Severus retreated from Harry's mind, and he could feel the boy sobbing in agony against him. Severus placed his firm hands over Harry's, and squeezed in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. It would have been comforting for him if their positions had been reversed. Harry didn't react. Then Severus wrapped his arms around Harry. Hastily, Harry slipped out from Severus' grasp. The older man went over to the bookshelf, scanning for a particular title.

"What are you doing?" Harry hiccuped between ragged breaths.

"I'm looking for that book on necromancy," Severus answered casually, though it seemed forced to his own ears. Harry let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a derisive snort and another round of tears.

"Not really, I hope," Harry said, when he had himself more under control. Harry sat with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around his shins protectively on the couch. "It's better that he stays dead."

"No, not really," Severus agreed, going back to Harry's first statement. "I wouldn't bring him back. I want to have been the one to see to your safety though."

"You want to have been the one to kill him, you mean," Harry corrected weakly.

"Yes," Severus agreed. Glancing over his shoulder at Harry, Severus frowned. "I'm sorry, Harry. Your experiences have been much different than mine." Harry nodded, so Severus continued, more quietly. "I never meant to hurt you in those Occlumency lessons. You have a point. I never intended it that way, though. It doesn't excuse my actions. I know that."

"It's alright," Harry whispered back. "I know you didn't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said - "

"What you said was true," Severus cut him off. "Never apologize for the truth. If anything, I should be the one apologizing to you." Severus sat down on the couch next to Harry, and put his arm across the back of the sofa. Harry moved closer to the man, and Severus dropped his arm around Harry's shoulders protectively. "I think you should see a mind healer, all the same," Severus continued softly.

"I don't want to," Harry whimpered. "A mind healer can't undo what happened."

"That's true, she couldn't," Severus agreed. "But she could help you deal with what has happened."

"She?" Harry questioned.

"There is a particular mind healer who has loose associations with the Order," Severus explained. "Naturally, I think you should see her, since her loyalties are known to me."

"Even if she's not a Death Eater," Harry began, "wouldn't it be a problem if she were caught and tortured for information about me by some other Death Eater? Like the Malfoys?"

"Ah, perhaps the best safety of the mind healing community," Severus replied, "is that when a person is first certified as a mind healer, each and every one makes an unbreakable vow to never reveal any information about their patients to anyone the patient has not specifically included in their trust. Should your healer ever have the misfortune of crossing the Death Eaters, and she try to tell them anything, however small, her vow would kill her before she had a chance to say which flavor of ice cream you preferred."

"Isn't that a little dangerous for them?" Harry questioned. "What if they make a mistake when talking to someone?"

"That is why a mind healer never, ever speaks of his or her patients to anyone. It is a foolproof method of privacy. Does that make you feel any more secure, knowing that?"

"I suppose," Harry shrugged. "At least it can't get tracked to anyone else. I still don't want to talk to a mind healer though. You're going to make me, aren't you?"

"If I have to," Severus murmured kindly. "Harry, I will only make you if you flat out refuse to talk to her yourself. I think it's the last resort. I don't like mind healers any more than you do, but I won't have you kill yourself because of my negligence. I'm not trying to make you miserable; I'm just trying to help you."

"I know," Harry whispered. "I'll try to talk to her. For your sake."

"That's a start," Severus agreed. "Ultimately, you should be talking to her for your sake."

"Have you ever seen a mind healer?" Harry asked.

"No," Severus said. "I've never needed it."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "I wish I was stronger. Like you."

"I told you, our experiences are different. The Dark Lord was always clear and direct with me. He never tried to play with my mind. I also wasn't a child. There's nothing wrong with you. Don't feel that there is. Your reactions are perfectly normal and natural. The only problem, I think, is learning how to deal with those reactions. Shall I contact Miss Ryker then?"

"Can't we delay this a little bit?"

"No, your appointment is in five minutes, and we're already here."

"I'm not ready."

"You'll never be ready if you wait until you're ready."

"Please."

Severus sighed looked at Harry thoughtfully. The distress was apparent in Harry's features. Severus didn't want to give in to Harry's requests, but he didn't want to traumatize the boy any more than he already was.

"Do you want me to come with you? You already filled out paperwork allowing Miss Ryker to speak to me about anything that happens in your sessions."

"No, I - I think I can handle it alone," Harry stammered. "You don't need to come."

"Alright, but if you change your mind, I'll be waiting here."

