It seemed like Halloween all over again.

Once again, we were walking back up to Hogwarts and again, Snape was practically supporting me. Only this time, I wasn’t drunk. But this time, it was worse. Much, much worse. This time, I felt like I was broken and so, so fragile. It was worse than any hangover. Now I understood why people reacted so badly when they received bombshells.

I moved like I was in a daze or a trance, something akin to that. I could hardly think. In all honestly, I could hardly do anything except walk, and only then because Snape was leading me. I stared before me without really seeing anything. Everything was so bad, so hazy. I kept seeing memories in my head, particularly ones of the war. The Snape in my head and the real Snape became the same and one. Memory and reality became blurred and I didn’t know which was which anymore. All I wanted was sleep and darkness, so I could forget everything I’d learned tonight. But I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t and I never would. Memories lasted forever, some way or another.

Dark sang to dark. Like called to like.

“You’re not teaching for the rest of the week,” Snape was saying to me, and I forced myself to listen. “I’ll take over your classes and no buts, Harry. For once, you’re doing what you’re told. And tomorrow morning, we’re going to Dumbledore.” It finally hit me what he was saying and my eyes widened in alarm. But when I opened my mouth to protest, he silenced me with a look. “No arguing. He needs to know. He should have been told long ago.” I shut my mouth and said nothing. There was nothing to say; he was right and I knew it. I mightn’t like it, but I had to accept it.

And right then, I felt incredibly guilty. I had lied to Dumbledore for so long and had kept him in the dark about too much. He’d done so much for me over the years, and this was how I repaid him. I squeezed my eyes shut and fought not to wince. Stupid things; they were typical of me by now.

But I couldn’t have told him. At the time I had been so ashamed of everything that had happened. Besides, back then I’d never realised Dumbledore had known about Snape and me. If I’d realised that, then perhaps things might have been different. But the past couldn’t be changed and I could only live with it. In the end, I’d felt like I couldn’t tell him, so I never had.

Look where that had got me.

Snape didn't say a word to me after that, he only walked beside me and made sure I didn’t collapse or anything. But his face was stark white and his lips were extremely thin. His eyes flashed oddly; not a good sign. He was furious with me, and I didn’t blame him. He’d only just realised I’d hated him for the last three years because I’d thought he’d tortured me on Voldemort’s orders. That wasn’t the sort of thing one could readily forgive; it was, after all, a very serious allegation to make against anyone.

More to the point, I had managed to twist everything around so the argument was over and all his pity was used for me, as I, with impeccable timing, had a nervous breakdown right after everything was properly revealed at last. While I knew it hadn’t happened like that, and I knew Snape wouldn’t see things like that, I was disgusted with myself and this was how it was coming out. And it couldn’t be ignored that he was very, very angry with me, and had every reason to be. The ball was entirely in his court.

I was exhausted when we finally reached my chambers, and he ended up supporting me inside. I dropped helplessly onto my bed, rubbed my face hard and ignored Brandy’s soft keens as she tried to find out what was wrong with me. I scratched her behind the ears, but she wasn’t appeased. She knew something was wrong, that something had happened, something bad. She turned to Snape looking for reassurance, but all he did was pet her absently, which offered her nothing. Her whines became loader and she flattened her ears, her tail drooping; signs she wasn’t happy at all. But I could do nothing. I couldn’t offer myself assurance, never mind her.

He turned to go and some of the dazed numbness abruptly left, causing my eyes to widen as panic surged inside me. I couldn’t leave things like this, not when he was so angry. I needed some assurance, some proof that he was willing to forgive me, even just a little bit. He hadn’t said a word for the last few minutes and anger radiated from him in a hot wave. Not good. Not good at all.

“You should be angrier,” I said in a small, weak voice. He clearly heard me; he stopped and waited, his posture tense. “Why aren’t you angrier? You’ve reason to be, plenty of them in fact!” A wave of fatigue swept over me and I swayed on the bed, gripping it harder. I squeezed my eyes shut and took several deep breaths, fighting not to let the darkness take over. “Hell, if I was in your position I’d be out for the kill!”

When I opened my eyes, Snape had turned and was looking at me. His face was ethereally pale, the expression terrifying, his eyes glittering in warning. His midnight hair framed his face, shining in the way that always made it seem greasy. While his face was bad enough, the barely-leashed rage that curled around him like a swirling cloak was worse. Much worse. I began to feel uneasy, which, of course, made me feel even worse.

He folded his arms and gave me a cold look. He was not happy. I cringed and squirmed, but didn’t look away. I couldn’t. “I’m furious,” he replied flatly, his eyes still glittering dangerously. “Right now, I’m so angry with you, it’s only my control that’s stopping me from exploding. But now isn’t the time.”

That got a reaction from me, mainly because I had expected him to explode. “It isn’t?” I repeated, staring at him blankly.

His face went colder. “We’ve both had a rough night. We’ve said things we’ll probably regret in the morning, and learned things we’ll wish we hadn’t.” He sighed, and for a moment, looked old and exhausted. He looked as tired as I felt. “But we can’t change that now, and as your emotional state isn’t very stable right now, I’d suggest you get some sleep. We’ll deal with everything in the morning.” His voice was weary and almost a whisper, but I could hear the underlying thread of hurt and pain in it. I’d hurt him, hurt him far more than he’d ever deserved. I'd pay for that, but not from him. From myself.

He turned to go again, and I had to speak.

“I’m sorry.” He stiffened. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything I’ve done.” My voice trembled and I knew I still had tears to cry. “I’ve messed up so badly and hurt you in the worst possible way.” I choked, but kept on going. “Why do I always choose the wrong things and make the bad choices?” I shivered. “I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.”

“That is all you can say,” he answered in an expressionless voice, and fear twisted in my stomach. In the end, I deserved nothing from him. He’d been alarmingly patient with me for nearly the last four months. He’d accepted every rejection from me, again and again, and had still tried. Now I’d hurt him in an almost unforgivable way. Why should he forgive me now, when I hadn't forgiven him for the past three years?

For all I knew, I could have already lost him.

At that thought, my chest tightened and I waited breathlessly for his answer. God, please don’t let him give up, not now, not when we both know the truth at last. Please, please, please...

“By right, I should just give up on you now,” he continued in that bleak voice. I swallowed. “You’ve rejected me so many times, why should I keep trying? And the fact you have so little faith in me, so little trust... I should just stop now.” My breath caught in my throat, and when I closed my eyes, I knew what he was going to say.

