Author's Note: Go get some string because we're about to tie up a lot of loose ends.

Warnings: Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…

Disclaimer: I've got some grapes. Does that count?

Severus looked at the paper in his hands, not entirely sure what to do. Harry—sweet, kind, gentle Harry—was the child of his most hated tormentor. The child responsible for Lily's death (as, without him, she would have given in and come along). The young man he felt was a kindred spirit had been messing with him. It had hurt at first, far more than he had ever expected, but he supposed it made sense that James Potter's spawn would be just as malicious as his father. The only difference was Severus hadn't been as aware of Harry's nature as he had been of James'. He had given Harry bits of truth that he had trusted with no one else—about his past and the bullies—about his need to find the Boy Who Lived and finally put his past to rest. Well, he supposed for all the lying the boy did, he had at least been truthful about one thing: Harry was certainly going to be there for their encounter.

This was what he got for trusting. He had been manipulated just as skillfully as a puppet in the hands of its master, and Severus held the thought at the back of his mind that he, of all people, should have known the signs. After all, he had done his fair share of manipulating in his younger days. It had been through manipulation that he had gained his short-lived pedestal at the top of the Dementors; through manipulation that he had tricked Rufus Scrimgeour into treating him as a consultant for crimes that he, himself was committing, becoming a double-agent of sorts. It was through manipulation that he had gotten rid of James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew and incarcerated Sirius Black. If it hadn't been for a freak stroke of luck, Black would probably still be rotting for the crimes he hadn't committed, but he had probably died on the streets shortly after escaping, so it wasn't an incredible loss.

Now though, he could get even. He could have his revenge. For everything. All he had to do was find—

The door burst open.

"Severus, I'm really sorry I didn't tell you in the first place but…" Harry trailed off, unshed tears in his distressed eyes – in Lily's eyes – and Severus hated that he almost wanted to go comfort the young man. Why did the boy have to look and act so much like his mother when he was so clearly becoming a near carbon-copy of his father? The pain tore at Severus' chest. He had wanted so badly for Harry just to be the gift that he had seemed to be—a second chance with Lily. Now, though…

Now he could see the truth behind the web of lies, and it made his throat constrict painfully. He had been played.

Again.

"Did you have fun watching me chase futilely after you?" Was he laughing with his violent lover (probably just like one of the brutes his father had hung out with) every time he and Severus separated? Green eyes widened in faux concern and shame. Why couldn't he have had James' eyes instead? Why did he have to manipulate Lily's most beautiful feature into doing such foul deeds? Why did Severus want to pretend the care was true?

He had really liked Harry.

He really liked Harry.

The realization was startling: that his heart refused to give up this pointless chase even after knowing that it was basically a prank being played from beyond the grave. Then again, even with Lily cutting ties with him completely in lieu of going for James, his feelings for her had never diminished, either. The world was a cruel place. Obsidian orbs locked fully with panicking green.

A cruel world with cruel people.

"No! No, Sev, I just didn't think—" Sev. That was what Lily had called him, too.

"That's right. You didn't think." If Harry had been thinking, maybe he would have told Severus, like Lily would have, and shown that he followed more in the footsteps of his mother than his father. Instead, they were stuck in a situation where no one would come out truly victorious: Harry would die, and Severus would be alone once more.

A cruel place, indeed.

"Severus, I was scared of how you would react; of how everyone would react. I didn't mean to hurt you—" Severus actually snorted in derision at that line. There was a time to keep playing games and a time to give them up. But, he supposed if Harry really still wanted to play…

Severus forced his gaze to soften slightly.

"You should never have feared my reaction. You should have trusted me. Like I trusted you." The words clearly hit home as Harry visibly flinched, unable to continue meeting Severus' eyes. Severus enjoyed the pained expression on his tormentor's (so much like James when those blasted eyes weren't staring into his soul) face before continuing on. "It's understandable though. I was only your professor, and if you're here then I can only assume your other friends reacted exactly how you feared." His eyes—her eyes—shot back up to meet Severus' steady stare. "Come on. You can stay with me until things calm down. No one will know where you are." Severus would make sure of that much.

The thankfulness that filled green irises and the soft, incredulously happy smile that smoothed its way onto pretty lips nearly undid Severus. Whenever Harry did that, all Severus could see was Lily. He quickly steeled his emotions for the inevitable, not allowing himself to give in and fall for this charmer's trickery. One wouldn't think that cruelty was something that could be passed down within the first five years of life.

