Summoned

Chapter 32: Parsley, Sage, Runespoors, and Time

"You're scared for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing..."

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

August 1, 1995, morning

"Come in," Severus called, opening the door to his office the next morning, knowing already who it would be. He looked up as the old wizard entered. "Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked exhausted. His eyes still held a bit of a twinkle, but it was muted. There were circles under his eyes and his face seemed more wrinkled than it had yesterday.

"I take it you found the family?" He had busied himself this morning with restocking some of the potions Madam Pomfrey had requested a while ago. At the moment the familiar, burbling sound of the Draught of Peace brewing on the table next to him, and the peppermint, which he added to whatever he could, scenting the dungeon room nicely, had already eased some of the agitation and distress caused by last night's outing.

Dumbledore came in and sat across the desk, picked up one of the odd, antique scales that Severus had there, and began playing with the small, gold weights. "Yes. I spent several hours with them," he said, concentrating on placing the various weights into the scales, playing with balancing the two sides.

"And?" Severus asked, watching the Headmaster's actions with an eye to interpreting them. Dumbledore didn't fiddle with things unintentionally.

"I see you put some salve on your hands," the older wizard noted quietly. Severus resisted the urge to look at the scratches and mild bite marks the children, in their panic, had inflicted last night. The salve he'd put on them should have them fully healed by evening. He said nothing in response to Dumbledore's remark.

The man took a long breath and said, "I heard an amazing story about a very odd Death Eater," he said at length, still focusing only on the scales.

"Oh?" Severus decided to pay some attention to his newest list of legitimate ingredients he needed to purchase.

Chastetree for the girls' monthly tonic. Rue for headaches... Professor Sprout might be growing some this year...

"Yes. The girl - oh, she was on the Roster, you were right - she said the Death Eater gave her syrup of ipecac, and had her and her brother scream and pretend to be in pain."

"Interesting," he said, sounding as bored as he could.

"I thought so. Even more interesting, the man apparently spent some time preparing them for what they would find in the house once they went back inside. And the mother told me that this particularly odd Death Eater gave her daughter a draught to - well, to allow Horatio Zeller to die peacefully and painlessly."

He didn't dare look up, though he saw the scales tilting uneasily back and forth in front of him. "Perhaps the Dark Lord is not as particular in choosing his Death Eaters these days," he commented.

Sage, more peppermint, asphodel, aconite...

"The girl will be starting here at Hogwarts this coming term," the Headmaster said quietly.

That, of course, was not something Severus had anticipated. She hadn't looked quite old enough. "Then I hope the Ministry finds a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for you: that will probably be her favorite class now."

Parsley, valerian root for Calming Draughts...

Dumbledore dropped one of the larger weights onto the middle of the parchment he was writing on. He looked up. "I think Potions is going to be her favorite class. After all, she not only knows the instructor, I think she gave him a hug." Dumbledore's piercing look gave him no wiggle room at all.

He took a deep breath, but said nothing.

"With their parents' permission, I put a very small Memory Charm around the experiences on both the children. Hopefully, if she recognizes you at all, it will be only subconsciously." He pulled the weight back but held Severus' gaze without blinking. "You were unbelievably careless! You won't survive if you do something like that again."

"I - am out of practice," he admitted unhappily. Damn and blast! He should have put the Memory Charms on the children. He'd let himself become too emotionally upset last night to plan his moves, to cover his tracks properly. If the Dark Lord had fancied a quick trip through either of the children's memories, to enjoy their suffering, Severus would not have made it home.

He stared at his list. "I told them not to tell-"

Dumbledore chuckled and a twinkle in his eyes softened his appearance. "And when would a child that age not tell something that traumatic?"

"I never did!" he snapped. Then he looked away and turned back to his list.

Butterbur for chest colds... Professor Sprout might have some of that, too...

"Actually, I found out most of what happened with a brief incursion of Legilimency. Still..."

"I know," he said irritably. "I should have put the Charm on them before I left."

Ginger, hellebore... A Draught of Peace...

Dumbledore returned to playing with the scales. He left them seriously unbalanced when he finally stood up. "If you're up to it, we should probably work on the Deletrius Charm again. I think you need it."

He glared hard at the parchment in front of him and dipped his quill in the inkwell. "Perhaps after lunch." He had no intention of letting Dumbledore near his thoughts right now. Last night still burned too fiercely.

Nettle, scurvy-grass, porcupine quills...

"Oh, and there's a package for you in the Owlery," Dumbledore said on his way out. "I don't think it should stay there very long."

