Aug. 15, 6:30 pm

Fuck.

---

Flashback

The boy's eyes were squeezed shut and thin tremors ran through his body. But his voice was clear as he said, "No. You're not allowed in there."

"Oh no you don't," Severus growled. His patience was just about at an end. If he were to reflect on just why his ire had been raised by Potter's words, he would admit that much of it was that he disliked being thwarted. Or even attempts to thwart him. But at the moment, he used the mantra that he was helping the boy to heal.

"Legilimens."

The stone appeared immediately, still as impossibly pitted as before, and Severus recalled an exercise from the book he'd given Potter about this particular way of blocking Legilimency. But if Potter was using it to shield all of his emotions, it was . . . unhealthy. And aggravating. Besides, his worst memories were supposed to be stored in the pensieve now. How bad could it be, really?

With this in mind, Severus attacked.

---

Harry threw everything he had into protecting the layer of stone. Snape was angry, he could feel that, somehow, but he couldn't let it get to him. The stone protected him, kept him upright and breathing and conscious. Without it . . . He just could not let Snape through.

"Get away," he snarled through gritted teeth. "Get away from there."

But Snape wasn't listening, and he assaulted the stone as if with a jackhammer, chopping through the upper level and exposing new cracks and weaknesses.

Harry could sense Snape's determination, but he had abject fear on his side, and it gave him added strength. He reinforced the stone with every breath, creating more and more layers, faster than Snape could dismantle them. But he couldn't see every fissure Snape created, and missed one in his haste.

Snape, however, caught it. In an instant, he was through the one chink in Harry's carefully constructed armor, and in his angered, irritated state, he had no defense against the tide of memory that washed over him. Harry felt him try to retreat, but it was no good now. No good at all. He was trapped there, under the stone.

The carousel spins lazily around, and the Inferi upon the backs of the flying gryffins and dragons mock the forms of children, with their dead flesh, dead eyes, and the Dark Lord, in the guise of his earlier self, Tom Riddle, stands before them and smiles. "You're mine," he whispers. "Forever."

But now they are in the well appointed prison and Nott is sneering at him, and raising his wand. "Coward," Harry calls him, and the world erupts in howling and pain, and the gurgle of blood in his throat is the loudest sound he has ever heard until he is blind and screaming, writhing on the stone floor under their curses.

How long? Hours, perhaps. How long till his mind snaps? There is nothing but the agony of the Cruciatus, but when he stops fighting the curse, he finds he can bear it better. He knows that only when he gives in completely will it cease to mean anything, will he be able to retain his sanity. "Give in," a high cold voice croons to him as if reading his mind. "Everything will be better; you won't have to hurt anymore."

The offer is tempting, but he pushes it away, shaking his head wildly. "Never," he rasps through his teeth, and his voice is rough and dry as a gravestone. He has to breathe through his nose, wheezing breaths full of snot and blood and tears, because his mouth is busy screaming when he can't keep his jaw clamped shut. "I won't."

"Never say never, widdle Harry," sneers the grating voice of Bellatrix, and she casts another cutting curse while the agony of the Cruciatus increases. He drums his heels on the stone floor, back arching impossibly, broken fingers grasping for something, anything to ground him. But he is blind, and alone, and under their complete control.

She laughs as his skin is flayed from his body, laughs at his panic as his hands scramble to hold the pieces of himself together, laughs as someone else grabs a handful of his hair and grips his head tight in their palms, to stop his flailing, and then presses the side of his face to theirs, and his blood smears on this other's smooth skin as they rub against him like a cat. And then a tongue laps at his cheek, licking at his blood and tears with long strokes. Words are whispered into his ear like a lover's, "You taste so good, Harry," and he is sick, suddenly, violently sick, and still the laughter continues . . .

---

With a strength born of desperation, Severus finally escaped the boy's memories, escaped the broken and cracked stone and knelt, panting for breath, on the floor of his sitting room. After some long moments, he was able to discern his surroundings again, and his gaze settled on Harry, who was curled in a ball and rocking silently, eyes squeezed shut.

Fuck.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few long, deep breaths. Well. He'd really screwed the crup this time. What was he thinking, to force these memories to the fore? He had quite probably just undone several weeks worth of work.

Had the stone been the only thing keeping Harry from going into shock? With memories like those -- many of which he had not witnessed first time around -- it was no wonder the boy wanted to hide them away. But it wasn't healthy, and they had to be dealt with. Though he might have wanted to handle them slowly, over time, that was impossible now.

Still on his knees, he inched toward Harry until he was practically, but not quite, touching the boy's drawn-up calves. "Harry," he said softly. "Open your eyes, please."

A tremor went through the boy, but there was no other reaction. Bracing himself and sharpening his tone, he tried a different tack. "Potter, it's time to get up now. No more of this lazing about."

The rocking stilled briefly and the boy's shoulders tightened.

Taking this as a good sign, Severus continued in that vein, "We still have work to do, and it's unconscionable that you're slacking off like this."

