He was afraid. For a long time, that was all he knew. He had lost all concept of time. He just was. He existed, and so did the fear.

Then he became aware of the darkness. All around him was darkness, and he was cold, so cold. He wanted to hug his knees to himself, but he couldn’t find his body. He tried to reach out to feel the ground around him, but he couldn’t tell if he was moving his arm or not. It was like his senses had been turned off. Was he on grass or concrete, carpet or rock? He found himself wishing that whatever had caused him to not be able to move or touch would cut off all feeling to his body, for the cold chilled him to his bones. He shivered. He could feel that too.

At least he didn’t feel like crying. Perhaps he had been through so much lately that his tears had dried up. That could happen, right? He was certain there was only so much a person could take before numbness set in.

Was that why his brain was fuzzy? Was it numb?

No, he decided after considering it for far too long. (Was it only a minute, or had it been days?) His brain was like his body: it worked, but not all the way. Whatever had caused the darkness was causing a sort of darkness to his mind as well.

Knowing that didn’t stop him from trying to reason his way out of wherever he found himself. But how could he do that when he didn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten here? He thought that maybe Voldemort had done something to him. The dark wizard’s face kept creeping up in his mind, deepening the chill in his body whenever it did. He had vague memories of pain and torture and tears and being so very afraid. Snape’s face was there too, but that helped him to feel a little less cold, a little bit more safe, so he tried to pull up Snape’s face as often as possible. But that didn’t make sense… Didn’t he hate Snape? No, wait. He didn’t. Not anymore. Or did he only dream that he didn’t hate him anymore? He didn’t know. The details were as fuzzy as his brain.

He felt a wave of hopelessness fall over him, mingling with the fear to form a depressing stew of emotions. How could he figure out how to get away if he didn’t know where he was in the first place? Was he doomed to be here forever? He didn’t like being cold or numb or fuzzy. And he didn’t like the darkness. He wasn’t afraid of the dark - living for so many years in the cupboard under the stairs had cured him of that - but he was afraid of what the darkness might be hiding in this strange place that he couldn’t touch. He had only had to worry about spiders in his cupboard, but he’d learned in recent years that far more terrifying things than spiders existed, many of which liked to roam in the dark.

He felt a shift in the air around him, which only served to bring to mind nightmarish images of giant Acromantulas and soul-sucking Dementors. It occurred to him that he was even more afraid now, but his heart wasn’t racing. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat at all. Was he dead? Why did he feel both relief and anguish at the thought? But no. If he was dead, then why did he still feel cold? Is that what happens when you die? Cold and darkness for eternity?

He didn’t want to be dead. Maybe…maybe a few tears would be okay after all. If he could even cry without a body.

“You aren’t dead, Harry,” a voice startled him from out of the darkness. He knew that voice. It was his voice. It was also the voice from a dream…

Light flooded his vision. He had the urge to close his eyes, but he had no eyes. Wait. How could he see without eyes? Before he could ponder that question or use his non-eyes to see where he was, his surroundings changed. Swirling lights, changing colors, like he was traveling by Portkey to an unknown destination. It stopped on a rocky meadow. Harry could smell the ocean breeze and looked up to see a cottage…

“Kneader’s,” he whispered. He widened his eyes. His mouth…his eyes…his heart! He could feel his body! He reached a hand up to feel his face, to reassure himself that he still had one, and that it was attached to the same body he’d had before. He held out his hands in front of his face and turned them over. They certainly looked the same. He let out a long breath. Thank Merlin.

“Hello, Harry,” said the voice again, and Harry turned to see a carbon copy of himself standing nearby. Other Harry. Himself from his dreams. His Inner Eye?

“My brain isn’t fuzzy anymore,” Harry said by way of greeting. “Did you do that?”

Other Harry nodded. “I’m afraid it is only temporary. You are under a powerful potion. I can only negate its effects on your mind for a short while.”

