Jan. 5th, 2007 @ 11:46 pm FIC: Tempus Reversit, R, Snape/Harry, Snape/Voldemort, 1/3
Well, [info]merry_smutmas is over for another year, and the reveal went up last night. I can now proudly announce that mine was this one. But you don't need to go to the comm to read it! Because I'm reposting it here.
It's quite long, so I had to break it into 3. This post is Part One.

Title: Tempus Reversit (1/3)
Author: [info]mskatonic
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Snape/Harry, Snape/Tom Riddle
Disclaimer: It's all JKR's, apart from the name of Snape's eventual business, which is named after a certain well-known perfume house, and one of the text books which is paraphrased from the Back to the Future films.
Summary: When a magical accident in the heat of battle sends Harry and Snape back to 1943, it's a golden opportunity for a fresh start. But destiny is not so easy to escape, especially when Tom Riddle starts taking an interest...
Warnings: Time travel, AU, epic storytelling to the tune of 27'000 words or thereabouts, dubious consent, rough sex, abusive relationships with psychopathic control freaks
Author's notes: Originally written for [info]regan_v as part of the [info]merry_smutmas fic exchange. Thank you to [info]snakeling for the beta job and [info]_silverfox for giving it a quick once-over.
Feedback: Yes please!

Hermione Granger had many sterling qualities. She was intelligent, resourceful, magically skilled and a very loyal friend. She was also a top-notch researcher, and her skills in digging out obscure spells and charms had saved all their lives on more than one occasion. However, there was one flaw in Hermione's character, a major drawback that had ensured it would always have been Gryffindor she ended up in, not Ravenclaw.

She was far too prone to overlooking little details that would later prove to be very important, and casting unfamiliar spells in the heat of battle without fully thinking through the consequences. And when Harry next saw her, he was going to have words with her about it.

If, that is, he ever saw her again. Right now, he wasn't at all optimistic about that happening. Mainly because he was backed up against a wall in Hogwarts with a furious Severus Snape inches away from him.

"Brainless... idiotic... stupid... meddling... incompetent children!" Snape snarled into his face. "Do you have any idea what you've done??"

Well of course he didn't. He'd been as surprised as anyone at what happened. The three of them, Ron, Hermione and him, had tracked Voldemort's fifth Horcrux, the Crystal Harp of Ravenclaw, to a cave in the Welsh mountains, and had succeeded in getting past the traps guarding it... only to find Snape already there. Insults had been exchanged, followed by hexes, and a duel had ensued. Oddly, Snape hadn't flung any truly lethal hexes at them, merely deflecting and nullifying theirs. And then Hermione had cast what she had claimed earlier was a De-Ageing Charm of some kind which would reduce older and more powerful wizards to their age and skill level, thus evening the odds in a duel. This might even have been the case. Harry would never know now. Hermione had cast it at Snape at the same time as Ron had tried a Confundus spell; Snape had thrown himself out of the way with the reflexes of one who had spent most of his adult life around volatile and unstable compounds; and both spells had hit the Horcrux harp simultaneously. Which even then might not have been the end of the world had the harp not been made of crystal, a material which even the dimmest student knew reacted very strongly to and amplified any magic with which it came into contact. The harp had started vibrating and glowing, a wind none of them could see plucking at its strings and playing a disharmonious melody that set Harry's teeth on edge. Despite this, he couldn't stop staring at the harp and the bright lights dancing along its surface, even as Ron shoved Hermione to the ground and screamed at him to get away from it. Not even as the vibrations caused the cave to shake and cracks to start appearing in the ceiling did Harry move. In the end, it was Snape throwing himself at him and knocking Harry to the floor that probably saved Harry's life. With Snape shielding him from the shower of crystal shards that had rained down around them as the harp exploded, he'd lost consciousness.

He'd come round to find himself lying in Hogwarts Entrance Hall of all places, with Snape lying on top of him. A trickle of blood from where a shard had cut him was trickling down the other wizard's cheek and Snape looked to be unconscious. Which while being infinitely preferable to Snape being awake did mean that Harry was effectively trapped underneath him.

"Um. Profess-" No. Not that title. Not ever again. Not that 'Severus' exactly sounded right either. "Snape?" He nudged Snape's shoulder. "Wake up? I'd like to get up now." He gave Snape another nudge, and this time the other wizard grunted and stirred, rolling off Harry as he rubbed his head and blinked, taking in his surroundings. And then he'd seemed to realise where he was and who he was lying next to, had leapt to his feet, grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and started screaming abuse at him. Harry was getting just a bit fed up with it.

"No, actually, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done, Snape. Why don't you tell me what the hell happened and how we ended up here, if you're so smart?"

"Because, you foolish child," Snape seethed at him, "I don't know myself, but what I do know is that Tempus Reversit is a very powerful spell that is, not to put too fine a point on it, Dark Magic of the highest order that should not be used by children who don't have the first idea what they're doing! And to cast it on a Horcrux, and one made of crystal, no less..." Snape shook his head as he let Harry go, massaging his forehead as if in pain. "And then your idiot friend Weasley goes and adds Confundus to the mix, and the thing sends us who knows when. If we're in the same century we left we'll be lucky. The only good thing to come out of this whole mess is that at least the Horcrux is destroyed, but that's no good to anyone if there's still who knows how many others still in existence and the one who's supposed to finish the Dark Lord is lost in time!" Snape was glaring furiously at him, dark eyes blazing. "You, Potter, are an idiot."

Harry bit back the urge to protest his innocence; something else Snape had said had caught his attention.

"Destroying the Horcrux is a good thing?" Harry stared at Snape, confused. Had the Confundus charm done something to his mind?

"Of course it's a good thing," said Snape, exasperated. "It'll help get rid of the Dark Lord, which means I can finally get this thing off my arm and retire peacefully to the countryside and never see any of you blasted children again. Or at least, that was the plan, until you three arrived and buggered it all up!!"

"But..." Harry scratched his head, wondering if it was perhaps his brains that the Confundus had scrambled. "Don't you want Voldemort to win?"

"What, and spend the rest of my life being looked down on by snobby purebloods, constantly having to watch for the knife in my back? I think not, Potter."

"But you killed Professor Dumbledore!" Harry cried, not willing to let Snape get off that easily.

"I didn't have a choice!" Snape snarled back. "Foolish child, you know nothing, do you hear me, nothing!"