“But I won’t.” My eyes flew open and I stared at him. “I can’t.” His bruised eyes bored into mine and I knew this wasn’t easy for him. Why should it be? “Not when you’re like this. Not when you’re so close to the edge, not when you’re this fragile. You mightn’t fully realise it, but I’ve been watching you like a hawk since September. I’ve seen what you’ve been doing to yourself. You’ve given yourself more grief when you fled than I’ve had. That’s not good for you. You’re tearing yourself apart and doing a better job of it than I ever could.” His lips curled in a bitter smile, but I could only stare at him. “So for now, just forget everything that’s happened tonight and sleep. We’ll do what we’ve always done -- push it away for tomorrow.”

Before I could reply, he was gone. Part of me wanted to call him back and just have him here with me. I wanted him there because I didn’t want to be alone. I was too afraid to be alone, not when the darkness seemed to want to hurt me.

I stayed where I was and didn’t say a word.

Severus wanted to yell at him, but he knew he couldn’t. Not when Harry was like this. He was too fragile. If he let rip at him, then he would just send him over the edge. Neither of them needed that. Harry was bad enough as it was; he needed no more. Even though part of Severus thought he deserved it. A small part, but it was there nonetheless.

He’d been shocked at what Harry had thrown at him earlier than night, shocked and stunned. And afraid. Afraid that Harry had been steadily losing his mind, to accuse him of such a thing. Was that the amount of trust he had in him? It obviously wasn’t a lot, if he’d believed for three years that he’d been tortured by someone who’d claimed to love him. Trust and faith obviously became an issue then.

While he could understand why Harry had thought that for so long -- one wasn’t very coherent and rational when they were being tortured, particularly not when it was by an assumed close one -- he was still hurt that it had happened at all. It explained why Harry had loathed him since the start of the year, and why he’d hated being alone with him, but part of him still wished Harry had known it couldn’t have been him.

Could something like that be forgiven? He wasn’t sure. Harry hadn’t forgiven him for three years. What was to stop him from doing the same?

He sighed and leaned against a wall, trying to find something in this mess that was clear and rational. He couldn’t. Severus sighed again, and rubbed his eyes, feeling the beginning throbs of a headache coming along. Harry was giving himself more guilt than was healthy, and the amount of self-hatred he inflicted upon himself was alarming. No one deserved that much hate, no matter what they’d done, especially not Harry. He had to get through to him, somehow. But he didn’t know how anymore. Harry was far changed from the teenager he’d once known. He didn’t know what to say to him anymore, what to do around him.

He knew he had to figure out something fast. The black hole Harry was walking into was rapidly getting larger and stronger. Soon there’d be nothing to hold him back from anything he chose to do. Whether it was good or bad, and he had the feeling it was going to be the latter.

Severus rubbed his face, wishing that, for once, life could be simple and not always a potential disaster. Forty-two and still wishing life could be easy. That record had broken and shattered a long time ago. It was time to find a new one. Somewhere. Somehow.

He knew he still loved Harry. He knew he’d still loved Harry even at the end of the war, when he’d believed that he’d tortured him and had pushed him away as a result. He had the chance to fix that now, had the chance to make something in this miserable existence right. Just as soon as he could find a way.

He thought Harry still loved him. The way he’d kissed him and clung to him hinted at that. And the way he’d walked up the street with him. He hoped. They still loved each other, or so it seemed.

But he wondered if love was enough to get them both through this.

Voldemort had always been the classic nightmare figure. Alarmingly slender, with skin the colour of snow and catlike eyes that glowed crimson, he’d been the stuff of nightmares. He’d plagued mine for years and now, despite the fact he’d been dead for years, he was doing it again.

His eyes held scorn and hatred and glowed like burning coals. I sometimes wondered if his eyes held the fires of hell, and then wondered if I could even still believe in a place like that. It seemed Voldemort was hell himself. Sometimes, it seemed that just living every single day was hell. Perhaps this place was hell itself. It explained a lot.

I hurt. Both physically and emotionally. Mentally, I was a pathetic wreak. It was a miracle I could still think, never mind do anything to protect myself. The bonds had been called away and circulation was slowly beginning in my wrists again, but they still burned after being cut by the ropes Voldemort had bound me in. I resisted soothing the raw skin, and instead, fixed my eyes on the thing before me, my lips pressed to a thin line.

He thought he’d won, I could see it in those flaming eyes. My teeth clenched and determination coursed through me, temporarily banishing some of the weariness I felt. Now I knew without a doubt why the Cruciatus curse had been made an Unforgivable. A continuous dose of it for fifteen minutes had proven that.

I could only remain kneeling on the ground, too weak to stand up. I could hardly breathe, hardly move, hardly think and I knew things were bad. If Voldemort killed me... then there would be no stopping him. He’d get Hogwarts under his control, kill those who defied him and eventually control everything. And then... then he’d move onto the Muggles.

There’d be a virtual blood-bath. And I couldn’t leave that happen. No way.

My breathing was quick and shallow, too fast and too weak, but I couldn’t think about that. I was still breathing, which meant I was still alive, and that was enough for now. I met those evil eyes and knew I couldn’t let him win.

My leg muscles screamed as I struggled upwards, swaying momentarily before I planted my feet and became still. My hand curled around my wand and I glared at him. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” I hissed, making sure my voice didn’t falter. I’d already shown so much weakness to him. I couldn’t show anymore.

He laughed, the sound cold and mirthless. Cruel. “You’re in no position to say anything, Harry Potter,” he replied, his reptilian voice sending shivers through me, but I didn’t show them. “You are weak. Pathetic. You escaped me so many times through sheer luck, and now, your luck has just run out.” Despite the fact his eyes were burning scarlet, they were as cold as ice. With that spoken, he raised his wand again and uttered one single word: “Crucio.”

Instant pain flooded over me, and I couldn’t fight it. Not again. Not again. Agony racked me, causing me to jerk back and forth on my feet, making me struggle to remain standing. My eyes were squeezed shut, but I could still feel them rolling in my head. My body felt like it was being electrocuted, was on fire, something, and it needed an outlet for the intense pain. Somewhere. Somehow. I couldn’t keep this up anymore, not without screaming and losing my mind... My wand dropped to the ground and I fell down beside it seconds later, the strength gone completely from my legs.

Shudders twisted my form, causing me to writhe uncontrollably on the grass, gasping and mewling softly. I had to do something, I couldn’t let him torture me like this... I groaned and racked my brain, desperately trying to think of something... and remembered what Severus had once told me.

“The Cruciatus curse is based mainly on belief. The victims believe they are being tortured; that is why the pain is so intense and destroying. The only way you could ever deflect it, is to firmly believe that it’s not real, that your attacker is only forcing you to believe that it is. It takes a strong mind and will to do that, however, and the Cruciatus curse is highly effective at destroying minds in an instant.”

