Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and I am making no money off of this work.

The second book, Of Flames and Flight, is a wip and is updated roughly weekly.

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Firelight flickered across the cluttered room, reflecting golden on delicate curves of glass, wandering through swirling vials of silvery smoke and skipping along shelves and cabinets packed with curious instruments and baubles. It glanced off small half-moon spectacles and lit up the faded blue eyes that rested behind them. A soft rustle of fiery feathers mingled with the crackling of the hearth, adding a strange echoing depth to the noise. The gentle eyes slowed more and more with each line of cramped writing they traced, blinks growing longer, thin stooped shoulders rolling forward as they followed the slight tilt of the old man's neck.

A thick layer of quiet descended on the dimly lit room, muffling the soft breathing from the canvases of past headmasters. The shuddering rumble of a statue shifting broke the peace and jerked the man upright, his snowy white beard tumbling over the ancient pages spread across the large desk as he blinked in brief confusion at finding himself still in his office. A moment passed before the clear sound of boots being placed with controlled anger echoed up the stairs and against the thick wood of the office door.

Albus sighed and straightened, trying to convince his spine that it was twenty years younger and hadn't spent the evening bent over a desk. A wrinkled hand smoothed his cheerful lime green robes down just as knuckles collided with his door, the rapping somehow managing to sound both impatient and put upon.

"Come in Severus"

The heavy door was thrust open, admitting a tall, thin man in severe black robes. "There's something wrong with Potter" the Potions Master grumbled in lieu of a greeting. He stalked across the room, dark eyes narrowed with suspicion as if Albus was deliberately hiding something from him. Since he was correct, Albus chose not to address the look that, if Severus had had his way, would have left his beard singed.

Albus motioned for Severus to sit as he waved his hand absently in the direction of the cold tea tray, causing steam to rise suddenly from the spout. The pale man gave him a small sneer with no heart behind it before sinking into one of the large mismatched chairs in front of the desk. The warm scent of Earl Grey filled the air as Severus steepled long fingers in front of his chest.

"And what has the boy done now?" a faint note of concern colored the mild words.

Severus frowned at the older man. "Nothing."

"Nothing? I hardly think that nothing qualifies for a visit at such an hour" Albus responded, whitewashed eyes brows climbing. He was completely certain that he had never in all of his years had this particular Professor complain about a student not misbehaving.

Severus let out a frustrated huff "I believe it does. Do you know how many detentions I've given Potter this term?"

Dumbledore shook his head, a mild frown having crept across his face. Now that he thought of it Severus hadn't come to complain to him about Harry yet this term, which sadly was very unusual. Typically it took less than a week before his Potions Master tried to knock holes in his door to yell about something Harry had said or done. The boy seemed to have an unrivaled ability to rile the temperamental man, as well as the unfortunate inclination to use it.

"None. I haven't given him a single detention, nor have any of the other Professors. I've barely taken any points from the boy either." Severus' face settled into an unfamiliar expression that Albus took several moments to decipher as deep suspicion warring with a rather unsettled concern.

"Well my boy I hardly think that's cause for concern," he said, though the disquiet that had filled his eyes gave lie to his jovial tone.

Severus snorted "Really Albus? It's been two months since the start of the term and the boy has been a shadow. You cannot pretend you haven't noticed. He barely eats, he looks like he hasn't slept since he arrived and I haven't once caught him sneaking about the castle."

Dumbledore paused and gazed down at his chaotic desk in thought. He had to admit he too had been worried about Harry. Severus was right of course, the boy wasn't acting normally, though Albus had no doubt that his spy had noticed it before anyone else, he was not the first of the staff to bring it up.

"I shall speak with him again Severus. I believe that he is taking the death of his Godfather particularly hard and simply needs more time. He at least seems to be maintaining normal interactions with his house, though he has been surprisingly civil to Mr. Malfoy this year" Dumbledore finished thoughtfully.

A harsh sneer appeared on the thin face at the mention of Sirius Black, but Severus nodded reluctantly. He waved away Albus' wordless offer of tea as he swept to his feet, black robes swirling dramatically. Dumbledore eyed the bottom of the man's clothing. He had always suspected that Severus cast an exceptionally mild featherweight charm on the hems of his robes but he knew that man would die before he admitted it.

"Very well. How is your injury?" Severus asked as he prepared to leave.

