The Upper Hand

The sun rises to another day.

My constitution keeps changing

`Til it slips away.

So I lie awake and stare,

My mind thinking, just wandering

Is anybody there?

Sitting in my room now,

Hiding in thoughts.

Just hoping one day I'll get out.

I hear a voice call my name.

Breaking a trance, so silent,

So I can stay the same.

Wait now, many things left unsaid.

This life remains the same,

But I change.

I try to fool myself in believing

Things are going to get better,

But life goes on.

Should I stay or go?

Should I sleep or stay awake?

Am I really happy, or is it all

Just an illusion?

Severus increased his pace to an almost frantic level, fleeing to the dungeons--his new home. He vaguely registered that his breathing was quick, his legs taking larger and larger strides as he went. He just wanted solitude.

Damn James Potter. Damn, damn, damn him. Had the Dark Lord known he was here? Was this another cruel form of retribution? To share a whole semester--possibly even an entire year--with Potter.... He shook his head, a violent sigh of frustration bursting from his lips.

Suddenly he heard a slight squeak from behind him, and he whipped around to see Charity topple to the floor, one small foot crossed over the other. She was winded, and her elbows hit the cold stone with a loud thunk. Tears soon followed.

"Oh," snapped Severus to himself, backtracking a few steps and bending over to lift her off the floor. He set her on her feet and squatted before her, brushing her off. "I'm sorry, Char..."

"Walk...too fast..." she choked between breathless sobs, cradling her left elbow.

"Shush, calm down," he sighed, gingerly taking hold of her wrist and lifting it above her head to see her elbow. A thin layer of tender skin had been scraped away, revealing a patch of raw, pink, and bleeding skin.

"I'll fix this up in a minute," he said, grazing his thumbs under her eyes and over her red cheeks to wipe the tears away. "Come here."

He craned his head down, and she put her arms around his neck, allowing him to lift her. She hooked her ankles behind his back, sniffling into his robes as he assumed a much slower pace.

Severus cursed himself. What was he so shaken for? Was he so completely thrown off balance by a mere confrontation with his former enemy? As if he hadn't seen worse threats since his seventh year.... Potter was by far the least of his worries; had always been the least of his worries. Why was Severus so affected by him now?

He had felt it again. That long-forgotten stirring within his gut that challenged his self-control. Hadn't he outgrown this? It was nothing but childish rage, he told himself. He had too willingly accepted the idea that he would never have to see Potter again after...the incident. And in the shock that his assumptions had been false he had let himself fall into the old practice of competition--it was all a game of words. Someone won, and someone lost. Always. If he looked at it that way, he knew he would always have the advantage. He just had to be careful not to let his perspective slip to the level of subject matter...

Well, now he would be prepared. Prepared with the knowledge that there were far more dangerous threats in this world than Saint Potter and memory. Threats like keeping up an act good enough to impress Albus Dumbledore and the staff...a challenge which would, of course, be made more difficult by the presence of Saint Potter and memory.... He shook his head, thinking that sometimes he would do better to not think at all.

He reached the door to his office, leaning back to resettle Charity's weight against him so he could free his left hand. He turned the curved silver handle and nudged the door open, walked in and kicked it shut behind him.

"Now then," he muttered to Charity, bending over to deposit her in the chair of black leather behind his desk. "Let's see about this."

She lifted her arm for him, and he pulled his wand out of his robes. He gently rested the tip of it on her scrape, muttering a healing spell. The skin stretched together over the wound, which seemed to sink into her arm and out of existence.

"Better?" he said, letting go her arm.

She nodded, wiping her nose on his sleeve.

"I thank you," he said, jerking his arm away from her in disgusted exasperation.

As he dropped his wand in his pocket, Severus felt something else--a folded piece of parchment. His class schedule. He pulled it out, scanning it over.

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fifth years. That was his first class. His two least favorite Houses, mixed with an ungodly early hour and the prospect of seeing James Potter at breakfast right before.

But it couldn't be hard, this teaching thing, thought Severus. After all, these fifth years were the very three-foot-tall imps he had glowered down at back in his seventh year. They had been about waist-height then, and he had scared the living shit out of them with a mere glare. He wouldn't expend too much effort on them. As for Potter....

Who said he had to eat breakfast with the rest of the staff? Surely having just moved in the day before would justify having a `lie-in', and Severus had distinctly heard Dumbledore say that teachers could take their meals in the staff room if they didn't want to dine in the Great Hall. Potter being such the social butterfly he was, Severus thought darkly to himself, he would certainly want to take his breakfast in the presence of a thousand other people.

***

But when Severus entered the potentially empty staff room the next morning, Charity shuffling sleepily in his wake, Potter was precisely the person he encountered.

His nemesis was sitting by himself, nodding before a cup of coffee and today's Prophet. He looked blearily up as Severus entered and froze, Charity colliding with the back of his legs and muttering a disgruntled `ow.' For about three early-morning seconds, each man slowly registered the other's presence. Then they groaned simultaneously; Severus rolled his eyes at the irony, and Potter slapped his paper down in irritation.

