Happy Days in Hell

Chapter 2 - Awakening in Hell

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Harry tried to move a little bit, but he immediately regretted the attempt. A sudden, almost unbearable pain ran through his whole body and Harry had to do his best not to cry out as every part of his body throbbed. He couldn't understand it. Blinking away the tears he struggled to remember. Where was he? Why was he in pain? What had happened?

Slowly, the memories of the previous afternoon began to filter through in his mind. Gradually, he could remember vague pictures of the events, the 'torturing show' as Voldemort had called it. So it had been true, all had been true from the very first moment until the last. He was in captivity and had to face yet more horror and pain, he was sure.

The mere thought sickened him. Torture - again? It had been more than enough the day before. He was firmly convinced he wouldn't be able to suffer through any more pain or abuse. He would do everything they wanted just so he could die in peace. Yes, die. He wouldn't be able to escape this time, not any more: he, apparently, had run out of luck unlike the previous years and meetings with Voldemort. This time, his body was torn and exhausted, his soul was hopeless. Voldemort didn't know yet but he had won the game, Harry thought.

I was all his fault, he realised after a while. If he hadn't run away from the Dursleys he wouldn't have been caught by the Death Eaters, who had been watching the house. He had known that Voldemort had been aware of his location, he had said to him in the graveyard of Little Hangleton. He couldn't reach him while he had been under the protection of his relatives but with his running away he had gotten too far away from the family and its offered protection. So he had been brought here.

Well, he'd had a good reason to fly away from them, at least for some hours, he had needed some time for himself after the family quarrel, if he hadn't wanted to turn his relatives into something unnatural again like he had done to Aunt Marge two years before.

Dudley had started it all. He should not have called Lily Evans a freak and a slut. Dudley shouldn't have said that the only reason Harry's father had married his mother had been that he had gotten her pregnant. Harry finally couldn't help but punch him.

There had been a huge fight, and he and Dudley hadn't been evenly matched because of Dudley's advantage in weight and height. On the top of all that, in the end, his Uncle Vernon had come to help Dudley, so Dudley had won. His uncle had been about to punish him for the fight, but after the first slap, Harry had stormed out of the house and had run away.

He hadn't had to run too far away: he had soon found himself surrounded by three Death Eaters. Unfortunately, his wand had still been in his bedroom, safely in his trunk. He hadn't been able to do anything. He had just stood there, slowly understanding the consequences of his deed, while the three men had taken him to this mansion they called Nightmare Manor. After the torturing session he perfectly understood the name.

The previous afternoon had been a living nightmare. When he had been waiting for the beginning of it, he had somehow known precisely what would happen. Hell! Harry had known everything. But, to his surprise, when the Death Eaters and Voldemort had entered the Hall he had noticed he hadn't been afraid at all. Not any more. Why? He wondered even now.

Perhaps it had been because of the nightmares full of fears and tears, the death of Cedric, the reincarnated Voldemort, their duel and his parents' appearance, the handless Wormtail, and all this because of him. If he hadn't existed... Voldemort wouldn't have come back, Cedric would still have been alive, Wormtail would have been caught by Lupin and Sirius... and Sirius would have been free and Lupin would have continued his teaching work in Hogwarts. Lupin wouldn't have been unemployed as he was now. Harry's mother would have been alive, perhaps his father too. And they would have had a lot of children, three or more, attending Hogwarts, Gryffindor House.

Harry smiled at this idea. It was something funny. His would-have-been brothers and sisters...

But they didn't exist and his parents were dead.

And he would die here too, in Nightmare Manor, alone.

Harry's mind tried to fight against the idea. He wanted to live, to survive! He wanted to meet his friends, to eat meals in the Great Hall, to drink butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade... to play Quidditch and see the next World Cup, perhaps to become a professional seeker on his National Team. Anything but death!

He longed for detentions with Filch or some more Potions' classes with Snape... longed for simple humiliation without pain, blood and sweat.

But he was still alive and suddenly he decided not to give up. If he could keep it up perhaps his dreams would became true... He had to hope and believe there was a way out of this damned place. He had to be strong to subdue his weakness.

With this decision in his mind, Harry opened his eyes again, and tried to have a look around at the environment he was forced to live in, but he couldn't move his head. His neck was hurting and, for an incredibly long moment, he was scared that something irreversible had happened to his spine. Although it didn't really matter. He would die here anyway, and if his spine was broken, his agony would be shorter and almost painless. But all his body was aching so much, which meant that his spine was all right, at least for now.

And still, he was not ready to die. He would fight!

Harry returned to thinking about the last day's events again. The Death Eaters and Voldemort... he remembered the scene of them entering. It had been like a staged play, but one of them ruined the order.

From the first moment, he had been quite sure he would see Professor Snape amongst the Death Eaters, although he couldn't explain why. It had been something obvious since he had suspected Snape of being a spy for Dumbledore. During the waiting, he had been wondering if Voldemort had accepted the professor's apology and if he had done, then how on earth had Snape managed to convince the Dark Lord about his 'innocence'? The Dark Lord wasn't at all stupid, it must have been quite a convincing apology.

In the moment Harry's eyes had finally caught the entering group and had noticed the frozen figure in the doorway, he had been pretty sure about his identity. As the man had finally managed to join the circle, and he could see his menacing and predatory stalk, Harry had known for sure that the man had been the greasy, old git of a Potions Master. His greasy hair had not been covered by helmet or hat, so he could recognise him by his oily locks easily.

He had realised then, that the professor hadn't known that he had recognised him.

He had not only been a little bit stunned by the professor's behaviour. Well, he had never thought that Snape would want him killed (just expelled - but Snape hadn't really known anything about Harry's family matters, so he couldn't have known that, for Harry, expelling and killing were nearly the same thing), but the clear concern and fear he could detect in the man's behaviour, had shocked him.

In that moment, he had realised one more thing: that by the end of the torturing session most likely there would be another victim of his: the professor. Harry hadn't wanted it. Yes, he hated Snape but he hated him alive. He hadn't intended to add one more name to his victim's list just after Cedric's. He had tried to beg the professor with his eyes to let him die, not to get involved in this mess, and he had been almost joyous when the first curse of the professor had hit him. Perhaps he had nodded just too to assure the professor he had been acting right.

But, in reality, he had been a little disappointed. During the spasm of the 'light' Tormenta curse, he had been wondering if the professor had truly hated him that much. 'That much', because the curse Snape had hit him with hadn't been any better than the Cruciatus. Not at all, in fact it had been worse with the knowledge that the supporters of the Light Side used curses like that. Why did they use it? They could kill their enemies or put them into prison. So why did they need tormenting curses?

