He won the first battle before it even started.

Harry knew it by the look in Dumbledore’s eyes, like he saw right through him. It was all there: worry, pain, hope, and knowing, even amidst the calm of a man accustomed to not allowing himself to be ruffled by life and death situations. Or perhaps of a man who had been through so many life and death situations that they had lost the ability to ruffle him? Whatever the reason for Dumbledore’s steadiness, his eyes held grief. And in that moment, Harry saw a man who called his most cantankerous teacher “my boy” and cared not only whether he lived or died, but about his happiness too.

Dumbledore didn’t want to lose Snape any more than Harry did.

Dumbledore was also generally more willing than Snape to allow Harry to take risks.

And Harry knew. “You’re not going to try to talk me out of it, are you?” He drummed his fingers on the kitchen table, exactly like Snape did whenever he was deep in thought. It made him feel better, closer to the man somehow, to emulate him right now.

“Would it do any good?” Dumbledore asked calmly as he slipped into the chair that Kneader had vacated only thirty minutes earlier.

Harry shook his head no and pinched his lips together. He hadn’t moved from his spot at the table, but his mind had traveled vast distances, thinking and planning and preparing. For this moment, yes, but mainly for the moment he would Legilimize Voldemort. He didn’t know precisely how to go about it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t intend to try. And succeed. At any cost.

“I mean,” he said, trying to inject lightness into his tone, but his voice was too tight to carry it off well, “you can always force me back to school. But you can’t stop me from trying wherever I am. You can’t take this away.” He tapped at the scar on his forehead.

Dumbledore gave him a kind smile. “I will not be forcing you to return to school today, Harry.”

“Good.” He sat up straight. “That’s…good.”

The headmaster’s eyes were sad as he said, “It will not be easy, what you wish to do. You and I both know that you are not as ready to meet Voldemort in a battle of minds as you should be. Professor Snape’s concerns are quite valid. Accessing such a mind as his will not be an easy task, and it is not without substantial risks to your own mind.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But Professor Snape needs me to be ready now. So I will be.” He shrugged, too stiff to be nonchalant, but he knew by Dumbledore’s slow nod that his message had been received.

“Then we’d best get to work preparing your mind for the challenge.”

And that was that.

It turned out that the headmaster wasn’t a bad Legilimency teacher. Not that Harry was about to trade Snape in or anything, but Dumbledore was patient and direct, even about things outside his frame of reference.

After all, “it hasn’t been done before, you realize.” The headmaster raised his eyebrows. “Not quite like this. Or if it has, it has not been recorded for posterity.” He gestured to Harry’s scar. “Your bond with Voldemort is unique. I can help to direct you, but when push comes to shove, you will be relying primarily on your own instinct. Fortunately, you are no stranger to your own instinct. It has served you well thus far. When combined with what Professor Snape tells me is a natural aptitude for the mental arts, as well as the increased power that Voldemort has already bestowed upon you, there are quite a few marks in your favor.”

They had moved to the living area, and they were alone; he hadn’t seen Kneader since the man had left the kitchen earlier. He nodded, slightly reassured, and eyed Dumbledore, where he sat across from his own sofa in a comfortable-looking armchair. “How…how are Voldemort’s instincts?”

“Quite good,” said Dumbledore almost apologetically. “He did not get to where he is without that, in addition to his skill and intelligence.”

Harry sighed, trying not to let his nervousness show. He already knew Voldemort was skilled at the mental arts and was very powerful. As comforting as it was to be on the receiving end of Dumbledore’s pep talks, he wasn’t all that certain he had any special abilities that Voldemort didn’t already possess in greater amounts.

When he voiced that concern out loud, Dumbledore’s answer was predictably, “Love. Remember, Harry, you have love and honor and a desire to do good. Those are things that Voldemort cannot understand, and so underestimates. You also have the ability to draw power from him through your mental connection, an ability that he does not seem to possess.” He then said softly, “Harry. I am well aware that I am allowing you to take a very large risk. Also that Professor Snape may well never forgive me for allowing you to do so. But you must know that if I did not truly believe that you have the ability to pull this off, I would do everything in my power to prevent you from attempting it.”

“It’s not like I gave you a choice,” Harry pointed out.

