself.

“He didn’t lie when he said he loved you. Peter really did. When he died… I remember when the Dementors…” Harry hesitated, but Ginny was looking at him now, obviously wanting him to continue.

“We’re not the same person, I am nothing like him. But the Harry you got to know, you cared about, he did exist, it just wasn’t me. That was Peter. I guess one of the reasons Voldemort made him take my place was because he’d known my parents, but I remember – Toward the end, before Tom left the diary, he didn’t want to serve Voldemort anymore, he was happy here, with his life, my life. Dumbledore doesn’t know I know, but I dreamt about a few of their meetings. Dumbledore knew I was with Voldemort, but he’d have preferred to keep Peter pretending to be me. He’d promised to protect Peter, promised Peter he could keep my life, that he could keep you and all his friends.”

Harry took a deep breath and calmed his anger. He was getting sidetracked, this wasn’t about him.

“Peter didn’t lie to you, he didn’t use you. And Tom, well, Tom only ever does what he wants, so if he didn’t kill you that was because he didn’t want to.”

Ginny wiped at her eyes and pushed herself upright.

“Thanks.”

Harry’s lips curled into a wry smile.

“I miss Tom too. Even though he murdered my parents; he was my first friend ever, he taught me magic, saved me from the Dursleys. Tom cared for me, about me. Harry. Not the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. Not like everybody else here. They all expect me to be like him, they want to be something I’m not. Even my own godfather would have preferred Wormtail’s interpretation of “Harry Potter” to me.”

“You and Harry are nothing alike.”

“Finally, someone’s noticed I’m not him. And I don’t want to be him either.”

Harry paused and when he continued his voice was subdued.

“I know Tom killed my parents, but – I never knew them, they didn’t raise me, the Dursleys did. Tom and Severus and Nagini did. I know Tom isn’t “good”, I already knew that. I’d read the papers about what he and his Death Eaters did in the seventies. I know Voldemort killed people, and I know Tom’s Voldemort as much as Voldemort’s Tom. But, it didn’t matter. He loved me, he would never have hurt me, and I didn’t care. Tom –”

“He’s a Dark Lord, he destroyed so many and is going to destroy many more if he’s not stopped!”

“Yes, but, he was, he is good to me. And he had his reasons.”

“You mean you actually believe all that pureblood crap?”

“It’s not like that, we’ve discussed it, and he explained it to me. Blood doesn’t matter, I mean, Tom’s father was a Muggle, he’s a half-blood himself. My mother was Muggleborn. It’s just, Muggles, they wouldn’t understand, they’re dangerous and the less we have to do with them the better.”

“I don’t think the Dursleys are representative for all Muggles. Although I’ll admit they are extremely horrid. My brothers even had to rescue Harry at the beginning of his second year; they’d barred his window and weren’t going to let him return to Hogwarts.”

Harry chuckled briefly at the image. He still believed Wormtail had deserved everything that came his way, but he didn’t want to upset Ginny.

“I know that, but I agree with Tom, contact with the Muggle world is too dangerous – the risk of exposure now is too great. But it doesn’t matter, I’m not getting involved. Tom’s promised me he will not approach me before I’ve graduated from Hogwarts. I’m not going to let myself be manipulated into this conflict between him and Dumbledore. I’m fourteen years old! I don’t want to fight a war, or be the rallying point to either side, and definitely not against Tom.”
They were silent and Harry noticed Ginny rubbing at the bandage around her left forearm.

“Can I see it?”

She looked up.

“The Dark Mark, will you show me?”

Ginny’s hand tightened around the bandaging, but she nodded slowly, dropping both hands in her lap. Harry gently unwrapped her arm to reveal the black skull and snake. Ginny looked away and there was a grimace on her face. Harry traced the tattoo with his fingertips; Severus had never let him see his. When Harry didn’t say anything, just lightly touched the drawing, Ginny looked down at it as well, watching his fingers.

“You’re the first one to not look at it in disgust or pity.”

Harry smiled and let Ginny’s wrist go, she made no move to cover it up.

“It’s a connection to Tom.”

“It’s ugly; he’s branded me for life.”

Harry shrugged; there was little he could say to that. “He hasn’t used it, has he?”

Ginny shook her head no.

“Every now and then it kind of aches, I have to notify the Headmaster then,” she hesitated. “But I don’t always, I don’t know why. I should – But Tom –”

“I understand.” He understood better than anybody else, save maybe Severus. The lure and addiction that was Tom Riddle, his charisma and the way he could make you feel, good or bad. He’d killed Harry’s parents but Harry knew he could not hate him for it. It hurt, that betrayal, the lie, but there was no point dwelling on the past. For the next three and a half years he would be free from Tom’s influence, free to make up his own mind. With a small smile Harry stood up, his fingers briefly stroking Cassie who was still coiled around his left forearm, her head resting where Severus’ and Ginny’s Dark Mark were burned.

“I’m going to bed. Don’t worry, Ginny, it’s all going to turn out okay.”

Ginny was wrapping her arm up again. “I wish I shared your optimism, Harry,” but there was an upward twist to her lips and her words weren’t bitter.

Just as he reached the stairs leading to the Gryffindor fourth year boys’ dorm Ginny called out to him. “Harry? Thanks for listening; I’m sorry about my brothers behaviour.”

“That’s all right. Merry Christmas, Ginny.”

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

There was of course a backlash when the rest of the school found out about Harry’s new pet, not to mention the fact he spoke Parseltongue. Whispers behind his back that he was in league with the Dark Lord, that he was just another impostor. Even the Headmaster could not convince the Gryffindors to pick up their attempts to befriend Harry.

Harry didn’t mind, he ignored the rumours and innuendo. Instead he concentrated on his classes, on playing Quidditch and the thrill of flying and catching the snitch, on Potions with Severus. He was determined to not get involved, determined to make the most of these few years of unknown and unparalleled freedom, just like Tom wanted him to.

Every now and then he would spend an early morning talking with Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, unbeknownst to her brothers and the rest of the school. Occasionally she’d join him in the library and the small study group he’d set up after forming a few, tentative, friendships with a number of Ravenclaws and Huffelpuffs. She’d tease him that he should have been sorted into Ravenclaw, and Harry agreed. If only Dumbledore had given him some time to calm down, to think, then he wouldn’t have let himself so easily be placed in his predecessor’s, in his parents’ house. But in the end it didn’t matter, Harry knew what Dumbledore wanted and he was not going to give it to him; he was not going to become the Headmaster’s puppet in the war against Tom. Instead he was going to study and be happy and enjoy himself as long as he could.

CHOOSING LOYALTIES

Severus was woken by a house-elf at six thirty in the morning. Still half asleep he went to his workrooms to see to a number of potions he’d been commissioned to brew for either the Order or Voldemort. As he passed the benches Harry had appropriated over the past years his lips formed a small smile and his habitual scowl lessened. At seven forty five he had a quick shower and got dressed for breakfast in the Great Hall from eight until eight thirty with the rest of the staff.

His colleagues had long ago learnt not to bother the dour Potions master in the mornings, although Albus happily ignored Severus’ fierce scowl and pointed barbs. Ever since Voldemort’s return Albus insisted that Severus sit next to him at mealtimes. It was no use trying to argue with the Headmaster, and even if Severus would never admit it, he enjoyed Albus’ conversation and inane chatter.

On days that Severus felt particularly drained Albus would smile at him and brush his fingers over Severus’, his touch lingering just a little longer than appropriate when he asked Severus to pass the salt. His hand would briefly rest on Severus thigh, or he’d push a lock of Severus’ now glossy hair behind his ear. Severus would accompany the Headmaster to his office after breakfast; they would walk arm in arm even though Albus hardly needed the support. But Severus relished the quiet intimacy, the companionship, and he experienced it as the promise it was. A promise of more, of again, of this time he would not be discarded.

Severus fit as much grading and prep work as he could in between lessons, in every spare moment he could find, however few they were. During classes he would attempt to teach ungrateful, unappreciative brats the subtle art of Potions. At least his Slytherins knew better than to come unprepared and they did well enough. In a way he was grateful for his teaching; it allowed him to vent his anger and frustration on the annoying, incompetent, arrogant little bastards. It wasn’t the same without Potter, but just having Longbottom in his class provided sufficient ammunition to torment them all.

Thankfully Harry was not in any of his ordinary classes, he wouldn’t have been able to teach Harry that way. He didn’t know what he would have done. His time with Harry, often lunch hours spent together in his private workrooms – the both of them were fiddling around with their own projects and helping each other – were brief snatches of peace and contentment. It was different from his time with Albus, but no less treasured.

Before dinner, Severus would work his way through all the work he could, because invariably before he had finished desert the Dark Mark would flare up causing him to grimace in pain and clutch his arm. He’d make his excuses, he had long ago made a deal with Filch for the caretaker to oversee all his detentions, and hurry to his chambers to grab cloak and mask. Severus would hurry down now oft used corridors, along hidden paths into the Forbidden Forest where he would apparate to Riddle Mansion.

Voldemort would either be in his library with Nagini, researching something he kept securely secret from Severus’ discrete snooping, or the Dark Lord would be downstairs in one of the large rooms holding court with various Death Eaters. Severus would wait until he was acknowledged, in the meantime his eyes and ears open and registering every detail, every snippet of conversation. Then he’d give Voldemort the potions he’d ordered and Voldemort would dismiss the others so that they could talk in private.

“How is Harry doing? Is he well?”

The same question every time and Severus would answer honestly, filling the Dark Lord in on Harry’s latest adventures. He got an A in Transfiguration; he made Seeker on the Gryffindor team; he has made friends with a number of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs; his Potions experiments are doing well; he improved the Wolfsbane potion; he is spending the summer at Hogwarts again; he has a girlfriend, a Ravenclaw by the name of Cho Chang; Gryffindor beat Slytherin; Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw; he is keeping his distance from Albus Dumbledore; he has a boyfriend, a Hufflepuff by the name of Justin Finch-Fletchly; he has to serve two weeks of detention with Filch for hexing one of his fellow Gryffindors (Ron Weasley); he has to serve one week of detention for hexing one of the Slytherins (Draco Malfoy); he is cheating on his boyfriend with Virginia Weasley; Gryffindor beat Hufflepuff; he fought with his godfather again; he spends most of his time in the library with his study group; he has a girlfriend, a Hufflepuff by the name of Susan Bones; his NEWT preparations are coming along well; he’s had an offer from a Quidditch club to fly for them once he’s graduated; he’s sleeping with Draco Malfoy, but using a mild memory charm to prevent the Slytherin from telling anyone; he got an A in Arithmancy.

