Potter went back to sleep finally, and Severus wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He'd held the teenager for much of the afternoon, even after he stopped struggling, kicking and punching like a miniature troll. After the first hour, he'd worn himself out. Severus had tried to get through to him, through the newly erected barriers, but Potter wouldn't speak to him anymore.

On the other hand, just to add to the maddening situation, Potter was still hissing in Parseltongue, when he wasn't humming some inane tune under his breath, one Severus almost, but not quite, recognized. Even after he lapsed into semi-consciousness, Potter was still hissing softly, or humming, and this worried Severus immensely. What was he saying? And what was the Dark Lord telling him in return?

Severus had a couple ideas of how to find out, exactly, but none would be pleasant or easy, and at least one was guaranteed to make both he and Potter absolutely miserable. But when Potter abruptly ceased responding to Severus' voice at all, he knew he had to do something very soon, or the boy would be lost for good. Though he was currently rather aggravated with Potter's lack of mental fortitude, he could not let the Dark Lord get away with this invasion.

Firstly, he needed fortification of his own. A headache thundered in his skull already, and nothing he thought to try would improve his situation, nor would any method of helping the boy be improved if he could not concentrate. So, leaving Potter on his bed, he retreated to his main room, poured two fingers of Ogden's finest and swallowed it down in two gulps. The burning in his throat centered him nicely. Considering further, he Accio'ed a bottle of Calming Draught and consumed it, waited ten minutes, then returned to Potter's room.

Pot -- Harry's face was pale and pasty, sweat soaked and creased in pain, as if he were fighting an inner battle. If he was, then good. Severus could work with that. The boy's lips moved soundlessly, but when Severus put his hand in the space just about Pot -- Harry's mouth, he could feel his soft exhalation of breath. But no hissing. Also good.

First order of business, then, to get the bloody Dark Lord out. Severus preferred to have eye contact for this, but it wasn't completely necessary. Instead, he put a hand on Harry's forehead, raised his wand and muttered, "Legilimens."

---

The sun shone prettily upon the carousel, where painted centaurs pranced next to old-fashioned hovering carpets in gaudy colors and dragons in mid-flight. Harry sat on a narrow wooden bench, watching the carousel go round and round, as the smell of spun candy wafted to him on a light breeze. The park around him was clean and airy. Red and yellow flowers speckled a verdant lawn, under the brightest blue sky Harry had ever seen. Children laughed and shouted to each other, clambering over the dragons and centaurs, and the joyous sound, weaving through a thin strain of music from the carousel itself, lifted his spirits. A young man with dark hair and dark eyes sat beside him, one arm slung over the back of the bench, and seemed to be mesmerized by the scene before them, too.

Harry couldn't remember how he had gotten here, but it was so peaceful, so relaxing, he didn't want to consider it too much. His companion was mostly silent, but on occasion made observations with a quirked half-smile, such as, "Lovely weather we're having," and "Such a nice view, really," making Harry nod in agreement.

Still, Harry knew something wasn't right. The day was too perfect, the children too innocent, to be real. A cloud passed over the sun with that thought, and Harry shivered. Everything was thrown into shadow. The dying echo of children's laughter lingered for a moment, then silenced, and a flicker of movement on the carousel drew Harry's eye. The children had vanished.

He turned to the young man beside him, to point this out, and the man was staring at him, his dark pupils almost encompassing the whole of his eyes. "Only you can bring them back, Harry Potter," he said.

"How?" He couldn't look away from the strange eyes. He didn't want to.

"The sun. If you will the cloud to pass, the children will return. They're innocents, Harry. So happy and carefree. Nothing can harm them while they're here, remember?" The young man smiled. "Don't you want them to return?"

"Of course," Harry said and focused his will on the cloud until it slid past, uncovering the sun and bringing back the laughter, the children. The happiness. The shadow passed from his mind.

The young man leaned back on the bench, eyes half-lidded, watching the scene, and Harry relaxed again. That was close, he thought. I have to clear my mind of doubt, or fear. Only then can this remain.

---

Severus appeared on a field of yellow and red flowers. The sound of gaily tinkling music carried to him on the breeze, and he turned. The music was familiar . . . Ah. Harry's low humming, back in the waking world. And indeed, on a bench in front of a carousel sat the Brat Who Lived, next to a young man . . . whose appearance made Severus shudder in recognition. They both looked relaxed, gazing at the spinning raised platform and its multi-colored figures.