"There's always a choice!" Harry shouted. "And thanks to your choices, Professor Dumbledore is dead!"

"Actually," came a voice from behind them, "I rather think I'm alive and well. Or at least, I'm walking and breathing which is always a good start, don't you think?"

Harry and Snape both went very still, before Snape ever so slowly turned around to see who had spoken, allowing Harry to get a look as he moved. Behind Snape was a face familiar despite the auburn hair and beard, and smoother skin than either of them were used to seeing. Dressed in blue robes with silver trim and stars all over them, a much younger Albus Dumbledore was watching them both with a curiosity that was not as reassuring as it might have been.

All three of them stared at each other for a few brief seconds, before Snape's emotions finally got the better of him. Eyes rolling up into the sockets, the one-time Potions Master and bête noire of Gryffindor House promptly fainted.



Dumbledore had reacted with his usual calmness, as if two complete strangers turning up in the school, arguing about his death and then fainting was something that happened every day. He'd conjured a stretcher for Snape, before whisking them both off to the hospital wing for a much younger and prettier Madam Pomfrey to have a look at Snape after being sworn to secrecy.

"He's weak from shock and exhaustion and blood loss," she reported back. "I have no idea what happened to him but he'd suffered extensive if shallow lacerations to his head and back."

"He got hit in the back by an exploding crystal harp," Harry had said, acutely aware of how ridiculous this must sound to anyone who hadn't witnessed it. "He'd jumped on me to get me out of the way after it got hit by hexes and, um, blew up."

Madam Pomfrey had muttered something about boys being boys and why on earth they had to go around doing such stupid things all the time. Dumbledore had merely looked at Harry, raising an eyebrow as if to inquire what on earth they'd been casting hexes at an expensive magical artefact like that for. Harry just hoped there were quite a few in existence and that Dumbledore wasn't thinking of the Ravenclaw harp, but he had a feeling this was too much to hope for.

"I see," said Dumbledore. "And will he be all right?"

"He'll be fine," said Madam Pomfrey. "It's all flesh wounds, no magical damage. I've healed them all and given him some blood replenishment potions. He'll need to rest and take it easy, but once he wakes up, he'll be back to normal."

"Great," Harry muttered.

"Excellent news," Dumbledore smiled, as Madam Pomfrey disappeared back to her office. "Well now, young Mr, er...?"

"Harry, sir. Harry Potter," said Harry, feeling increasingly more bewildered with every passing moment. He hardly ever had to introduce himself, and the few times he did, the name immediately got a reaction. Dumbledore simply nodded.

"Mr. Potter. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance." Dumbledore held out a hand, which Harry shook hesitantly, half fearing to touch blackened flesh. But no. That was yet to come. Many things were yet to come. "Are you by any chance related to Charlus Potter? You do remind me of him."

"Er... possibly," Harry replied. Truth be told, he had very little idea about any of his ancestors. For all he knew, Charlus Potter was his grandfather, or maybe he was just a Muggleborn not related to him at all.

"Well, it appears your young friend will be quite whole and healthy again in a day or two, so you have no need to fear on his account."

"I wasn't," Harry muttered. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so? And yet he risked his life trying to protect you from a serious magical explosion. Crystal artefacts are powerful things, Mr. Potter. You could have been killed or seriously injured if he had not acted as swiftly as he had."

Harry just shrugged. "He does things like that. It's because he owed my dad a life-debt, he feels he has to keep saving my life all the time."

"Indeed," Dumbledore remarked. "But a life-debt only requires one to save one's creditor or their kin once in order to be discharged. I would not expect him to keep doing so if he was not a friend of yours."

"He's not," said Harry vehemently. "He killed-" He stopped, remembering that the man Snape had killed was standing right in front of him, and decided that this bit of information was probably best kept quiet. "He's no friend of mine," Harry finished.

"Killed, Mr. Potter?" said Dumbledore. "He hardly seems old enough to have done anything of the sort. In accident or through inaction, perhaps, but I very much doubt someone of his years is capable of murder."

"But... he's in his thirties," Harry whispered. "He went to school with my dad."

"Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore kindly, "that may or may not be the case. But the man we brought in here looks barely older than you. See for yourself." He let Harry to the bed where Snape was sleeping. He did look rather different, peacefully asleep rather than sneering or scowling, with the lines in his face smoothed out... no. Not smoothed out. Not there at all. The little wrinkles near the eyes, on the neck, the lines on the back of his hands, the calluses on the fingers, they weren't there any more. The stray grey hairs were all black. The skin was still pale, but a lot healthier looking than it had been before. And Snape's face looked less sharp, less intimidating. He looked a lot less like the teacher Harry knew and far more like the boy in the Pensieve.

"The De-Ageing curse," Harry whispered. "One of the spells that hit the harp was a De-Ageing curse, Tempus Reversit. It's made him younger as well as sending us back."

"Tempus Reversit??" The kindness had gone out of Dumbledore's voice. "That, Mr. Potter, is a very powerful Dark spell." He was giving Harry a very hard look indeed. "I think you had better tell me just how you and your companion came to be here. My office, Mr. Potter. Now, if you please."



And that was how Harry came to find himself in an office that would eventually become Professor McGonagall's, explaining just how he'd ended up in the past.

"It wasn't me who cast the De-Ageing Charm," said Harry, eager to get that out of the way before anything else. "My friends and I were on a dangerous magical quest, and one of us had learnt it as a way of reducing enemies to our age and skill level so we'd be less likely to get killed. That was all, I swear, we weren't using it for Dark reasons. We were only going to use it on Dark wizards who were trying to kill us."

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "But that doesn't explain why children were on a dangerous magical quest in the first place. Even given that your companion, Mr, er..."

"Snape. Severus Snape."

"Snape." Dumbledore frowned. "I don't recognise the name. Is he Muggleborn then?"

"Half-blood," said Harry, grimacing. "His mother's a witch, his father's Muggle." He noticed the frown on Dumbledore's face and realised how that could be taken the wrong way. "Er, not that I have anything against half-bloods or Muggleborns, sir. I'm half-blood myself, and one of my friends, the one who cast the Tempus Reversit, she's Muggleborn."

"I'm relieved to hear it, Mr. Potter. However, even given that there was an adult along..."

"He wasn't part of it!" said Harry indignantly. "He was on the other side! When we finally tracked down the Horcrux harp, he was already there."

