“I trust, Mr. Potter, that you have not completely forgotten your Occlumency lessons?”

Harry swirled around to face Snape. The boy had been pounding furiously on the locked door for the past few minutes. This place seemed vaguely familiar, but Harry knew that he had never been in this room before. Harry gave Snape a blank, sickened look. He wanted out of this room. Now.

“Potter, if you would kindly stop behaving like a caged animal, I should like to explain things to you before we proceed.”

Snape waited quietly. And he waited. Potter didn’t seem to be interested in anything Snape had to say. The boy’s sole concern was to find a way out of the dimly lit cell, before something bad happened to him.

“Potter, there is no other way out of this cell. Stop wasting time,” Snape snapped impatiently. “Now, do you remember Occlumency or not?”

Harry nodded, he remembered those lessons with Snape all too well.

“Alright, that’s a start at least,” Snape stated coldly. “What I am going to do is very much like Occlumency, but with this I do not want you to resist me.”

Harry felt the tips of his fingers turn to ice. Snape wanted him to do what? Submit? The very thought of Harry allowing Snape into his thoughts willingly was insane. The man was a nutter.

“Potter?” Snape’s voice snapped Harry to attention.

Harry didn’t want to cooperate. His head hurt him enough without Snape muddling through his memories.

“Potter, do you understand what I’ve said to you?”

Snape recognized the look of horror on the boy’s face. It was perfectly clear that the boy understood, and that he didn’t want to cooperate at all. There was no other alternative. Snape had to know what was causing Harry to act so strangely in order to be able to help him properly.

Snape hated unhappy memories as much as anyone. He was quite certain that if he were in the boy’s place he would not let his thoughts be read willingly. The Potions Master expected no less from The Boy Who Lived.

Snape closed the space between the boy and himself. Harry almost instinctively shrank back, but Snape warned him against it with a more than stern look. The Potions Master cleared his throat and slowly drew his wand from the folds of his dark robes.

“Now then, Potter,” Snape spoke very softly, locking eyes with Harry for a moment. The young wizard quickly broke away from the stare, knowing what it could do. “Take a deep breath and try not to resist me.”

Harry steeled himself for Snape’s impending assault on his mind. Without his wand he could not fight back properly. He would have hexed the Potions Master if he had still had his wand, but the boy would settle for simple defiance instead. The hexing would have to wait.

Snape could feel Potter’s mental resistance as soon as he uttered the spell to enter the boy’s mind. It was plainly obvious that Snape was not welcome in the boy’s thoughts, but then he had not expected a warm reception. Snape concentrated a bit harder, as the boy could not resist forever.

‘No, I won’t let you see my memories. They’re mine.’ Harry’s defense was waning. It would be a matter of seconds before he could not resist any longer. The boy trembled from the effort of his resistance. It was pointless to fight the more experienced wizard, yet Harry found it very difficult to give up.

He was in his bedroom the night that he’d been taken. His scar was burning with fury. ‘No,’ Harry thought, ‘stop it!’

Another memory, one he’d pushed away, even from himself. He was in the dark dungeon that he’d seen in his dream. Harry stood motionless against the slimy brick wall, unable to move away as the dampness seeped through his muggle clothing.

“Ah, Potter. Do you remember what I asked you about last night?”

Harry stared straight ahead unable to answer the dark man’s question.

“Have you decided to change your mind about telling me what I wish to know?” The man in the cloak allowed Harry the freedom to speak with a gentle flick of his wand. Harry was unable to move anything but his lips.

The boy said nothing.

“I know that fool, Dumbledore is gathering an Army. I want to know who was foolish enough to join him.”

Harry wouldn’t speak. He wasn’t going to reveal anything.

“Is there nothing you wish to say?” the figure smiled beneath the hood of his cloak. “Very well, we shall continue this little talk later.”

He was leaving, Harry almost breathed in relief. The man stopped very suddenly as he reached the door to leave.

“So that you do not forget your place, boy.”

