Severus followed his student slowly through the field that surrounded the shack. He couldn’t help but wonder if the boy even realized the wand wasn’t his own, and how he could use it effectively. A wizard couldn’t help but become attached to his wand, to the point of instant recognition. Then again, perhaps with his…affliction, Potter rarely used his wand.

Merlin, Severus stopped in shock, if one of the alters was the one to pick the wand, Potter would have spent the last seven years using a mismatched wand!

The professor would have liked to think that over a good deal more, but at that moment, Potter sent a blasting curse at the door of the shack, splintering the wood. Severus stared at the result – though the doors still stood, there was significant damage and the beginnings of a hole in the middle of the blast area. Considering the structural wards on the building were done by Dumbledore himself, that was quite an accomplishment.

Potter didn’t seem to think so, though. He huffed in frustration and cast the spell again at the same spot, focusing even harder. This time, the doors broke completely, leaving only dust and smoke as a barrier.

Head and leg throbbing, whole body protesting the act of staying upright, Severus could only follow as Potter walked into the shack. Just beyond the rubble heap that had been the doors they found a small entryway with openings leading to either side. Potter cast the tracking spell again and marched to the left, which opened into a parlor of sorts.

Injured, emotionally and physically exhausted, and only one wand between them, Severus and Potter found themselves facing a smug Ron Weasley standing over two still forms.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Harry watched his once best-friend raise his wand and swallowed bile. He had been running on adrenaline after the Imperius curse, but what little energy that had given him ran out when he confronted Voldemort. Since then, he’d been using only energy derived from the convergence of his selves.

He had been running on magic alone, fueled by panic and anger and the need to protect those around him, as all his magic seemed to be. But now, facing that familiar wand – Ron’s first Ollivander wand, received after his hand-me-down snapped in second year – his heart dropped into his stomach and the magic settled with it.

“R-Ron,” he said, voice shaking like the rest of his body. “W-what have you done?”

“I’ve finally taken the power you didn’t see fit to give me,” Ron growled. “You never gave me anything but the bare scraps of what you received.”

“I…w-what?” Harry asked, eyes wide in shock and a terrifying possibility arose in his mind – what if he had done this? What if, during a Blank Out, one of his alters had driven Ron from him? But there was no time to sort through his memories now, he would just have to trust himself – ironically one of the hardest places for Harry to place his trust.

“You heard me,” Ron continued loudly. “First year, you leave me behind at the chess game, second year you left me behind with Lockhart, third year you left me behind in the hospital wing. Fifth year you left me behind even once we were at the Department of Mysteries! You thought I’d be happy just riding your coat-tails forever, did you? And let’s not even touch on the subject of your massive riches. Git.”

Harry felt his heart slam back into his chest and start pumping loudly at these angry, spiteful words – how long had Ron been nursing this grudge? He recognized the sensation as what would normally happen right before a Blank Out, but now he had no one to come to his rescue. But inside, something had hardened, and he knew he wouldn’t need it.

“Ron,” he growled, voice steady. “You’re the git. If it wasn’t for your stupid pride, I’d have given you and your family half my vault at Gringott’s. I’d have given you the shirt off my back and everything else I owned if you’d just asked. But, you have officially forfeited that chance. Now, you are nothing but another faceless Death Eater who needs to be taken down.”

He raised the wand – Snape’s wand, he suddenly realized – but Ron was just that much faster, in his non-tortured state.

“Expelliarmus!” the redhead commanded. The holly shaft leapt obediently to him as Harry received a rough magical shove in the chest, almost sending him to the ground. As it was he tottered slightly before standing straight again.

“Look at you,” the traitor taunted. “Faltering at the slightest spell. Who has the power now, Harry Potter?” Harry felt anger flare within him, lighting a fire that had no vent. A surge of magic rose in him, spilling out into the room, unnoticed by the ever-oblivious Ron. “You, weak as the child you are; or me, with spells that can bring the ‘smartest witch in Hogwarts’ to the floor?”

There was a sudden flash of red light, and Ron Weasley toppled to the ground.