"Oh as well as can be expected. Your most recent potion is very effective at blocking any pain from it, though I must admit I almost shut my hand in my wardrobe this morning. I fear it blocks all sensation, not just pain." The Headmaster looked oddly cheerful at this as if it were terribly entertaining to close one's appendages in one's furniture.

The Potions Master frowned again. "Perhaps if I chopped the angelica instead of mincing it…" He trailed off as Albus waved dismissively.

"No need Severus, I assure you this is quite satisfactory," the older man said with a small smile.

The tall man looked troubled but turned without a word and stalked out with the same reserved grace with which he had stalked in, the heavy door clicking shut centimeters from the last flick of black cloth.

The Headmaster sighed softly to himself. He would need to speak with Harry again, soon if things were bad enough to prompt Severus to approach him. He had thought that the boy would have started to move on, but the events of several months ago seemed to cling to him, dragging him down. With another heavy sigh, Albus hefted himself up and climbed slowly toward his bedroom, lost in thought.

Black robes snapped crisply around his ankles as he marched down the stairs, back toward the cool isolation of his dungeon rooms. Severus hadn't wanted to approach Albus, he had been convinced that Potter's behavior was just one more way for the boy to gain attention. Play the sad pitiful hero and everyone would go out of their way to coddle him further.

Two months of it and Snape was ready to drag the boy out of his seat and shake him just to get a reaction. Potter was a shadow of himself. He didn't argue, he didn't talk back, he was always on time for class and his essays were never short and never faltered in their complete mediocrity.

Snape's mind turned back to earlier in his afternoon Defense class, filled with the volatile mix of sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Potter had failed to cast a moderately complex shielding charm on himself and had stood there watching burns etch their way into his arm from the acid hex that Parkinson had managed to hit him with. Snape only noticed when Granger had yelled and rushed over to stop the damage.

Severus had appeared, enraged that the boy would take his martyrdom to such levels and in desperation had done the one thing that had never failed to get a rise out of Potter.

"Just like your father, Potter. I see he managed to pass on his poor defense abilities as well as his arrogance. Perhaps if he had bothered to work harder he would have been more effective at saving those he cared for" he had said, putting more derision into his voice than he usually would.

Granger had gasped sharply and stepped forward as if to shield the idiot boy from him. Potters hand wrapping gently around her arm halted her. For just a moment Snape saw the expected fire flash in green eyes and almost crowed in triumph before Potter seemed to suddenly slump in on himself, his eyes going blank and flickering to the ground.

Snape ground his teeth in rage. How dare he keep up this ridiculous charade. Wasn't it enough that the boy had invaded his pensieve? Did he truly expect Snape to feel sorry for him?

It took Snape a moment to realise that the boy hadn't moved. He was just standing there, messy black hair and too thin, gaze turned blankly to the tips of his worn-out trainers. A worm of doubt struggled through him as the boy simply waited for Snape to finish berating him. This was not Potter. This was not the angry child that screamed back at him, that tried to hex him and gave just as good as he got. A sickening feeling crept through his chest at the accusing glare Granger leveled at him before she turned and gently led Potter back to his seat as if he were something breakable.

Severus shook his head slightly and looked around, finding that a few of his snakes were giving him looks of moderate disapproval. A scowl crashed across his face and he spun toward the front of the classroom as he snarled "Class dismissed. Do not forget your essays on the uses of shields are due next class."

He had spent the remainder of the day locked in his private lab, brewing simple potions for Poppy to give his hands something to do as he thought. By the time he was done, it was half eleven and he had known he had to talk to Dumbledore, and if he didn't do it tonight he would have talked himself out of it by morning.

Severus sighed quietly as he descended the last of the stairs that would lead to his rooms, the cold dank air and prevailing gloom of the dungeons reaching up for him like an old friend. The meeting with the Headmaster had not gone as he had hoped. Albus seemed much less concerned than Snape felt he should have been since it was his Gryffindor golden boy that was acting so out of character.

He had settled into a set of warm pyjamas and was roaming his rooms idly searching for a book when a flaming brand lit and burned its way across his left arm. Snape sucked a thin breath through his clenched teeth as he doubled over, curling his body protectively around his arm. He focused on the worn blue rug in front of him, trying to follow the faded whorls with his eyes as he rode out the pain, air trickling into his lungs. His thoughts flickered for a moment to Potter, standing still and watching acid magically etch itself up his arm and Snape briefly found himself rather hysterically wondering how the boy would handle the Dark Mark.

