A/N: Once again, thank you to those of you who review; it makes me so happy! And sorry for the late update, I had sort of given up, and now I'm back to it.

I received a review that questioned the fact that Hermione and Harry are still able to attend Hogwarts now that it is under Death Eater control, and why neither of them has been killed thus far. Just to clear this up, Hermione (and all the other Muggle-borns attending Hogwarts) have not been killed or sent to Azkaban because this story is not fully canon compliant. Sure, the Death Eaters are still massively prejudiced and discriminatory against her kind, and she is likely to not be treated as fairly as other students, but they will not go as far as killing off all Muggle-borns yet. As to why Harry has not been killed, the explanation shall come in the next chapter, as it is obviously something that Harry would be asking himself at this point. Thanks for questioning it though; I guess it shows that you are paying attention. Hope this clears it up?

- Severus -

Severus pushed the silk sheets off himself. Suddenly they felt cold and hard against his skin. He sat up and pressed his face against the mahogany headboard, feeling its warmth and rubbing his face against its smooth surface like a cat rubbing its head against its owner's legs. Lily's eyes were still blazing bright at the back of his own, no matter how tightly he closed them. It was like she was there, watching him wherever he looked.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his wand, his hand changing course halfway and heading for Potter's map instead. He opened it out fully and searched for the boy's dot in Gryffindor tower. It wasn't there, but halfway along a nearby corridor. Cursing silently at Potter's determination to break rules and land himself in trouble, Severus reached for his wand, lighting it to get a closer look at the map. The corridor was several floors above where he slept in the dungeons, and was not deserted. Amycus was on night-duty, and his dot was almost opposite Potter's on the map. He must have caught the boy on one of his night-time wanderings.

Severus stood up immediately, pocketing the map and throwing Potter's cloak over himself. The thing was a rare and beautiful piece of magic, Severus though to himself as he slipped through the school hurriedly. It concealed him completely and felt soft and cooling on his skin, but was not heavy, and so allowed him to move freely, unencumbered.

Within a minute he reached the corridor and positioned himself at the foot of the stairs, looking up into the dimly-lit passageway. He sighed in relief: Amycus was sleeping and was seemingly unaware of Potter's presence. The boy was edging along the wall, one step at a time, whilst keeping his eyes fixed on the slumped figure.

Idiot boy, Snape thought to himself, he's not looking where he is going!

Sure enough, the carpeted floor down this passageway was very uneven in places, and Potter's foot caught on a snag in the carpet. In one fluid motion Snape raised his wand and wordlessly cast a silencing charm between Potter and Amycus, just as the boy came crashing painfully to the floor, his glasses flying off his face. Amycus didn't even stir, but the boy was terrified; he looked rather like a rabbit caught in the headlights as he lifted his head. Slamming his glasses onto his face, Potter ran for it, heading down the stairs directly at Snape.

Ducking out of the way just in time, Snape made the decision. This was the perfect time to talk to the boy in private. He took off the cloak and pocketed it, and quickly followed Potter around the corner. The boy raised his arm to push open a door, and – as if in slow motion – Snape clamped his left hand across the boy's mouth, and his right under the boy's outstretched arm to pull him backwards by his chest.

Momentarily caught by surprise, Harry jerked in Snape's strong grip. He stumbled backwards and the two of them backed into an empty classroom. The door clicked shut behind them and Snape let go of Harry, locking the door and casting Muffliato upon it. He turned to face Harry, who was looking guiltily but defiantly at the floor.

"Do you have any idea what Amycus would have done to you if he had caught you?" Snape snarled angrily. There was a horrible silence as they stared at each other, both breathing heavily. At last Harry dropped his gaze to the floor. Had Snape just saved him?

"You're just like your father." Snape spat, rather more viciously than he had first intended. Still, Harry remained silent, although his hands balled into fists at his side. He shot a glare at Snape before resuming staring at the floor. This annoyed Snape more than anything. Where was the fight in the boy? Where was the defensive Gryffindor pride? He had never known Potter to remain silent when his father was insulted; the boy had no such control.

Perhaps it would be unwise to test the boy's endurance now though. He was trying to gain Potter's trust, after all. He forced his voice into near-politeness as he asked "Why are you out of bed?"

Disarmed by Snape's sudden show of politeness, Harry spoke at last. "I was going to have a shower... sir."

"At five o'clock in the morning?" Snape raised an eyebrow, oddly glad that Potter was talking finally, but unnerved by the boy's unusually display of something close to respect – perhaps it was fear?

"Yes, sir." Harry replied awkwardly, not really sure what to say.

Snape found himself – for once – speechless. What was the boy playing at?