"You two are stupid," said a small, agitated voice bluntly, and Charity pushed past Severus's legs and into the staff room. Potter blinked at her in surprise as she seated herself next to him quite comfortably, looking pointedly at Severus. "Slippers, please," she said. And Potter blinked again, glancing confusedly at Severus.

"You brought her down here barefooted?" He asked incredulously.

"No," snapped Severus, planted firmly in his spot in the doorway. "Come on, Charity. We're going back to the dungeons."

"Why did we come up here if you just wanted to leave again?" she whined. "It's warmer in here, and I'm hungry now anyway."

"We came up here to confuse Potter, which is very easy to do, though I congratulate you nonetheless. Now that we have done so, it's time to go."

"Stop talking like that," Charity snapped back, upset at being refused. "You sound so dumb when you talk like that, when you get around people."

At this, Potter snorted loudly.

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" Severus retorted, snarling at Potter. "I'd have thought you'd want to go break your holy bread and share the cup with the rest of the staff."

"As it was, there was a certain disciple I didn't fancy sharing my cup with this morning," Potter growled. "But seeing as he's brought his germs in here, I think I'll take my breakfast in the Great Hall from now on."

"Wonderful. Don't hesitate to break your body and spill your blood on the way out. It's something I'd rather enjoy seeing."

Furious, Potter snatched up his paper, drained the last of his coffee (trying very hard not to show how scalding it still was), and stormed out. Nudging Severus none too gently aside as he reached the doorway, he muttered, "Later, Iscariot."

"`Later, Iscariot,' Potter?" Severus sneered after him as he retreated down the corridor. "You just ruined my whole parody with that terrible pun."

"Seemed pretty accurate to me..." Potter's voice sang, floating over his shoulder from the back of the messy black head. Always has to have the last word, Severus thought irritably to himself. No matter how stupid it sounds.

As fruitless as the confrontation had seemed, he felt a strong urge to beat something well up inside his gut.

Preferably something round and hollow clad in messy black hair and glasses.

***

He was sitting at his desk, reclined in his chair when the students began to file into the classroom. He said nothing, surveying them all as they took their seats, the noise level increasing steadily as more students entered the room. When they had all found their seats and it was impossible to discern anything over their mindless chattering, Severus stood.

"Quiet!" he barked over their heads. None of them even took notice of him. He drew his wand from his robes, pointed it at the ceiling, and produced with it a deafening crack! And a small puff of smoke.

The class jerked as one, several small screams being emitted. They were instantly silent, staring at Severus with wide eyes as the smoke from his wand drifted lazily upwards, dissipating. He slipped his wand back into his robes with satisfaction. Small whispers began to break out, and he raised his eyebrow at them. They desisted.

Severus almost laughed out loud. He raised his eyebrow, and they desisted! It was extremely entertaining. As he turned to face the blackboard, the whispers started up again.

He glided silently to the blackboard, ignoring the spitting hiss of adolescent whispering behind him, and picked up a piece of chalk. With it he scrawled not his name or any kind of introductory phrase at all, just: Pg. 296, Section 4-1A: Sleeping Draughts. Read and complete lab in Section Follow-up. The chalk clicked menacingly as it was replaced on its shelf, and Severus dealt the class a warning glance as he strode back to his desk and sat down.

A sort of indignant tittering broke out. After a few moments, the notorious voice of an idiotic attention-seeker rang through the dungeon, drawling: "Is there a name that goes with that?"

The class sputtered with repressed giggles.

Severus calmly stood once more, leaning back against his desk. He put his right hand in the pocket of his robes, but his left rested on the quill lying on his desk. "Why don't you tell me yours first?" he said smoothly, his eyes falling upon a burly boy with dark auburn hair that fell into his eyes. The boy leaned back, smirking, folding his hands across his stomach as he tilted his chair back on two legs. His delusional superiority and irritating jauntiness reminded Severus strongly of Sirius Black. The stitching on his robes clearly etched out a red and gold lion. Within the corner of his brain that was still fifteen years old, Severus vaguely hoped the boy would overbalance his chair and crash to the floor with all his belongings.

"Adam Shrawbad," replied the boy confidently, rocking his chair. Severus willed it to tip.

"Good," he muttered, picking up his quill and scribbling on an empty corner of parchment. "So then it would be five points from Gryffindor...in the name of Mr. Shrawbad." He set down his quill again and smiled at Adam Shrawbad, who was back on four legs and gaping in a very snubbed manner.

"You may call me Professor Snape," he continued, sitting down once more.

For a good time after that the class was silent except for the scribbling of quills, the grinding of ingredients against bowls of clay, and the hissing of steaming cauldrons. All in all, it was nearly therapeutic for Severus, who sat back in his chair, flipping through the potion book of his next class: third years. He was just deciding to have them attempt a Forgetfulness Potion when a quivering voice cut through his reverie.

"P-professor Snaaape...!"