After several minutes the worst of the pain had passed and Snape slowly straightened, swiping a shaking hand over his face and leaving a smear of liquid from his watering eyes. He only gave himself a few more seconds before he moved quickly to gather his gear and hurry from the castle to answer the Dark Lords summons.

Snape strode down the dimly lit dungeon corridor, long legs covering the distance from his quarters to the stairs. Echos from his boot heels cracked through the cold air, his black cloak barely adequate to ward off the freezing air. The sparse pools of flickering torchlight illuminated his face in flashes as he moved, distorting it into a grotesque mask, twisted in a habitual sneer. The corners of his beetle black eyes were tight, the only indicator of the pain still radiating up his left arm.

As he hurried toward the empty great hall and front doors, apprehension curled in his stomach. The Dark Lord rarely called him so frequently. He had been to a gathering the week prior and did not expect a summons for at least another month.

Thank Merlin the castle was dark, students long since settled into their dorms. Not even Potter and his band of miscreants would be out roaming this late if Potter suddenly took it into his head to venture through the castle again.

The entrance hall was dim, flickering with only a few candles, inky darkness blanketing the worn edges of the ancient stones. Soft mutters from portraits lent a whispering backdrop as if the castle itself was imparting quiet secrets.

Snape approached the smaller door inset into the huge entrance hall doors and shouldered it open, the sleeve of his black wool robes catching on the wood. Cold November air bit into his face, making his eyes water and his lungs burn. He cursed the Dark Lord for forcing him out into this weather, in the wee hours of one of the rare nights he might be tired enough to sleep. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around his thin frame, shuddering as he thought longingly of his warm bed, or at the very least his scarf and perhaps some gloves. Not that his soft grey scarf would have been allowed. Snape snorted, his thin lips twisting in dark amusement as he imagined the ridiculous, fluffy scarf that Albus had bought him tucked under the edge of his death eater mask. It would be almost worth it to see the look on the Dark Lord's face. Though regretfully he would only enjoy it for a moment before he was cursed into an equally fluffy pile of ash.

He shook his head, dark stringy hair slipping over sallow cheeks, and banished the thought, starting the process of clearing his mind. It would not do to have the Dark Lord digging that image out of him, or any of the secrets he kept locked away. Pausing for a moment, he pulled his occlumency shields up, sinking all his revulsion, hatred, and fear under his carefully built walls. The Dark Lord expected to look into his mind and see his most loyal poisoner, so that was who Severus had to give him.

He built himself into the death eater he had once been, proud and insecure, hated and hating in equal turns. He let the feelings of his past wash over him, embracing the awful pieces he had tried to banish long ago. With a deep breath, Snape opened dark eyes to grounds bathed in icy moonlight, not realising he had closed them. He moved quickly past Hagrid's hut, keeping his steps soft so as not to alert Fang.

Snape flicked his wand as he approached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, summoning his patronus.

"I have been summoned" he intoned as he gazed into the brightly glowing face of his doe, knowing that Albus would understand the situation.

"Do not relay the message until Albus is alone" He added quickly. Not that he expected the Headmaster to have company at this hour, but he hadn't been a spy for so long to start getting sloppy now. He paused for a moment, watching the doe streak away toward the castle before he turned sharply on his heel and apparated away, the soft crack echoing over bare, empty branches.

Snape appeared just outside the wards of Malfoy Manor, the frozen grass crunching under his boots. He strode through the open gates, an intricate work of iron glazed in ice, glancing over the dark grounds for any evidence of others arriving. The winding front-drive and gardens were silent and sparkling with soft frost, the manor dark and cold. A shiver of unease traced its way up Snape's spine and settled in a tight knot of muscles on the back of his neck. He could feel his tendons pulling taught, fear dancing in bitter waves across the back of his tongue.

The walk up the drive seemed to end with supernatural speed and he stopped at the very edge. The tips of his boots barely touched the line where gravel met sweeping stone, like a child toeing careful feet along meaningless divisions. For a moment he could do nothing but stand dumbly and stare at the ostentatious porch, wondering if he would ever see it again.