“His stunning spells never were very strong,” said Hermione.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Severus stayed a step behind Potter as he traded words with Weasley, keeping hidden in the shadows. The arrogant Gryffindor had never been any good at observing his surroundings, so this was not a difficult task. The difficult task, however, was maneuvering through the shadows to get to Draco, who’s Slytherin crest he could see on the robes of the nearest body.

The professor shuddered at the thought of Draco lying dead. And at the hand of Ron Weasley no less, how ignoble.

As he inched closer, Severus’ nose twitched and he caught the bitter, charged scent of ozone that only lingered after certain curses. The Killing Curse among them. He began to worry if that nightmarish thought might actually be a reality.

Finally, he reached the Slytherin child, just as he felt a strong flow of magic, flickering unpredictably throughout the room, like a third year after their first visit to Hogsmead. It woke Granger and she stunned Weasley.

Then Draco coughed, and Severus sighed audibly in relief before succumbing to the dark blankness of the unconscious.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Harry opened his eyes, the shiny, sterile whiteness of the Hospital Wing ceiling a rather familiar sight. As, actually, was the black-robed professor sitting to his left.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape acknowledged with a nod. Harry half-expected him to leave then, as he had before, and felt slightly awkward when the man stayed.

“What happened?” he finally asked. “The last I remember from last night was Hermione waking up.”

“Then it appears we will have to await Ms. Granger’s explanation,” Snape said curtly, sounding like he was forcing annoyance, “as you apparently passed out moments before myself.” The professor looked slightly smug at the fact that he had, at least, outlasted Harry.

The two sat in uncomfortable silence – both quite relieved they were no longer in Voldemort’s dungeon, but neither quite willing to share that relief with the other – for ten long minutes before Hermione finally burst into the infirmary.

“Harry! You’re up!” she exclaimed happily, smile only faltering slightly at the sight of Professor Snape looming by his side. But he greeted her with a polite, if curt, nod and she relaxed, sitting in the chair to Harry’s right.

“Mr. Potter and I are both curious about what happened last night at the Shrieking Shack,” the professor glared, “as well as why you and Draco were there in the first place.”

Hermione flushed but forged ahead. “You’re not the only curious ones,” she said. “Everybody is wondering what happened last night at the castle – even Dumbledore doesn’t know.

“But, as for my part, well –”

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Hermione explained about the scrying ritual slowly, expecting Harry to interrupt any moment asking for an explanation about the View From Heaven ritual, or rituals in general, or for Professor Snape to interrupt with his usual disapproval for rule breaking. However, they both listened patiently, Snape glowered no more than normal, and Harry looked like he understood every word, which was odd.

She decided to gloss over what they had seen in the scrying flame, not wanting to relive it or bring it up for Harry. Instead, she explained how she had heard footsteps behind her and turned, just in time to see Ron cast the stunning spell at her. The next she knew, she was waking up to Ron taunting Harry horribly, and she just reacted.

“I almost thought I’d done it wrong,” Hermione said with self-deprecating amusement. “Right after Ron went down, both of you collapsed as well, but then Draco woke up with nothing but a headache and a bloody nose. Together we determined that you’d just fainted from exhaustion and levitated you back here, along with a very much bound Ron. Once Dumbledore and the others came back, we explained what had happened and he took Ron to his office. That was about,” she checked her watch, “nine and a half hours ago. It’s dinnertime now.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully and rested his head back against the pillow, sighing deeply.

“I can’t believe some of the things he said,” he muttered, voice still hoarse. “It was like he’d always hated me, and I just never noticed.”

This was not a good topic, Hermione could tell. Even Professor Snape looked uncomfortable. Not that he was ever exactly comfortable, but still, he looked like he’d rather the topic were changed. So Hermione obliged.

“But really, Harry,” she cut in hurriedly, curiosity buzzing, “what happened with you? The scrying ritual was focused on Professor Snape and Draco said it cut off after I was stunned, so neither of us saw what happened after you ran out after V-Voldemort.”