Voldemort would listen and his face would not betray a thought. When Severus was finished he’d sit there petting Nagini, talking to her in Parseltongue, probably discussing their wayward charge’s exploits. Invariably after a while Voldemort would shoo Nagini from the room, or take Severus somewhere else, and they’d fuck.

Voldemort would bend him over the couch, the table, press him against the wall and fuck him roughly from behind, biting his neck and clawing at his side. Severus would fall to his knees and suck the Dark Lord as Voldemort played with his hair until he grunted and came down Severus’ throat. The Dark Lord would rest against the headboard of his bed and lazily stroke his cock as Severus fucked himself on his own fingers, his wand, before finally being allowed to lower himself onto Voldemort’s cock and bring the powerful wizard to climax. Severus abased himself and worshipped Voldemort’s body. Severus would be left begging for release, begging for pity, and he would cry in gratitude when Voldemort, in his mercy, let him come. Voldemort’s pleasure was paramount, but Severus could not deceive himself: he enjoyed the sex, and in a way looked forward to being called, to being touched and fucked and used and pleasured.

Afterwards, Voldemort would dismiss him and Severus only dared to cast a cleaning charm when he reappeared in the Forbidden Forest. But he could still feel the Dark Lord’s touch, could still taste Voldemort’s come on his tongue and feel it warm inside him. Shivering, he would make his way along hidden paths and now oft used corridors to the Headmaster’s study. Humiliation and self-disgust and loathing rising within him as he was subjected to the Pensieveritaserum each and every time, forced to relive every sordid detail of his weakness, his shame, in front of the one man he had ever trusted.

Afterwards, Severus would clench his hands to fists and bite back the bitter remarks. But then Albus would pull him close, would whisper in his ear he was forgiven, that Albus understood his sacrifice and wished it weren’t necessary. Albus would gently touch his cheek, uncurl Severus’ fists and entwine their hands. And then he would press his lips to Severus in a chaste kiss, making Severus’ ache in need for Albus’ tenderness and love, before whispering in Severus’ ear, telling him it was late and time for bed.

The castle was cold and if the students knew what was best for them they made sure they never bumped into the Potions master as he slowly made his way through the corridors to his dungeon quarters. Weary to the bone, tired in his soul, Severus entered his chambers and looked at the clock. One in the morning. And he still had to brew damned Lupin’s Wolfsbane. A note on his desk made him pause on his way to his workrooms.

‘Hi Severus, don’t worry about Remus’ potion: I finished it this evening and gave it to him. Sweet dreams, Harry.’

Severus picked up the small vial of baby blue liquid next to the note. He peeled away the stopper, recognizing Harry’s seal, and smelled the sweet potion. A small part of the tension inside him relaxed and Severus smiled. Discarding cloak, mask and robes on the floor he crawled into his empty bed, drank the potion and fell asleep with the vial in his hand.

It was reasonably early on Friday evening when Severus finally made his way back to his quarters. The fact that it was still before midnight did not mean the Potions master was any less tired. Classes had been a disaster, two exploded cauldrons and a classroom that had to be thoroughly cleaned (non-magically) before it could be used again. Combining Slytherin and Gryffindor for Potions was insanity. A nasty smile briefly graced Severus lips; he’d assigned nearly all of the Gryffindor seventh years to detention this weekend as punishment for Longbottom’s incompetence. Filch would make sure the brats rid his classroom of every last glob of the magic neutralizer. Mr Malfoy had been suitably dressed down (in private, not in front of the Gryffindors of course) and all Hogsmeade privileges revoked.

Severus grimaced and rubbed his temples, trying to stave off the ever lurking headache. He snorted in bitter amusement and rolled his shoulders. When he stretched his back, he grimaced at the aches all through his body his visit to Voldemort had left him with. The ache in his soul lingering from his debriefing with Albus was not much better. The shame and humiliation of having Albus witness what he did with Voldemort was made worse by Albus’ forgiving touches and words. There was at least one positive side to the Headmaster’s preoccupation with the more carnal aspects of his meetings with Voldemort: it had enabled him to find a way around the Pensieveritaserum. Using his skills at Occlumency he’d been able to separate a few memories and a little knowledge and by ignoring it, and instead actively trying to hide the memories of Voldemort fucking him, he focused Albus’ attention on his abasement so that the Headmaster would not notice the small part of his mind he kept private. It was not much he was keeping hidden, not much that he could without arousing suspicion, but enough to maintain his sanity.

Whispering the password to his rooms Severus wistfully contemplated taking a long hot bath. Cleaning spells only did so much, and he imagined he could still feel Voldemort’s hands on him, his seed within him, as well as Albus’ touch and gentle kisses. Both his masters reinforcing the lesson that his body was not his own, his mind was not this own, his life was not his own. But if he bathed in his current state he’d probably fall asleep and drown. Sleep. It was Saturday tomorrow, the weekend. He could only hope that Voldemort did not call him early as he sometimes did. But even if he didn’t there was work to do, potions to make for Poppy, and poisons for Dumbledore and Voldemort.

“Severus.”

He was halfway to his bedroom when the voice made him look up and he saw Harry sitting in his chair by the fire. He hadn’t even noticed his apprentice. Severus managed a tired smile and changed direction, dropping gracelessly onto the couch – so tired – but he always had time for Harry. So tired, but he was still grateful for the boy, the young man’s presence.

“Harry. How are your NEWT preparations coming along?”

“Good, Transfiguration sucks, but what’s new?” Harry set aside the book he’d been studying and indicated the tea set out on the table. “Or would you like something else?”

Severus shook his head. “No, thank you.” He’d had enough tea during his debriefings with Albus to last him a lifetime. They were silent and Severus revelled in the peace Harry’s presence brought. Harry, who was just there, did not demand anything from him, just wanted to spend time with him. If nothing else, at least Voldemort’s return had brought him Harry.

“You look tired.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. Merlin, he was exhausted, had been feeling exhausted for what felt like years now. There was a sound and he reluctantly opened his eyes again to watch Harry walk over to him with a determined look on his face. Amused, he raised an eyebrow as Harry settled himself on the couch next to Severus, legs pulled up beneath him and an intent furrow in his brow.

“You should relax a little,” he said decisively. Severus’ eyebrow went up even higher, a tired and amused smile forming on his lips.

“Oh?”

Harry nodded and reached out to push a lock of Severus’ glossy black hair behind an ear. His hand stayed where it was and gently stroked Severus’ cheek. Knowing he shouldn’t, knowing he should put a stop to this right now, Severus leaned into the touch. “Yes.”

Severus had lost track of their conversation, all he could concentrate on was the sight of Harry slowly leaning into him. Harry’s lips neared his own and Harry’s bright green eyes hypnotized him. Severus’ lips parted in anticipation, a noiseless sigh.

“Is this all right?” Harry paused at the last moment, his lips so close that Severus could feel the whisper of the young man’s breath against his mouth as he talked. He didn’t answer, instead just leaned forward and closed the distance, finally, finally kissing Harry. He’d not allowed himself to want this, to want him, for so long.

They kissed open-mouthed, their lips touching and briefly catching each other, the briefest touch of tongue. Severus’ eyes were open and he stared into Harry’s green eyes, watched the boy close his eyes and smile. Harry pressed their lips together, darted his tongue into Severus’ mouth. Tongues tangled and played, and Severus did not close his eyes. He had to see, had to know this was real. Harry opened his eyes again, and Severus was briefly reminded of Voldemort. But there were crinkles around Harry’s eyes, a suppressed smile that reached his eyes nonetheless.

“Harry.” Harry swallowed his sigh, coaxed his tongue into following it back into Harry’s mouth. A moment of doubt, could Harry taste Albus and was he repulsed? Could Harry taste Voldemort and was that who Harry was really kissing? But he ruthlessly suppressed those thoughts and closed his eyes as Harry’s mouth left his and wandered over his cheek to his ear. “Severus.”

Severus brought his hands up and rested them on Harry’s shoulders, moved them down his arms, his chest, touching him. It was real, this was Harry, it was really happening. They moved on the couch, Severus onto his back lying down as Harry slid one leg between his thighs and rested his weight on his arms to either side of Severus’ body.

“Is this all right?” Severus just nodded, pressing light kisses to the side of Harry’s face. They moved again so that Severus was on his side against the back of the couch, warm and safe with Harry in front of him. His eyes were still closed, he was so tired he didn’t think he could open them again, but it didn’t matter. He could hear Harry’s sighs; he could smell that distinct scent that was just Harry; he could feel Harry’s body against his, Harry’s hands slipping into and beneath Severus’ robes; he could taste him as Harry brought their lips together again. Severus ran one hand through Harry’s hair, holding his head cradled to keep their mouths together – not that Harry made any moves to stop kissing him. When air became an issue they would resume their open-mouthed, nipping kisses.

He leaned into the touch of Harry’s hand as it moved down his chest and then drew small circles on his stomach. There was a chuckle in his ear when he nearly purred with contentment. “Harry,” he sighed. Severus copied Harry’s movements, although unable to burrow into the younger man’s clothes in his exhausted state, and he traced Seeker hard muscle through the cloth. Then he moved his hand further south and palmed the hard erection pressing against the constraints of Harry’s robes. Harry bucked up into the loose grip before fastening his mouth to Severus’ again and ravishing him, grinding against him. Severus groaned and massaged Harry’s cock. Harry moved the hand on Severus’ stomach downward to grasp Severus’ limp prick.

