—————S—————

It was well past curfew, and while Severus had never allowed himself to mark essays this late, he was falling behind. Not that curfew meant all that much to him, but it was always amusing (and good for one's vile image) to stalk the corridors shortly after curfew to catch students hurrying back to their common rooms. But not tonight. He'd been called to report three separate times to one master, thankfully with just enough intel to only receive a quick blast of the Cruciatus Curse. Nothing compared to the others punished for failing to retrieve the prophecy or plotting to release the Death Eaters in Azkaban.

This, of course, meant that when he returned to Hogwarts to speak with his other, no less cruel master, he lost time doing his professorial duties. Hogsmeade weekends and detentions, plus visits from his wife and son, had caused Severus to put off marking more and more. And so, he sat in his office, a tumbler of firewhisky to his right, and a near-empty pot of red ink to his left, allowing easy access to re-dip his quill.

He nearly knocked over what little remained with the knock at the door.

He groaned quietly. Please don't be Umbridge. Please, please don't be Umbridge.

"Enter," he called, focusing on the essay in front of him.

He was surprised to find Harry Potter crossing his threshold.

"Ten points for being out past curfew, Mr. Potter," he recited automatically, though it had absolutely none of the bite he would have used in the corridors. He set his quill down and looked the boy over. He looked a bit windswept and bedraggled, and he wasn't in his school uniform. Severus wasn't sure what to make of the sight, especially when it seemed Potter himself looked unsure. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure who else to talk to," the boy admitted quietly. "I've told Sirius, and he was... he wasn't sure what to do. Said if it happened again, I should talk to Dumbledore. But even if I wanted to tell him, I can't because Umbridge watches everything, and I don't need her getting anything back to the Ministry."

Severus hummed in agreement, not even admonishing Potter's lack of respect towards the toad.

"I told Dumbledore, but he didn't seem... concerned? I guess?"

"I'm afraid I'm not kept informed of your every discussion. What is it that you'd like to talk to me about?"

"My scar," Potter said, gesturing to it, "it's been hurting, and when it does, I get feelings of what Vol—er, what Riddle is feeling."

Severus' control allowed his face to remain impassive while he screamed inside in frustration, because Dumbledore should have shared this with him. Also in fear, because this was Lily's son, Sirius' godchild, Hermione's godchild, and feeling another person's emotions like that was. Not. Normal.

"What do you mean?" he whispered tensely, and Severus realized a moment later that that was normally the tone he adopted when issuing threats. Potter, for his part, didn't seem to know whether he should be pissed or scared. "Sit, Potter," Severus said more gently, "and help me understand what you mean by 'how he's feeling.' How do you know?"

"Dumbledore said, after Riddle returned, that my scar would hurt whenever he was nearby, whenever he felt hate."

"And is that all you've been feeling? His hatred?"

"No. Not... not hatred. More like... anger. Tonight was something ... it was... it was like he was angry, but impatient, too. I dunno, but it was different last month. Last month, when I felt it... I didn't realize until tonight that it was joy."

Severus swallowed. A month ago? He'd been summoned about a month ago, and the Dark Lord had been disgustingly pleased with his report. Potter earning detentions from the Ministry's sadistic pet toad, worrying too much about Quidditch and not enough about defending himself against anything. Time spent being a normal teenager, unprepared for the world. He hadn't reported anything else, so it had earned him one of those brief bouts of torture the Dark Lord was so fond of dishing out, but he had had a good night.

Potter sensed that? How could that be?

Severus tapped his finger on his desk, studying Potter and his scar.

"Do you sense anything else?"

"Well,"—Potter shifted—"I've, ah, had dreams in the past. Dreams where I've seen him, from somewhere low. And those, they've all... they've all been real. Like, after I find out..." Potter trailed off, the blush to his cheeks bright and burning.

Severus didn't want to discredit him, though he had to admit that the dream thing sounded odd. But then again, sensing someone from a distance when they weren't bonded was also odd. Potter had his temper, true, but nothing like the Dark Lord. He couldn't possibly have been imprinted on. Unless...