“’S all right,” he murmured, looking around. “So we’re still inside my mind. Which makes sense. I mean, I doubt you could even appear to me out in the real world.”

“No,” Other Harry confirmed. “I could not. I am part of yourself. Only if I were a separate entity could I appear to you in such a way.”

Harry nodded absently as he took in the serene atmosphere of Kneader’s Point. The theory surrounding his Inner Eye would be fascinating to him someday, but today he wanted answers on a more pressing topic. “So I’m under the potion, then. Voldemort’s sleeping potion.” It occurred to him that he didn’t even know what the potion was called. Or if it even had a name. Snape had said he developed it specifically for Harry…so maybe it didn’t even have a name. It was much easier to puzzle over its lack of a name than to wonder if he would ever wake up from its effects.

“Yes,” Other Harry answered him. “Voldemort had quite a bit more planned for his evening of celebration. He was not ready to cut his ceremony short, but you caused him to fear you. That fear overrode his desire for more pomp and circumstance.”

“I remember,” Harry said quietly. It all came back to him. He’d been tied up. Wormtail had taken blood from him, though that part hadn’t been as awful as Harry had imagined. The man had barely taken any blood in comparison to the amount taken by the blood collectors during his first days of captivity. What had been awful was the helplessness of not being able to move, then seeing his blood used in Voldemort’s ceremony, and of seeing Voldemort gain strength before his eyes. And then Snape…

He took a few quick shallow breaths at the memory of Snape’s still body, of his blue lips. “He’s alive. Snape. Malfoy said so. Please tell me he wasn’t lying.”

“Severus Snape is alive.”

Harry closed his eyes, and tension eased from his shoulders. “Good. That’s good.”

He’d thought Snape was dead. He couldn’t erase the memory of grief that he’d felt in that moment. It had been like Sirius all over again.

“Although technically, Malfoy was lying,” Other Harry cocked his head to the side as if weighing the truth.

Harry’s eyes shot open. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying not to panic.

“Snape ingested a poison,” his dream self explained. “A slow-acting poison. He would have known that the trauma of torture would speed up the process, killing him before Voldemort would have the chance.”

“Then…” he licked his dry lips, “he did die?” But he was alive now. He focused his thoughts on that, repeating it like a mantra. He didn’t know how, but this awful tale had a good ending. Well. A good ending so far.

“Yes,” Other Harry said but continued reassuringly, “The poison is also slow in death. As long as he was administered the antidote within a few hours of his death - which he was - his chance of survival was good.”

“Chance?” he squeaked. “You mean he took a poison knowing there was a chance he wouldn’t survive?”

Other Harry looked at him gravely. “You know that Professor Snape is no stranger to risk.”

Harry cleared his throat. Yes, he knew that. But he didn’t like it. He decided that maybe it was time to talk about something else. He was getting worked up, and he also didn’t know for how long his mind would be clear. “So am I in the basement? The one you showed me before?”

Other Harry nodded, his eyes sad.

He shivered, feeling violated at the thought that he was unconscious and defenseless while Death Eaters had free access to his body. He was nothing more than an inanimate blood-making factory. “Just what I always wanted,” he said with forced lightness, “to be chained up in a basement like Frankenstein’s monster.” He glanced around at the beautiful day, smelling the salt in the fresh air. He felt fortunate to be seeing this instead of the basement.

“You felt safe here,” said Other Harry as he also took in the scenery. “You found it peaceful. I thought you might appreciate that right now.”

Yes, Harry thought to himself. He wasn’t certain when was the last time he’d felt safe, but he definitely found this place peaceful. “Thanks,” he said and sat down on a rock-free patch of grass. “Just tell me the rest then. Rip the band-aid off. You said my capture would be the turning point of the war. Did I do what I was supposed to do? Or have we lost?”

Other Harry took a seat a short distance away. “You heeded my words,” he said, a small satisfied smile grazing his lips. “You trusted the man you thought you’d never be able to trust, even when evidence was before you to the contrary. Even when all hope was lost.”