He glanced up irritably, raising his eyebrows. A rather spindly girl with a large face and straight blonde hair had her hand stretched high into the air. After a second's analysis of her, Severus suddenly realized that she was gradually recoiling from her cauldron, bending her knees and placing her heels on the edge of her seat...

He jumped from his seat immediately and swooped down to her side, bending over her cauldron. It was frothing a sickly green foam, which began to spill over the lip of her cauldron. The mutated concoction sizzled as it hit the floor in globs, leaving rather nasty green stains.

"Finite Incantatem!" Severus barked at the cauldron, snapping his wand-arm out so fast that the girl gasped, losing hold of one of her legs. Her foot fell into a gluey puddle under her chair, which then splattered onto Severus's shoes and the hem of his robes. The cauldron had stopped frothing; in fact, it was completely empty save a curl of smoke twining up from the depths of its belly. Severus's shoes now had holes in them, however, and the hem of his robes was ridiculously frayed.

"Idiot girl!" Severus hissed before he could stop himself. "The directions in your book state quite clearly that the ground fairies' wings must be diluted! Did you mix them with the scarab powder? Answer me!"

Her blue eyes wide, the girl jumped.

"N-n-no..." she breathed, sounding utterly petrified. "I thought--"

"I think it would be in the best interests of the general public if you refrained from doing that from now on," Severus hissed at her, narrowing his eyes as the skin on his instep began to burn. "Thinking, that is. You are obviously incapable of doing it properly, so you might as well let the rest of us with an adequate supply of brains take care of it for you!"

There was complete silence. Looking around them, Severus saw that the entire class was gaping open-mouthed at him. The shocked Hufflepuff girl he had snapped at's eyes filled with tears, which almost made him scoff. He thought better of it when a sudden thought entered his head: keeping up the act, right Severus? News traveled quickly through a student body...

He took a couple of deep breaths. "...Are you hurt?" he asked as calmly as he could, trying to redeem himself.

"M-my foot--"

Severus looked down at her foot and saw that his weren't the only shoes with holes burnt through them.

"Very well, go to the hospital wing," sighed Severus. "Just be sure to...be careful...er. Next time."

She gathered up her things and positively fled from the classroom. Severus slowly stood upright, ignoring the excruciating pain on the tops of his feet. The students still stared incredulously at him, and Adam Shrawbad whispered something to his desk mate.

"GET BACK TO WORK!" Severus howled at them, and walked back up to his desk with as much dignity as he could muster.

When class was over twenty minutes later, no one was more relieved than Severus himself. He pretended not to hear the torrent of outrage that exploded in the corridor as his door swung shut.

"Eurgh, oh God..." he grunted, pulling off his mutilated shoes and socks to reveal the blistered skin beneath. "Ouuuch..."

He clumsily retrieved his wand from his pocket and attempted to heal himself. He'd never been very good at healing charms. Oh, a scrape here and there was no trouble, but blistered, burned flesh was another thing. Also, for some reason, healing charms seemed to work better when he was performing them on Charity as opposed to himself. He was left with several tiny blisters. Standing, he repaired the hem of his robes, and then he moved on to his shoes. Looking them over, he decided they were beyond hope and went to retrieve another pair from his bedchamber.

As he walked barefoot into his bedroom he discovered Charity sitting on his bed, playing Exploding Snap with herself.

"Severus?" she asked him as he got to his knees and reached under his immense four-poster.

"Hmm?"

"I'm bored."

"You're bored?" he asked, pulling on a new pair of black socks. "You look to me like you're fairing alright."

"I'm hungry, too."

"You seem to have a fondness for footwear, don't you?" he muttered, lacing up his left boot and nodding toward the crispy ones at the foot of the bed.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," he snorted, standing and wincing slightly as his socks rubbed against the remaining blisters. "Here--"

He pointed his wand at a spot on the bed in front of her, and in a moment she had a plate full of various items of junk food and candy. "Will that do?"

"Mmmm," she said, licking her lips and smiling up at him.

"I've got another class to teach, and then it's time for lunch," said Severus, heading for the door. "Don't make yourself sick."

"Mmmhmm," she nodded through a mouthful of chocolate frog.

"See you in a bit."

When he opened the door to his classroom, there was already an entire herd of chattering third years waiting for him.

"It's going to be a long day," he muttered to himself, and walked straight to the blackboard.

***

When he finally stumbled into his bedchamber for the second time, sucking on two rather charred fingers, Severus found Charity asleep on his bed, surrounded by wrappers. She had a delicate smudging of brown about her lips and fingers. Her little white stomach, which was peeping out between the bottom of her (his) shirt and the top of her (his) boxers, looked very full.

He shook his head at her, getting the impression that his decision to appease her with sweets hadn't been altogether wise. He grabbed the wastepaper basket sitting in the corner, pointed his wand at the bed, and muttered: "Accio!" A flock of wrappers flew at him, and with his wand Severus directed them into the basket and replaced it in the corner.

