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All Beneath the Full Moon [COMPLETE]	By : Onkoona Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9162 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Title: All Beneath the Full Moon

Other pairings: Very brief mention of Harry/Charlie and Harry/OC's

Fic Rating: NC-17

Word count: 50k (= completed word count)

Content/Warning(s): (Here be spoilers!!!) Chan (Harry is 17), AU after HBP, ritual rape (dub/non-con), mention of past non-con, bottom!Snape, blood, whipping, violence, public sex/voyeurism, abundance of plot, appalling lack of juicy smex.

Summary: When Severus sneaks into Hogwarts, he quickly grasps what is about to happen. But, even if Harry is the instigator, does our young hero actually have a clue what he's getting himself into? (Starts after HBP)

A/N: This story was conceived before DH came out, it therefore ignores everything after HBP. Betaed by Severa Snape, SPaGged by Mom and rechecked, fluffed and folders by the spfestmods. Spelling is British.

A/N: Originally written for Snape-Potter's 2012 Big Bang. Ponderosa121 made some lovely art to accompany the story. Unfortunately I can't link it to here.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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All Beneath the Full Moon

Chapter 1

Monday, January 12th 1998, about 10 am.

The first thing he felt was his head throbbing. And the first thing he tasted was the unmistakable flavour of Skele-Gro in his mouth. It was only after he realized he was not lying in his own bed, not wearing his own bedclothes, that memory returned with a vengeance.

He had come at night to the Castle through the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack. It had been a cold and dismal January night; dark as death even though he knew it to be a near full moon night, but the dense cloud cover would not yield passage to even a single moonbeam.

It had suited him very well; he'd be spotted less easily by the Castle's occupants. He knew he needed to get in, retrieve the item and get out fast and unseen. And even though he owned no cloak of invisibility, like some did, he knew how to use the right spells - hell, he had invented some of them; much good it had ever done him - and he was a master at moving about unseen.

Nonetheless he was seen the moment he stepped into the Castle proper and, almost as if he had been expected to appear in that place and at that time, he was captured with shocking ease by Harry Potter and his friends.

As he lay on his front with an almost fully grown man-child - Seamus Finnigan if memory served, Gryffindor, mediocre at Potions, some spark at Defence - sitting on top of him holding him down and with a silencing charm stopping his mouth from spewing his disdain at the situation, he spied the lanky figures of Ron Weasley, Colin Creevey, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Hermione Granger - Gryffindors all - standing behind the Boy Who Lived. They all had their wands out and they were all scowling at him.

The children's faces looked deadly earnest, which he recognized would spell nothing but trouble for anyone caught in their clutches, as well he knew from past experience. And worse, they all looked at Potter for guidance on what step came next, as if he was some powerful wizard Lord, instead of the teen that he was. Severus had seen enough of that kind of attitude in his life and it sickened him.

It was the look that Severus saw in young Potter's eyes that made him start to struggle against the bulky Finnigan once more; it was a look of determination that said 'do or die', an almost grown-up sentiment. Well, the one thing worse than earnest children were serious adults, and he shuddered with foreboding of what misery Potter's determination would put him through soon enough, as he gave up struggling against the Irish boy, finding him as solid as a rock.

"Let's get to it," was all Potter said before turning 'round and walking to the foot of the grand staircase in Hogwarts' entrance Hall. Severus found himself unceremoniously hauled to his feet by Finnigan, who moved to his left to hold him up by his left arm, twisting it behind his back painfully, his right wrist held in a firm grip behind him. He then felt a second presence on his right side - Thomas, Gryffindor, no future in Potions, passable at Defence - his right wrist was handed over and his right arm was also twisted behind his back.

No more words were exchanged as they marched him up the ornate stairs after Potter, with the rest of the grim fan club following behind. Both Finnigan and Thomas were nearly fully grown and just an inch or so shorter than himself. They were also prime human specimens, glowing with good health and even better feeding, neither of which he could say of himself. So fighting them physically was out of the question, even if his body was screaming at him to try. No, if he should fight here he'd just lose, as he had done when he had been caught not ten minutes earlier. However, he also knew that wherever they were going, once they got there whatever happened next would be Seriously Bad, but still, he could not see any way of preventing their arrival.

All he could do was try not to stumble and hurt his shins on the edges of the stone as he was dragged up faster than he could walk. He tried to keep his mind off coming events by looking around for a way out - any way out - but the Castle was cold and dark, and even the picture frames that lined the walls were uncommonly devoid of figures. Almost absently he noted that Potter had his ebony wand, which he had taken off Severus the moment he had entered the Castle, together with Potter's own holly wand and what appeared to be a flattened rolled scroll, stuffed in the right back pocket of his faded jeans.

The procession changed stairs several times in dead silence. Just as there was no 'life' in any of the portraits, there seemed to be no magical movement of the stairs at all. It was almost as if the Castle was holding its breath, its eerie silence amplifying Severus' anxiety.

As they ascended staircase after staircase and crossed landing after landing, they encountered no one, not even a patrolling teacher or Mr. Filch. Not even Mr. Filch's cat. They were finally let off at the 5th floor, where Potter resolutely strolled down the corridor towards the large doors that were normally not visible, much less standing wide open: the doors to the Room of Requirement.

Severus knew of the room, had been there once only briefly a year or two ago. That Potter and his cronies would use it now set his hair on end; that room could become whatever was needed and in these dark times, needs might have become very desperate indeed.

As they marched him closer to the entrance and Potter stepped aside so Severus could see the Room properly, what he saw confirmed his worst fears. Its ceiling was replaced with an open night sky, with the full moon hanging low off to the right, but shining bright enough to bathe the scene in an eerie blue-white light.

As Thomas and Finnigan made him come to a full stop, the other children, except Potter, went into the Room and each was given a dark cloak with a hood by Luna Lovegood, who wore an immaculate white robe, covering her from the neck downwards, tied with silver. After receiving the cloaks they joined the other children who stood in a large circle inside the Room. Severus recognized all the children as the current Gryffindor 7th years, most of the current Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff 7th years, a handful of current 6th years from those three houses and a few Slytherins, mostly 7th years now.

However, it was not the children that shocked Severus, it was the cloaks they wore and the circle they formed around an ordinary looking table and a contraption that most closely resembled a common but low-standing vaulting horse. What the table held was not ordinary - knife, bowl, ropes, bullwhip - and normal vaulting horses don't have belts and buckles on them. And then he heard the chanting:

Nos vultus a angustus orbis.

Hic Veneficus futurus libere.

Nostrum sententia es videlicet.

Nos sentio ut unus.

Nos reputo ut unus.

Nos factum ut unus.

Malum est licitus.

Huic locus est possessio.

No! Ice ran down Severus' spine and his heart that had been beating a staccato rhythm all the way up the stairs now leapt into his throat; he found himself thrashing against the hold the two boys had on him before his brain had come out of the shock of realizing his situation. His body contorted between the boys, trying to get away desperately when he felt the silencing spell on his mouth break and he heard his own voice shriek out in an inhuman wail as a sharp pain, not unlike the Cruciatus, went up his right arm while he felt his lower arm bones snap.

The pain in his arm was excruciating and his thrashing made it ten times worse, but still he could not stop; he could not face what awaited him inside that room, not ever!! He had his eyes closed tight, his face contorting, all the while he still tried to get away from the scene; he had to get away! But there were hands holding him in place, so many hands, and try as he might he could not pull loose and his arm burned with pain and his throat burned with screaming and his ears burned with the loud noises that he didn't realize he himself was producing and people were shouting around him and at him and... And then someone shouted 'Inscius!' and yellow Spell Fire hit him and the world winked out.

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Severus fought his way to consciousness, shucking off the overwhelming fear in the returning memory first; then he shuddered with the memory of his own behaviour in the face of that fear. And in front of so many students - ex-students of his - too! How would he ever live this down?

It was then that he noticed the unmistakable bitter taste of Skele-Gro in his mouth and he took stock of his situation. He found he was lying in a canopied bed, with its curtains closed, consistent with any standard Hogwarts bed. But it was not his own - nor could it have been; his was most probably destroyed when people found out he had 'murdered' the Headmaster, along with all his other things. He couldn't help feel a stab at that; he had worked hard over the years to acquire rare books and potion ingredients, not to mention his research notes, and now it was all gone, as though it had all been so much dross.