It felt like something inside me had been awakened. My eyes widened temporarily before I forced my face to become deliberately blank. I drew in shaky breaths, my chest constricting painfully, but I forced the thought away. This was the only chance I had. I couldn’t ruin it. I forced myself up to my knees, forced myself to stare Voldemort in the eye and was horrified by the hate in his eyes. His thirst for power and the hate inside him had smouldered inside him for so long, it had consumed him. There was only hate inside him now.

“It... isn’t... real,” I whispered, but it ended with a strangled sound as a jolt of pain hit my spine, causing me to cry out. But I wouldn’t scream. I fell forward again and it was only my hands that kept me partly-upwards. My breathing became struggled, as I fought not to succumb to the blinding pain and simply howl. “It isn’t real!”

But it wasn’t strong enough.

I shook my head, frantic by now. I had to do this, for everyone! For Dumbledore, for the teachers, for Ron and Hermione, for the other Weasleys for Hagrid, for Sirius, for Lupin, for all the people at Hogwarts, for Draco, for my parents who had died to save me...

...and for Severus. Most of all for him.

The thought of them all sent strength hurtling through me and my eyes snapped open. I released gasping pants and knew I could this. I gathered the last of my courage, the last of my strength and mentally prepared my mind. I drew in a breath, even though pain still crashed through me.

I let out a piercing shriek, felt my lungs burn and didn’t care.

“IT’S NOT REAL! IT’S NOT REAL! IT’S NOT REAL!!!”

Almost instantly, the pain left, so suddenly that I collapsed onto the ground, whimpering and shaking, my body trying to recover from the extreme torture it had just received. At last, I was able to lift my head and saw Voldemort watching me with a calculating expression on his face, almost subdued. But I wasn’t falling for that. He was never subdued.

“It seems I underestimated you, Harry Potter,” he said quietly, and I didn’t want to listen to him. But I couldn’t block my ears because I had no strength, so I had to endure hearing his repulsive voice yet again.. But I’d escaped from him again, or so it seemed. That had to mean something, but I didn’t think I had the strength to do it again. I couldn’t believe that. I couldn’t. “It seems to be my greatest failing, constantly underestimating you.” I allowed myself a brief flicker of pride, even in my weak state. But it wasn’t to last long.

A malicious smile curved his thin lips and fear sputtered inside me once more, the flame rekindled. “But it seems I have finally discovered something that even you won’t be able to fight. Or rather, someone.” The sickening triumph in his eyes made my stomach twist and I glared at him from instinct alone. I tried to ignore the fact I’d no idea who or what he was referring to, but it was too alarming. He had something else up his sleeve.

“Severus, if you please.” Four words. That was all he said. He didn’t need to say anymore. Those four were enough to make my stomach drop. I stiffened, hardly able to believe this could be happening. Severus wasn’t really a Death Eater. He wasn’t. He’d been spying for Dumbledore since he’d graduated...

...hadn’t he?

Oh, God.

Oh, God, no. No, no, no.

I looked up and he stood before me. He didn’t move, watching me emotionlessly with his arms crossed. His robes rippled in the faint breeze, but it wasn’t strong enough to erase any of the smells. Voldemort had managed to situate himself in the very centre of the fighting. We were in a clearing in the forest, but there was fighting all around us. Or had been. It was nearly over. It would be the beginning of the end when I killed Voldemort. If I did.

Unless he killed me first.

I swallowed, forcing myself to keep my face blank. I was scared enough as it was -- letting them see it wasn’t an option, unless I wanted a quicker death, that is. Or maybe all it’d get me would be a slower, more excruciating one. I stared at him, and he stared back. Neither of us said anything. It almost seemed like time stood still around us, but Voldemort couldn’t be ignored.

“I trust you know each other?” Voldemort inquired, almost sounding innocent, but I knew better. Voldemort could never be innocent. He’d never been. He never would be. That was like saying I was completely normal, going to marry a childhood sweetheart and be a father. Not really a future for me.

I didn’t reply, instead clenching my jaw, my eyes never leaving him. The man I’d thought had loved me. Who I’d thought I’d loved. Obviously not.

“Severus,” Voldemort said again, and Snape looked at one of the most feared wizards in recent years. His face was still expressionless. “You know what to do.” He was being deliberately cryptic. He wanted me to be afraid. I was that already so it didn’t really matter.

He nodded, his midnight eyes turning to me again. I struggled not to flinch, bat an eyelid, do anything. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I fought to remain blank as he approached me, fought to control the rising flood of panic inside. I was beyond being afraid, I was beyond scared. I was near being terrified, almost near hysterics, even. I wanted to get away. I knew I had to do something. I had to defeat Voldemort. I had to kill him. But I hadn’t counted on this. No one had counted on this.

He never used a wand. He never used the Cruciatus curse. He’d other ways to torture me. Other ways to make me scream. Other ways to make me hate.

I woke up on the ground, the sheets and blankets tangled around me. I was screaming.

I huddled in the disarrayed sheets, my knees drawn to my chest and my arms locked around them. A defensive gesture. I rocked back and forth, whimpering and mewling plaintively. In between, I sobbed and gasped, trying to ignore what I’d remembered, trying to convince myself it was all a dream, it wasn’t real, but I knew it was and I couldn’t stop remembering. My throat felt raw; I’d been screaming for a long time. My fingernails dug into my legs, fighting to keep me from sliding into somewhere I didn’t want to be. A place where I screamed and couldn’t stop.

Brandy approached me cautiously, her ears flattened against her skull and her tail drooping. She hovered near me and keened, her eyes full of worry. This had been the worst reaction to a nightmare in a long time. She’d plenty of reason to be worried. The only thing was, this wasn’t a nightmare. It was a memory. They were a lot harder to forget than nightmares. You could never forget what had actually happened. I shivered harder, a combination of shock and coldness. I pulled her onto my lap and hugged her to me on impulse. She nuzzled my chin, licked my face and whined. She was frightened. So was I.

I don’t know how long I sat there, holding her to be my lap and staring at the opposite wall without really seeing it. Images kept creeping up on me, showing me what I didn’t want to see. What I feared so much. Even though years had passed, it still terrified me. My reactions weren’t so bad here, though. They’d been far worse when I’d been living on my own.

A silver dagger glinted in the artificial light. A memento from the war.

I shut my eyes and winced. No. I didn’t want to go back to that, not to one of the darkest times in my life, when darkness and wine had been everything to me and hope had been nothing. But it was dragging me back. It always did.

It had looked as pale as my skin. I’d noticed that when I pressed it against my skin, marvelling at the way the light danced along the blade. I’d killed with this. Blood had once stained the metal, but it hadn’t seemed to matter.

I hissed, my eyes still shut. I didn’t need to remember this! I didn’t need to remember what I’d almost done! I’d made mistakes over the years. There was no need for me to be reminded of my biggest mistake. Or my second-biggest mistake, to be truthful. I think my biggest mistake was obvious.

