Once again, Harry Potter found himself on his hands and knees in Professor Snape's office.

Truthfully, it was his own fault that he found himself in this position again. A summer of wallowing had brought Harry to the inevitable conclusion that he needed to take up his Occlumency lessons again, and he needed to do so as soon as possible. Seeing no other way around things, Harry had personally humbled himself and apologised to his Potions professor for the infamous Pensieve incident, even though offering up that apology had pained him. After all, between Snape and Voldemort, Snape was the lesser of the two evils, and Harry normally didn't have a problem admitting when he'd done something truly wrong. Plus, these lessons were important. Without them, he didn't have any other way of keeping Voldemort from attacking his head whenever he pleased.

This fact didn't help Harry like Snape any more, though. In fact, he sometimes thought he might loathe Severus Snape even more than Voldemort. At least Voldemort knew he had to kill Harry, knew that Harry had been pre-destined to be his enemy. Harry thought it made some degree of sense that Voldemort would want him gone so badly, but the hatred Snape possessed had felt unjustified since its onset. Hating a child for something the child's father - the child's dead father, at that - had done fifteen years ago seemed so petty and judgmental. Then again, in the entire time Harry had known him, Snape had been nothing but a petty and judgmental person. Harry thought it would do well for Snape to remember that Harry wouldn't have hated him had Snape not hated Harry first.

But Harry would never share those thoughts freely, since Snape possessed the unique skill of being able to block his mind from Harry's enemy and Harry needed to learn that, too. For that, Harry could look past his grudges. The scar standing out in stark relief from his forehead was reminder enough of that. Harry had been surprised when Snape immediately agreed to resume his lessons, but believed that behind-the-scenes machinations by Dumbledore were probably at work.

So, Harry had once again subjected his mind to the brute force that was Professor Snape's Occlumency lessons. And once again, he found himself on the floor.

"Get up, Potter. Your emotions are too raw. The Dark Lord will easily rule your feeble brain," drawled Snape. Harry was overtaken by a sudden feeling of déjà vu. The two had had this conversation on numerous occasions - Harry was emotional; Snape was not. Harry was weak; Snape was strong. And on and on. Harry felt his body heat rise, but admonished himself before that anger displayed as flushed cheeks. Snape was sort of right, after all. Harry did act on his emotions too often. It's what put his friends in danger and why his godfather was de- no. He had to stop thinking so much and focus. If Snape thought he was easy prey, he'd be a lame baby bunny for Voldemort.

Focus.

Harry gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his feet. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said neutrally. "Can we try again?"

"Inner-turmoil all sorted out, then?" The sneer curling Snape's lips was so pronounced that Harry nearly rolled his eyes. Snape's sarcasm was somewhat like a blanket spell that affected everyone present.

Yet again, Snape raised his wand. "Legilimens!"

A flood of light and a rapid set of pictures crowded Harry's mind. He could feel his scar burning, reliving some of the worst moments of his life. Ginny Weasley on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, her face pale and lifeless. Seamus Finnigan coldly telling Harry that he thought Harry might have made up Voldemort's return. He flinched as Cho Chang rejected him for the Yule Ball once again, then felt her tears on his face as they kissed under the mistletoe. Cho again, this time as she heatedly accused him of running to Hermione instead of wanting to be around her. Hermione, after being petrified by the Basilisk, white-faced and frozen with her eyes wide open. Ron slept underwater as Harry - terrified - swam furiously towards him.

These were followed fast and furious by older memories of his time with the Dursleys, some of which Harry didn't even remember happening. Harry felt helpless, almost as though he was caught watching a film of his own life. He desperately tried to throw Snape off or push him back, but it was no use. Dudley and his gang tackled Harry on the playground, leaving him with a bruised stomach and blackened left eye. Uncle Vernon roughly shoved him underneath the stairs, his purple face the last thing Harry saw before blackness accompanied the sound of several clicking locks. As Aunt Marge insulted Harry's parents, Harry felt the anger inside him well up, reaching its peak when the hateful woman called his mother a bitch. A very young Harry with a scraped knee cried pitifully as Aunt Petunia decidedly ignored him.

Memories were flipping flipped past him much more rapidly now; he saw hundreds of identical black nights spent staring at the ceiling, brushing off spiders, and waiting for his parents to show up and save him. An even crueller-than-usual Dudley elicited hope in Harry when he was too young to know better, handing Harry a teddy bear that he said was too old and no longer wanted. Harry took the bear, astonished, as he'd never had a toy in his life. One hour later, Dudley spied Harry hugging the bear and flew into a jealous rage. Purple-faced and resembling either a miniature version of his father or a very large grape, he grabbed back the bear and ripped off its head. Harry cried. Harry was in pain. Harry was in the dark.