He left and closed the door quietly behind him. Severus stared blindly at the list, the words running together and blurring. If Dumbledore hadn't taken care of the children's memories, the girl might well have identified him this coming term. He would not have lasted until the first exams: through Draco, who had his own sources inside every House, Lucius Malfoy would have learned what he'd done and exposed him as a traitor in no time.

Malfoy might never decide to tell the Dark Lord about what happened thirteen years ago. But it had seemed clear to Severus the last few times he had seen Malfoy that if he gleaned any bit of disloyalty from Severus' actions now, there would be no reason for him to not report it.

After all, his hold over Severus had ended years ago.

One thing was sure: he had to get hold of his emotions. He had to get his thoughts back under control. He had to stop allowing the weak feelings he'd been succumbing to all summer to continue.

He needed to work on his Occlumency, not on the Deletrius Charms, helpful though they had been. He obviously would have little or no warning the next time the Dark Lord planned an outing for his followers: if he allowed his emotions to get in the way again...

He rolled his shopping list into a scroll and sealed it with a tap from his wand. The package in the Owlery was undoubtedly some of the ingredients he'd ordered earlier in the summer. And Dumbledore was right: he needed to get them off Hogwarts grounds soon.

He grabbed his wand and the list, put his satchel over his shoulder and made his way up to the Owlery. Filch was there, feeding the birds, and he stopped when Severus came in.

"Ah, there you are, Professor," he said, his sandy voice rasping through the room beneath the cooing and cawing of the birds. "This is for you." He handed a brown-paper-wrapped package to Severus, then went back to feeding the owls and other assorted magical birds some of the students brought each year.

It had been one of the more striking changes that had taken place when Severus had begun teaching here: Filch had gone from suspicious and vindictive toward Snape to nearly sycophantic. Snape had always wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that Filch recognized Severus' powers and, once he was an instructor - and perhaps the man knew he was Death Eater - Filch feared being on the wrong side of Snape's wand. In any case, they had an uneasy alliance that worked well for the Potions master: it was not Filch, after all, who had broken his word to Severus.

He took his package back down to ground level, then, because he wanted the exercise, he went under the Willow and took the tunnel to the Shack. It had been so well sealed when he'd made the repairs that, given the lack of sunlight, it was uncommonly chilly when he went in. He set a small fire burning in the fireplace, and unpacked the box: it was, in fact, the illegal runespoor eggs he'd ordered in London two weeks ago.

He carefully encased each egg in a thick suspension of bat dung in alcohol, and refrigerated them for later use. Thinking of those later uses made his flesh crawl.

This would simply not do! He could not let his emotions, his conscience, take control of him. He couldn't let it happen or he would die. Badly. Nastily. Slowly.

If he didn't just take his own life, first. And, oh, the temptation was so strong!

He sat on the couch in the parlor for some time, drinking a not-very-good wine that he'd kept here, and staring at the fire. Dying was a gift he couldn't afford just yet. The reality was that he simply had to work on the Occlumency, brutally, until he was back to his normal powers.

And there were only two people who were remotely skilled enough to undertake that task: Dumbledore and, possibly, Moody. So far, Dumbledore had been too seeped with concern to be effective. Orestes had delighted in the sheer aspect of torturing him. But if he asked Moody...

He finished the glass of wine and then flung it into the fireplace and heard it smash and watched the flame engulf the last remaining drops. He was going to have to get Moody to work on his Occlumency. He was going to have to do it.

He would clear it with Dumbledore first and hope that the former Auror didn't find anything with which he could send Severus back to Azkaban.

Like runespoor eggs.

* * *

He stopped in Hogsmeade to purchase what he'd put on his list - and an item for Dumbledore - then returned to the Shack and left some of the ingredients there. He took the rest back with him to the castle and checked the draught brewing in his office. He turned the flame off under the cauldron, the light, silvery vapor having just started to appear. He could leave it to cool on its own and decant it after dinner.

He put everything else away, grabbed the bag he'd left on his desk, and made his way to the gargoyle guarding the way to Dumbledore's office. "Lemon drops," he tried. It worked. He rode the steps up, knocked on the door, and waited.

"Come in."

As he entered, he held aloft the bag from Honeydukes. Dumbledore grinned and his eyes twinkled. "A gift, Severus, or a bribe?"

"A bribe," Snape answered evenly. He laid the bag on the Headmaster's desk and took the seat across from him. "I have something to discuss with you. I would like your support, but - I do not require it."

Dumbledore reached into the bag and pulled out two drops. He offered the open bag to Severus, but the Potions master shook his head. "I already don't like the sound of this."