I’d pressed the knife against my wrist, just to see it, just to see the shimmering blade pressed down on my skin. The urge to just break skin and let blood flow was upon me for a few precious moments. I’d actually been willing to go through with it, to cut and see blood flow.

I swallowed rapidly, feeling panic bubble up again. They said when you’re willing to die, something was definitely wrong. To do it willingly yourself... well, by then you were supposed to be carted away to St. Mungo’s already. Maybe that showed how far down I’d gone, how deep into darkness I’d put myself. Maybe it proved more than any hysterical fit I’d had.

But something had stopped me. Somewhere, deep inside, something had screamed for me to stop and regain my senses. Something had made me stop. That showed part of me felt I had something to still live for, something important. I had a suspicion about what it was... or more correctly, who it was, but I wasn’t ready to admit it yet. That was what I kept telling myself, anyway.

I felt trapped. Not just in Hogwarts, however, but... trapped in me. That was what it felt like. I wanted to get out, to flee everything that made up the shambles that was my life. But I couldn’t run, no matter how much I tried, or where I went, I could never run far enough. I could never hide, no matter where I went. You could never run from yourself.

Didn’t mean I couldn’t try.

I got up so quickly I nearly sent Brandy flying, having forgotten she was still cradled in my lap. She’d fallen asleep while I’d been lost in my thoughts. Feeling incredibly sorry that she had to put up with me as her owner, I dragged the sheets and blankets back onto the bed and placed her gentle onto them. She sighed and snuggled into them, but not before licking my hand in a comforting gesture. My eyes stung. Snape was the only other person who treated me like that. The other teachers really didn’t understand, and Dumbledore tried his best. But my dog and my ex-lover knew me far better.

I yanked on a pair of forest-green robes with no thought of what I was actually doing, and slipped out of my rooms. No doubt Brandy would be furious that I had gone off again without her, but I needed to be alone. Or did I? Lately, I’d been wondering if solitude was what I really needed.

I wandered the halls aimlessly, knowing that, as a teacher, I was in no real danger. The aftershocks of earlier were still there, but they weren’t as directly painful right now. It seemed walking helped. Maybe I should do it more often, instead of attempting to drink myself to death or giving myself the breakdown that would send me directly to St. Mungo’s.

I ended up on the Astronomy floor, standing at the wall and staring up at the sky. It hit me, as I leaned against the cool stone, how close the stars seemed. It was almost like I could reach out and touch them. Like I could grab a handful and watch them sparkle forever. I closed my eyes and sighed. When I opened them, I was staring down at the grounds below. From the top of the school, everything seemed so much smaller, so insignificant. Exactly how I felt.

Would it really be so bad just to end it all? Just to climb onto the wall and jump, trying to reach the stars but never getting there? I sighed again. The urge was strong again, as strong as it had been before. My life was such a mess, I was such a mess; what was the point of continuously struggling on, only succeeding in making even more of a mess? Really, what was the point?

I continued to stare down and my grip tightened on the wall. Really, it didn’t bother me that I was thinking about any of this, which worried me a lot more than any breakdowns I had. Breakdowns faded. This sort of thing didn’t.

But there was still something...

“You’ll never grow out of this habit, will you? Of just wandering around for no apparent reason.”

I pressed my lips together. I should have known he’d come. If he hadn’t I probably would have been worried. Snape made it his business to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid. Of course he’d come at a time like this.

“I suppose not. It’s relaxing in a way. I won’t get in trouble for it anymore though, which I’m sure you wholly regret.” My voice was bitter, even though I didn’t want it to be. Or maybe I did. I didn’t know anymore. I still smiled at him, as he came up beside me, but I held no guarantee that it wasn’t bitter as well. I was firmly back into depression-mode. Great. His eyes flickered to me for a moment, before looking away. I barely noticed.

“Any chance to take House points from you, I tended to grab with both hands,” he replied, leaning against the wall himself and staring up at the sky. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that anymore.” He seemed to be relaxed, which I was completely jealous of, since I was far from relaxed. Come to think of it, how could he be?

“You’ll live.” I purposely avoided his gaze, which I knew was odd. Really, he should have been the one who couldn’t look at me, seeing what had happened between us earlier, but instead, it was me. Ironic, no?

He chuckled briefly. “I’m also a hypocrite, which you probably already know. I come here myself. Looking at the stars seems to put everything in perspective.”

I raised an eyebrow. It was something I didn’t know. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” I replied gravely, finding some trace of humour inside me, amazingly. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation as an inconsiderate prick.” I winced as the words came out. “God, I’m really putting my foot in it tonight, aren’t I?”

“I assume you have a reason.” His voice was cold. His eyes were glittering unpleasantly. It suddenly struck me how my retorts usually hurt a lot more than his. When had I turned into such a cold bastard? The fear came again, but this time it was for myself. No matter how much I tried to be a better person, I always found yet another alarming failing that could eventually become dangerous. What had the war done to me? What was I turning into?

“I’m sorry,” I said immediately, the apology automatically reaching my lips. “I didn’t mean to do that.” But I remembered what Snape had said and grimaced.

“Typical Gryffindor, thinking saying sorry solves it all! Well, it doesn’t, not always.”

“It’s been a bad night,” I continued. “I’d a nightmare.” It was only after I spoke that it hit me how childish and stupid that sounded. Twenty-two year olds didn’t suffer from nightmares. But then, I wasn’t a normal twenty-two year old, was I?

Apparently, Snape thought the same, as he turned to look at me with dark eyes that had become anxious. “What sort?”

I was suddenly uncomfortable. It was such a testy subject between us; did I really want to make things worse? But I’d already started. Now I had to finish. “It was a memory, actually,” I told him awkwardly. He raised an eyebrow; I knew he could hear the difficulty in my voice and clearly wanted to know why it was there. “I... remembered when the fake you... did all that when Voldemort asked him.”

He stiffened. “I see.”

It had been the wrong thing to say. That was blatantly obvious. I regretted saying anything at all. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No.” He replied straight away, which surprised me. “No, you did the right thing. It would have been far more harmful if you hadn’t. Keeping your feelings locked away only works for so long. It tends to burst out in unexpected ways.” He spoke like he knew what he was on about. He did.

He was right, though I didn’t have the energy to admit it. Instead, I looked up at the stars and then down at the grounds below. I sighed again, and decided to throw caution to the winds. “Do you ever think of just ending it all?” He didn’t reply, but he was shocked; I could hear it in his sharp intake of breath. As messed-up as his life was, he probably never even considered suicide. He wasn’t the type for it, I knew that. Anyone knew that, after spending ten minutes with him. “Sometimes... it seems to be the only thing I can think of to do. I’ve made such a mess of everything, the thought of continuing with that mess just seems hopeless. Pointless.” I grimaced, shaking my head. “Besides, so many died, good people that should have lived and done all sorts of things. Instead, I survive. Doesn’t seem very fair, does it?”

