Summary: A disturbing, reoccurring dream blurs the line between dream and reality for Severus Snape.

Disclaimer: Characters, Hogwarts, etc. are not mine. Just borrowing them.

Warnings: MPREG, slash, noncon

Rating: R

One bowl of soup, two days, three bowls of porridge, four well-deserved soaks, five dreams, several bowls of beef stew and more spare ribs than he cared to count later, Severus felt past ready to leave the infirmary. The Soul's Pain had diminished to a mild, easily overlooked ache. The after-effects of the short burst of Cruciatous were long since gone. The dreams only required superficial healing which was provided as neccessary. Once Severus got a new wand, he could handle that treatment without assistance. Food was forced down his throat every two hours, and he feared that if he didn't leave soon, he would begin to gain weight.

Poppy, of course, refused to acknowledge he was fit to go.

He glowered at her, relying on the weight of his increasingly foul and short temper to finally sway her. She knew from past experience he would quickly become unbearable. "Fine," she broke down, sounding not a whit happy about it. "Let me just make sure that bit of yellow went away."

The diagnostic spell was cast, revealing the pale yellow haze that had appeared before. The nurse frowned, ended the incantation, and recast it, receiving the same result. Severus looked at her, waiting for her to tell him what it meant, both in regards to his health and his continued captivity within the hospital wing. The pale haze didn't look at all threatening; perhaps he could still leave?

His hope slowly crumbled as Poppy's eyebrows beetled together in confusion, and her frown deepened in thought. Eventually, she turned puzzled blue eyes on him. "Do you feel hungry?"

Severus stared at her in disbelief. He had eaten more in the last two days than he had in the last month before he arrived here. Granted, that wasn't saying much, but surely she couldn't imagine he was able to even think about injesting food right now. The pile of ribs had been consumed only an hour ago. He had been full after only one but she and Albus refused to leave him alone until they were all gone. Merlin, the mere thought of eating anything more was enough to turn his stomach. "I would not be surprised, Poppy, if the yellow meant my stomach was too full rather than too empty."

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "That would not cause yellow," she answered distractedly, apparently trying to work out the cause. "For wizards, yellow means starvation. Overindulgence, either by food or liquor, would be purple."

"I assure you, I am not starving."

She looked unconvinced, then narrowed her eyes at him. "Just how long did you go without food, anyway?"

He honestly did not recall. Before the dreams began he usually managed at least one meal a day. "Three days?" he hazarded a guess. "Four?"

"Perhaps your system just hasn't recovered," she said doubtfully. "Your eating habits are erratic at best." Her look of disapproval was no different now than it had been when he was a student. Then her expression changed to one he he had long ago dubbed 'the tyrannical doctor's look'. She drew herself up to her full height (not very impressive if he was standing, but at the moment he was sitting on a bed while she stood over him), and frowned fiercely. "I will let you out on the condition that you attend every meal in the Great Hall and eat everything Albus puts on your plate," she delivered the ultimatum.

"Everything Albus puts on my plate?" he repeated in outraged incredulity.

Her blue eyes were implacable as eternity. "Everything. Every last crumb of what Albus puts on your plate. Else you will be in that bed until the yellow goes away, eating every two or three hours." Her aggressive stance clearly stated that she would stubbornly hold to those two alternatives and would tolerate nothing else.

He felt his cheeks burning lightly in humiliation. "I accept your terms," he forced the words past clenched teeth.

She nodded and summoned his robes for him.

His first task upon leaving the hospital wing was to buy a new wand. The trip to Diagon Alley was made more irritating than normal by the fact that he, well, did not have a wand. Instead of the nice, clean trip by Apperation he preferred, his options were a long, uncomfortable trip by broom or a quick and dirty and decidedly undiginified arrival by floo. He, unfortunately, did not have access to a portkey that would bring him to Diagon Alley, and the Knight bus was simply out of the question.

So it was the the dusty jar of floo powerder he withdrew from behind the large jars of decorative ingredients (snake eyes, whole newts, frog legs, things that would disturb any visitors should they be so persistant as to make it into his sitting room) that were kept on the mantle over his fireplace. He took out a pinch of the powder and stepped it into the flames. He tossed down the powder, shouted his destination, and disappeared from Hogwarts in a flash of green flame.

He tumbled out into the Leaky Cauldron, where his off-balanced stumbling was stopped by a steadying pair of hands. "Whoa, steady on, there," the stranger remarked as he did so.

Severus jerked away, trying not to look as terrified and horrified as he felt. He was in public now. There was nowhere to run to wait out the attack.

An attack, which, strangely, never came. The man was giving him an odd look by the time Severus nodded politely and thanked him for his assistance. Stll internallly shaking in reaction to the fright, he walked, with outward calm, directly to the wand shop. It was quiet and seemingly deserted inside, as the chiming door closed behind him and fell silent.

After a long moment, Ollivander appeared. "Ah, Professor Snape!" Severus nodded his return greeting. "What brings you here?"

"I need to replace my wand. It snapped." He took out the pieces and laid them out on the wandmaker's counter.

Ollivander made a quiet, pained sound at their appearance, took off his glasses and began inspecting the broken ends using a thick, cone-shaped magifying glass. "This was no accidental snap," he eventually concluded. "Where is the Pheonix feather?"

Severus shook his head, not knowing the answer. "Stolen."

Ollivander looked up sharply, and nearly dropped his eyepiece. His face had turned almost grey. "That feather has been your magical focus since you were eleven years old. It is a part of you. Should it fall into enemy hands . . ." he trailed off. "I suppose you do not need me to tell you which spells you are at risk for."