Severus froze and opened eyelids that still felt weighted down with lead. Only now did Severus realise the absence of his own arousal; he’d been too preoccupied with the joy of Harry here, Harry touching him, kissing him, to focus on his own body’s lack of response. Voldemort’s summons had of course included sex, right after a report on how Harry was doing in school. Severus did not have the teenage body the Dark Lord had, and Voldemort had already taken all Severus could give that night. Harry must be aware of that. He opened his mouth to say ‘it’s all right’, ‘it doesn’t matter’, ‘you can still have me; you can use me like that’. Even though it was not what he wanted from Harry, wanted with Harry. But it didn’t matter in the end; he would give Harry anything he wanted. The nagging, bitter voice of self-loathing in his mind reminded him that his body was still relaxed, would easily receive another after all Voldemort had done to him tonight. Not that this was any different from all the other nights he’d been summoned by Voldemort.

“It’s all right. It doesn’t matter.” Harry was whispering in his ear, tracing his face with kisses as his hand moved from Severus’ quiescent cock to rest on his hip instead. “There’s no rush. You’re tired, you need to sleep. Sleep.”

Severus couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer to save his life. He gripped Harry’s clothes, tried to hold onto him, not wanting to let him escape.

“Stay.”

“Shh, Severus. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake up. Sleep, Severus. Somnus.”

When Severus woke up it was late in the morning and he was naked. He was naked and pressed against an equally naked Harry. All of a sudden it didn’t matter that he’d overslept and consequently a number of potions had been ruined. He revelled in the feeling of a for once well-rested body. The dungeons were always cold, no matter the time of day or year, but he was snug and warm in this little cocoon of peace he shared with Harry and he was not about to get up and leave this haven.

Harry had rested his head on Severus’ chest and slung one arm around the Potions master, holding him like some overgrown stuffed toy. It had been so long since he’d shared a bed with Harry, and then he’d always felt guilty and ashamed. Not to mention the fact that Voldemort slept between them. Severus wondered if he still did. They never talked about the Dark Lord, and Severus had no idea how Harry felt about Tom Riddle. He ran a hand down Harry’s back, gently stroking his skin. Harry sighed and snuggled closer, pressing his morning erection against Severus’ thigh; Severus felt himself respond equally.

“Hmmm, Severus. Are you awake?”

Severus smiled and pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead. “I am. Are you?”

“Oh, definitely.” Slitted green eyes looked up at him, sparkling with mischief. “I’m up, and so, it would seem, are you.”

Harry moved himself up Severus’ body a few inches and kissed his lips, insinuating one leg between Severus’ and pressing it against the Potions master’s rapidly awakening cock. They kissed for a while, until Severus rolled them over, pinning Harry beneath him.

“What about Mr Malfoy? I distinctly remember you going out with him.”

Harry made a face and waved his hand briefly. “Draco? Broke up with him; Ginny didn’t want to share anymore.”

Severus raised an eyebrow and Harry laughed before pulling Severus down for more kisses.

“Don’t worry, Severus. I’m not bored; you don’t think I’d use you like that? I want this, I want you. If you want me, that is.”

“Of course I want you, silly boy.” And that was enough talking. Severus didn’t want to think about Harry’s possible motives for doing this. He knew he could trust him; he would not doubt Harry, would not doubt or question this gift.

They moved against each other. He brought Harry’s hand down between them, curled it together with his around both their straining erections. Harry tangled his other hand in Severus’ hair while Severus kept his weight on his other arm. They kissed, the pace suddenly picking up until Harry gasped and came. Severus watched the details of Harry’s face raptly as it contorted in pleasure; the brief look of surprise and the way his eyelids fluttered as he slowly came down. Not taking his eyes off the young man Severus steadily moved in Harry’s loosened grasp, hand slick with semen. Then Harry opened his eyes and looked up at Severus with the most beautiful smile Severus had ever seen. “Severus.” It was a sigh, but enough to send Severus over the edge. His rhythm stuttered as he came, mixing his release with Harry’s, warm and sticky between them.

Gracelessly he collapsed and then rolled to the side, his weight off the younger wizard. Harry moved with him, putting his arms around Severus’ neck as Severus put his arms around Harry. Neither made a move to clean up or cast a spell, something for which Severus was grateful. He’d begun to hate the sudden loss of warmth, the cold detachment of cleaning spells.

“I think I’ll sleep here from now on,” Harry murmured against his neck and Severus ran his hands through Harry’s unruly black hair.

“That would be nice, but they’d notice.” Severus couldn’t help himself from briefly entertaining that fantasy, of always waking up to Harry in his bed. It was nice, if entirely unrealistic. Merlin, both sides would kill him for this.

He must have said that out loud because Harry moved back a little so he could look at Severus. “I’ll protect you. I won’t let anybody harm you, Severus. Neither of them.”

Severus smiled and pressed a brief kiss to Harry’s scar. “Thank you.”

Harry frowned suspiciously and nodded. “I mean it.” Then he squirmed to find a comfortable position and they ended up the same way Severus had awoken to: his arms around Harry as Harry rested half on him, his head on Severus’ chest. He trailed a hand through the hair on Severus’ chest, tugging at it gently and then drawing patterns around one nipple. Severus closed his eyes and shivered.

“Was this why you took me away from Tom?”

Severus opened his eyes again, but Harry was grinning. “Admit it, you were jealous.” His lips twitched, it always amazed him how Harry could discuss such things in a light manner. Because it was a serious question, one that he’d sometimes asked himself in darker moments. Had his desire to remove Harry from Voldemort’s influence been purely from selfish motivations? Had he desired Harry then as well? Although admittedly Harry was still extremely young, certainly compared to the more than forty years Severus now counted.

“I never thanked you for it,” Harry said, and this time his voice was contemplative. “I know why you did it, and I’m grateful. This way I could make up my own mind, if I’d stayed with Tom… I would never have known otherwise, never have been able to make a choice. You gave me that choice, thank you.”

Severus didn’t ask whether Harry had already made his choice, he was pretty sure the boy hadn’t. And it didn’t matter; at least the boy was free to make up his own mind. Severus was envious of that freedom, but didn’t want to think of his own situation. In this moment with Harry he was free. He’d slept with the Boy-Who-Lived, with Voldemort’s favourite, and that act of defiance gave him a sense of freedom in itself.

“If we stay like this much longer we’ll be stuck together,” and what wouldn’t Severus give to never let Harry go? “Will you join me in the shower?”

“How about we take a bath instead, I’m sure there’re lots of fun things we can do.” The mischief was back in Harry’s eyes and he ran one finger along Severus’ sensitive prick. Which was perking up and showing an interest. Oh well, Voldemort didn’t require that he be able to ‘perform’, and he was a Potions master after all.

It was the last week of school and all the seventh years were busy taking their NEWTS. It was a Wednesday afternoon and the last time Voldemort had summoned Severus had been that Sunday. Because Severus’ presence at Hogwarts was required the entire week, the Dark Lord had not summoned him during this period the past three years, and so it wasn’t remarkable he did not do so now. There was no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary, but Severus knew better.

The past few months Voldemort had begun including Severus in his plans again, had revealed a little of his strategies for the upcoming battle. And it was this knowledge, together with Severus’ affair with Harry, which Severus had kept hidden from Albus. The Headmaster still thought that Voldemort was only using the Potions master to gain information on Harry and as a fuck-toy. Severus didn’t know why he’d kept this information hidden from Albus, whether out of resentment for Albus’ manipulation or out of an earnest wavering of his loyalty to the Headmaster. Because Voldemort wasn’t the man he’d been twenty years ago, and his plans did make sense to Severus.

Severus remembered Voldemort as he had been before that fateful Avada had rebounded and left him disembodied. He’d been cruel and megalomaniac, psychotic even. And to a degree he still was, he had lost none of his ruthless drive for power and immortality, but he had lost some of his impulsiveness and most importantly: his senseless sadism. He was still quick to use Cruciatus, but rarely unprovoked these past few years, and always to make a point. While in the past he had called for the eradication of Muggles, for their enslavement, he now desired total segregation. The Dark Lord had been unusually quiet until the beginning of Harry’s seventh year. He had done research and talked with many of his followers, talked to many powerful wizards and witches to gain their support. Severus did not know the details, had been kept entirely in the dark, but he was now slowly beginning to see the results of Voldemort’s careful planning.

This did not mean that Severus desired to see Voldemort succeed and gain power over all of wizarding Britain. Incompetent though Fudge and the Ministry might be the Aurors did not go around kidnapping and assassinating those who opposed them. After two and a half years of inactivity Voldemort had returned with a vengeance at the end of Harry’s sixth year. Just before the Hogwarts Express had arrived at Platform 9 ¾ at the beginning of the holidays, Voldemort had swamped the station with Dementors. The train had had to return to Hogsmeade, and there was panic and pandemonium for days. A few Aurors had been kissed before the Dementors disappeared as mysteriously and suddenly as they had appeared, but there had been no further casualties and Severus doubted whether the Dark Lord had intended there to be. Voldemort had succeeded in gaining the wizarding world’s attention: he was back and he was not to be underestimated.

There had been no large attacks like that again, but a number of key Ministry officials had disappeared or simply been assassinated, and everybody was holding their breath in suspense, waiting for Voldemort’s next move. As the year progressed the Order of the Phoenix mobilized itself, focusing its attention on Hogwarts’ defence. Severus had had to tell Albus what Voldemort’s message to Harry had been, and with Harry’s graduation nearing fast, and thus the asylum on Hogwarts ending soon, there was little doubt that whatever Voldemort planned to do, it would be happening soon.

It would be happening Friday night to be precise. Voldemort had summoned the entire inner circle that Sunday and unfolded his plans to attack Hogwarts. Severus knew that the others were busy preparing, gathering the Dark Lord’s forces, ensuring the loyalty of the Dementors, vampires, werewolves, and other dark creatures he had gathered to his cause. Severus knew details of Voldemort’s plan of attack, knew where the first strike was going to be, how they were going to bring down the anti-apparition wards. And yet he had told Albus nothing, had concealed this knowledge by taking advantage of the Headmaster’s preoccupation with how the evening had ended: Severus on his knees, Severus on his back with his legs spread.

Severus would be summoned Friday afternoon, after all the exams had been taken. And upon his return that evening he was to secure Harry’s safety during the attack. For while Voldemort was prepared to give Harry a choice on which side to take, at the same time he wanted to prevent Harry getting caught in the fighting. Severus’ time to commit himself to one side was rapidly running out.

