Potter’s ribbon of memories flowed past, mostly meaningless, unimportant. Occasionally one with a bit of emotion, usually cheerfulness or a vague melancholy, flashed into life, but Severus ignored all these. The professor pushed past, trying to go further, deeper into the boy’s mind, but it was like trying to swim to the bottom of a lake with a lungful of air pushing the other way. Finally, the resistance seemed to crumble and he fell into the black depths of the unconscious.

Inky blackness filled Severus’ ‘sight’, but he was not fooled into thinking there was nothing there. No, somewhere there was a door into Harry Potter’s innermost mind, where the thoughts and feelings hidden even from him would reside. Severus was eager to see what the door was, as that was a large clue into the psyche of a person; the headmaster had once told him that Severus’ door was thick wood with iron bars, heavily locked and strong.

Something pale flashed in the thick night and the potions master quickly followed it, bringing himself closer. It was, indeed, the door to the subconscious, but he was a bit puzzled by its appearance. The door was thin wood painted white, but oblong, tapered toward one end as if under a slope or a set of stairs. Severus touched the handle and it opened, revealing a room that, by the size of the steps in the ceiling (he had been right, it was under the stairs) should have been too small to fit one grown man, let alone the group of a dozen or so people he saw inside, but it had obviously been enlarged. A child’s cot filled most of the space, yet was large enough to come up to Severus’ hip.

“What are you doing here?” one of the people demanded. He looked startlingly like James Potter, but was no older than Harry. “You’re not allowed in.”

“Back off, James,” another, Tom, said firmly. He was the same age, perhaps a touch younger, with calmer hair than Potter and slightly tanner skin. He reminded Severus vaguely of the pictures Lucius had shown him of the young Tom Riddle, which was more than a little disturbing. “You know the conditions we set, and you know the Professor would abide by them.”

“Besides,” Mike – obviously Mike, he looked so much like Potter had in fifth year, constantly hunched and griping – snapped, “it’s not like you’re in any position to object.”

James stood down instantly, letting Severus pass. He quickly identified Foster; the boy looked about six or seven, and had hair like a great black mane, flopping about with every slight movement. Not that many movements he made were slight, as he came bouncing up to Severus.

“You never got me a pudding,” he accused, glaring with his lower lip stuck out.

“I did,” Severus corrected, “but you weren’t there to eat it. It is still in my office under a preservation charm if you want to come out and eat it afterward.”

Foster nodded eagerly, tossing his hair back and forth like black grain in a storm.

Severus moved on, wanting to make sure they were all there before he began. Danny was reading a Quidditch book under the lamp, still in Potter’s Gryffindor Jersey. Another boy, one Severus couldn’t readily identify, sat next to him, reading a book on transfiguration that the professor recognized as a NEWT level text.

Amelia bounded up to him, giggling.

“Hello Profoessor!” she squealed, delighted. “It’s very good to see you here. Would you like me to introduce you?”

“Yes, thank you,” Severus accepted politely. She took his ‘hand’ and pulled him over to the reading boys.

“This is Danny, you’ve already met him, I believe,” she said, pointing. Severus nodded and she moved on to the other boy. “This is John, he,” she glared as reprovingly as any nine-year-old can, “apparated you to number 4.” John shrank back, hiding behind his book. “Tom, Mike, and James you also met already. Over here is Alex and Mummy.” She led him over to a darker corner of the cot where a tall woman with warm red hair and creamy skin sat stroking the hair of a pale, despondent boy who looked lost in thought.

“Nice to see you again, dear,” Mummy said softly before turning back to Alex.

“Boy is over there in the corner,” Amelia went on, motioning with a sort of pity at the shadows where the stairs met the floor where a whimpering could be heard. Severus noticed Mummy look up, concerned, but she stayed where she was.

“And finally, there’s Potter,” Amelia dragged him over to the cot again where a stronger-looking version of the boy he knew in real life lay sleeping. “He’s new,” the girl whispered, “so he doesn’t wake up much. He’ll come out if he’s needed though.”

“Thank you,” Severus said, releasing her hand and addressing the lot. “What I’d like to do here is make a sort of memory-recording to show to Po-Harry, so just come up and look at a spot slightly to my right, about the height of my shoulder, and tell him about yourself. Who’s first.”

There was a moment of silence. Everyone shifted anxiously.

“How about we do this logically?” John suggested. “Alphabetical order, Alex first.”

“Should we really let Alex speak?” James questioned. Tom shrugged.

“We’ll have Mummy with him, and hopefully hearing the rest of us will take away the hurt of whatever Alex says,” he proposed. “Come on, Alex”

Hearing his name, the pale, depressed boy stood and wandered over, Mummy holding him with one hand across his shoulders.