Severus shook his head, perfectly aware of the dark cloud of possible fates that hovered over him.

"Well, let us find you another wand then," he clapped his hands and turned to a nearby shelf of long narrow boxes.

Twenty minutes later, he walked out with a new wand of ebony and pheonix feather, nine inches. While he was at Diagon Alley anyway, he stopped by the apothocary he usually patronized in Knockturn Alley to pick up some ingredients that he was getting low on. As he browsed the shelf of dragon parts, the shop's door opened, McNair stepped in.

"Snape?" he asked in astonishment, paling.

Severus frowned, crossing his arms and arching an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"You're dead." He sounded shaken, and his eyes were wild-looking. The muggle expression to describe the Death Eater's appearance would be that he 'looked like he was seeing a ghost', but his problem was that Snape was very much alive. "I dumped your lifeless body at the gates of Hogwarts myself."

Severus felt cold. "Voldemort killed me?" That changed everything he thought he knew. And he could think of no reason for McNair to lie about this.

McNair stepped closer, tentatively, and extended a shaking hand toward Severus's face. Severus didn't try to stop him, needing to confront the man in the dream more than he needed to avoid a rape or a scene. Trembling fingers pressed against his throat, feeling for a pulse and finding it. Severus waited for the phantom fingers, but they never came. What was going on? He couldn't go six hours in the hospital wing without an incident, but now deliberate touch wouldn't set it off?

"How did you survive?" McNair asked in a hushed voice. "Was it Dumbledore?"

Severus shook his head, more in answer to himself than to McNair. "He didn't know I was ever dead. I'd been raised by the time I got to the Hospital wing." He tried to reconstruct the chronology of events. Voldemort killed him using Soul's Pain. Probably Soul's Pain. His wand was snapped and the core removed, just to intimidate and worry those who found his body. McNair got summoned and was told to dump off his body where Dumbledore could find his broken spy. The dream began just before Hagrid found him, so Hagrid believes him to be tortured to within an inch of his life, but not dead. Poppy does her diagnosis spell, and treats the external injuries and the effects of the cruciatious, not realizing that a rape has begun even as she works. The shudders from that would coincide nicely with the trembling of the cruciatious. She leaves to get Albus as the rape reaches climax. He wakes from the dream as Albus and Poppy return.

The other Death Eater blinked and backed away from him, fear in his eyes. An expression only Voldemort had ever gotten out of McNair before. Then he turned and fled the apothocary shop as if his heels were on fire. Severus stared after him for a moment, then went back to looking for dragon toenails. He was pleased to see his fingers were steady as they reached for the jar.

Once he paid for his purchases, he left the shop and Apperated back to the gates of Hogwarts. He looked for evidence of his arrival here three nights ago, but saw nothing unusual. He returned to his dungeons, restocked his potions cabinet, then went up to speak with Albus before going to the Great Hall for dinner.

He said the password (Cadbury egg) and rode the staircase up to Albus's office. The Headmaster invited him in before he could do so much as knock. "Ah, Severus, how are you feeling this afternoon? How did the trip to Ollivanders go?"

Severus barely heard the questions. "I died."

Albus blinked.

"I met McNair at Knockturn Apothocaries, and he said I was killed that night." Severus could hear the barely surpressed panic in his own voice. "I believe him."

"Severus, you sit here living and breathing."

"The dream," Severus reminded him desperately, as if that expained everything. When Albus still looked lost, he expanded, "I told you. An antidote for Draught of the Living Death is an antidote for Death. The dream has woken me from both." His black eyes sought Albus's blue ones. "I owe my life to whomever is doing this to me. I was dead, Albus. For real. Hel was going to keep me this time."

Albus made an aborted gesture that would have cupped the old wizard's hands around Severus's. Instead, he fiddled with his beard. "Severus," he began, but seemed to be at a loss as to how to address a man who, by all rights, should be dead, but wasn't because he was plagued by disturbingly vivid dreams.

Severus eventually broke the awkward silence by drawing his new wand. "Ebony and pheonix feather again. Shorter than my other one, only nine inches. Different bird, so it's not my other wand's brother. That would just be asking for trouble if Voldemort hasn't used my other core yet, or so Ollivander tells me."

The Headmaster smiled at him, but it was more sorrowful than anything else. Severus felt like he was being regarded as a walking, breathing dead man. Which, come to think of it, was surprisingly accurate. "Did you encounter any waking dreams while you were out, Severus?"

He frowned, "No, but not through lack of contact. Twice, I thought for certain it would happen. Someone caught me coming out of the floo, and McNair checked my pulse."

Albus looked as befuddled as Severus felt about that turn of events. "Perhaps he lost interest?" Albus asked, clearly not believing it for a moment.

Severus sneered. "Oh, he was quite interested about seven hours ago while I slept in the hospital wing."

A faint tinge of red appeared on the wrinkled face, and Severus was astonished find he had embarrassed the old wizard. "That wasn't the kind of interest I meant, Severus."

"He brought me back from the dead, Albus. He isn't going to just lose interest and move onto a new project. He wants something from me." Troubled black eyes met blue. "I owe him life debt. Why is it always people I have something against who save my life?"

Albus's eyes twinkled weakly behind half-moon specticles. "If you hated fewer people the odds would be better to get someone else."

Severus glared at him.

"Come, Severus, it is nearly time for dinner. Poppy said I must see to it that you actually eat."

Severus scowled darkly, but followed him from the office.