At the same time, Albus had not stayed still. He’d been working on a number of ways to defeat the Dark Lord, and he’d ordered Severus to devise a poison that would kill Voldemort and ensure he stayed dead this time. It was this poison that Severus was currently staring at as he slowly stirred it in a figure eight. It was done, a half year of study and trials and he had invented his most ingenious potion, most deadly and powerful poison, yet. Albus knew it was nearly done, knew it would be done before Severus was called again. The next time he was summoned he was to use it.

A bitter laugh crawled its way up Severus’ throat, mirthless and dead. Voldemort’s poisoner and Dumbledore’s whore. Dumbledore’s poisoner and Voldemort’s whore. That was what his life had come to, that was all he had ever seemed to be. He’d had such plans, such ambition as a young man. To be the best in his field, to be respected, to be successful, and what was he now? A puppet, nothing more than a pawn in a conflict between two more powerful wizards. Useful, but in the end expendable. He didn’t blame anyone else for his position, it had been his own, stupid, decisions that had led him down this path, put him in this situation.

He couldn’t afford this indecision, but was unable to make a choice; both his masters’ hold on him equal in strength. How could he make up his own mind when they had both trapped him in their spells and charm and promises?

Severus stirred one final time, then used his wand to raise the cauldron and pour its deadly contents into a flask. He sealed it with green wax and pressed his seal to it. After locking it away in a warded cupboard, he left his workrooms to oversee this year’s Potions NEWTS.

That evening Harry slipped into his chambers as he usually did and they made love on the couch. Severus didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think, just wanted to touch Harry and enjoy this as long as he could. Time was running out for him, for them, and he felt the threat acutely. Harry responded with equal passion and met Severus’ desperation. Severus found himself clinging to Harry, urging him on faster, harder. Harry obliged and Severus knew he would have bruises on his hips from Harry’s grip, but he didn’t care, just tightened his legs and his arms around the young man and met him thrust for thrust.

Afterwards they moved to Severus’ bedroom and lay sated on the bed. Severus stared up at the ceiling as he tried not to think of Voldemort or Dumbledore or the upcoming attack. Harry shifted and rested his chin on his folded hands that rested on Severus’ chest. Severus met that green gaze briefly, managed a weak smile, before averting his eyes again.

“What’s wrong?”

Severus hesitated a moment, but soon found the words spilling from his mouth.

“The Dark Lord is going to attack Hogwarts Friday night.”

He felt Harry become very still, and he looked to see Harry’s expression. It was carefully blank, that otherwise so expressive face revealed nothing. Severus swallowed and looked away again. “Albus ordered me to brew a poison to kill him. It’s finished, and I’m to administer it to him the next time he summons.”

A sharp intake of breath, but when Severus looked again Harry’s expression still revealed nothing and his words were careful.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” It was a whisper, but suddenly Severus couldn’t bear it anymore and he sat up, got out of bed and started pacing. “I don’t know what to do, who to choose. How can I know the Dark Lord’s really changed, you don’t know what he was like before, do I really want to be his slave for the rest of my life? But what is the alternative? Albus promised me last time he would protect me, and I still spent half a year in Azkaban. This time I don’t think anybody with the Dark Mark will be safe. He’s promised himself, but is it what I still want? Will he actually keep his promise this time? If You-Know-Who’s defeated for good, what use can I be to him then? It’s what I’ve wanted for so long, but I can’t remember how much of what we were was ever real, could ever be real again.”

He stopped and looked at Harry who was sitting up and watching him.

“I can feel them both pulling at me, pulling me apart, and I don’t know what to do. How am I to choose?” he repeated in a weary voice.

“I can’t make that decision for you, Severus. It’s your choice, not mine”

Severus closed his eyes, and then opened them startled when he felt Harry’s hand on his arm. Harry was smiling and he pressed Severus’ robes into his hands.

“But I think I can help you make up your own mind, help you find out what you want. Get dressed and follow me.”

They quickly pulled on their robes, staying bare beneath, and Harry refused to answer any questions as he led them through the empty hallways underneath his father’s cloak. They reached a door on the third floor and Harry lifted the wards surrounding it, allowing them to slip inside unnoticed.

Severus looked around and spotted a large object underneath a sheet. He looked questioningly at Harry who just indicated for him to stand in front of it and then pulled away the covering. It was a large mirror, ornately decorated and in its frame the words Erised Stra Ehru Oyt Ube Cafru Oyt On Wohsi were carved. The Mirror of Erised. Harry walked up to him and put his arms around Severus’ waist. “This should help you know your own mind, your own heart.”

Severus nodded and pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips before taking a deep breath and looking into the mirror. At first he thought it didn’t work, he only saw their reflection and nothing else. Then he noticed the differences. He didn’t look tired anymore, he looked happy. The Dark Mark was missing from his arm. He wasn’t wearing his teaching robes. The Harry in the mirror was looking at him and only him, and he was smiling and they were kissing. Mirror Harry’s mouth formed three words and his mirror self returned them.

“What do you see?”

It took all his effort to tear his eyes away from that tantalizing scene, but as soon as he was looking at the real Harry he felt no desire to look into the mirror again. “You. I see you.” It was a whisper; there was no surprise in his voice, just realisation.

Harry laughed and framed Severus’ face with his hands, pulling him to his lips to kiss. Their tongues tangled, curling around each other as Severus tightened his hold on the younger wizard’s shoulders. When they finally broke apart Harry rested his head against Severus’ shoulder as he whispered in his ear.

“I love you, Severus. You know that, don’t you?”

“I love you, Harry.” Severus held his eyes closed tightly and just held on. They stood like that for a while, until Severus finally let go.

“Aren’t you going to look?” he asked, not even glancing once in the direction of the mirror again. Harry hesitated and then nodded, turning his face to see his heart’s desire. Harry’s face showed no signs of surprise, he just stared into the mirror, not seeming happy or distressed by whatever it was he saw. Severus watched him and as the moment lasted he started to become worried Harry had fallen victim to the mirror’s lure. But then the younger wizard seemed to reach some kind of resolution and he nodded, determined. Harry turned away from the mirror and flashed Severus a smile, pressed a lightning quick kiss to Severus’ lips as he pulled the Potions master from the room and redid the wards.

“It’s late and I have the Transfiguration NEWT tomorrow morning. I’d better get back to the dorms before Filch catches us. Sleep well, Severus.” With a whirl of his father’s cloak he disappeared and Severus listened to his footsteps walking away. They stopped and Harry’s disembodied head appeared at the end of the hall. “It’s going to be all right, trust me.” Then Severus was alone again. With a sigh he traced his steps back to his quarters and his empty bed.

Severus was in his office the next morning grading this year’s Potions NEWTS when Sirius Black burst in without knocking. Irritated he looked up, scowling as he set his quill aside. He was about to demand an explanation but Black beat him to it.

“Have you seen Harry? He didn’t show up for his Transfiguration NEWT and when I checked his dorm his things were gone.”

Severus froze and then slowly shook his head, mind racing.

“I haven’t seen him since last night.”

Frustrated Black paced through the room, sending the occasional glare in Severus’ direction.

“Ron said he’d seen him return to the dorms late last night. Again!” A particularly suspicious look. “But his bed curtains were closed this morning and they thought he was just skipping breakfast. His trunk is empty; all his books are gone, as is James’ cloak. And I checked the Marau – He’s not anywhere in Hogwarts. What did he say last night? Where has he gone?”

Severus rose from his chair and crossed his arms. “He didn’t tell me of any plans to leave Hogwarts. I don’t know where he is, Black, so kindly stop your insinuations.”

“Well, you should know. After all, he spends nearly all his free time down here. What do you two get up to? I swear, Snivellus, if you’ve touched him –”

“I would never harm your precious godson, Black, and you know it. We were discussing your lover’s Wolfsbane, if you must know.”

“By Merlin, if you’re keeping something from me… I told Albus he should stop Harry from spending time with you!” With that Black stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. No doubt on his way to Albus.

Suddenly shaking Severus sank back into his chair and hid his face in his hands. Harry was gone. Harry had taken all his belongings and left Hogwarts. Severus could make an educated guess as to where the Boy-Who-Lived was going. He leaned back and ran slightly trembling hands through his hair, staring into the distance. What had Harry seen in the mirror? Severus’ heart ached and he bit his lip, instead concentrating on the memory of Harry’s smile, his reassurance that everything was going to be all right.

Severus looked down at the stack of papers he still had left to grade. With a sigh he picked up his quill again, drowning his worries and sorrow in the abysmal attempts of his students.

At lunch the news had spread through the entire school: Harry Potter had disappeared. There was an edgy atmosphere as the rumours ran high. Harry had been abducted by Voldemort again, Harry had defected to the Dark Lord, even to Harry had committed suicide and the staff were covering it up. Severus sat in his seat beside the Headmaster and was well aware of the suspicious looks sent his way. It was common knowledge that Harry Potter was apprenticed to him and that the Boy-Who-Lived spent an inordinate amount of time in Severus’ quarters. No doubt the Gryffindors were wondering what the greasy Potions master had done to their fellow Gryffindor. And wasn’t it typical that they only seemed to accept Harry when he wasn’t there to remind them of the person he really was, that he was nothing like the Harry Potter they probably all preferred. Black and Lupin were absent, no doubt combing the school grounds.

A blue veined hand rested on his thigh and Severus looked up startled. He’d been so intent on staring at his food that he must have missed the Headmaster’s words. Albus’ eyes were serious, no twinkle in sight, and Severus nodded. After lunch he followed the Headmaster to his office.

When he sat down in his usual chair opposite Albus’ desk his heart was racing and Severus knew the time had come. No more hiding, no more procrastination. He had to choose now, or the choice would be made for him. He looked into Albus’ bright blue eyes and made his decision. It was as if a weight had fallen from his shoulders, a weight he had been carrying for more than four years now, for longer still.

“Albus…” Severus took a deep breath and averted his eyes. “Albus, I – I haven’t been entirely forthright about my meetings with Voldemort.”