Harry fought back.

The pain in his head serving as a reminder that he didn't have to stay a passive observer, Harry pushed Snape out of his own head and found himself within his Professor's.

Harry instantly knew that this was different than looking in Snape's Pensieve, though he wasn't sure if Snape would see things that way. First of all, it was a method of protecting himself, and Snape had certainly seen enough of Harry's memories. Now that he was in control, Harry had the presence of mind to wryly joke to himself that he should start doing really embarrassing things so Snape would have more interesting material to watch.

Harry saw a vision of a tiny black-haired child sitting on a wooden floor with his arms extended, fists clenching and unclenching. The baby obviously wanted to be held, but two adults walked briskly past him. Strangely, Harry could feel the elation of the child as he was eventually picked-up, only to be dropped unceremoniously into a large, wooden crib a second later. The same child, now slightly older, enviously stared at three other children his age. The children stared back with undisguised hatred. One - obviously the leader - spoke solemnly, telling the other two, "Sevvie isn't allowed to play with us because he's so strange and ugly, all right? He runs after his mum, who barely looks at him. Can't blame her. I wouldn't want to look at his icky face if he was my son, either."

Harry scowled as he recognised his godfather, speaking to a younger boy who looked a lot like him - Regulus - and someone whom Harry guessed was a very young Narcissa Malfoy.

Now, he was facing a stark white wall. Behind him, a man was yelling about someone spending their weight in Galleons and something about the sanctity of blood and the family name, with a woman's sobbing faintly in the background. Young Snape was seated on the floor below Harry, morosely flicking peas at the same wall Harry faced. Suddenly, a loud crack rang in Harry's ears, causing him to flinch. The boy shuddered, got up and ran away.

The scene changed again, and Harry instantly felt like he'd taken a Bludger to the stomach. He was surrounded by Death Eaters. Lord Voldemort looked directly at Snape and tilted his head, the beginnings of a smile playing on his thin lips. The other Death Eaters stood in a circle, reminding Harry of his experience in the Riddles' graveyard. Snape's forearm was exposed and the Dark Lord intoned, "Morsmordre." Harry could feel Snape struggle not to scream out in pain. Shocked, Harry gasped and nearly fell to his knees; he could feel the Dark Mark burning his own arm. Harry could already feel the fear and doubt coursing through Snape's body, but the strong need to belong and an even stronger need for revenge nearly overwhelmed him.

As Snape struggled not to scream, Harry noticed Bellatrix Lestrange, as she was not wearing her mask or hood. She stood a little away from the rest of the circle, and though she must have been around Snape's age, she looked far younger. Bellatrix spun around merrily, looking very much like a small child who was allowed to stay up with the grown-ups. She smiled widely, an insane gleam playing in her dark eyes. Harry stared, entranced. He'd thought that look had developed in Azkaban, but that didn't seem to be the case. Her dancing stopped abruptly when she reached Snape and Bellatrix grinned coyly as she dragged her wand gently across his cheek. Snape hissed in a breath, while Bellatrix jumped back and pointed her wand at his chest. "Crucio!" Snape writhed in pain, still willing himself not to scream. Harry could sense some of his pain, but he knew he wasn't getting the full brunt of Lestrange's curse.

Harry wondered why Snape didn't put this memory in the Pensieve.

Suddenly, everything shifted and Harry recognised Hogwarts. James Potter stalked down a long corridor, instantly filling Harry with dread. He idly wondered if Snape wasn't pushing him out of his head because he wanted Harry to see this. His father walked up to Snape, whose arms were laden with books and, without even looking, James casually slapped the pile, sending the books tumbling to the ground. Peter Pettigrew's hysterical laughter could be heard in the background as James called over his shoulder, "Study all you want, Snivellus! I'll still beat you in any class!" Harry saw the younger Snape wipe tears off his face with the sleeve of his robe, just as Snape pushed his way back into Harry's mind.

Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off –

Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!

Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now....

Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead –

Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy...

Avada Kedavra.

Harry saw a flash of green and was in Tom Riddle, Sr.'s graveyard again.

Kill the spare.

Harry was in the Department of Mysteries and Sirius was falling and falling through the tattered veil, as Harry struggled and struggled against Remus.

"NO!"