"Harry?" a female voice called softly. Harry rose, trying to control his shaking, and realizing how much he appreciated that Miss Ryker was a woman. He walked over to the lady waiting in the doorway. She was of average size, had a perfect figure, and wore a red knee-length dress. It shaped to her hips flatteringly, and the skirt flowed beautifully as she moved, revealing nylons. She wore a pair of flat black shoes with straps over the top. Her feet seemed almost disproportionately small for her body. Her soft, brown hair fell about her shoulders, the loose curls bouncing slightly as she moved. Her smile reflected her glittering hazel eyes. Harry watched her from below lidded eyes as he bowed his head.

"Pleased to meet you, Harry," she continued brightly. "I'm Sylvia Ryker."

"Hello, Miss Ryker," Harry greeted her softly.

"Please, just Sylvia," she said, smiling. Her smile was warm and inviting, and Harry had a hard time not weakly smiling back at her. He glanced at Severus, who nodded. Harry squared his shoulders and went to Sylvia Ryker's office. The door snicked closed behind them.

"Please, take a seat, if you wish. Make yourself comfortable." Harry cautiously sat on a couch in her spacious office. He sat with one foot under him, and bounced his other knee nervously as he glanced about. Her office was large, with only a couple pieces of furniture. She had a chair and a desk for herself, and then a couch with an end table. There was a bookshelf on the far side of the room next to the window overlooking St. Mungo's.

"You don't look very comfortable," Sylvia commented, taking her seat behind her desk. She leaned forward on her elbows.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, and he consciously stopped fidgeting.

"No need to apologize," Sylvia said lightly. Her voice was very easy to listen to, Harry noticed. "Here, maybe this will help. Catch." She threw something to him, and Harry was caught off guard. He hadn't expected an adult to be as casual as to pitch something across the room. He glanced down at what he caught. It was a glob of squishy material. Silly putty, if he remembered correctly.

"It's been my experience," Sylvia began, "that people become less nervous when they have something to do with their hands." Harry nodded, and began to play with the putty. They were silent a moment, but Harry could feel Sylvia watching him, evaluating him.

"Would you like to know a little bit about me before we begin?" Sylvia offered.

"If you want," Harry dodged, not looking up at her, intent on the putty.

"Harry, I want to be an open book for you. You can ask me anything, whether it's personal or not. I don't mind if you know about who I am. This isn't necessarily a one way street, where I learn things about you and you don't learn things about me, you know."

"Alright," Harry deadpanned.

"I got into therapy because I had a friend once, who could have used some. Instead, she killed herself one day. I hadn't helped her enough, as her friend, and I vowed to be what she didn't have. I don't want anyone to feel the way she felt, ever."

"Oh," Harry said. "Why did she kill herself?"

"Bullies," Sylvia replied. "She was a squib, and the other children used to torment her mercilessly. She had no way to defend herself against their magic."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry said. "That must have been terrible."

"Yes, it was," Sylvia agreed. "But her death wasn't purposeless. It made me go into therapy, and now here I am, helping people every day, and I think that's something that wouldn't have happened without her."

"Okay," Harry agreed non-committally.

"So, Harry," Sylvia began, her tone changing, "do you have any questions about anything before we begin?"

"No, ma'am," Harry replied.

"It's Sylvia," she corrected, laughing a bit. "I appreciate your manners, but I'm just another human being, like you." Harry shrugged. "I want you to be honest with me, and not try to mask your real feelings behind titles of authority."

"Alright. Sylvia." The name felt strange on Harry's tongue, since she was clearly his superior, and he wasn't used to addressing someone other than his peers by their first names. Come to think of it, though, perhaps she wasn't that much older than he was. She looked to be in her early twenties, Harry supposed. Perhaps he had even been at Hogwarts with her in his first or second year.

"Severus told me very little about the nature of why you're here," Sylvia said. "He simply said that you have been through some traumatic events."

"Well, I'm sure you know already," Harry mumbled. "Or, at least, can guess. It's been all over the Prophet." He felt himself grow red.

"You expect me to read the Prophet?" she asked incredulously. "I don't read that pile of BS. I'd rather not believe lies or have to sort out the truth from the lies. I get my news from the Order or from my patients. So no, I don't have any idea why you're here, other than something traumatic happened."

"Well, um," Harry began, not knowing what to say. He anticipated she would have kept up on the news better than that. He supposed it was good that the Order wasn't discussing his personal affairs with loosely associated persons, though. "Long story. I don't know where to begin." Harry surprised himself by actually feeling like he wouldn't mind talking to Sylvia about it. He had expected to have it drawn from him with wild horses, but instead, he found himself trying to determine how to explain.