“Oh.” Severus didn’t look up, instead stared at his hands as they clenched in his lap.

“I’ve been hiding things from you.” It was a guilty whisper and he glanced up quickly to gage Albus’ reaction. The Headmaster’s expression was neutral and Severus looked away again. He focused his attention on Fawkes who was sleeping on his perch. The words spilled from his lips.

“Voldemort plans to attack Hogwarts tomorrow evening, at midnight.” And Severus confessed Voldemort’s plans. Every little detail he’d been given or had managed to discover on his own. He revealed each and every name of all the witches and wizards who would be involved. He revealed the location where the Dark Lord was keeping the Dementors. He revealed the pact Voldemort had made with them, had made with vampires and werewolves and giants. He confessed all and unlike that first time, when his confession had only served to gain him a second master, a second set of chains, this time Severus felt liberated.

When there were no more of Voldemort’s secrets or plans left to reveal, Severus stopped speaking and kept his gaze on his lap. He stared at the stains on his hands and fingers. Potions stains, poison stains. He’d made his choice, he would face the consequences.

“Oh, Severus.” The Potions master looked up in surprise. It always amazed him, Albus’ ability to move so silently. The Headmaster was standing in front of him, had put a finger beneath Severus’ chin to raise his face. Albus was smiling fondly at him, and his hand traced the lines of Severus’ jaw, and then pushed a strand of glossy black hair behind his ear. “My dear child, I was aware you weren’t being honest with me, but I knew I could trust you to make the right choice in the end.”

Severus stared at the Headmaster. “You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”

Dumbledore just smiled and tugged at Severus’ hand for him to stand up as well.

“I knew you were hiding something. Just not exactly what. But my trust was well-placed; you have made me proud, Severus. So very proud.”

Dumbly Severus accepted the Headmaster’s embrace. He shivered as Albus’ hands moved over his body, working that familiar, but oh so long denied and longed for, magic.

“I was tempted –”

“It doesn’t matter, sweet Severus. You made the right choice, and that’s all that matters in the end.” Dumbledore moved them apart a little and caught Severus’ eyes with his own. He smiled and brought their lips together. Severus moaned and leaned against Albus for support, fisting his hands in the Headmaster’s bright blue robes. Albus gripped his hips and pulled Severus’ body flush against his own, his roaming hands sending shivers of pleasure through Severus’ body.

“Albus, Albus, Albus, love you, love you.”

“Who do you belong to?” A whisper in his ear as Albus’ magic tickled and caressed his skin.

“You, Albus. Yours. Only yours, always yours.”

Albus’ hands framed his face and his smile filled Severus’ heart. “You never disappoint me, Severus. Be careful, dear heart, and return to me safely.” The Headmaster pressed a chaste kiss to Severus’ lips again and his expression became serious once more.

“If Harry has indeed turned to Voldemort… Severus, you know what I must ask you to do… If you are prepared…”

Severus closed his eyes and nodded.

“He is a risk we cannot take –”

“I understand. If Harry’s with Voldemort… I know what to do.”

“Sweet Severus,” he was pulled into Albus’ embrace again and rested his head on the Headmaster’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. Be safe, return to me. It will all turn out well, I promise you.”

They stood like that for a while, until Severus finally broke the embrace and straightened his robes. Albus was still smiling at him and Severus returned the smile tentatively. “I still have NEWTS to grade.”

“Very well, I will see you at dinner. Take care, my dear.”

The rest of the day passed slowly, Severus finished all his grading and then proceeded to tidy up his rooms and laboratory. He collected all his research for the potion, for the poison, and destroyed it. Then he sat down in front of the fire, in his empty rooms, and stared at the ashes until it was time for dinner. Albus’ hand rested on his thigh, warm and reassuring. Severus traced the veins on Albus’ hand and went straight to his chambers afterward. He slept without dreams in his cold and empty bed.

Friday dawned and there was still no sign of Harry. Sirius had accosted him in the hallways again, but Albus had called him to order and admonished him not to bother Severus any longer. The day passed interminably, and for once Severus felt relief when the Mark started to burn. After a quick fire-call to Albus, he grabbed cloak, mask and poison, and made his way through now oft used corridors and down secret paths into the heart of the Forbidden Forest. Donning his Death Eater garb Severus paused a moment to collect himself, then he pointed his wand at the skull on his arm and spoke. “Apparate Lord Voldemort Morsmordre.”

As always he appeared on Tom Riddle Sr.’s grave. He saw a Death Eater slip into the Manor. There was nobody else around and Severus suspected he would be the last to arrive. He looked at the tombstone for a moment, and then took out the vial of poison. It was colourless, odourless, and tasteless. It would kill Lord Voldemort if only the tiniest drop came into contact with his skin. As it would kill Harry Potter. Severus had tied it to the Dark Lord’s magical signature, and thus Harry was vulnerable too. Because of that fateful Avada nearly seventeen years ago Harry had gained part of Voldemort’s magic, hence his ability to speak Parseltongue.

Albus had wanted a poison that would target only Voldemort, but Severus realised the potential of what he had so skilfully crafted. A poison that could be modified to harm only one wizard or witch; an undetectable poison with no remedy, no cure, only instant, irreversible death. This was his masterpiece; this was what he had used his not inconsiderable talent to create. Severus laughed bitterly. Then, with a grim look on his face, he removed the stopper and upended the vial’s contents on the ground.

He had made his choice between Voldemort and Dumbledore, and he had chosen to keep his loyalty to neither. After all, he was a traitor: he had betrayed the Dark Lord’s trust, and now he would betray Albus’. Severus didn’t expect to survive to see the next day, whether he died by Voldemort’s wand for revealing his plans, or by Albus’ for not poisoning his first Master, or just generally in the fray of the battle soon to come. It didn’t matter. Severus didn’t care. For the first time in what seemed his entire life Severus felt free of the shackles of loyalty and fidelity that had bound him since adolescence.

Severus dropped the vial on the ground and purposefully strode toward the dark outline of Riddle Mansion. When he entered he was not surprised to indeed be the last to join the inner circle of Death Eaters. As always he fell to his knees, crawled toward the figure in their centre and pressed a kiss to the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes.

“Master,” he whispered and glanced upward, his suspicions confirmed. Voldemort was smiling pleasantly and next to him, holding his hand, was Harry Potter. His young lover was dressed in regal black and green, and smiling at Severus. That same smile he’d given the Potions master two nights ago when he’d asked for Severus’ trust and promised that all would turn out right.

“Ah, Severus,” Voldemort spoke. “It is so good of you to join us. However, there has been a slight change of plans; we won’t be visiting Hogwarts tonight after all.”

ANOTHER ENDING

Severus Snape, current Headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry for fifteen years, Order of Merlin Second Class, glared at the two recalcitrant students sitting in front of his desk. This wasn’t the first time they’d been sent to him by their exasperated Head of House for punishment. He doubted that it would be the last. Although, maybe letting them serve a month’s detention with the caretaker, Argus Filch, would keep them quiet for a while. Yes, he could always trust Argus to come up with something particularly nasty and bothersome to wear the two little devils out.

Their reaction was predictable. First horror, and then of course anger and indignation; no sign of remorse for their actions other than that they had been caught. Which was shame enough, they were Slytherins after all! Severus blamed their Gryffindor mother.

“You can’t do that! Daddy will –”

Severus’ rolled his eyes in irritation and quickly cut off that line of protest. He’d heard it all many times before.

“No, your father will not cast Cruciatus on me for giving you detention, which you most assuredly deserve! He will not fire me, and he will certainly not have me strung up from the Astronomy tower for the entire wizarding world to see. He will be disappointed that his son and daughter were caught red-handed sabotaging the Gryffindor Quidditch team broomsticks to fly loop-de-loops at the next game against Hufflepuff.

“I, on the other hand, should be able to convince your uncle Harry quite easily that you two don’t deserve to go to the World Tournament Quidditch final between England and Bulgaria if you don’t shut up right now and do exactly what Mr Filch tells you to do for the next month.”

Two sets of wide, green eyes gaped at him in horror. “You wouldn’t.” The girl whispered while the boy shook his head, red curls shaking.

Severus’ mouth twisted into his nastiest smile and the twins blanched. Then, as one, they pouted, looked down at twisted hands in their laps and then up at him coyly through long eye-lashes.

“But, uncle Severus…”

His glare notched up a few more degrees. They should know by now not to try and cutesy their way out; it never worked on him.

“Out. You will report for detention at Mr Filch’s office after dinner tonight, and if I hear so much as one complaint about either of you for the rest of this month, you can kiss those box-seat tickets good-bye.”

They knew when to stop pushing their luck. The two children jumped out of their chairs, scrambled through the door, and down the stairway past the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office. For a moment Severus rested his head in his hands. Another five years of the terrible twins, and to think: next year Jim and Beth Weasley-Riddle would be joined by their triplet brothers. May Merlin have mercy on all their souls.

A trilling melody made Severus look up and with a few beats of his wings Fawkes flew over to his chair and landed on his shoulder. Severus gave a brief smile and then gently stroked the warm feathers on the fire bird’s breast.

But what else could be expected from the Dark Lord’s children? An absent and uninterested father, their mother too preoccupied with her next pregnancy, and the Weasley twins Fred and George for surrogate parents and role-models. A recipe for disaster, if Severus had ever heard one. He guessed it could have been worse. There was no maliciousness to their ceaseless pranking, and they were actually quite adorable when not charming his quarters Gryffindor red and gold. Severus chuckled as he remembered them doing the same with their father’s entire wardrobe the one time the Dark Lord had taken his children to Riddle Mansion. Lord Voldemort had not been pleased to put it mildly, and ever since then he had never interfered when disciplining his children once again fell to Severus.

Severus looked up at Albus Dumbledore’s portrait, hanging on the wall of his office like all of Hogwarts’ previous Headmasters. It was a wizarding portrait of course, charmed with Albus’ personality and memories. Albus’ portrait rarely moved however, unlike all the other Headmasters. Instead he just stared down at Severus in unwavering disappointment. Severus sighed and continued to stroke Fawkes’ breast. He hoped that wherever the Headmaster’s soul had gone to he’d been able to forgive Severus, and was maybe still proud of his former student and friend. Severus had buried the Headmaster at the edge of the Forbidden Forest fifteen years ago and taken up his duties the same day.