“I…I follo-…I didn’t,” Harry cut off, brow creasing and eyes going distant. His breath sped up and he blinked rapidly, but still seemed to be off in another world.

Hermione looked up at Professor Snape, only to see him staring focused at Harry.

“Professor...?” she asked hesitantly.

“Go back down to dinner, Ms. Granger,” Professor Snape ordered curtly. She hesitated and he snapped, “Leave!”

“It is best that you let us deal with Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger,” said a wise old voice from the door. Hermione spun in her seat and saw that Dumbledore had finally arrived. She nodded and walked past him, fighting tears as she hurried to the dorm.

8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

Severus watched, intrigued, as the very act of remembering took Potter into a sort of trance. After sending the Granger girl out and acknowledging the headmaster’s presence, he gently drew the boy’s face up so that he could see his eyes. They were vacant, glassy, and dilated in panic.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Severus reached out with his mind, touching just the front of Potter’s conscious. It was immediately apparent why the boy was in such a state.

The Ribbon of Memory, formerly a relatively docile, simple strand, was now many times longer and infinitely more active, spinning around and around like a vortex, even now attempting to draw Severus in. Cacophonic noise, combinations of audio memory, echoed in the cavernous space.

“3 x 3 is 9; 3 x 4 is 12; 3 x 5 is 15…”

“Useless freak, worthless lay-about, just like his parents…”

“Someday they’ll see, we’ll get them back, we’ll make them see just how ‘worthless’ we are…”

“Goodness, Petunia, however did you manage to keep such an orderly house with that in it…”

“Aardvark tongue, Aconite, Alabaster, Basil, Bicorn horn, Burrowroot…”

The potions master pulled out quickly, before he could get caught up in the memories. He shook his head, dispelling the last echoes. The headmaster looked at him in concern.

“Are you alright, Severus?” the old man asked.

Severus nodded. “I am well, Albus. Potter, however, is caught in an overload of memory. I doubt he will come out anytime soon, as there is much he needs to process.”

“I believe,” the headmaster said slowly, “it is time you and I had a little chat. Would you rather come to my office or stay here?”

“It is best that we stay here, Albus,” Severus said firmly, nodding to Potter, who was starting to show signs of strain. “He should not be left alone, lest the idiot Gryffindor hurt himself.”

Dumbledore, showing no sign of concern that his dear Golden Boy had just been referred to as an idiot Gryffindor, nodded cheerfully and conjured up a tea service. As Severus sipped from his cup, he debated with himself on how much to tell the headmaster. He was quite certain the boy wanted as few people as possible to know his secret, and he had observed that the boy was…less than fond of Dumbledore lately. Still, now that the boy was ‘together’ and Voldemort was dead, what did he need Potter’s trust for?

“You must realize he would not wish me to tell you this,” he stated, just in case. Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he responded.

“I only ask so that I know what to tell the ministry.”

“I’m sure,” Severus answered dryly. “What do you know about Multiple Personality Disorder?”

“I believe it is actually called Dissociative Identity Disorder these days,” said Dumbledore. “Why do you ask?”

So Severus told the tale of that potions lesson, where he had drunk a potion to see through glamour and discovered Harry Potter was severely injured. When questioned about his injuries, Potter reverted to a toddler-like personality; just for a moment, but long enough to arouse Severus’ suspicions and cause him to pursue the matter.

“But where did Mr. Potter receive his injuries?” Dumbledore asked. “Arabella reported him quite healthy when he left for King’s Cross.”

“Albus,” Severus growled, “the boy was subconsciously using glamour to make himself look healthy. He’s likely been doing so for years, even before he came to Hogwarts. As for the source of his injuries; Potter’s uncle, aunt and cousin are rather fond of causing him pain.”

“Now Severus,” Dumbledore chided, “I know they are not the best of guardians, but they have never physically harmed Mr. Potter. Arabella always kept a close watch on him, and I legilimized him at the beginning of every year; neither of us have seen any evidence of the abuse you are suggesting.”