Snape took a slow, steadying breath, watching it plume out in a warm mist, and finally mounted the front stairs. The back of his hand lightly brushed over the emergency portkey sewn into the lining of his robes. The slight weight calmed him, reminded him that if everything went utterly pear-shaped he had at least a slim chance to escape.

The large, heavy carved doors swung open as he approached, nothing visible but shadowy darkness beyond. Snape stepped into the hall, moving forward with the kind of confidence that only a man who had long ago accepted death could claim.

A small shivering house elf of indeterminate sex stood in the cavernous front hall waiting for him, a compact glowing orb of bluish light hanging over its shoulder.

White marble shot through with glittering grey veins shown with a soft luster, the floors devoid of rugs. Above him hung a huge ornate chandelier, twice the size of a man, terrible in its gaudy crystalline glory. The only furniture was a thin table to the left, adorned with a pale blue vase filled with roses from Narcissa's greenhouse.

"Master Snape will follow me please" squeaked the solitary elf as it turned and shuffled quickly down the right hand hall.

Snape followed dutifully, keeping his eyes on the back of the elf's head, trying to ignore how the blue light gave everything a sickly cast. Maybe this is what ghosts saw, he idly mused, colors replaced with sharp reliefs, everything given an oddly surreal quality.

The Potions Master was brought out of his musings as they arrived at an inconspicuous door. If he recalled correctly a small but comfortable study lay beyond. He felt a frown stretch over his face as he considered why the Dark Lord would be meeting him in such an intimate setting.

Before he could think of any plausible reason that didn't make him want to flee, the small elf pushed the door open.

"Master Snape is being here your Lordship. Does you be needing anything else of Bimby"? It inquired, long thin fingers twisting together in anxiety.

An unpleasantly high voice spoke from a large chair in front of the fire.

"No, remove yourself from my presence and insure that no one disturbs us" Voldemort commanded.

The elf bowed low and closed the door behind itself with a soft snick. Snape felt privacy wards snap into place as the Dark Lord raised a spidery hand to wave him nearer.

The room was small but well appointed, a deep burgundy carpet lending warmth to the area. Two dark brown leather chairs were set the ideal distance in front of a small flickering fireplace with a low table between them, which held a steaming tea service. Light brown curtains covered the single window, a writing table set under it with a quill and full bottle of ink atop. A bookcase covered the far wall from the window, and oddly all the portraits appeared to have been removed recently, slightly darker rectangles of paint giving away their previous locations.

Snape quickly crossed the room, sinking to his knees and bowing his head to Voldemort.

"My Lord, how may I serve you?'' he said softly, his deep baritone a rolling contradiction to the Dark Lords hissing pitch.

Voldemort said nothing for long minutes. Snape was used to these games though, and while a younger death eater would surely repeat his question or fidget, he knew better. He simply waited, mind blank, the grain of the rich carpet slowly cutting into his knees, his spine radiating pain at the carefully held angle.

A deep, almost disappointed sigh came from above before the Dark Lord spoke.

"Tell me, Severus, what news do you have of Dumbledore's movements?'' he asked.

"None My Lord, to my knowledge he has not left the castle since last we spoke," Snape said carefully.

"I have had reports from reliable sources that he was seen two nights ago leaving by floo from Hogsmeade late in the evening. Tell me, Severus, how could you have missed such a trip?" Voldemort asked with deceptive softness.

"My Lord you have my most sincere apologies, two nights ago I was asked by Dumbledore to brew extra potions for the hospital wing in preparation for the turning weather. I was told the stocks had run dangerously low due to an accidental spill." Snape said quickly, sweat gathering on his upper lip. "I spent most of the night in my lab" Snape stated as a sick feeling tightened his stomach. For once he was telling the complete truth to the Dark Lord. Why would Dumbledore seek to distract him from his movements? Had he somehow lost the man's trust? He clenched his fists to hide the sudden tremor in his hands.

Voldemort misinterpreted the expression that stole over his face as panic that he could have failed his Lord. His voice had less of an edge when he spoke again.

"Severus, despite this mistake, you have served me faithfully for many years. Your work has been invaluable to our cause." Voldemort hissed softly, finally seeming to come to the point of his summons. "I believe it is time you were rewarded for your sacrifices. After all, you have been forced to live for so long among those who are lesser even than you." cruel satisfaction at the insult leaked into his words.