Harry resented Snape stealing these memories from him, even if they were his worst. He violently pushed his professor out and felt the cool stone on his face. Harry was on the floor of Snape's office once again.

Surprisingly, Snape gave Harry time to collect himself, perhaps because he was as disoriented as Harry after all the time Harry had spent invading his mind. Harry's breath was ragged and he felt his scar burning with an intensity he had never felt without Voldemort either in his head or standing nearby. His eyes shut tightly, he forced himself to breathe in a more regular pattern as he tried to forget both what he saw in Snape's mind and what Snape had seen in his.

He had no idea how much time had elapsed, but he knew it must have been a long time. Clutching at his head, he dragged himself into a half-sitting, half-leaning position and braced himself against Snape's desk. He didn't care what Snape thought about that because Harry was just trying to feel somewhat normal again.

Harry blinked back hot tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks; he wasn't about to cry, especially not in front of Snape.

After a few moments, Snape finally spoke. "Nothing that was seen here will leave this office."

Harry felt a rush of gratitude so intense that it shocked him. Snape was not only protecting his own darkest times, but also promising that he would never voluntarily reveal Harry's worst memories.

Eyes half-closed, Harry pounded his fists on the cold, stone floor. "I'm never going to get this, am I? I can't clear my thoughts, no matter how hard I try to keep everything blank. You saw things that I don't even remember happening."

And worse yet, Harry mentally added, you saw the things that I've been trying desperately to forget.

"Voldem...." Harry stopped himself, remembering how Snape had sharply reprimanded him for using his enemy's full name before. "You-Know-Who will be able to pick off everyone around me one by one, just by cracking open my head and having a look-around."

"Potter, I'm certainly not about to dispute the fact that your emotions lead you around by the nose." Snape grudgingly added, "But you are improving. You were able to view my thoughts for several minutes before I was able to get my bearings and combat you. Very few wizards have the skill to break past my barriers."

Harry wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of his robe, guiltily reminding him of the memory he'd just seen between his father and Snape. He felt the need to apologise to Snape, but he wasn't sure why. He wasn't his father, after all. No. He'd done his apologising and no longer owed that to the man in front of him, especially for events he'd had no part in. A wave of anger replaced the guilt and frustration as Harry dragged himself to his feet, staring defiantly at Snape. Harry half-expected the greasy git to aim another Legilimens at his head.

Instead, Snape made his way over to the Pensieve, retrieved his stored memories and motioned for Harry to go. "Keep working on clearing your head, Potter. By this time next week, I'd better not be able to break into your mind at all." The sarcastic tone, which had almost disappeared a moment ago, was back in full force. "Oh, and next time, please remember to keep your emotions in your nose."

If Harry hadn't been so unexplainably angry, he would have laughed when he felt his nostrils involuntarily flare.

"You're dismissed, Potter. Go on. Out." Snape pointed at his door with his wand.

Harry stalked through the corridors, quickly winding his way back to Gryffindor tower. It was very late and the shadows that played on the walls seemed to mock him. His muscles somehow simultaneously felt both stiff and jelly-like and the pounding in his head increased with each step.

Damn Snape! Harry thought to himself as he walked. He had no idea how these lessons were going to help the greater good when he felt worse everytime he left Snape's office. Why the hell does Dumbledore trust that bastard? Harry wasn't about to ask. Not that the old fool is going to tell me if I do. I doubt I even trust him anymore. Not after what happened last year.

"I'm not a child!" Harry said aloud, scandalising a painting of three ladies dressed in Victorian garb. One of the women shushed him as he stomped past them.

He felt tears prick at his eyes again and, embarrassed, he blinked them away. Harry knew he was only doing this to protect everyone he cared about - The ones left, at any rate. If it were only him that needed protection, he wouldn't continue. Even when ordered to help Harry, Snape still found ways to humiliate him. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him...

"I HATE HIM. Bastard. I hope he DIES. BASTARD!"

This time, a suit of armour advanced on Harry. Harry ignored it, not really caring if it did attack.

Dead tired, yet alert, a red-faced, sweaty Harry finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She raised an eyebrow at him and Harry laughed sharply, startling her. He finally considered what he must look like, after hours of having his brain scrambled, followed by some quality anger time in half of the Hogwarts corridors. He pushed the hair plastered against his forehead off his face and took a deep breath, flashing what he hoped was a winning smile.

"Password?" she droned, trying to sound impartial and bored. Harry was surprised and intrigued when he realised that she was putting on airs. Why can I suddenly read her emotions?

