Harry kept tight hold of the professor as blackness suddenly filled his entire field of vision. The only other sights were the present Snape and the past Snape. Quickly, though, the darkness was broken by a familiar door looming ahead.

Harry cursed silently and forced himself not to struggle as he was dragged toward his bedroom of ten years. The door opened and the Gryffindor blinked in surprise. There were people inside – more people than the cupboard could hold, that’s for sure – and a good number of them looked like him! He watched curiously as memory-Snape had an argument with someone who looked like Harry’s dad, supported by a young-Riddle look-alike and a younger Harry who looked angry at the world. When the argument was over, a little boy walked over and started talking about pudding.

Snape brushed him off and a little girl took his place and led him off to make introductions. Harry and present-Snape followed so they could hear.

Danny was first, reading Quidditch Through the Ages in Harry’s Gryffindor Quidditch uniform. John sat next to him reading a book Harry recognized as one Hermione had left out, but that he didn’t think he could understand if he tried. The little girl called the three memory-Snape had been arguing with in turn, “Tom, Mike, and James.” Over in the corner where Harry had once stored a tiny first aid kit from school was a pale, unhealthy-looking Harry called “Alex” being cradled in the hands of a woman who looked vaguely like Harry’s mother. The girl said she was “Mummy”, which irked Harry; he had a mum!

Next the girl pointed into the impenetrable shadows near where the stairs met the floor and indicated someone named “Boy”. Harry heard a whimper that made his heart catch in his throat, though he didn’t know why.

Finally, they were led back to the oversized cot where Harry saw someone he desperately wished he could be, but was afraid of for some reason. He was glad this “Potter” was sleeping. Then the girl started to move away, but Harry caught present-Snape’s attention.

“Wait, what’s her name?” he asked urgently.

“Amelia,” Snape answered.

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

Severus let Potter drag him around to follow the girl as she made the introductions again. Then as it was decided how they should go about taking turns, Severus made sure he positioned Harry next to his memory self, so that the alters would be looking at him. Alex was first, and Severus discreetly moved closer to Potter for support.

“Hello Harry, you little freak. I hope you do get better, get your memory back, so you can feel how much I hate you,” the boy said again.

Potter trembled against him at the force of the words and the animosity.

“I thought these were parts of me?” he asked tremulously. Severus answered him in the affirmative, raising his wand to pause the memory. “But then, why does he hate me? Why would I hate myself?”

“Only Alex knows,” Severus told him quietly, resuming the recording.

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

The girl, Amelia, was next. Harry felt himself flush as he realized that this meant there was a part of him who was a girl. As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, she apparently ‘saved’ him from getting in trouble. Harry frowned in confusion; that didn’t make sense, he was always in trouble, no matter what. And why was she scared of Uncle Vernon? None of it made any sense.

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

Severus watched Tom as he stated that Boy would be allowed to speak, that they should all be allowed to speak. James had shot him a clear warning at that point, and Severus could easily see this. While Mummy brought Boy up to talk, Severus inched away from Harry and closer to where Tom and James sat on the edge of the cot. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear them whispering.

“Not all,” James insisted.

“I think all,” Tom replied smoothly, “yes, even It.”

“We don’t even know if It can talk, or if It even understands speech!” hissed James. “No, It has to stay away.”

“We can’t keep It hidden forever,” Tom countered, but seemed to back down, leaving the argument for another day.

Interesting.

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

Harry felt his heart break as he watched the sad, hurting child in front of him. What had happened to Boy to make him so pitiful? What had happened to Harry? Why couldn’t he remember?

He wanted to remember, wanted to know so he could help these parts of himself. Wanted to make right what he had done to make Alex hate him, get over what had been done to him to make Boy hurt so much. With new determination, Harry focused firmly on what his ‘alters’ were telling him.

Danny was next, though, and he didn’t say much. Though his presence did answer the question of why Harry never remembered his Quidditch matches or practices, despite knowing for a fact he played the game. Harry would be willing to bet it was Danny who had ordered the practice snitch, too.

The little boy, Foster, came after Danny and started talking some more about pudding. Apparently, Snape had promised to give him one and hadn’t come through yet. Harry felt himself wanting to laugh at the thought of his inner child prompting him to eat pudding, but sobered as Foster continued. Apparently, the reason he couldn’t remember any of his childhood, was because Boy had taken the bad (whatever that was) and Foster had been forced to store the good, as well.

Harry only understood one thing from all this – those memories were intact somewhere, and he wanted them back.

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

As Foster spoke again, Severus drew his attention back to Tom and James.

“Alphabetical order,” Tom muttered. “You know what should come next.”

“No,” James ordered. “Look, Harry is not ready to see It. I don’t think he’s even ready to see Boy or Alex. We should never have let Snape in, we should have just let things be.”

“We’ll have to disagree on that, I think,” Tom sighed. Foster finished and sat back down. James watched Tom closely as the Slytherin deliberated, until finally he said, “Alright, James, go on.”