Harry had little time to prepare for the man’s curse. He’d been set free from the wall and dropped roughly to the prison floor landing in a dirty puddle of water. He’d scarcely hit the floor when he was hit with the Cruciatus curse. No amount of preparation could have helped Harry with this.

The man watched Harry suffer. Each scream of torment brought him a strange pleasure. Having the boy who lived screaming and thrashing on the floor was an honor.

When Harry could scream no more, the curse was lifted. The man had finally left him alone. Harry curled up tightly on the floor; he could not even cry.

The memory had ended, but Snape did not release his tight hold on the boy’s mind. Another memory, a fresher one, was being forced into focus.

“Do you know what this is, Potter?” the cruel man beneath the black wizard’s cloak asked. Once again Harry could not answer from his place on the wall.

The Dark Lord’s servant held a small vial in front of Harry’s nose. The potion was an angry red color. Harry didn’t recognize it from potions class; he’d never seen it before. The man glanced at Harry and then focused back on the fierce looking potion trapped between his forefinger and thumb.

“Doesn’t look like much does it, Potter?”

Harry could sense the dark pleasure emanating from the man’s tone, which was not good.

“Food, you’ll learn, is a weakness. Once you drink this you’ll not be able to eat or drink anything without feeling extreme discomfort. Eventually you’ll starve to death. Unless, that is, you go mad from trying to eat. Either way, Lord Voldemort will be very pleased. You will not foil his plans again.”

Harry pushed Snape away with all the strength he had left. The Professor had seen and forced Harry to remember enough. He didn’t want to see any more.

Professor Snape was quite startled when the boy forced him out of his mind. It was of no matter. He’d seen what he’d needed to see. He glanced down, trying to catch his breath. Potter lay in a heap, breathing raggedly.

Without another word to the boy, Snape stormed out of the cell, securing the bolt behind him as he left.

When Snape returned to the cell nearly an hour later Harry was still curled up on the cold dungeon floor. The boy was a pale, pitiful sight.

He remembered. The memories came without summons now. Harry could only watch as the thoughts played over and over in his mind. Harry quivered slightly on the floor, very aware of Snape’s presence.

The Potions Master had brought a vial with him. He knelt near Harry and spoke, “Potter, we must begin the process of curing you if you are to attend another term at Hogwarts.”

Harry didn’t budge; he didn’t even blink in response.

“Sit up, you need to drink this.”

Harry didn’t move. Snape rolled his eyes and pushed the boy up into a sitting position. He allowed Harry to rest his back against his knee. This was no time for a show of passive resistance.

“This potion will coat the lining of your stomach. It will absorb the potion that is sitting in there, causing you to be able to eat.”

Harry stared straight ahead; he seemed to be in a daze. He was very tired. Harry wanted to lie on the cold floor for a few more hours. Yes, that would be nice. He didn’t care about drinking some potion.

The potion that Snape offered him smelled dangerous. Even in his uncaring state Harry wrinkled his nose in response to the nasty aroma.

The potion was a thick, dark green soup that could hardly be described as a liquid. It reminded Harry strongly of the slugs that Ron had brought up after a botched attempt to curse Draco Malfoy in their second year.

Strangely, Harry did not resist as Snape poured the sickening mixture of syrupy goop into his mouth.

The smell of the potion was heavenly compared to its taste. Harry had never tasted anything so completely vile in his life. He gagged as it slid swiftly down his throat before he could willingly swallow it. It traveled downward toward the source of Harry’s troubles.

Snape stood, pocketing the empty vial and looking strangely satisfied.

“I will return in one hour when that potion has had a chance to do its work. Then we shall finish your cure.”

Snape left in a smooth swish of dark robes. Potter was alone in the cell.

The disgusting potion slithered into his belly and he clenched his teeth in sudden discomfort. The sickeningly thick brew spread itself smoothly about his insides. Harry screamed in anguish as his stomach twisted and churned in a fit of bitter response. There was a new pulsing in his belly, but he barely sensed it between gasps of agony. He screamed and screamed, but he knew that like the last time he’d been in a cell like this one, there would be absolutely no mercy.