Later, the potion Snape had given to him had been worse than ten Cruciatus'. And finally, that other curse... He remembered he couldn't stop screaming for long minutes after that. He had felt his bones melting in his body and after some insufferable amount of time they had returned to their normal state again - but the second stage had been as painful as the first, if not worse.

In that very moment, he had been sure that Snape had betrayed Dumbledore. This feeling had been more painful than the curses themselves. Dumbledore trusted this man! Somehow, Harry should let the headmaster know that his professor was not truthful any more.

And afterwards, Snape had fallen next to him. He had saved Harry again. The professor had apologised sincerely, the guilt had been written clearly on his face. Harry had not been sure if he had wholly understood the situation but had accepted the apology before dying...

The memory shattered him completely. Suddenly, he remembered what Voldemort had said; 'I'll wait for you to beg me to kill you.' The meaning of the sentence slowly penetrated his mind.

Finally, Harry understood. He would die. In pain.

Harry felt his power abandoning his tortured body, but didn't fight it. Letting the darkness fog his senses again, he lost his consciousness.

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The next time he woke again, he felt thirsty. He should move if he wanted to drink or at least he wanted to know if there was some possibility to drink.

From moment to moment he reminded himself: he would not give up! Not so easily!

Clenching his teeth, he shut his eyes tightly and gathered all the power left in his torn body to sit up. The next moment he was sitting. Hmm-mmm. It was a little bit of a dizzy feeling, but not as seriously as it had been the first time he had woken. Perhaps the after-effects of the curses began to fail.

He just sat there for long minutes waiting for the dizziness to fade.

After a while, he felt the nausea stopping and he tried to open his eyes. Large amounts of relief washed through his body. He could see. His sight was not too sharp, because his glasses were lost and probably broken too, but it was enough to examine his new surroundings. Torches fought darkness in the small cell, leaving the greater part of the room in shadow. He was sure there weren't any windows; he could only see a large brown door. Next to it there stood something like a big jar - perhaps water?

He did his best again and tried to stand up. He could manage it for a moment but he had to sit down again. It wouldn't work. His legs were too weak to carry the weight of his body, and his head span, dazing him. He had to creep somehow to the door. Harry took a deep breath and eased himself on all fours. His knobbly knees were aching as he crawled closer and closer to the jar, but finally, he made it!

It was like a victory over Voldemort, or so. He grabbed the jar and lifted it to his mouth. The water was old and stale, but it was water and that was enough. He returned the jar to its place, and then, he suddenly heard a quiet moaning from the nearby shadowed place of the cell.

He froze. Wasn't he alone? Who could be the other one?

He tried to clear his sight and examine the other from a distance, but he couldn't. He had always been almost blind and without appropriate lighting, the task was even more difficult. So, Harry sighed and kneeled again. He had to examine the cell's other inhabitant(s?). He crawled closer to the softly groaning man (he was a man, he could hear it in his voice) and tried to focus on his face. It was a meaningless attempt. He simply was not able to see anything in the shadows. He sighed again in frustration and lightly touched the other's face.

The groans suddenly became louder , so he drew back his hand in terror.

As he lifted it to his eyes he could see it. There was blood on it.

He sat down next to the man in thought. What should he do now? It was quite obvious that the man was in worse condition than him, so he had to help him. But how? He didn't know any healing spells and even if he had known some, they would have been useless without a wand.

A wand! Perhaps the other man had a wand! It was a tiny hope, but he wanted to know for sure, perhaps... Perhaps there was some hope in this hopeless and lightless cell... He touched the man again and began to run his hands through his clothes. The next moment he could feel wet robes under his hands - not wet of water but wet of something slimy, disgusting, viscous. Blood. And some more blood. Blood everywhere. He was terrified. He didn't know that his condition was not much better than the man's, so he became exasperated. He decided to crawl to the jar for some water to at least wash the man's face or to give him a drink if he wanted. He grabbed the pot and cautiously, not to break it, he crawled back on his painfully throbbing knees to the man.

Fortunately or not, the jar was a really immense one, almost full of water, and in the minutes of crawling he hated the vessel. He put it down not too near to the unconscious man fearing of any sudden movement that could turn it over, and after a short hesitation he tore a piece of his robes to clean the other's bloody face with it. He looked at himself searching for a suitable piece of cloth, and for the first time since he had woken up, he saw his own body. Suddenly, he became close to faint. Just wonderful. His condition wasn't much better than the man's. He reached to his own face and realised that it was covered with sweat, blood and filth too.

'Oh, no' he thought for a moment, but tried to overcome the shock quickly. He gulped, waited his heartbeat to return to a more even rhythm, and he ripped a small piece from the sleeve of his T-shirt, which seemed to be not as bloody and dirty as the other parts of his quite ragged clothing, and poured some water on it.

With careful touches, he began to wash the other's face. It took some time, and in the meantime, his eyes slowly began to get used to the semi-dark around them. The man had light skin and shoulder length black hair...

No, it couldn't be. No.

The man he was washing so carefully was Snape.

Harry didn't want it to be real. Not because he hated the Potions Master. In reality he couldn't help not hate him any more after those fateful events of the day before. He just didn't want him to be here as the next victim of his list, right after Cedric.

But probably, if he weren't here, it would mean that he had already been killed. 'What a relief!' he thought sarcastically. Snape was there and he was breathing, but in the end he would die like him, Harry, so the list would grow again nevertheless. Not to mention the fact that he had to die alongside a person who hated him with his whole heart. Voldemort had been crueller than he had believed himself to be, Harry was sure. He and Snape together in the same cell!

He cringed at the pain he suddenly felt in his stomach. It was a sharp pain, like a dog's bite. Or more likely a knife's stab. As the pain strengthened, Harry felt sick again. This time, he was not able to fight it. He crept away and turned around as fast as he could. He didn't want to retch onto the Potions Master. He would kill him for it.

The water he drank before, left his stomach together with some acid and blood. Harry was sure there was nothing more left inside, but couldn't stop retching. He felt horrible. Every part of his body was in pain. He was kneeling in his own vomit. He was locked in a cell with that mean git, and he would surely die in some weeks. The hope left him. He could only sense desperation and darkness and pain and pain again.

Nobody was there to help him.

He reached his hands to the floor to brace himself and started to cry.

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Careful touches...

Water, cool water on his burning face...

It felt so good.

Who was it?

Quietus?

Surely him. Quietus, dear Quietus... Nobody else would help him.

Later... shocked gasps?

Why?

Then somebody was creeping away from him and could clearly hear the voice of vomiting and after that retching for long minutes. Then silence.

Silence, which after a while became nearly insupportable. And... Crying. Somebody was crying. He was not Quietus.

Snape fought to regain consciousness. What was going on? Where was he? Who was his crying companion?