"Uh... Centaurs are dreamy," Harry muttered quickly as humanly possible, momentarily wondering why the prefects let Parvati and Lavender pick the password the last go-round.

The portrait opened, but not before she shot Harry one more raised eyebrow and what he was pretty sure was a concerned cluck of the tongue. As he stumbled through the portal, he scornfully wondered if this event would be gossip-worthy enough for the Fat Lady's friend, Violet. He shook off the thought, because it was unnecessarily nasty and also because he would possibly be facing his friends in a moment. Better to be tired, dour little Harry, instead of angry, hateful Harry. At least his friends were used to the former.

He reached the Common Room, momentarily pausing in the doorway to drink in the room. Instead of its usual comfort, everything seemed stuffy and gaudy. The chintz armchairs that typically enveloped him in squashy warmth now seemed comically overstuffed. Absently, he rubbed at his forehead, only half-aware that his scar was still throbbing.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Harry leaped about a foot in the air when Ron spoke, having previously not seen him sitting there. Hermione and Ron sat with assorted books, papers, and quills scattered over two chairs and a table. Both were watching him with a mix of concern and fear, as though Harry was a teakettle without a spigot, ready to explode at any moment.

Harry supposed this wasn't a horrible assessment.

He also supposed the two expected a reply. "Yeah, I'm fine. Occlumency lessons just completely exhaust me. Oh, excuse me – Remedial Potions." Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Honestly, is anyone really buying that excuse? Most people know that by some miracle of nature I got an O on my Potions O.W.L., I'm in his damned N.E.W.T. class, and yet, Snape can't let me use better reasoning for these God-forsaken sessions. I could be doing a research project, cleaning offices for pocket money or just have detention, but no. I have everyone thinking that I'm some sort of dunce." Harry sighed heavily.

Hermione and Ron gaped, open-mouthed. This could have been because this was the most Harry had said all at once in weeks, mostly preferring to answer his friends in monosyllables, or it could have been the uncontrolled anger that seemingly originated from nowhere. Hard to say, really.

Hermione cleared her throat, exchanging a nervous glance with Ron. "Are you really all right? I mean, where did that come from?"

Harry shook his head, deflecting her second question. "I'm really all right, Hermione. Sorry. Just a long night, like I said, so I think I'm going to head up to bed. What time is it, anyway?"

"A little past midnight."

Even later than I would have guessed. Well, Harry thought wryly, time flies when you're having fun.

Ron asked, "Do you want me to come up now? I think everyone else in the room is already asleep."

"No, if you want to stay down here, it's all right. I'll fall asleep as soon as I get up there, anyway."

"Suit yourself. Good-night."

"Good-night, Harry," chimed Hermione.

Harry nodded to them both and started the ascent to his dormitory. As he pushed open the door, he could hear Neville lightly snoring, but other than that, all was quiet. After changing into his pyjamas, he climbed into bed, his scar still burning a bit. His muscles continued to ache, and if possible, he was even more exhausted than he'd been after leaving Snape's office.

He felt himself softly lulled into sleep. The bed was amazingly comfortable, surrounding him with warmth. He drifted, drifted....

Without warning, Harry's whole body stiffened, as it flooded with excruciating pain. His forehead felt as though it had been stabbed repeatedly, his scar throbbing with acute pain that even outdid the Cruciatus. He tried thrashing, but his body was frozen. Futilely, he tried screaming, but no noise came out. Stuck in his wordless scream, the pain grew unbearable and Harry passed out.

Then all he knew was blackness.

Still surrounded by the dark, Harry was confused. The pain in his head had subsided, his muscles no longer ached, and he felt very alert. Oddly, he also had the sensation that he was floating and he somehow knew he was somewhere he wasn't meant to be. If he tried to look around him, there was just murky dark. Harry couldn't even see his hands. In fact, as he tried to wiggle his fingers in front of his face, he didn't even think he could move at all.

He was floating, but not falling. He couldn't see his own body, not even the hands in front of his face. As he tried to call out "Hello!", he realised he possessed no voice. In desperation, Harry tried to scream at the top of his lungs, but there was no sound. Harry was terrified.

Then, Harry started to make out faint voices all around him, which started to get louder and louder.

"I'm not supposed to be here! It's all a mistake! I was framed. The elves were attacking my feet and John Major issued a warrant for my death. I was to be hung in Albert Hall!"

What on Earth is that supposed to mean?

"Shh, it's all right, Terry. You're safe here. No one is trying to hurt you." This second voice was far more soothing than the first.