Severus glared at him, then related in soft, terse tones the encounter he himself had with Vernon Dursley. He left out the part where he beat Dursley over the head with his own cane, as that was hardly necessary to his point. Dumbledore listened patiently, the twinkle in his eyes dimming as Severus explained why a squib’s nosiness and Legilimency would not be enough to uncover the truth.

The professor went on, ignoring how the headmaster had seemed to age a decade in front of his very eyes. He gave a general description of each of Potter’s 12 personalities, in the order he had met them. Severus wasn’t even going to touch on It until the very end, unsure how to describe what he didn’t even understand.

When the order of events led him to Potter’s capture outing as a spy, Severus was careful to go into more detail, trying to relate verbatim the various conversations that had occurred between him and Potter’s alters. Here his experience in espionage came in handy, as he was quite good at remembering the exact words that had been used. Finally, he came to the confrontation in the courtyard. For once in his life, Severus’ vocabulary failed him; he couldn’t think of words to describe the monstrosity that left Potter’s wand.

“It was an Avada Kedavra spell, of that I am sure,” he told the headmaster. “But it was as though it had taken on physical form. It was a writhing mass of perverted human flesh, amorphous and shifting. At least, from what little I could see before it hit the Dark Lord.” He took a deep breath before continuing his narration.

“After that, Potter and I both passed out. I regained consciousness first, assured myself of the Dark Lord’s death, then checked on Potter. He was still breathing, but I believe he was trapped in memory then, as he is now. I managed to rouse him long enough for him to say ‘I remember’, but then he was under again. Using my wand – which Potter had been using, mistaking it for his own – I apparated us to Hogsmead. It is my belief that the use of magic woke Potter again. He had apparently remembered the incident which led to his capture and told me it was Mr. Weasley who was the traitor and that he was going after Ms. Granger.

“I allowed him to lead the way, and to use the wand, because I was in no state to be of much aid to anyone. How Potter still had the energy to move after being starved, tortured, and then using a very powerful spell is beyond me. In any case, after that we had the altercation with Weasley. What have you learned from him?”

Dumbledore sighed and spared a glance at Potter, who was still shifting restlessly, but quite clearly not conscious.

“He knows nothing, Voldemort never confided in him any plans or information. However, I did learn that his treachery was not without outside influence.”

Severus turned his head sharply at that, examining the headmaster’s face. Albus looked as tired as he ever had, though, se this could not be good news.

“I found traces of the Questus Exulcero potion in his blood,” Dumbledore explained. The potions master’s eyes widened.

Besides being a very expensive and complicated potion, the Questus Exulcero was highly restricted, and for good reason. It could take the slightest feeling of resentment, buried so deep that a person did not even realize it was there, and exacerbate it to the point of blind hatred. Even though traces of the potion lingered in the bloodstream for months after ingestion, though, it was only the first ingestion that mattered. Once it was taken, the perception of those grudges was changed forever.

If Potter wanted his friend back, it would take serious counseling and a great deal of maturity on Ron Weasley’s part. Maturity Severus doubted he had. And it would certainly not help Potter’s mental stability to learn that his new friend had been resentful, even unconsciously, for a long time.

Still, his mind offered, Potter can be as mentally unstable as he wants, Voldemort is dead.

This had happened several times since he’d woken. Every time he would begin to worry about Potter, a little voice would remind him that, with Voldemort’s demise, Severus had no more responsibility for the boy’s welfare. He couldn’t decide if this voice was trying to get him to stop worrying about Potter at all, or to get him to admit that his worry for Potter wasn’t based entirely on the goal of ending the war. He shook the thoughts off and returned to the conversation.

“Albus,” he said, “now that you know the events, what do you think happened. What was this ‘It’ personality?”

Dumbledore stroked his long white beard as he thought, the twinkle shining bright and annoying again.

“I am not sure, Severus,” the old man answered. “I must have time to think on this. As soon as Harry is able, please accompany him to my office and we will have a nice long talk over tea and biscuits. How’s that?”

“Very well, Albus,” Severus sighed. That was clearly all he was going to get at this time.

Dumbledore stood and walked serenely out of the hospital wing, leaving Severus to watch over the lost Golden Boy.