As he moved his arms, pain attacked his naked-like nerves. It hurt! He hissed. The crying stopped.

Again a silent noise of somebody creeping on the floor...

"Are you all right, professor?" a quiet, concerned voice asked from his side.

Who was it? He had to be a student from the school. But then again, where was he? In the dungeons? But... that didn't make sense. If he was in the dungeons, why was a student vomiting next to him? Why didn't he go to the bathroom? Or...

"Where are we?" Snape asked back. "Who are you?" was the second question.

"I am Harry Potter, sir, and we are in the dungeons of Nightmare Manor."

The quick answer hit Snape strong.

"No," he moaned. And suddenly he remembered. "Oh, no."

He was in Hell, he was going to die, and Harry Potter was his fellow in this fate. It couldn't be true. He and Potter were thrown in the same cell. The bastard was even crueller than he had suspected himself to be.

Snape moaned again and tried to sit up. It took some long minutes, but he was finally sitting, supported by his outstretched hands. He looked around the cell trying not to fall back to his aching backside and not to vomit. After the nausea passed, he realised he was thirsty.

"Aren't you thirsty, sir?" the boy spoke up politely as if he was reading his mind. Snape nodded. The boy lifted the jar carefully and helped him to drink. After some draughts Snape released a noncommittal voice. He didn't want to drink too much.

"We have to spare the water," he explained when the boy took the jar away from his mouth. "They won't give us fresh replenishment every day. If I remember correctly, one jar of water has to be enough for three days."

"Three days? But..." the boy cried out loudly.

"Silence, Potter," Snape barked. "Yes, for three days. And I will get a headache if you yell into my ears."

"So-sorry, sir," Potter stuttered.

They were sitting for long minutes in silence. Finally Potter couldn't support being silent any more and spoke up again,

"Sir, do you know something about this place? Where we are? Are we going to die?" His voice was thin with worry.

The boy could see the sneer deepening on the teacher's face. He responded in an annoyed voice, "If I'm not mistaken you are aware of our location, aren't you Potter? You told me that we are in Nightmare Manor, in prison. And about your second question: yes, most definitely we are going to die."

Harry shuddered. Well, he knew the answer, he knew when he was caught yesterday and all was his fault. Running away from the Dursleys would cause another death. Snape's.

Suddenly he felt he had to confess it to the Potions Master. He had to apologise.

"Sir," he began, but Snape barked again.

"Shut up, Potter."

It hurt. These three words caused more pain than the torture session of the day before. But he could understand. Snape also was very well aware that this situation was his, Harry's fault. And if he wanted to die in silence without stupid questions and apologies of Harry's, he had to give him the chance.

Harry felt dizzy again. He had to find a place in this room to sleep a little bit, something more comfortable than the mere floor, but he couldn't see any bed or bed-like furniture in the cell. In reality, he couldn't see any furniture. What could he do then? After a while, he decided to crawl to the nearest corner. Of course, a corner wasn't warm and comfortable enough either, but at least it gave some feeling of security. He turned to the nearest one and moved. A sharp pain of his side stopped him in the next moment. And something more: the ribs. He reached his hand to touch his chest. The pain became stronger. Why didn't he realise sooner that he had broken ribs?

"You ribs are not broken, Potter," he could hear the professor's cold voice. "Only cracked ones, I think. They don't want you to die or to lose consciousness. They want to cause you more pain. They will make sure to not harm you too much."

Snape's voice was full of bitterness. Harry couldn't help but get angry.

"I see. But I didn't ask you, sir," he almost spat the last word. "And now, please, leave me alone."

Uncomfortable silence fell in the cell. When Harry uttered the last words he regretted the whole sentence, but it was too late. He sighed and crept to the corner. He lay on the floor, huddled as tightly as he could, and after a few minutes, everything became dark. He fell asleep.

Snape was angry with himself. He had been unnecessary rude to the boy. Well, it was mostly Potter's fault that they were in this damned situation.

'Not only his fault, Severus,' he rebuked himself abruptly. He had had the chance to make a decision and he had decided to help Potter. So he had no right to bail the boy. He had to help him as much as he could. They would die in some days, perhaps weeks, but this would be a long way to take and they were compelled to do it together.

It had to be terrible for Potter to die this way, alone with the most hated person of his life. Snape sighed. He had to ease Potter's situation. It wouldn't be easy. He didn't hate him any more but he still didn't like him. An annoying little prat, nothing more. But doomed to die... And Potter was one of his students as well and he had made a promise to Albus to protect the children under his care.

Albus... His thoughts wondered. At least he wouldn't have to return to Hogwarts and to report to Albus about the events. And he wouldn't have to spend nights sleeplessly, reliving again and again the torture, feeling the guilt; he wouldn't have to face the prat's friends in the lessons, he wouldn't have to participate endless staff meetings concerning Potter's death, and the looks of suspicion and distrust in his colleagues' eyes, the disappointment in Albus's. And most importantly, he finally would receive the punishment he deserved. Nothing more, nothing less.

He, the insupportable mean bastard, would finally pay for everything he had done. This time he would. Totally. For everything. And, perhaps, in the end he would die without that horrible guilt he had been carrying for decades, and perhaps, before his death he would be able to sleep without nightmares. The next days' torture sessions would be something like a purifying ritual, repentance or even penitence for all his deeds. Perhaps he would be able to find the peace he had lost so many years ago...

Then again, he wasn't sure he had had that peace at all. Perhaps for short moments, when he had been with Quietus... sometimes with Albus, the only existing person in the world who did not detest him.

But right now, perhaps, he could reach that peace again. He could feel it.

Pain purifies. He wanted to be purified. He wanted to be punished for everything he had done. And he was sure he would receive the deserved punishment. The Dark Lord would pay attention to it.

Lost in thought, he just sat there for hours. He felt calm and relieved, and somewhere in his heart, he felt happy.

Happy days in Hell. His happy days in Hell were just beginning.

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After two hours he heard a slight moan from Potter's corner. He felt pity. Yes, the boy was probably in pain. And he couldn't help him. No, without a wand and his potions.

He ran his hand on top of his pockets, but he was sure his ex-partners-in-crime had taken everything from him. Soon he learned that he was right. His pockets were ripped and empty. No tiny bottles with healing potions, no wand, no food.

Oh, the food. It would be very hard to get used not to eat anything. The idea seemed ridiculous. He wouldn't eat any more food in his life. Never. How strange! This thought made him remember the meals in the bright and warm and peacefully noisy Great Hall. The Christmas meals, the delicious soups, the stews, the endless glasses of pumpkin juice... He smiled. If the students had known how much he liked pumpkin juice! Well, perhaps with a little whisky... sometimes after dinner, in his own quarters in the dungeons.

