A/N: Another mediocre story that I'll probably never finish. Alas. Set during Deathly Hallows, but it will obviously diverge from canon - in the best kind of way, hopefully. It's highly likely that it won't make any sense at all.

I'd like to thank Hades from the bottom of my heart for being my beta. You're the best.

Pain.

Raw, ruthless pain.

It coursed through Harry's body in an everlasting stream, making it oh-so easy to lose himself for seconds, minutes, hours, riding out wave after wave of pain and warmth and nothingness. Time was a strange, unimportant concept now his nerves were on fire, burning him from the inside out. It was all he knew. In that moment, it was all he was, an ache that started from deep within and raged across his quaking limbs.

Then it stopped.

''Look at me… Harry… ''

His voice was terrifying close — everywhere — curling through the depths of Harry's pained mind in a soft hiss.

''Piss… off,'' Harry spat, his trembling hands pushing himself up into a sitting position, just to make himself less vulnerable as the heavy shaking subdued. It was quite the feat, but somehow he managed. He looked up then, shocking crimson meeting his gaze at once.

Something that felt so real couldn't possibly be a dream. Harry tried to settle on that thought, but the memory of trying to fall asleep last night called for his attention in the back of his mind. He remembered staring at a sliver of moonlight that filtered inside through a gap between curtains, and he must have drifted off eventually, since the next sight in front of him had made his blood run cold. Even now. Especially now…

Voldemort smiled, a sinister curl of his lips, and there was something akin to curiosity in the ocean of red.

''Are you not going to speak, Harry? And here I was awaiting a pleasant conversation,'' he stepped forward, bare feet sliding over the not-ground, ''It truly is intriguing, this connection of ours… It has made me wonder, you see. I ask myself: How come you speak Salazar's tongue when I, the sole heir, should only be able to do so?''

Any retort died on Harry's lips. He sat frozen, his knees aching where they carried his weight on a ground that solely existed in his mind.

It was just like Snape had predicted: a scenario in which Voldemort would start paying attention to their connection, becoming aware of what it entailed. And that was what needed to be avoided. In no circumstances could he discover what Harry was to him — it would wash away the already faint hope of a world without Lord Voldemort, without his followers, putting it beyond reach.

Harry shivered, and this time it wasn't in any way linked to his recent exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.

Wake up… Wake up…

He needed to regain consciousness. Right now would be brilliant. It was there, calling to him, but his personal stash of luck seemed to have finally run out, like it should have ages ago. Voldemort's grasp on his thoughts was too firm to struggle out of.

For a horrifying second, Harry wondered if Voldemort would discover a way to use Legilimency to dig through Harry's mind, until he could draw out whatever knowledge he possessed about their connection. And Merlin, that thought made his chest feel as unbearably heavy as his mind. The little progress they had made would be unraveled effortlessly, chucked away like it didn't matter. It seemed unlikely, but Harry knew not to take anything for granted, not when it came down to the safety of his friends.

There was panic laced with anger that tried to break the surface of his mind now, consuming him with thoughts of his almost-failure.

He dragged his attention back to the snake-like figure in front of him, where Voldemort's unblinking gaze was fixated on Harry still. There was no change in his expression, where curiosity rested like a dormant predator. That was a relief. It meant he had not yet figured out what he craved to know.

A heartbeat passed.

Harry remained in place, quietly awaiting his fate.

Voldemort took another step towards him.

''Tell me, Harry —''

The ceiling was the first thing he saw when he awoke with a gasp. His heart was beating frantically in his chest, a fast thump-thump-thump, and his throat felt dry and sore, as though he had been screaming ever since sleep overtook him late in the night. First he felt disorientated, then his body was flooded by abundant relief.

He was awake — he had done it — Voldemort didn't know —

''How considerate of you to grace us with your consciousness, Mr. Potter.''

The drawling voice startled him so badly that he nearly tumbled off the sofa along with the clutch of blankets. As he righted himself, Hermione's voice drifted through the air.

''Oh — Harry, are you alright? You were screaming… and we couldn't wake you up.''

