Full Circle

~~~~~

Chapter Six

Is your love a river of no respite?
Will it carry me
From the desert to the sea
At the end of the night
When my heart is broken
When my dreams are ragged and trite
When I fall too far
Will you be my morning star
At the end of the night?
Are you the reason I'm alive
When I have no faith in myself?
Will you believe in me
Will your love get me by
If your love is the river of no respite?
If you hear my prayer
I'll be waiting for you there
At the end of the night.

--Karen Matheson, "At The End of the Night"

"Exactly how long is this going to last?" said Ron with more than a little impatience.

"I do not know," replied Snape, from across the table. "We are encountering some unexpected difficulties."

"Yeah, you not knowing what the hell you're doing is an unexpected difficulty, all right," Ron spat back at him. "It's obvious that these Legilimency sessions aren't doing a damn thing but turning Harry into a headachy lump of goo every night and that'd be okay if you were actually getting somewhere, but you aren't, and so there isn't any point in keeping on with it!"

"Ron…" said Remus, with a note of warning in his voice.

Ron ignored him and the handful of other Order members surrounding Harry's dining room table - Tonks, Kingsley, his mum and dad, and Moody - and kept talking to Snape. "Ever since you've started up this constant Legilimency, Harry hasn't even left the damn house. He's always going around holding his head like it's going to explode, and that's when he's not passed out cold with a headache. I say you either tell us right now what you've found out or you lay off poking around in his head and find some other way to figure this out." He brought his fist down hard on the table, scattering a few nearby quills.

"Perhaps you and Harry should move back into the Burrow for the time being, Ron," his mother suggested. "If these sessions are affecting Harry so badly - "

"No, Mum," said Ron. "He won't, don't even bother suggesting it. I tried already." He didn't really believe Harry would be better off at the Burrow, but he was scraping the bottom of the barrel for ideas.

"Severus, perhaps you should give us an update," suggested Arthur. "Just so we have some idea what's going on here. I'm sure we'd all like to know if any progress is being made - we're all concerned about Harry," he added, with a sharp glance at Ron.

Snape folded his hands, resting them on the tabletop. "As I told you after my initial session with Potter over a week ago, there are memories and personality fragments in his mind which do not appear to be his. I was unaware of this during Potter's previous Occlumency training."

"Right, you said that already," said Ron.

"Before we go any further, I think Harry ought to be present for this discussion," said Remus. "He's always made it perfectly clear that he does not want discussion that involves him taking place without him."

"Lupin, this discussion might better be held without him, which you would understand if you would refrain from your infernal babbling," said Snape irritably.

"And he isn't well, the poor dear," said Molly, with a slightly accusatory glance at Snape. "He didn't eat a bite of dinner, said his head hurt too much, and went straight to bed."

"I want to know what's going on with him," said Ron stubbornly.

"If I might have an uninterrupted moment...." began Snape.

"Continue, Severus," said Arthur.

"As I was saying," said Snape, as if no interruption had occurred at all, "there are certain portions of Potter's mind that are largely inaccessible to me. I am not certain whether they have been there all along and were buried so deeply that they escaped my notice, or whether this is a recent development. The reason Potter has been so... indisposed lately is because I have been trying to access that part of his mind. It has not been pleasant."

Ron gripped the edge of the table, a mixture of anger and fear churning his stomach. "What do you think that is? That part of his mind you can't get into?"

"Other than the fact that it seems to contain memories and thoughts which are not his, I cannot say," replied Snape. "Each time I am finding it more and more difficult to penetrate this particular portion of his mind. I doubt this is due to any stellar performance of Occlumency on his part, considering that this is Potter. Instead, I think it more likely that the resistance is coming from the inaccessible area itself."

Remus had been listening quietly all this time, jotting notes on a scroll of parchment as Snape talked. He bit the end of his quill thoughtfully, and then said, "I wonder if there is a connection."

"A connection?" Arthur asked, peering over Remus's shoulder at the notes.

"Yes," said Remus, and from the look on his face Ron didn't think it could be a very pleasant connection. "When Voldemort's curse failed to kill Harry, as a baby, some of Voldemort's ... essence, for lack of a better word, was transferred to Harry. The ability to speak Parseltongue, for example."

"Right," said Ron. "Nobody knew about that till our second year of school, in the Duelling Club."

Remus nodded. "Exactly. Harry wasn't even aware of this ability until then."

"You're not saying - " began Arthur, but Moody, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke up.

"I think I see what you're getting at," Moody said to Remus. "You're saying that there's a little more of Voldemort left in the boy's mind than just Parseltongue."

"That's ridiculous!" Ron burst out, at the same time as his mother let out a quickly-stifled gasp. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. If that's true, if he's been walking around with a piece of V-Voldemort stuck in his head since he was a baby, then how come it hasn't shown up before now?"

Snape did not answer. Instead, he reached across the table, taking Remus's parchment from him even as he was still writing. He scanned it for a moment, his mouth pressed into his usual barely-disguised sneer, then pushed the parchment back to Remus. "To your simple mind, perhaps it is ridiculous," said Snape. "If there is indeed a portion of the Dark Lord's memories imbedded in Potter's mind, I am surprised they have been dormant for this long. His personality is not a weak one and could not be so easily subsumed. Perhaps - " He looked up at Ron, his eyes narrowed. "Last year, at the beginning of term, when you and Potter and Granger experienced that unusual...." - he paused for a moment, as though he were trying to think of the right sort of word for it - "phenomenon, perhaps it was a trigger of sorts."