He lifted his right arm to look closer at his attire and felt it was weighted down. Then a memory of fire in his arm stirred. He quickly pushed up the pyjama sleeve with his left hand and was not at all surprised to see a plaster cast spanning from just under his elbow to half way up his hand. It explained the taste of Skele-Gro in his mouth and it fitted with the memory.

He tried to wiggle his fingers but nothing happened. A bad break, was his conclusion. Treatment: two days of Skele-Gro and one week of rest; it was the standard treatment after setting the bone, or bones in this case, and putting them in a cast, of course.

Apparently someone had taken the trouble of treating him for the injury, but he wasn't altogether sure that that was a positive thing. They seemed to want him whole for whatever it was they wanted from him. He pretended to himself he didn't know what that was and he knew he would stubbornly continue to do so for as long as he could. It would not be for very long, he suspected.

He scrambled to sit up. Being hampered by having his right hand and forearm in a cast made the process more awkward than it should have been, and he accidentally disturbed the curtains on his left. He also found that behind the curtains on his right was a very hard, cold, stone wall, much to his elbow's displeasure.

"Professor, are you awake? Harry would like to speak with you," came from the other side of the left-hand curtain. The voice had been female and Severus was pretty sure that it had been the dreamy sing-song of Luna Lovegood - Ravenclaw, oddly gifted at both Potions and Defence, if she only could keep her mind on the subject - and not at all whom he wanted to see at this exact moment.

He lay quite still and for a moment he was worried she might open the curtain and peer in and see him in his - not his; they were god-knew who else's - jammies! But he breathed out in relief when he heard her say, "There is a dressing gown on the end of the bed. And I can get you breakfast if you like."

He sat up further and indeed found an old dark green dressing gown by his feet.

"Thank you, Miss Lovegood, I would like breakfast," he said, sounding as calm and collected as he could manage. His calm eroded a little as Lovegood didn't acknowledge his request, and he could still feel her presence on the other side of the curtain, indicating she had not gone to fetch anything.

He drew in a deep breath and added, "And I will talk to Potter, if that is what he wants." It had sounded a lot more resigned than he had intended. He cursed the bad night past and indeed all the nights, all bad, that had gone before it for the last seven months since... Don't think about that, just don't!

"All right, Professor," Lovegood sing-songed, startling Severus out of his thoughts. He was mortified that he had not realized she still hadn't moved. But now he felt her presence move away and he felt safe to exhale.

He shored up his resolve not to make that kind of mistake in front of Potter; he wouldn't be able to afford to; they were officially enemies after all.

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When he opened the curtains, after he had shouldered on the dressing gown, checking the pockets for his talisman but finding it empty, Severus saw a row of room-high bars about five feet out in front of the bed and a shimmering magical privacy screen another five feet beyond that, which spanned the width and height of the room, effectively sealing of this part of the stone room. Not too surprising; his captors had gone to the trouble of patching him up, they would likely keep him where he couldn't disappear on them, now wouldn't they?

He looked out to his left and right before attempting to leave the bed. On his right stood a simple table with a straight-backed chair. He could see there was a large window set in the small wall beyond the table, showing an uncommonly clear sky for the time of year. To the left there was less to see. There was no furniture on the inside of the bars that he could detect from that angle, but he could see the far left wall was closer to the head end of the bed than the far right wall. There was a single chair with an open book face-down on it, between the bars and the barrier. It looked like the bars with the privacy barrier beyond and the wall behind the bed were the largest sides of the room: his cell for now, with some comforts, it seemed. And a seat for his jailer, at the moment unoccupied.

The only thing of interest on the left was the existence of a door in the row of bars. And it was of minor interest only; there was a large padlock on the door. Nonetheless, he slipped out of the bed, stepped into the slippers that he was surprised but grateful to find on the wooden floor by the bed, and, wrapping the dressing gown around him with an unconsciously theatrical swoosh of material, he headed towards the door, tying the belt as he went.

Three strides brought him to the door and he tentatively stretched out a hand towards one of the bars. Even before his hand made contact with the steel he could feel the magic pouring off it. It had that sluggish feel of old magic; the kind of passive magic that house-elves use or the result of centuries of powerful wizard-strengthened protective wards. It felt almost like a homecoming as Severus recognized the magic as that of Hogwarts itself.

He dropped his hand. Ordinarily he'd have a go at the padlock; even without his wand he was sure could pick a lock like that, given enough time. But Hogwarts had been his home for so many years, and to try and break a spell of its making just felt wrong. And he was pretty sure it wouldn't do him much good anyway. Even if he broke out, the only way out of this space was through that barrier, and he had not an inkling of what lay beyond it. Anyway, he knew why he was here and breaking out would not negate the horrible necessity of that situation.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the shimmering of the barrier more to the right. He looked up to see a tray full of breakfast fare appear, followed by the hands that carried it, then the arms and finally Lovegood's whole dreamily smiling person. He monitored her movements as she walked straight onwards towards the table, unmindful of the bars in her way which seemed to not affect her at all, only to deposit the tray and then retreat back to the space between the barrier and the bars.

Frowning, just to check, Severus touched the bar nearest himself. Solid. It drummed with magic, but it was fully tangible and it would stop him leaving the cell. Magic then. A magical trick that made the bars solid for him, yet non-existent for her; the perfect jailer's charm. Grudgingly Severus applauded the wizard who had invented the spell to create the bars.

"Good morning, Professor," Lovegood greeted him as she walked towards him, stopping at the chair with the book. Severus idly noted she was wearing her school uniform as she picked up the book, seated herself with her legs crossed and turned the open book upside down before she started to read. Severus knew better than to comment; she always had a convincingly delivered explanation for any of the strange things she did, but on closer inspection they never held water. So he had long since learned to tune that part of her out. That, along with the powerful magical spill that flowed from her magic core in a near constant steam. It both attracted and repelled him at the same time and as a consequence made him feel uncomfortable around her.

He moved away without returning her greeting, just thinking he could use a morning pit stop about now when he spied a door opposite the door in the bars, in the wall next to the head of the bed. He was sure it hadn't been there when he had walked away from the bed to inspect the lock. He went to the door, tried the knob, opened it and was presented with a tiny but serviceable loo. Without further ado he made use of it, making sure to lock the door for privacy, so no one could see him cope with only one hand available.

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Severus made sure he had a full view of the barrier while he had his breakfast. The full English was decimated in short order; he hadn't had good Hogwarts food in many months and he wasn't about to leave a crumb of it. And even with having to alternate between cutting (mushing really) with the blunt knife and spearing with the dull fork, because he still couldn't use his right arm, the food disappeared fast enough. He especially enjoyed the contents of the Ever Lasting coffee pot and was on his third cup when the barrier shimmered.

He kept his gaze neutral - which he knew came across as sinister - as he saw the figure of Harry Potter step through. The boy had apparently not gone through the growth spurt his class mates had, or at least not so dramatically. Severus estimated him at 5" 7', but where his fellow males were thin and had not yet acquired the muscles to fit their new heights, Potter was more stockily built, with strong shoulders and stout legs. It suddenly struck Severus that this young man looked nothing like his father; he had been tall and lanky at this age, not nearly looking this grown up. Now the the question was: was Potter as grown up in mind as he was in body?

Severus continued his appraisal by noting Potter wore Muggle trousers - jeans - with a woolen sweater under his school robes. And he was looking down at the ground, with his hands clasped in front; one foot was trying to dig a hole in the wooden floor. Ah, the Brat was nervous. Not so grown up after all, Severus thought gleefully; despite being the one behind the bars he'd have a chance at gaining the upper hand. He was well aware he'd need it. Desperately.

"Mr. Potter," Severus started in his best Head of House voice.

"Professor," Potter spoke at the exact same moment.

An uncomfortable silence fell, which Severus was perfectly happy to let continue indefinitely. But then Potter, ever the Gryffindor, tried again; "Professor, I, uh, I'm sorry for what happened."

That had Severus' eyebrows climbing; Potter actually apologized? That had to be investigated.

"For what in particular are you apologizing?" he sneered, sitting forward on the chair, placing the empty cup on the table before him.

"Well, uh, for, uhm, what happened last night," Potter stammered, wringing his hands, head still down.

Oh bugger, the child can't say it, can't even look Severus in the eye; not a good beginning. It was looking like he was going to have to do all the work himself, didn't it. First thing: gather information. To that end Severus needled some more.