''Yeah, you gave us a bloody scare, mate,'' came Ron's response. He sounded shaken.

Only now did Harry become aware of his surroundings. There was no Voldemort, no, but Snape's livid face almost made him want to trade. His tall form seemed to be a looming wall, staring down at Harry in a way that made him feel insignificant. All of a sudden, the usually cosy drawing room felt too small. A bit suffocating, actually.

''Drink, Potter,'' said Snape at once, practically forcing a cup of liquid into Harry's hands, which were shaking rather badly, he noticed.

''What is it?'' Harry asked through the heaviness of his throat, eyeing it warily.

It seemed to take a lot out of Snape not to curse him right there and then. When he spoke, his words were clipped: ''A Calming Draught. Your brain might not be able to wrap itself around something as elementary as that, however.''

''I know what a Calming Draught is, sir. The name kind of gives it away,'' said Harry sourly. He drained the cup in one go, feeling considerably better after doing so. ''Thanks. That's good stuff.''

Snape inclined his head, seemingly uncomfortable with Harry's expression of gratitude — and wasn't that just laughable, how someone could be so averse to the slightest hints of common courtesy coming from one of his most hated students. Or ex-students, rather. They no longer attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not this year.

Before his death, Dumbledore had entrusted the destruction of Horcruxes to Severus Snape, along with the necessary information about Harry, who had inevitably become tangled up in it all.

It was a dangerous game they were playing. One slip up and the whole wizarding world would taste their defeat.

The fact remained though, that despite being an intolerable git in general, Snape had been more than helpful to each of them ever since the day they were given the perilous task of destroying fragments of Voldemort's soul.

He had even gone out of his way to give them shelter: a house with skillfully-cast wards in which the four of them lived nowadays. Snape, as a faux Death Eater who had to keep up his appearance, had more often that not other matters to attend to than keeping them company.

All three of them considered his absence fortunate. Most of all Ron, who had the most trouble keeping up with Snape's sharp wit and hurtful comments. Harry tended to shrug those off ever since he realized he only added fuel to the fire. He didn't think Snape deserved the satisfaction.

Most of the time, at least.

''Harry?'' It was Hermione who spoke to him, drawing him out of his thoughts. Her voice held the faint remains of panic.

Now the shock was exchanged for calmness, Harry wondered how much of his agony they had heard. He must have rudely awoken them. At such an early hour too, if the soft orange glow of sunrise was anything to go by.

''It took us a long time to wake you up,'' she said.

''How did you wake me, anyway?'' Harry asked, remembering how he'd tried and failed to leave the confinements of his mind. His scar prickled a little worse then, as though the mere memory of pain was affecting it. Or maybe it had been the thought of Voldemort that had worsened its state.

It had been hurting a lot lately; he could hardly tell when it wasn't.

''It was professor Snape,'' Hermione responded. ''He came up with the idea to enter your mind — not like Legilimency, exactly. He couldn't go through your memories, but it was enough to draw you out of your nightmare. Or well, we assumed it was either that or a vision... '' She then chanced an uncertain glance at their ex-professor, who was now emotionless besides the ever-present contempt in his dark eyes.

''What did you see?'' Ron asked. ''Was it one of You-Know-Who's visions?''

Harry shook his head slowly. ''It wasn't a vision. It was like he was physically… there, inside my mind. He used the Cruciatus Curse and I could feel it. Look — I know it sounds mad.''

When he looked at Hermione, he half-expected to hear her brush it off as a vivid nightmare, but she didn't seem to think it sounded even remotely mad. In fact, she had paled slightly, her brown eyes wide. ''He was inside of your head? Harry, this is dangerous. He might have —''

''Legilimens!''

Harry didn't get any warning whatsoever before his mind was assaulted, dragged along by Snape's strong, unwavering will. At first he thought of struggling, throwing up the walls inside his thoughts, but then he let every inch of resistance fall away, giving Snape the entrance he needed. It was weird how he almost trusted Snape — trusted him — not to take advantage of the other arrays of memories.

