A week passed. Severus had to endure several searching looks from Dumbledore, but the headmaster didn’t mention anything. On Monday, he left dinner early and took out his notes, determined to come up with an organized way of doing this.

Boy – takes beatings, broken.Foster – childhood happiness.Mike – sullen, angry, yet protective.Tom – Slytherin, defiant, proud, cunning, dangerous. Trusts me.Danny – Quidditch, can handle touch.John – can apparate.Amelia – girl, 9 years old, polite, manners Potter – hero? Still unknown.James – doesn’t trust me, was in charge, now in disgrace.Faking – not an option. Harry is abused.References to ‘him’ – Vernon Dursley, main abuser.‘Taking care of the Dursleys’ – yes revenge, justified. Would he like help?

Now, how to break the truth to Potter. It was obvious the boy had some idea – it was no secret that he didn’t like his muggle relatives. And really, it should have been obvious that they didn’t like him, as he never got owls from them, but Severus had tried to pay as little attention to Potter as he could, over the years. Apparently it hadn’t worked as he was quite familiar with the boy’s habits, and could recall even now that the only times Potter ever saw his owl during the first three years, were when she would come down at breakfast to keep him company; she never brought a letter with her.

He sighed, absently running a hand through his hair.

The notes hadn’t helped.

“It would be much quicker if we just let him into our mind” Tom had said. Would that work? Perhaps save Severus’ own memory of Potter being abused in a pensieve and show it to him?

He scoffed. That would go over well. Honestly, he’d like to think he had more tact than that.

What if he took Tom’s suggestion more directly, though?

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

When the door opened at 7:05, Severus felt he had a good idea who it would be. It was actually a relief, he needed to present this idea to someone who didn’t hate him. That would only be Tom.

The boy walked in and sat down, a cynical, but still genuinely amused smirk on his face.

“Evening, Professor,” he drawled. Severus inclined his head in greeting.

“Tom, we have something to discuss.” The boy looked at him sharply, tensing for a moment before relaxing back into his normal slouch. “You know of Mr. Potter’s destiny, correct?”

Tom nodded, sneering. “Oh, yes. That idiot Trelawney’s prophecy. Sounds rather self-fulfilling to me.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, too curious to avoid it as he had never heard the full prophecy, but not wanting to actually ask. Luckily, Tom was a Slytherin and that was all the prompt he needed.

“Well, if Voldemort hadn’t heard about the prophecy, he never would have attacked me, I never would have been marked,” he gestured with disgust at his scar, “and the prophecy wouldn’t matter.”

“Intriguing as the prospect of Voldemort not having been banished for thirteen years might be, you’ll forgive me if I don’t wish the past to change. Much,” he amended, reminded again of the reason Tom was there. “In any case, that was not the business I wished to discuss. I believe Mr. Potter as he is now, separated amongst you, will not be fit to defeat Voldemort.”

“Why not?” Tom challenged. “We’ve all got the scar.”

“But were all of you born as the seventh month dies? To parents who had three times defied Voldemort?” Severus countered. “Or were you born when Potter started to hate? Was the persona ‘Potter’ born when Black died and Potter realized he had been partially responsible?”

“Don’t lie! You don’t lie to us,” Potter hissed, his voice low and hoarse, his posture suddenly stiff. “It was all his fault Sirius died. Everyone around him dies. He’d be happy if we could join them. Go be with Mum and Dad and Sirius. But he doesn’t deserve the happiness.”

Severus blinked in shock. This obviously wasn’t Tom; he had said he wasn’t out to harm Potter. Whoever this was, he was self-destructive to an extreme Severus hadn’t witnessed in a long time.

“Doesn’t deserve anything but what the bloody muggles give him,” the boy continued to mutter. “They should have succeeded in killing him, sent him to the afterlife where he could see Mum and Dad and Sirius and Cedric and they could tell him how much they hate him, how worthless he is. That’s what he deserves.”

He broke off suddenly and hunched over, cradling himself as if he were holding a baby and rocking lightly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he crooned, “Mummy doesn’t hate you. Mummy loves her little boy. Shhhh, shhhh, it’s okay. You’re a good little boy.” Potter looked up at him then and smiled sadly. “I apologize for Alex, he’s just a little upset. Don’t worry, Mummy can calm him down. Should I call Tom back for you, dear?”