Harry felt a small stirring of pride. First Snape had implied a well done, and now his Inner Eye seemed to be doing the same. It meant something, coming from both of them, especially considering how little he’d been used to being praised growing up with the Dursleys.

“This ordeal is not over for Professor Snape,” his other self said, “but your part is done. If you wake, you will know that you were successful.”

Harry’s heart sank. If he woke. That was answer enough. He might have done his part, but it could still go either way. Voldemort might still be successful, might still attack Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, might still kill all of his friends…

He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “You said…um, you said before that Voldemort’s plan is flawed. That he would get stronger, but that I had to let him get stronger if I was to have any hope of winning against him.”

Other Harry nodded silently. He seemed to be letting Harry figure things out on his own.

“Did you know that I would get stronger too?”

Other Harry nodded again.

“Is that the big flaw in his plan? That the two of us, we’re connected, and he can’t get stronger without sharing some of that with me? Without making me strong enough to maybe beat him someday?”

“Yes,” confirmed Other Harry quietly. “He underestimates you, and he misjudges the nature of your connection. He can gain power from you through physical means, but he cannot to do so through your mind. You control the flow of power that occurs there,” he pointed at Harry’s scar. Or at his head.

Same difference, Harry figured. That scar symbolized the mental connection that he shared with Voldemort. He may never fully understand the nature of that connection or why Voldemort’s failed killing curse had had such an effect, but maybe he could learn how to use it to his benefit. Or could he?

“But I can’t control it,” he said. His shoulders sagged. “He’s sent me false visions, and even true ones when he wanted to manipulate me. He forced his way into my mind when he wanted to give me a message. Even when I Legilimized him, I did so by accident. And I couldn’t control what I saw.”

“He forced your mind into his,” corrected Other Harry.

“Huh?”

“It is an important distinction. He cannot bear to be in your mind, Harry. He can perhaps do so for short bursts, long enough to draw your mind away and into his, but your mind is protected by your mother’s love. It wears on him to stay for any length of time. And when you yourself feel love, he finds your mind unbearable to so much as touch. That is why he gives you visions and messages - making his mind the playing field - rather than invading your mind to view your vision or thoughts.”

“But he Legilimized me,” Harry protested. “And he was good at it!”

“He has gained power. As with many who gain sudden, unearned power, he believed it would make him invincible. And he did manage to overpower you for a time. But, Harry, your mind is naturally the stronger of the two, and love only makes it more so. By Legilimizing you, he merely gave you unfettered access to his mind. It allowed you to draw on his power and to make it your own. He did not foresee that. He also still refuses to recognize that no power that he can possibly gain can defeat the raw power of love.”

“My mum’s love,” Harry whispered.

Other Harry nodded. “Hers. And your own.”

“I felt really powerful after the ceremony,” he said slowly, then paused to consider his words. Snape didn’t know the answers to his questions about his newfound powers, but his Inner Eye seemed to know a lot, which made him want to ask as many of his questions as possible. “But I didn’t feel powerful leading up to it. Does it come and go? Do I get to keep some of it? You know, for forever?”

Other Harry smiled. “You cannot feel it because it is currently unstable. It is changing you, Harry, just as it changed Voldemort.”

Harry widened his eyes in alarm. “It’s going to make me crazy?”

“No,” Other Harry smiled in amusement. “Voldemort’s madness is borne of paranoia, fear, and the self-destruction that comes of craving endless power. His increased powers are made dangerous by his madness, but they are not the cause.”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief.

“Your powers are in flux,” he clarified, “made less noticeable by the fact that you’ve siphoned off Voldemort’s powers little by little into yourself. You are not gaining new powers, per se; your magical core is simply growing stronger. Becoming more attuned to the magic around you and to the magic within you.”