He looked to his Slytherins as he entered the Great Hall. A handful of them turned very pale when they saw him. Malfoy, Flint, and Avery. Not at all surprising that they had heard the rumours of his death. Severus gave the signal that meant Slytherin was having a House Meeting after dinner. The students who saw it quickly began spreading the announcement to those who had been looking elsewhere.

Albus was at least subtle about filling his plate. He used a spell rather than his hands. It still generated some comment among the staff. Albus sounded annoyingly cheerful as he explained to Minerva that "Severus has brought Poppy's unfavourable attention down upon his eating habits." Severus glared at anyone who showed any sign of amusement at his predicament.

So as not to test whether or not Albus would call him on it, he did eat everything down to the last crumb. He shot one final glower at Albus, then departed for the Slytherin dormitory. It was about three quarters full when he reached it. After only another five minutes, the remainder of the Slytherin students filtered in. He looked around, trying to decide if it was worth sending away those who knew nothing about his role with Voldemort. He decided it wasn't.

"Some of you may have heard the rumour that I was dead." Malfoy nodded marginally. "I assure you, I am not. So you have until tomorrow morning to finish your potions homework. Some of you may have heard the rumour that I was a Death Eater." Those who were not from Death Eater families themselves paled faintly. Those who were remained blank, or narrowed their eyes, uncertain of where he was going. "Others of you know that I was." The children of light families looked shocked. The rest remained unchanged aside from deepening frowns. "A very small handful of you may also have learned that I was a spy for the light." He looked at Malfoy, Flint, and Avery, "And that Voldemort's discovery thereof is why I have been out for the last two days." The light children flinched at the Dark Lord's name and looked horrified. A first year raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Watson?"

Her small voice trembled a bit as she asked, "If you betrayed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and he knew, why aren't you dead?"

He nodded approvingly at her, "Ten points to Slytherin for a most pertinent question." Malfoy raised his hand. "Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"Her question should have been: how did you come back from the dead?" He stood straight under his Head of House's regard, and his grey eyes met black unflinchingly.

Severus smirked faintly at the boy. "Bravery is a Gryffindor trait, Mister Malfoy."

"Knowing one's enemies' and allies' powers is a Slytherin one."

Severus inclined his head. "Ten points to Slytherin for a valid point." Malfoy lifted his chin in smug pleasure. "To answer Miss Watson's question, the answer is 'because I came back.' To answer Mister Malfoy's, the answer is 'I don't know.'" Which was the truth. He knew who, in a general sense, was responsible, but not how. He looked around the room again. "I am neither undead nor a ghost. Until this afternoon, I was not aware I had died at all. I offer a two hundred point bonus to the first student who can find a way to raise the dead back into normal life using dreams."

The students looked at one another, calculation in their eyes. Two hundred points in one go could almost guarantee them the House Cup, even with Potter's end-of-year shenanigans. Miss Watson raised her small hand again. "Yes, Miss Watson?"

"May I have a pass to the restricted section?" Having anticipated such a request, he pulled out the stack of passes he had made before visiting Albus, and gave her one. Less than five minutes later, he was out of passes, and standing in a deserted common room. He smirked. That should keep the children busy. If Albus had a problem with first years going through necromancy books, he'd deal with that later.

Between the knowledge that he had been dead and his own dire reputation, the rather superstitious lot of children had been very careful to keep their distance from him, even in the jostling crowd. He wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed that he was still denied his chance to confront his dream companion. Simply falling asleep wouldn't work; he had no control over his dream self then. It was only when touched that he had enough awareness to shout and provide any kind of influence to the encounter.

He returned to his rooms, debating between grading neglected essays and just going to sleep. He eventually decided the dream would wake him up early enough to do some grading anyway, so he changed into nightclothes and went to bed. And even if it didn't - which was unlikely - it would be his first full night of rest in five days.

The hallway now held something, a painting, a tapestry, a statue, a gargoyle, a suit of armour, a small table every thirty or forty feet. The walls weren't crowded by any means, but neither was the hall barren as it had been during the first dreams. Frankly, it looked like any narrow corridor in the unused regions of the Hogwarts secret dungeons. Severus made a mental note to go exploring down there again. He hadn't been back there since he was a new teacher, exploring his domain. As they passed one particularly familiar-looking portrait, the bearded man depicted waved distractedly at them.

The hallway was a long one. Endless, it had seemed the first time. It took almost twenty minutes, or so Severus estimated, to pass from their starting point to the room. Only during the waking dream of the corridor had it taken any less time. Only for the time he had been on death's door - or beyond death's door as the case was more likely - had it taken any longer. As they walked now, him no longer needing the support, but their hands clasped together like a young couple on a stroll, he noted each of the decorations they passed, trying to memorize them, hoping it could provide some clue about his dream's location. That it was a real place, he felt almost certain.

Or he did, until they came upon the room at the end with the same suddenness as ever. A moment ago, only hallway had stretched before them, but now they were within the bedroom. Grey stone walls, like everywhere else in the dream. A large painting of Hogwarts decorating the one wall. Blue bed coverings, dark enough to be mistaken for black. A bookshelf on one side, a door leading to a bathroom on the other.

Himself and his companion, standing naked at the foot of the bed, their bare feet warmed by the pale grey rug that covered the cold stone floor. His companion laid him out on the bed, but instead of letting his hands roam over his body as was his habit in the last few dreams, the other man merely sat down beside him, and laid a hand over his stomach, looking at him with a peculiar expression.