"Do you have any idea what Amycus would have done to you if he had caught you?" Snape repeated angrily, keeping his tone soft, but dangerous. "The Cruciatus Curse at the very least."

Fury ignited in Harry once more. There was actually a hint of concern in Snape's voice, but what did he care if someone hurt him? Why was he even pretending to care?

"Like you'd care if he did that to me," Harry spat bitterly.

"Of course I'd care -"

"You did it to me yourself!" Harry yelled, outraged at Snape's blatant lie. "Don't act like you didn't even enjoy it!"

He tried to push past Snape, who was blocking the door, looking horrified. He didn't move.

"Let me out." Harry said quietly.

"No."

Harry was reminded unpleasantly of the time that he had shouted at Professor Dumbledore in his fifth year. Guilt flowed through him, followed by anger at the man that stood before him, the man who had killed Dumbledore less than three months ago. He let out an inarticulate yell of rage and threw himself at Snape, drawing back his fist to punch Snape. Instantly, he was thrown backwards by an invisible force and he slammed into a desk, hitting his back painfully and falling off onto the floor, dragging parchment and ink bottles with him as, with instinct, he tried to grab the desk for support. The ink bottles smashed around him, staining the stone and sending fragments of glass skidding across the floor. Harry looked up in the darkness to see that Snape was standing over him with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Reparo." He hissed tonelessly. The glass around Harry spun back together and formed the ink bottles again, but the ink stayed splattered on the floor around Harry in a kaleidoscope of crystal like patterns.

"Sit down." Snape muttered, indicating to a chair behind the desk. Harry pushed himself to his feet and stared at Snape, whose expression remained inscrutable. There had been an unusual lack of malice in his voice when he had given this command, and he had caught Harry off-guard. After a minute of looking at each other, Snape repeated, slightly more forcefully this time; "Sit down."

"Why?" Harry asked hesitatingly, still angry at Snape.

"Because I told you to."

Harry was sure that he was about to be punished for his outburst. He looked towards the door, calculating. If he ran for it, Snape would surely stop him and punish him further and Harry didn't have his wand to defend himself, or even better, to attack Snape.

"What are you going to do?" Harry said, his voice resigned as he sat down.

Snape's brow furrowed in confusion, and he pulled up a chair so that they sat opposite the desk, looking at each other in silence. Finally, Snape spoke. His voice was steady and calm, as though he was weighing each word.

"I am ... going to explain." He said, watching Harry closely. "Everything."

The last word seemed heavy and profound in the dark classroom and it lead to a deep feeling of mingled confusion and foreboding in Harry.

"I will ask you to remain silent while I explain, Potter, for I have a lot to tell." Snape's voice was awkward; clearly explaining things to a teenage boy was not high up on his list of things to do. His black eyes were fixed on Harry's, boring into his soul. Remembering Snape's reputation as a skilled Legilimens, Harry stared at a crack in the table, apparently transfixed by it, wondering heavily what Snape was about to explain.

"You are, I believe, under the impression that I am working for the Dark Lord. And that I..." he searched around for the right word, still staring at Harry's eyes. "betrayed Dumbledore's trust."

He paused; clearly contemplating something deeply. Finally, he flicked his wand – Harry flinched away instinctively, but all that happened was Dumbledore's pensieve appearing on the desk between them. Snape pressed his wand to the greasy roots of his hair and extracted a long memory. It hung in the air, neither gas nor liquid, and Snape dropped it into the pensieve with another flick of his wand. With a sharp jerk of his head he indicated for Harry to enter his memories. With a horrible feeling of trepidation, Harry leaned forward and put his head into the swirling, silvery substance. His feet left the ground and at once and he was flying, weightless through darkness and blurred colours. Snape had also plunged into the memory behind him, and together they hit the floor of a familiar office – the Headmaster's office.

Snape and Dumbledore were sat opposite each other at the Headmaster's desk; Snape especially looked as if he would rather not be there. The office was brightly lit by the summer sun that was bursting through every window, casting a golden glow on the entire room. Dumbledore was peering at Snape over his half-moon spectacles, speaking carefully and deliberately.

"Once you have killed me, Severus-" Snape opened his mouth to argue, but Dumbledore held up a hand for silence. "Do not argue, there is little time left. Once you have killed me, Harry will find it hard to trust you again-"

"He never trusted me-"

"Probably with good reason, seeing how you have treated him over these last few years." Dumbledore smiled wryly. "Now, it is essential that you regain his trust. You need to be careful; the Dark Lord must not know of your alliance to me, or to Harry."

Snape looked outraged; he glared at Dumbledore but remained silent.