“Then I won’t lose it?” Harry sat with lips parted as he considered the implications. It was frightening, considering that he might have access to magic that he’d only ever dreamed about. But he was still worried that he wouldn’t be able to control it, that he might accidentally hurt someone with it.

“Theoretically, you could,” Other Harry answered. “Voldemort is losing his, after all. But as there is no one with a direct pathway into your mind who could draw it away from you - no one who can stand to be in your mind for any length of time, that is - I doubt you ever will.”

“Wait. Hold up. Voldemort’s losing his powers?” That seemed a pretty important detail to just gloss over like that.

Other Harry cocked his head, as if considering his words. “Think of the power like a charge…or imagine it as if it were water. His magical core received an influx of water, so to speak, which caused it to grow stronger and to deepen its roots. He receives more strengthening water every time he imbibes the potion made with your blood. Now, every time you manage to latch onto his core and direct some of that water to flow into your own magical core, it feeds yours and dries up his own. The stronger your roots become, the more his will atrophy and fade to normal proportions.”

“Wow,” said Harry, wide-eyed and appreciative of the analogy. His Inner Eye could give Professor Snape a few lessons on making concepts easier to understand in Potions class. “That’s wicked!”

Other Harry’s lips quirked up. “Yes. It is wicked.”

“You were right,” Harry shook his head, amazed. “His plan is flawed. Really, really flawed. He’s going to all this trouble to get stronger, when really all it will do is make me stronger.”

“So you see why you had to be captured,” Other Harry said softly, regret in his eyes.

Harry nodded, thinking. “The more of my blood he uses in his potion, the more powerful he gets. But the more powerful he gets, the more powerful I can get and can eventually defeat him. Not to mention,” he looked up, “if I hadn’t been captured, I wouldn’t have seen all this firsthand.”

Other Harry smiled sadly. “I would not have wanted this for you, Harry, if there had been any other way.”

“I know.” Harry shrugged heavily. Now that he understood what was meant by Other Harry’s warnings, he did know. “I understand now. I hate what’s happened, and I’m not all that sure I want whatever this power will mean for me, but if it helps me get rid of Voldemort for good, it will have been worth it. Right?” He looked to his dream self for assurance.

“Yes, Harry,” Other Harry assured softly. “It will have been worth it.”

Harry nodded. “If I wake up…” He swallowed at the thought and then thought of another concern. “But how can I take his powers away if I get far away from him? I could only do it when I was connected to his mind through Legilimency.”

“Only then?”

“Yeah…” Harry said, trying to think of any other time. “Well. There was that time when he was testing Snape’s ring. I saw through his eyes for a couple seconds. Like a vision, only I was right there. I’m sure it must have happened then too, because that’s the first time I could see magic.” He watched his other self for clues as to whether he was right when he guessed, “Maybe I have access to his magical core whenever I have a vision? Or…well, those are usually accidental. How do I make sure I drain his powers on purpose? Wouldn’t that require some sort of Legilimency?” He widened his eyes, alarmed. “But I can’t do that! Snape said I could destroy my mind if I tried to Legilimize Voldemort from afar. He said I could turn into a vegetable!”

“You are far from an average wizard,” Other Harry pointed out calmly. “Especially now. Even Snape might reconsider his stance in light of your stronger magical core.”

Harry shook his head to try to clear it. Too many thoughts were warring for attention in his mind.

“Rely on Professor Snape,” offered Other Harry. “He will help you. He has a part to play after this ordeal is done. You will need guidance. That prophecy - Snape’s prophecy - was not a string of pretty, meaningless words. Severus Snape is uniquely qualified to guide you in preparing to face Voldemort. Not only for a future day when you will face Voldemort for the last time, but for right now, for today. You must learn to harness your mind’s talents for Occlumency and Legilimency if you hope to be able to control that connection and thereby siphon more of Voldemort’s powers away from him.”

