Title: In Memory's Wake
Author: Cocoa-Snape (aka CocoaSnape)
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Disclaimer: No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

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AN:

This chapter deals with many sensitive themes. Be warned.

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In Memory's Wake by CocoaSnape

Chapter 12: Splintered mind

Harry stood unmoving in the snow, his body, his mind reeling in shock. Severus had already disappeared inside the castle, but still Harry did not move.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before an irate Professor McGonagall found him.

"Mr. Potter, have you not heard me calling your name for the last five minutes?" she huffed irately.

"What?" Harry asked, torn from his trance, his eyes lingering on Severus's footprints in the snow.

"I've been looking for you since you were absent from my class this morning. Imagine my surprise at finding you out here in the snow. What on earth are you doing out here, young man?"

"I need to see the Headmaster," Harry replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

"The Headmaster? What is this about?" she inquired with a quirked eyebrow.

"I need to see him now," Harry said, urgency entering his voice.

Without another word, McGonagall led him to the stone gargoyle and spoke the password so that he could ascend the staircase. Harry knew that she had assumed that this had something to do with Voldemort. Perhaps she believed he'd had another dream. Harry was not about to correct her. He couldn't believe this was really happening. Severus had just ended their relationship, a relationship he'd been certain would last his lifetime. And now it was over in a matter of weeks. Just like that. This couldn't be real.

The Headmaster was very kind to him and listened to his recounting of events without interruption.

"And then," Harry finished, tears flowing freely down his face, "he just walked away."

Dumbledore handed Harry a handkerchief and said gently, "I'm so very sorry, Harry."

A long moment passed between them before Harry pulled himself together and asked, "You know what this is about, don't you?"

A nod.

"Tell me."

Dumbledore paused and swallowed roughly.

Harry pressed, "He told me to talk to you. He said you would explain."

Dumbledore was still silent and Harry was now sure he wasn't going to tell him. He was about to lash out, but the next moment, the elder wizard began to speak, and Harry realized that Dumbledore had been steeling himself all along.

"This is going to be very hard to hear, Harry."

Harry nodded mutely and noticed that Dumbledore had paled somewhat. Oh god, this must be bad.

"Severus was forced to…"

At Dumbledore's pause, Harry cringed and supplied the rest, "Like before," thinking that Severus had been raped.

"No. Forced to assault someone."

Confusion sprung in Harry's face. "What? Who?"

"A random muggle."

"Oh. Torture? Like the Cruciatus?" Harry asked, wondering why this was so bad. Surely he'd have done that before.

"I'm sure," Dumbledore continued grimly, "but more than that, Harry."

The look on Dumbledore's face said it all. Harry felt his stomach drop. "Like…?" He couldn't say it.

"Sexually," Dumbledore supplied gravely.

"Oh my god," Harry said, hanging his head in his hands.

Dumbledore wondered if he should tell Harry the whole of the story. This had been hard enough after all. As he was contemplating this, Harry spoke.

"Has he…" Harry paused, trying to clear the lump in his throat. "Has he ever done anything like this before?"

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "There have been times where Severus's role as a spy has forced him to do many unpleasant things, some of which you are aware of from last term. I don't know any of the specifics about this incident, only the little Severus has told me, but based on our conversations, I don't imagine this is something he has done before, or at least not in a very long time."

Dumbledore studied the young man in front of him and queried gently, "May I ask, Harry, how you are feeling about this?"

"I'm okay."

"It's perfectly alright to feel confused about this, my boy."

"I know. I'm fine. I'm just worried about Severus."

"As am I."

"Is there anything I can do to help him?"

"I'm trying to get him professional help, Harry. He needs to speak with someone about what has happened and how he's coping. He won't speak of it to you, of that I am certain."

"No kidding," Harry replied under his breath. A thoughtful pause. "I need to see him, Professor. I need to tell him that I understand," Harry said, astutely aware that Severus would think he'd be horrified.

Dumbledore took a measured breath. "There is more to this, Harry." Dumbledore closed his eyes for a moment before continuing, "This is the hardest part of what I have to tell you."

"It gets worse?" Harry asked in astonishment.

"I'm afraid so." A pause. "The muggle was polyjuiced."