He then approached the bed, looking down at his little sister. She breathed a rather loud breath in through her mouth, then swallowed, smacking her lips against the sticky chocolate that covered them. Severus leaned over her, smirking, moved his face close to hers and said, "BOO."

Her eyes flew open and she jerked, then swallowed awkwardly. For a moment Severus was afraid she might get sick, but she seemed to recompose herself, sitting up.

"Time for lunch," said Severus, stepping back from the bed.

"Eurgh," said Charity in a somewhat guttural tone.

"I told you not to make yourself sick," Severus reprimanded her, trying not to laugh as she struggled off the side of the bed to her feet.

"Didn't," she hiccupped. "I'm not very hungry, though..."

"Well come with me to the staff room anyway, and we'll see if you're hungry once you get there."

Despite his earlier experience with taking meals in the staff room, Severus was still more willing to go there than to the Great Hall. He didn't like the idea of all the students seeing Charity sitting up there with him. It might provoke some very annoying questions from his next few classes. He was also minutely afraid that the story of his outburst would have spread already, and that many eyes would be on him, which could provoke suspicion from Dumbledore. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take just yet.

He got Charity dressed in some clothes of her own and wiped off her face, and they journeyed from the dungeons to the staff room. Severus kept his pace very slow, keeping Charity in the corner of his eye at all times. He still felt rather bad about leaving her behind yesterday, and she also had a greenish tint to her face, so he thought he should keep an eye on her.

As Severus grasped the handle to the staff room door, he realized there were voices coming from inside. Upon opening the door, he discovered all his worst nightmares collected in one room.

James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans--no, Potter now, wasn't it--and the rather fat baby on her lap all sat around the table in the staff room, platters of various foods they had ordered from their plates surrounding them. Their rather raucous conversation quieted as he entered the room.

"Oh, fantastic," said Severus in disgust, and promptly turned around. He seriously hoped that Potter having guests during his lunch hour was not a regular occurrence.

"Going so soon?" sneered a voice from behind him, its owner obviously emboldened by his entourage, who all chuckled dutifully at his words.

"Yes, actually," he said sharply, trying to restrain himself from violence as Sirius Black, his sleek brown hair falling over his left eye, smirked at him. "All of you in one room--I'm rather afraid my little sister will get eaten." He let his eyes trail slowly over Lupin in disgust. The werewolf said nothing, his face remaining, as usual, and irritatingly unabashed.

Unfortunately, his words caused too much of a distraction for anyone to be offended by them.

"Little sister, eh?" Black crowed, craning his neck as if to look over Severus's shoulder. "Reckon you could set me up with her, Snape? Oh--unless she looks like you, that is."

"Yeah, if you fancy five-year-olds," snorted Potter, flicking a bit of pudding in his friend's direction. Most amusingly, his aim was misguided, and his chubby spawn soon had a glob of cream sliding down his face. The child's green eyes crossed as it scaled his forehead and slid onto his nose.

"Eurgh, James!" Lily scolded, unfolding a napkin to wipe her baby's face.

"No, leave it there," Severus scoffed, his lip curling at the happy little pudge. "It looks much better that way."

At this, Potter's eyes flashed. "That `it' you were just referring to better not have been my son," he growled, making as if to stand.

"I was talking about the pudding, actually" Severus lied. "I think it is in the pudding's best interests to stay as far away from your mouth as possible. After all, things that wind up there--" he glared meaningfully at Lily. "--are doomed for a pretty pathetic future..."

She looked blankly at him for a moment, and then her eyes and mouth grew round, and her face grew red. Severus grinned inwardly. Score!

"Get out!" she said shrilly, sounding much more like the rule-obsessed, easily-offended Evans Severus had known her to be in their school days. Her eyes flew to her husband as his chair flew back. Potter jumped to his feet, advancing toward Severus.

"Well, that's my two knuts, off we go," said Severus quickly, turning and opening the door behind him. Charity, who had been hiding behind him, received a brusque nudge out the door, and Severus slammed it satisfyingly in Potter's face. "Later, Emmanuel," he sneered at the door.

***

"James, just sit down," Lily said in as pacifying a voice as she could muster. "You're playing right into his hands. That's just how he wanted you to react."

"Obviously not," said Sirius conversationally, placing another sandwich onto his plate. "Otherwise he wouldn't have run out with his tail between his legs like that.... Stupid really. Provoking you like that and then leaving before you can beat the shit out of him...."

"Sirius, there are minors in the room," Lily said, placing her hands over Harry's ears, though her lips twitched.

"Aw, he's fine," grinned Sirius, reaching down the table and ruffling his godson's hair. "Besides, he needs to learn the proper terms with which to address that son of a--"

"Who does he think he is?" James burst out, sitting violently back in his chair. "Comes in here acting like he has any right to speak to me that way...."

"Don't worry James," said Remus, grinning slyly at his fork. "Like Sirius said, it doesn't take a genius to see who's got the, erm...longer tail..."