Harry cleared his throat, overwhelmed by the idea of trying to learn how to Legilimize Voldemort, and from a distance too. He hadn’t even studied Legilimency at all yet! Sure, he’d done it by accident a couple times, but that was different. This…this was like knowing he needed to figure out how to run an Olympic foot race before he’d even learned how to crawl.

He sighed. “I did my best to let things happen on my own terms. I tried to stay brave, not let them win. I trusted Snape. And he got away. If he got away, he’s coming for me. I know he is. Any chance you’ll tell me his chances of success? You must think it’s likely, seeing as how you’re telling me all this.”

Other Harry smiled but he shook his head. “I have no certain vision beyond this moment. What happens now - what decisions Severus Snape makes in the next hours or days - will determine the outcome of this moment in history. Until then, I can only guide you toward what I fervently hope will be your future.”

Harry bit his lip and plucked a long bit of grass from the ground. He rolled it between his fingers for a long minute. “Did you know how much I would come to trust Snape for real?”

Other Harry’s eyes danced with something like delight. “I saw that it could happen. I hoped that it would happen. An honest and deep trust was your best chance to weather the storms that Voldemort threw your way.”

“Did you know about- about my mum? About Snape and…” Harry’s voice trailed off.

“I only know what is revealed to me. That was not revealed to me,” he answered gently.

Harry sighed. If- when he got out of here, he’d have an awful lot to think about. “Well, all I can say is a fat lot of good that trust is doing me right now,” he said morosely, giving in to his waning emotions. He took in the beautiful day and felt betrayed by his own mind, knowing that the scenery wasn’t real. He was as good as dead, comatose at the whim of Voldemort and Death Eaters, waiting for a rescue that may or may not ever come. No, he tried to tell himself. It would come. Snape had a plan. He trusted Snape, and Snape had a plan to rescue him. Maybe. At the very least, he was alive and he would soon come up with a plan.

“It was not for you the good was intended,” Other Harry interrupted his thoughts.

“What?” Harry frowned and studied his other self. “I don’t understand. You said I needed to trust him to get me out of here. That’s what everything was about.”

“Yes,” nodded Other Harry. “But more so than your need to trust, was his need to know your trust.”

Harry pursed his lips. Must his Inner Eye play around with words and meanings? “Well, he was always going to come after me, right? Even if he didn’t really care about me, it’s his job. And he, um…he said he’s been protecting me for my mum’s sake. Whether I trusted him or not, he would have come on his own, or Dumbledore would have sent him to get me. I just had to trust that and not do anything stupid in the meantime. I figured that was the main reason you wanted me to trust him. So I wouldn’t mess things up with my own harebrained schemes. Wasn’t it?”

Other Harry was silent for long enough that Harry bit his lip and asked, “He would have come for me either way…wouldn’t he?”

“Things are rarely that simple,” his dream self said softly. “Would he have come for you? Yes. Would he have succeeded?” He left that question hanging for long enough that Harry inferred that the answer was no. “Severus Snape has led a lonely life,” Other Harry went on. “He has had few bright spots in that life, few occasions to feel love, meaning, acceptance, forgiveness…or trust.”

Harry looked away. He’d sort of figured that about the man, but hearing it laid out like that made him feel bad, made him see another side to the bully Snape had been for most of the time they’d known each other. Not that being unloved or bullied himself excused his past actions. The man had been pretty awful for most of the time Harry had known him. A lonely life was no excuse for some of the things he had done to Harry and many other students. But still…it put the man’s general demeanor in a light that Harry could sympathize with.

“He has been approaching a crossroads for quite some time,” Other Harry revealed.

“A crossroads?” Harry sucked in a sharp breath at what that could mean. “Like a crossroads of loyalty? You mean, he was thinking about going back to Voldemort?” He shook his head in denial and felt a pain in his heart at the thought. He’d worked so hard to convince himself to trust Snape. Surely the man’s trustworthiness hadn’t been so flimsy all along…

“No,” Other Harry held up a hand to reassure him. “He made up his mind to leave Voldemort long ago. He has never faltered in that choice. In every future path I have seen, his aversion to Voldemort and his ways remains firm.”

