“Are you ready?” Harry asked, his voice quivering with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Dobby bobbed his oddly shaped head, his ears twitching only slightly.

Harry glanced over at Snape, who looked as impassive as ever. Git, Harry thought. Then, leaning towards Dobby, he whispered. “It’s okay to be nervous. I am.”

“Enough with the pep talk,” Snape said, cutting across Harry’s words. “Let us begin.”

Harry glanced at the three of them, sitting together on the floor in a circle, Dobby’s back against the wall, Harry’s against his single bed, and Snape’s against the other single bed. Due to Dobby’s smaller size, it wasn’t quite a perfect circle as Harry and Snape had had to scoot forward so that their knees could all touch. Snape had explained the importance of maintained physical contact, and had positioned them all so that even if they lost consciousness, the wall or the beds would support them, keeping them from breaking contact.

Taking a deep breath, Harry closed his eyes and reached out with both of his hands. His right hand bumped against the elf’s small, warm palm. Harry wrapped his fingers around the elf’s, feeling the short, stubby digits tremble slightly. Harry felt the fingers of his left hand being encapsulated by longer, cooler ones. Part of him wanted to pull away from Snape’s grip; the other part of him wanted to find confidence and reassurance in it.

He felt an icy cold tingling sensation as Snape placed a binding charm on their interlocked hands. Snape cast several other charms as well, charms meant to protect them and keep them safe from anything that Voldemort might throw at them over the mind link. Harry fervently hoped that Snape knew what he was doing.

When Snape pronounced that he was finished, Harry felt panic rise within him. Would the mind strengthening potion really work? Was his plan as feeble as Snape claimed it to be? Did they really have a chance of defeating the Dark Lord? Was this all just a crazy suicide mission in which he, Harry, was going take two more beings he cared about down with him?

“Calm yourself,” Snape instructed, tightening his grip on Harry’s sweaty fingers. “Your anxiety will get you nowhere.”

Harry took a deep breath, and tried to empty his mind. Snape was right, and worrying about it would do nothing but give Voldemort the advantage. Willing his heart rate to slow, he focused instead on the knees that were securely positioned against his own, of the palms that beat, warm and reassuring, in his own. If nothing else, he wasn’t alone in this. Dobby had his back, so to speak, and Snape, if nothing else, was true to his word.

Although they had been huddled together in their circle for nearly three-quarters of an hour waiting for the Dark Lord to attack, when the time came, Harry was both calmer and more frightened than he’d anticipated. The linking and protection ceremony that Snape had performed allowed them all to feel, if not always hear, each others’ foremost thoughts and emotions. So when a cloud of darkness started pressing on Harry from all sides, Harry felt not only his own response, but Dobby’s fear and Snape’s steadfastness. Harry settled in to wait. This part was both hard and easy in that he was not supposed to do anything at all, just let it happen. Let the Dark Lord think that he’d successfully taken over Harry’s fragile mind. Let the Dark Lord believe he had won. That way, when the counter attack came, Voldemort would be caught off guard. Or, at least, they hoped he would be.

In the recesses of Harry’s mind, he could feel Snape’s presence beside him, dark and menacing, even though Snape was on the side of the light now. Beneath Voldemort’s shadow, all that was tainted by him radiated evil. Only a pure spirit like Dobby could shine in this darkness, and Snape was successfully shielding Dobby’s presence from the Dark Lord.

“Ah, Harry, so nice to see you again.” The voice was cool and slick like oil, making Harry feel like he would wretch from its putrid presence.

“Have you no words for me, Harry? Aren’t you happy to see me? Weren’t you waiting for me?”

Harry felt himself waiver. Had Voldemort caught on to their plan? But at a strong nudge from Snape, Harry regained his footing.

“As a matter of fact,” Harry said, his voice growing stronger even as he fought the urge to gag, “I have been waiting for you. I was hoping you would come.”

Harry felt the weight of darkness on his chest recede a little, as if the Dark Lord had backed off some. “Were you, my boy? Have you decided to join me after all? To see your skills and talents put to use?”

“Hardly,” Harry coughed out. “I’ve come to see if you’re ready to join the Light.”

Red eyes suddenly glowed brightly through the dark, cloying mist. Harry felt a shiver which he was sure had come from Dobby.

“Me? Join you?” Voldemort cackled. “What can a boy like you possibly offer me, the greatest dark wizard of all time?”

Harry swallowed hard against the bile rising in this throat. He’d had a script to follow, one that Snape had specifically laid out for him and made him memorize, but in the face of Voldemort, it had evaporated as quickly as a drop of dew under a scorching desert sun.

“You were young once,” Harry wagered. “Surely you remember…”

“Remember what?” Voldemort spat. “Remember the weak mother who couldn’t bother staying alive long enough to do more than give birth to me? Or the worthless, vile Muggle father who abandoned his pregnant wife and wouldn’t admit to his own seed?”

The red eyes glowed ominously in the dark, getting closer, and Harry felt as if a storm was brewing. Every instinct in him told him to run and hide, but there was no place to go.

“Or perhaps I should remember the pathetic Muggle orphanage that allowed me floor space. Should I remember those wretched Muggle children who played with their useless Muggle toys while waiting for mummy and daddy to come back for them? Or the mistresses there who claimed to give us nutritious food, needed discipline, and a roof over our heads?”