"And what, pray tell, was 'last night' about?" He used his patented sneer #2, for added impact.

"We, uh, well," at this point Potter sighed and dug out a scroll out of the back pocket of his jeans; most likely the same scroll Severus had seen there the night before. Potter took a stride forward and utterly unmindful of the bars between them, he held out one end close enough for Severus to take it, which he did.

As Potter stepped back, Severus sat back in his chair and, holding the scroll by the top in his left hand he shook it, as you would a piece of crumpled clothing, so it unrolled to its full two feet length. He started reading it.

"Miss Granger wrote this?" was his first question. Severus didn't bother listening to the answer; the handwriting was indisputably hers. The content was oddly formatted for what it was: a magical ritual. But instead of using the prescribed format, Granger had written it out in a series of instructions to those involved. And what Severus was holding was clearly the copy for the dominant participant, Potter himself, as it lacked the chant instructions for the Circle. Severus could not suppress a shudder as he thought of the Circle and its chant.

And he quickly found he could not stop from reacting to the rest of the instructions, even if they were utterly misguided and inappropriate. This event was necessary, he knew, and no amount of revulsion would get him out of it. But not like this; not with what was written here.

"What references did Miss Granger use?" Severus asked and then looked up at Potter, who was still standing there as if he were the prisoner and not Severus. The look would have struck him as funny if it weren't for the dreaded things to come.

"Uh, I'm not sure. I can go ask her?" Potter suggested, his face hopeful with the prospect of leaving his vicinity, no doubt. Severus waved him away and went back to reading the rest of the scroll.

He was halfway down his third reading of it when he was roused by the removal of the breakfast tray - "Leave the coffee!" he demanded - and the appearance of a stack of books. He looked up only to see Lovegood turn away with the tray in hand and walk off though the barrier, and Potter resume standing in the same location he had before.

"Sir, I," Potter started but stopped when Severus waved him away impatiently. Severus paid him no more mind as he started inspecting the books; Potter's presence or absence was unimportant.

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After going through Granger's source material thoroughly - all neatly bookmarked, with notes in a separate notebook, obviously pilfered from the school supplies - Severus came to the conclusion that she had done the best with what she had. It was just inconvenient - and almost his misfortune - that what she had was sorely lacking and the results reflected that vividly. This ritual would never have worked on a human being, because it was merely an intelligent attempt at rewriting a ritual that had an object at the centre, and not a person. And it irked him that they had tried to use him as the focus, as the object, in their attempt. But the anger quickly faded; he knew they had tried everything else, every other avenue, he knew they were desperate. And he also knew who had given them the idea of attempting this particular ritual. He would gladly have rung that person's neck, if it wasn't for the fact that he was already dead, and by Severus' own hand.

The thought cooled his ire more and he decided to stick to the business at hand. He'd need to do some rewriting. It was only after he had thought that that he realized the breakfast table had, without his seeing it, changed into a study desk, with a narrow flat surface, where quill and ink sat next to the coffee pot and his cup, and a slanted surface good for writing. The reference books sat on a ledge that was attached to the right of the desk, ready to be used. Well, that cleared up one mystery; he was obviously still in the Room of Requirement, or else the wish in his thought would not have materialized so promptly. Not that it was important in any way whatsoever.

The desk held several sheets of empty parchment; no doubt more would appear when needed. He changed the position of the chair so he was sitting in front of the desk properly and stretched out his hand to grasp the quill. And then he realized that with his hand still mending, there was just no way he'd be able to write with it. So he tried again with his left hand. Once, in 4th year in school, he had been so bored that he had spent a few days learning to write with his left hand. He had become quite good at it, but not with a quill; writing with a quill needed more practice and he'd never made time for it after those few days.

But the Room of Requirement wouldn't be the Room of Requirement if it didn't respond immediately with the appearance of a nicely sharpened pencil in the pen tray at the top of the desk, right next to the ink bottle. Severus picked it up, not caring in the least what sophisticated piece of magic had been at work, and started writing.

Some 40 minutes later he put down the pencil and re-read the ritual's instruction one last time. He had used the format Granger had used, so everybody involved would not have to learn something new - god forbid they should learn anything new - and thus hold things up yet more. Tonight was the peak of the full moon. This was the best night for it; it had to be tonight. Now, all he had to do was convince Potter...

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After he had crossed all the t's and dotted all the i's and he had spent a long time just staring at the graphite-covered parchment, he knew he couldn't stall any longer, no matter how much he wished to. He looked up to where he had seen Potter last, but was not surprised to see the space empty; children were not known for their patience and he vaguely recollected dismissing Potter with a wave anyway. He then looked over the 'jailer's chair', as he thought of it, and was unsurprised to see Lovegood sitting there, reading her book upside down. When he informed her he wanted to speak to the boy, she hopped off the chair and crossed the barrier swiftly.

When he appeared, Potter looked exactly as he had not an hour ago, with one notable difference: he now looked straight into Severus' face. Severus wondered what had happened to make the boy so brave. He decided to try to stare the child down.

"What is it?" Potter asked at last, obviously irritated at the long interval.

Severus held up the new scroll for Potter to take. "I've looked at Miss Granger's work and made a few corrections," he said in a surprisingly steady schoolmaster tone.

"If," he started, stopping Potter in mid-motion as he was reaching out to take the scroll, making him look up at his former teacher. "If these instructions were used, the ritual could work. And if," he started again, letting Potter have the scroll and sitting back in his chair, "you promise me one thing, I will consent to take part in it." There, he'd said it. Let it all go down as it must. Severus held his breath as he waited for Potter to assimilate what he had said.

The boy stood there frowning for some moments, his hands wrapping around the scroll obsessively but not crushing it, looking at a point far away past Severus' right shoulder. At last the boy's eyes refocused on him and he asked, "What 'one thing'?"

"I want your word that once the ritual starts, it will not be stopped for any reason whatsoever."

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Severus sat at the reverted-back table, sipping coffee for some time. After Potter had left, taking the scroll with him but without giving his answer, Lovegood had reappeared and had retaken her seat and book silently. Severus was glad of the silence - he hated noise at the best of times - even though it left him utterly alone with his now unpleasant thoughts. Try as he might, he could think of nothing but the ritual: if it would happen at all, how it would go if it did, everything that could go wrong, and what came after. No, what came after wouldn't matter, just as long as the ritual was successful.

His churning thoughts made him get up and take the few steps towards the single window to the right, cup still in hand. He leaned against the stone window frame as he looked out. Outside was a sunny day with perfectly white cottonwool clouds in the sky, the sun shining merrily on the green around the Castle, while children played in the Castle's courtyard. It was an utter lie of course, a Room of Requirement induced fantasy. It was January for god's sake, and Severus knew the weather forecast for the week had been dismal. But even as he thought those thoughts, the idyllic picture stayed the same, clearly indicating that the room was not showing this for him, but for someone else. He wondered briefly who would be helped with a fantasy like this.

"Sir?"

Severus was startled out of his thoughts. He looked up sharply to see Potter stand there with an earnest look on his face, and gave him an annoyed look back. From the corner of his eye he saw that Lovegood's chair was again empty, giving them some privacy. Severus assumed that whatever Potter wanted to say would require such privacy, making him seriously not want to hear it.

"'Mione said..." Potter started, then paused briefly before he tried again, "Sir, how many times have you taken part in this ritual?"

Severus closed his eyes. Granger had always been very astute. That she should have guessed and then had told Potter did not bear thinking about. But now that they knew, it wouldn't matter anymore; he might as well speak the truth.

He opened his eyes, looked straight into the boy's emerald green eyes and said, "Six times."

At that answer the boy's entire demeanour changed; he rose to his full height, such as it was, balled his fists and his face showed a grim determination.

"You have my word that this shall be the last time," Potter said before stepping back through the barrier.

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It wasn't long after Potter had left before the brat was back and this time with more practical questions. He had brought a chair of his own and had waved at Lovegood, who left with a disgustingly dreamy smile on her face.

"Why is she even here?" Severus found he couldn't stop from asking, sounding grouchy even to his own ears. It didn't improve his mood any that Potter's mouth curved in a smile, even if the boy hid it behind a hand as he sat down.

"Well, you should know; you used her in your instructions just as 'Mione did," the boy blithely commented, now with a perfectly straight face. Drat. Potter was right, of course; in the ritual having a person with Lovegood's steadying aura would be a great help and Severus knew well enough that having her meditate near the participants before the ritual would enhance the effect even more.