Yet another voice - more authoritative than the last - joined the first two. "It's time for Bed 8's meds, Peter. He's been a little jumpy today, but I'm hoping we won't have to sedate him. Try to get him to take them himself. If he doesn't, we'll put him under for awhile and hook up a drip."

"Got it, Dr. Mason."

"Oh, and Peter? You've been doing really great work lately. Thanks for coming in on a Saturday."

Dr. Mason? Peter? Harry thought the voice sounded a bit like Pettigrew, but he had no idea what they were discussing. Frightened, he remembered the piercing sting he'd felt before falling asleep. Or was I unconscious? Maybe Voldemort had taken him hostage and he was in a Death Eater lair. How would they have got into Hogwarts, though? Had Pettigrew been in his rat form?

He wildly hoped that they weren't going to do experiments on him.

Well, he thought pragmatically. If I was Death Eater, I might want to cut me open and see what makes me tick, too.

The one identified as Dr. Mason continued to issue orders. "Greg, Bed 12 needs to be made up. A new patient and his parents will be coming in to speak with me at three and this should be the correct age group."

The person Harry assumed was Greg replied, "I'll do that as soon as I deliver the linens down the hall."

"Very good, Greg. Thank you."

Harry heard a flurry of footsteps all around, as the voices grew louder. "Vincent, I'm going to go check on the Potter boy. Could you do a bedpan clean-up in Ward Four?"

A deep voice replied slowly, "Sure thing, boss."

"Please call me Dr. Mason, Vincent. I don't want you to think of me as your boss, especially with twelve doctors on this ward alone! It would be confusing to have that many people in charge." Dr. Mason chuckled.

"Right-o, boss."

Harry heard an audible sigh, which he assumed also belonged to Dr. Mason. Honestly, from what he could make out, the doctor didn't sound too evil.

Footsteps approached him, as the blackness Harry had experienced was replaced by a bright redness, which Harry recognised as the back of his eyelids. His eyes fluttered open and he squinted against the illumination.

From what he could make out, Harry was in an especially large, round room with fourteen or fifteen single beds with drab, olive-green walls. All the tables were grey with silver finishes, and a number of grey, high-backed chairs with green cushions were pulled up alongside several of the beds. Harry was strongly reminded of the Slytherin common room if the Dursleys had decorated it. He could see a few adults dressed in Muggle clothing bent over occupied beds. Muggle clothing?

He saw the doctor staring at him and frantically tried to make noise, but his mouth wouldn't work properly. Harry wondered what kind of hex had been used on him. Maybe it was a potion.

"Eyes open today! It's been awhile since we've seen that. Very good, Harry! Very good indeed." The doctor sounded excited.

Harry wondered just how many days he'd been asleep. The doctor had said Saturday, right? His Occlumency lesson had been on Monday. So quite awhile then.

Dr. Mason assured him, "I'm just going to check to make sure everything is still in working order."

As the doctor poked and prodded, Harry struggled to speak. He noticed the doctor was not dressed in mediwizard robes or, in fact, any robes at all, but in a plain white Muggle lab coat. When the doctor placed a stethoscope on Harry's chest, Harry noticed that he was dressed in a green and white hospital gown himself.

Where am I? he thought desperately.

"Where am I?" Harry blurted out. Harry was shocked and relieved that his voice was working properly again.

The doctor blinked at him rapidly, his jaw dropped open. "Harry? Did you just say something? Were you speaking to me?"

"Yes," he started slowly. The doctor seemed somewhat daft for a medical professional. "I asked, 'Where am I?'"

The doctor jumped up and started shouting, "Bed 4 is awake! Bed 4 is awake! Vincent, Greg! Get over here! I'll be right back. Harry, stay calm. Please stay awake! I'll be right back, I'll be right back!"

Two large orderlies, who reminded Harry very heavily of Draco Malfoy's cronies, rushed to either side of his bed. As Harry struggled to get up, even though his legs felt like jelly and his head still pounded, he felt the two hefty men attempt to push him back to the bed. Harry's adrenaline, however, was quite high and, moving with momentum he wouldn't have normally possessed, Harry jumped out of the bed. The orderlies grabbed him quickly and shoved him back down.

"GET OFF OF ME!"

One looked dumbly at the other, as the other man began yelling for a nurse. A squat woman waddled over as quickly as possible and Harry felt a slight prick in his forearm, which made Harry want to stop struggling and just sleep again. He drifted, drifted, and blissful darkness overtook him once more.