“Here?” he demanded, pointing to a spot in midair. Severus nodded. “Hello Harry, you little freak. I hope you do get better, get your memory back, so you can feel how much I hate you.” He turned and stalked back. Mummy sighed and followed a moment later.

“Amelia, you’re next,” Tom said with an aggravated sigh of his own.

“A…alright,” Amelia agreed. She walked up and stood where Severus had indicated and looked at the same spot. “Er…Hiya Harry. My name’s Amelia. D’you remember – well, no I don’t suppose you do…but sometimes Auntie Petunia would host big dinner parties and she wanted to seem fancy, so she’d dress us up like a servant and have us take care of the guests; do the cooking and the serving and all that. She even had us read these funny etiquette books. But U-Uncle Vernon didn’t like it, said they should hide us away and that it wasn’t possible to treat a freak proper manners, so he’d get really mad whenever he saw us reading the books or anything like that. So instead of letting you get into trouble, I read them for you, and cooked and served for you and did all that.” She giggled. “I’m such a good cook, Harry, that Auntie Petunia almost complimented me on it. Anyway, I do hope Professor Snape can help you get better. I know it hurts, but you really should eat like a proper gentleman.” Amelia curtseyed and smiled brightly before moving away.

“Boy would be next, but–” James began.

“Let him up, too,” Tom said softly. “Harry needs to know all of us.” James looked at him sharply, but Tom refused to elaborate.

“I’ll get him,” Mummy volunteered, apparently giving up on comforting Alex for the moment. She went into the shadows and fetched a little boy, smaller than Foster, so emaciated the shapes of his bones could be seen at the joints.

“Boy doesn’t want to go,” he moaned piteously. “Leave Boy alone.”

“Hush, dear, it’s alright,” Mummy said soothingly. “Just say a bit to Harry, tell him about yourself.”

“Boy doesn’t wanna talk to Harry. Harry gets Boy in trouble.” He whimpered. “It hurts, it hurts. Please don’t hurt me.”

“No one’s going to hurt you, dear,” Mummy continued. “Don’t you want to tell Harry to get better and remember?”

“Remember Boy?” the fragile being questioned, looking up at Mummy with bright eyes.

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t remember Boy,” he declared sadly. “Boy was the first, the first to hurt and the first to go away. Boy breaks and hurts alone, so alone, till Mummy comes. Remember Mummy, don’t remember Boy.”

Severus closed his eyes briefly against the onslaught of feelings he’d rather not identify – it was always harder to control his emotions when in someone else’s mind – while Boy limped away.

“Danny, your turn,” James called softly after a long silence. The addressed boy plopped his book down and walked to Severus, looking at the same spot as the others.

“Hey Harry, mate. I, er, don’t really know what to say, ‘cept I hope you get better so we can fly more often. You used to be really good at flying, till Alex came along. You got scared of yourself, far as we can see it; locked him away and made me fly for you. Not that I mind, really, just that we’re better as a whole. Also, you’re missing all the great faces Malfoy makes when we win! So get us together, Harry, soon as you can. Bye!” He half-waved and returned to his book.

Foster was next.

“Hello Harry,” he called in singsong. “I hope Mr. Snape’s given us a pudding by the time you see this. I won one from him a while ago, but he said he’d never promised me one so it didn’t count and so I made him promise the next time he wanted something and he did but we haven’t gotten it yet.”

“Tell him about yourself, Foster,” Tom corrected dryly.

“Oh, right. I’m eight years old and I’m in Primary Three. You see, I was born right after Boy, ‘cause you couldn’t take away the bad and leave the good, it’s all sort of a package,” he snapped his fingers, “like an oreo! But anyway, you had to lose the good too, but you didn’t really lose it because I remember it and as soon as you get better you’ll remember it too. So hurry up, okay? Oh, and make sure to remind Mr. Snape of the pudding!”

There was a small pause after Foster skipped away to sit by Danny. Tom and James shared a long glance, then Tom sighed.

“Alright, James,” he said resignedly, “go on.”

James got in position, looking sort of anxious.

“Hi, Harry,” he said quietly. “I wish I could see you while I talk to you, but that’s not really possible, I guess. Look, I owe you an apology. I know you don’t know what for yet, but someday, when you remember – and you will remember – you’ll know, and I hope you’ll remember then that I am sorry. And…I’m proud of you for trusting Snape, even if I don’t like him much. I’ve tried to do my best by you over the years, and I know sometimes I haven’t succeeded, but I’ve tried, and I’d like to think your life has been better because of my efforts. Get better, Harry, and be happy. Whatever Alex says, you deserve happiness.” He smiled sadly and walked back to his seat next to Tom. John put his book away without being asked and took his turn.