It seemed to be so long ago... him, sitting in front of the fireplace, a glass of mixed pumpkin juice in his hand, staring at the dancing flames for hours, sometimes casting a look at the good book in his lap... an interesting book about potions, herbs, magical creatures or Dark Magic... It seemed like heaven now.

A heaven with appropriate nightmares, of course. He had never been happy there. He had to get caught by the Greatest Bastard to find the lost happiness... together with Harry Potter, son of his archenemy, James Potter, the other bastard...

Potter, he reminded himself that he had things to do. He had sworn to himself not to harm the boy any more, neither physically, nor emotionally nor psychically. He would try to help him. Potter was the main reason for this tainted happiness after all, wasn't he?

"Potter, are you awake?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," a reluctant voice came from the corner.

Snape sneered. He, too, was reluctant to talk to the boy, but it was necessary. They had to come to at least civil terms. The pain of the tortures would be enough to suffer through; they didn't have to add some more to it with their behaviour.

"Do you feel better?" he sighed. Well, he felt strange in this role. The greasy bastard asking for Potter's health!

"No," the boy spat the single word. It meant: 'I don't want to speak with you. Leave me alone!'

Snape could understand the boy's reluctance. After the four years they spent together in Hogwarts, Potter had gained some very good reasons to hate him. Not to mention the events of yesterday...

To this thought, Snape felt guilty for his past behaviour as well. What he had done to the boy had been unforgivable, and yet, Potter had forgiven him. Why had he hated this boy? Was it really just because of a stupid prank of his father and his mates? His dead father. Even if his deeds had been almost as unforgivable as Snape's, James Potter was dead. Dead. And the boy wasn't to blame for his father's thoughtlessness. And he was Lily Evans's son too. Lily Evans - one the most caring people Snape had known in his life. And she was dead too. Both of them: James Potter and Lily Evans.

Suddenly it clicked to him: the boy was an orphan. The idea seemed a little strange. Of course, he had always known it... but now he understood it too. The thought was accompanied by a very uncomfortable feeling.

How many times had he jumped at the chance to rub Potter's nose in the fact that his father, his dead father had been an arrogant idiot? Oh, it should have been a very flattering feeling for the boy, really. He had to assume: he had been that arrogant idiot he had always claimed James Potter to be. So, he had to do something to Potter now. But what was he supposed to say to him? And how? ('And why?' a tiny voice asked in his head but he ignored it.)

After all the things he had done the day and the years before, he simply had no other choice but to find a way to help Potter. After four years of mental torture and after a Tormenta, a Bone Game Potion and a Knife Curse. He owed the boy.

But how could he begin?

He soon realised that all these thoughts were quite uncharacteristic to him. He had never cared for anybody before, except for Quietus, but that had been special. He was really a bastard. Perhaps these thoughts were part of his purifying session... He had to violate himself; he was compelled to do it. Compelled by the first oath he had sworn to Dumbledore on Quietus' name, and by the second one he had took to Lily on the same name. Everybody had made him swear on that name... They had known...

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Harry was just lying on the floor wondering. Why on earth had the git wanted to talk to him? And then again, he had to talk to him. To apologise. And it was easier to talk if the professor showed some willingness to talk. He cleared his throat.

"Umm... professor?" he began cautiously.

"Yes?" the git asked in a surprisingly even voice, which missed its usual annoyed and bitter edge. What was the matter...?

"I... I want to..." he couldn't continue. It seemed very simple to say those words, but aloud everything was... different. Senseless?

"Continue, Potter," Snape said in the same tone of voice. It was not cold. It was not neutral. It was slightly... warmer? Unbelievable.

Harry sighed and gathered all his willpower.

"Iwanttoapologise" he said suddenly. He could see the man's surprise. Snape turned his head to him and furrowed his brows.

"What?!" Snape couldn't believe he had quite understood the previous words. What was going on? HE wanted to apologise!

"I want to apologise, sir" the boy repeated again.

"Why?" Snape barked confused.

"It's my fault that... that you are in this situation," it was very hard to say. Very hard. To Snape of all people.

Silence.

"Uhm, er... so," What should he say, Snape wondered. He finally saw the boy's point, but how could he tell the boy that he was not really upset with this situation? "I don't think it matters, Potter," he muttered after a while.

Harry's jaw fell. Had Snape become mental? Was it the effect of the tortures?

Two confused men stared at each other in the cold, shady cell.

"But, sir, you will die because of me," Harry explained slowly and calmly as if he were talking to a child. "You must be angry..."

"Well... I don't think so," Snape said more clearly. "It was my decision too, if I'm not mistaken."

Long silence again. It was not absolutely uncomfortable. It was a strange silence, fairly unfamiliar, but not entirely uncomfortable.

Finally, Snape sighed and broke the silence.

"I want to apologise too."

It was the boy's turn to gape.

"What??"

"The curses I used yesterday..." Snape could see the boy jerking as if in pain. "I...I didn't intend to hurt you so much. I... I was just... I was stalling for time," Snape added weakly, but Harry interrupted him.

"It's all right professor," the boy waved dismissively. "I don't want to talk about it," he added. "It was enough to bear them yesterday. And perhaps it will be enough to bear them tomorrow."

Snape raised an eyebrow. How on earth did the boy know? And... how could he be so... so... considerable? Intelligent?

Stop, stop. He hated the boy one day ago. He dismissed his hatred yesterday evening. But he didn't need to worship him today! Surely not!

And then again... He had to realise, how wrong he had been for years. He had misunderstood the boy. Or more simply, he had never attempted to understand him, to look beyond his hatred of James Potter. Despite the oath sworn to Lily Evans. He had watched the boy, but he had never tried to know the person he had sworn to protect. Good job! How many times had Albus warned him?

After some minutes Harry spoke up again.

"Sir, why are you so... civil to me now?"

Snape shrugged.

"Potter, first I am not civil. Never. Never was and never will be. Do you understand?" he asked in a strange tone. Harry nodded surprised, not knowing whether to laugh or not. "Second. We are going to die. Or better to say: die together. I think I want to die in peace. In peace with myself, and in peace with you, if it is possible. Do you understand?"

"Adamant, sir," Harry cracked a small half-smile.

This was going to be interesting.

But would they be able to do it?

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Dumbledore was sitting at his desk trying to answer the letters he had received the day before. Some of them were about the next school year, special requirements of parents to their children, questions about different subjects (concerning mostly the identity of the next Defence instructor) and protests against his words he had said at the closing feast about Voldemort's reappearing. A lot of questions of his past students about the future. What should they do? How should they act? What should they say to their children? How could they protect them in times like this? Was it worthy to leave the country and settle down in another, and supposedly safer, part of the world?

And many, many questions like them.