Dumbledore smiled, his first open, genuine smile since he’d arrived. “My dear boy, you may very well be on your way to besting me in raw magical power, but I still have quite a few years of experience on you, not to mention creative methods at my disposal. Never doubt that I am the one making the choice here. The moment I decide to prevent you from doing something, you will most decidedly not be doing it.”

Harry narrowed his eyes and then shrugged sheepishly, because yeah, he knew who held the real power around here, and there was little point in denying it. “Okay, so where to begin?”

“You already have a conduit for access into Voldemort’s mind.” He gestured to Harry’s scar. “How you use it can only be instinctual, not something to be learned. It will be your first great hurdle to overcome. We have reviewed techniques for directing your mind once inside. Now we must determine precisely what you will accomplish.”

Harry scratched his nose and looked away, embarrassed to admit how hazy his plan truly was. “I figured I could…I dunno, just soak up more of his powers? Each time our minds have been connected lately, that seems to happen. So maybe if I hold on long enough, and try it on purpose this time, I’ll take away enough power so that he won’t be able to hurt Professor Snape anymore?”

“You are going in the right direction, certainly,” Dumbledore hummed, “though such a plan is somewhat underdeveloped. For instance, even at regular strength, Voldemort can cause pain to Professor Snape’s Mark. Not quite so much, certainly, and nor for an extended time or to such an immediately dire end, but enough to continue to cause damage. And do you think that you will be able to drain him of so much power at once? Or to defeat him all at once, on your first attempt? Or if not, that you will then be able to determine when a sufficient level has been reached? And that is, of course, assuming that the power transfer between the two of you works as we have theorized. Furthermore, such a plan does nothing for the dark magic already permeating Professor Snape’s body.”

He stared at the headmaster for the span of several seconds and breathed, “Okay. So…we’re not going with my plan, then. What’s yours? Because I know you’ve got one, and I assume it’s a million times better than mine.”

Dumbledore smiled, a hint of a twinkle showing in his eyes. “Might I suggest a limited attack?”

“Limited?”

“You desire to attack Voldemort’s mind, and to draw away his powers. A worthy end, yes, but perhaps more ambitious than is called for under the present circumstances.”

“You don’t want me to…beat him?”

“Oh, yes, my boy. Yes, I most definitely do. And I believe that you will do a fine job thoroughly besting him…someday. But it does no one, least of all yourself, any good for you to bite off more than you can chew at present.” He held up a hand. “I propose a more direct route, one that may not be so injurious to him, but better accomplishes your end. Invade his mind not to attack it, but to attack his connection to the Dark Mark.”

“Well, yeah, I mean, that’s what I want to…do…” He stopped to consider Dumbledore’s words. “Wait. That can be done without…? I thought…” He didn’t know what he thought, or even what Dumbledore was proposing, but it seemed so obvious. He’d thought he had to prevent Voldemort from being powerful enough to cause damage through the Mark. He hadn’t even considered that there might be a way to simply sever the connection. “Why didn’t Professor Snape tell me that was possible?” He huffed and then answered his own question, “Never mind. He didn’t want to give me any ideas, that’s why. But how do I even do it?”

Dumbledore smiled. “By using the Dark Mark as a secondary conduit. More of a map or a guide, if you will, than a conduit. Of course, I may need to render the professor unconscious first,” said Dumbledore dryly, “as you will likely need direct contact with his Mark and he will be quite unlikely to agree to such a thing.”

Harry grimaced at the thought of Snape’s reaction. Maybe they could avoid letting Snape in on the plan until after it was done? Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, that sort of thing. “Is that something you would do?” he asked tentatively. “Knock him out?” He knew he was disobeying the professor in even attempting this, but going so far as to take away the man’s free will over his own body seemed wrong on another level.

Dumbledore smiled gently. “I would do a great many things for his own good. Let us hope that it does not come to that.”

Judging by Snape’s expression when they entered the room later in the day, Harry thought that it may have to come to that. The man was alone, propped up in bed, pale, and shuddering occasionally, but Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when he observed that Snape at least looked better. He was shaky but not doubled over in pain like he had been earlier. His eyes were pinched with pain and fatigue, but that didn’t stop him from taking one look at Harry with Dumbledore, scowling, and telling them to “get out.”