The whole table burst out laughing, and Harry's eyes brightened at the sound; he fidgeted, making a small, excited sound and smiling. James, chuckling despite his lingering anger, reached over for his son.

Harry happily reached his pudgy hands out to his father, who sat him on his lap and kissed the top of his head.

"Ack, stop it James, you're making me all weepy," said Peter through a mouthful of food.

"Hey, speaking of kids, what's with that little sister of Snape's?" said Sirius. "She seems a bit young to be his sister is all...and what's she doing here anyway?"

"Apparently he's taking care of her," James said, not bothering to hide the disapproval in his voice.

"What, hasn't she got parents? I mean, of all people, he's the last one I'd expect to volunteer--"

"Wait a minute," Remus suddenly said, setting down his fork. "You said she's five?"

"Yeah," James said.

"Doesn't make sense," he continued thoughtfully. "I mean, rumor had it his mum died when he was at school...."

"Maybe it's his half sister," James shrugged. "She doesn't really look all that much like him except for her coloring."

"Yeah, she's actually cute," Peter piped in between bites.

"But his father supposedly disappeared back when we were seventeen...five years ago..."

"So?" said Sirius. "He took off right after she was born, then? Makes sense. Look what happened the first time he had a kid...."

"If his mum was dead, and his father disappeared..."

"We don't know when his father disappeared, or if his mum's even really dead," James pointed out. "Disappeared.... I'll bet his dad's still around, right at the center of things...."

A heavy silence followed these words. It was so easy to forget, when they were all together, the kind of danger each faced with every blink they allowed themselves. An Auror, a man who lived off his `understanding' Ministry's insufficient welfare, a man who bounced from job to job and felt perhaps less, perhaps more pressure than the rest of them, a teacher, a wife, and a child...they were all so different, and yet all facing the same challenges. Some were triumphing, some had triumphed, and one had already failed....

"It's just weird, that's all," said Remus quietly after a moment, looking perplexed. "Something's not right..."

"What, are you suggesting she's actually Snape's daughter or something?" said Sirius, furrowing his brows at Remus.

"Well, if you had a kid when you were seventeen, would you want to tell everyone about it?" reasoned Remus. "Hell, I'd probably lie."

"But who do you reckon he could've gotten pregnant?" James said, leaning forward.

A few minutes passed in silence, the only noises being made by Peter, who drank deeply from his goblet, peering over its edge to survey the conversation. Suddenly, Sirius snapped his fingers.

"Who was that one girl, that girl he hung about with all the time..." he said, snapping repeatedly and looking up at the ceiling. "Ravenclaw...Meisner! Char-Charity! Charity Meisner!"

"CHARITY!" James roared abruptly, slamming his hand down on the table. Harry jolted in his lap, startled by the sound. "His `little sister!' Her name's Charity! Oh, my God..."

"So he got Charity Meisner of Ravenclaw preggers, named his daughter after her, and told everyone it was his sister!" Sirius said excitedly, sitting forward, his eyes alight. "It makes perfect sense!"

"What about Meisner, though," said James doubtfully, bouncing Harry slightly on his knee to calm him. "I haven't heard a word about her, and Snape's definitely not married or anything...."

"She left him, then," said Remus gravely, sitting back.

"No," said Lily firmly. The men all swiveled around to look at her. "She wouldn't--she couldn't have done that! She was my partner in Charms all of sixth year, and she was always so nice to me."

"Nice?" said Sirius incredulously. "Right, Lily. You're thinking of the wrong girl. She was anything but nice...."

"Well, maybe not to you," snapped Lily. "After all, the only time you ever spoke to her was to hit on her or make crude comments about Snape..."

From that point on, the conversation idled away from its exciting climax and onto memory lane, as conversations always seemed to do when the marauders were all together these days. It was easier, that way.... The mystery of Snape's past lingered in each of their minds, however. Only one person in that room knew the truth, but he was declined to say anything. After all, best to let them all formulate their own ideas....

***

By the end of the day, Severus was sore, irritable, tired, hungry, and not in the mood to socialize with anyone. That is, he was his usual self, only with a few added bumps and bruises. He also knew that he hated teaching, hated James Potter, hated James Potter's friends, hated James Potter's wife, hated James Potter's son, hated eating in the dungeons, and hated James Potter. And hated James Potter. And hated James Potter....

He didn't even bother going to the staff room that evening; he'd learned his lesson about that twice already today and had no intention of repeating the experience. He'd try again tomorrow, he thought, or as soon as he could be sure that Potter's gang had gone.

As for now, despite Charity's moans of protest, he ordered a house elf from the kitchens to bring them dinner. Severus graded papers, his marks getting less and less cordial with every paper passed, as he ate. Charity sat across from him on the other side of his desk, occasionally glaring at him and stabbing her plate with her fork rather harder than necessary. Part of him felt guilty, making her stay here with him when she was so unhappy.... The other part of him shot back that he was far more unhappy than she could ever be, that he was doing his best, that all in all he was doing this for her own good, that she'd get used to it eventually, and that they were in this together. They always had been.