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

Harry listened, confused, as someone who looked like his father apologized solemnly for…something. He wouldn’t say what exactly he’d done that was wrong, but, looking at the other alters and how they all seemed sort of disgusted with James, he figured it must have been pretty bad. No one had said anything to Harry about bad things he’d done when he couldn’t remember, so he couldn’t fathom what might have been the problem.

But James promised he’d get better, and he’d remember, and Harry decided to believe him, and forgive the man/boy/alter when that time came.

When John came up and told him about being punished for better grades than Dudley, Harry thought he might remember that. The idea made him giddy, so he eagerly pursued it, but it flitted out of his grasp before he could recall so much as a vague impression that good grades were a bad thing and he shouldn’t tell the teacher right answers.

The thought that there was something in him that really did excel in schoolwork, though, was fantastic, and Harry hoped that he and John could…er…mind-meld, or whatever it was they needed to do to become one, soon. Wouldn’t Hermione be shocked? And was that French?

Mike stalked up next, and Harry was half-worried that this alter would spout self-hatred at him, too, but apparently he only needed Alex for that. This Mike just muttered a good bit about the unfairness of the world and the harshness of reality before wandering off, shoulders hunched angrily.

If it wasn’t so surreal, Harry thought he’d find Mike funny.

Then came Mummy, and Harry felt the annoyance rise again. He had a mother, Lily Potter, and he didn’t need this lady impersonating her, even if she was a part of his head. She spouted some pretty words and Harry felt his heart ache; what he wouldn’t give to have his real mother say that to him just once! “Mummy always loves you” indeed, how would she know! Harry felt himself shake his head disgustedly as she blew him a kiss.

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

Severus knew what came next, that lost charisma known as Potter, and he wasn’t going to miss it. Tom called for the boy to wake up, and Severus moved back to Harry Potter’s side to watch as the hero stood regally and walked over. His walk was calm, purposeful but not emotional. He heard Harry gasp as Potter looked slightly down at him and Severus paused the memory again.

“One wonders, Mr. Potter,” he said softly, “why you would give this up. Do you even know?”

“I don’t,” Harry choked. “I don’t understand. That’s me, that’s a better version of me, why am I sc…” he broke off.

“Hmmm?” Severus prompted.

“Why am I scared?” Harry whispered.

“Because part of you knows it,” Severus told him, “somewhere in you is the memory of why this Potter is separate from you, and that part doesn’t want you to know. It’s going to be difficult, but if you can remember, this is the strength you can have. Do you want it?”

Harry didn’t seem to hear him at first, and Severus was just beginning to raise his want to restart the memory when the boy spoke.

“I want it,” he said firmly.

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

Harry listened to what Potter told him, hearing the strength, confidence, and wisdom in his voice. That part of him that Snape had been talking about was still churning anxiously inside, but the rest of him yearned to be strong like that. And there would be no turning back.

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

Severus leaned even closer, as close as he could get, when right before Tom’s turn, he and James started whispering again.

“Don’t you tell him, Tom,” said James firmly. “He doesn’t need to know about It.”

“Alright,” Tom said easily.

“I mean it, Tom!” James hissed. “You will not tell Harry anything about It, swear it!”

Tom shut his eyes and took a deep breath, clearly meant to clear his growing irritation. When Severus saw his eyes again, he looked resigned. “I swear.”

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

Finally, Tom came and faced him. Harry saw there his own face, his own hair, but something about him looked like Tom Riddle, and that worried him on a much more conscious level than Potter had.

As Tom spoke, calling him an innocent as if it would be the last time he could be named as such, Harry felt his fear grow, warping into a fear of himself. Hate? True, honest, deep hatred? This was not something Harry thought he felt, it was something he had always secretly been grateful for. People like Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange; they hated, not Harry Potter. But here in front of him was corporeal proof that he not only hated, he hated, enough to cast an unforgivable on someone.

It could not be denied, because even as he was horrified at the thought, Harry felt within him the stirrings of that same hatred, the frostbitten flame that her very name lit in his heart and soul. He had run from it before, denied it, lied to himself. But that wasn’t an option.

And still Tom spoke, offering him words of comfort the likes of which he’d never heard before. Telling him it was alright to hate, alright to feel that flame, because he hadn’t let it warp him. Even as the embodiment of all Harry’s ill will, Tom still had the capacity to support and help people. He was ruthless, yes, and he could carry a grudge and had a hard time forgiving, but Tom was still there to help him if he needed it.

And, Harry was forced to realize, he did need it.

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

“I guess that’s everyone. This was fun, let’s do it again sometime. Bye!”

This time, as Severus felt himself and Harry being shooed out of the cupboard and the pensieve, he realized that there was much more hidden behind James’ abruptness than annoyance and distrust. There was another personality, one that the others were obviously not supposed to let out under any circumstances, one that the others knew little about and didn’t want to show to Harry.