Ron shivered at the memory. It had never been fully explained, and no one had ever tried to give the experience a name or tried to explain it, but it was as fresh in Ron's memory as if it has been yesterday. Harry had fallen asleep on the common room sofa, and in the midst of one of his more terrifying nightmares, Ron and Hermione had attempted to wake him - but instead of waking him, they had somehow been connected to him, and to each other, in such a way that they could hear each other's thoughts without speaking. He had been instantly aware of Harry's and Hermione's thoughts, and they his, in what had to be the most bizarre and yet most intimate experience the three of them had ever had.

It was something that Ron didn't particularly care to experience again.

"I don't understand how that was even possible," said Ron slowly. "We were just trying to wake him, and then...." He trailed off, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at going over the details again. "There shouldn't have been any reason for it at all. Dumbledore never gave us any explanation for it, and none of us ever asked."

"A perfect example of your limited mindset," said Snape.

"Perhaps it had to do with certain skills each of you possess," said Remus thoughtfully, ignoring Snape. "Hermione had the potential of a White Lady - the ability to heal, and the natural inclination to put things right again. You, of course, had the potential of a Seer - which, in a way, is the ability to see beyond what is apparent on the surface or in the present. Both of you only had the potential at the time, as neither of your abilities were truly developed, and in fact are developing still. And Harry - "

"Potter's ability is obvious," said Moody. "His skills at Occlumency and Legilimency."

"Such as they are," said Snape.

Ron gritted his teeth with the effort of not reaching for his wand to hex his former teacher right out of the kitchen.

"It's a possible explanation," said Kingsley, who had until now been silent. "I think you're all missing the point, though, which is - Harry potentially has a piece of Voldemort in his head, and it's causing him to cast Dark magic at the slightest provocation. If something isn't done soon, someone's going to end up dead or worse."

"If anyone has ideas, I'd like to hear them," said Arthur, rubbing his temples. "If Severus isn't able to get to the source of the problem, then I'm not sure who can."

There was a long pause, in which Remus drew pointless shapes on the edge of his parchment, Moody's magical eye rolled around in his head as if checking to see that Harry was in fact still in his room, and Molly got up to make a pot of tea, making fussy clucking noises as she did so that put Ron in mind of a large red hen.

The silence was finally broken by Snape, who regarded Ron with a very unpleasant expression. "Weasley, what do you know about divinatory hypnosis?"

*****

A soft knock at the door woke Harry from the light doze he'd fallen into.

"Harry?" It was Remus's voice.

Harry sat up slowly, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. "Yeah, come in."

Remus sat on the edge of the bed and reached into the pocket of his robes. "Here, have some of this," he said, holding out a small bar of Honeydukes' Sort of Sweet But Not Too Sweet Chocolate. "It helps."

"You always say that," said Harry, taking the chocolate. He unwrapped it, then set it on the quilt uneaten.

"Not without reason," said Remus. "How are you?"

Harry's glasses were slipping down his nose; he pushed them back up again. "Headache."

"Ah."

"Nothing new," said Harry.

"No, I imagine not," said Remus.

Harry tore a bit of foil off the chocolate wrapper, pushed the chocolate away, and rolled the foil absently between his fingers. "I suppose I should ask if there's any news...." He trailed off, thinking that he was probably wasting his breath. It was always the same. Remus would come by, inquire after his health, offer him chocolate, tell him the latest update on his 'condition' - which was usually nothing more than a report of another dead end - tell him to hang in there, and leave.

"Actually," said Remus, shifting slightly on the bed, "Severus has an idea. I think it's a good one."

Harry sat up a little straighter, interested in spite of the feverish ache in his scar. "An idea?"

Remus nudged the bar of chocolate back across the quilt to Harry. "Eat this first."

Any other time Harry would have thought the chocolate delicious, but lately he'd had enough chocolate to do him the rest of his life. He bit off a small piece, chewing slowly, but when it was apparent that Remus wouldn't say more until he'd finished, he finished the rest as quickly as his dry mouth would allow.

"All right," he said, licking a bit of chocolate off his finger, "what's this idea?"

"Severus thinks it's possible to use a combination of hypnosis and Legilimency to access this blocked part of your mind," said Remus. "He thinks the hypnosis will remove whatever barrier is there, or at least make it weak enough for him to penetrate it. And once he can figure out what's there, we'll be able to figure out what to do about it."

"Hypnosis?" asked Harry. "What else does Snape know how to do that he hasn't told us yet? Can he tap dance and play the violin, too?"

"Snape won't be doing the hypnosis," said Remus. "Ron will."

Harry blinked. "Why Ron?"

"Because he's the only one in the Order with any Divination skills at all," said Remus. "It was covered quite a bit in the seventh-year course, and he's had some experience with it in his Unspeakable training as well - at least that's what we gather from the little he's allowed to tell us about it, at any rate," he added.

"Oh," said Harry, feeling stupid for not realising this. "It won't - I mean, there isn't any way it could hurt him, is there?"

"No, I don't believe so. It should be safe for all three of you."

Harry wanted to protest, to say that it wasn't safe at all, since he'd cast Cruciatus on Snape just for peering into his mind, and he didn't want to do that to Ron, not after almost killing him, but at the same time if there was just the slightest chance it would work....