It didn't take long for recent events to flash in front of his eyes.

He relived the experience of trying to fall asleep in the half-darkness, and braced himself when the scenario changed drastically — the shock of Voldemort standing in front of him, eyes as red as a dripping wound, endless sentences strung together by words that attempted to goad the knowledge out of him, Crucio, pain, pain, pain, fear and anger, and then —

When Snape drew back, there was an odd look on his face. It wasn't shock, not really, but there was definitely an edge of perplexity that couldn't be overlooked.

Harry clenched his fists, taking a deep breath. He itched to get angry at Snape for using Legilimency without his consent, but found he couldn't, not over something as important as this. ''He doesn't know.''

''Yet,'' came Snape's curt reply. He seemed more mollified, however, after having seen the occurrence with his own eyes. ''Now that the Dark Lord is aware of your gift, he will soon resolve the matter regarding your connection.''

''You-Know-Who knows Harry is a Parselmouth?'' Ron asked, incredulous.

''I wasn't the one to tell him,'' Harry claimed, swallowing back the bitterness that wanted to crawl up his throat. ''One of the Death Eaters must have. It wasn't exactly a secret, with a large part of Hogwarts suspecting me of being Slytherin's heir after they discovered I could talk to snakes in our second year.''

''It was probably Malfoy. Ran off to his father as soon as he knew, I'm sure,'' Ron said.

Silently, Harry agreed with that statement, even though its veracity was soon swept away by Snape, who took it upon himself to inform them of Draco Malfoy's innocence. It didn't make any difference, either way.

''Since when is he able to do that anyway? Enter my mind like that.'' Try as he might, Harry couldn't keep the tone of resentment out of his voice. He swung his legs off the couch, pushing down every trace of embarrassment he felt about sitting in front of Snape after just having woken up. It was just plain odd.

''He hasn't done that before, has he?'' Hermione asked, peering at him curiously.

''No. I mean, he knew he could show me fake visions during my fifth year, but that was nothing like this.'' Harry frowned. ''Maybe I'm just going mental.''

Ron laughed, clearly uneasy. ''Can't say I blame you. I would go mad, too, if I had You-Know-Who in my mind.''

Harry contained the very same panicked laugh that threatened to bubble up.

The situation was more than ridiculous, wasn't it? There was a fragment of Voldemort's soul inside of him, had been for nearly seventeen years, and now he needed to deal with the living, breathing host of said soul inside his mind, where he could be tortured to insanity if Voldemort so pleased. It wasn't a positive prospect, to say the least.

''Isn't there a potion that will keep him out? How about Dreamless Sleep?'' He asked, thinking fast.

''Dreamless Sleep would most definitely be futile,'' said Snape, the tone of his voice conveying the 'which you should know if you used your brain for once' that went unsaid. ''There is no known potion that would affect a soulbond as powerful as this one.''

Those words shattered every last bit of hope of keeping Voldemort out of his head. ''Great,'' Harry muttered. ''So, what do you suggest I do? Play a game of Exploding Snap with Vol — You-Know-Who?'' He quickly corrected himself at Snape's dark look. ''I have to keep him out, don't I?''

''You have been clearing your mind before going to sleep like I explicitly told you to?'' Snape inquired, managing to only sound a bit unpleasant.

Harry nodded. ''Every night. Er… apparently it doesn't help much.''

''Oh, Harry,'' said Hermione, her voice dripping with sympathy. ''We'll figure something out.''

''What can he do inside my mind? Can he kill me?'' Harry demanded, needing to know.

''He would not,'' Snape claimed.

''Not to burst your bubble or anything, but he has been out to kill me since I was an infant. We don't exactly have the best of relationships.''

Snape's expression darkened. ''The Dark Lord still has his uses for you. He is intrigued by your connection, and won't rest until he has the information he seeks, your willingness aside. He would not kill you, Mr Potter. He would torture the truth out of you first.''

''So, what, he'll torture me and then kill me off? Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better. ''

''No,'' said Snape instantly, his voice turning harsh. ''He would not kill you after he knew of your… status.''