"I… Thank you, Severus." He sounded so grateful. Severus wondered how long it would take him to drop the act once he figured out Severus' plans. It had only taken James seconds to start shouting obscenities that matched his true personality. Still, Severus stood from his place at his desk and walked Harry to his car, an almost comfortable silence permeating between them. When they reached the small, back Honda (probably something Harry had scoffed at, what with how rich his father had been), Severus opened the passenger-side door for Harry. Just before getting in, Harry turned to Severus and wrapped his arms around the older man in a tight hug. A silent, more gracious thank you. And then, just as quickly, he let go and got in the car.

Severus almost—almost hesitated before shutting the door and sealing both of their fates.

(***Iridescent***)

Tom couldn't see why Severus was so obsessed with the Potters. In his thirteen years of life, he had climbed higher in the underworld than many adults, but those were the results that being a superior being tended to bestow. In the past few months, he had joined a group called the Dementors and had, most recently, been observing the meticulous manner that Severus worked in. The man had picked random families at first, probably needing to perfect his style of killing, before moving on to more personal ones. Sending one of his childhood bullies to Askaban was one step, another being a sniveling rat who didn't mind betraying helping to pull this stunt off, and a third being the murder of a wolf of some sort. Tom paid little attention to the personal details. It was all just another way to pull himself up in the hierarchy of life.

Brown-red orbs ran over the fairly pretty woman in her mid-twenties, unable to see why the older man was so enthralled with her. The only truly stunning thing about her was her eyes, and they were bloodshot from the crying and waiting she had been doing while her husband was tortured. Though the screams had died out hours beforehand, so Tom wasn't entirely sure what was keeping the older man in the other room. Honestly, he was getting bored. He lazily moved his gun from the fearful, heartbroken, somehow defiant woman to her son, the boy's identical green orbs looking unsurely between Tom and the door his father had been dragged through from his place behind his mother. Lily immediately shifted with his weapon.

"Stay behind me, sweetheart." Her voice was surprisingly steady, and Tom had the mild urge to put his pistol between her lips before pulling the trigger. God, he was bored. His eyes shifted, without the gun this time, to see her spawn peeking out from behind her legs again. He was clearly unsure what was going on, and since the screaming had stopped, he wasn't especially inclined to figure it out. Tom's lip curled downwards ever so slightly in a disapproving frown. Stupid boy.

"Momma, where's Daddy?" Before she could give some unsure, sugar-coated response, Tom spoke.

"He's dead." Tom didn't know for sure if the man was dead yet, but he certainly would be by the next time his son saw him, so it didn't particularly matter. Wide green eyes met bored brown-red, and there was a question Tom wasn't prepared for.

"Can you bring him back?" The question was so innocent that Tom wanted to smear it off the face of the earth. His facial expression didn't change.

"No, but I can take you to him." Severus wanted James and his spawn dead and Lily alive. Green eyes widened further, if possible, and the boy moved to go towards Tom only to have his mother roughly grab hold of him and pull him back to relative safety.

"But Momma, he—"

"No, Harry. Daddy's working. You can't see him now." The boy stilled in his efforts at her words, seeming to reevaluate the situation before nodding in understanding.

"Oh." Trivial lies. She was lucky that her son would be dead before the night's end so that she wouldn't have to live with the consequences of explaining the truth. Tom scoffed. Lily glared up at him from her place on the floor, crouched over her son. Footsteps drew her attention elsewhere as Severus finally (and Tom did mean finally; he had never had much patience for these sorts of things) emerged.

"Severus—" But apparently she couldn't find it in herself to utter anything else, eyes frozen on the blood that splattered itself across Severus' usually cleanly form.

"Lily." He nodded, as though this was a casual, every-day greeting. Tom moved his gaze to his (supposedly) superior. The man had no idea just how much better Tom was than he, and Tom wasn't yet in a position to show him that, so, placating himself with the knowledge that soon there would be no question as to who was the true master here, waited for an order. Severus (infuriatingly) didn't acknowledge him, but Tom allowed no signs of his irritation to surface. "Lily, step away from the boy." Severus wanted so badly to spare her; as though she was something special. He was probably banking on Stockholm syndrome at this point. Tom vowed never to allow himself such a weakness.

"I won't." She put up a strong front, wavering only a moment later. "Sev, please. Take me. Let Harry go. He hasn't done anything wrong; he's—" Severus interrupted her.