"Snape would like to start as soon as possible, I believe," said Remus, apparently taking his silence for assent. "How is tomorrow for you?"

Harry couldn't keep the bitter edge out of his voice. "It isn't like I'm going anywhere."

"Harry...." Remus leaned a bit, resting his hand on Harry's knee. "You know we're doing everything we can. There just isn't enough information yet to know what we're dealing with, and if something goes wrong...."

"Then I could die," Harry said flatly.

"Maybe," said Remus. He looked very tired at that moment, worried and exhausted, and Harry felt an immense and irrational surge of anger. How dare he be tired! How dare any of them - they weren't the one with something in their heads that wasn't supposed to be there, someone in their heads who wasn't supposed to be there, after all this time he'd spent on stupid Occlumency, stupid lessons with Snape that did no good at all -

"If I died, would you be sad?" Harry blurted.

Remus's eyes went round. "Of course I would, Harry."

"Would you be sad because I was gone and you missed me, or because there wouldn't be anyone left to take on Voldemort and you'd all be stuck with him?" Harry felt a moment of regret at the look of shock that passed over Remus's face, but it felt too good to spit the words out to even think about stopping. "You wouldn't miss me at all, would you? None of you would. You'd just be worried that no one would be able to defeat him, that your last chance was gone! None of you care. You don't care that I'm stuck here in this house all day being poked and prodded and watched like a criminal, none of you do, as long as you can fix me up good enough to do your dirty work!"

Remus got slowly to his feet, looking at Harry with an expression that was too close to pity for Harry's liking. "I don't think you really meant that, Harry, but it's probably best that I go now." And before Harry could say another word, Remus was gone.

*****

Christmas Eve, for the most part, was like any other day at the hospital. There were the usual cases - fevers, poxes, broken bones - but just after midday there was a huge fire in one of the factories in that part of the city, and the hospital was soon bursting at the seams with burn victims. Every bed in the ward was filled, and almost every available bit of floor space was covered in makeshift pallets.

"Why so many?" Hermione asked, as she helped Sister Angelique set up more pallets in the vestibule. "Surely the fire could not have spread so quickly!"

"They were locked in," Sister Angelique replied brusquely, handing her another large pile of worn bedding. "It is common for factory owners to lock their workers in to discourage theft and workers leaving early, and so they could not escape the fire in time. Some of them did not escape at all."

"But that's - that's totally barbaric! There should be some sort of law!" she sputtered, completely outraged.

Hermione was horrified to see that the vast majority of the victims were children - and even more horrified to discover that children were a major part of the workforce in almost every factory, and no one seemed to think it odd. She had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking when two young girls, who could not have been more than eleven, were brought in together, screaming and clutching each other, every visible part of their body covered in lurid red burns. At first glance it seemed that the girls were holding onto each other out of fear, but she soon realised that they not let go of each other because their burned skin had somehow fused together, making it impossible for them to let go. Their mother, who also worked at the factory, had been brought in along with them. Her arm had been broken in multiple places when she was crushed against the door in the mass of people fighting to get out. The entire time Monsieur Forez worked on setting her arm she cried and stared across to the door at the far end of the room where Mother Hildegarde and several of the nursing sisters were assisting whichever surgeon had shown up that day.

"She likely has broken ribs as well," he told Hermione, when he finished bandaging the arm, "but I do not have time to attend to it. I am needed for an amputation and I must hurry." He thrust a roll of strapping in her direction and was gone, leaving Hermione unsure what to do.

It can't be that difficult, thought Hermione to herself, picking up the roll of strapping and wracking her brain to remember the way her own ribs had been bandaged. "Madame - if you will let me?" The woman nodded mutely, and though her crying stopped as Hermione began to work, her eyes never left the far corner of the room. Hermione prodded the woman's side gently with her fingertips, over the rapidly darkening brownish yellow bruises, though she wasn't sure exactly what that would accomplish.

"Sorry," Hermione replied, when the woman flinched. She touched the bruised flesh again, more gently this time. She didn't know what she was feeling for - maybe some sign that her ribs were indeed cracked - but after a moment, her fingers began to tingle slightly, and the barest hint of blue light formed around the edges of her fingertips. She got the most curious sensation in her fingers, as if she could feel tiny bits of bone knitting themselves back together under her touch.

"Oh!" said the woman. "What was that?"

Hermione jerked her hand away quickly, and the tingling and bit of blue light disappeared immediately. "I - I don't know," she said quickly, picking up the roll of strapping and fixing the bandage.

"It doesn't hurt quite so much anymore," the woman said, watching Hermione curiously.

Hermione finished the bandaging with slightly shaking hands. She didn't understand what had just happened anymore than she understood what happened with that wooden stick in Mother Hildegarde's office, but somehow she felt they were related, and that neither of these things were anything approaching normal.

Just as Hermione finished tying off the bandage and helping the woman back into her thin gown, Mother Hildegarde appeared at the end of the bed.

"I am sorry," said Mother Hildegarde, one large hand clasping the silver crucifix that hung on its long chain around her neck, the other reaching out to clasp the woman by the shoulder. "We could not save them. They were... "

Hermione had to look away. She couldn't watch as the girls' mother crumpled against Mother Hildegarde, her face contorted in grief and sobs choking her throat. Catching the eye of one of the nearby nursing sisters, she stepped away on the pretext of making herself useful, leaving what she could not deal with to more experienced hands than hers.