"It's fine," Sylvia soothed. "Take your time. You don't even have to tell me the whole story tonight. You can take as much time as you need." She watched him intently, but it didn't make Harry uncomfortable this time, and she didn't seem to be rushing him. He took a deep breath. Then another.

"My Muggle relatives left a lot to be desired," Harry said airily, and he tried to laugh a bit after he said it, but Sylvia wasn't smiling. Her face looked unnaturally grave. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I see," Sylvia said. "Tell me about your relatives."

"I lived with my uncle and aunt," Harry began. "They had a son."

"What were their names? It might make the story easier for me to follow with their names." What she didn't explain to Harry was that a refusal to name the thing feared only increases the fear of the thing.

"Vernon and Aunt Petunia," Harry replied. "Their son was Dudley."

"How were they related to you?" Sylvia asked.

"Aunt Petunia was my mother's sister," Harry answered. Sylvia nodded.

"And you were living with them because of your parents' deaths?"

"Yes. I was left on the front porch, and they had to take me in. They resented it."

"How did you know they resented it?"

"Aunt Petunia never touched me, if she could help it. She ignored me. Dudley got lots of toys and presents. I never got any. Vernon would yell at me, hit me. He never hit Dudley. I slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and they fed me cold leftovers. I had lots of chores to do, but Dudley was allowed to play video games all day. If I did better than Dudley in school, Vernon would smack me around for showing up his son. They called me a worthless brat, and told me I didn't deserve the air I breathed."

"Why were you placed with your relatives if they hated you that much? Surely there was someone in the wizarding world who would have gladly taken you in. The Weasleys, for example."

"There were blood wards around my relatives house, because Aunt Petunia was related to my mum, who had died to save me. The Weasleys couldn't provide that for me."

"I see," Sylvia said. "And you lived like that until you went to Hogwarts?"

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, Sylvia," Harry quickly corrected when she gave him a look. "It wasn't so bad, as long as I didn't know what I was missing."

"Did you go to primary school?"

"Oh, yes, of course. It's required by law! I just didn't have any friends there. Dudley and his gang made sure that anyone who would have been my friend wasn't. They threatened the other kids and said if they talked to me, they'd regret it. I don't know what exactly they threatened, but whatever it was, no one ever tried to talk to me after that. Dudley told the teachers that I cheated, and they hated me too."

"Did your aunt give you food for lunch at school?"

"Sometimes," Harry shrugged. "Sometimes she'd give me a little money to buy something at school, but whenever that happened, Dudley and his gang would take the money, and I wouldn't get anything. Sometimes that happened with the food too, unless Dudley hated what Aunt Petunia had packed. If he didn't like it, then I'd get to eat it in peace."

"And no one objected to what Dudley was going? Stealing money, stealing food?"

"Who was going to object?"

"The other children, perhaps?"

"They were all scared out of their minds of Dudley and his gang. I mean, Dudley's pretty stupid, but if he wants to pound someone into the ground, he can do a right good job of it. He was about three times the size of anyone in our class. No one wanted to cross him."

"What about you? Could you have gone to the teachers?"

"The ones who hated me? They would have accused me of lying, surely. And once it was out that I lied to a teacher, it would get tracked back home, and there would be hell to pay there for saying one word against Dudley."

"I can see why this would create a problem for you," Sylvia said softly. "I'm really sorry about all that. Did anything change when you started going to Hogwarts?"

"Only that I learned what it was like to be loved, at least a little," Harry said. "I got to see how the Weasleys treated Ron, or how Hermione's parents sent her presents and letters. The Dursleys obviously didn't."

"The Dursleys? Is that your relatives' last name?"

"Yes...Sylvia," Harry hesitated. "And I was moved to the smallest bedroom, rather than the cupboard under the stairs. They didn't want the wizards to see how I was being treated. Suddenly, they became self-conscious of their actions. But once they realized that the wizarding world wasn't watching them, they went back to their usual treatment. I got to keep the smallest bedroom though."

"And what was that like?"

"There were bars on the window, and a cat flap on the door. There were half a dozen locks to keep me in." Harry's voice was small and quiet. He was still folding the putty over and over in his hands. "That was what I returned to every summer."

"Did you ever try to tell your teachers at Hogwarts?"

"Dumbledore wanted me to stay for the blood wards. There wasn't any use complaining. No one likes a whiner."

"I can see how this would have been very traumatic for you. Did Professor Snape finally discover this and that's how you have ended up with him?"

"Um...well, none of what I've told you is actually why I'm here," Harry backpedaled. Sylvia cocked her head and looked at him curiously. "But yes, something like that. I was trying to learn Occlumency from Snape, and he saw some of those things that I described, and Dumbledore let him adopt me. A blood adoption, so the blood wards could be maintained."