Dumbledore calmly approached the bed, gesturing for Harry to follow. “Harry wished to see how you were doing. Perhaps you would like to reassure him that you are feeling better?”

“That is not why you—” Snape grimaced and continued in a strained voice, “are here. I am no simpleton. That boy,” he pointed with a shaking hand at Harry without looking at him, “will not be your pawn today.”

“Now Severus,” said Dumbledore gently. “Let us discuss—”

“I do not care to discuss.” He took a shaky breath and encompassed both in his best death glare. “Get out.”

“But—” Harry tried to argue but was cut off by another protest from Snape. He cleared his throat and said tentatively, “Um, Professor Dumbledore? Could I maybe talk to Professor Snape alone for a few minutes?”

“No.” Snape grunted. He pushed himself more upright and winced. “You will go back to school.”

He bit his lip and decided he may as well go for broke. “And may I also have permission to disregard anything he tells me in the next couple minutes? Like…like a temporary carte blanche on the whole disrespecting professors thing? You know, without chancing a detention?”

“Dumbledore,” Snape actually growled, and Harry was rather glad that he wasn’t looking at the man’s face right then. It was probably livid.

The headmaster made a show of pretending to consider, but he didn’t fool either one of them; his eyes were pleased. “I suppose a temporary suspension of consequences could be arranged.”

“Albus,” warned Snape.

“Very well, carte blanche it is.” He gave Harry a pat on the shoulder as he moved past him to the door. “Do try not to kill each other, as that is quite the opposite of what we are attempting to do today, hmm?” he said and then closed the door, leaving Harry alone with Snape.

“Why not simply spell me asleep and be done with it?” bit out Snape. Harry pretended not to notice the tremor that ran through the man’s voice. “Why go through the charade of pretending to gain my cooperation?”

Harry didn’t mention that the option was still on the table. But then, Snape knew Dumbledore well enough to know that. Instead, he sat by Snape’s bedside and tried to figure out how to begin. It wasn’t as if appeals would work, and Snape was too intelligent to be managed.

“Wear me down with silence? That is to be your tactic?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I don’t…I don’t have a tactic.”

“How like a Gryffindor,” Snape scoffed, which shouldn’t have made Harry happy, but it did. If Snape had enough energy to sit up and to argue and to scoff, then he wasn’t quite on his death bed, was he? It made Harry feel brave, knowing that they had some time, that the pain from earlier in the day seemed to have lessened. “You won’t convince me,” added Snape. “You are not ready to reach into the Dark Lord’s mind, and I will not be the one responsible for your demise.”

Harry nodded. “I know. I…uh, that’s not why I asked Dumbledore to go. Not so I could talk you into it.”

Snape’s face showed his suspicion.

Harry leaned forward and looked Snape in the eye. “Look. I know we’re not going to be on the same side of things this time, but the thing is, I’m not going to let you die. So, permission or no, I’m doing this. I just—”

“You gave me your word,” spat Snape. “Your word that you would not attempt such a thing until both the headmaster and I deemed you ready.”

Harry looked away. Snape was good, he’d give him that. He knew just where to hit to give Harry the most pause. “I…shouldn’t have promised that.”

“And yet you did. So. Are you a man of your word, Mr. Potter?”

He met Snape’s eyes, his answer clear without having to give voice to it.

Snape’s lip curled. “So your word is worth nothing.”

Harry swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “I told you once that I didn't know if I could keep a promise if there was a really, really good reason to break it. I don’t know what kind of person that makes me. I just…I can’t let you die while I can do something about it.”

“And you think that I will sit back and watch you die on my behalf?” Snape’s eyes were black with anger, a stark contrast to his pale skin. “You think so little of me?”

Harry shook his head. “You’re the bravest man I know,” he said honestly, and he saw some of Snape’s anger seep away at the compliment, though his eyes still flashed. “You’re not afraid to die if it means doing the right thing. I’m only saying, I disagree with you about what’s the right thing to do here.” And before Snape could say whatever biting remark he had on his tongue next, Harry said, “I remember the cabin, you know.”

Snape frowned in confusion.

“After…after you got me out, after You-Know-Who…when you took care of me,” he explained awkwardly, and Snape’s expression cleared in understanding, only to tighten again. “I don’t remember a lot before I woke up that next morning, only bits and pieces, but I dream about it, some nights.”