After what seemed like another whole day, but was in reality only several hours, Hermione found herself sitting at the long refectory table where the sisters took their meals, trying not to let her head fall into the mug of chocolate clutched in her hands. She was sweaty under her grubby clothes, her whole body ached from her head to her feet, and she felt shaky from not having eaten, but she didn't have the least bit of appetite after the things she had seen that day.

"Ah, there you are, Mademoiselle," said Mother Hildegarde, sitting down beside her. "I thought perhaps you had become lost."

"Oh no, I'm here," said Hermione, sitting up a little straighter, as had become her habit whenever Mother Hildegarde was nearby. She could see Bouton, sitting at her feet, his wiry tail thumping on the stone floor. Hermione reached down to pet him, and he pushed his head against her hand.

A serving sister appeared just then with a small plate of cakes and a pot of tea. Bouton's tail wagged excitedly as she placed one on a small plate for him on the floor, and Hermione could not help but smile as he attacked the cake with enthusiasm.

Mother Hildegarde's plate remained untouched. "Your help today was unexpected, but most appreciated," she said. "We seem to find ourselves perpetually short-staffed."

"I couldn't not help," said Hermione.

"Indeed. It seems to be that way for many of us, sometimes - we cannot sit by when we see someone in need." Mother Hildegarde studied Hermione for a moment, then continued. "I suppose you are feeling better these days, then? Physically, at least?"

Hermione nodded, swirling the last bit of now-cool chocolate around in the bottom of her mug. "I still don't remember anything. Sometimes I think I remember something, but when I try to think about it, it just disappears, and I can't remember anything at all."

Mother Hildegarde frowned slightly, then poured two cups of tea, sliding one in Hermione's direction without asking. "Then my next question is, have you thought about what you will do next?"

"Next?" Hermione's fingers closed around her teacup. "I... no." She had thought about it a few times, coming each time to the same conclusion. Where would she go? She was in a foreign country, with no memory, no money, no possessions, and no clue to her identity except her first name.

"I am quite aware that the nature of your condition makes it exceedingly difficult for you to formulate any course of action," Mother Hildegarde went on. "However, as I mentioned a moment ago, we are rather short staffed and due to this evening's unfortunate catastrophe we are now short of space, so I do not believe we can keep you as a patient any longer."

"Oh," said Hermione, staring into her cup, feeling a sinking feeling in her stomach. "Well, I -"

"Therefore," interrupted Mother Hildegarde, "I feel it only proper to offer you a place to stay, in return for your assistance in the hospital in any way that you are able."

"You would? I mean... you do?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle."

"Oh!" Hermione resisted the urge to throw her arms around Mother Hildegarde's sturdy shoulders and hug her, settling instead for a grateful smile. "I - thank you, of course I'll help, any way I can, I promise."

"I have no doubt about that," she said kindly. "You will be welcome here as long as you need."

"Thank you."

Mother Hildegarde smiled, and for one moment her face looked almost beautiful. "In any case, I do not expect this is how you are used to spending Christmas Eve."

Hermione shook her head. "No, somehow I doubt that."

"Then I shall wish you a joyeux Nöel, and pray that your next one will find you where you belong."

Much later that night, almost morning, Hermione had been installed in a small room in a far wing of the convent usually reserved for guests. It was far from the hospital itself, and though she was bone-achingly tired, she found that it was almost too quiet to sleep. A hospital is never silent, even at night, and Hermione had grown used to the constant hum of activity, counting on it to help her sleep at night. The near-total silence of the room seemed to reverberate in her ears.

The sister who showed her to the room had brought the box from Mother Hildegarde's office, and after Hermione realised she was not about to fall asleep anytime soon, she sat up, lit the candle, and pulled the box from under the bed. Everything was just as it had been two months before when she had looked it over in an attempt to jog her memory. She pushed aside the layers of dress until her fingers curled around the slim wooden rod at the bottom of the box, and she pulled it out, hand shaking slightly. Even though she'd been watching her fingers carefully all evening, she had seen no other trace of the strange blue light and was beginning to think she had been imagining it, but it had put her in mind of this rod and she wanted to look at it again, to see... what, exactly, she wasn't sure.

Hermione had no idea why she would have such an attraction to this object. It was merely a piece of wood, and yet it felt so right in her hand, almost as if it were an extension of her fingertips. Just as she had done before, she gave it a gentle flick of her wrist, and a brief shower of red and gold sparks flew out of the end. It did not startle her as it did before, and she watched them for a moment, fascinated, until they faded. And as she watched, a phrase flashed across her consciousness like the touch of a butterfly wing - one person can't feel all that at once - and it faded just as quickly as the sparks from her wand. She tried to hold onto that thought, to try to picture who said it and why, but it slipped from her mind like sand through her fingers and was gone.

Frustrated, she shoved the box back under the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.

*****

"...bow to death, Harry..."

"... obedience is a virtue I need to teach you before you die..."

"...come out, come out, little Harry..."

"Harry...."

Harry rolled over onto his side, automatically reaching for his forehead. He opened one eye to see Ron's anxious, freckled face peering at him from beside the bed.

"I think you were having another dream, mate," said Ron.

"I was," said Harry hoarsely. "I always do."