Severus felt a sneer trying to come out at seeing a sixteen year old boy call him ‘dear’, but suppressed it as much as possible, nodding curtly. Potter’s posture shifted yet again, back into that of Tom, though the Slytherin looked a good deal less snidely casual now. Instead, the expression on his face was despondent and almost sad.

“Sorry about that, Professor,” he said softly. “We didn’t mean to let Alex out and, well, Mummy’s the only one that can calm him one he gets started.”

“Alex,” Severus repeated. “He is…”

“Suicidal, yes,” Tom confirmed. “Harry has a lot of guilt for what has happened to the people around him, too much for him to carry.”

“So Alex carries it for him.”

Tom nodded. “You see, Alex contemplates the fall during Astronomy; Alex spent hours at night staring at the knife Sirius gave us, before that got broken.”

“Alex, not Harry,” Severus suggested, beginning to understand. “And Alex wouldn’t pull out of a Wronski Feint, which is why Danny does the flying.” Tom nodded again. “And you? You said you’re the one who hates, you’re the Slytherin, you do the ‘dark stuff’.”

“Not Harry,” finished Tom, nodding again. He smirked sardonically. “I think you’re starting to understand us, Professor. Careful, our mind is a dangerous place.”

“That actually brings us back to my original topic,” Severus said. Tom tipped his head slightly to indicate his interest. “Harry must be made aware, and cured, of his…affliction.”

“Nonono,” Tom exclaimed, sounding slightly frantic. “We can’t do that. The whole reason we’re here is so that Harry doesn’t find out, he can’t find out, you can’t tell him, you can’t!”

“I am not proposing I tell him,” Severus said firmly, waiting while the boy’s breathing slowed down. “What I propose is that I enter your mind, the subconscious where the rest of you reside, and record a message from you as a memory to be placed in a pensieve, which I would then show to Harry.”

“Can’t!” Foster yelped, appearing and standing suddenly. “The only thing worse than grassing to someone else is grassing to Harry!”

“It is only a whole Harry Potter who can defeat Voldemort,” Severus growled. “We do not have much choice in the matter. It may be healthier to take our time with this, in fact it would probably be best if you were to go to professional counseling for several years, but we do not have several years. You have a part to play, all of you, but you must play it as a single person.”

Slowly, the boy sat back down, leaning his elbows on his knees and resting his mouth against interlocking fingers. He stared at nothing, yet his eyes flicked back and forth as if tracking an internal Quidditch match. Finally, he looked Severus in the eye and stood.

“If Harry will let you in himself,” he declared, nodded once, and left.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Tom stalked back up to Gryffindor tower, angry and scared. They had discussed the Professor’s suggestion and James had been adamant against it, and James usually made the important decisions. But James clearly wasn’t capable of doing what was best for Harry when it came to Snape. The others had placed Tom in charge, as he was usually making half the decisions anyway. He hoped that didn’t backfire on them now.

James had declared that Snape should never be allowed in their mind again, and in that he had a lot of support. Foster was still a bit sullen about the pudding, Alex never wanted anything to go right, Danny held no love for the professor either, and Mike was still bitter – more so than usual – about the cruel things Snape said.

But most of the others, even if they didn’t like it, saw the necessity of what the potions master had suggested. Amelia was singing his praises after he had stopped Him; Boy, well, Boy was hardly coherent, but it was clear he trusted Snape at least a little bit for stopping the pain; Mummy didn’t particularly like him, but she was sensible enough to know that he wouldn’t harm Harry on purpose; and John admired him intellectually.

So in the end, Tom had compromised. If Snape could get Harry himself to agree to let him into their mind, then they would do it. This felt safe enough, as Harry usually had a difficult time trusting anyone, but Tom secretly hoped that he would let Snape in. Of course, right after hoping that, he also hoped that Snape be worthy of the trust placed in him. If anything happened to Harry because of this, Tom worried that none of them would be able to handle it. They had all gone through so much pain in their life, anything else too drastic might break the fragile balance they had.

Why did everything have to be so hard?