"Nor did I expect you would." He took a breath, and began, talking as swiftly as he could to get it all out before Dumbledore interrupted him. "You have shown me that I am not at all prepared to take on the work I need to do in order to be effective for the Order or for the Dark Lord. - No, please. Hear me out! - I need to work on regaining my Occlumency skills. My emotions are too - uncontrolled. As helpful as the Deletrius work has been, it is not sufficient to prepare me for what I am going to be facing - frequently. I need to work on the Occlumency, and I need to work with someone who will be as brutal and unforgiving as the Dark Lord will be. - I am going to ask Moody-"

"No!" That, apparently, was all Dumbledore could take. His eye flaming, he shook his head rapidly and cut in. "Absolutely not! Severus, he is no friend of yours! Trust me!"

"Neither is the Dark Lord!" He was almost as angry as Dumbledore. "I know he distrusts me, I know-"

"He justified what he did to you as child by convincing himself that you were guilty! He doesn't-"

"I was guilty!" he shouted. "I killed Tobias!"

Dumbledore was shaking his head. He got up and crossed to the other side of the desk. "You may have contributed, but even-"

"It does not matter. I need someone who will work with me to prepare me for facing the Dark Lord. You do not have the strength to do it. And Orestes-" He stopped. He didn't want to say any more about that, especially since it might reveal what he had discovered in the Healer's apartment. "I could not even hide from you the fact that I had been part of what happened last night."

"The cuts and bite marks there were a giveaway," Dumbledore said, inclining his head in the direction of Severus' hands.

"I will not be able to function as long as my thoughts and emotions are in such disarray."

"You need more time to heal, Severus. Working on the Occlumency right now would be destructive!"

"I. Have. No. Choice! And I said when I came in: either with your support or without it, Dumbledore."

The Headmaster stared at him for several seconds. "I'll do it. We'll work on the Occlumency in the mornings, and the Deletrius in the afternoons.

Severus shook his head. He got up, so that he wasn't sitting beneath Dumbledore. "You are not willing to be as brutal as the Dark Lord will be. You are not willing to risk hurting me. Moody will have no such qualms."

"And if he sees what you ordered by Owl? The package you just took to Hogsmeade? Severus, you have at least a dozen raw, exposed memories right now that he could use to send you right back to Azkaban."

"And if you instruct him to disregard them-"

"He won't!" The man sighed heavily and pulled off his spectacles, rubbed his eyes, then put them back on. "He knows you were at Orestes' apartment-"

"Do you really believe that?"

Dumbledore just looked at him. "He is looking for an excuse to put you back in Azkaban. I think he'd like to see you there even more than Sirius would. - Do not ask him to work with you!"

"It is a risk-"

"No!" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will work with you. I will be brutal. I will not play fair. - Give it a try this way, first. Please, Severus!"

Dumbledore wasn't just adamant, he realized; a quick look in his eyes and he saw a kind of desperation he'd seen before.

"No kindness. No quarter given," he specified.

"Agreed."

Severus let out a small sigh and nodded. The Headmaster put a hand on his shoulder, then crossed back around to his side of the desk and looked down, moving some parchments around in front of him.

"When would you like to start?"

Severus started to shake his head, to say that it was up to Dumbledore. But before he could, he saw the wand aimed at him, heard the cry, "Legilimens!" sweep through his mind...

...The girl was screaming, the boy was crying, there were screams from the house... he was on his bed, cornered, he reached for the wand under his pillow... the dementors came at him, they began to suck out his thoughts, his happiness, Lily... "You've chosen your way..."

"NO!" He dropped forward, his hands bracing his fall on the edge of the desk. He gasped and closed his eyes.

"Not too bad," Dumbledore said. He waited a few seconds, and when Severus looked up, he sent the command nonverbally, giving him no notice...

...He was in the lush, green Malfoy bed, curled into as tight a ball as he could manage, huddled naked under the covers. He was crying. Lucius was angry and Abraxas was angry and the Black sisters had just left and he could still hear them laughing at him, taunting him...

"No!" He sank back into the chair and Dumbledore sank heavily into his. His eyes, blue and glittering, were devoid of all warmth, all compassion... He aimed his wand and Severus looked away, but the spell was too powerful...

... He heard a small "pop" and when he looked to see what had caused it, he saw, to his further humiliation, that the house-elf had appeared at the foot of his bed. "Master Severus," he whispered. He had something in his hand, something steaming in a big, thick mug. "Dobby has brought Master something to ease his mind."