"In the highly likely event of you becoming Headmaster, you will need to make sure it seems that you are forever and irrevocably a servant to the Dark Lord and that you hate Harry Potter with all your heart."

Harry faintly thought he heard Snape mutter something about that not being hard, but Dumbledore ploughed on, a grave expression on his face.

"By whatever means, you must show them your..." he smiled ironically again, "true alliances, so to speak. But then you must explain everything to Harry. And... you will help him."

This seemed to be the last straw for Snape. He stood up angrily, glaring at Dumbledore.

"You ask too much." He snarled. "You expect me to just kill you, and then run along back to Hogwarts to help Potter? You won't even tell me what it is he has to do! Besides, the arrogant brat will never let me help him after-"

"He will. If I know Harry – and I'm pretty confident that I do – he will find it in himself to forgive you, eventually. As to what Harry has to do, that is between Harry and me. If Harry should choose to tell you that is his choice, but for the meantime you will teach him how to duel,"

"He is incapable." Snape snarled. "And he will never listen to me, or learn, let alone tell me his plans."

"It is Harry's decision as to whom he shares his secrets with, as it is your decision with your own secrets," Dumbledore peered at Snape over his half-moon spectacles, a knowing look in his twinkling eyes.

"I won't tell him." Snape spat. "Never."

"Perhaps you will find the right time." Dumbledore smiled sadly, before continuing. "As I was saying, you will teach Harry to duel – he needs to be able to protect himself from attack, now more than ever. You will continue to teach him Occlumency, as well as teaching him a selection of healing potions. He has a difficult task ahead of him and I want him to be as prepared as possible."

"Before you let him know th-" Snape shot out viciously, but Dumbledore interrupted him quickly.

"No. We have discussed this," he gave Snape a significant, dark look, and he said quietly, sadly. "And you will keep that information for a more... suitable time."

The Snape that stood with Harry in the memory suddenly gripped Harry's arm, as though realising that the memory had gone too far. Harry felt himself being dragged upwards through an icy darkness, landing firmly on the classroom floor. His head was spinning with all the information that he had just received. Dumbledore had asked Snape to kill him? And what information where they keeping from Harry?

"W-wha- I.. " Harry had so many burning questions, but one spun to the forefront of his mind; "Dumbledore asked you to kill him?"

"Yes." Snape said simply, sitting down stiffly in his chair.

Harry did the same, not sure how to feel towards Snape now.

"How do I know this isn't all fake?" Harry indicated to the pensieve. To him, it could quite easily be a lie. Sure, Dumbledore wanted to protect Draco, but this was Dumbledore they were talking about… he could solve anything.

"Surely Dumbledore taught you how to recognise a faked memory in all those nights that you spent closeted together?" Snape asked incredulously, somewhat frustrated that it was so hard for Harry to grasp the truth.

"You can't tell if something's faked." Harry stated solidly, although he was not sure himself.

"True, if the person reconstructs a memory so strong and flawless that it is passable and believable. That – although not impossible – would take a great feat of mental strength and concentration. However, even then small details would be incorrect, or seem wrong. Do you need more proof?"

Harry contemplated. He thought about the memory, the realism of Dumbledore and the truth in what he said. If Snape had invented this memory it would have had more purpose – the conversation had veered off as if in a natural conversation. This reminded Harry of something.

"What are you hiding?" he blurted out at random. At the look on Snape's face, he amended. "Twice in that memory… you're keeping something from me. Both you and Dumbledore know something-"

"That is not of your concern." Snape said quickly.

"You expect me to trust you, and yet you keep dark secrets from me?"

"Who said they were dark?" was all Snape said. He stood, and unlocked the door, opening it enough to leave a full view of the corridor and the staircase above it.

"This," he pointed towards the slumped figure of Amycus at the top of the stairs, "this is what I am protecting you from. You don't stand a chance against them, against Him. You never have. All those years I was protecting you, don't you see?"

Click. Of course. Snape had been trying to protect him ever since he arrived at Hogwarts, ever since his first year when he beat Voldemort for the first time, purely out of luck. Perhaps he would not be so lucky this time. And here Snape was. Offering help.

But something didn't fit.

"You used the Cruciatus Curse on me."

"I had to!" frustration leaked into Snape's dark tone again and he shut the door slowly, facing Harry face on. "My position within the Death Eaters is crucial. I find out their plans, I can help you. But they must not know of my true alliances or I will be killed,"

"Then so will I." Finally, the truth. It now seemed incontrovertible, and a somewhat heavy burden. If Snape died, he had nothing. He would die.

"So will you."

A/N: Please tell me what you think about keeping everyone in character, as I found this chapter particularly hard to write. Thanks.