Severus chose to change the subject by demanding why the boy was back. And then his heart sank at the answer; Potter wanted to 'go through' the ritual instructions with him. The blasted child wasn't just happy with his consent to take part in his own humiliation, no, he wanted to rehash every sorry detail too! As fast as Severus' anger flared up it deflated; going through the instructions beforehand would ensure everything was clear and workable when the time came. With an annoyed sigh he sat back in his chair and with a flick of a finger he indicated the boy to start his questions.

"Uh," the boy started to say before he had even rolled out the scroll. Severus just itched for a chance to slap that annoying "uhmming" and "ah-ing" out of the child. But he refrained; now did not seem to be the moment.

Potter seemed to scan the scroll for notes, then at last he said, "Well, firstly, Dean wanted to know, uh, how tight it should be."

"As tight as he can make it," Severus answered flatly. Potter looked up at that, surprise mingled with worry clearly visible in his bright eyes. Oddly, it made Severus squirm at the notion it might be directed at him.

"Wouldn't that be, uh, uncomfortable, Sir?" Potter asked and Severus had to work seriously at not hitting the boy upside the head.

"This situation is hardly going to comfortable for me, Potter," he drawled instead, really enjoying the way the boy turned pale and cast his eyes down. Point to Severus Snape; much good it would do him.

"We must do what is necessary, not what is comfortable," he added to soften the blow, after he remembered that Potter hadn't really asked to be in this situation either. "'Tight' is necessary, tell Mr. Thomas that," he instructed and let out an inaudible breath when Potter made a note on the parchment.

The boy quickly moved on. "It says here 'Use Spectatis Auras potion, or similar'. Hermione couldn't find any recipe for any kind of Aura seeing potion. She did find a spell, would that do?"

Severus let out a frustrated sigh. What were they teaching these kids in school and what did the kids bother to remember, if anything? This was basic year three Charms fare! "No, Mr. Potter, tell Miss Granger a spell would interfere with the chanting and the ritual would collapse."

"Uhm, okay, we'll need a potion then, I guess. Uh, would you know how to brew Spectatis Auras, by any chance?" the boy asked in almost a whiny tone. Severus' fingers itched all the way up to his knuckles.

"No, Mr. Potter, not 'by any chance', by every chance; I invented it," he growled, letting his face show his disgust at the world's ineptitude. He turned back to the table which had reshaped itself into a writing desk again and he stretched out his hand to grab the quill. As his plaster-cast hand came into his field of vision, he could not suppress uttering a muffled curse; he had forgotten about the state of his hand.

"If I may," the boy spoke, grabbing his attention quite effectively. Severus turned to look at the disturbance with annoyance, only to be startled to see Potter's chair had transformed itself into a traditional school desk and the boy sat with quill in hand and empty parchment in front of him, ready to take notes.

Quickly and concisely Severus dictated the ingredient list and brewing procedure, and after he had finished he made Potter give him the parchment so he could check it for mistakes. He was gratified to find none. The act of checking was, in this case, not a matter of trying to find fault, as it would have been in class. No, in this case Severus would have checked the notes of even a Master Brewer; there was just too much at stake to chance using a flawed recipe.

"I'm assuming Miss Granger will brew the potion?" Severus inquired as nonchalantly as he could. At Potter's nod he added, "I will want to check her brew before it is used." He expected Potter to object, but the boy merely nodded and moved on to the next note on his list.

"It says here I'm to use an aphrodisiac." Potter looked up at him with pleading eyes before continuing, "But Sir, I've really no need for one; I, uh, get hard just thinking about, uh, well, uhm, rear ends."

After the boy's stammering had come to an end with a rosy red blush riding high on his youthful cheeks at Severus' disapproving look, Severus spoke. "Mr. Potter, do you actually think you can remain 'hard' for some time, while being viewed by your best friends plus most of your peers at school, when, after first whipping your old decrepit potions teacher, you must fuck 'the Greasy Git' against my will and without my co-operation?"

Severus almost felt gleeful as he saw the eyes widen, the colour of his cheeks drain and the Adam's apple bob with shock. Almost, but not quite; he himself was the real butt of this joke after all.

"Uh, I'll guess I'll take that potion," the boy stammered. It took a moment or two before Severus saw the boy pull back together. God, he hated prudes.

"Uh, 'Mione said she could use a good recipe for an appropriate aphrodisiac," Potter said, surprising Severus; apparently Granger wasn't that much of a prude, at least not to such an extent she would not make Potter ask for what she thought they might need. He sat back in his chair and indicated that Potter should start writing.

This recipe he also checked after Potter handed it over; it was all there.

"Uh, the whipping, Sir," was Potter's next question.

"What about it?" Severus found he was getting tired and hungry, two things that had never improved his social skills, not even at the best of time. And these were not even close to the 'best of times'. Oh, how he wished this day was over and done with, so he could rest!

"It just says to 'draw blood'," Potter said.

"Yes, that is what it says," Severus confirmed.

"Well, how do I do that?" Potter queried.

Oh Merlin, save me from inexperienced adolescents. Severus sat forward in his chair to give what he was about to say more impact. "Why, you practice, Mr. Potter."

"Oh," was the only reply and the boy sat staring at the floor, frowning for some moments.

"Then it says 'once you are in the right state, cast the best spell through the Dark Mark at the target'. That doesn't tell me anything on how or what," Potter whined.

"That is because that part is in untried territory, even I don't know what we will encounter at that point. All I can give you is the basic objective: cast through the Mark at the right time. That is all I have to give," Severus explained as patiently as he could. He vehemently hoped the boy wouldn't keep going on at this part of the ritual; there was really nothing more he knew, and Severus was now both nauseated and ravenous, and he very much wanted this talk to end.

"Oh," Potter said, taking a long moment to scan the scroll again. Apparently finding nothing more to ask, the boy got up and Severus sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly in relief. But it seemed the world really hated one Severus Tobias Snape, because just before Potter stepped through the magic screen he turned back and asked, "Uhm, what about using lubricant and, well, doesn't it need, like, stretching and stuff?"

A wave of nausea crashed over Severus and he had to fight hard to keep his breakfast down. He jumped up and yelled out, "Spells! Mr. Potter, use the right bloody spells! When the time comes," he added, his anger tapering off a little.

"Yes, Sir," Potter whispered and slunk off. Teens, with their limited knowledge and their guileless mouths, bah! Severus sat again, this time facing away from the shimmering curtain; there really wasn't any threat left that could come from that side and he wanted at least the illusion of privacy right at that moment, while his stomach still churned and his heart was lodged firmly in his throat.

oqpodboqpo

Severus had not eaten much of the lunch Lovegood had brought some time later. What he had managed to ingest sat like a brick in his insides and he ended up trying to drown it in the tea that had come with the food, to no avail. Of course he knew neither the food nor the tea was to blame for the rock in his stomach; it was the upcoming humiliation that had soured his food: a humiliation he would not be able to get out of, nay, one that he had to orchestrate himself, in large part.

It was just at that moment when Severus felt at his lowest he heard Potter step through the curtain and he turned around just in time to see Lovegood leave. There was to be more talk that needed privacy then, Severus suspected.

"Professor," Potter stated.

"Mr. Potter," Severus gave back evenly, even though he much rather would have yelled: Get on with it, you dunderhead!

"Hermione says everything will be ready for tomorrow night," Potter opened. Severus felt a cold chill go through him. No, that would not do. At all.

"Tonight, you mean," Severus corrected him, hoping he'd get the hint. Severus was not happy only to see some doubt in Potter's eyes; he needed him to change that date, and fast.

"Well, Hermione says," - and here Severus' hands started to itch again. Can't you think for yourself for one moment?! - "that tomorrow is still a good full moon and we could all use a day's rest."

A rest? Severus hadn't 'rested' in years and he strongly suspected he'd not be getting any until he was resting in the good green earth. Even so, spending an extra day with this thing hanging over his head would not be restful to him in any way whatsoever! And there were better reasons besides.

"It is most gratifying that Miss Granger is thinking of our continued good health, but I assure you, she is the only one. The Dark Lord, for instance, is going to be vexed if I don't show up soon. He doesn't know I'm not in his Keep right now, making the potions he's demanded of me. It will be a matter of hours before he finds I'm missing, not days. When he discovers my 'unauthorized' absence, he will not bother to send out a search party; he will simply use my Mark to force me to come back to him if I can. If it turns out I am not 'free' to come to him, he will not think twice about punishing me for it, with extreme prejudice and without bothering to enquire as to why I'm unavailable to him." He took a breath before continuing. "So you see that 'a day's rest' would not be beneficial to me in any way whatsoever."

