A/N Had some last minute amends to do so I've split a long chapter into two so that I could post tonight as promised. Won't keep you waiting long for the next I promise - hope you enjoy!

More than three hours had passed since Voldemort had put that vision in his head, the time pushing on towards eight o'clock in the evening. Harry had been sitting quietly for much of that time, practicing the narrative of his rescue mission to the Department of Mysteries over and over in his head. He compelled himself to learn the story wholly, leaning into the feelings it evoked to such an extent that his heart would race, tears threatening to well up in his eyes at the thought he might be too late to save Sirius.

Of course he knew that it wasn't real, he trusted that for now at least Sirius was safely at Grimmauld Place awaiting instructions with the Order. But to give himself the best shot of Voldemort believing him he had to suspend belief for himself as well, to enter a state of denial in which he too believed the narrative he had created…only then did he stand a chance of Voldemort believing him.

When the evening wore on Snape summoned a plate of sandwiches from the kitchens, and although they sat on opposite sides of his office with very little interaction it felt quite strange to be sharing a meal with him. Harry ate only for something to do, an activity that broke up the monotonous tedium of waiting. They had been sitting in silence, not speaking any more than absolutely, and Snape looked in his direction only to ensure he was still himself, that Voldemort hadn't silently taken hold of him.

The first indication that something was happening was subtle, a slight change that took Harry a moment to register. It wasn't a headache per se, but rather a strange feeling as if clouds had formed in his mind. His thoughts became groggy and lacklustre, the sensation coming over him so quickly he didn't recognise what was happening. It took far too long to realise this was how he had felt all afternoon...

Catching on he leant forward in the armchair, putting his head into his hands. It was the only thing he could think to do, but the small movement alerted Snape who was instantly by his side. He felt his hands on his upper arms, gripping firmly.

'Concentrate, Potter. This may be it. Do you hear me, Potter?'

'Yes. I hear you.' His voice felt very far away, as though it belonged to someone else who was speaking from another room.

He vaguely remembered that there was something he needed to do - concentrate. Snape was still gripping him by the arms, and he registered that he was pushing him back into the armchair. He let his head fall backwards, and just as it occurred to him that he might like to fall into a comfortable sleep he felt a jolt from Snape.

Concentrate, he thought to himself. It's happening.

Clumsily he managed to raise his hands and push Snape away. He needed space - to not be touched by anything that might distract him…this was going to be difficult enough.

Mentally he leaned on the thunderous pounding of his heart. It was a reminder of what he was doing, what was at stake for him tonight. Sirius…Sirius was in danger. Remembering this he focused his attention solely on him, letting panic take over him. He knew what was happening. He knew what Voldemort had done to him…

His face was bloodstained and gaunt, twisted in pain yet rigid with defiance … 'You'll have to kill me,' whispered Sirius.

At the sound of Sirius's hoarse whisper Harry's mind began to swirl. Control of his senses slipped through his fingers in milliseconds, and then against his will the afternoon began to play out before his mind's eye. He was coming out of Firenze's classroom with a headache, laying down on the grass as he tried to rest.

It briefly occurred to him what was happening, that this was Voldemort inside his head…that explained why his scar had begun aching. But he did not yet resist. He knew what was coming next, and he made no effort to control it.

Blind with panic he was sprinting along the corridor outside History of Magic, every fibre of his being screaming at him to do something. Please no…not Sirius. He didn't know what to do. All he knew was that something terrible had happened. Sirius was going to die.

The blind panic was as vivid as when he first experienced it, and he dwelled on it, wanting Voldemort to feel it just as he had. It was then he began to focus, concentrating on what he knew had happened next. The whirl of memories lingered in his mind's eye, but through sheer force of will he visualised what he wanted Voldemort to see…the version of truth he wanted him to see.

Snape had not believed him. No one believed him and no one would help him - and so he had fled alone, willing to do anything to save his Godfather. He pictured Sirius's bloodstained face and focused on the terror it evoked, letting that feeling envelope him entirely. He had to save him…Sirius was like his father now, he couldn't lose him, he couldn't bear to suffer that. It was too cruel for them both.