"Horcrux – Mr. Potter, the Harp of Ravenclaw is most certainly not a Horcrux. It's warded and in the care of the Department of Mysteries, any attempt to make one out of it would not go unnoticed. I assume we are talking about the Harp of Ravenclaw, because there are certainly no other crystal ones around that I know of."

Harry nodded meekly, remembering that it wasn't a Horcrux yet, not in this time. "Yeah. That's it. Except it isn't a Horcrux yet, I don't think. Not if it's still at the Department of Mysteries. What year is it, anyway?"

"It's the 10th October, 1943," said Dumbledore faintly. "Mr. Potter, am I to take it that your friend fired Tempus Reversit at the Harp of Ravenclaw, which has been made into a Horcrux by some person so lost to the Light that they'll stoop to any means to achieve immortality, in conjunction with some other hexes, and that it exploded and sent you and Mr. Snape here? And that all this has not even happened yet, but at some indeterminate time in the future?"

"Um. Yes," said Harry sheepishly. "We're from 199-"

"QUIET!!!" Dumbledore roared, banging the desk with a ferocity that made Harry jump. "Tell me nothing more, boy! I do not want to know! Good god, as if you haven't told me enough already! To know that someone will steal a valuable and priceless magical artefact like the Harp of Ravenclaw and desecrate it by turning it into a Horcrux, of all things, is bad enough. If you say anything more, who knows what you might change? Who knows what damage you've already caused?" Dumbledore rubbed his forehead. "No, for all our sakes, both you and Mr. Snape must say nothing of who you really are or where you're really from. To be completely safe, it would be best to isolate you from everyone else in the school until we found a way of returning you to your own time, but who knows when that will be? And I'm not happy about removing your memories of the future either. No, the only ethical means of proceeding is to have you both disguise yourselves as newly arrived transfer students. How old are you?"

"I just turned seventeen, sir. Just finished sixth year. I don't know how old Snape is now, but I think he can't be much older than that."

"Well, you can both start sixth year again then," said Dumbledore. "I'm not having you disrupt lessons and possibly the entire timeline by introducing knowledge from the future. You can study for NEWTs from scratch, and we shall simply have to hope that OWLs in your time aren't too different. I can't imagine they would be – the basics never change."

Harry felt his heart sink at having to do his sixth year all over again. The only bright point was that Snape would be even more furious, having probably forgotten most of the curriculum and having thought he was finished with exams for good.

"We'll tell everyone you're both transfer students from abroad," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "As fate would have it, the New Zealand wizarding community is so isolated and insular, its non-Maori inhabitants still retain the British accent their ancestors once had. They even cast charms on their Muggleborn students to make them sound like English wizards and witches. A most strange custom, but who am I to pass judgement. At any rate, it will do as a cover story. Now all we have to work out is what to tell the headmaster..."

That did startle Harry. He'd completely forgotten that it wasn't Dumbledore in this time. He wondered if Headmaster Dippet would be as understanding as Dumbledore had proved to be. But in the end, it turned out not to be Dippet he had to worry about, as a voice came from behind him.

"Tell me what, Albus?" Harry turned to see the Headmaster himself walk in, looking much as he had in Tom Riddle's memories. Harry felt his heart sink. Dippet did not look pleased. That, however, wasn't the worst thing. Entering the room behind him was the smirking figure of Tom Riddle.

It was all Harry could to do not to leap from his chair and hex the other boy there and then. One little curse and the wizarding world would be safe, Sirius would still be alive, would never have gone to prison, his parents would be alive, so many other people would still be alive, sane, whole in body and mind, everything would be all right...

Apart from the little fact that he would most likely rip time and space to pieces in the process, or end up in Azkaban for his trouble. Scowling, Harry settled for glaring at him. Riddle said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow as he remained standing unobtrusively by the door. However, the appraising, intrigued look in his eyes did not bode well. Harry had Tom Riddle's attention, and few who got themselves noticed by Tom Riddle emerged the better for it.



Snape came unwillingly back to consciousness, haunted by dreams involving annoying Gryffindors, Potter being his usual idiot self, Albus Dumbledore looking far younger than he had any right to, and for some reason, an exploding crystal harp. Still, it made a change from the usual dreams of death and destruction.

Then he opened his eyes, blinked and realised that far from being in his bed at Spinner's End, he was back at Hogwarts, in the hospital wing no less. Next to him, the far too young Albus Dumbledore from his dream was watching him with a mixture of sadness and suspicion.

"Oh dear god," Snape moaned, closing his eyes again. "I'm not dreaming."

"No, Severus," came the response. "You are not."

He knew his name. It was getting worse. "Please tell me you learnt my name because the Potter brat told you and not any other way."

"How else would I know it, Severus?" Dumbledore replied. "We have only just met."

Snape could only laugh bitterly. "Oh, if only." He tried to sit up, resolutely trying to ignore the spinning sensation in his brain that made it feel as if his head was about to fall off. "What time is it?"

"Just coming up to eight o'clock in the evening. If, however, you wish to know what year you ended up in, then it is the 10th of October, and the year is 1943."

And Dumbledore appeared to know about the time travel. Perfect. Just perfect. Snape tried to ignore the twinge in his head that was surely signifying an oncoming migraine. "So you've spoken to Potter then. What did he tell you?"

"The truth. That you both came from the 1990s after an accident with a time reversing charm and a Horcrux. I told him I did not wish to know any more." Dumbledore was looking at Snape, appearing rather intrigued. "Still, I must admit, you do interest me. Mr. Potter dislikes you intensely, the feeling appears to be mutual, he seems to think you're working for the dark wizard that created the Horcrux, and yet you save his life by endangering your own. As it is, you were quite badly hurt by pieces of crystal, and the time reversing magic has made you young again. And yet you've still got the mind of a much older wizard. Yes, you are a very interesting man, Mr. Snape."

"Professor," Snape said before he could stop himself. "I happen to be a fully qualified academic and a well-respected teacher." Well, he had been at one point anyway, but he preferred not to think about that right now, especially not with Dumbledore sitting right there. Then it clicked what Dumbledore had just said. "Wait a moment. Young again??"

Dumbledore nodded. "Oh yes." He conjured a mirror for Snape to look at himself with. "See for yourself."