"I know. The walls in this house aren't that thick, and well..." Ron looked sheepish. "You're a bit loud, sometimes."

Harry just nodded, sitting up slowly. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat, and he pulled it off, tossing it aside. Gooseflesh sprang up on his arms from the cool air in the room, and he rubbed them, trying to make it go away.

Ron frowned. "All right now?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "Just kind of tired of it all."

"I reckon so," said Ron. "You sounded...." He cleared his throat and continued. "Well, Snape says we can start with the hypnosis and Legilimency together soon, and maybe that'll help?" He sounded as if he was attempting to sound more confident than he really was, and though Harry knew he meant well, it really didn't help.

"Maybe." Harry leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees. He pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyelids, making little stars bloom in the blackness.

"It will."

"It's Christmas, you know. Fuck." Harry got up and went over to his chest of drawers, digging around for a clean t-shirt. He found one shoved at the back of a drawer and pulled it on, shoving his arms through the sleeves. Not that he expected to get a break or anything just because it was Christmas Eve, but frustration was winning out over common sense. "It's just... it's all fucked up. I yelled at Remus. I was a real arse. And this - " he rubbed angrily at his head, " - is worse now than it ever was, and all the time. I just want to kill him once and for all but I might manage to kill someone else first with this random magic before I even get a chance."

"You're not killing anybody except the one that counts," Ron said immediately. "You're not like, contagious or anything. It'll get sorted. You'll see."

Harry sat down hard on the edge of the bed, feeling suddenly drained. "I'm just tired," he said, in a voice that sounded too small to be his.

"I know, Harry."

"And I haven't even done anything yet."

"You will."

"I should have killed him last year, when he came to Hogwarts. I should have killed him then and then this would all be over."

"You didn't know how," said Ron. "But you're working on it, and you will, you'll do it. And no matter what - Hermione and me, we'll be right behind you."

Harry's throat felt too tight, and he wasn't sure if it was because of Hermione's name or because of Ron's stubborn insistence that things would work out. His eyes were burning and he wanted Ron to look away. His head was a jumble of dream fragments and sharp memories, and he felt that if he tried to sort them out he'd hurt himself on the jagged edges of thought. On top of everything else, he had one memory, sharp and clear as the night he'd seen it, and it wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he wished it to. He knew what Ron didn't know, and knew why Ron didn't know it, and he didn't think he could bring himself to talk about Hermione without spilling it; but he had to say something about her because the ache of missing her was almost too strong to stand anymore.

He put his head down on his knees, wishing Ron would just go away.

But Ron didn't go away. Instead, there was a heavy sigh, some shuffling, a bit of clunking, and an awkward pause, and Harry felt the mattress dip as Ron sat beside him on the edge of the bed. It shocked him into looking up, because Ron had been very careful to avoid moving in and out of his chair when people could see him if he could possibly avoid it, even now that he and Harry were living together in this house. It was one of the things they were always careful to pretend didn't exist.

"Harry..." Ron used his hands to shift himself a bit closer to Harry, and Harry felt he should look away, but he couldn't. "She'll come back."

"I know."

"She is."

There was a catch in Ron's voice that went straight to the pit of Harry's stomach, telling him that Ron kept saying these things as much for his own reassurance as much as for Harry's. It made his throat tighten up even more, and without thinking, he reached out and squeezed Ron's shoulder.

"She's coming back," said Harry, forcing himself to sound like he really believed it. "In February, just like she said...."

"Just a month away, really," said Ron.

Harry couldn't think of anything else to say, because a month seemed like an incredibly long time to wait for someone who had been there for so many years. And as he sat there, with his hand on Ron's shoulder and his eyes meeting Ron's, he wondered if this was what Hermione was thinking when she'd kissed Ron before she left.

His hand slid slowly down Ron's arm, feeling the shiver that rippled over Ron's skin under his fingers.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" He had to force out that one syllable; his heart was pounding so hard in his chest it hurt.

Ron didn't answer, but instead brought his fingers up to trace just along Harry's jaw. His expression was soft and confused, like Harry was someone he hadn't seen for a long, long time and didn't quite recognise, and Harry resisted the impulse to close his eyes, because he didn't want to miss it.

When Ron's fingers fell away, Harry's skin seemed to tingle with the loss of contact, and his stomach did the sort of crazy dropping swoop it only did when he did a Wronski Feint from a great height. There were words he wanted to say, but he couldn't, because they were all stuck right in his throat in a heavy lump and so he did the only thing that seemed to make any sense - he let his eyes fall closed, leaned in, and pressed his lips to Ron's.

Ron froze for the briefest half-second, and then his lips parted and it was a real kiss, warm and slippery and slightly desperate. Harry brought his hand up Ron's arm again, more deliberately this time, and he could feel Ron's moan in his mouth, the vibration of it going straight to the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"I... I don't know," said Ron, his lips just a breath away from Harry's. "I forgot.... I think."

When Ron brought his mouth back down to Harry's again it was Harry's turn to moan. Harry couldn't get enough of the feel of him - the slide of his tongue over his, the mingled tang of their breath, the soft brush of Ron's nose against his cheek. And while the loudest part of Harry was telling him that this wasn't how things were supposed to be, that this was one more problem their fragile friendship didn't need, the rest of him, deep down, somehow knew it was right.

It just felt right.