He growled at the creature and reached up and swatted the mug out of his hand and then grabbed the elf and swung him off the bed.

"Master Severus is not angry with Dobby," the creature said, his voice strong beneath the slight quavering. "Master Severus is not to be blamed for feeling angry, not after what they did to Master... Here, Master Severus, take this." With a snap of his fingers, he conjured another cup, and then, as Severus swiped that one from his bandaged hand, another, and another, and another, until finally he had lost all the energy to fight and he sobbed and took the cup and drank the hot, sweet, liquid and then his eyes closed and Dobby conjured a nightshirt and pulled it over him and tucked the covers around him...

"Stop!" there were tears on his cheeks and he shut his eyes tightly and tried to catch his breath. "Stop. Please," he whispered.

Dumbledore said nothing. He was afraid to open his eyes. He knew that Dumbledore was going to attack again: he knew it. He could leave the room, or he could submit to it...

He looked up...

..."There," said Lucius, dropping the Galleons into his hand and picking up the jar from the bench. "Twelve Galleons, as promised. - You really should come out one night and let me introduce you. He wants to meet you, you know, I've talked you up quite a bit."

"I have no interest in knowing what you do with that," Severus snapped. He was feeling very bad tempered. It had been a rotten day. The only reason he'd done this was so that he could get some money to buy himself a new set of scales. "Go! And don't come back any time soon."

He slammed the door to the cupboard in Malfoy's face, then sat on the bench and counted the Galleons. At least Malfoy hadn't short-changed him for it... A Draught to Cause Disquiet was what he was calling the potion he'd invented. He'd tried it on himself and he knew what the effects were.

He told himself he didn't care what Malfoy did with it. It wouldn't kill anyone. It wouldn't even permanently harm anyone - unless they did something stupid under its influence. And so what if they did? So what if someone decided to kill himself or someone else? So what?

Amortentia wasn't illegal, or even a Dark potion, and there were dozens of stories of horrible things happening when its effects wore off and the person under its power realized what had happened...

Tobias Snape, for example...

Tom Riddle, Senior, for example...

Lucius Malfoy, for example...

He cried out in rage and covered his face with his hands. It was too much, too fast, too hard...

"Severus." He didn't dare look up. He couldn't. This was worse than he'd thought it would be! He had been so cold back then, so terribly cold... After Lily turned away from him, he had stopped caring... Then his sixth year had begun, and he had opened himself up to one person...

And look at what had happened then!

He looked up.

"Enough?" Dumbledore asked, his voice not unkind. Severus nodded, his breath shaking. "I thought so, too. - Legilimens!"

... Remus Lupin stood over him and cleared his throat to get his attention.

"What?"

"Want to work together?" he asked

Severus stared at him through his obsidian eyes for about five seconds, then said, "What kind of trick are you trying to play, Lupin?"

"There's no trick, Severus. I swear! I just - wanted to work with you."

"Fine." And then Severus went back to studying the book in front of him...

... "Look at what you're doing!" Lily hissed at him. She had one of his bottles in her hand. "This was in the Gryffindor Common Room. Your potion, Severus! How did this get in there, do you think?"

"How do you know it's mine?" he asked, not at all concerned.

She blushed and her gaze faltered. "Well, it's - it's one of the ones we - worked on together."

He gave her a very cold smirk. "Oh. So if I do it, it's the Dark Arts, but if you do it, it's not?"

"You know the difference! We did this for fun! Not to actually hurt someone!"...

... "The meeting is tonight. It's not far. I guarantee you, we'll be back before anyone notices..."

"I am not interested! I told you that!"

"You want to get Dumbledore back for what he's done to you! Remember the beating?"...

... "I was going to tell you myself, Severus," Lily said, trotting up behind him. "I didn't mean for you to hear about it like that!"

"Like what? Black is Potter's lapdog! You knew that he'd come running to tell me as soon as you said yes to Potter! - I don't see a ring!" he shot back.

"Well, James can't afford one yet, but - I think at Christmas, he might get his grandmother's-"

"Stop! Go away, Lily! Just leave me alone. I'm not part of your life any more, remember?" Then he stopped walking away and turned, gathered every ounce of bravery he had, and said, "Unless you forgive me."

Silence.

She stared after him as he crossed the yard...

..."Lily," he called out. If she heard him, she wasn't responding. He ran up to her. "Lily? Lily, please, just look at me. Please, let me - please talk to me?" She wasn't listening to him. He moved in front of her. "Lily, please! Please, look at me! Please, just - look at me!"