"Now, Lily. His spawn will not taint this earth any longer than it already has." The venom in Severus' voice was a disgusting display of emotion in front of the enemy. The red-headed woman held her son closer than ever, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Not Harry. Please, no. Take me; kill me instead —" She stumbled over her words, wanting nothing more than to protect her son, and like some sort of magic answered her prayers, sirens could be heard in the distance. Time was up. Severus growled as he realized he had to rush if he wanted to salvage the situation.

"This is my last warning —" Lily cut Severus off this time, growing both bolder in her words and more feeble in her desperation to save her only child. Tom briefly wondered if his mother's love for him had been anywhere near that strong before waving the notion away.

"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything…" Tom pulled the trigger, and her body slumped to the floor. As the child began to scream, Severus spun towards him, fury alight in his eyes and unflatteringly twisting his features. Tom cocked an unamused brow.

"You said it was her last warning." If Severus was going to further himself, he needed people to know that he was exactly as much bite as he was bark. Making empty threats wouldn't do that. The man should be thanking Tom for his generosity in fixing a blunder not his own. The sirens' wails were getting much too close, and Tom ignored his partner in crime in favor of raising his pistol to finish the job. As he moved to pull the trigger, Severus pushed him, and before he knew it the bullet had veered off course, instead hitting something behind the crying child and his mother's corpse and ricocheting back to Tom.

"You insolent—" but the insult wasn't worth the pain of speaking. Severus wanted to let the boy live? To do the job himself? Fine. Tom was done with this job, and if the imbecile wanted to get caught, he could do it alone. Looking one last time at the carnage that had been more a waste of time than anything else and taking less than a moment to note the scared, near-broken look in tear-filled, forest green orbs, Tom fled the scene. Later, he would read about how Severus had marked the young man for a later target, but it would only be a passing recognition. Other than the scar from his own bullet to remember the night by, it failed to stand out amongst his blood spattered climb to the top.

He remembered it now though. Looking into dark green, defiant eyes, Tom was vividly reminded of Harry's mother. When he had first found out that Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, he had felt his possessiveness sink its teeth in deeper than he had ever thought possible, urged on with the knowledge that he had been the one to truly set Harry's life down the course that made him who he was today. Severus would never have gone through with harming his high-school sweetheart. If not for Tom, Lily would probably still be alive, and Harry would be nothing like the man he was today. No matter how he looked at it, Harry James Potter was a byproduct of his actions; created by him and for him.

There had never been any intention of telling Harry this, as the younger man would no doubt be appalled at getting into a relationship with the man who murdered his mother, but in hindsight he supposed this confrontation was unavoidable. And the look in Harry's eyes – rebellious, fierce, and unwilling to show just how hurt he clearly was by Tom's betrayal – as he glared up from his place on the ground was nothing short of delectable.

Betrayal being a very loose term here, as Tom hadn't known Harry at the time. It had just been another order to follow; just a random life to take. Not that Tom regretted what he had done. He would do it again in an instant, as long as it would end him up where he was now.

"Riddle." Harry's voice didn't crack, but it wavered, pain buried deep beneath the anger and shame. Severus glanced between them, and the humor that the two man who killed his parents were the ones vying for his attention didn't escape Tom's notice.

"You two know each other?" 'Outside of your initial meeting' went unsaid, and Tom finally found himself in the position of ignoring Severus' inquiry instead of the other way around. Harry held no such inhibitions.

"Apparently not." Tom's eyes never strayed from Harry, and he couldn't stop the dark smirk from taking his lips. Harry was still under the impression that he could estrange himself from Tom, one way or another. He didn't realize that not even death would stand in the way of Tom getting what he wanted.

(***Iridescent***)

Harry increased his struggles, rubbing his ankles painfully against one another in the hopes that the ropes would loosen. If he could only get his feet free…

Crimson-chocolate orbs stared at him, unreadable except for the possessive glint. Snape clearly didn't plan on letting Harry leave here alive, so he wasn't exactly sure what part of him Riddle still wanted to possess, but, when it came down to it, he didn't really think he wanted to know, either. The gleeful, malicious, I-got-exactly-what-I-want smirk was enough to send chills up Harry's spine on a good day, but here? Harry moved his legs more harshly, hoping that if he broke skin, the blood would make his bindings more slippery (and hopefully he would escape before the blood soaked into the ropes and made them swell even tighter). He had to distract them. If he was going down, he at least wanted to put up a fight. Keep them talking. Just keep them talking.

"You know, you'd think one of the first things to come up when you found out is that fact that you helped kill my parents." The smirk slipped from Riddle's lips as his expression turned almost contemplative. After a moment, he simply shrugged, apparently unconcerned with the question any longer.