"Potter, have you heard of Occlumency?" he asked the boy, and was unsurprised to see Potter shake his head. He nodded. "When we were in our fifth year, my wife and I were taught the art of Occlumency. It's the practice of shielding your mind from invasion, and if you can perfect it, offer a slightly altered memory to misdirect the Legilimens, the person invading your mind."

"Like... like mind-reading?"

"The mind is not a book to be opened at will and read at leisure. The mind is a complex, multi-layered thing, Mr. Potter. Muggles may refer to it as mind-reading, though it is up to the Legilimens to correctly interpret what they see."

"And your wife had to learn this, too?"

"It was imperative that she did so; she had secrets she had to keep hidden. When she was taught, it was originally so she could keep them secret just in case she was ever captured. It became more important when she foolishly decided to join her life with mine."

"How loving."

"She knows my opinion," Severus said casually and was mildly surprised to see Potter smirk. "She is not as skilled as I, yet she has had her mind invaded by the Dark Lord on more than one occasion and has successfully Occluded him. I tell you this, Potter, because I think it is quite likely you will need to learn it."

Potter blanched. "How?"

"I will teach you," Severus replied evenly, seeing the look of utter shock on Potter's face. "I'll let you know when I am able to."

"Thank you, Professor," Potter replied. "And thank you for listening. For truly listening, and not merely brushing this off. It's... I appreciate it."

Severus nodded, not sure what to say. He was sure that the Harry Potter who had entered the castle five years ago was the same boy—young man—that stood before him now. A bad first day, combined with being his nemesis' doppelganger with his best friend's eyes, seemingly paying no attention whatsoever, had cemented Potter as 'just like his father': arrogant, self-righteous, believing himself above everyone. Severus had not hesitated to confess he disliked the boy.

Aurora's opinion had swayed him somewhat, and Draco's eventual migration to Potter's side had helped some more. Even Sirius' influence, a good one despite how Black was as a teenager himself, had shaped Harry Potter into a decent young man.

Severus leaned forward and grabbed his quill and a scrap of parchment. "This will keep you out of trouble with Mr. Filch or Professor Umbridge, if they see you. The other professors probably won't need written proof if you tell them you paid me a visit."

"Thank you, sir," Potter said, waiting for Severus to finish writing the hall pass.

As Severus handed it to him, he hesitated until Potter met his eyes. "You speak of this to only those you trust to keep it quiet. I know Aurora and Draco can."

"Understood," Potter agreed, and Severus could see by the look in his eyes that he really did understand. He gave Potter the hall pass and watched as the young man left.

When the door closed, Severus let out a heavy sigh. A flick of his hand and the door bolted shut, and he raised a ward to alert him if anyone attempted to visit him. He rose from his desk, marking forgotten, and headed to the fireplace. "Eyre Cottage," he announced before stepping into the green flames.

He stepped out of the fireplace and into a warm, cozy sitting room. The light was perfect for reading, and the room was quiet. The scent of fragrant tea hit his nose and the lingering aroma of lasagna.

"Severus?" Hermione called from where she was stretched out on the divan.

He moved to her side. "Potter—Harry—, he says he's sensing the Dark Lord." He knelt, seeing the fear and confusion in her eyes. "They're connected. And while I know Potter's blood was used to resurrect him, it couldn't have been enough to connect them like that."

Hermione frowned. "Harry always had a pain in his scar, though, whenever the Dark Lord was nearby. I remember it hurt him in our first year, because of Quirrell. I don't remember if his scar hurt his second year, with the near-resurrection."

Severus' heart dropped further and further into his stomach with each word his wife uttered. "It's always pained him?" he whispered, and she nodded. "And there was a near-resurrection of him before, using his old diary. And when it was destroyed... Shit!" He rose to his feet and with a flick of his wand, four ethereal lionesses departed in different directions.

He heard Hermione shifting on the divan behind him, but he watched the Floo instead.

Minerva was the first through, dusting herself off and stepping aside. Alastor Apparated in beside the mantel, as did Lupin. Sirius came by Floo, a bit disheveled, in merely an Oxford and his trousers.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking around at the gathered ensemble.

