Harry avoided collapsing solely due to Snape's strong grip on his shoulders, while he fought his impulse to cry. He didn't need to add to his misery by breaking down in front of the professor. The man already had plenty of reasons to mock him, and Harry wasn't about to provide further cause for scorn if he could prevent it.

"Take a few deep breaths and calm down," enunciated Snape slowly, but didn't let him go.

"I'm…" his voice was so hoarse that he needed to start over in order to complete his sentence. "I'm fine, just…I just need to be alone."

Snape nodded tersely in response and finally released him. Harry started off toward the stairs with unsure steps, when his teacher called after him.

"Harry, wait."

He stopped to turn desolate eyes back to the potions master.

"I will be in the lab, if you need anything," said the man reservedly. "I shall check on you later. It's not a good idea to stay alone at times like these, only to suppress your grief."

"I don't need your company," said Harry, his voice rough with barely contained emotion.

"Harry, you…" began the potions master only to be interrupted.

"And I don't want you to send your spy after me!"

Snape nodded in acceptance, but his dark gaze followed the boy's steps throughout their ascent up the stairs.

Harry's legs felt like they were filled with lead, and it seemed to take him forever to reach the room he had been staying in since the flood. Opening the door he was about to lay down on the bed, when he noticed the candle on the nightstand.

Stepping up to it, he poked the wax with a finger.

"Trenus, hey! Wake up."

"What? Is the house on fire?" returned the candle not understanding the need for urgency.

"No, it's not," assured Harry grabbing him by the candleholder. "I just want to be alone, if that's not a problem."

"Let me go, now! I can move around fine without you pushing me, in case you haven't noticed."

Harry released his grip, which made the candle tip back with the loss of momentum, but it stayed in the air at the boy's eye level.

"I did notice," retorted Harry pointing at the door. "And now, if you would excuse me!"

As soon as the candle floated out, Harry pushed the door closed and locked it just to be on the safe side. He could hear Trenus complaining outside, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Rolling the covers aside, he laid face down on the bed.

He pulled the pillow over his head trying to calm down without success. Images of a dead Seamus came unbidden to torment him. One of his best friends, and he would never laugh with Harry again, never tell jokes in the common room…

Harry tried to cry, but no tears would come; only an unbearable feeling of loss accompanying the sense of certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

He clutched the corners of his pillowcase till his knuckles turned white, gasping for air as his chest constricted in pain.

Forcing himself to breathe evenly, perhaps an hour passed before he finally managed to fall asleep.

oO{~S~}Oo

His first thought when he woke was that the wards of the house must have fallen, and the roof of the ancient building was finally collapsing on top of them. Alas, no. Merely someone was knocking on his door non-stop, hard enough to break it down.

"Potter, I'm warning you, if you don't open the door at once I will come in by force and drag you down bodily to dinner!"

That answered the question of the intruder's identity. Massaging the bridge of his nose Harry climbed out of bed feeling lightheaded. He made it to the door and opened it just in time to see Snape draw his wand.

"Finally!" he grumbled, appearing to inspect Harry closely. "How are you feeling?"

Harry looked up disdainfully at his teacher.

"Let's just stay with 'Potter' and mocking! This concern-business doesn't become you," he lashed out defensively. "I preferred when you didn't ask about my well-being and didn't pretend to care!"

"Stop this, Harry!" interrupted Snape appearing very angry all of a sudden. "However unbelievable it may seem to you, I won't allow the Boy-Who-Lived to wallow in misery and die of starvation."

"Well, that's much better," commented Harry, but Snape grabbed both his shoulders as he did in the kitchen not so long ago. The professor turned him around and, against all of the boy's protests, he directed Harry smoothly toward the kitchen.

"Won't you at least ask if I'm hungry?" complained Harry whining as he turned to look up at Snape over his shoulder.

"I thought it was apparent that I wasn't interested in listening to your foolish objections tonight."

Harry tried to wriggle out of the man's grip, but it was too strong, and fighting only made his arms ache. Nevertheless, he kept trying to shake off the hands, until they reached the kitchen, where Snape let go of him after pushing him down onto one of the chairs.

Dinner was already served, and there was cutlery laid out for two on the table. The food smelt enticing, and Harry realized that in the absence of anyone else, Snape himself must have prepared it. With this bizarre thought in mind he watched as the professor took the seat opposite him. Trenus sat at the far end of the table wordlessly. Harry was grateful for its silence, and knowing the candle, he was certain that it was under strict orders not to comment or make fun of him.