"Okay?"

"Polyjuiced… to look like you."

Harry couldn't speak. A thousand thoughts rushed through his mind. And suddenly Severus's behavior over the past several days became clear. Acting out those fictitious perversions for that monster had taken a grave enough toll on Severus, but this? This must have pushed him over the edge. No doubt he had had to hurt the muggle, the muggle who had looked like him. The rage that filled Harry in that moment was greater than what he'd ever felt before. His eyes were mad with it, and he spat out violently, "I'm going to kill him! And I'm going to make him suffer when I do it!"

Dumbledore responded with complete calm, "One day you will, Harry, but letting your anger towards Voldemort consume you now will not do anyone any good, least of all Severus. He's going to need you to remain level headed."

Harry knew the Headmaster was right. He took a few deep breaths and did his best to clear the offending emotion away before asking "What should I do, Professor?"

"I would advise you to do exactly as Severus asks. Give him the space he is requesting of you."

"Space?" Harry repeated incredulously. "He doesn't want space; he said he doesn't want to be with me anymore, ever."

"He may not want to see you for a while, that is true, but that doesn't mean he'll never want to see you again. It's perfectly normal for him to need time away from you after what's happened. You can understand that, can't you? The strain he is under is unbelievable, and his mental state is far from stable – he needs to be relieved of external stressors, and at the moment, that's exactly what you are to him."

Harry grimaced and Dumbledore continued, "I am very hopeful I can convince him to speak with a therapist. For him to keep this bottled up inside him is akin to a ticking time bomb. He is extraordinarily fragile at the moment and I worry what will happen if he is pushed too far. Do you understand me, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry replied somberly, completely devastated by what the Headmaster was telling him. He had no idea that Severus was in such a horrible state.

"Harry, look at me," Dumbledore urged gently. Reluctantly, Harry met that bright blue gaze. "It's going to be alright, my boy."

Emotion overwhelming him, Harry nodded, accepting the gift of Dumbledore's words. He needed to believe them.

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After taking three vials of Dreamless Sleep, Snape concluded that he'd become immune to the potion's effects and that he needed something stronger. He was desperate for relief.

His encounter with Harry just a few hours ago had left him beside himself with anxiety and grief. His only consolation was that he'd finally spoken to Harry, had finally demanded time away from him in person. Even as that thought passed through his mind, his throat clogged up and his eyes welled with tears. It was truly over between him and Harry. That's what he wanted, wasn't it? Then why was the idea of it plaguing him? He loved Harry beyond measure and yet now, when thoughts and emotions about the young man rose to the surface, his mind clouded over in panic, bringing him to the brink of insanity. The contradiction was maddening.

Finally, in his medical emergency kit reserved for Heads of Houses, Snape found what he was looking for. Ignoring the dosage label on the bottle, he downed the vial of Draught of Living Death and promptly fell into a blissful state of unconsciousness.

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The Headmaster had been pacing around his office for the past hour. He glanced at the door to his private study once more and wished he knew what was going on in there. He'd recruited another therapist for Severus. Dumbledore had chosen a man this time, thinking that perhaps Severus would respond better to a male presence.

Mr. William Higgins was a wizard with a degree in Muggle psychiatry, and he'd come highly recommended from a few of the Headmaster's old colleagues. Dumbledore hoped that things were proceeding better than they had with Felicia. She had stormed out in a fit of rage and it had taken a rather awkward Floo conversation with his nephew to sort out the mess Severus had created. At least he was no relation to Higgins, Dumbledore mused, so presumably there would be no such complications this time around. Dumbledore sincerely hoped that this man would be able to help his friend.

The door to the study swung open a moment later and Severus sauntered out, a satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

"Oh dear Merlin," Dumbledore muttered under his breath. This was not a good sign.

Seconds later, Higgins emerged and Dumbledore was shocked to see that the man had obviously been crying – his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were red and his hands were trembling. He didn't say a single word as he headed for the Floo.

"Do say hello to mother for me, Willy," Severus called out tauntingly.

The comment brought fresh tears to Higgins' visage and a moment later he was gone.

Dumbledore stood stock still, completely stunned by the spectacle.