They stayed like that, his dream self content with whatever his trusted lover wished to do with him, even if it was to remain quiet and still, in companionable silence. His aware self held its mental breath, waiting for the next clue as to what the man was up to. Possibilities swam through his mind, and he wondered if the man was either the cause of or about to heal the yellow problem of Poppy's spell. Since learning this man had saved his life, Severus wasn't sure what to make of his motives.

After what seemed a very long time, the man turned his head toward Severus and smiled. Though he could make out no features, still, he knew the man was both happy and proud. He couldn't quite determine if the man was proud of himself of Severus. Warm fingers brushed against his cheeks, then his mouth closed down over Severus's. The kiss started out chaste. But then Severus's dreaming self opened his lips, and the man took swift advantage of the opening.

His companion's tongue plundered every square centimeter of his mouth, pressing hard enough against his lips to bruise, though, of course, there was no pain in the dream. The other man had straddled him sometime during the course of the kiss, and his hips ground rhythmically against Severus's own. For once, both organs responsed to the stimulation. Severus's aware self howled against his own body's betrayal. Dream or no dream, they had to eventually break the kiss for air.

The other took the opportunity to spread Severus's legs and sheath himself within before clamping his mouth on Severus's neck. The mouth's suction was in time to the thrusting penetration. As seed flowed into him, the man collapsed beside him, his mouth directly beside Severus's ear. "Mine," he whispered, darkly, possessively. It was the only word the man had ever spoken. Severus did not miss that the man's hand had closed around his forearm, his left forearm, as he spoke, and the Mark . . . tingled.

Severus cried out in agony as he regained consciousness. His left arm burned and spread the pain to the rest of his body, the rest of his soul. He curled in around the arm, screaming until his voice ran ragged and he could scream no more. Still, the fire burned through him, consuming his body and soul, far worse than the Soul's Pain. Magical power spiked within him, and he screamed again, though only hoarse sounds emerged. It seemed to go on for hours, the rise and fall of magical torture and agony that tore through every piece of him; physical, mental, and astral. Finally a new wave of renewed pain rose up and painted his vision red. Then he fell into blackness. Cold, calm, painless blackness.

The hallway was grey bare stone. Deviod of any decoration. Cool, dark, quiet. Empty except for the two of them. His companion sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. Severus was given the impression of exhaustion. He, himself, sat, huddled really, in the other's lap, the other man's arms held around him, as if to protect him from something. Every so often, the other man ran fingers over his hair.

Severus's body huddled closer, and the man kissed the top of his head. They sat like that for a long time. An hour, maybe two. Then, the man was urging him to his feet. His aware self knew that he had probably died again. He knew that he wasn't capable of walking. His dream self was much more confident of his ability, and did stand with the other man's assistance.

They managed to slowly traverse the entire hallway. They passed none of the decorations that had been there before. He felt a sense of loss at their absense. The bedroom, too, was a barren as the first time he had seen it. They were naked, he noticed, unsurprised. He was lain down onto the bed. The only affection spared was the fingers pushing aside a strand of hair, and a slight - almost sad - hesitation over his stomach as the hand returned to Severus's hip as he positioned them; the scenery was not the only part of the dream that reverted back to the beginning.

Severus's eyes snapped open, and he immediately wished to be returned to the dream. It didn't hurt there. He made a pitiful sound, and curled in on himself. He felt like a Norwegian Ridgeback ate him, began digesting, and spit him out. Then a Common Welsh ate him, began digesting, and spit him out. He didn't know how long he lay there, trying not to move, trying not to hurt.

After what seemed hours, he heard the door to his chambers open and more than one pair of feet approach the bedroom. "Severus?" a voice asked, so full of shock and disbelief he almost didn't recognize it as Albus's.

"Kill me, Albus. It hurts too much." Well, that was what he had meant to say. Nothing more than a croak came out. Not that he expected dying would help him. He'd just wake up again. He must have drunken too much Draught of the Living Death in his short lifetime. The Fates were confused. But at least he'd go back to the dream for a little while. A few sexual favors were definitely worth the absense of pain.

He heard feet crossing to the fireplace, and the hiss of powder thrown into the flames. "Poppy! Get down here! He's alive again!"

He heard the fire flare and smelt Poppy's arrival by the sudden stink of soot in the room. "Albus, what are you on about? He can't be alive; we watched him die." She sounded both angry and grief-striken. Severus was surprised she would take his death so hard. Of course, she was the mediwitch at his deathbed so she was probably just upset that she had failed her patient. "I should never have let him leave -" she cut herself off as Severus tried to tell her he wasn't dead anymore. Though no intelligible words left his mouth, he did get his message across. "Severus?"

He forced himself to uncurl from the fetal position he had assumed, and looked at Poppy with pain-filled eyes. He touched his throat. Though it was the least of his pain, without the ability to speak, he felt helpless. A simple spell granted his silent request. "Thank you," he managed, the pain everywhere else making the words remain little more than a rough whisper, but at least now it was understandable. He looked around the room and found both Mister Malfoy and Miss Watson present as well.

"Why are they here?" he demanded to know, even as Poppy cast her diagnosis spell, and set about healing the things she could.

Miss Watson smiled at him, her brown eyes shining with happy triumph. "We knew you'd wake up, sir."

"What she means, Professor, is that we were going to sit next to your body until you did, but you beat us to it." Miss Watson nodded agreement with Draco's words. "All of Slytherin was rooting for you, sir," Draco added solemnly. "Welcome back." Miss Watson nodded again, smiling brightly.