And he didn't want to stop.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, Ron pulled back, a brilliant red flush creeping up his neck and face. "I - "

"Ron, don't."

Ron's face was wild and confused, his breathing heavy and his lips kiss-swollen. His hand shook more than a little as he reached up to Harry's face again, over his cheek with a touch that seemed to be too light to come from hands as large as his. He swallowed hard, and spoke with what seemed like a great effort. "I - oh God, I don't know - I didn't think - "

"Don't think," whispered Harry. "Just feel."

As soon as he'd said it he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Ron tensed under his hand, and his eyes rounded.

"I - that's - I don't know if I - "

Harry slid his hand over Ron's shoulder, curling around the back of his neck, just in his hair, and rested his forehead against Ron's. "Just do that again?"

There was a long pause in which Harry was afraid that Ron would let the whole thing go, to turn away from the hurt instead of facing it, but then Ron let out a long, shaky breath that seemed to take some of the tension with it. "But - "

"Don't." Harry cut off whatever protest Ron was about to make, and the sudden silence hung thick and heavy around them, almost tangible. He was afraid to break the silence, because he didn't want to know what was on the other side of it, but he couldn't stand Ron's confused expression any longer. Slowly, he let his hand slide down the back of Ron's neck, his fingers just brushing under the neck of his t-shirt. Ron shivered and let out a skittering breath as his eyes fell closed. Harry kept up the slow movement of his fingers, moving slowly around the edge of Ron's worn t-shirt. They lingered for a moment in the hollow of Ron's throat before slipping out of his shirt and moving lightly over his chest, and Harry could feel the heavy thud of Ron's heart under his hand. Before he could stop himself, his fingers were curling in the material of Ron's shirt and pulling him closer -

"No." Ron caught Harry's wrist and held it. "No," he said again, hoarsely. He took a great gulping breath and said, "It's not right. Hermione - you - no. You can't do this."

The heavy weight of what he'd seen twisted and coiled up in Harry's stomach. If Ron just knew what Hermione had done, how she probably felt the way Harry was feeling himself at the moment, then he'd realise that things weren't just that simple as that between the three of them and probably never had been.

But he couldn't bring himself to say the words. It wasn't his secret to tell.

"I think I should go," said Ron slowly.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "No. But I should."

"I guess you're right," said Harry, though he didn't think Ron was right at all. "Do you want... er... some help...?"

"No," said Ron abruptly. "It's fine." Harry could tell by his tone of voice this was a no he really meant, and so he looked away, pretending to be very busy straightening his pillow while Ron got back into his chair.

Ron cleared his throat, and Harry looked up. Harry wanted to try to change Ron's mind, try to get him to stay and see what might happen, but he knew it was useless.

*****

"So. Weasley." Snape glared at Ron, arms folded. "I hope you are not as useless in your current occupation as you were in my class, or there is little point to this experiment."

"Hello to you too, Snape," said Ron. He was determined not to let Snape hack him off yet again. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to make this work, but he knew he wouldn't be able to if he got angry.

"Can we get this started already?" said Harry, who was pacing around the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He'd been restless, barely sitting still for more than a few minutes at a time, ever since Christmas Eve, and the anxiety surrounding Snape's latest idea for getting into his mind obviously made it worse. "Just do it."

Ron coughed. "All right then. Well, first, you need to sit. Get comfortable." Harry flung himself into the armchair closest to the fire, slouching and scowling. Ron shook his head and moved closer, pulling up just beside him. "Look, this isn't going to work if you're going to be a prickly prat. Just relax."

Snape made a noise that clearly indicated his thoughts on whether Harry would be able to relax.

Ron ignored it and continued talking to Harry. "Sit back... yeah. Like that. And get completely comfortable."

"Close my eyes?" Harry asked.

"No. Just pick a place to look, somewhere you can focus, but not really focus."

Harry looked up at him, gaze steady. "All right." They had barely looked each other in the eye since that night, and Ron could feel a flush creeping across his cheeks.

"No, not at me. Just... somewhere. Somewhere unimportant, really. And er.... " He reached up, sliding Harry's glasses off. His fingers accidentally brushed Harry's cheek and they both flinched the tiniest bit. "That might help."

Harry blinked, refocusing, and looked away.

Ron took a deep breath, and dropped his voice into a slightly deeper tone than his usual speaking voice. "Okay. I want you to pick something you see, and focus on it. Look at how it's shaped, the colour and texture of it, think about it would feel if you touched it. Keep looking at it, and while you look just listen to my voice." He kept talking, getting deeper and deeper into the script he'd memorised from work a while back. It was one he and his co-workers used on each other when using induced trances for divination, and while he felt ridiculous saying it with Snape listening, he soon forgot that Snape was even there.

"Just let your eyes close if they want to, they might feel heavy and want to close, just do whatever you feel." As he talked, Ron could see Harry's eyes slowly unfocus, going slightly glassy, and then drift closed. Harry's lips were parted just the slightest bit as his jaw relaxed, and Ron remembered how Harry's lips felt against his. Stop thinking about that, he told himself. "Don't think about anything but your breathing, in and out, very slowly. Concentrate on the sound of my voice, tune out everything else, just breathe. In... out... and with every breath relax just a little more. Let your neck relax... your shoulders drop... your arms and fingers..."