Harry's head jerked a nod, and he finally opened his eyes. "M'sorry, Uncle," came a breathless whisper. "Sorry . . ." His hands fumbled at the floor, in an attempt to push himself upright. "Weeds?" he asked. "Or paint the shed? M'sorry, I forget . . ."

Startled, Severus didn't respond at once. What fresh hell was this? Harry's gaze was unfocused when he turned to face him, and Severus rose awkwardly to his feet and reached to pull Harry up, too.

The boy's arm came up to block him, quicker than thought. "Sorry, Uncle Vernon, I . . . I remember. It was weeding, wasn't it? Please, Uncle, I'm sorry . . ."

"Harry," Severus said, trying to keep his voice calm despite his own rising distress. "I am not your uncle."

The confusion on the boy's face would have been humorous, under other circumstances. Now, though, it was very troubling. "Just come over here and sit down," he said, and was gratified when the boy launched himself to his feet, a feeling that was short lived, however, when Harry plopped himself down on the floor in the corner a moment later. Wrapping his arms around his knees, Harry put his forehead down atop them. His whole body was tense, even his fingers as they twined together.

Severus watched him for a few minutes. Harry had replaced one way of forgetting for another, and this one was . . . untenable. For one thing, he refused to be identified, no matter what the delusional capabilities of this wounded child, as the Muggle uncle who had locked him in a cupboard and starved him. Thus . . .

In a few short strides, he was crouched once more in front of the boy. "Harry," he said, using the sharp, commanding tone that seemed to work. "Look at me. It's Professor Snape."

Harry's head came up and the heat of anger lit his eyes. "If you'd just tell me, Uncle, I could do the work. Please, I'll do it right, I swear."

"I am not your uncle," Severus told him again. "You are in my quarters, at Hogwarts, and you have not been at Privet Drive for some time. Listen to me."

"I heard you," Harry insisted. "But I still don't know--"

"I haven't given you a job." Severus took hold of his arms and glared into the boy's eyes.

The reaction was immediate. Harry's face crumpled and he tried to scoot away, but the wall -- and Severus' grip -- prevented him. "No, please! I'll be good, Uncle, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to blow up your sister. Dudley's okay, see? The Dementors didn't get him. Please don't--"

"Potter!" Severus shouted. "You are not at Privet Drive. And I am not your Uncle Vernon! Look at me. Look at me."

"No, no, no," Harry shook his head. His hands batted feebly at Severus', and the trembling in them increased, as if just after a bout of Cruciatus. "Don't touch me, please, please don't. I give up, I swear, all right? I give in, I'm sorry, I'll call you Master. Just please don't . . ." His body went suddenly very still, for a moment that stretched to infinity.

And then he screamed.

Severus let go of him automatically, as if it were his own hands burning, but he did not move from his spot. He quickly summoned a tea towel and pressed it into Harry's hands, needing to first pull them away from the boy's head where he was clawing at his own eyes. Closing the boy's thin fingers around the towel, which Harry immediately began to twist and wrench frantically instead of hurting himself, his voice dropped to a more soothing tone; even his shouting would not be audible over the screaming. "Harry. It's a clear, beautiful day. Sunny. The sun is warm on your face. Can you feel how warm it is? You . . . you're at the ocean, and the sand between your toes is cool from the water. You can see birds wheeling overhead, when you turn your face to the sun. It's beautiful and calm and you are very safe here. . . ."

How long he repeated the words, he could not say, but he continued long after Harry had screamed himself hoarse, past the point where he merely trembled against the wall, with the tattered towel gripped ferociously in his hands.

Severus was sitting back on his heels, still using the soft words, and trying to figure what else he could do when Harry spoke for the first time. "'S'not." His voice was as rough as it had been in the memory, and Severus shuddered.

"It's not what?" he asked tiredly.

"'S'not beautiful. 'S'cold and damp stone and it hurts."

Severus took a long, aching breath. "Tell me what hurts, Harry."

Tears tracked down Harry's face, but he didn't seem to notice them. His eyes were over bright, and Severus could not tell if he was still stuck in a memory or what. "What they're doing. Mm, what they did. Bel . . ." He swallowed. "Bellatrix laughed at me . . ."

"Yes."

"And I heard her, her other curses. There's so much blood . . ." The towel went through a few more contortions and the tears continued to fall. Another swallow, ending almost in a gag, but Harry leaned his head back against the wall, turning it away. "And Lucius . . . he . . ."

"Tell me, Harry. It's all right."

"God, it's so disgusting. I'm so disgusting. How could he . . ." Harry shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, and Severus was almost sure he would need to be prompted again, when he was surprised, again. "He raped me. He liked the blood," Harry whispered. "He thought it . . . that it tasted good, and he raped me."

Severus nodded, then said aloud for Harry's benefit. "Yes, he did. I'm sorry."

"I know," Harry admitted. His voice was even quieter, sounding almost lost. "I knew you were there, and I tried . . ."