It was half past eleven when he finished marking papers. A lone, shriveled candle sputtered on his desk, its glutinous rivers of wax spilling over the edge of its holder and pooling on the dark wood of his desk. Its dim yellow light was just enough to see by, though very inconsistent. Severus sighed exhaustedly, marking a final zero with a flourish and dropping his quill back into its inkwell. Glancing up, he realized that Charity was still curled up in the chair opposite him, her left arm flopping lifelessly over the chair's.

Trying to ignore the headache that pounded rhythmically inside his skull, he stood. He shuffled his papers into somewhat organized piles, walked around to the other side of his desk, and lifted Charity from her chair. She murmured sleepily, waking up just enough to hang onto him as he carried her to her bed.

He set her in her bed, pulling the covers up over her. She appeared to be asleep again. As he reached the doorway, however, a small, sleepy voice sighed behind him.

"Why d'you hate him so much?"

He turned around. "Who?" he said, though he knew perfectly well the answer.

"Pot-Pot-ter" she yawned, wriggling into a sitting position underneath her heavy blankets. "He doesn't really ever do anything to you, and I think he's a lot like you."

"We're nothing alike," Severus snapped a little too forcefully. Charity looked slightly hurt. He sighed, backtracking to sit at the end of her bed. "We've known each other for a long time, Potter and I. We're from two different worlds. He's--" Severus thought for a moment, trying to ignore the first word that popped up inside his head: `happy.' "He comes from a different sort of...of background from me, do you understand?"

"So?" said Charity.

"He's one of those people who everybody likes," Severus went on, tracing designs on the blankets with his index finger, not bothering to disguise the resentment in his tone. "Perfect."

"Everybody would like you, too," Charity said timidly, wiggling her foot under the blankets by his arm as if to comfort him. "If you didn't act the way you do around people."

He snorted. "Sorry Char, but I think you're wrong there," he said, laughing hollowly. "It might be hard for you to understand just yet, but I'm not like most people. People don't like me."

"I like you," she said simply, smiling as if she had just solved all his problems with this pronouncement. The funny thing was, for that moment, she had. Severus smiled back at her, glancing up. A true smile--a rare occurrence, coming from him. It felt awkward on his face.

"Thanks," he said, trying to sound sarcastic, though he truly meant it. "I like you too. I think I might keep you."

"Shut up," she said, stifling another yawn. He stood again, bending down to kiss her lightly on the forehead. She looked confusedly up at him; her brother's gestures of affection were few and far between, although she knew deep down that he loved her.

"Do you want me to hate him?" she murmured, her voice muffled once more by her pillow as he turned to leave the room. He froze. Did he want her to hate Potter?

She was the only person he cared about. Did he want her to hate his mortal enemy? To be on his side no matter what? It seemed plausible. It seemed a reasonable request. There was always the chance that she would wake up one morning and realize that she was stuck with Mr. Greasy Bastard, while Mr. Glorious strutted the warmer corridors outside their doors and up a few floors. It twisted his gut, to think of it. It made him uneasy, possessive, angry, even. It made him...like his father. He was struck with the sudden desire to turn Charity into himself, to make her bitter, antisocial, forever inadequate. He would be sure never to lose her. She would never leave his side; she would need him, his approval....

"No," he said quickly, in an almost panic-stricken voice. "No. Don't hate anyone unless you--want to. Do you want to hate him?"

He turned to ask her again, only to find her asleep. He halfway considered waking her up again, to make sure she had heard his answer. He stopped himself, however, terrified that his second answer might be different from his first. He fled from her room before he could make a mistake.

My God, he thought. What am I doing to her? `Do you want me to hate him, Severus?' My God...

NO, CHARITY! He wanted to scream. Don't hate him! Don't hate anyone! Don't be like me...

And at the same time, he wanted to whisper softly into her ear: You'll never be in the same league as someone like Potter. Hate him, Charity. It's your only hope. Hate them all. Just don't hate me...

He didn't even notice when his forearm spasmed with pain the first time. When it happened the second time, he was almost relieved. A distraction.

He strode to his room and put on his cloak. It felt smooth and cool against him. Comforting. He pulled a small jar out of a drawer in his desk; a jar with a tiny etching of a skull and snake on its rim. He reached in and pinched a bit of powder between his fingers. Sealed the jar; put it in his pocket. Back to his room again, where he lit a fire in the as of yet unused grate with his wand. Apparation would no longer work, so this was to be his new method of transportation to his Master's side. He scattered the powder into the flames, and they burned brighter--a vivid blue. He stepped into them, his voice crackling along with the flames as he shouted: "MORSMORDRE!"

He was whisked from his new home, and into the arms of his family.

***

The same house--the same room--as last time. Thick dust lay upon the floor in feathers, whisking up as Severus stepped out of the roaring fire in the grate and into the room. He blinked in surprise, looking around him. There was no one there.