There was also a letter from Minister Fudge, which Dumbledore decided to read last. He suspected that it would be something about Potter and Voldemort - or perhaps Snape, a question to fire the Potions Master for his past or something like that. Surely, Fudge was a moron.

With a great sigh, he unfolded the parchment.

His first feeling was relief. The idiot minister didn't want to do anything to his Potions Master. On the other hand, the news was quite disturbing. Fudge wanted Harry to 'get examined' by the Ministry about Cedric Diggory's death. Dumbledore didn't like the idea. He remembered Snape's stories about the Ministry's examining methods. He remembered the traces of wounds and bruises on the irate Potions Master's back. Wounds and bruises given by the Ministry Aurors. Mercury had never allowed himself to be bothered with conscience matters when it had come to Voldemort and his followers. It wasn't surprising that Minerva... but he stopped himself. He had other things to concentrate on now.

Suddenly, he felt guilty about his idea to invite Moody to teach Defence last year. Severus had been severely hurt. His colleague had certainly felt he had betrayed him. It had been his, Dumbledore's, fault. If he hadn't invited the Auror to teach Defence last year, Voldemort wouldn't have become as strong as he was now. Yes, he was sure, Voldemort would have returned even without Harry's blood, but the protection offered by the boy's blood had made him stronger than ever before.

Snape had said the same thing after he had returned from the first Death Eater meeting.

And now the Ministry wanted to 'examine' Harry. What did they really want to do to the boy? To declare him mentally insane? To put him in Azkaban? Or... Why?

He was so deep in thought that he almost jumped when a large, brown owl dropped apiece of parchment on his desk. It was a simple, rolled parchment with a red seal. Urgent.

He quickly unfolded the letter.

It was sent by Arthur Weasley, he could recognise his handwriting immediately. Perhaps he would get some explanation about Fudge's plans with Harry.

But no. The letter was not about Fudge's plans. It was about Harry though.

Albus,

Harry's relatives informed the muggle police yesterday evening that Harry had disappeared without any traces. They said that after a family quarrel he ran away from the house and they hadn't seen him since then. It was at about 4.30 p.m. yesterday afternoon.

Do you know anything about his current residence? I really hope you have taken him. If it was not you I am sure You-know-who caught him. The boy is clever enough to let us know about his whereabouts, if he is still free. What do you think we should do?

Yours sincerely,

Arthur

Dumbledore looked at his clock. It was 2.46 p.m. Panic filled his body for a short moment.

He knew only one way to learn about the boy's whereabouts, if it had really been Voldemort who had taken him. Severus.

He hurried to the dungeons lost in thought. When he stopped in front of the Potions Master's door he could almost feel that his colleague wasn't there.

Severus wasn't in the entire building either.

An evil foreboding grabbed Dumbledore's throat. Harry Potter was missing. Severus Snape was missing too. It could only mean one thing, the thing Arthur Weasley feared most: Voldemort.

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Chapter 3 - Meaning of life

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After the first uneventful, almost peaceful day, they had had a very long and crowded night.

Lying on the cell's floor, Severus Snape was meditating about the previous night's torments. He had been right when he had thought of pain as a tool of purification and, Merlin knows, he had much to atone for. Damn it! He had really done immense and unforgivable crimes and so he completely deserved what he'd received. Every beat, kick and curse. Everything from the first moment to the last.

But Potter...

Potter's case was another question. His 'sins' - sins? ridiculous! - had not been more than little slights and pranks, and the breaking of some school rules. Nevertheless, he had been tortured with greater cruelty than Snape, the traitor had been.

During the whole torture session he could feel his anger growing stronger and stronger as he had heard Potter's screaming and shrieking filtering through the wall (they hadn't been in the same torture chamber). It hadn't let Snape contemplate and suffer in silence. The boy had been louder than anybody else he had heard in his life. It had been a very big mistake. If you showed you were easy to make suffer, your tormentors became more and more interested in your torture. The stupid boy...! Why did he draw so much attention to himself?

But in the end, when he'd been ordered to bring the boy back to their cell he had begun to suspect that something had been wrong. Indeed. The moment he'd entered that chamber, Harry's chamber, he'd understood everything. His torture had seemed interesting and delightful fun, or a good pastime in comparison to the boy's.

He tried to hold Potter as cautiously as he could, but it'd been an impossible task. There hadn't been any unharmed part of his body. As he lifted Potter, the green eyes had blinked open for a short moment, he could first see pain and confusion, but it disappeared in a moment, relief had shone in the green eyes, and the body had gone limp in his arms.

Snape had been surprised by the boy's obvious relief. Potter had been relieved to see him? Interesting.

After a very long, tottering way to the dungeons, he'd wanted Potter to lay down on the floor, but the boy surprisingly had grabbed his clothes (clothes... ridiculous again: some remainders of clothes) and had clung on to them for dear life.

"Please no," he moaned quietly. The surprised man didn't know what to do with the child in his arms.

Fortunately for Severus, Harry had rapidly lost consciousness and he had been able to put him down on the floor and to sit next to him. He couldn't sleep after that night anyway. Was it the pain? Obviously, no. He was used to pain. No, it was Potter's behaviour, or rather it was his own reaction?

Their common fate could cause things like love, affection, care, bonding, he knew even if he wasn't a Psychology expert... The suffering would have its effects even on him, despite his natural ruthlessness and coldness. Yes, he really was a ruthless and cold bastard; it was not just an act he'd been playing at the school towards the students and his colleagues. His decision to leave the Dark Lord had not been a consequence of a change of his good heart, no, not at all! He had had another reason, stronger than any change of heart or remorse.

Albus had known it and for this reason he had trusted in him more than everybody else. If it had been a mere change of heart, the headmaster would never have accepted his offer to become his spy on Voldemort. No. It hadn't been a conversion. It had been a decision. An emotionless change of sides.

Emotionless?

Suddenly he had to stop. That was a dangerous thought.

Nevertheless, it was pure luck he wouldn't have to face the consequences of his accidental change in behaviour towards the Potter boy in front of the whole school. It would have been an interesting sight: he and Potter hand in hand... Fortunately, they would die right here with their changed emotions, which would remain hidden from everybody.

Changed emotions, he suddenly shuddered. Had his emotions changed towards the little prat?

'Shut up, Sever,' a voice said in his head, it reminded him to Quietus's... 'You have already gotten over it, don't you remember? The first evening, the boy's inexplicable behaviour, and the awakening after that. Yes. You have changed emotions towards him. And remember what you said to him.' Of course, it wasn't Quietus's voice, it was just that remaining shred of his conscience.

Snape sighed. He would have to get used to the changed world. He wasn't a tormentor any more, but a tormented too, and the hated son of his sworn enemy became somebody... precious? Ridiculous, better to say 'important.' And then again... No. It was unnecessary to wonder about these things. This meditation was all too filled with stupid emotions, which had been severely affected by the last two days' sufferings.