Snape looked. He immediately wished he hadn't. His teenage self was looking right back at him, all pale skin and lank hair and far too many angles. And yet the eyes were different – they were the same eyes he remembered his older self having, not nearly as insecure and wary as they'd really been back then, but far colder and harder. Not only that, he could practically see the power emanating from his reflection. His magic was unaffected, it would seem. It was very disconcerting, seeing an older man's soul and magical aura on a young man's face. Particularly when the face in question was, to Snape's eyes, as unprepossessing as his teenage self.

At no point did it ever occur to Snape that some might find that combination of youth and power deeply alluring.

"Put it away," Snape rasped, roughly thrusting the mirror back at Dumbledore. "I've no wish to spend any more time than is strictly necessary staring at my teenage self in the mirror. I had enough of that when I actually was one."

"But you are one," said Dumbledore. "And until we can find a way of returning you and Mr. Potter to your own time, you won't have any other option than to live as one. Fortunately the Headmaster is aware of the situation, and we have a cover story in place for you both. You're to pose as transfer students from New Zealand whose families wanted you to have a Hogwarts education for your NEWTs. You're to start your sixth year tomorrow."

"WHAT??" Snape cried, aghast at the thought of having to study his NEWTs again. "Albus, tell me you're joking."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid not, dear boy. The only alternative was to put you both in suspended animation but we decided that wouldn't be ethical. And while we are on the subject, might I remind you to call me Professor Dumbledore in future? I don't know what sort of relationship you had with my future self, but you're going to be one of my pupils now. It would hardly be appropriate for you to call me Albus in public."

"I suppose not," Snape grimaced, quelling the disappointment that was welling up within. Now that that privilege had been revoked, he began to realise just how wrong it felt to be calling him 'sir' or Professor Dumbledore. Not after all they'd been through together. Except in this time, they hadn't, had they? All that was yet to come.

Dumbledore seemed to sense some of what Snape was feeling, as his manner softened.

"But under the circumstances, I think it would be acceptable for you to call me Albus in private."

Despite himself, Snape couldn't help but smile.

"Thank you, Professor."

"My dear boy, there is really no need to thank me. But if you insist on doing so, I shall have to ask you exactly what our relationship was. It's clear we know each other in some personal capacity, and we're hardly enemies. And what Mr. Potter had to say has intrigued me greatly. Tell me. The dark wizard who made the Horcrux – were you really working for him?"

Snape raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's. He never really had been any good at lying to him. "At one time. I even took his Mark, entirely of my own free will. I was his loyal servant for over two years."

"And?" said Dumbledore, clearly aware that there was far more to it than that. Snape continued to meet his eyes, lowering a few of his Occlumency shields so Dumbledore could see that he was telling the truth.

"And I don't know how much I can tell you, but I can tell you this. I walked away from him and did not die. I turned, and became a spy for the other side." Snape hesitated, before deciding that perhaps he could at least tell Dumbledore this. "Your side."

Dumbledore's eyes did widen at that, before he broke eye contact and turned away, clearly affected.

"That's enough," he whispered. "Tell me no more. I feel I already know too much as it is. To know that another Dark lord will rise, a maker of Horcruxes, perhaps worse than Grindelwald is, and that it will fall to me to lead the fight..."

"Not you alone," said Snape, impulsively reaching out for Dumbledore's arm. "There will be many of us with you, and the task of ending it is given to another. And..." He hesitated, before shrugging. In for a penny, in for a pound, as his father always used to say. "And I will be with you. For what it's worth."

Dumbledore stared at him, seemingly unnerved by what was by Snape standards quite an open display of affection. Then he smiled, his aura suddenly flaring as the full flow of his magic enveloped Snape and Dumbledore clapped the younger wizard's arm and pulled him into an embrace. Snape nearly collapsed under the weight of the power involved. He'd always been sensitive to other people's magical fields, and the more powerful the wizard or witch, the more the magic overwhelmed him. It wasn't just revenge and ambition that had brought him to Voldemort's side – it had been the sheer power emanating from the man. He'd not been able to resist it. Lucius Malfoy had had a similar effect, although not as marked, and it had been the most uncomfortable effects that Potter and Black's magic had had on him that had made him so vulnerable to their tormenting. Even the younger Potter could do it, which was why Snape had always made a point of fighting him. And Dumbledore...

Dumbledore's magic unfolded in benevolence had once done him in, bringing him sobbing to his knees in remorse. It was threatening to do the same again. I have missed you, Albus, I am so sorry, I had no other choice, I couldn't let Draco die, I hope you understand, please forgive me. He clung to Dumbledore, forcing his Occlumency shields into place and fighting the tears in his eyes. For a long moment they stayed like that, until Snape felt able to keep himself together. Then and only then did he back away. Dumbledore released him, still smiling, although his eyes thankfully had not yet developed their trademark twinkle of later years. The years had made him less rather than more cynical, it seemed.

"Yes, my boy, you are a most interesting young man indeed," Dumbledore remarked. "I very much look forward to teaching you over the coming year. Very much indeed."

Snape tried to suppress the ridiculous feeling of pride that threatened to overcome him, not entirely successfully. Then he noticed the sadness in Dumbledore's eyes and then he had no trouble squashing the pride.

"What?" he asked, suspicious. "Is something wrong?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, not exactly. It's just a shame you're not Gryffindor. Mr. Potter told us you were Slytherin, and while it's a worthy house, it's also got some very Dark elements lurking in it, and I really don't like the idea of exposing you to them. You seem like an intelligent and aware young man with a lot of potential and a certain sense of honour, and I worry that the less scrupulous elements might try and corrupt you."

It was all Snape could do not to burst out laughing at this. "Albus, I grew up in Slytherin. I believe you could say I've been there, done that, got the Dark Mark." He pulled back his sleeve in what would have been a dramatic gesture... if his left forearm hadn't been as bare as it had been the day he was born. Snape stared at it, shocked. It had been there for the last two years, reminding him of everything about himself he was least proud of, and even during the years when Voldemort had been gone, he'd been able to feel its traces. Not now, though. It was more than faded, it was gone, absolutely gone. Tempus Reversit didn't just de-age, it physically reversed time. The magic that had made him young again had taken the Mark with it. Snape could count himself lucky it hadn't taken his memory and magical skill as well – doubtless it was only Weasley's Confundus Charm that had prevented that.