Severus looked up at Albus and saw the old blue eyes twinkling a bit, but something else lurked behind the twinkle. He turned back to the two students, "Thank you, Mister Malfoy, Miss Watson. But I need to speak to the nurse and the Headmaster. Make yourselves at home in the sitting room." They nodded and filed out of the bedroom. Severus, knowing his students too well, looked back at the Headmaster, "Silencing charms."

Albus chuckled, but it sounded forced. He cast the spells, and sat in Severus's green reading chair, which had been pulled up beside the bed. As he looked at Severus now, there was no sign of a twinkle. He looked solemn, and even a little shaken. "I thought we lost you, Severus." Their was grief and relief in his words, but also apology. "The House elf Winky woke Poppy and I at 2 in the morning yesterday. She said you were screaming."

Severus looked away, ashamed that Albus had seen him like that, and, worse, that he hadn't known any else was in the room.

"We tried everything, Severus. Nothing had any effect. Sleeping spells, stupify, muggle tranquilizer, potions. Nothing worked. You just kept on screaming until you had no voice left to scream with. Minerva, Filius, and Magnolia tried to help, but they had no more effect than Poppy and I. At 3:17 this afternoon, you died."

Severus flinched. Believing he had died and knowing it were monsters of two entirely different colours.

"It was almost a relief when you did. You were in so much agony, I don't think you even knew we were ever there."

Severus shook his head, "I didn't."

"For three hours we monitored you for any sign of life, Poppy and I. Minerva, Magnolia, and Filius left to inform the rest of the staff when you died. Even Minerva cried for you, Severus." Severus snorted, not believing it. "I held your dead hand for three hours, hoping to spark the dream. Nothing. At six-thirty, Poppy and I went up to the Great Hall, certain you were permenantly dead." Again, the note of apology.

"What did you do?" he whispered, not really sure he wanted to know.

"I informed the student body of your passing."

There was a fundamental difference between himself and most of the rest of the world. Severus enjoyed making people nervous just by walking into a room. This news could only help his fearsome reputation. He smirked in gleeful anticipation of his next Hufflepuff class.

Albus seemed to relax marginally, "You're not mad?"

"Why should I be? I already told my Slytherins I died once."

"Ah," he made a sound of understanding, "That explains their insistance that you would recover."

It occured to him belatedly that all of the students knowing meant the news would travel out into the whole of the wizarding world. "Albus?"

"What is it, dear boy?"

"What will the Ministry make of my stunning recovery?" He didn't care about the Prophet; the average wizard already believed he was borderline or completely Dark. But the Ministry could send him to Azkaban. Resurrecting a dead body was the blackest of magics. Well, no. The one who raised him would be the one sent to Azkaban. He would be considered undead, and be handed over to the Disposal of Magical Creatures Department.

Worry shone in those blue eyes, increasing Severus's fear of the Ministry's reaction. "I won't let them take you from the school, Severus," he promised.

"Severus, pull back your left sleeve," Poppy instructed. "You've a severe burn there, I need you to spread this on it." She placed an open jar of a clear gel on his bed.He looked at her blankly for a moment, wondering why she couldn't do that herself, then he remembered. The dreams, right. He pulled back the sleeve, and stared at the charred skin where his Mark should be. He nearly gagged when he realized the white at the center of the cauterized burn was his bone. "I think we'll need a bit more than a burn salve," Poppy said weakly. "I'll be right back," she ran for the fire place.

Severus and Albus looked at each other. "Did Voldemort do this?"

"I can't think of anyone else who would," Severus answered, forcing the pain back into the hole he had buried it in when he had begun speaking to Albus. Poppy must have done something of great help, it wasn't nearly as incapacitating as it had been. "He's the one in my dreams, too. I had begun to hope otherwise, but the last one before the attack, he -" kissed me, and I kissed back "- claimed me. Said I was his, and put his hand over the Mark, which started to tingle - well, hurt probably - but I can't feel pain in the dream. It certainly hurt when I woke up, though. He's trying to drive me mad. It's the only motive that makes sense. Why else would he keep killing me, only to bring me back again?"

"Severus," Albus said solemnly, "there is something else you should know."

Severus waited expectantly for Albus to go on, but at that moment, Poppy returned and began to hand vial after vial to him. "Drink this, this, and this. Hold this. Wait a moment, okay, drink this, this, and this." He didn't bother trying to identify the potions as he downed them one after another. "Okay, take that," she pointed to the jar of white cream she had told him to hold, "spread it on your arm, nice and thick. Yes, that's fine." She took the jar back, and began to cast spells he didn't know at his stomach region. Surely, she wasn't still worried about him starving?

"Severus." He looked up at Albus, ignoring Poppy again. "Poppy gave your body an autopsy after you died." Albus hesitated, but Severus waited him out. "There was a great deal of blood between your legs."

"How many times did you touch me while I was out of it?"

"Plenty, but you didn't once suffer a waking dream. The blood was because of your miscarriage."

Severus sat very still and quiet for a long moment. His gaze returned to what Poppy was doing. Sensing his eyes on her, she looked up, her expression solemn. "Your first was going to be a girl, she existed about three days before she died. This one's a boy. He was conceived about two hours ago."

Severus shook his head, not understanding. Not wanting to understand. Because it sounded like they were trying to tell him he was pregnant, but that was just impossible. No, he must have misunderstood. Someone else concieved a girl, miscarried, and now had a boy. But they hadn't been talking about anybody else. Only himself and the blood between his legs. But that was from the dreams. The dreams always made him bleed there.

Albus made an aborted move to hold his hand. "Severus. Do you understand what Poppy just said?"