At that he sat back down and observed Potter's face for a reaction. What he saw was not quite what he had expected; the boy's mouth was like a straight line and his eyes shone with annoyance.

"Well. You might have said all that a little shorter, if not nicer," Potter said. "I'll tell Hermione it's gotta be tonight, then," he added as he turned back towards the magic screen.

"Thank you," Severus said - and meant it too - before adding, "And you know well enough; I'm not ever 'nice'."

Potter nodded at that and left.

oqpodboqpo

The afternoon dragged on interminably. After Potter had been by to let Severus know the ritual had been set at 6 pm that evening, Severus had sat down at the desk and had used his left hand to write his Last Will and Testament.

It was not the first time he had written such a thing; as a spy he had had many occasions to write a Will; he had it almost down to a routine. First date and identification: January 12th 1998. I, Severus Tobias Snape, being of sound mind, etc. Then a list of hazardous experiments and material he had lying about. A depressing short list: he had lied about currently working on a potion for the Dark Lord. That left the locked ingredient chest in his old rooms, assuming it was still there and whole. No, he was sure it was still in one piece; an explosion that big would have made the Prophet front page. He detailed the procedure for tipping the entire box, contents and all, into Oblivion. But he refused to add a way to open it; the things in that box had no business existing in a peaceful world.

Next came the disposition of his worldly goods, if indeed there were any left to dispose of. He gifted it all to Hogwarts with Minerva as executor, with instructions to 'do the right thing'; something he couldn't have figured out for some of the things he owned, thereby unfortunately saddling her with an impossible task. He did stipulate that all his potions notebooks - the ones that were not in that box, that is - should be sent to the Potions Institute. Not that they deserved it, but there really wasn't any one colleague who had a better claim to them: incompetent vultures all.

Then came the disposition of his physical remains. He took a few moments to rethink this one, as he had every time before when writing his Will. He still wanted to be buried at Hogwarts and he still wanted to be laid out in the midnight robes Albus had given him so many years ago. But to write that now, after Albus had died at his hand - last request or not - might be pointless as it would likely be ignored, and possibly it was too provocative. Still, he wanted it, and even if they might dump him in a pauper's grave far away from here, this was his Last Will and Testament and here he was free to ask for what he wanted, for once.

Lastly came the personal statement. Before, he'd have written a personal message to Albus in this spot, but now... Now he looked at the empty page for a very long time before he just signed his name.

He added a bloody thumb print as authentication, since he was without his wand and did not own a seal. The room provided a sharp needle and a cloth to wipe away the excess blood. He neatly folded the parchment and, checking that Lovegood was occupied with her odd reading, slipped it under his pillow on the bed.

As he moved back to the table - which had changed back from a desk - to retake his seat, he spied a new item on the wall next to the window: a clock. Severus was relieved to note it was a quite ordinary clock. Having lived his youth in a Muggle style house - without any conveniences, either wizard or Muggle - he had never developed the knack of instantly being able to read a new Wizarding clock. Thank goodness, this clock had the standard number of hands and numerals and it simply showed it was 4:15.

He sighed. Great. One hour and forty-five minutes was just enough time for him to go totally stir crazy; Severus could feel the tension gathering behind his breast bone already!

"Professor, would you like to read my book?" The sound of Lovegood's voice quite close by startled him out of his gloomy thoughts. He turned his head towards it and saw her standing in the middle of the bars, theatrically leaning over, holding out a long arm, with the mentioned book in her hand, the other behind her back, not unlike a well-trained butler.

He could read the spine from where he sat: A Tale Of Two Cities, a long-time favourite of his. Then he found he was holding the book before he had actually realized he had given his hands the command to take it. He made a move to give it back; it was not his and he would not be in anyone's debt. But Lovegood had already turned around and was heading back to her chair, on which, incidentally, another book lay open, face down.

Knowing full well that if he didn't distract himself from the waiting a meltdown was imminent, he opened the much loved story to its first chapter. 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.'

How true.

oqpodboqpo

Severus knew he could not consume the whole book in the time left to him, so he just read his favourite scenes and found, with some irony, that Sydney Carton featured in all of them. Most notable the last scene. It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done.

After had he closed the book and put it on the table he took his tea cup and moved to the window sill. At 5:40 the January sun would already have set, but the illusion in the window showed a sunny midsummer evening with a slight breeze that swayed the trees, and the children having their tea as picnics dotted around the Castle's extensive lawn. It was an idyllic scene, perfectly true at one time, when he had witnessed it from the window of Albus' rooms so long ago. It had given him some peace then. It did so now. It's a far, far better rest I go to, than I have ever known.

oqpodboqpo

Tranquility could only last so long and in this case Providence only afforded him some ten minutes of it. Severus didn't turn around when he heard footsteps and the sound of rich cloth being handled; he knew what it was before Lovegood spoke.

"The robes are here. It's time to get ready, Sir." How odd that she sounds so competent right at this minute. He turned around, saw the white robe draped over 'his' chair and nodded.

"I will step out for a moment to get ready myself," she said then turned around neatly and left. Severus eyed the robe for a long moment before taking action. Getting out of the pyjamas was not difficult, even with the plaster-cast arm. He stripped off every stitch of clothing, including the underpants he himself would never have worn with pyjamas. That they were there at all mercilessly reminded him once again that he wasn't the one who had dressed himself last night, and the reason for that. He shuddered at the memory. And then he shuddered a little harder at the thought of the Ritual to come.

He had just pulled the robe close - there was no belt, only a single button that had given him some trouble - and stepped out of his slippers for the last time when the barrier shimmered and Potter stepped through, similarly attired: white-robed and barefoot.

"Three minutes," the boy announced and made to turn around.

"Potter." The word stopped him in mid motion. He turned back and Severus sought out the emerald eyes.

"Use the spells now," he commanded. And his heart sank when he saw confusion in the green orbs.

"Spells?" Potter asked, his voice reflecting confusion.

"Spells, yes!" Severus couldn't stop from spitting out. "Cleaning and lubrication spells, right NOW, Mr. Potter!"

Severus was already sorry for lashing out while he was doing it, but he just couldn't stop, not even when the green turned dark with anger. And angry was indeed what the boy was and Severus stiffened in sudden fright as Potter drew out his wand and took aim at him.

The bright yellow spell light hit him full on and he felt it engulf him. It felt like a scouring pad was used all over his body and inside too, though not as rough. Then, before the first spell was even done, a bright orange spell hit him and he staggered back a bit, his head dropping, as he felt the lubrication hit home.

"Is that what you wanted?" Potter jeered, his face a grimace. Severus recovered by leaning on the table heavily. Despite the intention and the effect of the first spell he felt incredibly dirty and used and his legs almost wouldn't hold him. All he could do was bark out, "Out." And when he looked up and Potter was still standing there, his face full of disbelief, Severus took a step forward and raised his voice, "Get out! NOW!" And thank Merlin, the boy fled.

For some very long minutes Severus stood there leaning on the table, panting harshly. It took all his strength of will to get himself back under control. At some point he had felt Lovegood's aura come to him and then come to a standstill. But since she didn't speak, he ignored it and her in favour of some breathing exercises.

More minutes passed and Severus felt a little calmer. He was sure Lovegood was bleeding the anger out of him and ordinarily he'd hex her for trying that trick on him, but now he was genuinely grateful; at this point he would take all the help he could get.

"It's time," she said after some more minutes had passed. Severus knew she was right; he was calm enough now if only he didn't start thinking about the things to come, what lay just beyond the barrier. For a moment his breath hitched and he felt the panic threaten to reappear.

"Look at me," she commanded and Severus found he could not disobey her as he felt her aura reach out to his. Slowly he straightened and looked at her. She was also dressed in a white robe - this one tied with a wide silver belt - and her feet were bare. As her met her azure eyes she started to speak, "Nos vultus a alcedonia orbis."

