Title: Danger Of Seeking Help

Author: Nemesis

Pairing: Implied HP/SS

Rating: R for language

Summary: Harry seeks help from a therapist and gets more than he bargained for.

Warning: Dark

Harry walked into the room with trepidation. He was going to a psychologist, just like he was a nut case. 'I'm not a nut case! I'm fine!' he thought fiercely.

The psychologist stood up and extended his hand. "I'm Mark," he said pleasantly. Harry shook the psychologist's hand and sat down.

"And you are Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. Pleased to meet you."

'He seems alright,' Harry thought grudgingly.

Harry nodded in acknowledgement.

"Why are you here?"

"I don't really know. My friend Remus has been bugging me for months to go see a psychologist, saying it would do me good."

"What do you think of Remus?"

"He's a good friend and a great person. Without him and a few key others, I would never have survived the war. Voldemort would be reigning right now."

"How did he help? Did he deflect the enemy?"

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "The only enemy there was me, Mark. After a while it was… almost impossible to take that kind of burden."

"Why?"

"Just too much on my plate."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I lost my parents when I was one. I'm sure you know the story."

Mark shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, I want to hear the story from you."

Harry refrained from sneering in frustration. "Voldemort came to our house. My father tried to hold him off, telling my mother to grab me and run. Voldemort killed him. He went to kill me, but my mom stood in the way, saying he could kill her, just spare me."

"What do you think about that?"

"I think it was kinda dumb of her. I mean, offering herself instead of me. Because once she's gone, what's to stop him from killing me? But she didn't have any other choice, besides to step aside. And she would never have done that. Not if all of her classmates are to be believed, anyway."

"But why would you want it to end just because of that?"

"My mother's sister detested me, and that's where I ended up, with my Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley, my cousin. And then of course, I was expected to kill Voldemort, who returned in my fourth year."

"That's not all."

Harry narrowed his eyes, controlling himself fiercely. 'I am the one in control,' he told himself.

"Yeah, well, the rest doesn't matter."

Mark chuckled. "Perhaps. Answer me something. If Remus has been bugging you for months to come and see me, why now? Why not earlier, or why not later?"

"Remus set up an appointment for me without telling me beforehand. I was furious. Then Severus said that I was going and that was final."

Mark jotted something down. "So, who's Severus?"

"He's the Potions Master at Hogwarts. He was my Potions Professor."

"So why do you call him Severus instead of Professor…"

"Snape," Harry supplied. "I call him Severus because during the war we stopped hating each other."

"So if Severus is somebody you've stopped hating, why do you do something he says when he tells you it's final?"

"He's become my friend somewhere along the way."

"But Remus is your friend, too. So why did you listen to Severus when he firmly told you that you are going?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Harry?"

"I don't have to answer that," he ground out, although a strange sensation in the back of his head told him otherwise.

"Actually, you do," Mark said, smirking.

Harry narrowed his eyes, and stood up angrily. "I DON'T!" he screamed.

"Why did you listen to Severus?"

"BECAUSE I DECIDED TO!"

"Why?"

"MY PERSONAL BUSINESS!"Harry roared. Suddenly magic and power flooded the room and thickened the air, singeing even the air itself as it flowed and pulsed.

"So you wish to destroy my room?" Mark asked. Furious, Harry stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

Severus was sitting in his sitting room, calmly reading a book. Harry walked in, having calmed down considerably.

Severus looked up. "How was the therapy?"

"I hate him."

Severus chuckled. "I'm sure," he said sarcastically. "What did he do to affect your delicate sensibility?"

"None of your business."

Severus stood, eyes blazing. "I believe you'll find that it is my business, Potter. Answer my question. Now."

His tone left no room for debate.

"He pushed every point to the death. And… I felt something weird after about half of the session."

"Weird how?" Severus asked, calm again.

"Like there was a voice in the back of my head."

Severus shrugged. "Probably normal. Mention it to this quack."

"If he's a quack, why are you making me go to it?"

Severus smiled a strange little smile. "Because I am. Don't argue with me, Potter."

Harry went back to therapy, just like Severus told him to.

Mark was sitting there, a notepad on his lap. "So, why are you here today?"

"Same reason as last time."

Mark flipped through some notes. "So… Severus made you come?"

Harry grunted in assent.

Mark smiled ferally. "Excellent. Then we can start!"

"Start what?"

"Tell me about the war."

"Weren't you around for it?"

"I want to hear it from you."

"I don't give a fuck."