Instead, he turned his head to the boy.

Potter was already awake; his eyes were fixed on the dark ceiling.

"I am afraid I don't think I can do it," he said calmly as he felt the professor's little movement from his side.

"What, Potter?" Snape asked weakly.

"This whole thing. The tortures. I will break. I will plead to Voldemort to kill me. He was right." His tone remained neutral and emotionless.

Snape suddenly felt a very uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. No. The boy couldn't say things like this. He opened his mouth to shun the boy but a moment later he changed his mind.

"Aren't you thirsty?"

The boy's gaze turned to him curiously. Snape was relieved. Potter still had some feelings, like curiosity. This was not the end. Not yet.

But after the short glance, Potter's eyes returned to the ceiling again.

"No."

"You have to drink," Snape said as kindly as he could. It wasn't easy, the flat behaviour simply angered him too much.

"Why." It wasn't really a question. It was just a... word, an empty word. Nonetheless, Snape answered it.

"You've lost too much blood."

"I've noticed."

"The Healing Spells they have cast on you can't work without some liquid in your system."

"They just want to prolong my pains with those spells."

"You should drink a few draughts nevertheless."

"No."

This time the Potions Master became very angry.

"Potter!" he growled.

"Yes." A monotonous sound, practically lifeless. Snape gulped, his anger dissipated into growing uncertainty. Harry's mental condition was bad, very bad.

He stood up, went to the door, fetched the jar and knelt back by the boy's side.

"You should drink," he said softly in the meantime shifting an arm carefully under the boy's shoulders. He helped Potter into a sitting position while with his other hand manoeuvred the jar to his mouth. Damn the pot, it was too heavy and shook in his grasp. The boy turned his gaze to him again.

"Sorry, sir. I don't want to drink, I am not thirsty."

"You must," Snape said categorically, "and you will."

The jar trembled in his hand again. The tortures had his effects even on him, he noticed for the second time that day.

"No."

"Yes."

Like in the nursery, Snape thought.

Finally, the stupid Potter opened his mighty mouth and accepted some draughts. Snape sighed. It wasn't a simple task. More complicated than the whole damned, bloody Triwizard Tournament or to brew Polyjuice. He put the jar back on the floor and slowly lowered the child onto his back. Grabbing the jar he drank a little bit as well and returned his thoughts to the boy.

"What did they do?" he asked finally as neutrally as he could.

"It doesn't matter." Again that damned monotone tone.

"Potter. It DOES matter."

"No. Voldemort was right. I am weak."

"No, Potter. You are certainly not. Don't drivel to me."

"I'm not drivelling. I won't survive too long."

"It was only the second round. You cannot give up so eagerly!"

"Why not?" the boy shuddered. "I don't think there is a rule or a law against it."

"Do you want to satisfy the Dark Lord?"

"I don't mind it any more."

The words hit hard. Snape jerked. It couldn't be true. And then again... why not? Potter was only a 15-year-old boy. It wasn't an entirely unexpected thing. It was just just... disappointing.

"Why, do you think, it doesn't matter?" he asked tiredly. He suddenly felt old and exhausted. Why was he compelled to reinforce the boy? And would he able to do it at all?

"I will die."

"Don't think if you give up you won't die."

"I know. But I will not have to suffer for weeks. It will be short. A green light, and finished."

"Potter..."

"A green lightening," the boy continued without noticing Snape's attempt to speak up, "like the one which killed my mother and my father, which killed Cedric. I will die like Barty Crouch's spider..." The tone wasn't sarcastic. It wasn't bitter. It was just empty like a deep, dark hole.

Something very bad was going on. Snape's worry grew into anxiousness.

"Potter. Don't say such things."

"Why not? I don't want to live any more."

"Because of the tortures?" he asked cautiously.

A little change ran across the boy's face.

"No," he said after some seconds, "not the tortures. Not only the tortures."

"Would you mind telling me then..."

"Why not?" Potter answered instantly. "I think you have the right to know, haven't you?"

"Potter, I am NOT a victim of yours, forget it. Everything was MY decision, so you don't have obligations towards me. Do you understand?" he asked angrily. This Potter prat was beginning to get under his skin.

"Sure..." Potter shrugged.

The familiar feeling of the deep hole wiped his anger away. There was instead a strange, confused emotion emerging in him. A hint of worry, mixed with a swirl of other thoughts and emotions that he couldn't place a finger on.

But the anxiousness became stronger and stronger.

He spun to face the boy, although this new movement was suddenly accompanied by a dizzy and nauseous feeling, but he wanted to look into the boy's eyes at every cost.

"Potter, what's the problem?" he asked seriously.

"Everything is meaningless," the boy said so quietly that he could barely hear it.

"Everything? What do you mean by everything?"

"Life. My life."

"You know that that is not true."

"Do I know?" the boy laughed bitterly. "No, professor. I do know that I am right."

Snape didn't say anything, just stared at the boy with deep interest.

Potter sighed.

"I don't know if I can express what I feel. Perhaps not, but I will try nonetheless, yes?" When Snape nodded he went on.

"I think one's life has a meaning when they have a place, a firm place they can always return."

"Place?" the Potions Master asked incredulously.

"Not a physical place," Potter sighed. "It's rather something like... a family. A home."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"But... you have one, haven't you?"

For the first time in that day a strong emotion appeared on the boy's face.

"Oh, really," he said acidly. "If you call home the current place you live. In that sense I have a home."

"Oh..." the professor was stunned. How could he answer? He hadn't known anything about Potter's home life before, and wasn't sure this was the best moment to ask about it.

"So, I have no place to return. I never have," Harry's words somehow answered Snape's suspicions.

"And your friends?" he tried another line.

Potter sighed and suddenly looked concerned. Relief washed over Snape's body. The boy still could be emotionally attached. The first step back!

"Well... they were always there for me... Or they tried to be, but..." he didn't continue, but the worried expression didn't disappear from his face.

"But?" Snape asked after a while.

"They are just children, professor," Harry looked calmly at the frozen Snape.

The realisation of the boy's simple statement hit the professor hard. All of a sudden, he felt that he wouldn't be able to go on with this conversation. He was out of arguments. A 15-year-old boy... defeated him. Defeated him easily, or better to say gracefully, without any stronger effort. He was not used to this.

Harry burst into a laugh, alarming Snape from his stupor.

"What's on, Potter?" he asked confused.

"I... I just... saw the expression on your face, sir..." the boy couldn't stop smirking.

Snape smiled slightly. He could imagine that expression.

"Potter, there are more things in life to live for than home and family," the man went on suddenly with the interrupted conversation.