Ron continued, coaxing Harry's body to relax with his voice, and the more he talked, the deeper Harry went into the trance. For a moment he was afraid he may have put Harry too far under, something that was more of a danger for wizards than for Muggles, but getting him under far enough to give Snape better access to his mind was crucial, and so he pressed on. "In a minute, Snape will talk to you. He won't hurt you at all, and you don't need to do anything but relax. He's going to take a look into your mind, with Legilimency - " Harry flinched slightly at that, and Ron hurriedly filled in the interruption with his voice again, "-but it won't hurt at all, it isn't dangerous, so all you need to do is relax and let him look around. No need to do anything but sit back and rest. Just listen to his voice when he talks..."

By this time Harry was perfectly still and as relaxed as Ron had ever seen someone in a trance, even more still than if he were asleep, and Ron was afraid to push any further. He looked up at Snape and nodded, and Snape moved silently into place, just in front of Harry.

"Legilimens," said Snape softly.

Harry did not even flinch.

Snape frowned, glanced at Ron briefly, and lifted his wand again. "Legilimens."

There was still absolutely no response from Harry, and Ron was about to wonder if this was going to work at all when Snape suddenly doubled over, clutching his left forearm.

"Snape?" Ron whispered, not wanting to break Harry's trance.

Snape shook his head curtly, cutting Ron off. Ron had never seen anyone performing Legilimency before, and so he wasn't sure what it was supposed to look like when it was going right, but this - this couldn't be how it was supposed to go. Snape fell to his knees, barely keeping his wand trained on Harry, and Harry did not move. He remained absolutely still, breathing slowly and shallowly - so shallowly, in fact, that Ron had to watch very closely to reassure himself that Harry was actually still breathing. Snape, however, was shaking badly and gritting his teeth, apparently with the effort of maintaining the connection.

Suddenly Snape made a cutting motion in midair with his wand and dropped it, hand digging into his left forearm. "Get him out," he rasped. "Bring him out of it, right now."

Ron panicked. "I - he's too far under, I can't bring him out that quickly, I'll have to - "

Snape reached up and grabbed Ron's sleeve, yanking hard. "Now, Weasley, or he won't come out at all, and it will be on your wretched head if he does not."

"Harry," Ron began, swallowing hard and fighting to keep his voice steady, "we're done now, and in a minute you're going to wake up. Just a bit at a time, as I count to three, you'll slowly come awake... one - "

"For Merlin's sake, do it now!" Snape hissed.

If I yank him out of the trance now, it'll startle him so badly he'll probably blow up half of Hogsmeade by accident, Ron wanted to yell, but instead he continued talking in as calm a voice as he could manage, slowly coaxing Harry awake. "... you're waking slowly, calmly... two... and when I finish counting you'll be fully awake as if you've just had a nice long nap... and... three."

Harry did not move.

A thrill of fear swept over Ron, and he had to grip the arms of his chair tightly to keep from reaching out and shaking Harry as hard as he possibly could. "Harry," he said, unable to keep the shake out of his voice now, "it's time to wake up now, so we'll try it again. As I count to three, you're going to slowly wake, one... you're going to wake up and open your eyes ... two... you're almost awake now, and when I finish counting you're going to sit up and be fully awake..."

Ron held his breath, almost afraid to say the last word, in case Harry did not move again. He felt Snape's eyes boring into him, and a cold trickle of sweat slid down his back, but he couldn't look away from Harry's too-still form.

...please let him come out of it, pleasepleaseplease....

"Three."

Harry sat up, blinking.

The rush of relief hit Ron so hard he thought for a moment he was going to be sick, and he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"Potter," said Snape sharply, having regained his composure, "do you remember what just happened here? Have you any recollection at all?"

Harry fumbled around for his glasses and slid them on, then nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"Well?" said Ron impatiently, looking up. "What? Bloody fucking hell, Harry, you scared the shite out of me just now!"

Harry was looking directly at Snape. "It's him, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Snape, who, for the first time that Ron could recall, looked frightened - or as close to frightened as Snape was capable of looking. "That previously inaccessible portion of your mind is filled with memories that can only belong to the Dark Lord."

"Then get it out!" said Harry, getting to his feet. "Do it again, put me under, do whatever you have to do - get it out! I don't want it!"

"I - it is not that simple, Potter," said Snape. "Not only are there the Dark Lord's memories, but you appear to have...." Snape hesitated. "You seem to have a sort of... imprint of his mind superimposed upon a portion of yours."

"Superimposed?" yelped Harry and Ron at the same time. "What the sod does that mean?" Ron added.

"It means, Weasley, that Potter is strutting about with part of the Dark Lord's mind overlapping part of his own, which would explain where these unpredictable bursts of magic are coming from. They are coming from His mind, and not from Potter's. Furthermore, as far as I can tell, there is no way to separate one from the other. They are too entwined."

"What?" Harry's mouth fell open. "No. You're wrong, you're joking. There's no way that - no. No. I'm not walking around with... with him in my head anymore, I spent three years doing your stupid Occlumency lessons to keep him out, I'm not doing it again, fuck that." He whirled on Ron, his whole body shaking. "Do that again, put me under, and Snape can go back in and - "

"No," said Ron. "No, I'm not doing that again, no way. I don't know if you're just too suggestible or what but no. No. I'm never putting you under again, Harry, not ever. You didn't - I had to try twice to wake you. You wouldn't come out of it, you were just - "

"I don't care! Just do it! Do it and then Snape -"

"Silence!" bellowed Snape, and a shower of silver sparks hissed from his wand as he glared at Harry. "Cease this ridiculous bickering at once. You are worse than your miserable excuse for a godfather and his pet werewolf, and I will not listen a moment longer. Potter, there is no way to separate the two consciousnesses, do you understand? It is impossible, unless you want to spend the rest of your life as a drooling vegetable in St Mungo's. You will simply have to learn to contain it."