A nagging sensation in the back of his mind told him to spill, to tell the quack everything. He fought the sensation for awhile, fighting with the annoying voice in his head whispering to him, telling him again and again to spill, to tell the quack everything.

Harry stood up and left, frustrated with therapy, frustrated with the little voice, and frustrated with generally everything.

This time Severus was waiting for him. "You left ten minutes in," Severus said slowly.

Harry immediately recognized the danger warnings.

"I left because I was sick of it."

"Pity. You're going to be going to a lot more of these. How terrible."

"I'm not going to any more," Harry said firmly.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I think you'll find you're going to be going to them for a long time yet."

Harry shook his head. "You have no power over me."

"I can end it all."

"I'll survive."

"I can kill you."

"And you would gain what? Nothing more than a lifetime in Azkaban."

Severus just shrugged, smiling that strange little smile of his.

Just like Snape said, Harry returned to therapy the next time. "Tell me about the war, Harry."

"It was terrible," Harry said in flat voice.

"How so?"

"I lost a lot of people I cared about during the war."

"Who?"

"I lost my godfather, Sirius; Ron, Hermione—they were good friends of mine—um… I lost some of my old teachers, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Hooch, and Trelawny; Hagrid's dead; the Dursleys are dead—my aunt and her family."

"I thought you hated them."

"They still raised me, however badly."

The little voice in the back was nodding in approval. 'Excellent,' it hissed. 'You're finally learning. Spill everything. Speak, speak!'

"What about what you've seen?"

"Merlin. I spent some time in Voldemort's lair, and I never want to go through that again."

"Why not?"

Just then a little bell went off. "Ah, we're done for today. You spent quite a while thinking about all of the people who died. Well, think about what you saw in Voldemort's lair, and we'll talk again tomorrow."

Harry sat down in an armchair. Remus walked in, two beer bottles in his hand, and handed one to Harry. "Thanks, Remus." Harry opened it and paused.

"Remus, the guy you called to set up an appointment with. Who is he?"

Remus sat down. "What do you mean?"

"The psychologist you're having me go to."

Remus smiled. "So you finally decided to go?"

"Only because you set up an appointment without first asking me."

Remus frowned, completely baffled. "Harry," he said seriously. "I never set up an appointment for you. I always thought you'd go when you were ready."

Harry stopped to think about that. "But then who set it up? I certainly didn't."

"Who told you about it?"

"Severus told me you set up an appointment for me."

Remus shrugged. "Perhaps he set it up, but didn't want you to think he cared about that, or wanted you to thank me. Then again, I don't know."

"It just bothers me I know nothing about my psychologist."

Remus frowned. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you anything, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "It's okay, Remus. Actually, I have to run, I have another one soon."

Remus stood up and opened the door. He stopped and turned to Harry. "Listen, Harry, if you ever want to talk, and not to your pyschologist, you know I'm here, right?"

Harry smiled and nodded. "Thanks, Remus."

Remus smiled back. "Always."

A dark figure slipped into a chair. "How's he coming along?"

The man smiled ferally. "Excellently, Al."

Al opened his beer can. "Great. So, Rex, what do you intend to do?"

Rex leaned in. "Break him. I know he knows the secret, and I'm hoping he'll let it slip by accident."

Al let a slow, dangerous smile creep onto his face. "Wonderful. How long until…?"

"Soon, Al, soon. He's at breaking point."

"You sure?"

"You know him. You tell me."

Al shrugged. "I think so. He's been complaining."

"About?"

"A strange sensation."

Rex nodded triumphantly. "He's ready."

"So, the future looks bright?"

"Not for him, it doesn't." Rex laughed menacingly.

Al smirked. "Excellent. I'm looking forward to it, Rex. Soon, then?"

"Very soon. But I must leave. Wouldn't do to keep him waiting."

Al watched Rex leave and smiled to himself, drinking the last of his beer.

Harry walked into the therapist's office. "Mark?"

"I'm right here, Harry. Go in." Harry walked in, with Mark right behind him.

Mark sat down in his chair and pulled out his pad. "So, tell me about what you saw in Voldemort's lair."

Harry answered immediately, without even thinking about why Mark cared, as he had done before.

"Voldemort had prisoners chained up, and occasionally he'd Crucio one of them. Their screams were so terrible…" Harry trailed off, shuddering with the memory.

"And?" Mark prompted gently.

"The Death Eaters all had whips… They'd lash the prisoners chained up, they slap them, they'd rape them… It was terrible." Harry paused and breathed deeply. "Do you have any water?"