The atrium was deserted as he sprinted across it. The dark blue ceiling imposed upon him the seriousness of where he was, and what was happening. At the lifts he was slamming his hand against the 'down' button, pleading with the lift to arrive - and finally it did. The golden grills were heavy as he dragged them shut, and he lunged for the button that would take him to the ninth level.

His mind was swirling again, Voldemort actively seeking out memories beyond what he was being shown. But Harry did not falter, not when Sirius's life was on the line - when not only he could save him.

Control slipped for just a second. He was back in Snape's office again, sitting opposite his desk as Snape spoke to him. '…do tell me how the Dark Lord gained access to your mind.'

And then he was back in the Department of Mysteries, and finally he had made it! The door was within reach, he was so close. Sirius! he heard himself shouting into the corridor, sprinting as fast as he could. Sirius!

What if he was too late? What if he was already dead?

As if waking from a languid sleep Harry opened his eyes. The visions and swirling memories had faded into blackness, leaving him panting for breath. For a few terrible moments it was all real again. Sirius was dying, and Harry wasn't going to make it in time. It was only a split second before he caught up with the true reality, but it was enough to leave him shaken.

He sat forward in the armchair, burying his face in his hands as he collected his thoughts. He could sense Snape nearby, close enough to touch him, and he was grateful that he didn't. Instead he was waiting patiently for Harry to collect himself, and a short while later he lifted his head and spoke.

'He's gone.'

The fact that it was over felt strange, almost like he had been let down. Though he had waited hours in Snape's office it felt like it had all come about and ended so quickly…what that it?

Snape nodded in approval, but still he scrutinised Harry critically. 'How much did you allow him to see?'

Harry pondered this for a moment, being hypercritical of himself. 'I think, all of it. All that we wanted him to.'

Needing to move around a little he rose from the chair, feeling a surge that coursed through his body. Avoiding eye contact with Snape he began to pace, shaking tension from his arms as if readying himself for a Quidditch match.

'I might have slipped up, I think.'

'How so?'

'He saw me in your office. You were asking how he got into my head.'

'Tonight?'

'Yes.'

Snape's response was surprisingly assuring. 'It is possible the Dark Lord did not see enough to make any sense of it. He has known about our combative Occlumency lessons. It can be explained.'

Harry folded his arms over his chest, beginning to feel anxious and stressed once again. It was done now…he had done everything he could to fulfil Dumbledore's request. Now, the rest of it was out of his hands. Dumbledore and the Order were to take over from here on out, including Sirius…possibly the Weasley's too. Tonks, and Lupin…

'When will we know if it worked or not?'

'When Dumbledore or the Dark Lord see fit to inform us. Either way, we will be informed.'

With an air of impatience Harry sighed. He knew what that meant, and the implications. The only thing they could do now was wait. Snape had resumed his place on the other side of his desk, and he watched him pacing back and forth around the office, still trying to dispel restless energy. Twenty minutes passed in this way, Harry anxiously checking his watch over and over again, increasingly frustrated by the delay.

'How will you explain all of this to Voldemort?' he asked, glancing at Snape. 'Even if it doesn't work, he'll know I tried to trick him.'

'That is not your concern,' Snape said evasively, giving nothing away. 'But in all likelihood my cover is blown. More than sixteen years of meticulous work discarded in a single night.'

Seeing the insinuation that it would be Harry's fault he stopped his pacing, looking at Snape. 'Is that why you didn't want to do it?'

Snape did not deny his reluctance. Rather he held Harry's gaze, and he spoke honestly. 'Albus Dumbledore expects too much of you.'

'I'm willing to do my part. I want to fight him.'

'A factor he uses to great advantage.'

'So he shouldn't be using me?'

As if disdainful of his desire to help Snape looked away dismissively. 'You are a child, and should not be involved in such matters.'

His part of tonight was over. There was no further need for him to remain calm and level headed, and so he pushed back at Snape now, seeking a button to press. It had after all been a while since he and Snape had a decent row.

'You were a true Death Eater,' Harry stated, staring at him hard. 'Tattoo. Mask and hood. Kneeling to kiss his feet, torturing people for fun. Killing people.'