"It's gone," he whispered, tracing the skin with a finger. "It's really gone!" He looked up at Dumbledore, scarcely able to believe it. "The Dark Lord, he marked all his followers. And mine's not there any more. I'm free. I'm really... free." He sank back on to the bed, still staring mutely at his arm. After a few moments, Dumbledore patted his shoulder.

"You have a second chance, my boy. Use it well, whether you ever make it back to your own time or not."



Of course, the second chance would have stood a far better chance if Snape had requested re-Sorting, or even if he had been put into Slytherin House in a time that wasn't the autumn of 1943. If what had damned him before hadn't been lying in wait, looking to take advantage. Tom Riddle had witnessed their arrival, watched Dumbledore find them, and immediately gone in search of the Headmaster, determined to ensure the two new arrivals did not find themselves brainwashed by the one member of staff not well-disposed towards him. And when Dumbledore had left Snape with Slughorn, no one had been more pleased than Tom Riddle when Slughorn had naturally called on one of his most trusted prefects to induct the new arrival.

No one had felt more like he'd been punched than Snape. He'd thought he'd got used to Voldemort's power. Age, cynicism, disillusionment, moral revulsion, near-constant Occlumency use; they'd all served to weaken the effect it had on him. Transferring his allegiance to Dumbledore instead had only helped matters along – being a favoured follower of another powerful wizard had made Voldemort's power irrelevant. But that Dumbledore was gone, and his memory caused more harm than healing for Snape these days.

So when a young and handsome Tom Riddle had walked in, radiating all the vibrant power of youth and an intact soul, Snape had been taken thoroughly by surprise. The Occlumency shields had held, just, but Snape hadn't escaped unscathed. He'd barely been able to fight the urge to sink to his knees and prostrate himself. As it was, he couldn't get the thought of submitting to the Dark Lord-to-be's every whim out of his head, even though it would most likely destroy him in the process.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed that Tom knew it. As soon as they'd left Slughorn's office, Tom turned to him, looking him over appreciatively.

"Well now, Severus," Tom remarked. "You've come a long way to be here, haven't you?"

Snape didn't trust himself to do anything other than nod.

"Was it intentional, or were you sent?" Tom inquired, looking deceptively kind. Snape knew far better.

"I had no real choice in the matter; my parents -", he began, eager to keep to his cover story, but Tom cut him off.

"May well not even be alive yet, much less attending Hogwarts," Tom said, irritated. He took Snape by the arm, twisting him around and backing him up against a wall. "Come now, Severus, let's not beat about the bush. You and that other young boy, you're not really from New Zealand, either of you. You're from the future, a magical accident or so your friend said."

"We're not friends," Snape managed to growl. Overwhelmed he might be, but his feelings about Harry had a way of overcoming any other emotion he might be feeling. "We just ended up here by accident."

"You detest each other. Interesting," Tom murmured, tracing Snape's cheek. "I'll have to remember that. But you're both time travellers."

"Yes," Snape hissed. Lying to the Dark Lord was never wise at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times.

"From what year?" Tom purred, an undertone of menace in his voice. Power flared around him, bearing down on Snape, willing him to give in... and Snape felt his control give.

"1996," he moaned, unable to stop himself. I'll do anything you want, just don't take the magic away, just let me be near it... Tom smiled, delighted.

"You're a Sensitarius," he breathed. "How utterly marvellous!" He leaned closer, so close that his entire body was pressing against Snape's, his magic surrounding him like a giant pair of wings, making it hard for Snape to breathe. Close enough so that Snape couldn't help but feel Tom's cock rubbing hard against his thigh. Shocked, he tried desperately to push Tom away, reaching both hands up to his chest... but he found himself only clinging on to Tom's robes, his body betraying him as his own erection strained in his trousers.

"Yes," Tom breathed. "I like Sensitarii. When they're exposed to powerful enough magic, they react in such very interesting ways." He rubbed himself up against Snape, their erections meeting. It was all Snape could do to stay on his feet.

"Tell me, Severus," Tom breathed into his ear. "What am I doing in 1996? Am I wealthy? Famous?" He paused, inhaling deeply, his eyes raking over Severus's body. "Powerful?"

"Yes," Snape gasped. "Oh yes. Everyone... knows your... oh god... name." Even if they are all too afraid to speak it.

Tom chuckled, a deep, throaty noise that made Snape shiver at what it might portend. "Excellent..." he hissed. "I think I like you, my little Sensitarius from the future. Yes, the other one is also rather intriguing... but I think you have the most potential." He backed off, letting Snape go and brushing his robes down as if nothing untoward had happened. Snape stumbled, struggling to keep his footing and gasping as Tom walked away. Unable to stop himself, he staggered after the other boy, desperate to stay near that intoxicating magic that swirled around Tom like an extra cloak, one woven of darkness and mystery and poison. Tom glanced over his shoulder, utterly impassive. "Hurry up then. And smarten yourself up too. It wouldn't do to meet the rest of Slytherin House looking like that, would it?"

He'd not changed much, Snape reflected. Only sixteen, and already Snape could see the personality of the Dark Lord that was to come. Hastily rearranging his robes and his hair, Snape hurried after him, hating the way he just fell into obeying him, hating himself for being so weak and easily overcome. Tom intoned the password, and stepped into the common room. It fell silent as Tom walked in. Snape followed, roughly suppressing any feelings of uncertainty. Slytherins could sniff out weakness like sharks could blood, and like sharks, they wouldn't hesitate to start circling.

Fortunately, years of staring down teenage Slytherins and emerging the victor stood him in good stead. Teacherly reflexes kicked in, and Snape merely swept the room with his eyes, raising an eyebrow as one blond pureblood who was almost certainly Abraxas Malfoy sneered at him for about five seconds, before faltering and looking away. Excellent start. Of course, it could just be Tom Riddle's patronage, but nevertheless Snape was prepared to capitalise on it. Tom proceeded to introduce Snape in a rather bored tone of voice as a transfer student before turning and heading for a nearby table, clearly indicating for Snape to follow. Snape did so, but stopped short as a young witch made her way over to Tom's side, smiling shyly. A young witch with pale skin, sharp features and long black hair hanging by the sides of her face like a pair of curtains, and a copy of Advanced Potions-Making poking out of her bag. Snape felt the blood drain out of his face, wanting to scream at her to get away, to run now, to talk to any wizard in the room but Tom; wanting for Tom to prey on anyone, anyone at all, but the witch now approaching him.