"Thank you, Albus," Snape began, "that is the most fun I've had in days. Turns out poor Willy has rather severe abandonment issues; I recommended intensive therapy."

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh. He had known that it would be a difficult task finding a therapist for Severus. But the degree to which his plan had backfired only became apparent to him in that moment. Severus looked almost well. Rather than being forced to confront and discuss his emotions, these therapists had done quite the opposite – they had given Severus a distraction, something to help him escape, enabling him to bury the pain he was feeling. The question was how long could Severus continue to do that before it completely overwhelmed him?

Even now, Dumbledore could see the torment returning to Severus's features, could feel the walls of Severus's mind crumbling. With each passing second, Severus's mental shields were weakening, and soon Severus's thoughts were coming to Dumbledore in bursts, disorganized jumbles of memory. Dumbledore seized one of these threads.

"Severus, look at me," Dumbledore said firmly.

Snape immediately complied and the momentary eye contact was more than enough for Dumbledore to understand what he'd seen. The Headmaster's voice was a mixture of censure and concern as he asked, "You took Draught of Living Death last night? Isn't that a bit potent?"

Snape's eyes erupted in fury and he snapped mockingly, "Oh what? Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"I wasn't probing your mind, Severus," Dumbledore replied flatly.

"Oh really?"

The Headmaster took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He did not want to provoke Severus further by revealing that he had heard his thoughts only because Severus's mental walls had slipped.

In many ways, Severus's skills in Occlumency were doing him a disservice through this crisis. To be an Occlumens was to be a master of concealment and deflection. Such abilities instilled an obvious psychological impetus to conceal one's thoughts and emotions at all times. It was little wonder that Severus was reluctant to forego these impulses and surrender to therapy, least of all to an outsider.

But Dumbledore was well aware that residing in his skill was an even greater threat to Severus's person. As a truly exceptional Occlumens, Severus had the capability to control the organization of his mind. This ability enabled him to move whole segments of thought, memory and feeling below the surface at a moment's notice, and if it were required, even below consciousness. The result was that Severus had a remarkable and very rare power over his mind, but along with it, a great responsibility of maintaining its structure and stability.

And at the moment, Dumbledore was not at all certain that Severus was paying particular care to his mental well-being.

"I'm very worried about you, my boy."

Snape said nothing. Any traces of his previous anger were erased, and in its place, anxiety had taken a tight grip on his features. Dumbledore could feel the emotions barreling through Severus's consciousness.

"Can I have some water?" Snape asked suddenly.

"Of course," Dumbledore said, pouring a glass from the pitcher on his desk at once and handing it to Severus.

Snape drank deeply and after a moment began seriously, his voice uncharacteristically meek, "You need to hire someone to replace me, Albus. I can't go back to teaching."

Dumbledore was torn by Severus's words – distressed that his friend realized how dire his predicament was, but also relieved that he was not in denial about his fragile mental health.

"I know I can't officially resign, but…"

"There's no need for that," Dumbledore interjected reassuringly. "I'll find a temporary substitute. You don't need concern yourself with school matters at all; just concentrate on getting better."

Getting better? Severus wondered. How on earth was he supposed to do that?

"I have to go, Albus; I'm feeling very tired," Snape said weakly. "I trust that given my performance with Higgins, you'll finally abandon this ridiculous notion of therapy."

"On the contrary, my boy. You've only convinced me that I need to try harder." At Snape's stunned expression, Dumbledore continued in earnest concern, "Severus, you are descending rapidly into a place from which I am not sure you can recover. And I'm going to do everything I can to help you."

A burst of anger, uncontrollable and alien, erupted in Snape's chest. "Why can't you just leave me alone?!" he shouted, as he threw the empty water glass across the room. It hit the stone wall and shattered into tiny pieces.

Dumbledore followed its path with his eyes and stared at the shards of glass as though he were admiring Severus's throw. He was the picture of calm.

But the portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses were anything but.

"How rude!"

"My word, throwing a tantrum in the Headmaster's office… what will we see next?" Dilys Derwent said in shock.

"In my day, boy, you'd be strung up by your heels and whipped for such behavior," Phineas Nigellus exclaimed.

Dumbledore put his hand up, and the simple gesture had the desired effect of silencing the room.