"Why didn't anyone perform a blood adoption before, then?"

"No one knew," Harry ground out. "I wasn't going to complain. When I asked about staying with the Weasleys, nothing was said about a blood adoption being an option, and I didn't pursue it. I didn't complain. I never talked about my relatives to anyone. Ever. Because anything about them would have wound up being a complaint."

"Harry, there's nothing wrong with a little complaining," Sylvia admonished. "If you don't complain a little sometimes, then nothing happens to fix the problems. Complaining is what makes progress."

"I had just discovered what it was like to have friends," Harry justified. "I didn't want to drive them away by being that person everyone hates."

"I understand," Sylvia said. "But now you've grown past your first year at Hogwarts. You can afford to complain a little bit. And inside these walls, you can do all the complaining you wish. No one will hate you. I'm the only one who will hear your complaints, and I assure you, Harry, I will not hate you for it. I encourage it."

"Alright," Harry agreed.

"So, I believe you mentioned something to the effect that that litany of abuse wasn't what brought you here. May I ask what did?" Harry felt himself pale, and his breathing became shallow as his memories threatened to overwhelm him. "There's no rush," Sylvia continued. "Take your time. If you're not ready to talk about it yet, you don't have to. You mentioned you were learning Occlumency. How did that go?"

"Eh?" Harry shrugged. "It could have gone much better."

"Seeing as you have a knack for understatement, apparently, I'm going to assume that that means terribly. What was wrong with it?"

"Well, Snape, he - I don't think he really taught me right. I don't mean to - ah - talk badly about him."

"It's alright," Sylvia assured him. "You seem to get along with him well enough now. I don't think a slight critique of his teaching style will spell disaster."

"You want to know what I'm really afraid of?" Harry asked quietly.

"Of course," Sylvia replied kindly.

"I'm afraid that if I tell you everything that's happened between me and Snape, you'll say he's an unfit parent and take me away from him," Harry said. "He's not. An unfit parent, I mean. He's the reason I'm alive right now, many times over. He's saved me time and again in school, he saved me from the Dursleys, from Voldemort himself! And he saved me from myself. Twice. So he's a great parent. He's not perfect, but he's perfect for me."

"Harry, I doubt Severus would let any power on earth take you out of his custody. He would move to the other side of the planet to escape Wizarding Protective Services. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded gravely. "I know. I don't want to mess that up though. I don't want him to have to do that."

"Harry, you realize I can't talk to anyone about what you tell me, right? The only person you've given me permission to talk to is Severus himself. You realize I can't talk to WPS without your express permission?"

"But what if you decide he's an unfit parent? Can you take me away from him?"

"No, that isn't my job. My job is to help you, and you alone, to better cope with whatever life may have thrown at you. I'm not here to fix anything; you're not broken. I'm here to help."

"So nothing I tell you could make me lose Snape?" Harry verified, his voice tight.

"The only way anything could happen would be if you wanted it to. If you were to tell me something and give me permission to talk to WPS about it, then perhaps something could happen. Without your permission, I certainly can do nothing about it, even if I wanted to, which I highly doubt I will. I like to believe myself to be a good judge of character, Harry, and I believe Severus has your best interests nearest his heart. Is this not so?"

"It is," Harry confirmed. "Some might not think so."

"I know a little bit, a very little bit, about Severus' past. I know that he was a Death Eater at one time, turned spy. That much the Order informed me of. I can see why some might be skeptical of his motives, but he strikes me as genuine. Perhaps he's simply a good spy, and can fool even me. Perhaps. But I think not. And apparently you agree. So, with the understanding that nothing you say can endanger your relationship with Severus, what were you going to say about Occlumency?"

"Well, he tried to teach me by having me try to defend against his attacks. It didn't work out very well because I didn't know what I was doing."

"Don't take the blame," Sylvia said quietly, almost without interrupting.

"He just did it over and over, and I couldn't keep him out, and it was pretty terrible. And so I never learned Occlumency, really, because we never got past that."

"He's the best Occlumens alive today, though, is he not?"

"Yes, he is," Harry confirmed. "But he can't teach it." Sylvia smiled knowingly.

"Well, I'm sorry that your lessons went so poorly. I'm Severus is as well?"

"Yes, he's apologized."

"How do you feel about that?" Harry laughed.

"What do you mean, 'How do I feel about that'?"

"I mean, did you accept it? Turn it down? What did you do?"