With a heavy sigh, Severus summoned some chairs and arranged them into a circle. He gestured for them all to sit, turning and taking the spot on the divan beside Hermione. He hung his head for a moment, gathering his thoughts, trying to figure out how to tell what he'd learned.

"You can't repeat anything we say in this room. Try to never think about it in anyone's presence but ours. We should be the only ones to know or to know we suspect this."

"That sounds distinctly like a lack of trust," Lupin observed.

"It is," Severus replied flatly. "But I believe that we're the only ones who have Potter's best interests at heart."

"So, what's going on, then?" Sirius repeated.

Severus took another fortifying breath. "Potter came to me this evening with some distressing information," he said, then relayed what Harry had told him. He watched as concern and fear mingled on their faces, knowing then that none of them had heard anything about this. He went on to add the information Hermione gave him about Potter's first two years at Hogwarts.

"So," Sirius started as if the wind had been knocked out of him, "when Harry said he'd been having dreams... what does this mean? He told me about the one he had last year, the one that turned out to be real. What... what's going on?"

"I think..." Severus began, not sure if he wanted to say out loud the thoughts churning in his mind. Instead, he decided he would backtrack. Let them figure it out. "During the first war, after the Potters went into hiding, there was an inner circle meeting. At this point, it was starting to look like a draw between the Light and the Dark, and some of the most loyal of his followers expressed a need for him to declare a successor. They wanted the wizarding world purified, and while they would never think anyone but the Dark Lord was the perfect leader, they feared what would happen if the Dark Lord fell. He assured us that he would never perish, that he would live forever, that he took measures to guarantee that. He wouldn't say how, of course, but not long after, he bestowed gifts upon the Malfoys and the Lestranges that he asked them to keep safe. Shortly afterward, Regulus disappeared." This he directed at Sirius. "I've no idea what happened, but the Dark Lord asked Regulus to use your house-elf a little time later."

An idea seemed to spark in Sirius' mind, but before he could say something, Alastor spoke.

"And Albus knew."

"Of course," Severus said. "And not long after that meeting, Horace Slughorn announced his retirement. Which is how I earned my position as Slytherin Head of House and Potions Professor. It was, of course, for the best, as the Dark Lord had been trying to put someone close to Dumbledore." He looked at Moody, seeing the former Auror slowly coming to a realization, his mind working to put the puzzle pieces together. It was time to let the others know what he thought; hopefully he was not the only one thinking as pessimistically as he was. "When the Dark Lord fell, Albus told me he would rise again. He was very confident, and I doubted it for ten years, until the first near-resurrection."

"And what does this have to do with Harry?" Lupin asked, his voice small.

"Potter and the Dark Lord are connected," Alastor grumbled.

"More than that prophecy said?" Sirius asked.

"Sounds like. What was it, exactly? Does anyone remember? We may be watching over the bloody thing, but none of us can actually hear it," Alastor said.

"' The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ,'" Severus recited. "That was all I heard before Aberforth kicked me out; he thought I was eavesdropping. I thought I heard something about one not dying if the other is living, but that... that seems..."

"Fuck!" Alastor roared, standing, stomping around in a circle. "Fuck!" he roared again, whirling around to face them. "Do you have any idea what this means? Do you have any idea what this could fucking mean?"

Before anyone could answer, a small voice said, "A Horcrux."

Everyone turned to look at the stairs, where a little figure sat in the shadows.

"Leonidas," Severus said.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Hermione admonished, but Severus wanted to know something more pressing.

"How do you know what a Horcrux is?"

He could see his son shrug. "I read about it in a book."

"What book could you have possibly read that from?" he demanded.

Leo shifted down the stairs. In his buttoned-up pajamas, he seemed much younger than eleven. His shifting from foot to foot was childlike. "There was a book at grandmother's," he told the floor. "It was really old and dusty. I don't think she knew it was there. I flipped through it, and well, I read that they were a magic too awful to speak of. They made someone live forever, even if their body was defeated. Nothing about what happens when you do, just..."

"That is serious Dark magic you're reading about, lad," Moody said, and Leo looked up at the grisly wizard.