Severus headed for the bench, his long strides eating up the distance. As he neared the pair, he caught another glimpse of the carousel. What he'd thought were children, laughing and skipping in amongst the unicorns and dragons and broomsticks, were clearly Inferi. Their dead flesh hung in tatters. Hollow eyes bored into him, accusing him of unknown crimes, as he approached.

At the same time he recognized the "children" for what they were, the flowers he strode through were revealed as long dead and dried to husks in the stifling heat of the sun. The trees, leafless and blackened with rot, were still, with no breeze to move through them, and the ground was barren sod.

But Harry, he could tell, saw none of this. His smile was fixed, his eyes curiously blank and unmoving. He wore school robes, like the young man beside him, though neither of them with house emblems.

"Potter!" he called.

No response. Oh, not this again.

"Potter!" he shouted this time. "Harry!"

The boy turned. His eyes widened a fraction. "Professor?"

The young man -- the younger version of the Dark Lord -- put a hand on Potter's -- Harry's -- arm. Harry twitched, but did not pull away.

"Po -- Harry. Come here. Come away from that man."

The young Dark Lord's eyes flashed red before fading back to black, and he hissed something incomprehensible. Harry's expression hardened.

"I don't know what he's told you," Severus said quickly, "but he does not mean you well. He lies. I told you that. All this is a lie."

Harry shook his head. The sun glinted on his hair, oddly casting a wreath of gold on his head. Bright green eyes were narrowed, suspicious, as they regarded him.

"Look around you!" Severus took another step forward. "These aren't happy children. This isn't a pastoral Sunday afternoon. You can't just bury the truth with pretty lies and hope it goes away. It doesn't work like that. Life doesn't work like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said. "You can't see what I see. You don't know--"

"I see the truth, Potter!" Another step. "And I do know a thing or two about life. Even about wanting to hide. But it is not in you, Harry. You're a Gryffindor." The last was a grasp at straws, he knew, to appeal to the boy's house identity. But if it was the only way his courage would manifest. . .

The boy mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "Hat wanted Slytherin," but Severus did not countenance it, especially when the Dark Lord, in the form of a charismatic, handsome, and demanding Tom Riddle, tugged on Harry's arm, hissing again, and Harry answered him the same way.

Severus took another step toward them. He was close enough now that he could grab Harry if he needed to, but he kept his hands carefully by his sides. "Look, Pot -- Harry," Severus pleaded. "Look around you, truly."

The boy made no effort to do so, but leaned back against Riddle, as if for support.

"LOOK!"

When Potter still did not comply, Riddle smirked at Severus. He sidled closer to Harry and whispered in the boy's ear. A dark look passed over the boy's face and he continued to glare at Severus. Sudden foreboding made Severus' heart stutter in his chest, but he held his ground. Then Riddle snaked an arm around Potter's back and slid his body along the teenager's side, in a blatant attempt to show Severus how much control he truly had over Harry.

But he'd gone to far.

A cloud passed over the sun, dark and angry, as a look of horror appeared on Potter's face.

---

Harry leapt to his feet. "Don't touch me," he hissed at the young man, who suddenly seemed nauseatingly familiar.

"You didn't mind before," the young man replied, his voice low and sensual, insinuating.

Harry swallowed. "I . . ." Confused, Harry took a step back. "You . . . I don't remember before."

"It's all right, I'll help you." The young man smiled disarmingly. "Come and sit with me again, and we'll watch the children at play."

The sky darkened considerably, storm clouds collecting. Harry couldn't remember. He didn't like not remembering. And though the young man on the bench had seemed decent enough earlier, he made Harry's skin itch. And then there was Snape . . .

"Professor?" he said, still rather uncertain, and hoping for some kind of guidance.

"Look behind you, Harry. Please."

It was the pleading that made the difference, in the end. Harry'd never heard that particular tone from Snape before, not once. He turned to the carousel, squinting at what should have been a scene of innocence and happiness and youthful joy. But nothing was the way it had been moments ago.