"Contain it?"

"Yes, Potter."

Harry stood there for one long, unbearable moment, then there was a loud crack of Apparation and he was gone.

*****

Two nights later, Harry finally came home. No one had come after him to try to persuade him to return, to calm down and think things out, and that had been fine with Harry. He'd rented a Muggle hotel room and spent the days drinking far too much coffee in an effort to keep from sleeping, and staring blankly at crappy movies on the telly, trying to ignore what Snape had said to him.

"Potter, there is no way to separate the two consciousnesses, do you understand? It is impossible, unless you want to spend the rest of your life as a drooling vegetable in St Mungo's."

He couldn't ignore it. Deep down, he knew Snape was right. He could feel it now, where he couldn't before - maybe it was the hypnosis-Legilimency combination that weakened the barrier between his mind and Voldemort's, or maybe he was just more aware of it now that he knew it was there, but in any case, he could feel it. It was like a tickle in the centre of his mind, but darker, a sinister second guess behind every thought that made him unsure what were actually his thoughts and what was coming from that darker part.

Harry didn't Apparate straight into the house, instead appearing on the front step and letting himself in quietly. Ron was asleep on the sofa, the wireless softly playing in the corner. Had Ron been waiting up for him all this time? Apparently he had; his clothes were rumpled and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Harry sat down on the edge of the sofa, careful not to jostle him. "Ron?" he said quietly. "Ron, I'm back."

Ron's eyes half-opened. They were bloodshot. "Yeah? I knew you would be."

"Yeah. Just had to... you know. Think."

"Yeah." Ron stretched his arms sleepily, then rested them on his stomach; one slid down and bumped Harry's thigh. "Tried to wait up. Got tired. Remus wanted to find you. Couldn't track you though."

"I'm not armed, remember?"

"I know. Idiot." He curled his fingers around Harry's wrist. "Don't do it again."

Harry was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. "Snape's right, Ron."

The corner of Ron's mouth turned up in a rueful half-smile. "Usually is, the greasy bastard."

"Yeah."

"Harry..."

"I can feel him in there now. I can't even tell you how it feels, but it's like... it's just behind everything I think, waiting to sneak out when I'm not paying attention. And I can't..." He felt his shoulders start to shake, and he wanted to just get up and go again, but it wouldn't do any good because no matter far away he went he couldn't get away from his own mind, and Ron had hold of his arm anyway and wasn't letting go so it didn't matter.

Ron tugged on his arm, and Harry slumped forward, resting his head on Ron's chest. He could feel Ron's breath in his hair and he felt so close to snapping in two but didn't know how to stop it, so he just stretched out beside Ron, listening to his heartbeat. Even as tired as he was, with Ron's arm moving slowly up and down his arm, he couldn't settle - he could feel that foreign part of his mind sending dark feelers into the rest of his consciousness, and there wasn't a way to keep them out.

"Ron," he said, half propping himself up on his elbow.

"You can fight it off, Harry," Ron replied, cupping Harry's jaw in his hand.

"I don't know how," he replied, "I just… I need - " He couldn't say what he needed, couldn't ask for it because he didn't even know what it was he needed. All he knew was that he wanted to make it go away, he wanted all of it to go away and the only way he knew to do that was to catch Ron's lips in a hard, almost bruising kiss. Ron's hand fisted in Harry's hair, pulling him closer, while the other hand pulled off his glasses and let them fall on the floor. All Harry could focus on was the wet warmth of Ron's mouth, Ron's hand tugging his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and sliding underneath, and his body pressed into Ron's so tightly he could barely breathe.

"Please," he whispered, embarrassed to hear his voice sound so weak, but he couldn't help it. The friction and the slick heat of their mouths and the slide of Ron's hands over his skin was making him half-dizzy, and with each thrust of his hips he could feel the darkness in his mind being pushed back into its corner. He tilted his head to the side for a moment, gasping for air, and Ron left a trail of warm, sloppy kisses down his neck.

It was too much, the sheer amount of just plain physical contact that he hadn't had since Hermione was gone, and when Ron tugged at Harry's earlobe with his teeth, breathing hot and moist in his ear, Harry ground against him one more time before the feeling overtook him and he collapsed, sticky and sweating on the edge of the sofa.

Ron's lips brushed over Harry's forehead, just over his scar as if it wasn't even there, and Harry shivered. And then he realised what had happened, and felt a hot flush of mortification. He'd just rubbed himself off against his best friend's leg like some kind of animal, because it felt good and damn whatever else happened, and only then did he realise that he hadn't felt a similar hardness against his own leg. He couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"Oh, God, Ron, I'm sorry," he said, struggling to sit up, pushing Ron's arm away. "I didn't realise - I shouldn't have - "

"It's okay," said Ron, his face a furious shade of red. "I didn't stop you, did I?"

"No, but..."

"Forget it."

"No, I need to - I should go change. Just... I'm sorry," he said, getting up. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again, and fled down the hall.