Severus shook his head, a feeling of dread growing in him as Albus opened his mouth to put the problem into very simple words, impossible to misinterpret.

"Severus. You are pregnant."

He shook his head, unwilling to believe it. "No. You made a mistake, I can't be. I'm male." He was perfectly aware there were spells - dark spells - that would make such a thing possible, but there was no reason for them to have been cast on him. "Voldemort has no interest in an heir. He wants personal immortality, not genetic immortality. And he wouldn't give it to me to carry even if he wanted one. I'm not worthy of being a part of such an undertaking. I'm a traitor. I could abort it, kill myself and it, not give it to him, raise it to hate and want to kill him. He wouldn't give me his child just to torture me either. The boy could be a threat to him. Slytherin's heir has advantages over an ordinary wizard. He's so far from human now already, those advantages would probably pass to his progeny. Slytherin's Spirit still walks the land, they say. He'd surely disown Voldemort if there was someone else to give the powers to. Salazar's teachings were never to torture muggles or muggleborn. He wanted to avoid them completely. Voldemort has been a plague on our house since he began his first reign of terror. He'd not risk Slytherin's judgement by offering the Spirit another alternative."

"Perhaps Voldemort does not interpret Slytherin's motives as you do, or perhaps he does not believe in 'Slytherin's Spirit.'"

"He'd be a fool not to. History books say Slytherin killed himself. That's only half true. A Dark spell he was inventing backfired on him, and left him non-corporeal. The stories say he can't truly die without a body, and he still has access to much of his magic."

"You believe these ghost stories?" Albus asked in surprise.

Severus shrugged, slightly embarrassed to be caught out believing in something on faith. But the story of Slytherin's Spirit was indoctorined into him before he could walk, more firmly than any tenent of any religion. "Most Slytherins do. And he's a spirit, not a ghost, there's a difference."

"Of course," Albus said, though it sounded patronizing.

Severus scowled darkly at him. "Go away, Albus. I want to sleep. The children can come back in if they wish."

Poppy handed him a vial of Dreamless Sleep, not that she expected it to do any good, but it would at least help him get to sleep. Draco and Amelia entered the room as he drank the bottle. Draco took the chair vacated by Albus, while Miss Watson climbed onto a corner of the bed. Albus left as requested, but Poppy stuck around, performing spell after spell on him; muscle relaxant charms, pain reducing spells, diagnostic spells, and so forth. He fell asleep to her quiet, professional voice, and the light tingle of harmless magic.

The hallway had a single tapestry hanging from its wall near where the dream began. They both stood, but the other man was supporting almost all of Severus's weight. His rational mind fixed onto the tapestry. A dream's setting is indicative of a part of your body. A hallway means the dream is about your uterus. A room at the end of a hallway, is also your uterus.

I don't have a uterus.

"Severus. You are pregnant."

I don't have a uterus.

The man sat beside him, a hand on his stomach. Then he turned to Severus, a smile on his features. Happy, and proud, though Severus couldn't tell if he was proud of himself, or of Severus.

I don't have a uterus.

"The blood was because of your miscarriage."

I don't have a uterus.

The hallway - his uterus - was empty; barren. He felt a sense of loss by the decorations' absense.

I don't have a uterus.

Do I?

He half-walked, half-was-carried down the long corridor. They passed a painting. He felt more than saw his companion smile. Fear trembled in his rational mind, but his body smiled back, happy because his companion was happy. The rug was still missing when they entered the bedroom, but the picture of Hogwarts was back. He was carefully laid out on the bed, and the man sat next to him, once again placing a hand over his stomach.

The other's sad pleasure was palpatible. He turned to Severus's face, and brushed greasy locks out of his eyes, then kissed him lightly on the forehead. The hand returned to Severus's stomach. Sad eyes of an unknown colour looked into Severus's. "She would have been strong," he said. Then he smiled again, that proud smile that almost made his dreaming self burst with happiness at having pleased him. "But he will be stronger."

He bent over and pressed his lips to Severus's. He caught both of Severus's forearms and held them against the mattress on either side of Severus's head.

His companion then sucked hard on his neck, his bodying lying flush atop Severus's. When he finished abusing the purpled flesh, he shifted so his mouth was next to Severus's ear, and his hand tightened around Severus's left forearm. "I have Marked you as mine. I do not share well with others." The other's lips moved from his ear back to his mouth.

Severus's lips parted inviting the other in, his sleeping self finding nothing untoward in the warning. The invitation was quickly accepted. His mouth was thoroughly plundered by the time they broke for air, and the man's grinding against his own manhood had the same effect as last time. Reoxygenated, the lips came back down on his. His 'rational' mind was too busy reeling from the confirmation of his pregnancy to pay his body's betrayal or activities much mind this time.

Well, not until the grinding became more frantic and he soon found his body on the razor's edge of release. Both body and mind cried out as the man just stopped, and smiled cruelly down at him. Then the man pushed apart Severus's legs and sheathed himself within. Severus gasped at the by-now-familiar feeling of his companion forcing himself into his body. But the action had never been made while the rest of him was at this level of arousal. The thrusts were no less violent than ever before, but the dream kept it from being painful. Each deep intrustion made him gasp again, moving him no nearer but no farther from release.

Then one of the thrusts came in at a slightly different angle.

When the fireworks cleared from his vision, he was lying back on his own bed. Poppy was looking at him with an undecipherable look on her face. He felt shaky and weak all over. Draco and Miss Watson were thankfully nowhere in sight. "Pleasant dream, Severus?" Poppy asked, her voice as unreadable as her expression.