"Really, sir?" to Snape's great relief the boy was in a seemingly better condition. But he still could hear traces of incredulity and emptiness in his voice.

"Yes, Potter. Believe me. I know," Snape stopped. He didn't understand himself. Why did he mix personal references in this damned conversation?

"And what are these 'other things'?" he heard Harry's curious voice. Curious? A good sign. He quickly finished the self-reprimand and looked at the boy lying next to him.

"The internal ones. The intrinsic values. The things, which make you the person you are. As you said to Voldemort, you wouldn't trade your soul."

"Do you mean my soul, sir?"

Snape nodded.

"Yes. I mean everything inside you: your feelings, knowledge, wisdom, decisions, the things you are. These are more important than the external things like home or loving people."

Long silence fell between them. Snape saw the boy's uncertainty, and he himself began to doubt the truth of his previous statement. Was it true that internal values could give a reason to life? Thinking of his own life, a life without home and loving people... Of course, they were very important facts of his life, but since Quietus had died... everything had lost its colour, the meanings and purposes had faded significantly.

"Well..." Harry began, and he sounded as unsure as Snape was deep inside. "On one hand I understand what you say. On the other hand I disagree."

"Oh?" the man was very curious. Was the boy able to add a good reason to his sudden internal debate?

Harry sighed deeply before answering.

"It seems so reasonable to live for internal values. To keep it up because of them. But..." he scratched his neck in thought, "sometimes you need some external help too. To give you the power to go on."

That was true. Snape couldn't help but think of his own conversation with Albus and Minerva.

"You have those external helps, I think," Snape answered quietly.

"Oh, do I?" a little hint of sarcasm toned the boy's voice.

"Of course. You have people who love you. They are not here now, but they do love you nonetheless. And..." How could he explain that to the boy?

"And?"

"The other help to see your life's meaning is pain."

The boy didn't laugh, although Snape expected him to do something like that. On the contrary, he seemed to think about the sentence's meaning.

Could a teenager understand such a hard statement? When he'd said it he had been sure Potter wouldn't understand. But... now, he seemed to get the hang of it.

"Uhm... professor," Harry finally said. "I am not sure I understood you well. May I try to express what my understanding is?"

"Fine," he said. The boy was more intelligent than he'd ever suspected. In reality he'd never suspected him to be intelligent. Indeed... "So?"

"The pain is a sign of my... importance." Harry apparently fought to express himself, but the words didn't come easily. Suddenly, something came to his mind and he spoke up again. "The pain is a sign of hatred. To be hated is better than to be ignored."

"Excellent, Potter. Fifty points to Gryffindor."

Harry smiled slightly, but shook his head

"Sir, don't you think fifty points are too much for such an inadequate answer?"

"Well... I don't. But it was not the complete answer, you are right," Snape smiled in return.

"As I suspected," Harry nodded seriously. "Then, please, tell me the missing part of it, sir."

"This is one of the most important things in life, Potter. So you have to pay close attention if you want to understand what I say."

"I will, sir."

Snape nodded and began to explain, "The direction of pain shows you who you are. If you cause pain to anybody else, you are weak. If you have to suffer pain, you are strong. Or better to say weaker and stronger, because all of this depends on two - or more - people's relation."

"The pain shows me that I am stronger than Voldemort even if the appearances tells the opposite?" Harry asked with twinkling eyes.

"Precisely, Potter. But..." he wanted to add something, but the boy interrupted him.

"Then I am stronger than you too," Harry smiled widely.

"What... Potter," he began menacingly but he was again interrupted.

"You had been tormenting me for four years. I've never tormented you. You caused pain to me. I suffered it. So I am stronger in our relation."

It couldn't be true. For the second time that day, the boy stunned him without a wand. His argumentation was so perfect and beautifully constructed that he couldn't help but laugh.

It was so strange. They were sitting in the Hell after a whole night's torture, Harry Potter and Severus Snape, the golden Boy-Who-Lived and the greasy bastard Death-Eater-Turned-Spy, and they were laughing at the boy's slightly impertinent, but nevertheless true, summary.

It was strange, but it was good.

It was something like happiness.

"Professor, may I ask you a... personal question?" Harry asked after a while.

"I'll see. Ask your question and I'll decide if I want to answer it or not," Snape nodded.

Harry seemingly felt uncomfortable. He shifted in a fluster, but he lifted his gaze into the professor's eyes.

"If you know this kind of... truth about the meaning of pain, why did you become a Death Eater?"

Harry immediately noticed that Snape's face darkened. For a moment, he was afraid that the professor would become angry and return to his familiar sneer and sarcastic tone, but Snape just shrugged and began to speak.

"When I was young, I was looking for power. And I thought together with many others that power means complete control over the people around me. From my childhood, and especially in my family, Dark Magic was always the obvious way to follow and, I think, it was the easier way as well. Of course I'd never thought Dark Magic as the easy way, however..."

"If you'd thought about it then you would probably have chosen the other side," Harry completed the sentence and Snape was grateful for it. In reality, he was thinking about other things that he was not sure he wanted to share with Potter.

"Yes," he agreed. "Generally, the appearances are deceptive. It takes some time to understand that not everything is what it seems. On the contrary, there are only some rare exceptions, when the appearance doesn't cover something else."

"Voldemort is an exception, isn't he?" Harry asked interrupting the professor. "He is what he looks like."

"Er... yes, yes for now. But in the beginning this wasn't so clear. He was a handsome man, who looked like an idealist who just wanted to flourish the other side of Magic - or Art, as he called it - the Dark Side. He had many followers, not only Slytherins, but from every House..."

"From every House? From Gryffindor too?" the boy looked at him in total disbelief.

"Yes, from Gryffindor too," he answered a little bit coldly. "If I remember correctly, you do even know one of them."

Harry paled slightly.

"Yes," he muttered quietly. "Peter Pettigrew."

"And he is not the only one."

Harry sat wordlessly for long minutes. Then he sighed.

"Perhaps you shouldn't have to tell me, at least not now," he whispered.

"Why?" Snape asked sincerely. He couldn't see the boy's point.

"The meaning of life again," explained Harry. "Life is so confusing. It's too hard to live not having ideals to look up to. Gryffindors as perfect creatures, for example."

"Potter," Snape said softly. Harry lifted up his head in surprise. He was waiting for reprimand, not understanding. "If you have to face the truth you have to face the whole truth, as it is." He put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and looked into his eyes. "The world is not black and white. It's mostly mixed and grey, like the people living in it. So the most important thing you have to focus on is you. Not your interests, but your personality and conscience. You have to live in such a way that you can be at peace with yourself. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded. Snape took his hand off the boy's shoulder.

"Well. How are you?"