“I fail to see how that relates to our current discussion,” Snape snapped, though there was uncertainty in his eyes.

“Most of it is hazy, but I remember a couple things clearly, I think. Mainly what you told me about Sirius.” Snape didn’t say anything, so Harry took that as permission to continue. “You said he would have done right by me, if he could have. That he would have seen me as more than my dad’s son if he’d had more time.” He looked down at his hands. “You also said I couldn’t use a Time-Turner to save him.”

“Again, I fail to see how—”

“You have had time,” Harry interrupted and hated that his voice shook. “You don’t see me as just my dad’s son anymore. You see me. Harry. Do you know how difficult it was to get here?” He laughed a hollow laugh. “Of course you do. We’ve been in this together for what feels like ages now.” He abruptly stood and began to pace. “And the thing is, I know you’re trying to do right by me, in a way Sirius never could, and I appreciate it, really I do, but you’re going about it the wrong way, because that’s not what I need. I don’t need you to protect me from You-Know-Who. I mean, sometimes I do, obviously, but not every time. That’s not something anybody can even do, really, because he’s here.” He pointed to his scar. “He’s here, in my head, and he’s not going away, and this, what I’m doing today, it’s not something you can protect me from. It’s going to happen eventually, whether it’s today or tomorrow or next year, but if you don’t let me do it today, then when I do, you’ll be gone and I’ll be all alone. And no Time-Turner will be able to bring you back.”

“You will not be alone,” said Snape, his voice almost subdued. “Dumbledore—”

“Isn’t you,” Harry said fiercely. “He can help with some things, but he’s got the entire war to worry about. When push comes to shove, you’re the one I need, the one who can help me with just my part. So yes, I want to save you because I’ll miss you, and because I’m grateful to you and don’t want yet one more person in my life to die on me, but more than that, I need you. Not only yesterday or today, but a whole lot of tomorrows too. You and I…we’re not done.”

“You will not have a tomorrow if you die today,” shot back Snape, but his tone lacked bite, so Harry knew his words were getting through.

“I won’t die today. I can do this, and even if something goes wrong, I’ll be with two Legilimens and a Healer.”

“It is not so simple!”

“It rarely is!” Harry said fervently and moved closer to the bed. “I know Dumbledore told you the second prophecy, the one about you helping me defeat You-Know-Who. We’ve only ever danced around it, you and I, but the prophecy is true. I feel its truth in my bones. I knew it was true even when my head told me it couldn’t be. I need you if I’m going to best You-Know-Who. If I don’t face him today—not in every way, just enough to do something about that,” he gestured sharply to Snape’s bandaged arm, “and with you right next to me—then you won’t be there to help me when the stakes are even higher and the danger is even greater.”

Snape had stopped looking at him and was staring at the wall. When he didn’t say anything for several long seconds, Harry threw himself into the chair and groaned. “Look. I know you’re trying to protect me by being all brave and self-sacrificing so I don’t have to be the one taking a big risk here. But don’t you see? You’re my best shot. You even said I don’t have anybody else really looking out for me, not in the way I need. Do you honestly think there’s anyone else who will try as hard as you will to both take You-Know-Who down and keep me alive?”

Snape clenched his jaw, but he still didn’t say anything, and Harry didn’t know whether to call that a win or a loss. He shifted after several long minutes of charged silence, and his eyes settled on the bedside table and an empty glass. “Do you want some water?” he asked, just to break the silence.

“What?” Snape frowned and glanced at the glass, then up at Harry. “No.” His gaze turned accusing. “You said you weren’t trying to talk me into it.”

Harry sighed. “I’m not. I only wanted you to understand why I’m not backing down, so maybe you’ll have a slightly better chance of forgiving me after.”

He held Snape’s gaze for a long time, and he wished he knew what the man was thinking, but his spy face was in place. All he knew was that he wasn’t being Legilimized. Snape hadn’t done that to him without permission in a long time.

“I don’t think you know,” Snape said without breaking eye contact, “quite how much you have upended my world.”

Harry bit his lip and forced himself not to reply with a “sorry.” He didn’t think it was that kind of situation. It might even be a “you’re welcome” type of situation. He waited for Snape to clarify.