"I accepted it, of course," Harry replied. "What else would I have done?"

"You could have made some sort of cutting remark about it, I suppose, leaving Severus feeling worse about the situation than before he tried to apologize." Harry's mouth fell open.

"Oh, my God," he breathed. They were silent for a moment.

"I take it you did that, then?"

"Yeah," Harry whispered, still in shock. "That means I didn't really accept it?"

"That's right," Sylvia said. "May I ask what you said?"

"I told him not to talk to me about the Occlumency, because that was behind us and it was like raping my mind." Harry put his hand to his mouth. "I didn't mean to reject his apology."

"Then why did you say that?" Sylvia asked.

"It seemed relevant at the time," Harry said. "I just didn't want to talk about it. I was really stressed out at the time."

"Why was it brought up if you were stressed out?"

"He wanted me to talk about what was stressing me out, and I couldn't. So he offered that I could show him instead, and that brought up the Occlumency."

"Did you show him?"

"Yeah."

"Well, perhaps you should try to make amends over your comment," Sylvia advised. "It seems quite a harsh comment."

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Harry apologized.

"Apologizing might take some of the sting away from your comment, but it doesn't change that you made it, just like Severus apologizing doesn't change the fact that Occlumency was a bad experience for you. I'm sure Severus doesn't take an accusation like that very lightly."

"No, he wouldn't," Harry said airily. "I never meant to hurt him."

"Didn't you?" Sylvia asked, without missing a beat. "If you make a comment that bold, even in a stressed out state, especially in a stressed out state, I think people do intend to hurt others. They just don't know how much that hurt will be or cost. I don't think you intended to hurt Severus as deeply as I think you must have with the comment, but I think you intended to hurt him."

"Yeah, maybe," Harry agreed softly. "I wish I hadn't said it though."

"Try counting to ten next time, before you make an angry remark. If, after that, you still think it's a good idea to say, then say it."

"I wasn't angry," Harry protested. "I was terrified."

"Of what?" Harry shrugged and didn't answer. He wasn't about to answer everything Sylvia asked him, not yet, anyway. He truly hadn't realized the cutting nature of his words at the time. It really was an awful accusation to have thrown at the man. Snape was probably very offended, and rightly so. Harry was impressed he was still around, and hadn't thrown him out of Spinner's End, in retrospect. What he certainly didn't want was another repeat of the time when he tried to push Snape away for his own safety. That had been a miserable experience, and it was something neither he nor Snape ever wanted to go through again. Then, the problem had been not enough communication, but now, perhaps the problem was too much.

"Snape's probably pretty angry about that comment, huh?" Harry whispered, but his voice was shaky.

"Probably not angry, but hurt, rather," Sylvia guessed. "You would do well to smooth things over, I'm sure. I encourage you to try." They were quiet for some time, and then, quickly, Harry stood up and bolted for the door. His breathing was ragged, like that of a pursued animal, and he rushed into the waiting area where Snape was reading a magazine.

"I'm sorry," Harry sobbed, falling to his knees at Snape's feet. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, not like it sounded." Snape looked at Sylvia, who had followed a couple of steps behind Harry and he glared at her. Smoothly, Snape slipped out of his chair, crouched in front of Harry, and the boy threw his arms around him.

"You must be highly skilled to elicit a reaction like this," Snape drawled.

"Professor," she said primly. "You may have been able to intimidate me with that expression when I was in my first year, but that time has long since past. I assure you, everything is quite fine. I have done nothing out of my line of work. Listen to what Harry has to say to you, and stop glaring at me. This is normal and expected." Harry hadn't moved but his tears had slowed some. He let go of Snape. Sylvia handed him a handkerchief from her pocket.

"It's clean," she assured him. "I keep them regularly for times like these."

"Thanks," Harry said, blowing his nose and cleaning up his face.

"When would you like to see me again? Would two times a week be too much for you?"

"No, I think that will be fine," Harry agreed as he looked up at his therapist. He tried to give her a weak smile.

"Wonderful!" Sylvia acknowledged. Harry and Snape both rose to their feet. When he tried to hand the handkerchief back to Sylvia, she pressed it into his hand and whispered, "Keep it."

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated, turning to Snape.

"What are you sorry for now?" Snape sighed. Sylvia slipped into the background, but stayed close the witness the interaction.

"What I said about the Occlumency lessons the other day," Harry mumbled, twisting the toe of his shoe into the carpet. Snape gave Harry a calculating look and didn't respond right away.

"That's alright," Snape finally said, but the words sounded somewhat forced. "It's water under the bridge. But thank you."