Chaos. Mind-numbing, swirling chaos. Severus found himself lost in Harry Potter's mind, which was the most confusing, most complex mind he'd peeked into since he'd accidentally seen the Dark Lord's. Everything slithered away from his touch (this time, unbeknownst to Severus, Tom was awake and more than willing to Occlude the hell out of everything he could), but finally, he managed to take hold of one small, slick bit of memory and found himself thrust into it.

A five-year-old Harry, cowering away from a red-faced walrus with a belt. Bellowing words at Harry, spit flying from livery lips. Freak, Severus read in that blasting, piercing voice. FREAK.

A ten-year-old Harry, drawing a birthday cake in the dust of the most dilapidated, old shack Severus had ever seen. The scrawny boy shivering on the floor with a thin, tattered blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Three-year-old Harry confused and cowering away from his aunt, forcing him back into the cupboard under the stairs and throwing a bucket at him, nearly catching the small boy in the head.

Years of little food, little sleep, but all the shouted words and otherwise ill treatment a child could want. Severus felt sick at merely the glimpses he received, blaming his inability to keep hold of anything solid on the fact the boy was upset and still partially medicated on pain draughts. After all, how could a first year know Occlumency?

Finally, he made his way through the blackened swirls and found himself in what looked like a normal living room, done up in green and silver. Slytherin colours, he realised with surprise. Harry himself seemed to be standing there, but this mental Harry was a lot taller. And older-looking, for that matter. He looked, Severus reflected uneasily, rather like a younger Voldemort.

"Get out of my mind!" Harry yelled at him, and the force of this exhalation fragmented everything, tearing it apart like shattering a dream, and Severus found himself back outside of Potter's mind, slumped over in the chair and wholly confused.

Harry had drawn his knees up tightly against his chest and was eyeing Severus with naked mistrust.

"In loco parentis or not, that was certainly not authorised," Harry said coldly. "Stay out of my mind, sir."

Severus rubbed at his temples, wondering where it had all gone so wrong. Harry wasn't even meant to have really noticed that he'd done anything, never mind managed to throw him out of his own mind. The child must be a natural Occlumens, he realised. It was the only possible explanation. And of course his first introduction to it would have to be now, when he felt threatened and mistrusting of everything.

Harry threw back the covers and stood up on slightly wobbly legs. Madam Pomfrey rushed forward, but he gave her a look just as icy that stopped her in her tracks.

"I'd like to finish recuperating in my dormitory, if you please," he stated. The words were polite, but the tone was not. Madam Pomfrey gave him a thoughtful, slightly ashamed look before nodding and fetching his belongings, putting up a privacy screen so he could change.

"If you feel worse in any way, please come back to the Hospital Wing, though," she gently admonished. Harry nodded, and Severus could see the tiredness in the droop of his shoulders, the way his legs kept trembling infinitesimally.

"Sir," Harry nodded to him, and was out the door.

"Well, that was a cock-up," Severus stated and sighed.

"On both our parts," Poppy sighed with him, settling down on the discarded bed and redoing her chignon. "I shouldn't have accused him like that, Severus. He's only a boy. And if our suspicions are correct-and I have no doubt they are-a badly abused, traumatised boy. And I yelled at him," her voice thickened with regret. "It's just baffling how an eleven-year-old managed to hide things for so long."

"Natural at concealment? And healing magic?" Severus guessed, rubbing the bridge of his overly large nose. "He's a natural Occlumens, that's for sure. He was not happy about me entering his mind, I can tell you that much."

"Nor should he be!" Poppy scolded. "Severus, I've told you more than once, Legilimency cannot be your first response to things like this! What has Albus told you?"

"Only use it when required," Severus said and smirked. Poppy leaned forward and swatted his arm.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she said. "I'm just afraid that we've made a horrible mistake in handling it all. If he won't admit the abuse, there's not much we can fall back on. If he were any other child..." She trailed off wistfully. Severus knew what she meant. If he were any other child but the Boy Who Lived, Poppy could still begin an investigation and have him removed from his home. With Dumbledore involved, the Ministry interfering everywhere they could, and Merlin knew who wanting to get their custodial claws into him...the problem grew complicated.

"If he were any other child, that would be far too easy," Severus retorted and stood up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have potions to attend to."

As they made their way back to the dormitory, Tom was furious. Icy rage coursed through his veins, sometimes the only thing that kept the proud boy upright as he stumbled his way toward Slytherin territory. He met nobody on the way, which was likely a good thing. The way he was feeling, he might have accidentally hexed them until they couldn't move anymore.

Snape had committed something unforgivable. So Tom thought and so he fervently believed. There was no excuse for dipping into a child's mind that way, for violating the sanctity of their internal thoughts for something so trivial. All right, so a lifetime of child abuse and neglect was not "trivial," but considering the circumstances, it was hardly needed to legilimize an eleven-year-old over one sullen "no."

Tom had managed to hide the others, had managed to hide the bulk of the memories, but there were still those snippets that slipped out, still those bits that Severus managed to find and examine. It made their cheeks burn in humiliation at the thought of him seeing Uncle Vernon punching them around, or Aunt Petunia's scathing words raining down on their head. Or the cupboard. He'd seen the bloody cupboard, and that was enough to make the whole system feel sick.

It was one thing to know that Madam Pomfrey had seen the evidence of the abuse, of the neglect. Of how bad their malnutrition really was, of the old fractures and sprains. Of the scars. But she had no proof of what had caused those things, and while she had no proof, they felt a bit safe. It was a false sense of safety, really, but it was something, and at this point, Tom would latch onto anything.

And then Snape had decided a good poke-around in Harry Potter's mind was the answer, and Tom's fury had erupted. He had scared himself in that first moment because all he could think and feel were Voldemort's thoughts and feelings, so great was his rage. By the time he had managed to calm himself, Severus had found his presumed sanctum, and all he could tell the man was to get out before expelling him from their mind as gently as he dared.

Tom? Raven asked hesitantly. We're not going the right way.

Tom looked around and cursed fluently. She was right. They were lost in a corner of the dungeons Tom had honestly never seen before. Unease flickered down his spine, taking the place of the anger, and he whirled around to see a blank wall where they had just come from.

Well, this was great.