For his part, Severus's eyes remained fixed on the pieces of glass lying on the floor. His features betrayed his confusion, and it seemed as though he was wondering what had just happened. Finally, after a long moment, he began tentatively, "I … I don't know why I just did that, Albus," his voice full of remorse and bewilderment.

"I'm certain you don't, my boy," Dumbledore replied gently. The elder wizard placed his arm gently around his friend who was still staring at the glass in shock. "Let's get you back to your quarters now."

As they made their way down to the dungeon quarters, Snape didn't utter another word.

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Dumbledore had forfeited sleep last night in an attempt to gain some insight into the predicament of providing Severus with the help he so desperately needed. Finally, after much consideration, Dumbledore had come to a conclusion on the matter. The idea was so crazy, it was no wonder he hadn't thought of it before now.

He entered Severus's quarters shortly after breakfast and found his Potions Master lying on the sofa in the same position he'd left him last night.

"How are you feeling this morning, Severus? Have you eaten anything?"

"I'm not hungry."

Dumbledore ordered a full breakfast for him anyway, instructing the house elf to bring a selection of lighter fare.

"Why are you here, Albus?"

"I came to see how you are and to discuss options for your therapy."

A gleam entered the younger wizard's eyes as he asked, "Ah, who is it this time, Albus? Another joke of a therapist? You know, I was annoyed at first, but now I'm beginning to enjoy this game."

Dumbledore knew Severus was right – the two previous attempts at therapy had been jokes. Not that Felicia or Mr. Higgins was necessarily at fault, but clearly neither was suitable for Severus. What Severus needed was a therapist who was skilled enough to properly treat his condition, but also one that would not be bullied or frightened away. First and foremost, he needed someone he trusted, someone he felt he could confide in and conceivably feel comfortable enough with to ultimately let down his guard.

Not many candidates on the former, Dumbledore knew, and probably none on the latter. He'd considered this all last night and realized that there was really only one option. And he knew that Severus would not like it. Not one bit.

"You haven't made this easy, Severus. And so I've come to the conclusion that the only available option is for you to speak with me."

Snape's eyes went wide at the suggestion and Dumbledore felt certain he detected a flicker of fear behind them. "No." Snape was panicking; he knew Dumbledore wouldn't tolerate his shit the way the others had.

"Severus, this is not up for negotiation," Dumbledore said, his tone firm and resolved.

Snape was at a loss for words. Grasping at straws, he argued, "But you said I needed professional help. You're not…"

Snape stopped, taking in Dumbledore's polite stare, the way his head quirked to the side and the subtle look of satisfaction on his face.

"You bastard," Snape breathed softly, no trace of malice in his voice, just complete surprise. "I should have known."

"You're quite wrong there," Dumbledore replied genially, "my parents were wed before I was born, but regardless, my mother has nothing to do with this. In fact, she thought the mind healer business was malarkey."

"I don't understand."

"I did a dual mastery in Transfigurations and Medi-wizardry with a specialty in Psychlimency and Muggle Psychiatry. I worked in the field for a few years, but ultimately decided I wanted to teach, so I came back to Hogwarts."

"Why have you never mentioned this before?"

"Well, that was over a hundred years ago, you know…"

"Right! Exactly," Snape said, seemingly satisfied with this new argument. "A hundred years ago. You'll have no idea what you're doing."

"Oh, and Mr. Higgins did? Besides, I'm sure it'll all come back to me, like riding a bike as the muggles say. And I have done that incidentally," Dumbledore supplied, "An insanely dangerous endeavor let me tell you. You should see this thing, Severus, it's quite an unstable device, and to think they let children use it is really quite―"

"Albus," Snape interjected, "are you planning on talking until I give in?"

"Perhaps. Is it working?"

"No. I ca…" The words almost came out. I can't do this. "I won't do this. I don't need to."

"You don't think you need my help?" Albus asked gently. "Or do you not want my help? Which is it?"

"I'm not letting you psychoanalyze me."

Dumbledore took a different tact and began in a calm, agreeable tone, "How about this? How about we take it one day at a time? No commitments of any kind. We just sit down and talk and see how it goes."