"It slipped my mind." Harry paused his struggling for only a millisecond, hating that he could tell his ex-lover (though the other man would probably argue that point) was telling the truth. He had killed so many people and done so many horrible things that the murder of Harry's parents probably hadn't stuck out as anything special. And with things going how he wanted them to, Harry doubted Riddle had been in any rush to confess once he had remembered. Fucking sociopath.

"How, exactly, do you two know each other?" Snape's eyes were narrowed; he didn't like being ignored here any more than he did in the classroom. Riddle's eyes never moved from Harry, and for half a moment, he wished they had defined their relationship before this mess so that he could at least lie properly. Green eyes widened, and Harry had to stop a desperate grin from splitting his face.

He could always tell the truth.

"We fucked." Riddle's eyes narrowed at the phrasing, probably trying to unravel his intentions, and Harry bared his teeth in a sardonic grin, hoping that just this once the mafia leader wouldn't step in and screw things up. "Right after I left our date with you, actually." He could feel the rope on his heel on his left foot and thanked whatever God was out there that neither man thought his escape possible at this point.

Then again, Riddle always had two guns on him as well.

"You're his lover?" The words were quiet, and Harry moved his eyes between the arrogant, challenging form of Riddle and the tense, disbelieving form of Snape before he spoke again. Getting them mad at each other wouldn't get Harry anywhere.

"Lover is an intense word. We were just friends with benefits. Not even friends, really. And the benefits weren't all that great, either, but hey. When your only other suitor is a chemistry professor, you do what you have to." Obsidian orbs darkened—if possible—while snapping to glare at Harry, and Riddle's eyes flashed before becoming unreadable again. Harry made a show of scooting backwards, until he was pressed against the wall, and Snape, just as he hoped, moved along with Harry.

The knife wasn't part of the plan, however, and Harry was still trying to recalculate when Riddle stepped in, grabbing Snape's wrist in a vice grip that Harry could see was painful.

"You may get the satisfaction of choosing when he dies, but I'm the only one who will mark him." Riddle's voice was firm, and Harry could see the balance shifting in Snape's mind over whether or not he could take on the younger, stronger, more maliciously sociopathic man. Whether or not he wanted to. Seconds passed before Snape's grip loosened, and Riddle took the knife from him, twirling it in his fingers while turning his full attention back to Harry.

The youngest male cursed inwardly. Snape he could rile up. Snape he could lead into a trap. Snape he could take on and very possibly win against, even with his hands tied as they were. Riddle though? Pulling anything off now was going to depend ten percent on skill, twenty percent on quick wit, and seventy percent on pure luck. Riddle moved closer, looking for all the world like a predator whose prey already had venom running through its veins. As soon as Riddle was close enough, Harry yanked one leg in and straightened the other as quickly and harshly as he could, losing his right shoe in the process but freeing his feet and, with the wall as his anchor, quickly pushing himself up. Without taking time to think about the danger or the pain or anything else, Harry kicked the knife out of Riddle still loose grasp, his foot screaming at him as soon as the fairly deep gash connected harshly with the floor. He used the momentum from his landing to roundhouse kick Riddle in the chest, grinning lightly in satisfaction when he saw the man take two steps back from the force of the blow.

He didn't let either the wound or his satisfaction slow him though, knowing his situation would only get worse if he so much as hesitated, and made a run for the exit. Or what he assumed was the exit. Riddle didn't seem to feel like his plan was all that noteworthy though, as he simply grabbed Harry by the ropes that still tied his upper half with damnably long, damnably strong arms and literally tossed Harry to the left of where he had just escaped from. Harry gritted his teeth at both the pain of hitting the floor with that much force and no ability to brace himself and the sharp sting of his arm having hit something sharp on impact. If green eyes hadn't been clenched shut, they would have widened in surprise.

The knife.

Was Riddle, the man who planned every detail twelve moves ahead on both sides, really getting so careless that—

Was Riddle helping him? They (along with most everyone else) would agree that Tom Riddle was no one's knight in shining armor, but was he purposefully giving Harry the tools he needed to escape himself? It was the only logical conclusion with Riddle's obsessive nature, but why? What was the point of exposing Harry, handing him to the man that wanted him dead, and then helping him escape? Unless he just wanted to kill Harry on his own time.

Deciding that he would deal with whatever scheme that Riddle cooked up only when he had to (not that he had much choice), Harry fumbled around behind him until he could feel the handle of the knife and began to frantically cut through the rope. Well, as frantically as he could without letting them know what was going on. Snape stepped between Harry and Riddle, snarl sitting angrily on his lips and brow furrowed into a scowl.