Snape took the initiative to serve them: taking Harry's bowl he scooped what looked like a light broth into it. He placed the dish in front of the boy and accompanied it with a threatening look. Harry understood the implications, and once the man served himself, he tentatively took a spoonful of the soup. It tasted better than he expected.

They ate quietly and Trenus maintained his silence as well. The second dish was a roast with potatoes and carrots. Harry found it quite good, and though he didn't feel hungry at all, he was able to stomach some of the meal. After all, he was aware that Snape had no qualms about forcing him to eat by physical means if he deemed it necessary.

Strategically Harry served himself only a few potatoes and steamed carrot pieces along the slice of roast, to ensure that he could eat everything on his plate. Snape didn't seem to object.

Once he chewed and swallowed the last mouthful, Harry wiped his mouth with the napkin standing slowly to confirm that he was not glued to the chair this time.

Snape sipped his coffee, but as Harry stood he looked up with raised eyebrows.

"Are you going to lock yourself up in your room brooding again?"

"I don't think it's any of your business," replied Harry.

"Come back and sit," instructed Snape, and as Harry tried to leave he felt an invisible force pushing him back to the chair.

"You bastard!" Harry cried out in frustration as the stress of the evening overwhelmed him. "Why can't you just leave me alone and find something better to do?"

Snape poured another cup of coffee for himself.

"I could deduct at least hundred points for your behavior," he announced coldly. "However, I will forgive you this once, seeing as your frail nerves must have induced you to forget the manners you must use to appropriately address your elders."

"Are you implying that I've gone mad?" snapped Harry at the insult. The professor just smirked coldly in response, and Harry wanted to pour the remaining soup on his head, or at least throw a few potatoes at him.

"I believe we both know the answer to that question."

The words were dripping sarcasm, and Harry felt like he was back in potions class. As the charm was holding him fixed to the chair, he had to wait for Snape to drink another cup of coffee –his usual evening dose.

Trenus appeared to be sleeping as he stood there without having said a word throughout dinner.

"And now, you will accompany me to the lab," announced the potions master after neatly wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I won't let you sit around in your room moping alone."

Harry listened quietly trying to reign in his temper, as he seethed inwardly at the man's audacity to order him around on a whim. Snape cleaned away the dishes with a wave of his wand, and stopped in front of him.

"What do you want, sir?" asked the boy angrily, having to tilt his head back to look at the man's face. "You know I'm an idiot at potions! And you're right; I can't concentrate on anything right now. But if you just want me to blow myself up, sure, I can come."

Harry completely forgot about the magic holding him to his chair, and standing up in the heat of the argument he noted with some surprise that it was no longer active.

"Well, it's time then that you practiced," clarified Snape bitterly. "Had you taken the effort to ask me respectfully, I would have allowed you to continue reading in the corner. But I see that you must take all my attempts of help the wrong way."

Harry raised himself up slightly on his toes, but even that way he stood shorter than the man's chin.

"Yeah, of course," he said impertinently. "you wanting to help me. You just keep me here to make sure I don't do anything stupid."

Oddly Snape simply shrugged in response.

"If you wish to believe so…"

Harry wanted to throw a few more accusations at his teacher's head, but the man got hold of his arm and quietly led him toward the lab. He let go when they reached the door, and opening it he gestured for the boy to enter.

Harry gave one last murderous look before entering and walking to the armchair closer to the fireplace. The blanket was still there along his encyclopedias and parchments. With a painful sigh he picked up the blanket and sat, while Snape walked up to his workbench wordlessly and began to prepare ingredients.

Harry hadn't believed it possible to describe so many different phases of madness. Immersing himself in his readings he tried to focus on the words, but from every face depicted in the illustrations Seamus appeared to be looking back at him.

He shook his head attempting to rid it from the images, but it wasn't easy to copy the ingredients listed next to the pictures and keeping his eyes from drifting back to them in morbid fascination and self-torture. Curled up in his armchair, he bent over the ancient volume again.

It wasn't long before, plick, plick…plick… a low sound, much alike that of summer rain on the roof, broke the silence.

Harry's tears fell on the old pages of the encyclopedia, and he watched with his throat painfully constricted, as the lines got mussed and the parchment crinkled soaking up the water. He was frozen, trying to keep quiet, yet unable to wipe away the tears with his shaking hands.

Then he felt someone remove the quill from his hand, before it could drip ink into the wet mess. It wasn't necessary to look up, he already knew who must be the person standing beside him.