“I was unprepared for you. As you well know.” He shook his head and looked down at his wrapped arm. He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly through pinched lips. “I had been quite prepared to die for some time. Had no qualms about it. Welcomed the idea.” He shook his head again and studied Harry. “I had no idea one foolish, headstrong, maddening Gryffindor could change that.”

Harry felt his lips lift into a soft smile. “You want to live. That’s good. I can work with that.”

“Thoroughly maddening Gryffindor,” said Snape, but the way he said it, with something nearing affection, made Harry’s smile grow.

“So..?” he asked hopefully.

“I cannot agree.”

Harry’s smile fell.

“However.” Snape closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them and pierced Harry with a resigned stare. “If you and Dumbledore are determined to circumvent me, and I can see that you are, I am hardly going to allow you to risk yourself without my oversight.”

Harry bit his lip to keep himself from smiling. “So…no, I can’t do it, but yes, you’ll help me anyway?”

Snape reluctantly nodded at the backwards yes, and it was all Harry could do not to smile at having won his second battle. But the feeling of unexpected victory was too much to contain, and before he knew it, he was not only smiling, he was out of his chair with his arms around the professor. It only occurred to him after he was already hugging Snape—who’d gone completely still against his pillows—that this still wasn’t quite the nature of their relationship. His face grew hot and he was about to pull back when he felt the man reach around with his right arm and gently rest a hand on his back. His smile grew and he let himself stay for a couple seconds longer, then hastily withdrew and bolted for the door to usher Dumbledore in before Snape could see either his flushed cheeks or his wide grin.

“Gently.”

“Not too gently. Force will be necessary to break through.”

“But not too much force. It will alert him to your presence.”

“We both know that will be unavoidable for long, Severus.”

“And yet avoiding it for as long as possible is what he will do!”

Harry worked out a kink in his neck and took a break from looking back and forth between the professors like a spectator at a tennis match. He was pretty sure that Snape was dragging this out, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could, and he might have been affronted by that if not for the fact that he himself was nervous to begin. That, and he knew Snape wouldn’t be able to keep up his delay tactics for much longer. The Dark Mark seemed to still be giving him a break from the more debilitating pain, but the man was looking more haggard the longer he was awake. Judging by the droop of his shoulders and the lines on his face, he was utterly exhausted. He already had drifted lower onto the bed, unable to keep himself in a fully sitting position.

Dumbledore hadn’t been too surprised that Snape was now cooperating, albeit “under considerable protest and duress,” as Snape put it. He’d simply placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and casually winked at him before getting down to the business of discussing how Harry should go about beginning his efforts to Legilimize Voldemort.

Because he was actually about to Legilimize Voldemort.

He hid his shaking hands in his lap. It was starting to feel a bit too real, what he was about to do. He glanced over at Kneader, where he had taken up vigil at the foot of the bed after unwrapping Snape’s arm. The mediwizard gave him a soft smile and an encouraging nod. The nod somehow, without a sound, conveyed that he didn’t doubt Harry’s abilities and that he wished him luck. It really was better than any pep talk he might have given, and Harry nodded back, squared his shoulders, and moved his chair closer to Snape’s bed.

He eyed the Dark Mark with disgust. It was still writhing over irritated skin, and Snape’s muscles were spasming even while he spoke to Dumbledore. He took a fortifying breath as he placed his hands on the bed near Snape’s arm, his stomach clenching at the amount of pain the professor must have grown used to tolerating over the past several weeks. He wouldn’t quite know how to do what he needed to do until he tried it, but Dumbledore seemed to think that close contact with the Mark was key. He didn’t realize all talking had ceased until Dumbledore’s hand settled on his shoulder and he said to, “Take your time. Calm your mind. Do not begin until you feel ready to do so. Professor Snape and I are right here, should you need assistance with Legilimency, and Mr. Kneader will be keeping an eye on your and Professor Snape’s physical conditions. All right?”

Harry gave a jerky nod. Well. It wasn’t all right. He was afraid, no matter how determined he was to do this. He didn’t want to, not really, but he wanted Snape to be okay, so he did want to. He pretended to be more confident than he felt, for his own sake more than for anyone else’s.