"My Lord, service to you is honor and reward enough. I would ask nothing of you but to allow me to continue to further our great work" Snape said, not daring to look up to see how his words were received. This meeting was not going at all as he expected and Severus did not like the unexpected. It rarely ended well for him.

A soft chuckle sounded above him. "You always have had a serpent's tongue, Severus. Never the less you will be rewarded. Give me your left hand."

Snape finally raised his head as he stretched his left hand out to lay it in the upturned palm the Dark Lord. He desperately wanted to snatch it back as soon as the back of his hand touched the dry icy skin but he knew if he showed any hesitance the Dark Lord might decide to simply remove his hand for his reluctance. It wouldn't be the first time he had maimed someone for showing anything other than blind obedience.

Fast as a striking snake the Dark Lord grabbed his fingers in a crushing grip as his other hand, previously buried in the folds of his robes, whipped out and snapped a glinting bracelet onto Snape's bare wrist.

Snape forced himself to stay still as he felt the bracelet bite into his skin, sending burning fire sliding through his veins. He choked and sagged as the flame sped up his arm, into his chest and caught like napalm. His vision greyed at the edges and a strange echoing thrum beat through his ears.

It must have metal teeth on the inside he thought faintly as he felt something grinding against the small bones in his wrist, blood running in red rivulets over his dark mark. There was something horrifyingly fitting in watching his blood stain the grinning skull, the serpent twisting wildly as if the coppery liquid excited it. He dry heaved, clenching his teeth so tightly his jaw ached.

After minutes that felt like hours, the pain started to recede to a manageable level, leaving him feeling achy and ill but at least able to move. Snape straightened with difficulty, wiping a line of spittle from his chin and pulling deep shaky breaths in through his nose as he raised himself back to his kneeling position. The Dark Lord had released him to the floor while he was trying not to lose conciseness. His face ended up far closer to the thin legs covered in rich black robes than before. A dry, faintly reptilian scent permeated his nose, mixing unpleasantly with the sickly sweet tea Voldemort preferred and settling in the back of his throat.

Drawing in a shaking breath and trying not to retch again, Snape murmured "Thank you, my Lord, for the gift, I am truly honored."

Voldemort's high laugh rang out, shattering the silence of the room like shards of broken glass, doubling the pounding pain in Snape's head. He swayed slightly, struggling to remain on his knees. He knew what kind of punishment he would face if he were to show weakness and he did not think he could make it back to Hogwarts with the added drain of the cruciatus curse.

"I am pleased you like my gift Severus. I wished to show you how much I value you. The bracelet ties you more closely to me, more so than any of my other faithful" the Dark Lord said, satisfaction clear in his voice and faint glint of suspicion in his red eyes. Snape knew abruptly what this was, and his stomach rolled. He didn't know what he had or hadn't done that had cast doubt on himself and it scared him almost as much as the bracelet.

Snape suppressed a shudder, "I am most honored My Lord" he uttered again, shock keeping him frozen on the spot and preventing him from trying to claw the horrible thing off of his wrist.

"That will be all Severus. You will inform me of all of Dumbledore's movements in the future. I'm afraid if you do not I would be forced to remove the mark of my favor" he hissed with a significant look. Snape doubted he would survive it coming off.

"Of course My Lord. I will not fail you" Snape said tightly as he staggered to his feet.

Snape made his way haltingly to the door. Just as his hand closed on the silver knob Voldemort spoke again "Please do remember Severus not to try to remove it. You would find the results to be rather unpleasant."

"Of course not My Lord. I have no desire to remove it" Snape assured him as he made his escape into the dark hallway.

Snape stumbled several steps into the inky blackness before he caught himself with a hand braced on the wall. His breath came in sharp painful gasps as he fumbled for his wand. His long fingers finally closed around the smooth wooden length and the hall filled with gentle wavering light of his silently cast lumos.

He made his way to the front door, a steady drip of blood marking his passage. It took him two tries to rip a strip of cloth from his robe to wrap around the bracelet and the torn skin underneath. He did not dare try a healing spell on it. A shaky wave of his wand and the splashes of blood were banished before he slid out the front doors and into the predawn light.