"Are you okay?" asked Snape softly.

And Harry couldn't pretend to be strong anymore, not in face of the open concern obvious in the man's voice. He shook his head silently in response.

"Let me take this," the professor continued in the same calm voice, taking the parchment from Harry's hand and snapping the book shut. Once they were set aside, the man crouched down next to the armchair just like Lupin did some time ago. "Why didn't you say something? I could have given you a Calming or a Sleeping Draught," he said, but there was no accusation in his voice.

"It's all right. I'll be fine," Harry said hoarsely, and he tried to stand up avoiding looking at the man's face. The professor reached out a hand to gently push the boy back into the armchair.

"No, you will not be fine locking yourself up in your room. I'm not allowing you to close up... or to grieve alone," he said quietly with resolve. The intensity of the man's voice prompted Harry to finally look up. Snape met his eyes quirking an eyebrow.

"Will I need to resort to physical force, as I threatened in the morning?"

"No…but…"

At the inarticulateresponse the potions master's eyebrows shot up even further, if at all possible.

"But?"

Harry squirmed under the man's penetrating gaze, and finally decided to continue observing the floor. It seemed altogether easier than facing the professor.

"You seem to care now…and you didn't use to," he bit out finally.

"I seem?" teased Snape lightly, then he did something unexpected: reaching out he placed a palm under Harry's chin tipping his head back, effectively forcing the boy to look him in the eye. There was no trace of humor in his expression. "I think we both know that one must often present a mask to the world, act the way others expect him to. Don't try to be strong and detached, because grief will suffocate you. It will change you irrevocably."

"You can't understand…"

Snape looked at the boy sharply, but didn't let go of him.

"Can't I? I think you know close to nothing about me, thus you can have no idea of the people I've grieved for."

"Sorry," whispered Harry suddenly feeling even worse. Fully expecting Snape's return to nastiness after his thoughtless accusation, he immediately lowered his eyes again when the man removed his palm from cupping Harry's chin.

Fresh tears followed and he couldn't hide away from the professor. But no snide comments came, and the man didn't leave him on his own either. Rather, he pulled the boy gently forward, and when Harry looked up at him, the man simply said: "Come here."

And though Harry didn't understand what he meant immediately, the potions master put an arm around him and pulled the boy against his chest. Harry wanted to protest, but his mind betrayed him. Absurdly he felt that the man's robe offered a safe hiding place for breaking down. So he allowed the hug and buried his face into the soft, dark material. Feeling the man's heartbeat under his cheek, he finally realized that he didn't need to be ashamed of his grief.

He knew that the hug was supposed to make him feel better, that he ought to stop crying. But suddenly all the pain that he had accumulated over the past months came to the surface, and all he could do was to cry even harder, lest the sorrow would suffocate him.

Sirius, Ron, Hermione, and now Seamus, too. He was lonely all his life, and now more alone than ever.

Snape was patting his back gently, rhythmically, as if consoling a little child after a bad dream. He couldn't think of the man as his hated potions master anymore…the person he got to know in the past few weeks seemed to be so different from the stern figure that swept down hallways with his cloak billowing behind him. It was terribly embarrassing to be comforted like this, but at this moment he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Shhh, it will be all right," said Snape soothingly, in a voice that Harry has never heard from him before. He tried to hide his face from the man completely, before he asked:

"You mean everything else?" he asked, with his throat sore from crying. Then he broke into sobs again. "I've already lost everyone important to me."

He took a few calming breaths and squeezed his eyes shut to stop the flow of tears, when two strong hands grasped his shoulders, and he found himself facing his teacher.

"Harry, I understand that you feel very lonely right now," said Snape firmly. "but it won't be like this forever! Your friends will be cured when we find the antiserum and this nightmare will be over."

Harry wiped his face inelegantly rubbing his eyes in the process, but when he looked at his teacher it was with tear-filled eyes again.

"But Seamus will never…" his voice broke and he couldn't continue. Snape withdrew a white handkerchief from his robe, and he handed it over to Harry. The boy took it turning sideways in the armchair, and covering himself with the blanket.

Snape walked over to one of the potions cabinets, and after brief consideration, selected a vial. Returning to Harry, he uncorked the potion and crouching down next to the armchair, he held it out to the boy. Harry pretended not to notice.

"It would make you feel better, if you drank it."