Albus had died in the battle for Hogwarts, killed in a wizarding duel by Voldemort. It had heralded the final defeat of the ‘Light’ and without their leader the Order of the Phoenix had crumbled. Severus was grateful that he hadn’t been there to witness the death and defeat of his mentor and one-time lover; instead he’d been busy brewing healing potions and the like with Harry in the potions laboratory at Riddle Mansion. When Hogwarts had been secured, soon after Dumbledore’s death, the Dark Lord had summoned him and given him the former Headmaster’s body and position.

There had been very few casualties at Hogwarts, the students had long been evacuated and most of the teachers and Order members had surrendered after Albus’ death, if not before. Hogwarts’ capture had really only been a formality, cementing the Dark Lord’s position as ruler of wizarding Britain: two weeks earlier he had already attacked and taken control of the Ministry and the media. Soon after that Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley were being patrolled by Death Eaters.

Acting on Severus’ information Albus had convinced the Ministry to dispatch most of its forces to Hogwarts and they’d lain in wait, in ambush, for the attack that hadn’t come. At the last moment Voldemort changed his mind and the assault was made on the Ministry instead. Severus still wasn’t sure whether the Dark Lord had known of his betrayal and changed his plans accordingly, or whether he’d been counting on it and been stringing Severus along. It was best to let sleeping dogs lie and so Severus had never raised the subject, grateful that he hadn’t been expected to participate in any of the fighting nor been punished for his treason. Together with Harry he’d remained at Riddle Mansion, brewed healing Potions and after the fighting tended to the wounded.

The raid had been quick and successful. In the space of a few hours the Ministry fell, Fudge was executed, and that Saturday morning Voldemort was already addressing the population over the wizarding wireless. There had been no attempt to recapture the Ministry, instead the Aurors remained at Hogwarts and made it their new base. Voldemort offered asylum to all those wanting to leave, and thus enabled the students to return to their families. Over the next two weeks he unfolded his plans for complete segregation of the wizarding and Muggle world. The radio and the papers were filled with his propaganda, while he did his best to convince wizarding Britain to acquiesce under his rule. There were many defections in that period, by the end of the second week nearly half the Aurors at Hogwarts had given themselves up. The Dark Lord was merciful, there were no summary executions; people were sent home for the time being while he solidified his hold. Voldemort had definitely revised his tactics; and while terror certainly had its place, he was now also resorting to more effective, if insidious ways of gaining power.

Two weeks later than planned he attacked Hogwarts. Announced. Like any war, the people needed closure, and the Dark Lord provided that in a wizarding duel to the death with Albus Dumbledore, who had become the leader of the opposition. Albus was slain, and the rest of the resistance either surrendered or fled. There were still small pockets of resistance; even now there was still the occasional attack on Death Eaters or Death Eater sympathisers, although those attacks had become increasingly rare over the years. Regardless, the Dark Lord was able to start putting things to order. Of course most positions of power were distributed among the inner circle Death Eaters, Severus became Headmaster of Hogwarts and Lucius Malfoy was made Minister of Magic. But Voldemort maintained enough competent, neutral wizards and witches in their places to appease the population.

Over the summer he set about segregating the wizarding and the Muggle world. All wizards and witches in the Muggle world were required to return, if they did not do so willingly they would be hunted down and detained. The Muggleborn children that had returned to their Muggle families during the siege of Hogwarts were retrieved and their families obliviated. A few, mostly the younger ones, were placed in Death Eater families or other families that had volunteered, but most were sent to Hogwarts. It had fallen to Severus to see to the distraught children that had been removed from their families for good. For all intents and purposes they were now orphans, and Voldemort had made them wards of the state

In an impressing and pivotal speech the Dark Lord had said that he considered these Muggleborn children his own; he had declared that they were his responsibility, and that as such he would see to it that they were happy and well-cared for. He recounted his own childhood, alone in an orphanage, maltreated by Muggles; he would never allow such a thing to happen to any child wizard or witch again. He spoke of his own half-blood background: a Muggle father who deserted Voldemort’s mother when he discovered she was a witch, left her to die in childbirth and abandoned his only son.

“I have always considered my Muggle name to be a curse, a shameful thing, and for a long time I sought to deny it. But no longer; there is no shame in Muggle parentage, no shame in mixed blood although we must strive to prevent it. Let my surname now become a sign of what binds all wizards and witches: our unique ability to perform magic.

“From now on any child with magic born to Muggles will be mine. A special force of Aurors will watch for any signs of magic, will watch and search England for any child with magic, and as soon as such a child is found they will be retrieved and brought to our world, to where they belong. I will give that witch or wizard my name, and they will be treated as if they were my children. I will find them homes with wizarding families, homes where they will grow up to know our culture and our ways, where they will belong. I will set up a trust fund for each and every one of my children, they will be provided for and I will make sure they are loved. We are a small community, and our children are our strength, our life. Let no one forget that.”

Most of the Muggleborn children that had already been attending Hogwarts were placed with wizarding families, with their friends, over the summer. Voldemort provided ample financial support to ensure this. There was little problem in placing the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students, even less with placing the few Muggleborn Slytherins. The Gryffindors were more problematic. Dumbledore had always favoured that House and many viewed the Dark Lord with distrust. They argued and pleaded to be able to see their families again, to be returned to them, but in the end they had no choice but to acquiesce to the new world order and they were mainly placed with Gryffindor wizarding families. With two weeks left before the start of term Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to retrieve the first year Muggleborn students who had received their owl earlier that month. Again they were taken and brought to Hogwarts, their families obliviated. There were ten first years that Sorting Feast with the surname Riddle and by Christmas they had all been found a home with a wizarding family.

That first year under Voldemort’s reign had been hectic, and if it hadn’t been for the Dark Lord’s decisive actions there would have no doubt been chaos. But he had prepared his plans well, and even though there was some mumbling among the Death Eaters about threats to pureblood wizarding society, they knew better than to voice their dissent aloud. Ever since his return five years ago Voldemort had been working to ensure the loyalty and blind obedience of his followers. Even though they might not all agree with his Grand Design, they were committed to their Lord and thus to his Vision. The general wizarding populace was surprisingly quickly won over by their new leader. The Dark Lord used the media and his not inconsiderable charisma well. He worked to include as many of his would-be opponents in the execution of his plans. He would listen to their objections, and sometimes even change his plans to accommodate them.

It was yet another example of the power of Lord Voldemort’s charisma and his changed approach in gaining domination over wizarding Britain. His propaganda was extremely effective, but no matter what he might have said of his surname, only a suicidal witch or wizard would dare refer to Lord Voldemort as Tom Riddle. The population however, gladly accepted his propaganda as people let themselves be lulled into a false sense of security.

By the time the anniversary of the fall of Hogwarts came round, it was celebrated widely if a little hesitantly. Now, nearly fifteen years later, the day of Lord Voldemort’s ascension rivalled with Christmas for the most popular day of celebration. Severus looked at Albus’ portrait and wondered what he would think of what had happened. But the former Headmaster’s portrait stayed silent and just stared down at Severus in unwavering disappointment.

He sighed and then set about finishing the day’s paperwork. Harry had asked him once why he didn’t get rid of Dumbledore’s portrait – Harry’s attitude toward Dumbledore had always been one of resentment and distrust, and he found it hard to believe that Severus still had fond memories of the older wizard – but Severus had replied that for all his faults Albus had been one of the most important wizards in Hogwarts’ History and that he deserved to be there. Voldemort hadn’t remarked on it. He’d been surprisingly respectful toward the memory of the late Albus Dumbledore, even if it had been mainly to win the trust of the wizarding community.

Fawkes flew back to his perch when Severus had finished. The Headmaster retired to his rooms to freshen up, and then descended the spiralling staircase to attend the evening meal. These past four years the influx of students to Hogwarts had steadily increased, a consequence of Voldemort’s politics encouraging more children, and the Great Hall was already filled with children. Severus nodded to the caretaker as he passed the squib and his cat, and then made his way through the students to his place at the head table. His black robes billowed around him, and the children quickly got out of his way.

His demeanour had changed little since he relinquished the Potions position and became Headmaster, and most students did their best not to gain the Headmaster’s attention. Jim and Beth Weasley-Riddle were the only real exceptions, but he could hardly be faulted for that. They’d grown up with the scowling presence of ‘uncle Severus’ and it took quite a glare and some serious threats to Quidditch and prank supplies to cow them. At that moment they were sitting together at the Slytherin table keeping a very low profile. For as long as it lasted anyway.

Severus took his place between Minerva and Filius and dinner commenced. Most of the teachers had survived the attack on Hogwarts, but Severus was still surprised how well Minerva McGonagall had adapted to the new regime. But he should have known; her pragmatic nature and no-nonsense attitude had helped immensely in keeping order in Gryffindor house. From one year to the next they had changed from favoured house to the one viewed with distrust, the scapegoat. With Voldemort’s ascension many thought they could curry to his favour by picking on those who had opposed him. Together Severus and Minerva had put a stop to that kind of behaviour at Hogwarts very quickly. And although Gryffindor hadn’t won the House-cup in fifteen years, Severus did not doubt that they would again some time in the near future.

Not all the teachers had survived, or stayed. Hagrid had left, unhindered, and moved to Beauxbatons. Remus Lupin had been killed; one of the first casualties at Hogwarts, and Severus had shed no tears. Sirius Black lived, but where nobody knew. He was one of the few Order members still at large. There hadn’t been any sightings for years though, and privately Severus suspected the mutt had passed away as well. Either by his own hand, or Voldemort had finally tracked him and had the mongrel put down in secret. When Black heard of his godson’s defection he had been livid, Minerva had later told him the Gryffindor’s reaction. He was grateful that she and the others never mentioned Albus’ reaction when he realised Severus had betrayed him.