He didn’t reply. I hadn’t expected him to, and it was because of that I turned and glanced at him. The expression on his face was one of incensed fury. He was simply furious, there was no other way to describe it. I opened my mouth to say something, but he got there before me. His hand moved in a blur, and suddenly there was blinding pain on my face. When the stars faded, I found myself on the ground, staring up at Snape in shock.

“You stupid, stupid boy!” he raged, his chest heaving with emotion. I only continued to stare at him, too stunned to say anything. I couldn’t remember the last time Snape had hit me. Had he ever hit me? I tried to think, but that hurt too much.

“I know you’re having a hard time, I know you’re bordering on depression, I know you blame yourself, but this has gone too far!” he snarled at me, his eyes glinting in a way that told me I should be really careful of what I said. “Do you realise how selfish you just sounded?! You’re making all those deaths seem for nothing! The way you’re acting, they practically died for nothing! They died so you’d live and you’re throwing it all away, like their sacrifice was pointless.” I knew he was right, knew that too well. Even when I was down in a heap at his feet, I knew what he was saying was true. Even if I couldn’t think like that myself.

“I never meant--” I began, but he cut me off.

“You never mean anything!” he snapped, looking exasperated and furious. “That’s the problem! You never mean to say anything, but it still comes out, no matter if it’s cruel or not! And you go on that I insult people!” He threw up his hands and I groaned, rubbing my face hard and wishing things could just be simple!

“See?!” I cried, glaring up at him, before getting to my feet. “This is just another example of me messing up! I can never do anything right -- I always end up making mistakes, or giving an insult, or deciding on the wrong choice! Things never go right and the mess just gets bigger! No wonder I sometimes wish I could just end it all!” I growled, but was stunned into silence by Snape grabbing my shoulders and glaring straight into my eyes.

“And what about me?” he asked in a quiet, deadly voice, his eyes still glinting.

I stared at him. “What about you exactly?” Of course, I knew what he was asking about, but I wasn’t ready to have this conversation. We’d end up admitting things we’d probably regret later. But we’d already said so much we regretted already -- what was wrong with adding to it, really?

His eyes narrowed and I wished I could stop saying the wrong thing from time to time. Just for a little bit. Maybe then Snape would stop wanting to kill me for a while. “If you did kill yourself, did you ever think about how I’d feel?”

I continued to look at him, trying to tell him how I really felt, but bullshit came out instead. I swallowed and shook my head. “We have to try and move on. We’ve no other choice.” It almost seemed like we hadn’t taken a step in the right direction a few hours ago. If we kept this up, we’d be right back at square one. Joy.

He snarled at me. “Don’t try and delude yourself. It doesn’t look well. You’re not blind, so don’t try to be. You know we can’t move on. Remember you were quite adamant that what happened between us wasn’t lust. That doesn’t sound like you were trying to move on.”

Damn him, he knew exactly what to say. My cheeks burned, but he held me securely. I couldn’t run, even though the impulse was on me. “I know. But moving on seems to be the only thing I can think of.”

“You can’t move on until you’ve forgiven yourself. And considering your present condition, that’s not going to happen anytime soon.” I winced. Maybe telling him I’d thought about suicide more than once hadn’t been such a good thing.

“How do you expect me to?” I asked him testily, glaring at him again. I was sick of him acting like he knew everything and had all the answers. He was just as lost as I was! “I’ve only learned you didn’t torture me after all, which means I broke it off with you for no apparent reason. I don’t feel very good about anything I’ve recently done, so don’t expect me to be happy right now!”

He sighed. “God, arguing with you is like going round in circles.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Snape glared at me. “Don’t push it.” It almost made me smile. Almost.

“I’m sick of it all,” I murmured, reaching up to rub the bridge of my nose. I had to do something. He let go of my shoulders almost like an afterthought. “I don’t know who I am anymore. Once, I was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived and Voldemort’s worse nightmare. But now he’s gone and I don’t know who I am anymore. The war’s changed me into a person I don’t like. A person who keep grudges for no apparent reason and hurts people deliberately.”

“The war’s changed everyone,” Snape reminded me quietly, “not just you.” I nodded. “And you’ve enough trauma from the war that would make anyone ill. Sometimes all you can do is hurt others to protect yourself. I’m a primary example of that, aren’t I?”

I chuckled weakly. “I just wish I could wipe the slate clean and forget everything.” Especially what I’d been remembering lately.

“That tales time. Longer than most people would think.” He’d know, after all. That man had just as many nightmare memories as I had. Some of them might even be worse.

“Yeah.” I let out a deep breath and rubbed my arms. I suddenly felt cold.

“Come on.” He hesitantly placed an arm around me and we started walking towards the door leading back into the castle. I didn’t move his arm, partly because I was too tired to and partly because I just didn’t want to. One minute I wanted to hate him and the next I just wanted him back. When was I ever going to make up my mind?

Mind you, I’d had just as many mixed emotions about him when we’d been together, so maybe I’d never stopped having feelings for him. That wasn’t very comforting, but in some ways it was. I didn’t know anymore, so I just let him do what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was to put his arm around me. I didn’t even complain that he was trying to protect me. I knew him well enough to know the best thing to do was just ignore half the things he hurdled at me when we were arguing.

He took me back to my rooms. He ended up spending the rest of the night sitting beside my bed, knowing better than to leave me alone. I woke up twice screaming, but he was there. By the time dawn started creeping over the horizon, we both knew I’d end up taking ‘Dreamless Sleep’ again.

Dumbledore’s face was grave. That was never a good sign.

Severus glanced at Harry and didn’t like what he saw. They’d both had a terrible night’s sleep and it showed. He felt like he was walking around on auto-pilot and had never been so glad he’d had a routine before. It had been the only thing that had kept him going, right up to this moment. His head felt full of cotton wool and he could hardly think, never mind move coherently. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, while his face was deadly pale. It didn’t do much for his appearance, but as he’d never cared for his looks, it didn’t really matter. Anyway, he didn’t even come close to how Harry looked.

He was as pale as he was, but while Severus had always been pale, Harry had never been, so his sudden lack of colour had received him some concerned looks at breakfast. People had noticed they had both staggered in at the same time, certainly looking the worse for wear. He didn’t even want to consider what they’d thought of that.