"I don't need a potion," refused Harry obstinately, with his gaze fixed on the table. "And you should go back to work, I don't want to hold you up. But I would like to…" it took incredible effort to pronounce those few words. "I'd like to stay here."

By the end of the sentence his voice was so quiet, that he wasn't sure Snape would hear him.

"You may, of course," the man agreed. "On one condition: you must drink this."

Harry sighed in acquiescence, then turned around to Snape and took the phial. Grimacing he sniffed at the contents, attempting to identify the brew.

"I didn't poison it, Potter," commented the potions master snidely. Before Harry could ask what it was, Snape continued with a mild frown. "If you paid a little more attention in class, you could easily recognize a mild Calming Draught."

Calming Draught…scary to chemically or magically alter his feelings. But as he caught sight of his trembling hand, he agreed that in this case it might be necessary to accept the potion.

"All right," he agreed, drinking the potion up in one big gulp. The constricting sensation in his throat and his chest immediately began to ease, though the sorrow remained. Handing the vial back to Snape, he turned on his side pulling up the blanket all the way to his chin.

"Are you comfortable here?" inquired the professor as he stood slowly.

"Well, this is a first," grinned Harry weakly, following it up with a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. Then at Snape's questioning glance he explained drowsily: "You've never asked me such a question before, sir. But, yes, it's comfortable. Only, if I fall asleep, by the time I wake up you shouldn't go back to being like before…to being mean."

Snape remained by the armchair, observing Harry closely, his expression carefully guarded.

"Perhaps you should prepare better for potions classes in the future."

Came the snide reply, but Harry didn't fully listen anymore. He yawned again closing his eyes. He was already halfway in the realm of dreams, when he felt the heat of a fresh fire from the fireplace. A few moments later someone also spread an additional blanket on top of his first one, carefully tucking it in around him.

Snape must have thought that he was asleep, because he moved around even quieter than usual. Harry heard him walk over to the lab bench, and occasionally he could perceive the clinking of a stirring rod against the side of a cauldron.

Harry noted that the professor was actually quite nice when he wasn't preoccupied with disparaging someone. Memories of the last few hours drifted through his mind: Snape comforting him and responding to his concerns, his comment about being forced to wear a mask. The terrible images from the book, with Seamus' face floating to the surface accompanied by painful sorrow. But the sadness was immediately dampened by the potion, and wakefulness slowly gave way to sleep. His last thought was that Snape must have given him a calming draught infused with s sleeping potion…

oO{~S~}Oo

He wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, but judging from the conversation he heard, the visitor must have arrived quite a while ago. Unfortunately the potions lab offered no view to the outside, but Harry guessed that he must have woken in the middle of the night.

"Of course, I will definitely inform you of any developments, as I've done so far. Are you staying in London now?"

"Yes. Sadly I feel my time was wasted with the research abroad."

"Not entirely, we can now be certain of the effects of a few more ingredients at least."

"Hmm…" was the only response Harry heard, before a tired silence settled on the room. A creak of a chair followed.

"I think it's time I got some sleep." Snape's voice continued, rough presumably from lack of sleep.

"I must agree. How long has it been since you slept, Severus?"

"I've stopped keeping track…only counting the number of potions tested now."

Footsteps could be heard, and the opening of a door.

"How is he?"

"Tell me Albus, how would you be in his place? You should not have left him alone for the whole summer with his grief. He blames himself."

An impatient sigh.

"We've been over this many times…I better leave now. Take care of him."

"I always did. Good night."

"Good night, Severus."

In spite of his words, Snape continued working for a while. Harry could hear the rummaging, chopping, stirring, and the occasional incantation whispered aloud.

He tried to accept the fact that Dumbledore had returned with empty hands, and the greatest wizard of the century was unable to save his own students. Dozens of healers and potions masters were working on finding a cure, but even in the possession of Harry's blood they haven't succeeded in identifying the cause of the disease. Professor Snape hadn't slept in days, and though he promised Harry that things would be all right, the boy could see doubt in the man's eyes.

The way Harry understood it, someone needed to find out what Voldemort had done in the first place. And who better for the job, than the boy-who-had-a-bloody-connection-set-up-to-the-snakemonster's-mind.

And so, while the professor continued working quietly, believing that Harry was asleep, a plan began to form in the boy's mind.

oO{~S~}Oo

He could find out all they needed in order to cure his friends, if only he managed to break into Voldemort's mind to view his memories. Regrets of not paying closer attention during Snape's Remedial Potions classes flooded him for a moment. But he couldn't afford to think about Sirius, or the other tragedies of his fifth year, now.