He turned his face away, feeling mortified that she had seen him during this dream. "Thank you for sending the children to bed."

"I know where the dream leads. I sent them away the moment it began." She hesitated a moment, before continuing, "Severus, you have no choice in the matter. I'm glad you can enjoy it." It sounded false, like a justification she didn't entirely believe in.

He glared at her. "I have no control over my body during a dream, Poppy. I find it degrading and sick that my body can do that for Voldemort even in a dream-state."

She looked satisfying ashamed of herself for having assumed he liked it.

"He never talked before, except to say 'mine' just before torturing me." She looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "This time he was almost talkative. He said the girl would have been strong. He seemed upset that she died. Then he said the boy would be stronger. He gave me a . . . " he ran his fingers over the bruised skin of his neck. Hickey wasn't exactly a word he ever wanted to allow across his lips, but he didn't know the scientific or socially acceptable term for one. "He said he marked me as his own and that he doesn't share well with others. He held my left arm, too, while he spoke. I don't know if he meant the Dark Mark, the . . . thing, or both."

She smiled at him, just a tad too maliciously for his piece of mind. "Well, I can make your . . . thing . . . go away if you'd like."

He regarded her distrustfully. "Well, do so."

Her eyes twinkled almost as badly as Albus's. "You'll have to tell me which . . . thing . . . you mean."

He scowled, but touched his fingers to his neck again, "This thing."

"Your neck? You'll have to be more specific."

He glowered. "Fine, then. Don't heal it."

She tutted at him, and gave up her attempt to get him to say that word. A moment later the discolouration had disappeared. "Let me see how the burn on your arm is healing."

He pulled back his left sleeve, and unwrapped the bandage that covered the injury. When the gauze fell away, they both stared at the arm, hardly able to breathe. It was completely healed. Only a few light bruises in the shape of fingers darkened the skin. Where the Dark Mark had been, there was no sign of a skull. The snake had turned green and was in a very familiar pose. As one, nurse and patient looked up from the new brand, to stare at the Slytherin crest that hung over his dresser.

Severus had lost all colour in his face, and he felt and heard every beat that his heart pounded.

"Severus?" Poppy asked, sounding shaken.

"Slytherin's Spirit." He himself couldn't have told if the words were curse, prayer, or identification.

"Severus, you don't know -" she broke off under the heavy glare he held on her.

"I do know, Poppy." He looked down at his arm again and felt liberated - still owned, mind you - but free of Voldemort. No malevolent presense darkened his soul by its permenant hold over him. No broken oath hung in his heart to be remembered each time he looked at his own arm. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it sooner. He looked up at Poppy. "The Dark Mark is gone. Completely and utterly banished from my arm and soul. For that, I would give far more than a child and my body to whomever managed it." His eyes searched hers, making sure she understood just how much he was indebted to the spirit. Then he smiled, causing a look of stunned startlement to appear on her face. "For it to be someone I respect as much as Salazar Slytherin himself, I do it gladly."

She regarded him doubtfully for a long moment. Then she quirked a smile, "We'll see if you keep that opinion when the morning sickness starts, or when your stomach's out to here and you can barely stand anymore. Or when you, being the kid's sole corporeal parent, have to change his diapers. Assuming you're correct about Slytherin's Spirit being the father."

He gave her a whithering glare for reminding him what his debt's payment entailed. "I'm going back to sleep." He turned his back on her, and pretended to do just that, except he was too keyed up about the discovery to manage it in truth. Instead, he lay on his bed, his eyes roving over the familiar mascot of Slytherin House now embedded into the skin of his arm and the fabric of his soul.

The door to his bedchamber opened with a telltale squeak. "How's he doing, Poppy?" Albus asked, sounding concerned.

"He hasn't complained about the pain lately. I think he's asleep again now." Severus decided not to correct her error. "Albus, his Dark Mark changed," she sounded worried, as if she didn't see how wonderful a thing it was that had happened to him. Having spent too many years as a spy, he didn't let his frown show. "It's not the skull and snake anymore, it's . . . the Slytherin House snake. Albus, Severus is convinced it's Salazar Slytherin's spirit who is doing this to him. He looked so happy and relieved . . . I couldn't bear to do anything but pretend to agree with him." She paused a moment, and Severus would have bet money they both glanced in his direction. "I've never seen him happy before, Albus. He looks so much younger when he smiles."

"He is certain that it is not Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Then it is likely an improvement." If he could have sneered at them for doubting him, without revealing that he was eavesdropping, he would have.

"I would normally agree with you, but you didn't see him, Albus. The boy is ready to blindly follow his new master anywhere and give him whatever he asks."

The cold chills sliding down his spine from these words were joined by goosebumps popping out all over his skin as Albus said, "We will just keep an eye on him then. We know nothing about this person, Poppy. Only that he is more powerful than even Voldemort, and practices dark magics. If he is an enemy, Severus is the only link we have to him." In that moment, Severus knew he had dropped from 'trusted spy' to 'unknown allegiance' in the Headmaster's book. It hurt and it scared him. Perhaps it felt even worse because he truly didn't know where he would stand if Slytherin and Albus ever crossed paths.

He wondered if he still had the Headmaster's protection against the Ministry.

But now would not be a good time to let them know he was spying on them, so he couldn't ask.

The two fell silent for a short time before Albus spoke again, "The Slytherin snake. I wonder if that was chosen as his symbol for himself or for Severus?"