Harry dropped his shoulders in relief, a weight lifting off of his chest. “What then? What do you mean by a crossroads?”

“One could say…he was losing faith.”

“Faith?” He frowned in confusion.

“He has protected you, Harry. For as long as you have been at Hogwarts, he has protected you as relentlessly as he has hated you. Protection for the sake of your mother, hatred for the sake of your father. Those motivations will inspire a man for only so long, particularly when that which gives him his primary sense of purpose is ripped out from underneath him.”

“You mean him not being able to spy anymore,” he guessed.

Other Harry nodded gravely. “He could no longer fulfill that purpose. He has little else in his life to inspire him. His obligation to you…well, let’s just say that it remained the strongest thing tethering him to this existence.”

Harry frowned. That sounded ominous.

“But one can hold on to a tether bound by the dead for only so long. If he were to stay true to his purpose, succeed in all that protecting you would require of him, he needed to be bound by the living.”

Harry shook his head, making it clear that he didn’t understand.

“He needed to know love.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Um. I hope you don’t mean me. Because I don’t, er, love him.”

“The love of a child comes in many forms. The form he needed most was forgiveness. A forgiveness so pure that it could only be borne out of unwavering trust. By placing your faith in him, despite your knowledge of his past sins, you gave him a gift, Harry. A gift he has all too rarely received and that he is not likely to take lightly.”

Harry let those words soak in. It was odd, this looking at everything from Snape’s perspective. He felt humbled that his trust might mean so much to the man, but he didn’t understand how it could at the same time. Harry Potter or no, he was only a kid.

“So it wasn’t ever even about me?” he asked quietly. “When you say it wasn’t about me learning to trust him so much as it was about what him being on the receiving end of my trust would mean to him, you mean that it was…it was about giving him a reason to want to rescue me?”

“He had reasons,” Other Harry corrected softly. “As I said, he would have attempted to find you regardless. But in a sense…yes. He needed a more important, more personal reason. A reason to rescue you. A reason to fight for you. Not for your mother’s son or the Boy Who Lived or the object of prophecy. Just Harry.”

“Just Harry,” he whispered absently, mulling over those words and all that they represented. Was he really “just Harry” to Snape now? It’s what he wanted to be, he realized. He would always love his parents - or, the idea of them - but he wasn’t them. He wasn’t Snape’s schoolyard bully or his childhood friend or his tragically lost loved one. He didn’t want to be his mum for Snape any more than he’d wanted to be his dad for Sirius. He wanted to be himself. And as much as he wanted to be able to ask Snape more about his parents, he also wanted Snape to see him for him, not for them. And, what’s more, he wanted Snape to care about just Harry.

He wanted it more than he’d ever thought possible.

His lips twitched into a wry smile. If his self of only one month ago were here, he’d never believe the direction of his thoughts. He’d probably theorize that Voldemort had placed some sort of bewitching curse on him. Something that would chase away all rational thought and make the most insane ideas come to mind. Like caring about Snape caring about him. He laughed.

“You gave him the will to fight, Harry,” said Other Harry, his own lips curving into a smile. “You gave him a living soul to fight for rather than a dead soul to make amends to. And in doing so, you showed Voldemort’s Death Eaters - Malfoy in particular - the strength of your loyalty. When juxtaposed with Voldemort’s tenuous sanity and irrational choices, your strength gave them a glimpse of what your side offers that their side does not.”

Harry was still smiling as he considered this. It was hard to imagine that what went on between him and Snape would matter to the other Death Eaters, but he’d take Other Harry’s word for it. That brought something else to his mind. “You once said...” he paused, considering his words. “You told me that not all ways of fighting are straightforward or as simple as using a sword. You weren't talking about strategy. You were talking about people...weren't you? About love, and trust, and forgiveness. About how powerful they can be.”

“They can topple nations,” Other Harry agreed.