He sank into darkness and remembered nothing else for some time.

* * *

"Brutal enough for you?" Dumbledore asked when he opened his eyes. He looked around himself, trying to gain his bearings. He was in the hospital ward, lying on the same cot he'd been in at the beginning of the summer, but he couldn't remember...

Oh, Boggarts! He remembered. He was glad to find a pail waiting on the floor next to the bed. He grabbed it and vomited and took the damp cloth Dumbledore offered him to wipe his face when he was done.

"I passed out?" he asked, lying back and staring at the ceiling.

"Yes." He glanced at the Headmaster, moving only his eyes. The man was drinking tea, and there was a plate of biscuits on a small table he'd conjured next to him. "Quite spectacularly."

He wasn't interested in details. "What time is it?"

"Almost one. In the afternoon." He put his tea aside and picked up one of the biscuits. "Madam Pomfrey is on vacation this week, so we have the ward to ourselves. Hopefully. And I thought it was a more - neutral place to practice the Deletrius."

Oh, good, another assault... He couldn't argue with it. It had to be done...

He nodded, and Dumbledore took his hand.

"Legilimens Deletrius..."

And together they rode through the memories he had attacked this morning, and sent some of them back in time, where they could do no more harm.

* * * August 1, 1995, night

For the next two hours, Dumbledore worked with Severus in the hospital wing. They paused for tea, then went back to the healing portion of the therapy going on in the Potions master's mind.

Some memories were physically painful to re-experience, like a dream in which the pain is as real as if the body were actually reliving it. The psychic and magical reverberations sank into Dumbledore's mind and after two hours, even given the lengthy sleep sessions he sent Severus into, he was too exhausted to continue.

Severus' mind was throbbing with memories that were newly hemorrhaging, thanks to the torturing of the Zeller family: old wounds, never quite healed, had resurfaced, and old horrors that had already left permanent scars came back to leave new ones.

He was too worn that night even to accept Minerva's offer of tea: all he wanted was to lose himself in a good book and drink a gobletful of wine, and go to bed early.

But that wasn't what he did. He spent half an hour with the Pensieve, storing some of the strongest and most painful memories of Severus' youth, those in which he had played some role. Then he went down to the dungeons, unlocked Severus' door and went in.

* * *

Severus had returned to his office to decant his Draught of Peace, and then took a dose himself. He sat in his chair at his desk, staring at the exams he'd been trying to prepare all summer, wondering how, if he had to continue this level of work with Dumbledore for very long, he was ever going to be prepared to teach the coming term.

He had just decided to work at completing the essay lists for the fifth years - with Potter specifically in mind - when his door opened. He'd locked his door magically, so whoever was coming in had to know how to get through the spells.

"Dumble-" He got no further. With a flash of pain, he felt the Headmaster enter his mind and begin to dig for memories...

... "I told you, we can't afford for you to get a new wand, we have to get a used one! Come on, come on! Stop doddling, you're going to take all day!"

... "Who did you say this wand used to belong to?"

"Oh, I don't like to go telling folk about the wand's last owner, ma'am," the proprietor said. "Not till they get used to each other... Well, boy?"

He took the wand and Severus thought this was how it must feel to be in love. It was the same feeling he had when he and Lily were playing. Powerful! Happy! He could do anything if she smiled... And if the wand smiled at him...

"Mom!" He looked at her, all the horror of the day before whisked away as the power of this wand surged through him. "Mom! This is it! This is the one!"

And then he saw something, a vision in his wand, a picture that traveled through him, a young girl, desperate and hurting, selling this wand for the life of her child...

"I--I want this one," he declared and turned to his mother, his eyes wide. He felt ecstatic! He felt like the girl who had sold this wand was smiling at him, thanking him...

"Don't wave that thing at me, boy!" Eileen Prince Snape grabbed the wand from his hand. "How much?" she asked.

Her mind was open, and in it there were ugly things, snake things, angry things...

"Two Galleons. And a bargain at that. It's an antique."

"Hmph! That just means it's too old to have any magic left in it!"

"No, ma'am, that wand is blackthorn. That's traditional for a healer's wand. And it's got a phoenix feather core. You'd be hard pressed to ever find another one like it!"

"It's too much. Come on, Sev!"

She reached for his hand and he pulled back. "No! I have to have a wand that wants me, you heard Mr. Ollivander. The wand chooses its owner, and this wand chose me!"

"I said no! Now don't make me angry! I told you what would happen if you did!"

"Mom, please! Please, can I please have this one?"