Ugh, now he sounded like Mike. Tom shook his head as he walked through the portrait hole, assailed suddenly by the cheerful cacophony of a dozen or so ‘studying’ Gryffindors. Hermione was probably the only one actually studying, the rest were chatting to each other over their work or not even bothering to fake it. Seamus and Dean were playing exploding snap and Ron called ‘Harry’ over for a game of chess.

Tom, distracted by his thoughts on Professor Snape, forgot that he was supposed to be acting like Harry, who wasn’t terribly good at chess, and nearly beat Ron.

“Wow, Harry!” the redhead exclaimed. “You really had me on the run there for a moment. When did you get so good, have you been practicing without me?”

“Really,” Tom barely kept himself from sneering, “you use the same strategy every time. It was inevitable that I’d eventually catch on. You’ve probably gotten a bit worse, too,” he added in a mutter, “having only Harry to play against.”

Ron’s head snapped up and Tom realized with an inward groan that he hadn’t been quiet enough. The other boy grabbed his arm in what looked like a friendly manner, but was almost tight enough to hurt, and started pulling him toward the boy’s dorm.

“Hermione, could come with us for a sec?” Ron asked casually as they passed the reading girl. “Er…Harry wanted to see if we can help him with his Defense homework.”

Hermione looked up from her book and raised an eyebrow at them. Tom was impressed, the request would sound innocuous, but Hermione knew very well that Harry never, ever needed help with Defense. The bushy-haired girl followed them up to the dorm where they sat on Harry’s bed. Ron quickly cast a silencing charm and closed the curtains before shoving Tom down on the mattress.

“Who are you and what have you done with Harry?” he demanded, pointing his wand at him. Hermione gasped and drew her own wand, but kept it down.

Tom groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. “I do not want to deal with this right now,” he moaned.

“What’s going on, Ron?” Hermione asked. Ron explained about how Harry had been acting odd and how he’d almost won at chess and then the idiotic comment he’d made about ‘only having Harry to play against’. Tom groaned again to hear it explained in detail exactly how many stupid mistakes he’d made.

What to do now? He couldn’t just explain it to them, could he? They’d probably freak out, Gryffindors that they are.

Hey, stop underestimating them! James demanded. They’ve always been good friends. Ron overreacts on occasion but he always comes around, and Hermione’s never turned her back on us.

Besides, John added, she has access to muggle books in the summer, I bet she knows something useful.

And it really is rather impolite to lie to Harry’s friends, said Amelia.

Tom sighed. He supposed it was rather hypocritical of him to keep demanding they tell Snape everything and then try to hide from Ron and Hermione.

“Alright, I’ll talk,” he said aloud. “Just please, no hexes till I’m done.” Ron and Hermione nodded, Ron even going so far as to lower his wand, though he didn’t put it away. “First of all, my name is Tom, and while it’s true I’m not Harry, I’m not exactly someone else either. I’m Harry’s Slytherin side, and yes, he does have one; I’m probably going to get into big trouble for telling you this, but Harry was almost sorted into Slytherin.” Foster suddenly got all anxious and popped up. “You weren’t supposed to tell them that!” he exclaimed. “About us, yes, but not about that!” Tom pushed him out of the way. “I had to tell them about that so they can understand me,” he explained. “How are they supposed to believe I’m Harry’s Slytherin side without knowing he has one?” He turned back to Ron and Hermione. “Sorry about that,” he drawled, “I told you I’d get in trouble. Anyway, where was I?”

Neither answered, which wasn’t a surprise really. Tom figured they must sound weird, two different people talking in different voices out of the same mouth. However, he couldn’t think of anything more to say, so Harry’s friends would have to speak first.

Ron laughed suddenly, nervously. “Is this a joke or something? Come on, Harry, cut it out, you got us. Good one, mate.”

Tom shook his head. “It’s not a joke, and Harry can’t hear you.”

“Can’t…can’t hear us?” Hermione stammered.

“No, whenever one of us comes out, he goes to sleep,” Tom explained. “You see, we’re here to handle what he can’t. It would probably be safe for him to come out now, but he can’t explain any of this to you as he doesn’t know what’s going on. Professor Snape’s planning on changing that, though.”

“Snape?” Ron asked, scrunching up his nose in disgust. “What does this have to do with that greasy git?”