His eyes were too bright, looking like they were glassy with fever, deep-sunken with dark smudges underneath them. His hair was positively standing on end. Neither of them had given a thought to combing it. Actually, neither of them had really been able to think at all. He was sitting on a seat, had almost sunk into it, staring vacantly at a spot on Dumbledore’s desk. He looked ill and scared as hell. Severus was worried. He’d been worried for a while, but now it seemed more dangerous than usual.

He looked over at Dumbledore, who gazed levelly back. But he could see the anxious flickers in the ancient wizard’s painfully-bright eyes and that was when the fear went up a notch. If Dumbledore was worried, something was really, really wrong.

Severus regretted losing his temper the previous night. He hadn’t meant to, had intended to wait until Harry had recovered some bit, but it had all come bursting out before he could stop it. Now he was paying dearly for that.

“I can’t say I’m not concerned, or disappointed that you didn’t confide in any of us sooner, Harry,” Dumbledore said at last. He knew Severus hadn’t known until recently; their earlier conversations proved that. Hell, Severus was disappointed himself, but Harry knew that clear as day by now, so he was just doing the sensible thing and keeping his mouth shut.

Harry shrugged, appearing to not give a damn what was going on. That was alarming in itself, as Harry always paid attention to anything that involved a serious talk with Dumbledore. Always. But now he wasn’t and it was obvious that things were wrong. “I just... I felt like I couldn’t talk to you. Any of you. I’d burdened you enough before. I didn’t need to do it now.”

Dumbledore sighed. “We went through this before, didn’t we?” Harry reluctantly nodded. “I told you, Harry, we all care about you. Your problems aren’t petty to us. We’ll listen.” A pause and then: “I have to listen to Severus’ at least once a week. Believe me, I can sit through anything after that.” Severus gave him a piercing glare, momentarily forgetting that he was the headmaster. Harry cracked a smile, but it soon faded. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk. Severus was beginning to wonder when he would ever be ready to talk.

Apparently, Dumbledore came to some sort of decision in his head and decided to act immediately on it. He leaned forward on his desk, his eyes boring into Harry’s, saying, “I suggest you go to sleep, Harry. Take a Sleeping Draught if you must; Severus will make one up for you, I’m sure.” Severus nodded to further emphasise his suggestion. “You have a lot of sleep to catch up on and many things to come to terms with. You’re hereby off classes until I agree you’re fit to return. Severus will fill in for you while you’re off. I want no protests, understood?” Harry didn’t look happy, but he knew better than to argue with Dumbledore when he got like this.

“Good.” They both prepared to leave, but Dumbledore held up a hand. “A word, Severus, if you don’t mind?” His expression told him that he was in no position to argue.

“Of course not, Headmaster,” Severus replied, keeping his face and voice deliberately emotionless as he sat down again. Harry glanced between the two of them, decided it was too much work to figure anything out and quickly left. The moment he heard the sound of the door being clicked shut, Severus let out a deep sigh and collapsed into the chair Harry had just vacated. This was a lot harder than he’d expected and he didn’t know how long he could keep it up.

“How are you coping?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes worried and concerned. He took a proper look at the exhausted man and immediately conjured a teapot and cups. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

Talk about stating the obvious. “Don’t I know it,” the younger man murmured, rubbing his eyes and fighting the urge to simply drop off. “What do I do, Albus? I don’t know anymore.” He let his face fall into his hands and shivered. He knew this was an after-effect from lack of sleep, but it felt like so much more. It felt like something was happening to him and he couldn’t control it -- just like how he felt with Harry.

“I’m not sure either,” Dumbledore replied softly, his eyes on the steam the teapot was gently emitting. “None of us were properly prepared for this. No one expected this to happen, though we should have realised it would.”

“Yes. We should have known it would. I should have known. Something was obviously wrong when he ran away from me, but I was just too stubborn to find out what!” Severus looked furious, but the anger was directed at himself, not anyone else. “He was scared to death of me, but I knew I hadn’t done anything to him! It was in front of me the entire time, but it was my stupid pride again!” He’d been too confused to try and contact Harry, even as more and more time had passed and it was clear things weren’t right. But it had also been more than just confusion. He’d been too angry at him as well, ashamed that he’d been dumped, so to speak, especially by the Almighty Harry Potter. Twenty years younger than him. It had stung.

But then he’d returned and Severus had realised he’d never got over the obnoxious brat. He still loved him and that made it all the worse, as Harry clearly hated him, though he’d no idea why. But now he knew... and he had no idea what to do. Harry was bordering the line of insanity, with severe trauma and mental issues. He was incredibly fragile. Things had to be handled delicately and they would... once he figured out how exactly to handle them.

“People make mistakes, Severus,” Dumbledore said gently, but his face was solemn. It was clear he was just as unsettled about Harry as Severus was. “You can’t blame yourself completely.” Severus gave him an expression that said, Try me. Dumbledore’s expression was just as hard. “Harry’s reaction would be... unpleasant if he knew you were entirely blaming yourself.” That made Severus look at it from a different perspective. He had a point.

“He scared me, Albus,” Severus whispered, staring at a spot on the carpet with something like fascinated horror. “He scared me so much. When I reached him... he looked like he was contemplating suicide.” He glanced at Dumbledore and the bleak fear in his face shocked the headmaster, perhaps even more than anything else previously had that morning. “Has it really got this bad for him?” Harry had scared him. That said a lot.

“It appears so.” Severus made a small sound, one that seemed like a frightened teenager would make. Dumbledore was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t make both of them take some time off. They definitely needed it, but he knew Severus wouldn’t listen. He never did, not until he went too far and collapsed, or something to that effect. He was as stubborn as Harry. “Does he still feel for you?”

Severus shrugged. “Yes. No. I think so. Sometimes.” He let out a frustrated breath. “He seems to, at times. But others... he just wants to stay as far away from me as he can.” He raked his hands through his hair, feeling like something was going to burst. He couldn’t deal with this for much longer. And he realised that if he felt this bad... then Harry was feeling much, much worse. It prioritised things, for a few minutes at least. “He was wearing a robe I gave him last night. One with both the Gryffindor lion and the Slytherin snake on it.” The meaning of it wasn’t lost on either of them, and the corners of Snape’s lips quirked up for a second, before he went back to brooding.

“What do I do?”

He didn’t realise he’d just said it aloud, until Dumbledore replied quietly, “Keep him company, Severus. Protect him, talk to him. Try and show him there’s still light in all of the darkness surrounding him. Even love him in your own way, whether he wants you to or not. That’s all you can do.”

The headmaster’s eyes were anguished. He looked exactly how Severus felt.

Everything changed after that.

Instead of keeping his distance, Snape decided I needed as much companionship as I could cope with. He never let me alone during the day, as I could feel his eyes on me when we passed in the halls and at mealtimes. It was frustrating to no end, but short of tossing him out the nearest window, there was nothing I could do. I’d made my bed, so to speak, and now I was going to have to lie in it. I’d brought Snape back into my life, and now I had to deal with the consequences of that.