"You tried to hide your pain from me," Severus finished for him, when it seemed he would not go on. "But you don't have to do that anymore. I'm here for you, and you can let me know when you're hurt, or when you need help." He paused. "Like now."

Harry blinked open his eyes and brought the towel up to clean his face of tears and mucus. He hadn't looked at Severus yet, not really. "I'm sorry. I never meant for you to see that. Those . . . that stuff."

"Don't."

"Huh?"

Severus' rage flared like a living thing, and it was only the knowledge that a true display of his anger would likely frighten the boy more that kept his voice as even as it was. "Don't you apologize for what they did. Ever. Not one damned thing that happened in that place was your fault, and I will not have you feeling that it was."

"What about Nott?"

Severus managed -- just -- not to growl. "Nott reacted poorly to a taunt. He almost killed you, and did maim you. And it was still not your fault. If you hadn't been there in the first place--"

"I would've died in bed." The idea seemed to amuse Harry for some reason, and he pressed a hand to his face as a hard bark of laughter escaped. "Wouldn't that'a been rich?"

Though he didn't quite trust this burst of humor, Severus nodded. "Indeed. All the Dark Lord's hard work in attempting to kill you gone to waste."

Harry laughed again, but tears once more coursed down his cheeks.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Severus said.

With a shake of his head, Harry said anyway, "He was really weird, don't you think?"

"Hm?"

"V-Voldemort. When he kept . . . coming in to chat and all that. I thought he just wanted to make sure I was fit for a true fight, but that wasn't it, was it?"

"No. I don't believe so." A series of expressions crossed Harry's face, and Severus couldn't make heads or tails of a quarter of them. "My belief is that he wanted to convince you, somehow, to join him, join his cause."

"Well . . ." Harry set his jaw and swiped away the last few tears with the back of his hand. "He kinda sucked at that."

"Yes," Severus agreed, not bothering to mention the points taken for "kinda" and went on, "Ever since he returned to his body he's been more . . ."

"Crazy?"

He gave Harry a brief smile. "Crazy, yes, but I was thinking specifically that since his return he has a tendency to latch on to one idea to the exclusion of all else, until something happens to derail him. And then he picks up the new idea and runs with that one for a while. So, he thought he could turn you, but when we thwarted him, betrayed him in a way, he threw that idea out with the bathwater and determined to break you instead."

"Which he could actually do."

"Do you think so?" Severus asked.

"Break me?" Harry turned to him at last, brow furrowed over eyes red from crying. "Duh."

"No," Severus told him, and realized this was probably the most important conversation that they were going to have this whole summer. And he also realized what he was about to say was the absolute truth, and that they both needed to believe it. "You are not broken. Wounded, yes. Damaged and in pain, absolutely. But none of it is irreparable. You are still here." He pointed a finger at Harry's chest, above his heart. And then at his head. "And here. You still have a sense of humor, however twisted, and can laugh, and you can still enjoy flying on that blasted broom of yours. You read for pleasure, and look forward to seeing your friends again. You eat -- not enough, by my reckoning, but you do so -- and have managed to keep yourself showered and dressed every day. So hope is not lost."

Harry's eyes held so much fear, mingled with hope, that it was all Severus could do not to gather him close and hold him to make the pain go away. But he knew the boy would not thank him for that.

"Yes, your recovery will continue to be hard. Yes, you have far yet to go. But make no mistake, you will get there, Harry. I promise you that."

With a jerky nod, Harry murmured, "Okay."

"And we'll work on a better shield for your Occlumency than the stone."

"Now that you've gone and broken it into smithereens, you mean."

Severus gave him a sharp look, and was gladdened to see the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. He answered in kind. "Just so." He looked around the sitting room and considered. "Let's get out of here. I think we could both use a change of scenery."

"Where?" Harry asked.

"Outside, or maybe have dinner in the Great Hall this evening?" Severus held his breath, almost, waiting.

"Is . . . is Remus still here?"

"I believe so." Overcoming his first impulse, he didn't sneer as he said, "Would you like to see him?"

"I don't . . . I don't know."

"Why don't you get cleaned up a bit and think about it." Severus rose and held out his hand, again, and this time, Harry stared at it for a long time, and then took his hand, accepting the offer of help. Severus could have cheered.

"Okay." Harry started toward his room, but stopped when he got to the door. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Thanks."

Severus sighed, and wanted to say his gratitude wasn't necessary, that anyone with a modicum of decency would have done the same, but Harry seemed to put great stock in niceties, and besides, he knew more than most that such common decency often simply wasn't common enough. "You're welcome," he said instead, and waited while Harry pulled himself together. Again.

End Flashback

Aug. 15, 6:30 pm, continued . . .

Fuck.

That really sucked, big time. I'm scared and I'm tired and I hate pretty much everything, especially me. But the Professor . . . he never left me alone. I think . . . I think I can really trust him.

I hope Remus is around.