"One more word..." she threatened, pulling out her own wand. The proprietor was looking at them both, watching the struggle of wills.

"Please!"

"That's the word! Scourgify!"

"No!" And then there were bubbles vomiting up from inside his stomach, horrible, blood-tasting, burning bubbles spewing out of his mouth onto the floor, his clothes. He choked on them, and spat them out and dropped the wand...

"No more!" He finally blocked the memories and broke the spell, and he gasped and glared at Dumbledore. "I thought we were done for the night!"

"You were mistaken. Legilimens!"

It went on well into the night. Dumbledore stopped once to return to his office and remove certain too-painful memories. He brought Severus with him, and for the next hours, wearied as he obviously was, Dumbledore attacked Severus' mind again and again and again, until finally, too exhausted to continue, he stopped their efforts.

It was well into the pre-dawn hours of the morning, and Severus knew he was on a cusp: he had deflected and avoided almost every attack in the last hour, and his emotions, his thoughts, were beginning to come under his control again.

But the cost was terrible: the cold in the room had begun to seep back into his mind, into his heart. He was re-remembering how to live without caring, without compassion, without friendship, and it was frightening to see how far he'd traveled this summer from the life he was used to in which nothing mattered any more.

He was frightened to realize how dangerous Minerva had become to him. How dangerously close he'd let Lupin become. How dangerous Dumbledore had always been.

The Headmaster summoned wine and biscuits, and then they sat by the fire and drank and ate.

"A few hours rest," Dumbledore finally said, breaking a twenty-minute silence, "and then we'll continue."

As depressing as that thought was, he nodded agreement, then rose, finished his wine, and left the chamber without a word.

He didn't really sleep. He hadn't expected to. He was haunted through the night by those he'd harmed and those who had hurt him. He was especially haunted by those who fell into both categories. He tossed and rolled around on his bed, trying to get comfortable, trying to find a position where the memories wouldn't find him...

... But James Potter hung him upside down by his ankle and his robes flew open and he was humiliated in front of about a third of the school... He felt the claws coming down on his back, and he used his body to shield Potter. He grabbed Potter just at the edge of the Shack, in the tunnel beneath the Willow and dragged him away, but he was bleeding and then he tripped and Potter pulled him up...

...And Dumbledore swore he would never let anyone beat him again, and then watched in silence as Filch did just that...

...And his mother's lay dead at Voldemort's feet, Tobias stared up at him, his eyes surprised at the gashes that had just appeared across his torso and arms and face... He saw the dementors attacking him in Azkaban...

He spent the rest of the night in front of the fire, trying to stay awake.

* * * August 2, 1995, morning

They began again, early. When Dumbledore had promised he would be brutal, Severus had not counted on the old man having quite this much strength and endurance in him. Given how weak and exhausted Severus felt, both in mind and body, and even with the restful, healing sleep of the Deletrius work, he marveled to himself that Dumbledore seemed so much stronger than he was.

Then again, this was the greatest wizard of their age: Dumbledore's strength and power were legendary. He should have know to expect this.

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore said, meeting him in the dungeon office, while Severus was still finishing a light repast of fruit and tea. "Ready?"

They had severely restricted their conversations to only what was absolutely necessary to do their work. Severus had no inclination to chat about anything Dumbledore found, and the Headmaster, for his part, seemed unwilling to let his own guard down at all during the Legilimency work. He remained severe and aloof, and Severus both understood and appreciated the effort it was taking for him to do so.

"Whenever you are," he answered, Vanishing what he hadn't finished. He had not bothered to start any other potions, knowing that he would probably not be in any shape to monitor even the simplest of them. And this training, this building up of his resistance, was more important at the moment than restocking Madam Pomfrey's - or his own private - stores. He had a nervous, not-wholly-unwarranted feeling that the Dark Lord was going to require his services soon, and not simply as a potion maker.

He had put his wand on the desk, but Dumbledore took it and slipped it into his sleeve as a precaution. Severus didn't object. Dumbledore went to the seat across the desk from where Severus was sitting, and began to arrange his robes around him. Severus, for his part, cleared away the parchments and books in front of him, pushing them to the sides, but the moment he looked up, he saw the Headmaster's wand aimed directly at him.

"Legilimens!" he called out, but this morning Severus had prepared himself for the first, sneak attack, and his defenses shot up, stronger than they had been in quite a while, and he rebuffed the first attack with relative ease.