It seemed I’d scared him with my tentative, brief suicidal tendencies, as hard as that was to believe. Hell, I’d scared myself. As tempting as it had been for a few minutes, to think of ending things had been very, very stupid. Snape had been right. Throwing it all away would have been an astronomical mistake. My parents’ deaths would have been in vain. All the deaths from the war would have been in vain. And that would have been a price I wasn’t willing to pay.

I didn’t know how I got through the next few days. True to my word, I let Snape take my classes for me. The students were probably wondering why he was taking over so much, but there was nothing we could tell them. I ended up spending most of my time in the library, just reading. Madam Pince said nothing, but I knew she thought it strange. I could see it in her face, but I ignored it.

I went through too many books to remember, reading up on Voldemort and myself, finding out for the first time what they had said about me. Some of them had been updated to include the war. Some of them hadn’t. A few really good ones (in my opinion), had included Snape in the paragraphs covering the war, something that I thought was very good. Before, I might have been filled with revulsion at the sight of Snape’s name placed alongside mine. But now...

But now.

Everything had changed. Our eyes had been opened and we had several things to deal with. I had to thank Snape, for he, at least, was trying to get us comfortable with each other again. My first inclination was to ignore everything, which wasn’t a very wise thing to do, as I knew well. My head just didn’t want to listen. But anytime I was alone with him, I felt rising panic inside me and that wasn’t good. If we ever wanted to put everything behind us, I had to stop being afraid of him. But I didn’t know how.

Part of me wanted to know him again. I wanted to catch up on everything that had happened to him in the last three years. I wanted to be at ease with him again, so I could talk to him about anything and everything like we used to. But I was still afraid and that fear shouldn’t be there. I knew that. I knew that well.

It was strange, reading about Voldemort, Snape and myself in books. I’d always known I’d been in them, but had never read any, with no clear idea why. But now I was. And as well as reading about familiar people, I searched for unfamiliar people.

There was very little information on anyone who’d try and get Callidus, which was completely exasperating. Anything I did find, it was only basic facts and helped me in no way. The following weekend I was in the library, frustrated over my lack of progress, when I felt his presence near me.

“Not getting very far, are you?”

I sighed. “No, I’m not. Going to rub it in about my disastrous researching skills?” I added tartly, giving him a dark look as he sat down beside me.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he drawled and my look became murderous. He responded with a mildly innocent expression, and I wanted to hit him with the book in my hands. “Here.” I stared as he placed a pile of parchment in front of me.

It took me a few seconds to get my voice back. “What on earth did you give them?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do want your Fifth Years to pass their O.W.L., don’t you?” he enquired, keeping his voice deliberately neutral. He was trying to get me to say the wrong thing, I just knew it. And no way was I going to fall into that trap.

“Of course,” I replied sweetly, causing him to narrow his eyes suspiciously. “But I want them to enjoy the subject as well.” He snorted, and I smiled before I could help myself. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you.” He growled.

“You know what really helps when you’re frustrated?” he asked from between clenched teeth. I froze as my mind automatically answered: sex. But that wasn’t exactly an option, so I did the safe thing (as well as to save myself from the obvious embarrassment) and kept my mouth shut, as he said, “Going into the forest.”

It took me a moment to understand the hidden implication, and when I did, my stomach dropped. A soft gasp spilled from my lips, as I gazed at him with wild eyes. His own midnight ones bored into mine, his expression clearly telling me he wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

I swallowed, staring down at the wooden table, noticing all the intricate patterns, the scratches and the chips imbedded into it through the passing of countless years. I stared at it and tried to get my emotions in order. Could I go into the forest with him? Could I do it, knowing the last time it had happened, things had been very different between us? I wanted to. God, how I wanted to.

I had to heal. And Snape wanted to help. And I wanted to be comfortable with him again, wanted to be able to talk to him again like I used to. That’d be a step in the right direction.

“All right,” I murmured, glancing up at him. “Perhaps it’ll clear my head.” Amusement flickered in his eyes for a moment, before he nodded and exited the library. He was gone before I fully understood what had happened.

When I was sure he was gone, I let out a deep breath and let my head fall into my hands. I could feel a headache coming on. I’d definitely gone in over my head, and the worst thing was it had happened without me even realising it.

I’d begun my Animagus training in Fifth Year, which hadn’t been very surprising, when you took my father and godfather into consideration. It had also been for my own good, as people weren’t immediately going to become suspicious of a passing animal. A wizard with green eyes and a lightning scar... well, I wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, was I?

What had been surprising, however, was who Dumbledore had arranged to teach me the ability: Snape. It had been a shock to learn he was an Animagus; possibly one of his best-kept secrets. The shock had quickly faded when Snape had made it clear he didn’t consider it a big deal, and intended for me to keep my mouth shut. He’d been an unlikely candidate for an Animagus. Remembering that Hermione had researched them once, he’d admitted he wasn’t registered and wouldn’t be until Voldemort was defeated. It had made sense; no one had wanted the Dark Lord to know that Snape was an Animagus.

My first choice had been to become a stag, like my father, but I’d been quick to realise it wasn’t a very practical choice, considering I was going to be stuck in a war. I’d needed something that would enable me to travel undetected, to a certain degree. A stag wasn’t a good choice for that. I’d also needed to be able to defend myself. It hadn’t taken me long to see this decision wasn’t going to be easy, and Snape had advised me to think carefully.

I’d gone through options until my head had hurt, but after careful deliberation I’d chosen a form. Upon telling Snape, however, he’d gone very quiet and hadn’t said anything. It had been Dumbledore who’d told me: I’d unknowingly chosen the same form as Snape. But I hadn’t changed my mind, and I’d have been damned if I was going to let him do it for me either.

Ironically, having the same forms had worked out well for us.

Snape had been a good instructor and had kept his opinions on my choice to himself, which I'd thought was nice of him. Fifth Year had been quite difficult. It had also been when I’d fallen for him.

The room where we’d had the Animagus training had been spelled for protection and had been one of the Unplottable rooms in the school. Dumbledore had been the only one able to reach it. As there had been no way anyone could have spied on us, Snape had gradually started treating me differently. He’d been more relaxed around me, showing me another side to him. I hadn’t meant to fall for him, but over the course of the year... I had. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d returned my feelings. Neither of us had expected it to end like this, but it had.