He couldn't have been first. He hadn't responded to the first bout of pain upon his arm. He felt a sense of foreboding. The floo powder wouldn't have worked if he had been mistaken of the Call....

"Severus," a voice whispered from the shadows. Severus jerked only very slightly, turning around to face the only dark corner he hadn't glanced into. His Master stepped forward, his face shrouded and distorted by the flickering light of the fire. He was alone. "A private meeting," Lord Voldemort continued, recognizing his confusion. "In the wake of a larger one. You and I have important matters to discuss."

"Yes, my Lord," said Severus, falling to his knees and pressing his lips to the familiar hem of his Master's robes. He vaguely wondered what this `larger meeting' had been about. He was just considering asking when Lord Voldemort once again interpreted his thoughts.

"An important event is to happen tonight," said Voldemort, a trace of suppressed excitement quivering in his high voice. "We will finally overcome a fundamental hindrance.... The dementors will rejoin us. But this does not involve you. The lower ranks will complete the raid. We are well on the road to conquest. You will lead us there."

Severus felt pride well up in him; his heart began to beat wildly in apprehension. All petty thoughts of tiredness, soreness, and irritableness fled his mind. He would lead them! And yet he still felt unsettled about something. Nervous...doubtful...fearful...? He waited.

"Time will allow Hogwarts to fall into my hands; its corrosion has already begun. In time only the faithful will remain...the faithful to the so-called sage, Albus Dumbledore. But their numbers are insufficient, and he knows that. They all know that. But there is one who still stands in my way, who is fated to blunder in my path, blocking my way to clear victory."

The Dark Lord was building up suspense. Severus's mind was racing. Dumbledore. Severus would be told to trick Dumbledore, to slowly and inconspicuously ensure that the school was at its weakest when Voldemort chose fit to strike. He waited with bated breath, but his Master simply stood there, enjoying his advantage, the soft light dancing on his misanthropic features. Finally Severus could bear the silence no longer.

"...My Lord?"

Lord Voldemort smiled diabolically.

"You will deliver me James Potter."

Severus blinked. He had not heard correctly. Such a notion was absurd. It took him a few moments to register that he had not heard incorrectly. Then it took him only a second to realize that all his efforts, all his expectations for himself, everything he'd put himself through in this cursed past week had been for the sake of someone as inconsequential and witless as Potter. Bang! went Severus's stomach through the floor. He almost cried out in indignant shock. Potter? Potter?

"Potter, my Lord?" Severus said, trying not to sound insolent. "I would have thought....Dumbledore...."

"Yes, you would have thought," said Voldemort in a quiet, dangerous tone. "They would all have thought.... But conveniently, Potter will deliver Dumbledore to us indirectly. The old man's fondness for the boy is notorious."

Had Severus not been entirely thunderstruck, he would have snorted. I'll say....

"It is crucial that I have extinguished the Potter line before I dominate," the Dark Lord continued secretively. "I cannot conquer with the threat of that fool weighing upon my head. He and his progeny must be executed before I take control of our world. I will take no chances."

Severus was distracted. `He and his progeny...extinguished....' A sudden, unbidden vision of a fat baby with pudding sliding down his face had jumped in front of his mind's eye. The baby was laughing, the mother was clucking...and the father was advancing upon Severus like a wild animal, armed with fists and naivety. What use were they? What threat were they? They were cliché; they were the perfect family. They were everything Severus had longed for and despised his entire life. What did they have to do with anything?

And then an even worse image swam across his mind: A young boy, unconscious, a trickle of dried blood on his upper lip; he was surrounded by sterile white; he was twitching, whimpering.... What in God's name possessed you to do such a thing? ...Look at him, Severus! Look at him and see the full debauchery you have committed!

Look at all the pain you've caused!

"But--my Lord--why?"

It slipped before he could stop himself. Potter? Of all people, of all people in the entire world, why Potter? Why did it have to be Potter? And...the child, too...?

"You question me?" The voice was so low, so soft, so threatening, and yet Severus failed to heed its warning. He was lost inside the confusing din of his own head. Images tangled around each other, emotions muddled his sensibility.... An old thought crossed his mind: Revenge? For what? For saving my life....

Kill him? The Dark Lord was asking Severus to deliver him his mortal enemy. Heroic, noble, selfless James Potter would finally be gone from Severus's life forever, nevermore to taunt him with perfection. The last fragment of his past could be forgotten; he could cleanse his world, finally, of these memories.

It should have been a privilege. It should have been an honor. It should have excited him. It should have. But why, why wouldn't the image of that pudding-clad baby leave his mind? And why now was he suddenly thinking of Charity, her eggs gurgling placidly on her plate....

"But I can't do that...."

Those words were the worst mistake he had ever made in his entire life.

"You what?"

And yet, he was given another chance.

"I can't...."

Goddamn you, you imbecilic boy...!

"CRUCIO!"

Pain. Endless. Memories. Endless. Ten years passed in the time of pain, swathed in a disguise of ten seconds. Visions of his past swimming in his tear-filled eyes, voiced in his hollow, deafening screams. He writhed, he struggled, he cried. He remembered.