Dumbledore broke off the spell and smiled at him. "Excellent," he said, just a little winded. "Legil-"

And again, before he could glimpse even one memory, he was pushed back. Still a bit breathless, Dumbledore tried once more, and this time his cry of "Legilimens Extremis!" cut through Severus' defense like a hot knife, and he resisted the desire to turn away as he tried to fight off the steely attack and Dumbledore found another painful shared memory...

... Christmas break. Again. Severus was a year older, fifteen now. Malfoy had graduated with Crabbe and Goyle, leaving a vacuum of power that Dumbledore had already seen Avery and Mulciber moving in to fill.

But today, he had called Severus to his office to share, for a change, good news.

The boy entered, sullen and tight-lipped, his eyes, as they frequently were, red-rimmed and puffy. It could be from the extra hours he was spending in the potions lab, from being around the fumes. Or it could be from crying. Even he, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, had to admit he'd rarely known any boy who cried as easily as Severus, though in the past year he'd seemed to do so less.

He invited Severus to his usual seat across the desk, and offered him a bag of candy. The boy just glared at him.

... Severus had a sneaking suspicion what this was about, and if he was right, Dumbledore was in for a surprise.

"Well, Severus, I have some good news for you." For the space of a heartbeat, the boy's sullen expression lightened. Then Dumbledore said, "I wanted to tell you that we won the case."

Severus shrugged and looked away. He'd been right. Dumbledore wanted to gloat!

...Dumbledore continued, undaunted. "The Office of Magical Law Enforcement, Underage Division, has been ordered to pay you five-hundred-thousand Galleons. Azkaban is going to pay you seven-hundred-thousand."

Severus just smirked. "I should have just charged the men in the cell with me and cut out the pimp."

Dumbledore gave him a dangerously angry glare. "What did you just say?" he intoned slowly.

Severus looked back defiantly. "I said you got them to pay for hurting me! You pimped what happened to me for money! Well I don't want your money! I don't want any of it. It's dirty money! You take it, it's dirty!" He got up and started across the room to leave. A beam of light shot past him and hit the doorknob and he knew he was locked in.

"That tone and that attitude will not be tolerated with me, Mr. Snape! Come back here and sit down."

He turned around and sneered at the old wizard. "Two years you've spent on this, for what? So that you could humiliate me in public? In front of all those people?"

Albus took a long breath and said, very calmly, "Do you want to tell me what you're really angry about?"

"I'm really - angry - about this!" he spat. He felt himself shaking with rage, his hands balled into fists, and for a moment, he felt as if Dumbledore were trying to read his mind. He met the man's stare and glared at him.

"Who's going to really pay for what happened, huh? Are the people who did it going to prison?"

Dumbledore glanced down at his desk, then back up. "The guards who were there that first night, the ones who did nothing to help you - they're going to prison. Six months each."

Severus snorted and shook his head.

"The men who attacked you have all been sentenced to an additional year."

"And the Aurors? The ones who put me there?" he demanded, his teeth clenched.

Dumbledore sighed and looked away again. "Two of them will have notations of irresponsibility in their records. The one who tried to help you, Alastor Moody, will have a commendation put in his for having done what he could."

"Having done... That's a joke!" He felt an ice-cold hatred grip his chest. "That has to be a joke! He didn't - do - a damned - thing!"

"I told you to watch your tone. Watch your language as well, young man!"...

"Stop!" He shut his eyes and finally was able to stop the encroachment into his mind. But he had needed a great deal of effort that time and he put his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. His head was throbbing. Dumbledore had been there too long and had just wrenched another memory free. It was bleeding out in his brain.

"Look at me, Severus," Dumbledore commanded, and with great effort, he complied.

"Legilimens Extremis!"

He couldn't hold the barrier, he couldn't...

... Another cold night, another talk in Dumbledore's study, a glass of wine to smooth out the conversation...

"There's something I need to discuss with you." He waited until Severus looked at him. "As you know, this year I appointed Selia Huckleberry as Prefect for your House. I thought that, perhaps, a female touch was needed. But although she has good grades and excellent behavior, she doesn't seem to have a reign on things."

"If you want me to suggest someone else, forget it!" he mumbled unhappily. There was no one in that House he could think of that he'd want for a Prefect. The place was little more than a cage of snakes right now. Giving any one of them that kind of power would be asking for internecine warfare!

"No. I want you to be Prefect next year."

The shock hit him like a hose of water suddenly turned full force on him. "Me? ME? With all the detentions I have? With all the extra lines and essays I end up writing for being out of line? You want me to be Prefect?" He actually found himself chuckling with the absurdity.