In any case, he could not have attempted Legilimency from such a distance, unless he was an expert of Voldemort's caliber at the mind arts. Harry remembered that after his fifth year Hermione tried to tell him about various sorts of mind-linking techniques. After Harry's experience she spent a few days in the library, turning to her beloved books to try to make sense of what happened. And even though Harry didn't want to hear her conclusions, he felt obliged to listen after dragging her to the Department of Mysteries that fateful night.

Not that he paid close attention to her impromptu lecture, but he did recall her mentioning a particular potion. He remembered only because he was shocked to realize that the potion would have enabled him to access the mind of any person who has shared a personal thought with him. Of course according to Hermione's books this was done by sharing a memory in a Pensieve. So with this potion he could read the minds of Professor Snape and the Headmaster, having entered their pensieved memories.

And while he had not seen one of Voldemort's personal memories in a Pensieve, the evil monster has certainly shared his thoughts with Harry through their link. He never would have believed that the dreams, which led him to cause Sirius' death, would help him out in the future.

"This could work." Harry murmured to himself. All he had left to do was to get hold of a vial of that potion, drink it and find out directly from Voldemort what disease was killing his friends.

He could hear the soft clinking noises that he now associated with the Professor stirring a cauldron. Waiting patiently he went through his plan a few more times before he heard the door creak. Snape had obviously left the room, and from the sound of his footsteps Harry thought that the man must have gone down to the kitchen…perhaps to get another cup of coffee.

He opened his eyes slightly and looking around the room carefully he concluded that Professor Snape was indeed absent. Harry hesitated briefly, afraid that the Professor would return any moment. But, true to his Gryffindor bravery, he soon decided that if he was to do something, it had to be now.

Standing quietly he took a few stealthy steps to the potions cabinet. He opened the door, and began to look through the rows and rows of neatly labeled vials. Most were labeled with the Professor's elegant cursive, and he immediately realized that the potions were in alphabetical order on each shelf. It didn't take long to find the vial he wanted, it was on the bottom shelf filed under the correct letter.

Harry was sure that the Professor would never talk to him after this, but if he could save everyone, it was worth it. Even losing the Professor's fragile trust.

Picking up the vial with two fingers, he turned it around observing it from all sides. There was no description attached, not explanation on how to use it, or whether he would fall asleep during the procedure.

"What was he thinking: a procedure? He was about to break into Voldemort's mind for his memories! Perhaps he should think about it as an attack or assault, rather than a procedure." He thought to himself.

Sighing deeply Harry broke the wax stamp on the vial. Once he drank it, he could return to the armchair, and after a nap he would have all the information they needed. Nothing to be scared of, upon waking he would immediately inform Snape about everything.

Telling himself that he would be fine when the Professor resumed hating him, Harry lifted the vial to his mouth. The stench of the potion had him gagging.

"Okay, on three." Harry mouthed, even as he was about to empty his stomach thanks to the smell of the brew. "One…two…three."

After a deep breath he downed the entire vialful of liquid. He faintly noted that its taste was worse than its odor, but after a few deep breaths he was feeling much better. As he took a few steps toward his warm armchair Harry tried to focus on the memories Voldemort had sent him during his fifth year. A few moments passed before new images of horrendous memories started to flick in and out of his mind's grasp.

Walking slowly Harry almost managed to reach the armchair, but his legs gave in and he found himself lying on the ground. The empty vial fell from his grasp, but instead of breaking it rolled away, only to stop under the workbench.

He attempted to pull himself up, but at the same time it felt like he was being transported somewhere with a portkey. Except, this portkey was faulty, and it kept swinging him back and forth between different places.

In the end the potion won. It knocked him out, and he fell back to the floor with his limbs numb. While his body stayed, his mind got transported through space and time to land exactly where he wanted it to: in Voldemort's mind. The monster's memories took him to what looked like a decrepit potions lab, complete with an audience composed of at least a dozen Death Eaters, all wearing black garments and white masks.

They were dangerous, but he was the most dangerous person here. He could smell the pungent odor of their fear, and he remembered punishing each and every one of them before. Punishing them until they cried out in pain, writhing on the floor and pleading for his forgiveness and mercy. Oh yes, he remembered crushing the life out of the ones whom he believed to be traitors. They deserved it; their life belonged to him.

There he stood in front his followers, with a phial in his hands. A phial, whose contents had pushed the wizarding world into the current nightmare.