Mark handed Harry a cup. "Thanks," Harry mumbled, soothing his parched throat with the cool liquid.

"The prisoners often died from the pain. They were bruised all over, a mess of purple, blue and black. Blood would be flowing from their eyes, nose and mouth. Sometimes it'd even leak out of their ears."

Harry rushed out of the room and into the bathroom, barely making it there in time. He threw up repeatedly, physically sick from the memory of the images and the sounds.

Mark waited patiently for Harry to return. "Tell me how Voldemort died," Mark ordered once Harry was seated again.

"Remus and Sirius caught him in this magical trap. He couldn't move. I tried to Avada Kedavra him, but it didn't work. Then I shut my eyes and tried to think of something else that would work. Magic just… flowed from me and entered him, ripping him apart. I opened my eyes and saw Voldemort convulsing. Finally, he just went… limp and died."

"Why did he die when you tried to think of something else?"

"I guess I really concentrated on the thought of his death. And then there was the fact that he used my blood to resurrect himself, so he was connected to me in some strange way."

Mark nodded and jotted it down. A bell went off. "Thanks for coming today, Harry. I'll see you again soon."

Harry nodded, not understanding the odd sensation in the back of his mind.

Rex smiled and grabbed a beer can, sitting down across from Al. "He broke."

Al smiled. "Excellent. Now we can truly start in earnest."

"And start we shall."

Rex paused and took a long drink from his beer.

"Can you bring him here tomorrow, eleven p.m.?"

"Of course I can, Rex."

Al stood and left.

Severus was patiently waiting for Harry the next day. Harry walked in, throwing off his outer robe. Severus looked at him pointedly. With a sigh, Harry bent down and picked up his robe, hanging it up neatly.

"Harry, I want you to see something."

"What?" Harry asked while walking over to Severus. Severus showed him a card he had received that day.

Harry read it out loud, "'You are respectfully invited to a gathering the night of June 31st at ten-thirty p.m. at the Leaky Cauldron, Rm. 13.' It's unsigned."

"Nevertheless, we shall go."

Harry nodded. "That's tonight."

"Dress properly, and we can head out soon."

"Sure. Want to join me in the bath?"

Severus shook his head. "Sorry, I can't. I promised Albus I'd finish this tonight. You know I'd love to, if I could."

Harry nodded, slightly saddened. "Are you wearing your tux with the crème-colored scarf?" Harry asked.

"No, we have to wear formal dress robes."

"Which one are you wearing?"

"My black one with silver embroidery." Harry frowned, trying to remember which one, then nodded. Severus was stunning in that robe.

"And what should I wear, Sev?"

"Your white one, I think. It matches well with mine." Harry agreed, and went to take a bath.

Two hours later, they were ready to leave. The bartender, Tom, immediately ushered them up to Room 13, saying their host was already there and waiting.

Severus and Harry walked up, and Harry knocked on the door. The door was opened, and Harry gasped. "Mark!"

They walked in. "Come," Mark said. "I have three brooms. I want to continue this elsewhere."

The three of them flew out of the window, flying for a good half an hour before Mark landed. They were in an odd clearing, the moon illuminating the clearing eerily, the stars twinkling brightly.

"Mark, why are we here?"

Mark turned to face them. "You have it wrong, Harry." He laid a slight emphasis on Harry's name. "My name isn't Mark."

"Then what is it?"

"For a while, I have called myself Rex, yet that is not my name either. Have you guessed yet, Harry? Do you know who I am?"

Harry shook his head, dumbstruck.

"Let me enlighten you. Perhaps an explanation. Yes, that should do. Mark as a shortening of my middle name, Rex as the Latin for king. Do you have it yet?"

An idea formed in Harry's mind, but he was tongue-tied with fear.

"Mark as a shortening for Marvolo. Maybe we should just say Tom and be done with it. Or, better yet, something you can immediately recognize. Lord Voldemort. Is it clear yet?"

Harry nodded, still incapable of speech. He turned to Severus, who sneered.

"Kneel," Mark—Voldemort—commanded, and Harry blindly obeyed, incapable of resisting. The spell 'Mark' had started so long ago, the first therapy session, was working its poison. And while Harry blindly obeyed, he realized who had set up that first appointment for him, under the guise of therapy. He damned Severus, for ever having betrayed him.

"Bare your neck." Harry immediately did so. Voldemort conjured a silver ax, and, chanting a spell, the two men executed Harry.

Voldemort was free to reign again.