"Yes. Like it or not, Severus, you have a great deal of inner strength, and you have more power in your House than almost anyone else. You're also one of the few there who still has a conscience. I'm sure you've noticed how many of your fellow Slytherins are becoming followers of Voldemort." The boy just stared at him. "You could make a big difference there."

"No!" he said. "I have enough trouble keeping Avery and Mulciber and both Blacks and Potter off my back! I don't want to be responsible for keeping an eye on everyone else. I don't have the time and I don't want to. - Find someone else."

Dumbledore looked disappointed: Severus hated that look. He turned away and stared at the things on his desk.

"Think about it," Dumbledore urged.

But he simply sat there, shaking his head...

"Enough!" At least the memory wasn't one of the worst this time: but the finely honed attack was still painful, still a horrible violation.

He sat in silence for a minute or so. Dumbledore said nothing. He was waiting, Severus knew, to attack again. He couldn't bring himself to look up.

"Again, Severus," the older wizard finally said. "Look at me!"

He obeyed...

"Legilimens Ex-"

He blocked the attack. He blocked it! He felt almost heady with success. He continued to stare at Dumbledore, waiting.

"Legilimens Extremis!"

... There was no question that Severus had gotten off to a terrible start this school year. His deceptions at King's Cross, his continuous detentions from several teachers - even Flitwick, who had the patience of Penelope - and then the incident with Filch had seriously strained their relationship.

Nevertheless, what Dumbledore had sensed that horrible night of the caning had to be addressed. He had little hope that what he planned would improve their relationship at all, but he had no choice but to take responsibility for training Severus in the arts of Legilimency and Occlumency.

"What do you know about Legilimency?"

Severus shook his head. "Nothing. What is it?"

"It's something you seem to be able to do without even knowing you're doing it. It's when you look into other people's minds."

The boy shrugged again. "I thought that was just normal. I figured everyone did it."

"No," Dumbledore said quietly. "Everyone doesn't do it. You're a natural Legilimens. Very few people are. But you don't know how to control the skill, and you don't know how to protect yourself against others who know the skill. This is not normally taught at Hogwarts, so this summer, we are going to work on that. I'm going to train you..."

... He reached down and pulled the boy from the floor. "You have to concentrate, Severus! Empty your mind! Control your anger! - Now, again! - Legilimens!"

He broke it off. Legilimency within Legilimency was twice as horrible!

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and gave him another small smile. "I think you're coming along splendidly," he said. It was the first truly conversational thing he'd said to Severus since they had started. "How do you feel?"

"Like a baby thestral," he confessed, shutting his eyes and trying to control his breath. "Again?"

Dumbledore nodded and this time, though he slowly aimed his wand, he used the spell nonverbally and still caught Severus off-guard.

... He was weeping. Again. The pain from the memories Dumbledore had seen, the horrible things that had happened at home, the humiliations he'd been subjected to by Potter and Black... He was so embarrassed he didn't think he could ever face anyone ever again! He wanted to hide away somewhere, and stop being.

"I wish - I were dead!"

He couldn't look at Dumbledore. And the Headmaster was leaving him alone for now. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs and sat huddled in the large, cushioned chair by the fireplace. He was shivering and sweating and he kept seeing Tobias beating him with his belt, he could see his mother screaming at him...

At least Dumbledore hadn't seen the worst of it, he thought. But even so, he'd seen enough. And he never wanted to have to look at Dumbledore again as long as he lived!...

"No!" It took less than two seconds this time to repel the Headmaster from his thoughts. He sank back against his chair, and struggled to not lose consciousness. He worked on breathing steadily, on blocking the images, hiding them away.

"I think that's all I'm up for right now," Dumbledore said. "It is exhausting work."

Severus nodded, but felt dizzy when he did. He opened his eyes, tentatively, prepared for another surprise attack. But this time, Dumbledore seemed sincerely drained.

"Deletrius after lunch?" the Headmaster said. He pushed himself up from the chair as if moving were an effort. Severus was sure it was.

"No," he said. "We're very close to getting my Occlumency back to normal. I think we need to continue this."

Dumbledore looked regretful. "I hope you know how much I hate this."

Severus couldn't face the look in his eyes. "I - appreciate the sacrifice," he said, staring into a spot that held nothing but empty space. He didn't look back at Dumbledore, just waited for him to close the door behind him as he left.

He had salvaged some of his miserable memories from exposure, and he tried to congratulate himself on that. But he would normally be able to block Dumbledore completely. And until he could do that, he would not be safe in the presence of the Dark Lord.

For the rest of the morning, he sat by the cold fireplace, and thought, as much as possible, about nothing.