Harry felt Snape’s nudge, and cleared his throat, hoping for something, anything, to come to his mind.

“Your mother didn’t willingly leave you,” Harry stated, thinking to himself: And neither did mine. “She died to give you a chance in life.” Harry felt Dobby’s hand shaking in his. “She gave you a chance to do something good, and instead you...”

Voldemort’s laugh was loud and distorted. “Something good?” he mimicked in a childlike voice. “Only children worry about ‘good things’. Adults know that the only thing worth worrying about is power. And you, Harry, have no power. You are a weak, pathetic child, just like those Muggles in the orphanage.”

“You may have more power than me,” Harry conceded, “but I have something you’ll never have. I have people who care about me. Friends that care about me.” Harry focused hard on Hermione and Ron, Ginny and Fred and George, the members of the DA, his Quidditch team.

“Friends?” Voldemort chided, as shards of ice swirled through the darkness, popping the images in Harry’s mind like bubbles. “Friends that betrayed you?” Voldemort pressed, throwing up images of Ginny kissing Dean, of Ron walking away from him during the Triwizard Tournament, of Hermione laughing at him, of the DA turning their back on him, of his Quidditch team blaming him for their losses. “Friends are a liability, Potter, a weakness. I have no such weakness.”

“You have no humanity,” Harry spat. He felt the ice daggers closing in on him, making it difficult for him to breathe. Snape was nudging him, but his mind was clouding over. Fight it, he heard Snape’s voice rumble, and for a moment, Harry feared that Voldemort had heard it too.

Suddenly, the image of Harry’s mother danced in front of his eyes. Harry was forced to watch as Voldemort replayed the part where Lily begged for Harry’s life. Harry wrapped his arms around his stomach, straining to breathe.

The high pitched tone of Voldemort’s voice sounded like a voice over. “Love is a liability, a weakness, a disease. It makes people do stupid things. It made you come here tonight thinking you could convert me to the Light.”

Harry coughed, hard, and pushed back the pressing darkness compressing his lungs. “I didn’t think I could convert you,” Harry forced out. “I just wanted to give you a choice before I ended this. Ended you.”

“End me?” Voldemort echoed with derision. “You, end me?”

“Yes,” Harry said, digging deep for a sense of confidence he didn’t feel. “This ends. Tonight. Just you and me. Here. Tonight.”

Voldemort’s red glowing eyes disappeared but Voldemort’s cackling laughter still echoed around all around him.

Harry felt himself being thrown to the ground.

“I am a part of you, Harry. Didn’t you know? The only way you can end me is to end yourself as well.”

“What will be, will be,” Harry replied, channeling Snape’s last words to him.

“What about all your little friends, Harry? Don’t you care about them anymore? What will your death do to them?”

Harry slammed the door on those fears and feelings, willing the Dark Lord not to know just how much that had haunted him. Not seeing Ron or Hermione or Ginny again. Knowing how much they’d grieve for him, as he would for them.

“Love is eternal,” he countered.

“Love,” Voldemort spat. “Not even your own blood could love a little freak like you, could they?” Voldemort threw up pictures of the Dursleys, images Harry had long since forgotten. Like the time that Vernon had caught Harry looking at Dudley’s new bike in the garage and had beaten him so badly that Harry had wet his pants. Or the time that Harry had burned Dudley’s breakfast, and Petunia had instructed Dudley to put the hot frying pan on Harry’s bare back to teach him a lesson, searing his skin until Harry had passed out from the pain. On and on the images played; little Harry crying for his mummy in his cupboard, Dudley’s gang chasing him, Vernon wholloping him, Petunia degrading him.

Harry felt the heat creep up his cheeks, embarrassment coloring his vision. He felt soothing pinpricks of heat on his ankles, and thought that it might have been Dobby’s way of giving support. It took all of his effort to push the visions away.

“You call that love?” Voldemort sneered. “That is what you fight for?”

And then Harry was walking in the woods with Dudley. The night air was cool and brisk, the moon waning. Harry stayed a step behind, never quite trusting his cousin, as they took the shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Privet Drive. They were nearing the clearing. There was the big oak tree. Harry’s steps faltered and his mind reeled.

“No!” Harry shouted, suddenly realizing what Voldemort was doing. Frantically, he tried to pull away from Snape’s and Dobby’s grasp. He felt Snape’s grip tighten in response, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

“No?” Voldemort coaxed.

“No, not that,” Harry breathed, his voice an echo of the horror he felt. Snape was nudging him insistently now, but Harry ignored him.

And then the images were there, flashing. Harry, being jumped from behind, his wand being kicked away. Dudley’s gang surrounding him. Their malicious laughter. Their even more malicious intent. Harry being pushed to the ground and being there, spread eagle. Harry’s clothes being torn from his body as he shouted and fought to get away. And then the sound of one of the boy’s unzipping his pants.*

“STOP IT!” Harry yelled, desperately trying to extricate himself from Snape and Dobby’s grips. “Stop!”

Humiliation was like a hundred ton weight on Harry’s chest. He felt his fingers tearing free from Dobby’s as he struggled, determined not to let them see what Dudley’s gang had done to him. They’d already seen more than he’d ever wanted anyone to, but this, this was just too much. And then, finally, he was letting go, falling free of the shackles that were Dobby, freeing himself from Snape, and from the memory that was his ultimate humiliation.