Severus desperately wanted to ask what he meant by that. Poppy unhelpfully did not choose to ask for him. "I don't know. But he couldn't have chosen better to capture Severus's loyalty."

"Not loyalty, Poppy. It's deeper than that. Faith. He stumbled upon the only piece of faith Severus has left." He paused, making Severus wonder if maybe he was under observation again. "I never would have thought a common room ghost story could have evolved into an aristocratic minor religion. Or that Severus would believe in it."

"You must admit, Albus. If he were to believe any religion or ghost story, that one is appropriate."

He chuckled quietly. "I grant you that." Footsteps crossed the room toward his bed, and Albus's hand tugged at the blanket his arm was resting on. If he had been asleep before he wouldn't be now. He pretended to startle awake.

"What? Albus? What are you doing?" In his haste to sit up, he accidentally bumped into Albus's arm. They exchange equal looks of alarm before Severus's memory caught up with habit. Even as he felt the phantom hands begin to roam over him, he shook his head at Albus, "It's all right, I wanted to see him like this anyway." He looked from Albus to Poppy, and felt a faint flush touch his features. "I'm about to have sex, I'd like to have some privacy in my own room, please?" Trying to regain Albus's trust was one thing. Becoming an exhibitionist quite another.

They blushed and stuttered all the way out of the door. Still, he held no illusions that they weren't listening just outside. He tried to put that out of his mind as he closed his eyes just in time for the initial penetration. He gave a small cry against the familiar pain, but he gave it little heed as he actively participated, rising up to meet each thrust, helping it impale him to its maximum ability. The man noticed the change in Severus's response to him, and smirked down at him. After that, the angle of penetration changed, and Severus wouldn't have known it if the entire student body crowded into his room.

He lay on his bed, exhausted, sated, and sweaty. As they re-entered the room, Poppy took one look at him and repeated her earlier question: "Pleasant dream, Severus?"

"You have no idea." By the deep flush on both their faces, they must have heard enough to think they had a pretty good idea.

Albus coughed uncomfortably and changed the subject, "Severus, may I see your arm?"

"Certainly. Give me a minute." He struggled to sit up against the headboard, not liking to carry on a conversation with Albus while flat on his back. He winced against the latest ache inside him, but made no move to heal it himself or ask Poppy to do so. He just shoved it into that deep hole where the rest of his pain was held away from his consciousness. Neither did he do anything about the bodily fluids that were dampening his smallclothes and his sheets. Instead, he held out his arm with its new Mark almost proudly for inspection.

Albus held his hand over it, not touching, and closed his eyes in concentration. For perhaps the fourth time in his life, he felt the immense magical power of Albus Dumbledore. After a moment, Albus opened his eyes and regarded him twinklelessly. "You remain soul bound to a powerful Dark Wizard, Severus."

Severus nodded. There were a lot of words used to describe Salazar Slytherin. Light was not among them. Neither was weak. "I know."

Blue eyes searched his, and he felt like the elder wizard was reading his soul like a book. Albus sighed. "You have surrendered yourself to him already." With those words, all remaining trust that Albus held for him was irrevocably lost.

Severus felt cold all over, but he lifted his chin and met Albus's eyes. "He is not Voldemort."

"You do not know who he is."

Severus looked away. He knew. But Albus would never believe it was the spirit of Salazar Slytherin. "I do know," he said, almost too quietly to hear, not wanting Albus to tell him he was wrong, not wanting to hear that Slytherin's Spirit did not really exist.

Albus sighed again, then stood to leave.

"Albus?" The old wizard looked down at the younger one, whose arm laid Mark up on the black of his bedcovers. "Can I safely assume I've been uninvited to all future meetings of the Order of the Pheonix?"

Albus closed his eyes briefly in pain, then nodded, "Until further notice."

Severus nodded, and tried not to feel like an ice pick had just been stabbed into his stomach. "Albus?"

"What is it, Severus?"

"The Ministry, will you still . . . help me?"

He looked down with the first signs of compassion since Poppy told him of the Slytherin Mark. He smiled reassuringly, "Of course, Severus."

Severus tried to smile back. He doubted he was successful. "Thank you."

Albus had made it to the door when he turned back. "Severus?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Why do you believe it is Slytherin's Spirit?"

Severus looked up at him, trying to figure out the motives of the question. Was there a chance he might believe? Or was he looking for chinks in Severus's own belief? "Because he's the only one who makes sense."

"Explain to me how you reached that conclusion."

"There are three living wizards strong enough to be the dream caster. You and Potter wouldn't do it. It's dark magic and rape. That leaves Voldemort. But the dream caster cleared me of a soul bond to Voldemort and bound me to himself, so he can't be Voldemort. I would know if he was.

"So, when the man in my dream claims me as his, tells me he marked me as such, and I wake up and see the snake of Slytherin House on my arm, what else am I supposed to think, Albus? Harry Potter is making a run on becoming the next Dark Lord and wants me for his first follower, and because he likes Slytherin House so very much, he uses my House's mascot for his symbol? Frankly, the ghost story, as you put it, is much more believable. Slytherin has a history of dark magic, directed violence, and a single minded tenacity towards his goal. Which is, I believe, the overthrow and disinheritance of Voldemort as Slytherin's heir, in this case. At any rate, he is very happy about my pregnancy."

A final argument occurred to him, and he added, "And he has a painting of Hogwarts in his bedroom."

Albus looked bemused by the last point. He said nothing to counter anything Severus said, and yet the younger wizard could tell Albus was no closer to believing in Slytherin's Spirit than before. "I hope, for your sake, Severus, that you are right."