Severus and Voldemort had spoken before the attack about what they were going to do with Harry’s godfather: despite Harry and Sirius’ many disagreements Harry still felt something for his godfather. He was the last living link to his parents after all. Voldemort had promised Harry to spare him, but Sirius had managed to escape, in the process killing Walden MacNair. The Dark Lord had not been pleased, but again, on Harry’s insistence, made no work of it and let the animagus run. He had promised Harry that as long as Sirius did nothing he would not pursue him. However, all bets were off when two years later a small group of rebels, under Sirius’ leadership, somehow managed to sneak into Riddle Mansion and attempted to kill the Dark Lord’s consort.

They had surprised Harry in the basement where he’d been all alone, working on creating the Philosopher’s Stone for Voldemort. Harry had managed to incapacitate Ron Weasley, but been overpowered by Black and Hermione Granger. Thank Merlin Nagini and Cassandra had noticed the commotion. The two snakes had surprised Harry’s attackers before they could finish the job. Granger was bitten but managed to stab Nagini before she died. Sirius transformed to his animagus form and escaped once more. Somehow the three had managed to bring down the wards tied to Harry, the ones that notified the Dark Lord and all his Death Eaters if something happened to him.

Severus still had nightmares of entering Riddle Mansion that evening and finding the wards down, finding Harry near death, wrapped in Cassandra’s coils. Ron Weasley on the floor, in a full body bind and just staring at Harry as Severus’ lover’s life dwindled away. Hermione Granger, all her veins distended and bent backwards in a rictus of agony, one hand still closed around the hilt of a dagger buried in the skull of the Dark Lord’s familiar. If he’d arrived only half an hour later … If only he’d arrived an hour earlier …

Harry had been stabbed and poisoned. Cassandra’s magic had sustained him, she’d tried to stop the bleeding by wrapping herself around him tightly, and it had taken precious moments to convince the snake to let her Master go. The stab wounds had been relatively easy to fix, there were an abundance of healing potions in the room, and Severus had stabilised Harry enough to call the Dark Lord through the floo. The anti-apparition wards on Riddle Mansion had always admitted their Master, and before Severus had completed the sentence ‘Harry’s been hurt’, Voldemort was already standing next to him.

If Severus had had any doubts left as to the veracity and depth of the Dark Lord’s feelings toward Harry Potter, each and every one of them was dispelled that evening. Voldemort had looked to him, and only asked what he could do to help. He had not questioned Severus, not flown into a rage. Yet. Severus had revived Weasley and questioned him about the poison. At first the boy had been tight-lipped, but a minute under Cruciatus quickly had him spilling all he knew. It had been something made and created by Granger, eerily similar to what Severus had devised only a few years earlier. But he wasn’t a Potions master for nothing, and although he had happily not stirred in a cauldron or chopped one slug ever since he’d been made Headmaster, in that moment Severus was grateful again for his talent. While Voldemort kept the poison at bay with his and Cassandra’s magic, Severus had created an antivenom.

All that time Harry had been conscious and slightly delirious, hallucinating and reliving parts of his past. He’d been disoriented, and not known where he was, or with who, or when. It had been particularly heartbreaking when Harry imagined himself in the Hogwarts infirmary all over again; just been informed that Tom Riddle had murdered his parents. Voldemort had borne Harry’s rage silently.

When Severus had finished and administered the cure, the four of them had sat there for a moment. Harry slowly drifting into a healing sleep while Cassandra, Severus, and the Dark Lord watched over him.

“Thank you, Severus.” Voldemort said. He gently stroked Harry’s cheek and then put his consort in Severus’ arms. “Take him upstairs. I will see to this mess. See to Weasley and Black.” One last kiss pressed to Harry’s pale lips, the dagger removed from Nagini’s skull, and then he strode over to where the youngest male Weasley was lying. Voldemort’s eyes burned red as he grabbed the boy and then disapparated. Severus momentarily felt the ache of a mass summons in his Mark but it faded quickly; he had a different task than hunting down Black and punishing Weasley.

He’d washed Harry and himself. He’d washed away his lover’s blood from the both of them, and then settled into bed with Harry and Cassandra. By that time Harry was starting to come round again.

“Severus?”

“I’m here, Harry.”

“Tom?”

“He’s out looking for Black.”

“Tom,” Harry moaned plaintively, eyes frantically searching for his consort.

“I’m here, my love.”

Severus looked up in surprise; he hadn’t noticed Voldemort’s return. He’d made a move to leave the bed, to relinquish his place to Harry’s husband, but Harry’s grip on him had tightened and the Dark Lord had shook his head, instead taking Cassandra’s place at Harry’s side. The two had started speaking in Parseltongue, but for once Severus did not feel left out, did not feel shut out. Harry was in his arms and he was in Harry’s life.

When Harry drifted off to sleep again Voldemort looked up at him seriously. They’d never discussed Severus’ position as Harry’s lover before. Severus knew Voldemort was aware of it, allowed it, but Severus had always been careful not to bring his relationship with Harry to the Dark Lord’s attention.

“I’ve tolerated this because it is what he wants, because I promised him I would leave you alone, would leave you Hogwarts to rule as you see fit. And you have not disappointed me there. I am not a generous man, Severus. I do not share well that which is mine. But Harry does not belong to me, or you, only to himself, and I have learnt to live with the thought of you two together. I will not lie, I was not happy when he told me about you, although I could understand that you loved him. Who wouldn’t?” A bitter laugh escaped Voldemort’s lips, as Harry’s godfather obviously crossed his mind. His red eyes held Severus’ and the Headmaster of Hogwarts knew that Black had better pray the Dark Lord never catch him.

“You have proved your devotion to Harry, and I know now that this is not a passing infatuation. Harry loves you as much as he loves me, and I find I can live with that. You saved my consort’s life today, and that cannot go unrewarded.” He held up a hand to stop Severus’ protests. “I know, you need no reward, but this is something Harry has asked me to give you, a request I was not before prepared to grant. Give me your arm.”

Severus held out his left arm, Mark up, and Voldemort ran his fingertips over the Dark Mark before looking up again.

“I cannot remove it. Long ago you pledged yourself to me, pledged yourself to another, and that pledge cannot be broken. It can, however, be transferred.” Severus’ eyes darted to Harry’s sleeping form and then back to the Dark Lord. Voldemort nodded. Severus swallowed nervously.

“Please.” To be free of Voldemort, to be allowed to be pledged to Harry, it was not something Severus had ever dared hope. Harry had become Voldemort’s consort soon after Hogwarts’ fall and while Severus hadn’t doubted Harry’s love for him, he’d always been slightly apprehensive and worried about Voldemort’s indulgence in letting Harry keep a lover. The fact that the Dark Lord had given Severus free reign over Hogwarts had served to relax his worries slightly, but he’d always been acutely aware of the fact that Voldemort was only tolerating him for Harry’s sake.

Voldemort covered the Dark Mark on Severus’ hand and whispered a spell in Parseltongue. There was a brief tugging sensation, and then an awareness of Harry that Severus had never had of Voldemort. The Dark Lord smiled and removed his hand, revealing a now green tattoo of a snake coiled around Severus’ wrist.

“If anything happens to Harry, you will know and you will be able to reach him wherever he is, through whatever magic our enemies may try to use. I trust you with my consort, Severus Snape. I trust you with his life, and I trust you with his happiness. I know you will not fail him.”

They had never managed to find Black, or if Voldemort did he kept it a secret. Ron Weasley, however, suffered the full brunt of the Dark Lord’s wrath.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, the Weasleys had benefited greatly from Voldemort’s coming to power. Voldemort had summoned Ginny Weasley soon after Hogwarts’ fall, and despite her parents’ and siblings’ protest she’d answered the call. They’d only found out nearly a year and a half later what exactly the two had discussed and agreed upon, but she had managed to ensure the safety of her family. Arthur Weasley kept his job at the Ministry, and worked, under supervision, in aiding the Dark Lord’s special force of Aurors in retrieving Muggleborn children from their families and further completing the segregation of the Muggle and wizarding world. Percy Weasley, the former Minister of Magic’s aide, took the Dark Mark and kept his position, now serving Lucius Malfoy. Molly Weasley agreed to take in Riddle children, as the Muggleborn were soon called, if only to make sure they received a good home and were not indoctrinated by Death Eater propaganda.

Perhaps the most surprising development was the fact that Severus asked Fred and George Weasley to take over his position as Potions professor. Severus had lost nearly all his love for Potions over the previous years. He had used his talent to create poisons, and did not wish to be reminded of his former life. Potions had become a passion out of necessity, an escape from the confines of his life, but had never been what he truly wanted. Getting the Weasley twins to teach one of the most difficult, and dangerous, subjects, might have seemed folly, but Severus knew the twins were competent. If their students had to pay attention if they wanted to be able to turn their hair back to its normal colour, or prevent falling victim to one of the twins’ tricks, then more the better.

Ron Weasley had kept a low profile ever since Hogwarts’ fall, but there’d been no way to suspect he would try anything against his former house mate. The blow was even worse because at the time of the attack Ginny Weasley was six months pregnant by Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord wasn’t stupid; he realised the wizarding world would die out if they stopped mixing with Muggles: Muggleborn wizards and witches were after all the result of wizarding parents somewhere in their heritage. And so Voldemort set about encouraging the wizarding population to have more children, while at the same time he made a start at establishing contact with foreign wizarding societies. Britain had always had the most organized and centralized community of wizards and witches, which made it easier for Voldemort to control. But there were small enclaves in France and elsewhere on the continent and overseas that the Dark Lord sought to gain influence over, slowly, and for the most part diplomatically.

Voldemort put an end to all pureblood theory and propaganda, using himself as proof that mixed parentage did not guarantee weaker offspring. He did, however, outlaw any and all relationships with non-magical people. Squibs were exempt, although he did discourage them from having children or marrying wizards or witches. In the meantime, the Weasleys became something of an example to wizarding Britain: seven children and their home open to Muggleborns. A pureblood family that had once been the ridicule of wizarding Britain gained status nearly overnight, and many of the traditional, Death Eater, pureblood families were shamed because they often had only one child, as had been practice for centuries to keep inheritances large and undivided.