"I was kind enough to allow you to see the end of what you helped start all those years ago, but I won't allow you to ruin all of my hard work." Snape gave Riddle, who was half a head taller, a disgusted once-over before turning away. "You're still the same sloppy, impulsive child as before." Harry was only halfway through the rope, if that, but he stopped caring about whether he was noticed the second an almost suffocatingly furious looked settled in crimson-chocolate eyes. Suddenly, Harry could see why people didn't insult the man. He could see just how lenient Riddle had always been with him.

He could see the tie, before loosely hanging around Riddle's neck, constricting Snape's airways as the younger man pulled upwards until Snape's ear was level with his mouth.

"I was never sloppy." And beneath the rage, Harry could hear the pleasure that Riddle got from causing the usually stoic man to feel near tangible fear; from harming another human being and wielding the powers of life and death in his hands. Snape clawed at the cloth around his throat, landing blows on Riddle wherever he could, but it was no use. Then, without warning, Riddle just let go, easily swinging the tie around so that it was hanging off of either side of his neck once more. "Your place has always been at my feet, Severus. Don't forget that."

The words were emphasized by the way the older man was panting on his knees, one hand steadying himself on the ground while the other lightly massaged tender throat muscles. It almost looked as if Snape was kneeling. Bowing. Prostrating himself as a means of asking for forgiveness. Snape appeared to lose his willingness to fight a useless battle as he all but ignored the statement and, once he had his breath, stood and turned towards Harry. The indignant look in his eyes didn't bode well for Harry.

The green eyed boy scrambled to his feet, trying his damnedest not to let the knife slip from his sweaty palms. He couldn't let this situation get the best of him. Getting into stupid situations was a part of Harry's daily life. Getting out of them was just the same. Just because Tom Fucking Riddle decided to walk into the picture didn't mean that Harry could lose his cool. With a determined grimace, Harry squared his shoulders and forced all signs of apprehension out of his body. He wouldn't show weakness. Not to them.

"Looks like there's a reason he's a Lord and you're a Prince. I thought you were prouder than that, Snivellus." Harry had ammunition. He just had to keep his cool long enough to use it. Whatever crimson orbs currently thought of his likelihood of escaping be damned.

Snape was the one who orchestrated his parents' murder. Who had Remus killed. Who sent Sirius to Askaban. Harry just had to scrape up enough rage to focus it. The knife nicked his skin as he got through the rope, and Harry made sure not to move, lest in come unraveled at an unseemly time. Snape sneered.

"A Lord?" Oh, right. He didn't know the reference. "Is that one of your sick fantasies? To be dominated?" Snape pulled a gun from his waist, making Harry wonder if the man was so much of a sadist that he had started with the fucking knife for fun or if it was purely out of anger. "Because I can do that." And then Harry wasn't incredibly sure of what happened. He saw Snape moving almost in slow motion and quickly dove down into a roll on the ground, feeling the bullet rip into his shoulder in the process (maybe he was lucky and it had gone through, but he doubted it) before forcing himself to his feet and freeing himself from the ropes.

The knife slashed with a precision Harry had learned when he was far, far younger, cutting Snape's thumb almost clean off and forcing him to drop his weapon. Then his knife was maneuvered so the blade was turned to the side, and Harry punched the older man in the face as hard as he could. Snape took bumbling steps backwards, stopping only when he hit the wall, and Harry was honestly surprised the man was still standing. Harry moved forward before the chemistry professor had a chance to move. The older man may have been more adept at scheming, but he had been out of the game for far too long. In a physical fight, he didn't stand a chance. Blood trickled down from the cut above Snape's eyebrow, blinding onyx orbs slightly, and Harry pressed the tip of the blade against Snape's abdomen, knowing that it was now or never.

If he let Snape get away, he wouldn't be able to focus all of his energies on Riddle. If he killed Snape, it would be his first real murder; not a kill to help someone else but to protect his own arse, like he had originally wanted to with Vernon. Panicked black irises locked with steady green, and Harry felt his resolve waver. Could he really kill for no one but himself?

The decision was taken out of his hands as a strong body pressed itself against his backside and large, strong hands covered Harry's own. Onyx orbs glanced up and widened in relief before Harry felt the hands propel his own forward, pushing the blade deep into soft flesh.

A husky, throaty groan sounded near Harry's ear.

What the fuck?