I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Well, its certainly been awhile, but rest assured this fic is not abandoned, nor have I given up. Admittedly, I have been stuck on moving forward with this fic, but I have been struck with a bit of inspiration and rolled out this chapter. We're taking a darker turn and introducing more of the canon story, but not in the exact same way. I really appreciate all the follows and reviews and they have definitely inspired me to keep going. I hope this lives up to your expectations. It kind of came from nowhere, but I do like how the story is moving forward.

Enjoy!

Severus swirled the scotch in his glass, the amber color vibrant through the flames of the low fire. The werewolf had gone hours before, but his words sat heavily in his gut. The connection between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord had been a source of his own personal fascination since Albus had revealed the ominous information. Few truly knew that the Boy Who Lived could see into the Dark Lord's mind. Not of his own volition, of course, but he could nonetheless. Severus had seen the darkness, partaken in it. The thoughts of the Dark Lord could be nothing but madness. That their savior had access to that dark place was frightening. Even more disturbing was the origin of such a connection. Connections between individuals ranged widely in intent, design, and circumstance. That the Killing Curse was involved cast an even darker light onto the situation. What were the odds of such a manifestation of magic?

Still...

Nothing good could have come from such an instance and it was obvious that Potter was suffering for it. He turned his black eyes towards an inconspicuous space on the wall of his quarters, the portrait of an infamous Potions Master gracing the stone. Cold suspicion had already settled deep in his gut and no logic he could conjure seemed to be erasing the feeling.

Severus closed his eyes, resting his cool glass against he side of his face. He'd had a headache from the hours of reading with the werewolf and it hadn't abated even with the use of a mild potion. From the direction his thoughts were treading, he doubted it would fade anytime soon. With a grim sense of resolution, he opened his eyes and set the glass down on his desk. Standing, he strode to the portrait, ignoring the man's sneer and touched a fingertip onto the painting. With a shudder, he felt a dark tang of magic touch his own and a sharp sting. The portrait wavered and faded. In its place a doorway materialized.

It had been years since he'd brought down this particular illusion, the design of his own making and impossible for any but him to remove. None, save the castle herself, knew of this doorway. Even with the basis for the spell seeped in dark magic, Hogwarts had understood his plea and aided him in his personal mission. Opening the doorway, his dark eyes took in the spines of the books he had hidden away. He'd read most of them, some only taking in a few pages, before disgust had made him shut their pages forever. It was his personal library of the most dark magics he had encountered, some he'd actively sought out and others he'd discovered accidentally. However discovered, he'd hidden them away. Some magics should be erased from the world, their temptation removed from those mad enough to attempt them. With his own death, Hogwarts would keep them hidden and should She perish, his spell would destroy every last page.

Now, however, he needed them. The dark feeling plaguing his thoughts brought an even darker word to his mind, one that he had erased from his own memory after unintentionally stumbling upon it in his own research. He hoped to Merlin that he was wrong.

He knew the text, knew the color of the cover and the texture of the spine. So sunk into his memory that not even an Obliviate could truly erase its impact. The word itself gone, but the tactile sensation of discovery impossible to ignore. His fingers easily found the book and pulled it delicately from its shelves. Behind him, Hogwarts intuitively providing a reading table and a bright candle to read in the safety of his library. Setting down the book, he took a deep breath and opened the pages.

The author was a dark wizard, one from ages past, when the regulation of magic was a foreign concept and limited only by ones own desires. Many of the books he'd collected came from such a time and should have remained lost to them. Merlin knew what would happen should the Dark Lord catch wind of any of these titles. The one he held, however, seemed the most vile.

It dealt in soul magic, a branch that went against nature and every aspect of humanity. Consequences were far-reaching and irreversible, often leaving its wielder a mere shell of their former self. Few in the world would dare partake such a risk where only madness would remain. The Dark Lord entered his thoughts with a chill. It would explain his miraculous return, his hideous form, and his unrelenting belief in his success. Something terrible was hidden behind that snake-like visage and with each turn of the page, Severus felt his sense of foreboding rise.

Too many things coincided. Too many things made sense when adding them together. A sense of absolute horror fell over him as he stopped reading.

Severus shut the book...

Horcrux.