“Hello, Harry,” he said, pushing his glasses further up on his face. “I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, but I’ve known you all my life, I just hope it’s nice to meet me. I was born in Primary One, when we were punished for having better grades than Dudley. Believe it or not, Harry, we’re quite intelligent, almost as smart as Hermione, if I do say so myself. You love knowledge, so you kept me hidden away. I memorized pretty much every book we ever read, even though we couldn’t use it in class. When we work together, I’m sure we’ll be a really great wizard, just like Hermione said we are, because I’ll have the knowledge and you’ll have the magic. So, like the others, I’d like to extend my well-wishes to you. I won’t say goodbye, because even as you see this, I’m with you watching it, probably being teased as well.” He shrugged and quirked his lips into a tiny grin. “C’est la vie, non? In any case, good luck.” With a small wave, John returned to his book and fell again into it’s pages.

“Mike, go on,” James urged, “everyone needs a turn.”

“Fine,” Mike muttered, sulking into position. “Not like I have a choice. What am I supposed to say anyway? ‘Hi, Harry, you’re a great person and your life is great too’? Well you’re not. You’re just human and you’ve made a lot of costly mistakes, and things rarely go miraculously right for us. People keep secrets from us, and I hate it! I get so angry when I think of what Dumbledore didn’t tell us. But then, you don’t know about that, do you? Ah, well, s’not my place,” he rolled his eyes on the word ‘place’ and stalked off.

Charming young man, Severus thought sarcastically.

“Mummy!” James called eagerly. “Your turn.”

Mummy walked back from where she had been comforting Boy and Alex, taking her place and ‘looking’ fondly down at Potter.

“Harry, my young man, you’ve grown so well,” she said wistfully. “I remember when you and Boy were so little, and I’d hold you and make you better, dry your tears whenever you got hurt. Let you know you were alright, and loved. Always remember that Mummy loves you, okay sweetie?” She blew him a kiss and smiled a melancholy smile before walking away.

“Potter!” Tom called loudly. “Oi, Potter, wake up!”

Potter woke and stood, Severus almost gasped. He was strong, glowing with the vivacity of youth, but at the same time ancient and weary, like an old veteran. The cynical man wished he could brush off the power of that appearance as typical Potter arrogance, but he knew that the subconscious had no conceits; this was how Harry Potter could be, the charisma he could have, if he would let himself. To think that he had locked this away because of one mistake and a dead godfather.

Then again, he thought to himself bitterly, when it seems like a good deal of the world hates you or doesn’t want to know you, the one person who supports you unconditionally must become dear.

“Hello Harry,” Potter said with a slight sigh and a smile. “You don’t have to worry about Voldemort, alright? I’ll take care of everything, whether you get better or not. I’m here for you, I’m your strength, even if it’s a strength you wish you didn’t have.” He nodded respectfully and returned to his bed.

Tom was next, and last. He strode up to the spot in a way that made Severus sure he was acutely nervous about this experience.

“Harry,” he greeted with a short nod. “I know you don’t want to hear this, I know you’re an innocent who shouldn’t be made to heart his, but you have to know yourself. The reason there is a Slytherin side to you, Harry, is more than because you have a cunning and rebellious side. Oh, there is that, make no mistake; but it is also because there is a part of you that has learned to hate with such a passion that you would rather cut your mind to pieces than know that you felt that way. Harry, I hate. I hate Him for what he did to us. I hate Voldemort for killing Mum and Dad. I hate Wormtail for betraying them and framing Sirius. I hate Bellatrix; in fact, I tried to cast the Cruciatus curse on her. Potter interrupted, though, before it could work properly. I hate Aunt Petunia for being so bitter that she would let us suffer so. I hate Dudley for following so blindly in his father’s footsteps. I hate, Harry. We hate.

“But please, don’t think this makes us like Voldemort. He didn’t have such an aversion to the emotion, first of all. And second, even my hate is tempered by the knowledge of who did wrong us and who didn’t. Although I hate all the Dursleys, I don’t wish all muggles dead, for instance. You must accept me, and my hate, if you want to be whole and let me help you as best I can. Because I can help you. I guess that’s all I have to say. It was nice talking to you for once, Harry.”

“I guess that’s everyone,” James said brusquely, clapping his hands together before jumping up and shooing Severus out. “This was fun, let’s do it again sometime. Bye!”

With a shock that sounded suspiciously like the sound of a door slamming, Severus found himself once again in his office, staring at the torrential green eyes of his student.