"No." Snape's reply was firm and brooked no argument. He was tired of Dumbledore's attempts to draw him out. All he wanted was to be left alone.

"I'm trying to do what I think is best for you, my boy," Dumbledore said softly, concern for his friend etched in every line in his face. "And whether you see it or not, you are going to need my help in this. I think you already do. All that remains is for you to admit it to yourself."

"When hell freezes over," Snape snapped harshly.

Dumbledore's eyebrows flew up. "When hell freezes over?" the elder wizard repeated calmly, as though intrigued by the statement or perhaps the sentiment.

"What? Wasn't that clear enough for you?" Snape bit back.

"Oh, perfectly clear, Severus. I confess I'm just surprised to hear you using a Muggle expression."

"Well I happen to think it's rather apt," Snape said bluntly before turning on his heel and leaving Dumbledore alone in the room.

The Headmaster took a deep breath and mentally surveyed what journal subscriptions he should obtain in his old field. After all, he had a lot of catching up to do.

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Snape had been lying on his couch for the better part of six hours, trying desperately to fall asleep. He was physically exhausted, his whole body aching with frustrated fatigue, but his mind would not relent for a minute, keeping him perched on the edge of insanity as flashes of memory relentlessly invaded him.

Having depleted his anti-anxiety stocks some days ago, he'd drunk nearly a whole bottle of Firewhiskey in an effort to slip into unconsciousness. His stomach, raw from lack of food, had promptly rejected the offering and he'd vomited up most of the liquor. A healthy dose of bile had followed. He'd barely mustered up the strength to Scourgify the floor before collapsing on the sofa. And here he was hours later, the promise of sleep nothing more than a fantasy.

He stood abruptly and ransacked his cupboards for something he could take. Several minutes later, above the sink in his laboratory, he found it. Housed in a decorative vial, it was the first successful Draught of Living Death he'd ever brewed, some twenty years ago, its potency perfectly preserved. He held the vial up and paused for a moment.

Think about what you're doing, Severus.

What was he doing? This was madness. He couldn't possibly take this. He'd taken a dose of Living Death just two days earlier. Its strength mandated, at minimum, a gap of two weeks between doses. Anything sooner risked permanent injury.

With a quick calculation, he estimated that the risk of irreversible coma was high, somewhere around 50. But somehow that mattered little. Sleep beckoned him.

Severus, what are you doing?

Another memory pushed through his nonexistent barriers and he doubled over from the intensity of it.

Familiar bright green eyes filled with tears and clouded over by pain. 'I'm begging you, please don't do this.'

Snape uncapped the vial. He'd do anything to make it stop – if only for a few hours. The very idea of completely shutting down his brain, of making all emotion go away for a brief period was close to a euphoric one. He needed this.

This could kill you.

The thought almost seemed an incentive for him at this moment. A calculated risk to be sure, but what did he have to stay awake for anyway? The answer had once been clear… Harry. Now he could not even think of Harry without descending into a panic attack or a flashback or both.

A fifty percent chance. Did that qualify as suicidal? Dumbledore would surely think so. He'd rejected his offer of help out of hand. He didn't want his help; he didn't deserve it. What he wanted, what he needed, was to fall into blissful nothingness.

He lifted the vial to his lips.

He could almost hear Albus's voice in his mind then, telling him to stop, telling him not to do this. That he couldn't do this to himself, to Harry. 'Don't do it, Severus,' Dumbledore would say. Snape heard the voice as clearly in his head as if Albus were there with him.

And without a thought to what he was doing, Snape inverted the vial over the sink. As soon as the liquid hit the basin and disappeared down the drain, Snape was shouting.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His voice was hysterical, mad with immediate regret. He clawed at the drain, as if by doing so there was a chance he might recover the precious liquid.

What on earth had possessed him to do that?

He knew he couldn't possibly brew any more; he was in no condition for that.

Devastated, Snape eyed the sink once again. Thousands of galleons gone down the drain. And worst of all, the promise of sleep lost with it.

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Harry couldn't sleep. Following his dreadful conversations first with Severus and then with Professor Dumbledore, he'd spent both yesterday and today in bed, feigning illness so that he might be excused from his classes. He knew that the Headmaster was aware that he wasn't ill of course, and he was grateful that Dumbledore had said nothing about it.

