“I want to destroy him.”

Snape looked up, startled, from the book he’d been reading. Potter had been sleeping on and off all day, still healing from his concussion. Snape bit his tongue to keep from commenting on the fact that Potter was once again speaking to him. Instead, he inclined his head as a sign that he was listening.

“I don’t want him hurting anyone else I care about,” Potter said, his eyes blazing with determination. “We need to make a plan. And can you release me from this body bind already? I promise to lay still.”

Snape flicked his wand to release the boy and Potter sighed in relief, eagerly flexing his limbs.

“A plan,” Snape replied evenly. “What, exactly, did you have in mind?”

“Well, since he keeps breaking into my mind, I thought we could try to use it against him. You know, turn the tables on him. Torment him instead of the other way ‘round.”

“And how exactly do you intend to do this?” Snape inquired, his tone full of his customary disdain.

“I don’t know, but more than once he’s planted visions in my mind. He made me see things. Awful things. Things that made me feel like if I had to watch them one more second I’d go insane.” Snape watched as Potter’s hands fisted and his feet twitched. “If I could concentrate on the things that he can’t stand—like I did at the Ministry—then maybe…”

“Maybe what, Potter?”

“At the Ministry, I was able to drive him out of my mind by thinking about my friends. It worked here too. But I don’t want to drive him out of my mind, I want to trap him in the visions like he trapped me. I want to keep him there until he breaks.”

Potter turned his head toward Snape, his gaze intense. “You know him better than I. I’ll need your help to make this work.”

Snape snorted. “You’ll need a lot more than my help, Potter.”

“Together we could…” Potter began.

“It’s suicide, Potter,” Snape interrupted. “He has more experience with mind control than any witch or wizard alive. What you are suggesting is tantamount to torture, albeit of an altogether unheard of kind. How much experience do you have with willingly torturing someone, Potter?”

Potter looked dumbstruck at Snape’s vehement reaction.

“It takes a truly dark soul to engage in that kind of behavior. You must not only feel that the other person deserves it, but you must relish in their pain. You must commit your soul to darkness to willingly damage another’s.”

Potter opened his mouth to speak, but Snape continued. “Furthermore, the reason the Dark Lord is able to perform such heinous acts is because he is incapable of empathy; a quality that you have in spades.”

Potter looked mutinous.

“In any case, we have a much larger problem,” Snape stated. “Were we to attempt such a thing—to fight the Dark Lord with love as Dumbledore likes to say—we would need to be of the Light. Neither you nor I can claim such purity,” Snape spat, the words feeling like acid on his tongue. 

At that moment, Dobby hobbled into the room, carrying a tray of milk, tea, biscuits, and healing potions. “Your afternoon dose, Harry Potter, sir.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” Potter said, affection for the elf as clear in his voice as it was on his face. He quickly downed the potions on the tray, grimaced, and chased them down with a biscuit and milk. Then he turned his attention back to Snape. “What do you mean we aren’t of the Light?”

Snape could practically see the cogs of the infuriating child’s mind grinding in search of a way to cleanse himself of any impurities. “Both you and I carry the mark of dark magic,” Snape said, involuntary flexing the muscles in his arm where the Dark Mark had been burned into his flesh. Potter, damn him, caught the slight movement. It took the teen only a moment to make the further connection to himself.

“My scar,” he breathed.

Snape merely raised an eyebrow in affirmation.

“But then…” Harry said, considering, “if someone who was pure were to join us…”

“Absolutely not,” Snape snapped. “We will not be bringing anyone else into this.”

“But we already have,” Potter murmured, his eyes drifting along with his thoughts.

“You can’t possibly mean…”

“Why not?” Harry challenged, his eyes alight with renewed purpose. “We already know we can trust him,” Harry said, his gaze lingering on the now vacant doorway. “And they have powers that we do not. You said so yourself.”

Snape scowled at the boy’s eager expression. Refusing to acknowledge Potter might actually have a passable idea, he quipped: “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.”

As Snape left the room, he ran various scenarios through his mind, weighing each one carefully in turn. Potter didn’t know it, but the boy may have stumbled onto the proverbial pot of wizard’s gold, for not only would the Dark Lord never see this coming, he’d likely underestimate the challenge of it as well. If they could use the Dark Lord’s weaknesses and short sightedness against the mad man, they just might have a chance after all.

Harry tried not to flinch as he was assaulted by the bright, pinprick light of Snape’s wand shining into his eyes.

“Equal and reactive,” Snape said with a nod.

Next Harry felt the familiar tingle of the diagnostic spell as it assessed his injuries or, hopefully, lack thereof.

Snape’s disgruntled sigh caught Harry’s attention. “What does it say?” Harry asked.

“According to this,” Snape reported, “you are completely healed.”

“So I can have the mind strengthening potion now?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Perhaps,” Snape said. “First you need to prove that you can stand on your own two feet without becoming light-headed.”

Harry quickly sat up, thrilled to be allowed to get out of bed.

“Not so fast,” Snape snarled. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. I do not wish to patch you up again should you fall.”

 Harry bit back a grin. He felt fine. More than fine. He hadn’t appreciated his body’s ability to move freely until it had been taken away from him. Obediently, least Snape curse him for insubordination, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood, testing his weight on his legs and feet. Harry took a few steps around the room, clasped his hands behind his back, glanced at Snape and said cheekily, “All better.”

“Hmm,” Snape grumbled. “Sit and eat your dinner,” Snape said, motioning to the tray of broth, buttered bread, and milk he’d brought into the room. “Next time I’ll leave a few broken bones just to keep you in bed a bit longer.”

Harry had just taken a bite of the bread. “You wouldn’t,” he said around a mouth full of food.

“Would you like to test that theory?”

Harry forced himself to swallow before quickly shaking his head. Then he picked up his glass of milk and took a long, deep swallow. Dipping his bread into the broth and making a show of eating, he murmured, “Sir, about my earlier idea…”

Snape raised a hand in warning. “First things first. We need to test the mind strengthening potion. If that goes well, and if a myriad of other things line up, then and only then will I entertain the possibility of listening to your outlandish notions.”

Harry was about to protest when he realized that Snape had not dismissed him outright. The impossible man must have found some merit to his plan after all. Feeling remarkably content for having thought of something that Snape had not, Harry finished his meal in silence, his plan further solidifying in his mind.