“P…Professor,” he heard Harry gasp. Severus turned quickly to see his student sitting in his chair, his head between his legs. “Can I… have that… calming potion… now?”

“You don’t need it,” Severus coaxed in an approximation of gentleness. “If it’s too much, let one of the others take over, they’ll take care of you.”

Harry nodded to show he heard and gradually started to slow his breathing. Then, as if flipping a switch inside, his breathing returned to normal in one great gasp. The boy looked up, blinking furiously.

“Harry?” Severus asked hesitantly.

The boy shook his head. “Tom,” he said breathlessly.

Severus leaned back in his own chair and studied Tom’s face as he continued to relax all the muscles Harry had tensed.

“Tom,” he said quietly, “what is It?”

In the blink of an eye, Tom was out of the chair and at the door. Before Severus could quite bring his wand around to lock it or somehow restrain him, the boy was gone.

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

On Sunday, Draco went to breakfast early so that he could have time in the morning to visit his favorite ‘old family friend’. His father had introduced him to many of these over the years, but this was the only one who didn’t give him chills or make him feel dirty through their very presence.

At barely 9:30, Draco knocked on the door of the potion’s professor’s office, then entered without being given permission – he’d never needed permission on a Sunday. However, as soon as he set foot within, he began to wonder if asking first might have been a good idea, as Severus was mid-rant.

“– stupid, idiot child! Foolish, prideful, arrogant, Gryffindor boy!” he muttered, crushing something with a mortar and pestle with each word. “Morning Draco,” he added, hearing his guest’s footsteps. “Lackadaisical, ignorant fool. Keeping secrets now, what is he thinking?”

“Potter again?” Draco asked.

Severus had told him that he was attempting, on Dumbledore’s orders (though that was, in Draco’s opinion, probably not true), to council Potter and help him deal with some of his problems. He’d already sat through a few rants this year on how Potter was making up stories to get attention (really, it didn’t take a Slytherin to see Potter hated being noticed or singled out), though those had stopped abruptly a few weeks ago.

Draco knew he would never have been privy to such emotional outbursts on Potter’s behalf had he not let Severus in on the same secret he’d told Potter the other day.

He’d enjoyed his summer.

His first summer ever without his father at home, with his father in jail no less, and he’d enjoyed it. His mother had been happier, livelier, and had spoiled him worse than ever. The house-elves weren’t so annoyingly stiff with the rules, allowing him privileges his father had long denied – riding horses outside lessons, practicing seeker-Quidditch with the real snitch, spending nights on the roof watching the stars come out even though he’d finished his Astronomy homework.

And, as an extra bonus, as the last legal male heir, the manor itself had granted Draco access to all the formerly locked and forbidden areas. Including a library full of both muggle and wizard books. He’d spent weeks in there, reading to his hearts content, everything from Merlin’s In Support of the Wand to Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, losing sight of what was wizard and what was muggle because it obviously didn’t affect writing ability.

He had most certainly enjoyed his summer break away from the Malfoy name.

When he’d come to school and realized he was still a Malfoy, still the son of a Death Eater, it had been quite a shock to his system, and he knew right away that he couldn’t keep up the façade forever. So he’d gone to the one adult who had never scorned him, never yelled at him, and always explained what he wanted to know rather than brushing off his concerns as ‘childish’. Severus had been amazingly understanding, and had, more importantly, believed him. Trusted him.

Draco was the only person outside of Dumbledore’s little club who knew that Severus was a spy.

Draco was probably the only person besides Dumbledore himself who knew that Severus worried a great deal about Potter’s mental and physical safety.

“Yes, Potter!” Severus snapped, slamming his pestle on the desk. “I’ve been trying to get him to open up for almost two months now, I finally think we’re making progress and I find out he’s keeping secrets from me that he refuses to tell. He just ran out, in the middle of a session! Just got up and bolted from his seat as if I’d asked him to – to test a potion with belladonna and oak leaves!”

Draco winced, whenever Severus was so stressed he could barely think, he resorted to potions analogies. Belladonna mixed with oak leaves made a basic solution so strong it would eat through your mouth into your brain before you got the chance to swallow it. So, translated to normal, it would be ‘as if death itself were chasing him’.

And people did not just run away from Professor Snape.

“It almost seems,” Severus said more sedately, as if yelling had gotten all the anger out of his system. “It almost seems as if he doesn’t know himself. As if he couldn’t answer me, and running were his only option.”

They sat in silence for a moment longer, before Severus posed the question that was truly bothering him, likely the one he’d asked Potter.

“Just what is ‘It’?”

Draco’s head shot up at the emphasis Severus had put on the word ‘It’, as it was the same emphasis Potter himself had used.

“It’s hidden in a box under a cot in the cupboard,” he said softly. “What do you know, he really did tell me his greatest secret.”