I’d never told Sirius and Lupin that I was an Animagus. I think Lupin was suspicious about both Snape and myself, but perhaps Dumbledore had sworn him to secrecy. Sirius definitely didn’t know. I hadn’t told them because... well, I wasn’t sure myself. Part of me had felt like I’d needed secrets, that they didn’t need to know everything about me. I’d told Snape and Dumbledore about my decision to keep silent. Neither of them had objected to it, but I knew they’d wondered why I hadn’t wanted to say anything. To be honest, I wasn’t sure myself, and I couldn’t ignore the fact I’d needed up keeping more secrets from Sirius and Lupin than was healthy.

Ron and Hermione had known, of course, about both of us being Animagi. They’d been sworn to secrecy, but Hermione had been incredibly jealous, though she’d tried not to show it. I’d been quick to point out, however, that I was becoming an Animagus to help in the war. She was free to become one anytime she liked. That had quietened her.

By the end of Fifth Year I was able to transform at will. I’d been surprised that it had only taken a year, but then I’d remembered Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail had been on their own, while I’d been instructed. It would have made the difference.

In an effort to spend time with him and to familiarise myself with my new form, I’d forced Snape to come into the forest with me. He’d come reluctantly, at first, but it had soon become a habit with us. It had brought us closer together, and we’d spent hours running through the forest (and in my case, getting trounced by Snape every time I’d tried to pin him down).

By agreeing to go to the forest that night, I was invoking the old invitation. How long had it been since I’d transformed -- a year? Two? I could hardly remember how it felt to be in my animal form, it had been that long. That was why I was going tonight, or so I told myself. It was only to remember half-forgotten memories. It wasn’t because of Snape. It wasn’t because of what might happen by going and accepting the invitation. It wasn’t because of the consequences that would arise by going.

Who was I kidding? Certainly not myself.

I padded to the edge of the lake and peered down at my reflection. I was completely black, save for a few brushes of grey here and there. I looked animal enough, but my eyes betrayed the fact I was still human. They burned emerald-green, with a sharp intelligence and a blazing ferocity that could never be anything but human. In truth, I saw everything in blacks, greys and whites with subtle shading, but the human part of my mind automatically transformed them into colours. It had been disorienting, at first, but now I hardly noticed it.

I bent down and drank quickly, before stretching and loosening taunt muscles, making myself more at ease with this form. My body had started to forget. Then, after a brief shake and a swish of my grey-tipped tail, I headed in the direction of the forest.

The night was crisp and clear, and the sky was spilling over with stars. The air felt deliciously cool and I could sense that frost was to come. I paused by the edge of the forest, in the shadows where the Hogwarts grounds ended and the trees began and tilted my head. From here, I could smell pine and earth, mingling with the scents of the creatures that called the forest theirs. I could sense Fang asleep in Hagrid’s hut and was glad. I didn’t know if he could still recognise me in this form, and as dogs tended to react badly to wolves I didn’t want to find out anytime soon.

And faintly... I could smell another wolf. I froze, my ears pricking, before the urge overtook me and I let out a piercing howl. Like calling to like. Heartbeats passed, before I heard it. A faint response. My ears pricked again, as I took a step forward. This was all familiar. As a human going in there, there would always be danger. But as a wolf -- a wolf that had been there before -- no.

I belonged.

As soon as the thought appeared, tremors began to shiver through me and an itch started in my paws, making me dance impatiently on the spot. I quivered, wanting to run and chase, to hunt. To rediscover everything I’d almost forgotten.

I had no chance to realise he was coming towards me, not until he burst from the trees and flung himself on me. I’d only time to let out a startled yip as he rolled me over, effectively pinning me down. Snape grinned at me, tail whipping from side to side, his dark eyes amused. I glared at him, voicing a low growl before he conceded.

The moment he stepped off me, I lunged and sent us both flying into the trees. We rolled over and over, nipping and yelping, both of us jostling for the top position of supremacy. Snape pinned me again, causing him to gloat and me to be disgruntled, until I gripped him by the scruff and sent him crashing to the ground. He yelped and it was my turn to gloat. ‘Now who’s the best?’ I taunted him, grinning. He glared, a split second before I turned tail and bolted further into the forest.

Becoming an Animagus didn’t just mean I was a wizard who could change into an animal. It also meant I acquired the characteristics of that animal. Being a wolf meant I also had a wolf’s urge for companionship, the need for Pack. And as Snape and I were the only two wolves in the area, we were Pack, simple as that. In human form that guaranteed complications, considering our history.

But in animal form...

Wolves didn’t hold grudges, not against Pack. They didn’t let history create a wedge against them. They were more concerned with the ties they had with their fellow wolves, with the unflinching loyalty they held for each other.

No matter how things were between us, as wolves Snape and I would always be loyal to each other.

Everything has a price.

I ran through the trails, delighting in the glorious sensation of being free, of being able to run and be chased. To be able to run through all the trails that never made sense as a human, but made plenty of sense as a wolf. The sounds of thrashing bushes and thumping paws from behind alerted me that Snape was getting closer, and I suddenly veered from the trail.

Crouched behind bushes, I waited, ears pricked as he came closer. He trotted forward cautiously, eyes flickering as his nose twitched. I hit him without warning, sending us both tumbling again. This time, I pinned him and glorified completely... that is, until he grabbed my foreleg between his jaw and hauled me to the ground. His tail waved once, before he dashed away as a midnight streak. With an indignant yip, I tore after him.

Snape was in a clearing, lying under a tree when I reached him, and I paused for a moment, taking in the scene. I suddenly felt nervous, unsure whether I should approach him or not. He settled the matter by cracking open an eye and making a soft noise, inviting me over. I settled beside him and he nudged me gently, whining and telling me how lonely he’d been since I’d left, how much he’d missed me. All the things neither of us seemed to be able to say as humans. But as wolves, it was easy.

I nuzzled him affectionately, before curling up to him and closing my eyes. As the night wore on, we simply relaxed in the knowledge that the other was there and wasn’t going to leave suddenly. We both wanted to be there. We knew it wouldn’t last forever, that we’d have to return to Hogwarts. We knew things would go back to being awkward and strange the next morning, and we’d be struggling to fix things again. But right then, under the tree, it didn’t matter.

It was nice to know that in one respect, at least, things could go right. That some things could be as they used to.

Author’s Note: This took a while, partly because I wanted to get the wolf scenes right and I had to break this chapter up as it was getting too long. Also, my exams start tomorrow so I had to study. Ahem. Well, try to. All the other Christmas stuff follows next and I get to fit it into one chapter, which I’m pleased about. Also, I’m sorry all the intimate stuff is taking so long, but I have a thing called a plot, which I’m going to follow if I can.. ::dryly:: It’ll come, trust me, I just have other stuff to deal with as well. Also, some inspiration for the wolf scenes came from the book, Bitten by Kelley Armstrong. It’s a werewolf book, but she makes being a wolf like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world!