The first phrase of the chant. Yes, that was a great idea. He joined her in the second line, keeping eye contact, "Hic Veneficus futurus libere." He could feel the magic flowing between them and closed his eyes for a moment with the sweetness of it. "Nostrum sententia es videlicet." He felt the last of the anxiety drift away from him. "Nos sentio ut unus. Nos reputo ut unus." And her aura seemed to melt with his, if only for a moment, before settling next to his."Nos factum ut unus." He took her hand as she offered it and stepped around the table and stood next to her, chanting still, feeling the magic swirl around him. "Malum est profugus. Huic locus est pacis." Together they walked forward, past the table, past the point the bars had been, up to and through the shimmering magic curtain.

As he stepped out into the moonlight, he entered the same space he had been in last night, but now at the other end. He swallowed hard when he saw the black-robed circle of children, the vaulting horse and the table with its lurid load. He almost faltered, but it was Lovegood's clear voice that, as it started the next round of chanting, practically demanded that he keep the chant going. "Nos vultus a alcedonia orbis."

As soon as he felt his throat reverberate and he heard the words emanating from himself and from her, he felt that much stronger. "Hic Veneficus futurus libere." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lovegood raise her arms as though conducting an orchestra. "Nostrum sententia es videlicet. Nos sentio ut unus. Nos reputo ut unus. Nos factum ut unus." And indeed that was what it amounted to; more voices had sounded with each consecutive phrase.

As they chanted the verse two more times, Severus could feel the magic building around them. And at the next start of the chant, he knew he was as ready as he was likely to get. His nerves squeaked a little as he felt Dean Thomas' and Seamus Finnegan's unmistakable magical presence appear on either side of him. He concentrated fully on chanting as he popped the single button and slipped the robe off his shoulders. For a moment he thought he heard gasps and sensed a disturbance in the magic, but it was gone quickly enough and it didn't even register enough to warrant paying any attention to it.

No, he was quite busy keeping the chant going despite Lovegood's and the other chanters' help. It was things like the feel of rough hands on his upper arms that mercilessly guided him to the middle of the room and then bent him over the vaulting horse that distracted him. Each time he was touched, he had to work harder at refinding the rhythm in the chant. And after straps had been laid low over his butt and high over his shoulder blades, and his head had been positioned with his right ear to the horse's leather cover and had been strapped down with a belt just above his left ear, and first his legs and then his arms were tied down - his right secured with a rope around the cast and his left with the lower arm turned out so the Dark Mark was readily accessible - he found he was panting so hard with panic that he lost the last comfort that the chanting had brought him.

"Dean?" he heard Finnigan whisper.

"'Tight' he said." Thomas' tone was serious. And much to Severus' relief, at least this child knew how to follow orders, for he felt the lower strap pulled tight and then even tighter with a jerk. Then the head belt was tightened and then the shoulder belt. And then he felt it: the thing he had both dreaded and longed for. Slowly he felt the pulling asunder of his spirit from his flesh.

oqpodboqpo

Very gradually he became aware of being able to 'see' the world in its full 360-degree circle all at once. He could 'see' his own body beneath him. As he 'looked' around he found the room itself had grown dim, its physical features diminished almost to nothing. It did not surprise him, for in this space it was not a candle that could illuminate but only magic. And there was plenty of that! The magic produced in the chant swirled like a pink mist around a circle composed of many twinned blobs of cyan-blue with bright brown. Colours here were not like those in the regular world; here brown and blue were as bright as yellow or gold, and no less beautiful.

He felt he could recognize some of the people present by the configuration of their radiant magic. Weasley was easily recognized by the tree-like shape; brown stem and branches carrying the cyan leaves. The Know-it-all Granger's was a almost solid clump of cyan with brown veins running through it. It was so dense that he could not see the brown core, but he could feel its presence. The wildly fluctuating mass of cyan, with the occasional brown lightning bolt going through it, could be none other than Longbottom's. Severus quickly averted his 'gaze' from it, lest it make him dizzy. His gaze was drawn to a much more calming sight: a large airy cyan cloud with very elegant brown swirls in it that seemed to interact with the pink mist, without coming to any harm or losing its consistency: Lovegood, a breath-taking sight. But what was most beautiful of the entire scene was the bright green star that stood just behind his physical body: Potter.

Severus was no stranger to this kind of landscape; in his young adulthood he had spent many hours trying to enter here, only to fail every time. It was an irony then, that while he could not enter when he wanted to, he could so easily be thrust here by outside forces. And if it hadn't been for the fact that he was totally distracted by the Emerald Vision before/behind him, he might have wailed at his misfortune.

But as it was, he could not look away from the green, watching it bobbing about and feeling its fire touch him briefly here and there as Potter, with fingers slick with an ointment mixed with a few drops of the boy's blood, anointed the scars of previous ownership on his body, both those visible to naked eyes and those that were not, infusing them, and him, with the brightest green light. And thus preparing to claim Severus.

All marks of previous ownership bar one; that one Potter would need as a conduit to reach the Dark Lord and it would have to stay untouched for now.

A sudden pain went through his body; he could feel it in a filtered sort of way. And when he looked he saw a bright green line appear on his own back. Well, maybe the boy was good for something after all. He drew blood at the first try; must have practiced some, or it was the boy's indomitable luck. A second pain was felt and a second line appeared.

Severus knew what was to happen next and turned his attention away from his body. Instead he basked in the green light that was Potter and ignored all other sensations. That way he could tell himself that the green magic entered him freely and without discomfort. When it did, it almost blew his mind. The magic was clear and warm, but did not burn, nor did it demand surrender from him; it just was. And then it was more. And then it flooded him. And then...

Then he felt there was a sound in his ear. The space he was inhabiting at that moment was a place of sights and feelings, sensation, but not much of sound or language. Severus was sure the sound was a voice speaking, but there was no way he could've grasped its meaning. It was a safe guess that it was Potter speaking, though; who else could it be? And on that assumption Severus tried to formulate a cohesive thought and then he tried to shove it at the green light. He had never had to communicate while in this state before, so all he could do was try and hope that it worked.

/What is it?/ he sent.

/Grmthblm,/ the boy sent back.

/Concentrate!/ he sent out, already mentally shaking his head; this was precisely the kind of thing the brat had been bad at when doing Occlumency.

/Whm dm aiee dm nss?/ came back.

/Again!/ Severus 'yelled', hoping volume would motivate Potter.

/Whatm doom ai doom neckst?/ came back.

/Go through the Mark!/ Severus yelled back, exasperation taking hold; they had gone over it enough, hadn't they?

/Hown?/ The boy started to sound upset. Well, at least now Severus wasn't the only one!

/Just go through it. Place your wand and push through. Just get on with it, you dunderhead!/ he added when the instructions didn't seem to be carried out immediately.

A sharp pain went through him, not unlike the Cruciatus, but shorter. Then he saw it out in front of him, still very far away; the Red Light, bright as a star. It had been with him since the Dark Lord first had marked him, always just beyond the periphery, watching, waiting, guarding its property. And now the 'property' had been violated, so soon the Red Light would take an interest in what the Green was doing. And they had only a small window of time to make the surprise attack.

/Aim and fire!/ Severus urged.

/Main at what?!/ Potter queried.

/The Red Light! There in front of us!/ Severus screamed.

/There is mothing! I see mothing!/ came a panicked reply.

The boy genuinely couldn't see the bright Red Light? It was enormous, how could he miss it?! That was the other reason for taking the Spectatis Auras, so Potter would be able see the target. But somehow he didn't. Severus had to think of something and fast!

He sought and quickly found Potter's wand. In this space it manifested as a sort of lit-up tendril that was attached to the Green Light. It glowed white as it sat there, impaling a dark patch of Severus' own magic. He wrapped a bit of his energy tightly around the wand, a little way away from the dark patch, and tried to move it. It moved slightly and sluggishly. That would have to do.

/Let me guide your wand,/ Severus sent.

/Mfine,/ came back after only a short pause.

Severus carefully guided the wand into the right direction for a direct hit on the Red Light. And none too soon, because as he made a final adjustment, he realized the Red Light was not quite so far away any more. He wrapped as much of his magic as he could around the wand and commanded Potter to /Cast the spell!/

Then the biggest Spell Fire Ball in history was discharged from the wand, the force of which shocked Severus as if it was Muggle electricity. It travelled the distance to the Red Light instantly and exploded on impact. Severus could only watch as the explosion then imploded into a bright black hole that started to suck everything that was close into it. And apparently Severus was close enough to feel his spirit gripped by the dark patch, which slipped off Potter's wand, and then inexorably was dragged towards the blackness.