Hermione had tried to determine what was wrong with him. He'd lied and told her it was a stomach bug, although the look on her face told him that she suspected different. Tonight she'd demanded the truth, and he'd almost told her, but then changed his mind.

It wasn't because Harry was worried that she would tell Ron. But wasn't that a horrible thought in and of itself? He couldn't honestly imagine what Ron would say beyond 'I told you so' phrased in every manner of cruel ways. He'd be joyous and smug to boot. Harry seriously wondered if he'd attack his best friend if he were faced with such a response.
But he knew that Hermione wouldn't tell Ron if he asked her not to. Still, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. It wasn't because it was horribly embarrassing that his lifetime with Severus had ended in just two months. He knew Hermione would be both sympathetic and discreet. The reason Harry couldn't tell her was because he feared that saying it out loud would make it true.

He still held onto the belief that Severus had spoken rashly – he had been in a bad state after all. Now that Harry knew what it was that had driven him to such a place, he could see how Severus needed to disconnect himself from their relationship for the time being, just as Dumbledore had suggested. Harry had to believe that this need for space was a temporary one.

He hadn't had much time to consider how he felt about what Severus had done, beyond the burning hatred for that monster Voldemort. What happened wasn't Severus's fault – that was the bottom line. Instead, Harry's attentions had been solely focused on the supposed end of their relationship. He couldn't accept it. He kept coming back to Dumbledore's assertion that Severus would get better. He had to. And once he did, wouldn't he want to be with him again?

Harry grasped the amulet hanging around his neck. It had been Severus's promise to him, given as a gift just before the first time they'd made love. 'This binds us together,' Severus had said, 'You're now part of my family.' Harry knew that Severus wouldn't ever throw that away, not permanently. Regardless, Harry resolved, even if he were to try, he wouldn't let him.

Harry reached into his nightstand and pulled out the Marauder's Map as he'd done many times over the past two days. Quickly flipping over the map to the section housing the dungeons, he found what he was looking for, and his fingers fondly touched the floating bubble labeled 'Severus Snape.'

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His hands gently caress the young man's flesh, over his back and then over the curve of his buttocks. Clouded by arousal, he urgently twists Harry onto his stomach and immediately presses his chest firmly against Harry's back, so that their bodies are flush. He groans at the contact.

Slowly, but without preamble, he enters him. The noises Harry is emitting below him are glorious. They fuel him on.

Like a snake, slow and sinuous, he coils his arms around the young man, taking him fully into his grasp, possessing him. As his hands roam freely over the boy's chest, he feels a slickness that puzzles him. Much too wet to be perspiration. His brings his hands around and is stunned to see them covered in blood.

Suddenly he becomes aware that the noises coming from Harry are not moans, but sobs, cries of pain. He wants to stop then, but a voice – high, cold and piercing – bids him to continue.

He does, ramming into the body below him with abandon until he hears the boy's cries intensify. He does not relent, not even when the screams pierce his ears.

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Snape woke to his own harsh screams. The images of his nightmare crashed over him, and his body shook violently as he fought to bury it beneath his consciousness.

The strands of memory were building inside his mind, a tumult of horror threatening to overtake him at any moment, like an escalating wave straining against his mental shields, threatening to crash over him. With great difficulty, he focused his magic intensely on his Occlumency, and somehow managed to stabilize his turbulent mind.

He forced himself to breathe, and with great effort, his lungs took a deep raspy gasp. It was as though he was suffocating – every second of this felt like slow death.

Desperate to get away, desperate for air, he exited his quarters, not at all aware of where his feet were taking him.

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Harry ran as fast as he could toward the Astronomy tower. So urgent was his destination, he hadn't even bothered to grab his invisibility cloak. When he'd noticed just a minute ago that the floating bubble labeled 'Severus Snape' on his Marauder's Map was moving toward the tower, he'd panicked. Why on earth would Severus be headed there at four o'clock in the morning, unless…?

No. It couldn't be. Harry didn't really believe that Severus would do such a thing, but he couldn't discount the possibility after what Severus had been through. Harry knew he wasn't supposed to see Severus – Dumbledore had made that abundantly clear. But Dumbledore had also told him that Severus's mental state was incredibly fragile. And besides, it wasn't Dumbledore who was keeping an eye out on Severus this eve.