A million white-hot flames licked his bare skin, sending him into an oblivion of blinding light. Waves of torture cascaded from head to toe, shredding him. Reminding him.

Mother.

Razor blades.

Getting beaten to a bloody pulp by Daddy.

Charity.

Father.

Blood.

Pain.

Acceptance.

Betrayal.

He'd forgotten them all. He'd forgotten his family, his friends, and his childhood.... It wasn't fair! He'd put them away! They were gone! He didn't want them anymore! He didn't want any of it! He tried to clutch onto the unending pain, to use it as a distraction, or an outlet, but it was no use. The pain seemed to resurface all the neurotic memories he had strived so long to scab over.

Oh, GODS, it won't stop, it won't ever stop, please make the memories stop, please let me die, please let me pass out, please let me die, please just let me go... Please, I'll do anything, anything, anything...

"ANYTHING!"

The sudden freedom was deafening. Sobs wracked in his chest, gurgling in his bloodied throat. How long had it been? It was so quiet....

Severus forced his eyes to roll forward onto his Master, whose lips were pressed together in a hard, cynical line of triumph.

"Anything," Lord Voldemort reminded him quietly. "You will do anything for redemption. Your time is ticking fast, Snape, and I have been too benign with you. You know that, don't you?"

"Y-yes...."

"You owe me your life, your innocence, your freedom."

"Yes."

"You took an oath, you remember?"

"Yes," he sobbed.

"My priorities above your own. I am your Master."

"I know."

"You know. And you will do as I say?"

"Always."

"Very good. You will spy on Potter. You will take note of his plans, of his weaknesses, of his whereabouts. You will deliver him to me, and you will be redeemed."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Go. You have learned a valuable lesson tonight. I will Call you again soon. Get out of my sight."

Somehow, he managed to struggle to his feet. Using all his remaining strength, Severus staggered to the fire, pulled the jar from his pocket, sprinkled the powder into the flames, and weakly called out: "Finite...Morse...Mordre."

Too weakly. He had used the wrong incantation, had been mixed up. He would be lucky to be anywhere within the vicinity of Hogwarts.

He was lucky. He collapsed out of a primitive stone fireplace, and in a glance, realized he was in the gamekeeper's hut. Thankfully for him, the sounds of drunken singing could be heard from outside. With a strength he didn't know he possessed, Severus pulled up his hood and ran from the hut, each step like another knife stabbed into his spine. Shrouded by his cloak in the night, he made his excruciating way back to the castle.

***

The room was silent for several moments after the young man departed. The fire flickered, ribbons of blue still tonguing through the flames as the last remnants of the floo powder burned away. The dark man standing alone in the center of the room held out his arm, and gestured slowly.

Another man was called from the shadows, where he had been hidden throughout the entire `private' meeting. He slowly, almost disbelievingly, strode toward his Master. He bent and kissed the hem, waiting.

"I had hoped to be wrong about him, but my suspicions have only been more cemented tonight. He is unbalanced, inconsistent. I can no longer trust him."

"No, my Lord."

There was a long, immensely weighty pause.

"As incompetent as I fear you are, you are my last resort."

"I thank you, my Lord."

"If his loyalty fails, you will report to me."

"Yes, Master."

"Watch him. Closely."

"I will."

***

CATASTROPHE AT AZKABAN FORTRESS

Associated Press.

The two human guards stationed at the formidable Fortress of Azkaban Prison on Monday night witnessed a horror that will live on in the memories of the wizarding world long into the future. As the Ministry awaited its nightly `all is well at twelve o'clock' owl from the Fortress that night, several flashes of light were reported seen over the Atlantic horizon. Muggles living on the western coasts of Europe have excused the flashes to be the highly charged lightning of an untracked tropical storm. They could not be further from the truth. At two o'clock in the morning, a delayed owl reached the Ministry bearing an ominous message in hasty script: "Incursion at half past twelve...Defenses failed...Troops in black have invaded the Prison...Dementors marching in ranks...Surrender imminent."

Ministry Aurors were sent immediately to the site, appalled at the scene of ruin they confronted.

"Rubbish everywhere," recalls a shaken Sirius Black, newest member of the Ministry's highly acknowledged team of Aurors. "Twisted metal bars strewn about, small fires burning.... They try to prepare you for this sort of stuff in training, but it was more than I'd ever imagined. It wasn't just the state of the place, either. It was totally deserted. Not a soul in sight...no dementors, no prisoners, no nothing. Just an empty, blackened pit and two bodies. God knows what's become of them all."

It was Black's first ever mission as an Auror. Pale and shaking, he adds one more thing before hastily wrapping up our interview: "I pray to God I never have to set foot in that place again."

Sylvester Prang and Jonathon Quintley were pronounced dead at four o'clock Tuesday morning. The Ministry sends its condolences to the Prang and Quintley families; your loved ones died with honor.