There really was no motivation like desperation, was there?

He let his fingers skim above the surface of Snape’s Dark Mark, not quite touching it. His scar was prickling, probably due to Voldemort’s heightened activity on the Mark. He glanced up at Snape, seeking permission, which the man gave with a frown and a sharp nod.

“Okay,” he whispered, more to himself than to the three men in the room. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

Which turned out to be the literal truth. He put his hands gently on Snape’s arm over the Dark Mark, not certain if he needed to touch it, but figuring it would probably help if he was supposed to use it somehow. Snape flinched, and his own scar twinged in pain. He breathed deeply a few times until the pain lessened and he got used to the residual discomfort, and then he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, and…

Nothing.

After about five minutes of nothing, he cracked open an eye. Snape, Dumbledore, and Kneader were watching him intently, and he cleared his throat. “I…uh, know you have to keep an eye on me and all, but maybe you could…I dunno, pretend not to? I’m trying to do the whole instinct thing, and my, ah…instinct doesn’t like the hovering.”

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly and set up chairs for himself and Kneader away from the bed, closer to the door. They were still watching him from their seats, but the feeling of being hovered over lessened. He smiled and nodded in gratitude, then turned to Snape.

“I am already pretending to go along with this scheme,” the professor snarked. “I am fresh out of any more ability to ‘pretend.’” He eyed Harry in such a way that, even through tired eyes, communicated that he was very well going to keep a close eye on him, and Harry was going to have to deal with it.

And, okay, that was fair, seeing as how Harry was currently attached to Snape’s arm and all.

He braced himself and tried to reach out with his mind and failed again, and he thought it was probably not good that he’d barely begun and he wanted to throw up his hands in defeat. He didn’t know what in Merlin’s name he was doing! He reached up a hand to rub at his eyes. After a moment, a hand grasped his wrist and drew it back down to the Mark. Harry aimed a questioning glance at Snape.

“Close your eyes,” the professor quietly instructed, and Harry obeyed. “Build your mental shields.” He cracked open his eyes to ask, or to argue, he wasn’t even sure which, but Snape squeezed his wrist until he closed his eyes again, then murmured, “You have grown accustomed to reaching outside yourself for power, but the magic you need concern yourself with is inside, within your very core. Reach for that magic inside you, build and stabilize it through your Occlumency shields, and then—and only then—slowly gather more power to yourself. You will find yourself better able to control it.”

Harry bit his lip. “That might take a while.”

“As it should,” cut in Dumbledore. “We have all night. Needlessly speeding up the process will not better enable you to succeed.”

Harry pursed his lips and nodded.

“Do not attempt to reach into the Dark Lord’s mind until after your shields are erected and strengthened,” added Snape, though the words seemed dragged out of him. “When your mind is prepared and you are at full power, the connection may occur more naturally than you expect.”

He nodded again, eyes still closed, and dutifully began to erect his Occlumency shields. It didn’t take too incredibly long before he was able to strengthen the shields, and to dig down into the recesses of his mind for more power to pour into them. This was the simple part, the part that he was most familiar with, and yet he felt buoyed by the ease with which he was able to accomplish what had been challenging for him to learn not so very long ago.

But he had yet to tap into his newfound, extra powers in a conscious, purposeful way, and so he was surprised at how natural it felt to do that too. As the power flooded through his body, it was as if he had a new sense, something as natural a part of him as his sight or his hearing, and now that he knew it existed, it was impossible to go back to before. He breathed in and out, in and out, dug for power, built his shields, stabilized them, in and out, dug, built, stabilized, and the longer he gave himself over to the process, and the less he gave thought to what he was doing, the more alive he felt. He lost track of time, only knew that his body was thrumming with magic, and it felt wonderful, and he might have continued on forever if not for being brought to himself by a sharp jerk of the arm in his grasp. He breathed in and out, dug, build, and stabilized, and he tried to not let go of his concentration as he cracked open his eyes to see how Snape was doing.

The professor wasn’t looking at him, but rather at his arm, his eyes wide in amazement. Harry’s concentration faltered as he whipped his head to Snape’s arm, afraid he had hurt him somehow. But where before he’d seen a writhing mess of Dark Mark and spasming muscles, now was only a still image of a serpent on a still arm. The irritated skin was clearing up before his eyes, and he swept his eyes up to Snape in time to see the professor close his own eyes and breathe a sigh of relief.