Harry rolled over again, twisting his sweaty sheets more securely around his legs. He kicked at them, trying to free himself but only succeeding in trapping himself more thoroughly. He had only slept a few snatches, plagued by the recurring dream of Sirius falling through the veil. Unlike the memory, where Harry watched and was unable to reach him, Harry stood in front of him, his hand reaching out to Sirius. Instead of grabbing his robes and pulling him to safety, he planted his hand in the middle of his godfather's chest and shoved. He always woke just as the expression on Sirius' face changed from confusion and panic to pained betrayal. He knew it was just an ordinary nightmare, he could tell the difference now, too late to be useful. Even though it was not a vision it was no less horrifying and he couldn't ever manage to get back to sleep after.

He heaved a heavy sigh as he stared up at the canopy of his four-poster, the closed red curtains creating a small private island in his dorm. He could faintly hear Ron snoring in the bed next to his and considered briefly waking him just to have someone to share his sleepless misery. It's not like Ron hadn't had a good amount of sleep, he thought sourly, Harry had listened to his snoring all night.

Harry cast a quick tempus, the glowing numbers informing him that it was a quarter past five and he would have no chance of getting any sleep anyway. After some undignified thrashing, he finally managed to free himself and scrambled out of his bed. He pushed his curtains open quietly, getting dressed in jeans and his warmest Weasley jumper in the feeble dawn light.

He grabbed his gloves, scarf, and Firebolt as he slipped downstairs. The common room was silent and chilly, the house elves had not been in to light the fire yet. Harry moved on stocking feet to the portrait hole, his shoes wadded up in a bundle with his cold weather flying gear. Once he was through he paused to slip on his trainers, hopping in place as he balanced on one foot, holding his broom awkwardly.

"And what are you doing out so early young man," the Fat Lady asked, her eyebrow raised in amusement at his balancing act.

"Just off for an early flight. We did well in the last game, but we wouldn't want to lose our edge" he said forcing a half-smile for the nosy portrait.

"Right you are Mr. Potter, perhaps next time rouse Mr. Weasley to accompany you. We must keep our lead!" the Fat Lady declared with satisfaction and far more volume than the conversation required.

With a last graceless stomp, Harry finally managed to get his second trainer on and took off down the hall.

"Be sure to use a warming charm, we wouldn't want you catching your death" the Fat Lady called out as he headed down the staircase.

Harry raised a tired hand in acknowledgment and wrapped his scarf around his neck, tying it off and tucking the ends under itself. He drew in the first relaxed breath he had experienced all night as he loped down the stairs, the high ceilings glowing with pale gold light. He loved the castle in the early morning. It had a certain soft hazy potential to it like the world hadn't really settled in yet and was still undecided on the course the day would take.

He paused at the base of the grand staircase, briefly torn on sneaking into the kitchens and begging a cup of tea, but decided it would be more welcome after an hour in the cold. He moved through the silent entrance hall, unknowingly tracing Snape's path from a few hours prior.

Harry pushed the inset door open, stepping out into biting cold, the grounds lit by pale pink streaks of dawn. It looked to be a clear day, one of the first that spoke more of winter than of autumn. He hopped down a couple of steps before slinging his leg over his broom and kicking off gently. He soared at a comfortable pace toward the quidditch pitch, gaining height slowly as he moved through his initial warm-up routine. He looked over the sleeping castle and the black lake, covered in a fine layer of mist that raced in smoky patterns over the top of the water. The edge of the lake sloshed with gentle waves, rippling evidence of the giant squid stirring in the depths. The silence was broken by the echoing call of a lonely water bird, gliding into land in the rushes with a flash of white feathers.

Harry picked up speed, falling into the familiar loops that worked his arms and shoulders, the muscles slowly loosening as they warmed.

He was almost to the outer wall of the pitch, coming out of a tight spin that made his hips ache with the effort of keeping himself flush with the broom when he spotted movement on the edge of the forest.

Harry paused and hovered, watching to see if perhaps one of the inhabitants needed help. It was not uncommon for something to be injured and crawl itself to Hagrid's hut for healing. Harry sucked in a sharp breath as the figure resolved into a tall man, heavy robes and cloak sweeping behind him. He would recognize that particular stalking walk anywhere after all Snape had ensured that every student he had ever taught had an unpleasant, visceral reaction to billowing robes. Harry felt the first stirrings of anger in his chest, the sight of the man reminding him of the humiliating berating in Defense that day before.