Pallid, rotting flesh and dead eyes. Silence instead of laughter. A wave of cold dread rolled over Harry from the mob of Inferi. They perched on chipped and pitted figures in torment: demonic horses that rolled eyes of fire to gaze balefully at their riders and whose heaving sides were wet with bloody foam.

Harry stumbled back, away from the nightmarish scene. Away from . . . Tom Riddle, who jumped up and grabbed for him. Harry shrank back again, revolted. Bile rose in his throat and threatened to choke him. His hands went to his throat, and he almost screamed when strong hands grasped his shoulders. He jerked away, but caught his breath again as Snape's smooth voice urged him to listen, to remember. Snape's hands settled on his shoulders again, and this time he allowed it. Tom glared at him, and glared at Snape, and the hate he saw in the Dark Lord's eyes made Harry decide that maybe he was doing the right thing, finally.

"Remember, child," Snape said. His voice was oddly soothing, lacking its usual sneering sarcasm. "It's hard, I know, but you need to remember."

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. "What . . . what happened, Professor?" he asked.

Snape's hands tightened, pinching his flesh. "Your relatives fled, leaving you behind. Do you remember that?" When Harry nodded again, Snape continued, "The Dark Lord sent his servants to get you, once the wards were breached. I think it had been some days since the Dursleys left. I was there, and I tried to help you, gave you potions after Bella . . . after she cast the Cruciatus upon you. Do you recall that now?"

Harry started trembling, the nod of his head a spasm. He did remember that, and Bellatrix's laugh, and trying to disarm one of the Death Eaters, and Snape's potions. And then he remembered . . . NO!

Snape went on, holding him steady, "You were imprisoned, and the Dark Lord tried to subvert you, tried to gain your trust and support, but after I killed Nott and you lost your sight, we tried to escape him, you and I. And we were caught." Snape paused, and his voice was so soft Harry almost couldn't hear, and he didn't want to hear it, he didn't, and yet he knew, if he ran now, he would lose everything. Still, tears ran down his cheeks, unnoticed, unchecked, and tremors in his legs threatened to topple him.

"He . . . punished you," Snape said, and squeezed his shoulders tighter. "He and Lucius and Bellatrix. With curses and torture, and then they raped you. Remember, now, Harry. To get through this, you have to. The Dark Lord gained access to your mind while your defenses were low, and only you can push him out again."

Harry clenched his teeth and hissed, "No . . . You're lying."

"I'm not. I know you don't want to believe it, but you must. Burying the truth will only help him. He hurt you, I know. I saw." Snape paused. "I'm sorry."

"You're LYING!"

"No, Harry," and Snape's voice was so filled with regret that it hurt him deep inside. "I wish I was."

"I can't . . . No. Don't make me . . ."

"You can. You're strong. You've endured so much already. Open your eyes now, and see the truth."

Harry drew a shuddering breath. "No, I can't . . . I can't do this alone."

Snape's sigh was warm and gentle on the back of his neck. "I'm here, child. You won't have to face this alone."

Harry's vision was blurred with tears when he complied, yet he could see everything so clearly now. The obscene carousel crept by in a stuttering circle, in the middle of a black and barren landscape. In front of him was Voldemort in his current form: white skin, red glowing eyes and no nose but snake-like slits. One skeletal hand reached for him.

"Get away from me!" Harry shrieked. A sob caught in his throat and he screamed to get it out. "Get away! Get out and LEAVE ME ALONE!" Red tinged his vision and light exploded everywhere, brighter than the sun and ten times hotter on his skin. Pain seared through him, radiating from his scar and a magical wind whipped up like a cyclone. The wind scoured the dreamscape from his mind: carousel, bench, Dark Lord, all gone.

Empty. Everything was gone.

The only thing that kept Harry from collapsing altogether were the arms surrounding him, an anchor in the storm. In the utter silence that followed, Harry turned in those arms, clung to his Professor and wept.

---

Back in Harry's bedroom, the boy clung to him and cried as Severus withdrew from his mind. Merlin. Everything hurt. His mind was battered, his body knocked about like an old tin can. But Harry remembered now, and the Dark Lord had gone from his mind. That was all that was important. Severus suspected Voldemort would need to regroup after his own violent expulsion from the boy's mind.

For the time being, however, Severus offered what comfort he could, and let the Chosen One sob himself out.