"It gave me the creepy crawlies. I ended up hiding the book. I wanted to burn it, but I was scared what would happen if I tried. I know some books have protections, and it was a pretty Dark book."

"Leonidas, don't speak of what you read to anyone, understood?" Severus urged, and his son nodded emphatically.

"Leo," Moody said, hobbling over to the little boy. He knelt down, studying him.

Leo didn't flinch, though he looked apprehensive.

"H., Snape, may I?" he asked.

Severus heard Hermione ascent at the same time he did, both aware of what Moody planned to do.

"Gonna feel a bit funny, boy, you don't gotta be scared."

"Not scared of anything," Leo said, raising his chin just a touch.

"Gonna be a Gryffindor like your mother and sister?" Moody asked.

"No. I'm going to be a Slytherin like father."

"Slytherins aren't known for being fearless."

" He is," Leo replied, and Severus' heart warmed at the admiration and respect in his son's voice.

Moody nodded, then touched Leo's temple with his wand. The boy flinched but didn't close his eyes. He held Moody's gaze, allowing the Auror to enter his mind.

Time passed. But when Alastor backed off, Leo let out a heavy sigh.

"You're a natural like your father. I think your mother should take some time to teach you how to put up walls. You're too clever by half, and what you know shouldn't be unprotected."

"Blimey, what else does he know?" Sirius asked.

Leo smirked. "More than you think, Uncle Sirius."

"Uncle?" Lupin asked incredulously.

"Sirius has been by for afternoon tea," Hermione explained. "They've gotten to know each other."

"Enough of that nattering. Young Mister Snape, up to bed. Time for us grownups to have a chat."

"Yes, sir. Goodnight Dad, Mum. Aunt Min, Uncle Sirius. Sir, Mr. Lupin."

Everyone echoed a goodnight, and he went upstairs. As a precaution, Severus cast a Muffliato around the living room.

"Are we saying what I think we're saying?" Minerva asked. "That You-Know-Who created a Horcrux and its Potter?"

"I think he created more than one," Hermione said warily. "The book, the diary that Harry destroyed back in his second year."

"Whatever the Dark Lord entrusted to the Lestranges. Three. Three Horcruxes. That's ..."

"Unnatural," Sirius said.

"But that makes me wonder why Voldemort needed the house-elf? Was it related or do we need to worry about something else?" Moody questioned.

"And why didn't Dumbledore tell any of us?" Lupin added solemnly.

"Because he wants control," Severus said simply. "He wants the players where he thinks they need to be. The Order of the Phoenix is nothing more than his army, made to play above the law, which means none of us can know too much. And most of all, he's too focused on his version of the greater good."

"Like keeping me in Azkaban," Sirius said thoughtfully, "and Harry with the Dursleys."

"Trying to keep Snape in Azkaban and splitting up his family," Alastor pointed out.

"Trusting no one from Slytherin and believing Harry's support should only come from Gryffindor." Minerva shook her head.

"And now we know he's been keeping this from all of us and probably doesn't plan to tell Harry, either," Sirius sneered.

"But how do we destroy a Horcrux?" Minerva asked. "How did Potter destroy the diary?"

"A basilisk fang," Hermione said.

"Which Albus and I retrieved..." Severus trailed off as he remembered. "Six."

"Six?" Lupin said, nearly gagging.

"You sure?" Alastor asked.

"Positive." Severus nodded. "So, unless there's another reason to have them, and I don't recall basilisk venom being used in anything but anti-venom."

"So, six Horcruxes," Alastor said, shaking his head.

"But he can't mean to kill Harry," Hermione reasoned. "He was meant to defeat the Dark Lord."

"Unless defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named means dying so the Horcrux in him dies too," Sirius concluded sadly.

"If my mother still has the book, it might be worth a trip to see if there's anything on living Horcruxes. In the meantime—"

"We gotta keep this to ourselves," Sirius said. "The children can't know."

"I think it may be time we start telling them these things," Hermione reasoned.

"At fifteen?" Severus asked.

Hermione shrugged. "You were asked to spy at sixteen. And let's face it, the Death Eaters aren't going to care that Harry or his friends are children."