“Yeah,” said Harry thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guess maybe they could.”

Other Harry gave him a small smile and then stood, raising his face to the sun. “I cannot maintain this state for you indefinitely. If not for your increased powers, I might not have been able to at all. I’ll give you as long as I can, but then your mind will revert to how it was before. It will revert to its potion-induced state.”

Harry looked down and sighed. He didn’t want that. It scared him to be so defenseless and confused. Snape hadn’t told him that the effects on his mind would be as frightening as the effects on his body. Then again, maybe Snape didn’t know. It was a new formulation.

“Will I see you again?” he thought to ask before Other Harry could disappear on him.

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “I have not seen it. It is possible. It is also possible that you will not have need of me until you are able to access your Seer gift for yourself.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything about that…” Harry fished.

Other Harry held out his hands and shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes. “If you start seeing the future, you will have your answer.”

“Gee, thanks,” grumbled Harry good-naturedly. “So helpful.”

“You know everything you need to know now, Harry,” he said. “You have done well, and I believe that you will continue to do well. Do not lose faith. You can win this war.”

Looking at his mirror image, at the ferocity and resolve in his eyes, Harry started to believe it. He had a path forward now. He would soon have “a power the Dark Lord knows not.” And he had a guide, a teacher to help him become the victor of both prophecies. A spark of hope rose in his chest and took root. For the first time, he believed - truly believed - that he had a fighting chance. And though Voldemort might know about their connection, and though he had to have some idea of Harry’s increasing powers after that full moon display, his pride would keep him from understanding all that both things meant until it was too late to stop his downfall.

It was Voldemort’s own fault, really. If he hadn’t marked Harry as his equal that fateful night, and if he hadn’t determined to use Harry’s blood to increase his own powers, he never would have had an enemy capable of taking him down. Harry wouldn’t have had access to the very powers Voldemort longed to keep for himself.

It was the most glorious irony that in his quest to kill Harry and then to bring him low, he had instead turned Harry into the one person with the power to defeat him.

“Good-bye, Harry,” said his Inner Eye with a proud smile.

He had no sooner said an answering “good-bye” and “thank you” - with an answering smile - before he was alone. He was tempted to close his eyes and enjoy the ocean breeze, but he knew that he would soon be in darkness again, where he wouldn’t be able to see or smell or touch or even think straight. So he savored the scenery. He took in the way the grass swayed gently in the breeze and how bits of sun reflected off of both the roof of the cottage and the ocean waves, making it look like they were dancing in sync with one another. He memorized the pattern that the rocks made in the earth and the way the light shifted each time the tree branches waved back and forth. He breathed in deeply of grass and salt and sunshine, and he could still taste it on his tongue when the vision began to fade away into darkness.

With the darkness to his senses came the darkness to his mind. And with that darkness came the fear. And the cold. He shivered from both.

He knew something important, something he should be thinking about, but he couldn’t remember. Did it have to do with Snape? The man’s face swam in his thoughts frequently. But so did Voldemort’s. He should know where he was. He knew that he knew where he was, but it was just outside his mind, just outside his reach.

He wasn’t dead. He was certain of that. How, he didn’t know. But he was certain.

What creatures lurked in the darkness? Were they just outside his reach, like his thoughts? It was scary, having a mind but not knowing what was in it, having a body but not being able to feel it. And most of all, not knowing if it would ever end. Not knowing if he had been here for minutes or for days. Or years. It could have been years since he’d begun that thought.

His mind swam with half-thoughts and questions without answers and fears without release, and on and on it went until he was vaguely certain he was an old man with whiskers and wrinkly skin. And then in one instant, it stopped.

He could smell. The darkness was less dark. Sounds reached his ears, though he couldn’t make them out. He latched onto the scents in the air, for he knew them. Clove. Dirt. Lilac.

He took a deep breath and found long-awaited relief, cradled in familiar arms and surrounded by the scent of safety.