When a brief, tense silence fell over them, Ron's stomach took the opportunity to rumble in an inappropriately audible way.

''Sorry, haven't had breakfast yet,'' he mumbled, a bit flushed.

Harry, who was all too glad for the change of topic, was rather hungry himself. He moved to stand up, but Hermione's somewhat frantic voice halted him.

''We can't eat yet — we need to know how to stop You-Know-Who from entering Harry's mind!'' She exclaimed.

''It's okay, Hermione,'' Harry said in an attempt to appease her.

''Yeah,'' Ron joined in. ''It's bloody early… We'll have all day to figure it out.''

''Until I can't stay awake any longer,'' Harry corrected, because that's how long they had, didn't they? He needed to find a way to stay awake for as long as humanly possible, so it would extend their time to ponder over options.

''We shall discuss this later,'' said Snape, abruptly cutting off any escalating conversation. With those words, he stalked off, presumably to do some brewing or research. Hopefully something that would help them trudge through this wreckage.

''Really, I'm fine,'' Harry told Hermione, who still looked ready to burst into tears. ''We have you. And hell, even Snape. If you two can't come up with something, nobody can."

She heaved out a weary sigh, and Harry felt rather guilty for worrying her. ''Alright,'' she said, then repeated it once more, as if to reassure herself.

''So, now that's settled — breakfast?'' Ron asked, though he seemed to have made up his mind already, as he had disappeared out of the drawing room as soon as the words left his mouth.

After that, the rest of the day passed by torturously slowly.

Harry's mind was in turmoil by the time evening fell, the nerve-wrecking reminder of sleep hanging above his head like a thundercloud. He tried to focus on his dinner, which had been prepared by Snape's overly obedient house-elf. Whereas usually he would have wolfed it down without much thought, he could not stomach any food now. Not when red eyes crossed his thoughts more often than not.

If only his head stopped hurting something fierce. It would put him less on edge, surely.

He must have grimaced in pain, because suddenly Ron grabbed his arm where it rested on top ofon top of the wooden table.

''You alright there, Harry?''

''Oh, yeah… It's just a headache.'' Harry squinted down at Ron's plate, which was completely empty except for the remainders of gravy that coated the porcelain. that coated the porcelain It was a bit startling, compared to Harry's own uneaten meal. Perhaps he had spaced out longer than he thought.

''I should go and get Hermione,'' Ron said uncertainly, not looking all too pleased at this prospect.

She had stormed off to the library after a particularly bad argument with him earlier. With Snape nowhere in sight, it had just been the two of them since noon. They had mostly spent their time playing games of Wizard's Chess. Harry had lost every single one — his chess pieces hadn't handled their defeat well.

''Harry?'' Ron pressed when he didn't receive a response.

Harry shook his head, then winced, the movement bordering on unbearable. ''Don't tell her. She will fly off the handle over nothing."

Hesitation was written across Ron's face, but his best friend did not push the matter. ''Well, if you're sure…''

''I am,'' Harry said at once. He took a small sip of pumpkin juice, and forced a smile for good measure, which appeared to placate Ron for the time being.

There was no stopping the onslaught of his scar — though, at this point, he wasn't even certain if it was his scar that had caused the intensity of the pain. His head hurt all over, throbbing as if a Death Eater had thrown a nasty curse at him. Either way, he just had to grit his teeth and endure it, only until it became more bearable. It never vanished entirely, Harry knew, but it would settle on a reasonable level.

It had to eventually, right?

That was what he kept telling himself, even as it became more difficult to move, his fingers not co-operating like they usually did. He had given up on attempting to eat. His forehead felt like it was on fire, flames unable to be doused. Keeping his eyes open was a challenge, and he tried not to think about sleep, how it would make him feel better to just pass out for a second or two. Preferably for a long, long time.

It was like an ice cold bucket of water had been emptied over his head, momentarily keeping the flames in check — ''You-Know-Who,'' Harry gasped, praying that Ron could hear him through the fog of pain. ''I think he's doing this on purpose…''

Ron's hand appeared in his line of vision. '' — Harry! Bloody hell. Go get Snape. Now.''