Harry's eyebrows drew down in a frown as he saw that the normally smooth glide was stilted, his stride shortened. Realisation dawned and his face twisted in a snarl. Snape had been out with the Death Eaters. That was the only possible reason he could have for sneaking out of the forest at this hour and injured as well. Harry unconsciously flew closer, his height enough that unless Snape looked almost directly up he wouldn't spot him.

Harry turned his broom and started to drop toward the ground, half formed plans of confronting the man flitting through his head before he slowed and gently pulled up. Doubt filled him, dragging over his mind in a swirling fog like it had every day since Sirius had died. He didn't know, he couldn't know what Snape had been doing. He couldn't trust himself to make those kinds of calls anymore. He had always relied on his instincts and he had been so certain he was right, that Sirius was in danger, only to find that he was wrong in the worst way.

Harry watched with narrowed eyes as Snape staggered slightly on his way to the front doors, his boots and cloak weaving a dark trail through the frost. Snape paused at the doors, seeming to need to brace himself for a moment before he slipped inside. Harry hesitated for a second with indecision, thinking perhaps Dumbledore should be alerted, before turning back to the pitch and resuming his flight.

Snape hurried down the dungeon stairs, trying to get to his quarters before he fell unconscious in the middle of the corridor. He badly needed a blood replenishing potion, the strip of cloth he had wrapped around his wrist was soaked through, as was the entirety of the left arm of his button down and robe.

He stumbled into the small statue of Ares that rested on a plinth just in front of the blank stretch of wall that hid the entrance to his private rooms. With an unusual lack of grace, Snape twisted the statue past the normal quarter turn needed to access his rooms, facing it fully to the wall instead. He felt a soft click as the spell to alert Dumbledore was triggered. The statue was one of their built in fail safes, sending an alarm to the Headmaster if Snape feared he was compromised. Dumbledore would know to speak to him carefully until they could check him for spells.

He dragged himself through his comfortably shabby sitting room and into his personal lab, leaning heavily on his worn work table, knocking over several empty glass vials as he jarred the surface they rested on. He grabbed the potions he needed from the shelf that held his personal store and downed them in quick succession. He dropped boneless onto a nearby stool and closed his eyes, waiting for his potions to work.

He buried his face in his hands, pushing the heels of his palms almost painfully into his eyes, trying to get a hold of his roiling emotions. Questions assaulted him. Why would Dumbledore not inform him he was leaving when he knew that the Dark Lord had commanded him to report back? Where had he gone that required him to floo in the middle of the night from outside of Hogwarts? And most of all what in Merlin's name had the Dark Lord linked him to with blood magic?

He was fairly certain it couldn't detect his thoughts, he was accomplished enough at guarding his mind that he would have felt an intrusion, but there was every possibility it could transmit sound, a record of spells cast, even possibly images. He couldn't risk reporting in his normal way until they knew what it did, and Voldemort, the complete bastard that he was, had obviously cast on it prior to Snape arriving, giving him no idea what the spells might be.

Snape finally lowered his hands, dark spots blooming erratically across his vision as his eyes adjusted to the sudden lack of pressure. He blinked owlishly at his lab, noticing for the first time the broken vials on the floor and the cauldron shimmering softly under a stasis spell he'd thrown on it prior to going to leaving last night. For a moment he couldn't even remember what he had been brewing.

He sighed heavily as he tried to vanish the glass shards and frowned when they only rolled sluggishly around. He turned to his wrist and slowly started unwrapping it, hoping that the clotting potion had been effective. He was certainly feeling more steady, though the dizziness had been replaced with a kind of bone deep weariness that he only felt after expending large amounts of magic.

Snape dropped the sopping wet strip of cloth to the floor where is landed with a wet splat, blood spraying out and forming a grotesque halo around it on the stones. He pulled a face before banishing it, his magic pulling uncomfortably, and turning to study his newest shackle.

It was a simple silver band, plain but tasteful and thick enough to almost be a cuff, the edge barely covering the bottom of his dark mark. The spikes on the interior had retracted and it shifted easily on his wrist, just loose enough to allow for the full range of movement without a chance of slipping off. It had no seam, not that he expected it to. The thing he found strange was the complete lack of markings. He frowned at the bracelet as he stretched his magic out to it, cautiously feeling around the edges. He felt a certain fuzziness he equated with concealment charms, and without thinking, he pushed a little harder. For just a second before blinding pain screamed up his arm, he saw a flash of deeply carved runes, then the floor rushed upwards as blackness took him.