He released any hold he had on the Green Light - no use both of them going down - and he didn't fight the the dark pull. It was really better this way; less evil left in the world after this.

Behind him the Green lit up sharply and he could hear Potter yell, /No!/ But it was all too late anyway. Then he felt himself grabbed from the other side and the descent stopped. But only for a moment, as black tendrils came to grab him tighter and started pulling against Potter's force. Then the pain started and Severus screamed, for this pain was a thousand times worse than suffering Cruciatus and then he felt as if he was falling into utter blackness.

oqpodboqpo

The wave of nausea told him quite firmly that he wasn't dead. All he had time for was to clamp a hand over his mouth, a pain shooting up the corresponding lower arm, and he struggled to roll himself over and push his aching head just outside of the bed, before he lost it. The ache in his head turned into a stabbing pain, before going back to a very insistent drumming. Throwing up did nothing at all to relieve his nausea, it was effective only in relieving him of his stomach content.

He was still hanging over the side of the bed and looking down at the fouled floor when the mess suddenly started spinning, and disappeared as though flushed down the drain. While he was relieved the stench also had disappeared, the effect did nothing for either his head or his stomach.

He gave himself a little more time before venturing to sit up. Once he was sitting upright on the bed, Lovegood - yes, he had felt her earlier - held out a potion for him to take. Automatically he used his right hand, but the hand was still not far enough along to grasp anything as large as a potions vial. He tried again with the left and while it did what he required of it, a shooting pain accompanied every move. A look at the arm - after first smell-testing, then taking the Anti-Nausea Draught - showed it to be bandaged; a small circular stain of congealed blood had seeped through on the inside of his arm and a corresponding stain could be seen on the outside.

'Just go through it. Place your wand and push though. Just get on with it, you dunderhead!'

Well, that had gone a little more literally than Severus would have thought! He looked at both his wounded arms for a moment. Yes, it had hurt, left arm still did, but if this was what was necessary to get rid of the Dark Lord, it was worth it. Then a thought came to him: they had succeeded, hadn't they?

He frantically looked up and found Lovegood standing there with another potion - Skele-Gro, judging by the shape of the bottle.

"Miss Lovegood." He didn't quite know how to phrase the question eloquently so he went for content accuracy instead. "Did we win? I mean, is the Dark Lord dead?"

Lovegood's face took on a dreamy far-away look and Severus feared for a moment that his current source of information was lost to some Far Away Fairyland, but then she nodded and said, "I felt him pass. He did not go easily and he didn't go alone." Then she looked at him and said, "But I'm very glad to say, he took none of us with him." She then handed him the vial and turned to walk to the little table where a few more potions sat, ready to be administered. Oh, joy.

oqpodboqpo

It was nearly noon by the time Severus sat down to breakfast. He was again wearing pyjamas, slippers and the dark green house robe. And he was still confined to the room he had woken up in the morning before, with its magic Curtain, bed, table with single chair, clock and the big window. The only thing that was different was that the window now showed a landscape that was more in tune with the time of year: overcast sky, snow-laden leafless trees and the lake frozen solid, and not a child in sight because of the cold. The normality of the scene comforted him; it was bleak and dismal, much like all reality.

He had asked to see Potter several times, but each time Lovegood had come back without him. She did bring news, though: confirmation that the Dark Lord was indeed dead and his lifeless body had been found. She added that some dead Death Eaters had been found nearby, Malfoy Sr. being one of them.

That news was not exactly welcomed, even if Severus had fully expected Malfoy to be among the first dead. Malfoy had been one of the few people ever to do him a kindness, even if it didn't turn out to have been one in the end, but Severus knew that Malfoy had at least tried.

The next time Lovegood stepped out, she came back with a paper wrapped bundle which she unpacked; she handed the contents to Severus: a complete set of clothing in his style and size, brand new, underwear included. He had a good idea who they were from so he didn't bother asking; he was just grateful to be wearing real clothing again!

Lovegood turned her back as he changed clothes, but he found he did require her help doing up the buttons on his shirt, waistcoat, cuffs and suit coat, after spending a very long and painful time doing up his fly - all of four buttons - himself. She was quite efficient about it and Severus recalled she was the only daughter of a widower; she was probably used to doing up men's clothing without being embarrassed.

The last item in the parcel was his teaching robes. By rights he wasn't entitled to wear them, but as Lovegood adjusted them around his shoulders, he felt one hundred times better and automatically his spine straightened, bringing his head up, and his view of the world improved. Clothes maketh man. It really worked sometimes.

After Severus finished dressing, Lovegood suggested taking the Barrier down. Severus, of course, didn't object - not that his objection would have counted for much; with those bars still up, he was well aware he was still nothing but a prisoner, despite the friendly treatment.

As the Barrier fell, raining scintillating fairy dust that never hit the ground, Severus was relieved to note that the room that came into view was not the one from the ritual. No, it was more of a War Room, with large tables with maps and open books on them and people - Granger, Weasley and Potter among them - standing around them discussing strategy. At the far end to the left of the large doors was a long table pushed to the wall that was filled with platters of sandwiches and other easy-to-eat food. Longbottom was there, stuffing something covered in powdered sugar into his mouth. There were jugs of pumpkin juice, large Everfull coffee and tea pots with steam coming out of the spouts. To the right of the doors was a huge map of Wizarding Britain with flags of all colours sticking out of it, some moving by themselves as a subject moved through the real countryside. A stepladder stood in front of the map and several Common Room type couches stood before that, arranged in a social setting, with some students - Thomas, the female Weasley, Finnigan - now occupying it.

Both left and right walls had a row of tall windows at the top, letting in the pale winter's light, while underneath were six doors on each side, one of which was ajar; Severus could see the side of a Hogwarts standard issue dorm bed inside. Apparently at least some of the students had been sleeping in the Room of Requirement.

As the Barrier disappeared a silence fell, and everyone looked up from whatever it was they'd been doing, to look at him. Severus recognized each and every one of them as having been part of the ritual. He swallowed his nervousness down and then forced himself up to the maximum of his height and dignity. Most likely, with what they had seen of him in the last few days, he had lost any respect he had ever had from these children, but he knew the trick was to not let it affect you, at least in appearance.

Of all of the brats it was Potter, of course, who made the first move; he stepped forward and said, "Professor," in a tone that, had it not been aimed at him, he would have called inviting.

"Mr. Potter," he gave back as evenly as he could.

A silence fell and Severus could hear his heart beating in his chest with anxiety, getting louder by the second. Finally Potter said, "We," he waved his arm around to indicate all present, "have agreed that what happened here last night and Sunday night, stays here."

Severus stayed silent at this for the simple reason he was stumped; they intended to keep this to themselves and not humiliate him with it forever?

"To that end," Potter continued, "we've agreed to take an Unbreakable Vow." At these words every person not yet standing, stood. "I've asked McGonagall to do the spell, she should be here shortly."

"Headmistress McGonagall," Severus automatically corrected him. The idea that these children would go as far as using the Vow had shocked him, and he needed a minute to arrange his thoughts.

Just at the moment Potter was turning around to issue orders to organize the Vow taking, Severus was ready to speak.

"No. I will not accept the Vow from children," he stated.

"Sir, what we did last night was not 'child's play'; we are no longer children," Granger said, after stepping up to Potter's side like a protective lioness, flanking him.

"No, Miss Granger, it was not. It was also something that should never have been necessary to undertake by anyone at any time. Because it was necessary, I consented to take part. But taking an Unbreakable Vow is not necessary and I will not consent to it." He made his speech sound as final as he could; he would not be persuaded off his stance.

"We are proposing taking this Vow to protect you," Weasley sounded almost accusatory as he stepped up to Potter's other side.

"Why, thank you Mr. Weasley, but I have no need of such protection," Severus addressed the angry-looking boy. To the room in general he said, "In my experience nothing good ever comes from taking this Vow, and no one is protected. The Unbreakable Vow is Dark Magic and as such it devours all who touch it." Seeing in some of the faces a determination to argue, he added, "If you feel so strongly about it, a simple promise of silence should suffice."

The room was deadly silent while looks were exchanged, with Potter at the centre. The looks became nods and presently Potter spoke, "Agreed. We," he stopped to wave his arm again to include everybody, "promise that what happened here in the past 48 hours, stays here and among us only." A unsynchronized chorus of "I promise." ran though the room. Severus was pretty sure every one had said it. As the sound died down, he added his own promise.