For a second, Harry thought he was talking to him, but then he saw the blurry outline of the house-elf, hesitantly hovering near the table before it disappeared with a snap of its fingers.

Harry spent excruciating minutes with his face buried in his arms, waiting for something, anything, that would relieve the pain. It was like Voldemort's voice was inside his thoughts, coursing through them with a hiss of Parseltongue. Harry doubled his efforts to fight against unconsciousness, as it was the last thing he was capable of capable of doing.

Eventually, just as he had been losing the battle, ready to give himself over to the pain, his reprieve came in the form of Snape, whose hands pushed back his shoulders, albeit a little too roughly, making him lift his head. Something was pressed against his lips, and he obediently gulped down its contents. Then another one. He didn't have the strength to ask what it was.

''A pain-reliever and Wideye Potion.'' Well, that cleared it up.

''Still hurts,'' Harry informed him, the pitch of his voice a tad higher to his ears, but he couldn't bring himself to be bothered by that.

''Give it time. The pain-reliever needs to build up its effectiveness,'' Snape murmured. And indeed, a few seconds later, the ache became less and less persistent. Not gone, but somewhat tolerable. He no longer felt the urge to fall into a deep sleep either, which meant the second potion had worked miracles. For now, at least.

''What happened?''

Hermione's shrill voice was the equivalent to sharpened knives that carved into his forehead, and he flinched away from the sound. He hadn't noticed she had slipped into the kitchen. Then again, one could say he had been rather occupied.

''Hermione…''

''Sorry, sorry,'' she apologized hastily, this time in a whisper, dragging over a chair to sit next to Harry as soundless as possible. She put a hand on the back of his neck, cold fingers making his overheated skin feel less clammy.

''Harry said he had a headache… but it didn't seem as bad at first. I reckoned it would pass, you know,'' said Ron quietly, and he sounded genuinely distressed.

''I am astounded by your idiocy once again. I leave you alone for one afternoon… Did it not occur to you that the fate of the entire wizarding world is at stake?'' Snape hissed.

''Of course I do! Unlike you, I actually care about Harry's well-being. He didn't want to me to go and get someone, so I listened. He said he was fine. How was I supposed to know?''

Harry shrunk back in his chair, too weary to feel guilty. He winced when a twinge of pain went through his scar. Better not move too much, then. ''It was Voldemort.''

''A faultless conclusion,'' Snape mocked. ''It appears the Dark Lord has more means at his disposal to achieve what he wants.''

There was a silence in which they all pondered over the severity of the situation.

''So,'' Harry cleared his throat, ''Have you found anything, you know, useful?'' Talking out loud had become less of a task now the pain in his scar didn't make him want to pass out.

Hermione shook her head. Snape didn't mirror the movement, but he appeared not to have become any wiser on the subject either.

''It is quite unusual,'' Hermione began, ''There is no mention of Mind Magic to this extent. It seems non-existent. I can't recall stumbling across it before.''

''How about the potion then? The Wideye one? That way I can't fall asleep, and we'll have more time to come up with a solution.''

''The potion will lose its effectiveness after extensive use. Not only that, but it will have serious repercussions,'' Snape explained.

''Why didn't you give it to me this morning?''

''Because I deemed it unnecessary.''

Right. And it kind of would have been, Harry admitted. He hadn't felt the insistent urge to sleep.

''Harry might not even face You-Know-Who when he falls asleep next time,'' said Ron.

''He will,'' Snape countered. ''The Dark Lord has his eyes set on him and he will not let go. You underestimate his cunningness.''

''He's the most powerful dark wizard in a long time — I know that, alright? I'm not underestimating him…''

''See to it that you don't.''

Ron looked ready to say more about the matter, opening his mouth, but luckily Hermione beat him to it:

''What can we do?''

It was not surprising to Harry that, for the rest of the evening, the question remained unanswered.

And it would stay that way for a long time to come.