Snape gave no reaction, possessing better self-control than to rise to Harry's baiting.

'Just makes me wonder what you could have done to make Dumbledore think you changed.' Still Snape did not react, and so Harry pushed further. 'How does a person go from torturing people for fun, to being Dumbledore's right hand man? I'm asking you a question,' he added bluntly.

'The circumstances of my defection from the Dark Lord are none of your concern.'

'I'm locked in a room with you, they are my concern,' Harry retorted. 'He thinks you changed. Maybe you have…but you'll never get rid of that tattoo on your arm.'

His frustration grew, for still Snape did not rise to his baiting. Looking away he resumed his pacing again, beginning to think out loud…voicing a genuine fear that lingered in the back of his mind. 'If you cover really is blown, you'd have to do something pretty big to earn Voldemort's trust again. Like, me.'

'You?'

Harry nodded. He had moved towards the other side of the office and now stopped, looking back at Snape. He couldn't help it…rising stronger and stronger in the back of his mind was paranoia and fear. After all, what he was about to say wasn't so crazy. He kept his hands by his side, ready to draw his wand should he need it.

'Is that why you've locked me in here?'

'You are here for your own protection, as you well know.'

Harry didn't believe him. 'Maybe it's me you're setting up, not Voldemort.'

Finally Harry had got there - Snape reacted, giving a sigh of exasperation as his eyes narrowed upon him. 'This deception was your idea, was it not?' he challenged. 'It was you who first presented a falsified memory in the hope you could entrap the Dark Lord.'

'Wouldn't that be perfect,' Harry countered. 'You getting me to set myself up?'

'That would be poetic,' Snape sneered. 'I suppose you will have to make your own judgement as to who you trust.'

'I don't trust you,' he said, trying to provoke him.

'You argument against me fails logic,' Snape continued, angrily lecturing him now. 'To deliver you to the Dark Lord again would forever erode the trust Albus Dumbledore places upon me, and so would eviscerate my status as a double agent.'

Harry held his ground defiantly, and against basic reason. 'Not if Dumbledore was in on it.'

At this Snape openly laughed. 'He will be so pleased by your faith in him.'

'He was willing to put me in danger by asking me to do this. What's to say he's not willing to use me in other ways?'

Snape's laugh had tempered back into a sneer of distaste, and as if he couldn't stand the sight of him any longer he turned away. 'I will not condone your nonsense with any further response.'

Having provoked him enough to satisfy that particular urge Harry allowed the conversation to lapse, and though he might have said more than was true, he regretted only that Snape could not be properly baited.

They each resumed their former places at opposite sides of the office, keen to keep their distance from one another. But try as he might Harry could hardly fight the urge to start yelling, to properly raise a ruckus. Feeling increasingly agitated he started to pace back and forth, clenching his hands into fists. He glared at Snape in utter loathing, resenting every moment spent in his company.

The first tangible indication that something was going on was Harry's scar, which began to ache dully, garnering his attention. His heart began to race when he connected the dots; the sudden surge of emotion and desire to create a scene, the pain in his scar.

'Something's happening...he knows something's wrong.'

Snape whirled around. Seeing the way Harry moved back and forth he approached cautiously, drawing his wand. But when he approached the surge of emotion Harry felt intensified. Anger was boiling in the pit of his stomach, making his hand twitch towards his wand, ready to attack. It took a moment for him to catch himself, to question what was and wasn't real inside his own head.

'I can feel him,' Harry explained, anticipating the question before it was asked. 'He's angry. That's good, right?'

'Engage your Occlumency training,' Snape instructed. 'Start now.'

'I want to know,' he insisted, eager to see what had happened to make Voldemort feel so angry. He was desperate for information, sick of waiting after nearly an entire year of the truth being denied.

And then he was there again, in the Ministry of Magic. He strode across the Atrium, ignoring the snivelling pleas of the hooded woman who threw herself at his mercy.

'Master, I am sorry, I knew not, I was fighting the Animagus Black,' the woman sobbed, flinging herself down at Voldemort's feet as he paced slowly nearer. 'Master, you should know-'

'You must start now,' Snape growled, seizing Harry by the arm and wrenching him towards the armchair. 'Or you will reveal to the Dark Lord that I have conspired against his interests.'