Eileen Prince, Slytherin, fifth-year, Captain of the Gobstones Team, skilled Potions maker and Sensitaria, was walking over to Tom Riddle and worst of all, she was looking far too happy, innocently happy. Snape held his breath. If he was reacting to Tom that way, despite all the years of experience and knowing what he really was, what effect was he having on her? He wasn't at all sure he wanted to know.

He could barely watch as Eileen approached Tom, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Hello, Tom," she said softly, her Lancashire accent lacking the hardness it had accumulated by the time Severus had been born. It marked her out as less than wealthy, not part of the sophisticated circle of privilege that the likes of the Blacks and Malfoys moved in. It marked her out as weak.

Tom barely glanced at her. "Prince. Did you want something?"

Eileen faltered at once. "Tom?" she whispered. "Did I... I mean, was it... is something wrong?"

Tom slowly turned to look at her, eyes gleaming murderously. It took all Snape had not to fling himself between them and scream at Tom to leave her alone... but that would be suicidal, even now. Had Tom not made his first kill before his fifth year was out? Had he not already killed Myrtle and the Riddles by now? Snape would prefer not to join that list.

"Nothing is wrong, Prince," Tom said coldly. "The only thing wrong is you bothering me. Do I look like I'm remotely interested in your company?"

"But... you said... I thought..." Eileen whispered, her eyes full of betrayal.

"What?" said Tom, amusement creeping into his voice. "You thought I'd be interested in a pathetic little peasant like you? Dream on, Prince. You're not a bad fuck, but I can do far better than you."

Eileen stared at him for all of a second, her face starting to crumple, before she turned and ran, desperate to get out of Slytherin before the whole House witnessed her bursting into tears. Snape gritted his teeth and stared into space, stony-faced and hidden behind his strongest Occlumency shields. He did not need to know that his mother had slept with Tom Riddle in her fifth year, presumably losing her virginity in the process, he could only hope. Rage boiled within him, and he could feel his magic clawing at him, eager for a chance to avenge her on her tormentor. But there was nothing he could do, nothing. Tom was just too powerful. Resolving to watch and wait, Snape could only sit and listen to Tom brag.



Harry meanwhile had been settling in uneventfully. Despite the initial shock of seeing Tom Riddle, things had otherwise gone as well as could be expected. Dippet had sent Tom away, although Harry strongly suspected the boy had been eavesdropping somehow, before asking lots of probing questions and making Harry put his memories in a Pensieve so he could see just how they'd arrived. More questions had been asked, and finally Dippet had decided allowing them to study at Hogwarts in the guise of transfer students from New Zealand was the only reasonable course of action, and that they should enter the houses they'd been in in their own time. He'd then gone, leaving Dumbledore to deal with everything. Dumbledore had promised to give Harry and Snape any assistance they needed to research a way home, including access to the Restricted Section, before escorting Harry to Gryffindor personally and placing him in the care of a young Minerva McGonagall. She'd not actually changed an awful lot. She was still capable of making Harry feel like he'd done something wrong just by looking at him.

That had been yesterday. He'd enquired after Snape, feeling somehow obliged to keep an eye on him, and been told he was still in the hospital wing under sedation but would probably be released later on that evening, once he'd come round. That had been enough to satisfy him, and Harry had concentrated on his schoolwork. It hadn't been difficult by any means – it wasn't that long ago that he'd been studying it the first time around after all. Socially, things had been even easier. Two red haired twin first years who reminded him of the Weasley twins, and as fate would have it turned out to be their maternal uncles Gideon and Fabian, had asked him about the scar.

"Did it hurt?" the smaller and livelier of the two who had introduced himself as Gideon asked, wide-eyed.

"And was it very dangerous?" asked Fabian with a rather ghoulish grin. While quieter, Harry had the feeling that Fabian was probably the one who came up with all the twins' more frightening ideas. Grinning, Harry decided to give them a story to remember.

"I got attacked by an evil Dark wizard," he told them, trying his best to look very serious. "It was just the two of us left after he'd killed everyone else, and it was him or me. So he flung the Killing Curse at me – you know, that Unforgivable one that kills you on the spot and that can't be countered or blocked."

Gideon and Fabian nodded, both gazing at him, their attention caught. As children of a pureblood family, they knew this sort of thing already.

"Well, he threw the curse at me, and it hit me right there. I should have been dead. I nearly was. But luckily for me, someone else had just died to protect me, and that sacrifice saved my life. It bounced right back and got him instead, and I ended up with the scar. That was years ago, and it never did heal. To this day, it's still there, and it will be for the rest of my life, as a reminder."

"Wow," both twins breathed, awestruck. Quite a few other Gryffindors nearby were rather impressed as well, and the common room broke out into quite a bit of chatter. Minerva, however, was rather less convinced.

"Mr. Potter, you don't honestly expect us to believe that, do you now?" she said, folding her arms. "No one survives the Killing Curse, and you're hardly old enough for Dark wizards to be interested in killing you, are you?"

Harry only wished that were true.

"Now stop telling tales to impressionable young bairns and tell us how you really got that scar."

"Yes," a blond Irish fifth year by the name of Seamus MacDougall called out, "I've got a twenty Sickle bet going with Madhu Patil about it. He reckons it's from a Potions accident, I reckon it's from something completely mundane like falling off your broom."

"You'd better pay him then," Harry returned. "I've only fallen off my broom once, and I wasn't even hurt." The fact that Dumbledore had levitated him to the ground was neither here nor there. However, the reminder of home and all the talk of how he got his scar was making him uncomfortable. While Minerva was angrily telling the boys off for gambling, Harry took the opportunity to slip out of the room and go for a walk.

He'd made it to the Entrance Hall and was heading for the main doors when someone emerged from the dungeons and crashed straight into him, sending them both sprawling. Harry disentangled himself from them and staggered to his feet, feeling not a little irritated at being knocked down. He noticed Slytherin colours on the uniform and did not bother with his usual politeness.

"Watch where you're going, you could have hurt someone," he snapped. The figure looked up, and Harry registered three things. First that they were a girl, and probably a bit younger than him at that. Secondly, that her face was streaked with tears which she was now furiously trying to wipe away, as if that would prevent him from seeing them. And third, that he'd seen her before and even if Hermione hadn't shown him that picture, the resemblance to Snape was too uncanny to ignore.