“I stopped it hurting?” asked Harry in wonder. He hadn’t thought he could help Snape like that, not without getting to Voldemort first. Hating himself for having to test this, he carefully lifted his hands from Snape’s arm and the Mark immediately began to writhe again. He quickly clamped his hands back down on the arm and breathed in and out, dug, built, stabilized, dug, built, stabilized, and the Mark quickly faded to its dormant self. “Sorry,” he winced at Snape’s grimace of pain in that moment. Snape glared his glare that wasn’t a real glare, and Harry tamped down on the urge to apologize for apologizing.

“Well, I’ll be,” said Dumbledore softly from where he’d risen to stand at the foot of the bed. “How remarkable. You have not yet accessed Voldemort’s mind?”

Harry could feel Snape flinch out of habit at the name, but the Dark Mark didn’t move. He lifted his eyes to Snape, who stared back at him in disbelief.

So he could apparently form some sort of barrier between the Dark Mark and Voldemort. Without Legilimency. Without consciously attempting to, even. Huh. That was…that was…so cool! Of course, he couldn’t stay glued to Snape for the rest of his days, so he still needed to Legilimize Voldemort. And he wasn’t going to chance another apology, but he felt bad that he could have been helping Snape all this time and hadn’t bothered to try.

Not that Snape would have let him. But still.

Before Snape and Dumbledore could start discussing this development out loud—he could see how they both wanted to—and break what concentration he still had, he closed his eyes and continued working on his shields. They had surpassed what he’d thought of as full strength by now and were only growing stronger, and in that moment, he understood something about how his new powers worked. His shields weren’t using up his magic, like fuel, or something to be burned away; they were absorbing them, storing them for later. The thicker and taller and stronger he built his shields, the more power he had stored up that he could access at will when he needed to.

The realization made him feel powerful. Like really, really powerful.

And then he felt the sparks. Even with his eyes closed, he knew they would be around him if he only decided to peek. The magic being drawn into his body felt like light: warm, happy, soothing. Pure and warm and invigorating. They illuminated his mind, made clear what he needed to do next. He remembered Snape’s first Occlumency lesson this summer, about making emotion physical, and it made complete sense now, what he needed to do with the magic. It was almost effortless, really, how he became one with the magic and felt it drift through his body, centering in his scar and in his hands and in his chest.

He didn’t warn Snape. He figured he didn’t need to. The man would know by the way he grasped his arm more firmly, spreading out his fingers so that they would touch as much of the Dark Mark as possible. And then with his mind, he pushed. Through the scar, right into the darkest, vilest mind he’d never wanted to visit again. He had one pure, joyous moment to celebrate that it had worked—it had actually worked!—before his mind was brought up short.

Where he was…it was vile. It was cold and dark. So so dark. He forced himself not to recoil at the overwhelming sense of death and hate and greed, afraid that he would recoil himself right back into his own mind. Instead, he gave himself a long moment to acclimate to his surroundings.

He had been here before, but it was different this time. It was the same mind, only less active. He could not sense conscious thought, only a sense of hot and cold, like being thrown directly from a furnace into a frozen lake, and a rolling mass of what he could only describe as black and filthy sludge. If Snape’s mind was like an ocean and Harry’s like a whirlwind, then Voldemort’s was like a cemetery in a swamp that had been run through by hot lava. Only, worse. Much, much worse.

He wanted to leave. He forced himself to stay.

Another difference was in Harry’s own mind. He had never set out to purposely invade Voldemort’s mind. It had only before happened by accident, and for a few snippets of time. He felt in control this time, like he could think and act for himself, though for how long he didn’t know. At any second Voldemort could realize he was here and—

No. He realized with a sudden understanding why this mind was practically dormant, almost pliable. And why Snape’s Dark Mark had let up from the worst of its pain over the past hour or so. Voldemort was asleep. And if Voldemort was asleep, he was not on his guard. Harry had some time to figure out what he needed to do. Perhaps he could even get in and out without alerting the evil wizard to his presence! Was that likely? Probably not, he admitted to himself. But it was certainly something to strive for. He wanted to laugh at his good fortune. Until he was alerted to a more imminent danger: Voldemort’s mind was so evil, so vile, that the thick sludge was beginning to creep into the crevices of his mind. It was…sticky and foul. And disorienting. And he knew with sudden clarity that simply being here, even without the wizard’s knowledge, endangered his own mind. The darkness around him was like quicksand, bogging him down and making it more difficult to think or to move. He needed to hurry, or he would be too overcome to continue.