Severus could see Potter sigh in relief, even from the distance between them, by his sagging shoulders. Then the boy's shoulders came up again as he prepared to say something more.

"Professor, thank you, for everything." The shoulders sagged a little, apparently the tension was now gone.

Thank you. Severus did not know what to say to that; no one had ever thanked him, not without prompting or cajoling or expecting to gain something. Not even Albus had ever thanked him freely.

Then, before Severus could reply, there was another chorus of 'thank you's, more quiet than the one for the 'promise' but still.

"You're welcome," he stammered, appalled at his own lack of eloquence; what was he, an eleven year old?!

"How's about something to drink to celebrate, instead of all this yapping?" Finnigan shouted from the sofa area, already on his feet moving over to the buffet, where large bottles had appeared.

Severus was still reeling with the last few days' events when a half-full Champagne flute was thrust into his hand.

"To Victory," Potter announced lifting his glass. "To Victory," the entire ensemble chorused, Severus included.

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It wasn't long after the party started that Potter was called away. And Severus, who wasn't inclined to be social at the best of times, found that the few sips of Champagne sapped the last of his energy, so he sat down on 'his' chair tiredly, watching the children have their fun.

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A shock went though him as he startled awake. He righted himself in his seat once he realized he had slouched while asleep.

"Severus Tobias Snape!" a voice came. Male, mature, the tone promising nothing good. Severus couldn't see who had called from his vantage point, so he stood up and immediately spotted the twin set of Auror-red robes. Merlin's Beard, just what he needed!

"Severus Tobias Snape, we've come to arrest you!" The owner of the voice was a known Auror; even if Severus could not directly recall the name, he knew the face. He knew all the faces of the Auror Department, as a matter of course; as a spy you needed to know if someone put in a ringer, with or without Polyjuice.

"Severus Tobias, uh, Snape," the man said again as he tried to get by the kids to get to him. Unfortunately for the red-faced man, the children had other ideas; they kept stepping in his way and he was forced to try to squeeze his fat belly by them. In the end the man started shoving the kids out of the way and the children were about to fight back when Severus decided enough was enough; this could not be stopped anyway.

"Let him through," he commanded, his voice raised only to the lowest of his quiet-the-class-voices. The children looked disapproving, but made a path for the Auror and his partner all the way to the back of the room and Severus' position.

Once both men had reached him, the Auror harrumphed, rolled out an official looking document and started to read in a volume that would have put a town crier to shame.

"This is an arrest warrant for Severus Tobias Snape, Death Eater, charged with the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts on Monday, June 30th 1997, at Hogwarts. By order of the-"

"Excuse me, Sir, you have the wrong man." It was Weasley's voice that interrupted the proceedings. Severus could only look at the boy incredulously; how could he say that? They all knew that Severus was the man the Aurors wanted. They all knew Severus had done the deed even if few knew under what circumstances. But those would have to be sorted out in court and if anyone knew that court and then jail was where Severus belonged, it was Severus himself; his sins were unforgivable, after all.

"Young man." The other Auror had turned to the redhead and was about to tell him what's what. "Hindering an officer of the courts in the execution of his duty is an offence."

"So is arresting the wrong man," Weasley insisted. Now the man joined the discussion by asking, "Wrong, how?"

An almost smug look came over the young man's freckled face and Severus was starting to fear the worst; the boy hadn't gone and thought for himself, had he? That could not come to any good.

"Your warrant says 'Severus Snape, Death Eater' doesn't it?"

"'Severus Tobias Snape, Death Eater' yes. What of it?" A note of impatience entered the man's voice.

"Well, this man is not a Death Eater, so the warrant is incorrect and therefore not legal," Weasley finished triumphantly.

Not a Death Eater? Of course Severus was a Death Eater; one did not just stop being a Death Eater! This was serious Dark Magic, irreversible; not even in death would he cease to be one! What was the dunderhead on about?!

The Auror now had both fists planted firmly in his fat sides like a fishmonger's wife, before bending over Weasley and demanding, "And how do you know he's no Death Eater?"

Weasley put on an air of nonchalance and said, "Well, check for his Mark; he doesn't have one."

Doesn't have one? Ice ran up Severus' spine. How can that be? The Mark could not be removed, ever. Merlin knew how much research both Albus and himself had done about it and all in vain; he was doomed to carry the Mark to his grave!

As his mind whirled with the impossibility of it, his eyes slowly fell upon his left arm. The Mark should rest underneath the two layers of his clothing and the bandage. He turned the arm so he could look at where the Mark was, should be, as though he could see it through the cloth. And maybe he could. He let his magic roll around his arm and he was sure he felt it there, dormant, but there definitely. But was it? What if he was only imagining it there? What if...

But then his thoughts were interrupted as the man had stepped forward and had reached out a hand towards Severus' arm. Severus stepped to the side, out of reach, instinctively, but the large man followed him.

"Now, then, let's have a look!" the man boomed, stepping forward again. Severus stepped backwards again, bumping into someone behind him.

"Stop!" Thomas's voice from his left. The man stopped to look at the boy and Severus stood stock still, unsure if he even wanted to know or not.

"What is it now!" the man demanded. Thomas, who had been standing behind some people, stepped forward into the open space between the Aurors and Severus. He turned to the man and said, "The professor is wounded and I had a devil of a time bandaging him up. I won't have you hurt anyone under my care just so you can arrest the wrong man."

"'Under your care'? What are you, a Healer? At your age? Pah!" the Auror taunted. Severus couldn't see the young man's face but he could read his body language well enough and his voice was telling. Exasperated the boy said, "No, I'm not a Healer. But I am apprenticing under Madam Pomfrey and I'm sure if you asked her what she would have said in the same circumstances, she would agree with my position; don't touch my handiwork! If anybody does it's going to be me!"

The man seemed to be swayed by the argument and said, "Then by all means do. Show us his arms."

Thus committed, Thomas turned around towards Severus and Severus was sure he heard him whisper, "Sorry, Professor" under his breath.

Sorry? For what? Come to think of it, all the children, especially Weasley, looked stricken. Whatever for? Either he bore the Mark or he didn't, there was no third option.

With his mind in total confusion, Severus let Thomas take off his teaching robes and overcoat. The waistcoat and shirt were left on him as the boy could just as easily open the cuffs, roll them up and undo the bandage like that.

Severus stood quite still as the boy undid the last coil of the overlaying bandage. He looked on, feeling oddly detached from the scene as the boy's large hand moved and his view of his own lower arm was no longer obscured. It was a spear of ice that went through him as he saw, not the darkly inked skull with its serpent crawling through the empty eye sockets, but a large red hand print with fingers spread out and curling around his arm on both sides, the thumb joining the index finger on one side and the other digits on the other. In the hollow between the index and middle finger, close to the 'body' of the hand, was a circular wound. Severus had no need to look at the other side of his arm; he knew the wound would have its exit on that side. It was where Potter had stuck his wand through the Mark in his arm. And the handprint must be where Potter had pulled at Severus' spirit as the Dark Lord had tried to drag him into death.

For a long moment Severus could not think at all, then his thoughts started racing. The Mark was gone, Potter's handprint in its place. But the Mark could not be removed or undone. But maybe it could be... altered? That thought scared him more than dying by the Dark Lord's side could ever have. For if Potter had altered the Mark, then... But his mind refused to even think it and all he could do was stand there as his world went to pieces.

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If Severus had been in a state to notice what went on around him, he might have heard the Auror demand they show his other arm, he might have felt the cast being removed and his naked, empty right arm being displayed. He might have objected just as strongly as the kids did as the man then suggested they strip Severus, to be thorough. He might have noticed both Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan putting their foot down and telling the Aurors to leave, while Ron Weasley stood there as pale as a sheet. He might heard the Aurors grumble about 'Ministerial incompetence' and actually leave. He might have felt Dean Thomas put the cast back on his right arm and rebandage his left. He might have registered all there things, but he didn't.

No, the first thing he registered was the arrival of Potter, as the boy entered the Room of Requirement, with his green aura faintly shimmering about him and the more subdued glow of the Know-it-all just behind him. And, truth be told, he didn't notice even that much; all he could see were those bright green eyes, like twin Emerald Stars obliterating the existence of any other thing in the universe.

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TBC

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All Beneath the Full Moon [COMPLETE]