Harry's eyes, which had been fixed on the ceiling, returned to Snape again..

"Er... How do you mean, sir?" he asked, the confusion was clear in his expression.

"What?" Snape asked back just as confused.

"You mean... physically or mentally?"

"Oh," the man nodded. "Both."

"Mentally I feel perfect," he smiled at Snape. "Thanks to you. As for my physical condition... I think it's better too."

Snape was surprised by the boy's thanks. He was not used to being thanked.

"Although the mere thought that they will come for us soon, doesn't ease my pain."

Snape jerked in disgust.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. When it comes, you have to face it. But until then, you don't have to bother yourself with it."

"I promise I'll try, sir."

"Good."

They were sitting for a couple of moments in a companionable silence.

"Uhm... professor?" Harry opened his mouth tentatively.

"Yes, Potter?" What did Potter want again? Snape thought annoyed. He had never been the chatty type and this conversation with the boy exhausted him.

"It's too hard not to think about the... future, if we are just sitting here in total silence. Couldn't we continue talking about things?"

"What kind of things do you want to talk about, Potter?" Snape asked half curiously, half annoyed.

"If you don't want to talk about personal or philosophical things, you can still tutor me in Potions." Harry offered.

"Wha-what, Potter?" Snape looked at him in shock.

"P-o-t-i-o-n-s, sir," he smiled widely.

After a moment, Snape succeeded in regaining his composure (his hadn't been quite a good spy for nothing!) but he was not sure what he should say.

"Look, Potter. Why do you want to study Potions here? It's a little bit... meaningless, don't you think?"

"Meaningless?" Harry asked with amused smile. "If I remember correctly we had a beautiful argument on this topic recently, didn't we?"

Snape couldn't help but smile in return. This boy...!

"Potter. Please. Don't use my words against me. This was the third time..."

"See, professor. You too have to face the whole truth even if it's said by you!"

"Potter! The fourth time...!" Snape lifted his voice in amusement.

"I've never asked you for Math tutoring, sir," the boy said in mock earnestness.

They burst into laugh again. They needed some long minutes to calm down.

"I've never believed it before," said Harry after some deep breaths.

"It's a simple psychological fact, nothing more," Snape replied.

"What? The laughing? Or the being civil?"

"Both."

"Oh," was there delusion in Potter's voice? "And here I thought it was your decision."

"What?" Snape furrowed his brows as he tried to follow the boy's reasoning.

"You told me yesterday that you wanted to die in peace. I thought you just tried to make an effort. And then you came to say that all this was a mere consequence of some psychological facts."

"Well. First: that was the fifth time you threw my words back on me! Second: the wish to die in peace is a psychological fact too."

"And where are you behind these psychological layouts?" the boy asked, mischievous twinkles were glinting in his eyes.

"I'll kill you, Potter. I won't let the Greatest Bastard do it. I want to do it. Now!"

They stared each other amused, Snape in mimicked anger and Harry snickering under his breath. After a while the boy asked again.

"Do you call Voldemort the Greatest Bastard?" he looked at the professor curiously.

"Who else?" Snape asked back.

"Why is he the 'Greatest Bastard'? Why not Bastard the Great?"

"Simple. He is not really a great wizard. He is great at only in behaving like a bastard," he explained in a professional manner.

"Really, my dear professor?" a sudden voice hissed from the direction of the door.

Voldemort stood in the doorway; his angry red eyes seemed to be burning in the torchlight.

"I think your free time is over. It's our turn to have some fun!" he said menacingly. "It will be very amusing."

Snape turned his head to Harry.

"Don't forget what I said about the meaning," he whispered quietly.

Harry nodded his eyes full of worry.

"Neither do you!"

*************************************************************************** *************************************************************************** "I repeat to you for the last time: I do not know where Harry Potter is!" Dumbledore fumed as he looked at the minister sitting in front of him.

"You've hidden him, haven't you? Although I cannot understand your reasons. We have to examine the circumstances of Cedric Diggory's death thoroughly and we have only young Harry Potter to testify about those unfortunate happenings. We cannot accept your ridiculous tale about Voldemort's returning until you show us some proof of it. And as for Professor Snape's behaviour... I must have known after Black's escape, when he was raving... I think the Board of Governors is going to have a closer look at his files. On the other hand, Headmaster Dumbledore, even if you don't want to help the Ministry's work, we'll find Harry ourselves."

"And what do you plan to do to him?" Dumbledore asked in a stern voice. "To question him? Or to accuse him of the murder of Cedric Diggory? Perhaps your plan is something more sinister? What will you do if you find out in the end that Harry Potter, a 15 years old boy, is the new Dark Lord?"

"Headmaster..." Fudge paled slightly and tried to reply, but Dumbledore stopped him with a glare.

"Minister, if you are going to commit a stupidity like this, don't forget, you accuse me as well! And if I were you, I would not fight against the other Light Side's supporter when Voldemort, yes, Voldemort and not You-know-who, is rising and gaining power again! Just because you don't believe it, he is back, he is preparing against us, and if we are not ready, our losses will be much greater than the last time! Do you understand me, Minister?"

"Ye... Yes, sir..." The Minister's voice was weak and powerless.

Dumbledore nodded.

"Well, Minister. I have to go now. Don't forget to think about the things I told you. Goodbye!" he said and left the room.

During his trip back to Hogwarts, he was wondering about the minister's strange behaviour. The Ministry, again, wanted to solve the problem as easily as they could. If they claimed that Harry was the Dark Lord they'd have the answers to Black's mysterious escape, to Cedric Diggory's death and they would be partially right... It was very dangerous. A half-truth is a crueller weapon against the truth than the mere lie.

With half-true statements it was so easy to lead people astray. Harry's second year was a good example of this. Parseltongue and power - and everybody believed the poor boy Salazar Slytherin's Heir. And there were quite a few similar facts at the ministry's disposal to manipulate the wizarding society with. Harry's ability to speak parseltongue. His mysterious power with which he had defeated the Dark Lord at the age of one. His wand, which was a twin of Voldemort's. Black's relationship with him, and his mysterious escape last year. And, finally, Cedric's death.

For the first time, Dumbledore remembered Mercury's time as the Minister of Magic with nostalgia. The man had been narrow-minded, or even cruel sometimes. But at least, he had never been the manipulative file-worm Fudge was. And most of all, Mercury had never fought against him. They hadn't been friends, Merlin forbid! But when the war had broken out, they had been allies, not opponents.

As for Fudge's plan, all those facts were all too dangerous for Harry. Not to mention the other students' predictable reactions towards him when the new school year began. He needed a plan to make Harry's situation a little easier.

In reality, he had an idea that could solve the problem, at least temporally.

Lily's secret.

But first, he had to find the boy, hopefully with Severus.

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