He tamped down the panic and calmed his mind. Breathed in and out, like Snape had taught him.

He had a general idea how to direct an attack, but that was not his main concern. Where to direct it…that was the problem he needed to solve. He adjusted his grip on the Dark Mark and became lost for a long moment in the distant sensation of moving his own body while in the mind of another. And then he forced himself to let go of conscious thought and pushed the magic through his fingers, first gently, then a bit harder, then harder, and—

The sensation of falling hit him like a punch to the stomach. His entire body reacted to his mind’s journey: his gut clenched, his shoulders tensed, and his breaths came faster. He forced himself to fall. To not stop himself, but to see where his instinct would lead him, even though it was so hard to let himself go. Falling, falling, falling into a tempest of death, hate, greed, and darkness. Murky darkness at the outer edges of his mind. Darkness enveloping him, broken by the faintest of outlines, as of caverns or dungeons. The stifling feeling of being deep within the earth, too far below to ever see the sun again or to hope for rescue. Tamping down the panic. Ignoring the claustrophobia. Falling, falling, falling, down, down down—

He stopped. It wasn’t a jarring stop, like the hard impact or tumble to the earth that he’d expected. The falling simply…stopped. He existed in the darkness, neither moving nor, it seemed, breathing, until he registered a low hissing in the darkness and began to panic despite his best efforts. He couldn’t help feeling that he’d dropped into a pit of vipers and was about to be attacked at any moment out of the pitch black. His breaths came in shallow panicked gasps, and he knew that they were his real breaths when he felt, in that other world where his body still existed, the whisper of a hand on his chest, the faintest thought that someone was telling him to breathe. It helped. It grounded him. He was real. Snape was real. He was out there, was with him. Had agreed to help, even though he didn’t want Harry to do this. This was real too; not real in the same way, but real. He could do this. He could fight whatever lurked in the darkness. He could fight the darkness itself. He could…

He gasped. It was…was… There was light! Sparks. They were there with him, beating out of him, lighting the darkness, and he felt that soothing warmth that came alongside their magic. It will be okay, he could almost sense them telling him, as if they were fairies to light his way, and he believed them. They fought against the darkness, both within and without. They lit up his surroundings, and he found himself in a place resembling a cave, that black sludge covering the walls, dripping down from the ceiling like long strings of varying length, some thicker than others, some mere stumps. One in particular curled itself up and writhed and hissed as if alive, and he realized with a shock that the strings were snakes. Most were asleep. Some were shriveled up as if dead. Only one moved.

Snape. He knew without a doubt that the snake of black sludge—dark magic? Yes, he thought. The sludge must be dark magic, or at least the residue of dark magic—was the tie binding Snape to Voldemort, and he realized with a disgusted examination of the sleeping snakes how many Death Eaters had taken the Dark Mark and pledged themselves to Voldemort. More than he’d known or dreamed of. He wondered how many had come to regret it and how many would take the Mark all over again. It occurred to him that he could destroy all of the connections, take away Voldemort’s access to his followers, and perhaps even save a few who no longer wished to be bound to him. It was tempting.

Maybe. Later. Snape first. He couldn’t afford to mess this up for his teacher. He focused in on the writhing snake, reassured that it didn’t seem to be aware of his presence. It didn’t pause in its movements, and unless he was mistaken, it didn’t even realize that its access to Snape’s Mark had been temporarily blocked. It mirrored its typical movements on Snape’s arm, and Harry hated Voldemort in that moment for being so determined to cause Snape agony that he could keep up even this level of torture while asleep.

He reached out and brushed against the snake with his mind, testing. It flinched, and he drew back, only to try again, more firmly this time. Probably too firmly, he realized in the next instant.

Because that’s when Voldemort woke up.

And his third battle began.