"You're Eileen Prince," he blurted out, without thinking. Eileen looked sharply at him, brow furrowed in a way Harry found only too familiar from years of learning Potions from her son.

"Who's asking?" she snapped. Harry blinked at the Lancashire accent. He'd had no idea Snape's mother was from up north – Snape's accent had always sounded firmly southern to him. But that was beside the point. Eileen was glaring at him rather suspiciously, and the last thing he wanted was for her to go running to Riddle or someone and tell him that the new Gryffindor student who'd been here less than a day had recognised her right away.

"Harry. My name's Harry. Harry Potter." He briefly considered making up a cover story to explain how he knew her, but in the end decided against it. Besides, he was curious as to who'd upset her. Please don't tell me Snape's got out of the hospital wing and reduced his own mother to tears. He wouldn't put it past him. "Erm. Are you all right? You look a bit upset."

Eileen rubbed furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, before losing patience and declaring, "Lacrimosa Arrestus!" The tears vanished immediately, and Eileen shook back her hair, glaring at Harry with her arms folded.

"And why are you so keen to know?" she demanded. "You could be anyone. Why should I tell you?"

Just like Snape. Harry was beginning to see where he got his prickly streak from.

"I don't know. Because you're upset and I thought you might need someone to talk to?" he said irritably. He was beginning to wish he hadn't bothered now. Honestly, he'd had quite enough of pain in the backside Slytherins to last a lifetime. He turned to walk away, but then something unexpected happened. Eileen called after him, her voice softer than it had been.

"Wait. Don't go. I'm sorry I snapped at you. It's just..." She hesitated, before apparently deciding she had nothing to lose by opening up. "I've just had enough of men pretending to be nice, being all kind and caring, when all they really want to do is use you then drop you when they've had their fun and then humiliate you in front of everyone." She was staring into space, hate in her eyes, and Harry had a strange inkling he knew who she might be talking about.

"Yes," said Harry firmly. "Yes, they're total bastards, aren't they?" Eileen did raise an eyebrow at this.

"Dated many of them, have you?" she asked, a sly grin on her face. Harry immediately regretted going for the girl bonding avenue. It really didn't work unless you were one. Or unless you were gay of course. Which Harry wasn't. Despite that surreptitious fondle with Seamus early on in sixth year – his first sixth year that is. Or the snog with Zacharias Smith in fifth year that had taken them both by surprise, mutually freaked them out and sent them fleeing. Or that night the summer before sixth year when the twins had visited for the night, stayed up with Harry and Ron, fed them with Firewhiskey and after Ron had passed out, promptly pounced on Harry for a rather enjoyable threesome, but that didn't count because he'd been drunk and it was just the twins messing around, and you could only lose your virginity with a girl, right? Besides, he'd had a girlfriend. He wasn't gay. Definitely not. He resolutely ignored the treacherous little voice at the back of his mind whispering the dread word 'bisexual'.

"No," he said uncertainly. Eileen just nodded in a way that was far too understanding for Harry's liking.

"Of course not, dear," she said, winking at him. "But I take it I'm not your type?"

"No, not really," Harry replied, before realising that hadn't been the most tactful of responses. "Um. Er. That is to say, you seem very nice and I'm sure lots of people think you're really cool and pretty..."

"They bloody well don't, and we both know it," she interrupted. "Don't mince your words, Harry, I'm no beauty as we can both see." Her voice softened and she smiled, the expression making her look, if not devastatingly attractive, friendly and kind-hearted at least. "Thank you. As Gryffindors go, you're not so bad, you know. Most of them wouldn't look twice at a Slytherin in trouble. You're different. Nicer."

"So are you," said Harry, finding himself drawn to her. "Most Slytherins would have hexed me on the spot as soon as they realised I'd seen them crying." Or flung Cruciatus at me, Harry thought grimly, remembering how Draco had reacted.

"Aye, well," said Eileen, shrugging. "There's only one person I want to hex at the moment, and it's not you. I'm saving my hexes for Tom bloody Riddle and that's a fact. Bastard." She spat on the ground. Harry felt himself warming to her even more. He'd been right.

"He is that," said Harry.

"You've only been here a day, how would you know?" Eileen asked. "Come to that, how'd you know who I was? I think there's things you're not telling me, Harry Potter." The suspicious look had returned, and while Harry no longer believed she'd betray him to her fellow Slytherins, he didn't really want to tell her the truth either.

"Let's just say Riddle's not well liked in Gryffindor and leave it at that, shall we?" he said delicately. "As for you, the Gryffindor Gobstones captain mentioned you. He's not a big fan of yours."

"Really," said Eileen, her voice decidedly neutral. "I shall be sure to tell Melinda Johnson that when I next see her, we actually get on quite well when we're not playing each other." She walked closer until she was inches away from him, staring at him sternly. "You're not really from New Zealand, are you."

Harry closed his eyes. He'd only been here a day and someone had found him out already.

"Don't tell anyone?" he said hopefully.

"Well, not if you tell me who you really are and who you're really from," said Eileen.

"Here?" said Harry, looking around nervously. There was no telling who might be listening. Riddle, for one.

"All right," said Eileen, relenting a little. "Not here. Come with me." She led him away and before long had found a nearby classroom. After checking it was empty and bereft of eavesdropping spells, she closed the door and motioned for him to sit down.

Harry still wasn't taking any chances. He cast a few Secrecy Charms before taking a seat across the aisle from where she was.

"Please promise you won't tell anyone," he said desperately. Eileen nodded.

"I promise," she said. "You saw me crying and didn't hex me. This is the least I can do. So come on then. Tell me."

"You might not believe a word of this," Harry warned her. Eileen just smiled.

"Try me."

So Harry told her. Not everything, of course, and hate Snape as he did, he could hardly tell the girl her own son would end up working for a Dark Lord, but he told her the basics. That he was from fifty three years in the future, where there was a war raging between the forces of Light, and a Dark Lord called Voldemort.

"Except everyone's too scared to say the name, so most people just say You-Know-Who," Harry explained. Eileen barely reacted.

"He must be powerful then," was all she said.

"He is. But not invulnerable. The only thing that makes him unstoppable are his Horcruxes."

Eileen's eyes did widen at that. She evidently knew what they were.