One of the reasons Voldemort had been silent for nearly three years was because he had been busy securing his hold on his first followers and ensuring their continued loyalty. As Minister of Magic, Lucius had to of course give the good example, and much to Narcissa’s distress, he’d insisted on having more children. She’d acquiesced to another one, but when it became clear that Lucius did not plan on being outdone by a bunch of Weasleys and that he wanted at least another five brothers or sisters for Draco, she’d flat out refused him, filed for divorce, and skipped the country. Within a week Lucius remarried, a blonde Hufflepuff Muggleborn witch of twenty-two, and was by now the proud father of another seven Malfoys.

Because of wizard’s and witch’s longer lifespans and the fact that most families left it at one child to secure the family legacy, the wizarding world had always been accepting toward alternative lifestyles and homosexuality. When you could look down on people for interspecies breeding, what did people care about two men or two women together? Voldemort confirmed this by making Harry Potter his consort, but he too acknowledged that he could hardly preach what he would not do himself. While there were ways to induce male pregnancy, and spells that could temporarily turn a wizard or witch into an hermaphrodite, Harry had made it clear he was not going to have kids, although Tom was free to carry them if he wanted to. Instead Voldemort made a deal with Ginny Weasley that she would mother his children.

Severus had never found out the details of that conversation between Tom, Harry and Ginny, and he doubted he ever would. He’d known Harry and the Weasley girl had been friends, had been lovers briefly at Hogwarts, but he’d never expected Harry to willingly share Tom. Harry had turned out to be quite possessive of both Voldemort and Severus: while he had no problems with the two of them together (although Severus was glad Voldemort only ever touched him on the times Harry insisted the three of them share some time together), there was no doubt that he counted on their fidelity toward him. But the arrangement between Voldemort and Ginny could hardly be called love, and Severus knew for a fact they only ever slept together when it was time to conceive. The Dark Lord acknowledged his children, but hardly treated them any different from all his ‘other’ children. After all, there was no need for heirs when you planned to live forever.

Ginny seemed content with her life, happy to bear the Dark Lord’s children while she lived at Hogwarts and discretely kept an affair going with the new DADA professor, Draco Malfoy. As long as there was never any doubt as to the parentage of her children, Voldemort really didn’t care what his broodmare got up to.

Ron Weasley’s participation in the attack on the Dark Lord’s consort, on Harry Potter, had been a sharp blow to Voldemort’s regime. While he had made it clear that he did not hold the other Weasleys responsible for the actions of one of them, their special status had not saved Ron any pain, and the Dark Lord’s wrath had been considerable and public. For nearly two years people had been able to start forgetting that they were ruled by a Dark Lord, had been able to start forgetting the cruelties of the seventies, but they were harshly reminded of political reality when Voldemort cast every dark hex and curse he could think of on the boy, and then had the – by-then insane – Gryffindor Kissed. The bodies of both Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were put on display at the entrance of the Ministry of Magic to serve as a reminder why it was such a bad idea to anger Lord Voldemort. The Weasleys had publicly distanced themselves from Ron of course, but Severus knew that in private Ginny had begged Harry to ask Voldemort for mercy for her brother. Harry had refused.

Severus looked down the table to see his Potions professors heatedly discussing something. It had been nearly thirteen years now, and for all intent and purposes there had never been a sixth Weasley son. Fred and George must have noticed him staring; they looked up with identical grins and waved. Severus poked suspiciously at his desert and decided to skip it that evening.

After dinner Severus retired to his chambers and, making sure Minerva or Filius would be able to contact him if something happened, he flooed to Riddle Mansion. He found Harry happily tinkering with potions in the dungeons. It still made Severus shiver every time he went there, he could still see Harry lying on the floor, bleeding to death. But Harry had insisted on keeping his laboratory, declared he would not let himself be scared away from one of his favourite places in the world by anyone. The first few times though, Severus and Voldemort had made sure at least one of them was present. Nagini’s body had been preserved and she lay coiled around what had always been Lord Voldemort’s chair. Severus found it morbid, to be honest, but Harry said her presence comforted him.

He made himself comfortable at the large table and just enjoyed watching his younger lover. Within six years Harry had succeeded in doing what it had taken Nicolas Flamel nearly a century to achieve: he’d created a Philosopher’s Stone, and on the seventh anniversary of Voldemort’s ascendance Harry had presented him with the means to immortality and eternal youth. Ever since then the Dark Lord’s body had not aged, nor had Harry’s. Even now, when he was in his early thirties, Harry looked no older than twenty-two. Harry had offered Severus use of the stone as well, with Voldemort’s reluctant approval, but Severus had declined. He had no desire to be immortal. Severus still fondly remembered Albus’ words: for the organized mind death is but the next adventure.

It was clear that Harry wasn’t entirely happy with Severus’ choice. Every now and then he would ask Severus again whether he hadn’t changed his mind, but he never pushed, and respected Severus’ decision.

“I’m nearly done, won’t be a minute.”

Severus just hmmd and settled in to wait. While he no longer enjoyed working with Potions, it still warmed his heart to see that Harry had lost none of his joy or enthusiasm in the art. For a change Harry really only did take a minute to finish, and with a flick of his wrist (he hardly ever used his wand anymore), he cleaned the bench and covered the cauldron. Then he turned around and stalked toward Severus, turned his chair and straddled the Headmaster’s lap. Harry ran his hands through Severus’ hair and Severus wrapped his arms around the lithe body. They kissed open-mouthed and leisurely; Harry smelled of Boomslang, Aconite, and Bubotober puss. He smelled like home.

Harry broke their kiss for air and pulled back slightly, grinning impishly.

“I need to take a shower, and you are going to wash me all over.” He leaned in again and nipped at Severus’ lips before moving to Severus’ left ear. “And then we are going to bed and we are going to make love over and over and over again.”

“I like your plan.”

“I thought you would.” Harry hopped off Severus’ lap. “Race you.”

Severus laughed and calmly made his way up the stairs and toward Harry’s bedroom, ignoring Harry’s shouted encouragements to loosen up a little. When he reached the bedroom Harry’s clothes were strewn about and he could already hear the water running. He shrugged out of his robes and slipped past the curtain and into the shower next to Harry. Harry leaned back against him and Severus set about washing the young man’s hair.

“How was your day?”

“Stressful. Jim and Beth were up to their tricks again, they’ll be serving detention with Filch for a month. Hopefully that will teach them not to get caught in the future. How was yours?”

“Good, I think I made a minor breakthrough.” He turned in Severus’ arms and leaned his head back under the spray a moment while Severus washed out the shampoo. “Enough talk now, I can think of more fun things to do with our mouths.” Severus laughed and let himself be pushed against the wall while Harry slowly slid down onto his knees and wrapped his mouth around Severus’ cock, slowly coaxing him to hardness. Severus sighed and gently touched Harry’s face, ran his fingers along his lover’s cheeks where he could feel himself. When his breathing became laboured Harry released him and pulled him out of the shower, whispered a quick drying spell and they tumbled into bed.

Harry scrambled up Severus’ body and for a long time they just kissed, rubbing against one another lazily. Then Harry pulled away, ignoring Severus’ protest, turned around and started fellating Severus’ prick again. Severus tugged Harry into a better position and pulled his young lover’s cock into his own mouth. He closed his mouth and enjoyed the sensation of Harry’s mouth around his cock and Harry’s cock in his mouth. His nose pressing against Harry’s balls, he relaxed his throat and swallowed around the member in his mouth. It only took a few moments and then he pulled back as Harry came and filled his mouth with his come.

Severus pulled free of Harry’s grip and manoeuvred the temporarily sated man onto his belly, parted Harry’s cheeks with his hands and let come dribble from his mouth into Harry’s crack. He used his tongue to push the semen into Harry’s hole, wiggled his tongue around and kneaded Harry’s buttocks. Harry was soon panting again, pushing himself back against Severus and begging for more. Severus just smiled and continued to tease him.

Finally Harry could take no more and he escaped from Severus’ tormenting. He pushed the Potions master onto his back and straddled his hips, then slowly lowered himself onto Severus’ member. Severus had to fight to keep his eyes open, and he raptly watched Harry impale himself.

“Merlin, I love you so much.”

Harry smiled and gave an experiment squeeze that made Severus’ eyes cross. “I love you too.” He then raised himself slowly and sank back down. Severus settled his hands on Harry’s hips and helped steady his lover. Their lovemaking was slow and leisurely. Harry leaned forward, Severus’ cock slipping half free, and they kissed as Severus’ fingers teased the stretched ring of muscles around his member. When it became too much Severus flipped them over and started thrusting into Harry’s willing body. Harry wrapped his legs around him, dug his heels into Severus’ side and urged him on. He gripped his own erection and stroked it in time to Severus’ thrusts.

Crying out Harry’s name Severus’ rhythm stuttered and he came, pouring his release into his lover. Harry writhed beneath him and grabbed Severus’ hand, closed it around his cock and used it to bring himself to climax. Carefully Severus pulled out and rolled onto his side. Harry curled up in front of him and pressed his still wet buttocks against Severus’ and sensitive crotch. Severus’ arms came round the younger wizard, holding him close. Harry sighed and pulled the blankets up over them. Severus closed his eyes and let his mind drift.

“Tom will be home tomorrow. Will you join us?”

Severus was silent for a moment and then nodded. “Whatever you want, Harry.” He pressed a kiss just below Harry’s left ear and gently stroked Harry’s side. While Severus had no desire for his former Master, he knew it excited and pleased Harry immensely to see them together. “Anything for you.”

They lay there in comfortable silence. A stray thought surfaced and after a moment’s hesitation Severus voiced the question that had been on his mind for nearly fifteen years.

“You never told me what you saw in the Mirror of Erised.”

Harry turned in his arms and frowned. “I didn’t?”

Severus shook his head. “Will you tell me?”

Harry smiled and caressed Severus’ face with his left hand, the hand with the Dark Lord’s wedding ring.

“Can’t you guess? I saw the same you did.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Severus’, green eyes not releasing Severus’. His thumb touched the ring, twisted it, while his hand tangled in Severus’ hair. “I saw the ones I love. I saw Tom, and I saw you.” A whisper against his lips and Severus closed his eyes and returned the kiss. He may have to share Harry’s love, his life might not be perfect, but it was his own, and he would not choose differently.

End.