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Snape visibly startled when the door opened, but quickly reasoned that the Headmaster had come to check on him, probably to dissuade him from throwing himself from the parapets. The idea had indeed crossed his mind once or twice, but that was not why he had come here. The cool night air had refreshed him somewhat as he slowly began the process of refortifying his Occlumency shields, or what was left of them after that ghastly nightmare.

When Snape looked up, he was horrified to find Harry standing just a few meters from him. He summoned his strength, and managed to ask, "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you on the map. I thought…" Harry paused. "I wanted to check if you were okay."

Snape took a deep breath and steeled himself against the dizziness invading his body. It took great effort to speak; forming the words was difficult given the concentration he was affording to his mental walls in Harry's presence. "As you can see, I am fine."

"You don't look so good," Harry replied gently. Seeing Severus in this much pain was devastating to him. He wanted to offer comfort, but couldn't think of what to say besides "I love you, Severus."

Snape threw his head back and turned his body away as though the words had burned him. In a way they had. He felt his heart begin to palpitate rapidly in his chest. He struggled for control.

"Please, Harry, if you only knew…"

"Dumbledore told me," Harry offered. "I wanted to tell you that I don't think any of this is your fault, Severus, and that I'm here for you. I know we can work through this."

A wave of nausea flooded through his body then, leaving him feeling profoundly ill. Whether it was the knowledge that Harry finally knew what he had done, knew that he had raped an innocent man, or whether it was Harry's complete exoneration of his actions, he did not know. He began to tremble, the memories of that night pushing toward the forefront of his mind. Once again, he blocked them, pushing them back.

"You're so naïve. Merlin, have mercy!"

"I know it doesn't seem like it now, Severus, but you're going to get better and I'll be waiting for you when you do," Harry insisted, suddenly needing Severus to see reason on this.

The strain of holding back the memory was overwhelming Snape's mind and body. He was half-delirious from the effort now, as he once again attempted to refortify his mental walls. He fixed his eyes on the ground and raised his hand up hoping to evoke silence from Harry. He needed to focus. Concentrating on the threads of his mind, he tried to reorganize the fold of memory threatening to overtake him, attempting to bury it below his consciousness.

As he struggled with this task, the pain in his head swelled to unbearable proportions, and his body doubled over from the intensity of it.

Harry was at his side at once, the boy's arm coming around his back to steady him. "Are you alright?"

Snape pushed Harry away from him as forcefully as his weakened body would allow and he spat frantically, his eyes wide and panicked, "Don't touch me!"

"Alright," Harry said remorsefully, taking a rapid step back. "I'm sorry." Tears were filling the young man's eyes now. "I'll give you all the space you need, Severus, but just please take back what you said, about it being over for good…"

Snape took a shaky breath. "I can't, Harry, I can't. Please…" He felt himself sinking. His head felt as though it was on the verge of exploding, the surge of pressure against his mental walls enormous. He buried the memory once more.

He had to make Harry stop, and he couldn't afford to soften the blow. He needed to make Harry go away.

"Damn it, Harry, it's over! Over! Do you understand?" he shouted. And then a moment later, Snape continued in a voice that was so full of desperation, he barely recognized it as his own. "Now please, just leave me be!"

The tower was spinning now, faster and faster, and Snape wondered if the castle was coming apart. Harry stepped into his field of vision and he could hear him speaking, "Please, Severus, don't…" There were tears leaking out of those bright green eyes now. "I'm begging you, please don't do this."

A flash of light, bright red behind his eyes and sudden blinding pain in his head. He tried to hold back the memory, but the force with which it came seemed to splinter his mind, like a dam cracking right down the middle. Blackness consumed his vision as he fell into unconsciousness.

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Author's note: Thanks everyone for your kind response to the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this long chapter, and that you found it suitably provocative.

In the next chapter, Snape wakes up in the hospital wing.

Thank you Ketsurui and Molvanian Queen-In-Exile for the beta, and Graven Lament for helpful conversations.

Feedback is always greatly appreciated.