"More than one??" she whispered. "Good god, my father told me stories of Dark wizards and witches of the past who'd make Horcruxes but they only ever made one each! To make more..." She shook her head, clearly shocked. "Go on."

Harry went on to explain how he and some of his friends had been hunting the Horcruxes to destroy them, but when they'd found one, they'd met one of Voldemort's followers. After a battle, a De-Ageing Hex had hit the Horcrux along with a Confundus Charm, and it had exploded. Snape had thrown himself on to Harry to get him out of the way, and somehow the explosion had carried them both back in time.

"So we ended up here," Harry finished. "They've put us both in the Houses we were in first time around, and we're starting sixth year again. Hopefully nothing's changed that much."

"I doubt Hogwarts has changed much in all the time it's been open," said Eileen faintly. "But good god, Harry, if keeping up with the work's your main worry, your priorities need sorting out."

Harry laughed. "Oh god, don't they just? I've got to try and find a way home, Voldemort's doing god only knows what in the future, and I have to try not to screw up time by making changes. I'm clearly doomed. Bloody hell, I'm already making friends with you. That might change things on its own."

"Just by being here, you're going to do something to change things," said Eileen softly. "You can hardly not talk to anyone. But for what it's worth, I'm glad you talked to me." She reached out and took his hand. Harry looked up with a start, realising she was smiling.

"You're all right, you know, Harry Potter," Eileen told him. "And if you need my help trying to find a way home, all you need to do is ask. I'll help in any way I can. I'm an excellent researcher, you know. And I'm very good at Potions." She lowered her voice. "I'm also rather handy with the Dark Arts but don't tell anyone that." She winked at him. Harry could only laugh weakly.

"Snape's rather good with those as well," he said.

"Is he?" Eileen raised an eyebrow. "I'll have to talk to him and compare notes. That's if I can pry him away from Riddle's side. I'm very much afraid he's already latched on to your friend. I hope he keeps his wits about him. Is he the naïve and innocent type?"

"Hardly," said Harry darkly. So Snape was hanging around with Tom Riddle, was he? It figured.

"He might be all right then," said Eileen. "As long as he's not Sensitarius or anything."

"Sensitarius?" Harry asked. He'd not heard the word before.

"Means strong magic has unusual effects on you," Eileen explained. "Most purebloods have it to some degree – they can sense and react to strong magic, but mostly it's in harmless and minor ways that just gives them an indication of how strong the other person is. But with Sensitarii it's different. They react in far more extreme ways. Strong magic can bring them to their knees, and they'll do anything to be near it. Only Occlumency helps resist it. I'm one – it's how Riddle won me over. He's got really strong magic, and when he's handsome and charming and showing an interest in a witch like me, not even my Occlumency was any good." She sighed, the memory of why she'd fled Slytherin in the first place returning. "Oh god, the next few days are going to be a nightmare."

Harry felt for her. She was hardly the worst off of Tom Riddle's many victims, now or in the future, but somehow her plight bothered him more. Perhaps it was simply because he had grown to like her, and because they now shared secrets, and because she'd offered to help him despite only just having met him. Getting up, he crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms.

"It'll be all right," he promised. "I'll keep an eye out for you. If you need me, come and find me."

Eileen went very still for a second or two, before hugging him back.

"Thank you," she whispered. She pressed him tightly to her, before stepping back, hastily re-arranging her hair and clothes. For some reason, she looked rather flushed.

"You've got quite strong magic, you know," she said, sounding slightly flustered. Now it was Harry's turn to blush – he could guess what sort of effects Sensitarii experienced.

"Er... sorry."

"Oh, don't apologise," Eileen said, flashing him a smile. "It's rather nice having a friend with strong magic and a nice personality. So rare the two actually mix." She picked up her bag. "I'll see you in the library after lessons finish?"

"OK," said Harry. He watched her leave and wondered what had just happened. He'd somehow managed to befriend Snape's mum, told her where he was really from and agreed to let her help him research a way home. It was a very surreal feeling. But allies were thin on the ground and he needed all the help he could get.



Because, let's face it, he really wasn't going to get much from Snape. The following day, Snape ambushed him as breakfast finished and hauled him off into a deserted classroom.

"Potter."

"Snape," Harry growled. "What do you want?"

Snape grimaced, distaste writ large on his face. "Much as it pains me to admit this, the current circumstances have left us both with few options. Therefore I wish to propose a truce."

"A truce?"

Snape sighed wearily. "Yes, Potter, a truce. An armistice. A cessation of hostilities. I trust the concept is not entirely unfamiliar to you?"

"No, but..." Harry glared at Snape, amazed that after everything that had happened, Snape could just be standing here and demanding that they just forget it all and be friends. "You're a Death Eater! And even now, you're hanging out with Tom Riddle! Why on earth should I trust you??"

"Because I don't want to be here any more than you do!" Snape hissed. "For god's sake, Potter, I am not asking you to like me. I'm fairly certain there's no one I'd like to have less as a friend. But if we are ever to find out just what that spell of Granger's did, we will need to work together. Because I for one do not want to spend the rest of my life as Tom Riddle's pet!"

"Why not? It suited you well enough the first time round!" Harry snapped.

For a single moment, Snape's eyes bulged and Harry thought he was about to go for him. But Snape got himself back under control. Wrenching back his left sleeve, he revealed his newly-bare forearm.

"I am not the Dark Lord's creature, Potter!" Snape seethed. "I have not been the Dark Lord's creature since I turned to Dumbledore, before you were even born! Riddle has taken an interest in me, having learned that we are both out of time. I don't know how, but he was always good at finding out secrets. But this time, this time he does not have me in his service! Here at least, I am my own man." He took a deep breath, shaking his hair back. "And I intend to stay that way. Potter." The anger seemed to die out of him. "I do not care what you think of me. I am not proposing we become friends. But I know that you're as eager to return home as I am, and that if we are to get through this, we will need to work together. Well, Potter? What do you say?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say, truth be told. He didn't know whether to believe Snape's declaration of neutrality or not. But Snape was right about one thing: he did want to get home quite badly, and he was short on options. What choice did he have?

"All right," he said. "I'll work with you. But if you betray me again, believe me, I'll turn on you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Snape said, lips twisting into a mockery of a smile. With an exaggerated bow, he swept out of the door.

Part 2 | Part 3
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