Any flicker of outrage he might have felt over being manhandled by Snape faded into the back of his mind. Because as eager as he was to know what was happening, Snape was right. Dumbledore had been very clear that protecting Snape's cover was integral to the future, and that losing him would be catastrophic.

In that split second he still had his doubts. Serious doubts over his ability to ever truly trust Snape, and the niggling doubts that Dumbledore didn't always have his best interests at heart. But tonight he was forced to act swiftly, and he placed his trust in his own instincts that usually steered him right.

'But Master – he is here – he is below –'

With a rough shove he pushed Snape away from him, relieving himself of the unwanted touch, and then he closed his eyes and rest his head back in the armchair. Squashing down any sense of excitement or anxiety he let out a slow breath and tried to concentrate on the DA meetings. He reminded himself of how exhilarating it felt during the many hours spent in the Room of Requirement, the knowledge of what he was doing in there.

He was braced for it to start, to lose control as his mind and memories start swirling around when Voldemort sought out information. Except it didn't eventuate. The only change he felt was the rapid beating of his own heart which seemed to get faster and faster, followed by swells of emotion that came without warning.

It was impossible to detach himself. Foreboding what was to come the ache in his scar intensified as quickly as the emotions did. He felt furious. Sheer fury made him want to leap out out of the armchair and do something.

In the distance he could hear Snape's voice coaching him, but tonight it was not helping. He wanted to tell him to shut up, but stronger than that was the utter loathing that emanated from him. He opened his eyes.

Snape was standing over him, his lank hair curtained around his features which were hidden in shadow. But Harry found his eyes and held his gaze, while unbidden from within him arose a hatred he had felt on such few occasions that Voldemort occupied his thoughts - his scar burned white-hot while he fought the overwhelming demand that he attack.

Frightened, Harry lurched up to his feet and quickly moved away, ignoring Snape's order that he cooperate.

'Shut up!' he said loudly. The sound of Snape's voice was like nails on a chalkboard, grating upon his every nerve and eliciting yet stronger urges that he attack

He clutched his scar, trying to relieve the pain so that he could focus. Just as the night Mr Weasley was attacked Harry knew that Voldemort was within him right now, but surely through sheer force of will he could stay in control. He visualised the DA meetings, drawing on them for relief, for power…

'There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!' he snarled.

As though he'd been hit with a jolt of cold water Harry lurched. He felt those words coming out of his own mouth just as he heard them in his head - but in an instant Voldemort's presence vanished, leaving him standing there as though nothing had happened at all. The pain in his scar eased to little more than an aching memory, while the heightened emotions waned as quickly as they had come on, leaving him feeling empty and void.

Shell shocked, Harry merely stood there. While he caught his breath his eyes darted around, remembering he was in Snape's office, that he was safe. He felt dazed, but when he turned around to look at Snape he felt quite like himself once more.

'It's over,' he said quietly. 'He's gone.'

Snape was not convinced. He stared at Harry with great unease, studying him from head to toe as he withdrew his wand from his robes, keeping it ready be his side. A little bewildered Harry just looked at him, his mind short circuiting - Snape was backing away. Since when did Snape need to defend himself against him?

'What?'

But as though he knew something was coming a sense of dread came over him. Then Harry's scar burst open and he knew he was dead: it was pain beyond imagining, pain past endurance.

He was gone from Snape's office, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creature's began: they were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape –

Surely dying he cried out in agony. With a pained gasp he managed to draw breath, clarity entering his mind ever so briefly, but his body was no longer his own. Voldemort was inside of him, he knew that instinctively and with reckless abandon he felt his hands clawing at himself, trying to wrench the intruder out as though it were possible.

The pain lessened, becoming background noise while his eyes rolled back in his head, his body ceasing all resistance and instead giving in. His hands released his wand while his lungs drew another great gasping breath - and then the darkness creeping in on his vision changed.

As though being whisked off to a far away place Harry felt himself falling, fading into a vision that played out in front of his eyes.