So Tom explained to them about the detentions, how Snape had been trying to draw them out, learn about them. He told them about Snape’s idea, and his compromise, and even spilled his fears about whether it was a good idea or not. He left out the Dursleys, though. There were no excuses good enough for telling the secret so tightly protected not even Harry himself knew; Foster would have his head if he so much as hinted at it. They let him speak until he ran out of words, even waiting expectantly while he consulted the others mentally about whether or not they had anything to add.

Foster wanted to ask them for pudding. Children, honestly.

“I can’t believe I had no idea,” Hermione said faintly in the end. Ron looked like he had lost the ability to speak some time ago. “The moodiness, the lapses in memory, it’s practically a textbook case. You’re…Harry is – well, you all are, really…”

“What?” Ron asked, confused. Tom secretly agreed with the sentiment; Hermione could be incredibly confusing when she was thinking out loud.

“Harry has Multiple Personality Disorder, Ron,” Hermione answered. “Oh, I’ve read a bit about this, not much, but enough that I should have seen…but I just didn’t think. Oh, Harry – sorry, I mean, Tom – I think it’s a good thing that Professor Snape is helping you with this, and it won’t be too bad, having him in your head. And I think it was very responsible for you to leave the decision up to Harry in the end. He has to be able to trust Professor Snape as well for this to work.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Tom said sincerely, feeling a good deal calmer. “Anything else you’d like to ask before we go to bed. We’re rather tired.”

“Yeah,” Ron spoke up. “Did you know you look a dead ringer for a black-haired Malfoy when you smirk like that?”

They laughed.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Severus waited, rather impatiently, for Potter to come down for detention. Scattered across his desk were muggle psychology textbooks he had bought when Dumbledore was teaching him Occlumency and the copious notes he had taken from them on MPD specifically. They weren’t exactly helpful, as muggles were still unsure if MPD was real or not, but the fact that he had studied helped soothe his nerves. At least, as much as his nerves could be soothed. He still jumped slightly when the door finally opened.

Potter walked in nervously and took his seat across the desk, staring at anything other than Severus.

Severus cleared his throat to begin. “Mr. Potter, I have a serious matter to discuss with you.”

“Figures,” Potter muttered, just barely loud enough for Severus to make out the words. “It’d probably kill you to make a joke once in a while.”

A warning sounded in Severus’ mind that something was off and he glared at the boy in front of him.

“Mike, I am not here to speak to you,” he said firmly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike scoffed, “don’t get your git-pants in a bunch.”

Severus mentally rolled his eyes and waited. Potter slumped slightly, then blinked and sat up, giving a rather fake-looking yawn.

“Sorry professor,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Is detention over?”

“No, Mr. Potter.” Severus began again, “There is a serious matter we need to discuss.”

Potter sat up straighter, looking interested and a bit anxious.

“I believe I know the root of your lapses in memory, but I need access to your mind in order to find out for sure,” the potions master explained. “I will be delving into your subconscious, so you will have no memory of what I see, but I intend to place the memory in a pensieve for you to view.”

Potter looked at him, forehead wrinkled slightly in confusion. “Why…why are you telling me all this?” he asked hesitantly. “I mean, I’m not…I can’t stop you, can I? So why are you explaining it? Sir,” he added quickly.

“While you may not be able to keep me from your conscious mind,” Severus acknowledged, though he privately wondered if that was true, “access to the subconscious requires consent. True consent, and trust. I realize this is an area we are lacking, but I can–”

“It’s not,” Potter interrupted.

“What?”

“It’s not an ‘area we are lacking’,” Potter said quietly, looking down at his hands. “I…I do trust you, Professor Snape. And if you think it will help get rid of my Blank Outs, I’ll consent to you entering my subconscious.”

Severus leaned back, stunned. He knew Tom trusted him, and wasn’t that odd enough, but Harry himself trusted him? When had that happened?

Instead of asking these questions, though, Severus directed Harry to arrange himself most comfortably in the chair. He, himself, used his wand to move the desk out of the way and brought his own chair directly in front of Harry’s. Placing his hand’s gently on the boy’s temples, they locked eyes, and Severus dove into his mind.