Delusions: Chapter nine

I don't own Harry Potter, nor am I receiving a profit from this story.

A/N: Thanks to all the reviewers—without you, this wouldn't have existed.

~

Strong waves of energy violently hit the trees and leaves showered down. Harry Potter had escaped from his mental prison, liberated with the festering pain that forever dwelled inside of him. He couldn't endure it any longer. The wish for death swelled. His hands gripped his head uselessly, clawing through his hair as though he was trying to force something out of his skull. A scream of despair, of terror that was utterly unable to be described. He knew one thing—he needed out. And unable to form a plan in his head, he did one thing on pure instinct. He ran.

            He blundered through the low-hanging branches and across dried pine needles, not knowing where he was headed. He just needed to get away from the evil that permeated this area before it forced him to see… He couldn't hear anything but the stillness of the earth around him, didn't wonder as to why he was not being chased. And he ran into a clearing, tripping on a tree root that was jutting from the dirt. His hands splayed and bleeding, his eyes fearful and his mind useless, Harry Potter stared at the prone form of the man on the ground.

            He was recognizable, but Harry found he could not think. Everything was telling him to get away—except one sliver of thought that couldn't quite push through the jumbling horror that had so quickly infected his brain. He could think of nothing, but a part of him rose in loathing. He didn't like this man. Indecision was born—leave him here or help him? The latter wasn't a desirable course of action to Harry, but a strong feeling had ignited, one that wanted him to grab the man, to run with him. Instinct, perhaps?

            Something familiar caught Harry's eye—a mirror? Its familiarity caused something to fall into place. It was sticking out of a pocket in Snape's clothing, drawing Harry to it, for it looked like Sirius's mirror. The influence of the snake inside of him faltered at the thought of Harry's godfather, and Harry found himself able to think a little clearer. Although part of him was still demanding he run, he stepped forward and pulled the mirror into his hands. What to say to it? Not Sirius's name, for that had not worked before… Harry cast his mind around a bit, finally pulling up the name: Dumbledore. And he leaned right down close to the reflective surface and said, "Albus Dumbledore." The glass shimmered a little and suddenly Dumbledore's face came into view, surprised and… was that a tinge of fear in his face?

            "Harry," he breathed.

            "Professor Dumbledore?"" To Harry's great dislike, he found his voice wobbly. Meanwhile, the burning sensation of hate was growing in his stomach, hatred from the snake towards Dumbledore.

            "Where are you, Harry?"

            "I-I don't know. Some sort of forest. Snape is just lying here. I think he's hurt badly." For the slightest moment, Harry's face morphed into that of the snake's but it died down quickly.

            "Harry, listen to me. If you stay connected, I can turn your mirror into a portkey." Harry nodded and Dumbledore spoke again. "It will take fifteen minutes for the connection to come through. Keep the mirror hidden if someone comes, Harry, and don't let go of it, or it will disconnect!" There was definitely an undertone of fear in his voice then. The snapping of branches in the distance foretold an immediate arrival—Harry snuck the mirror into his left pocket, hiding the top of it and his hand underneath Dudley's immense shirt.

            "You are more resilient than I thought, Mr. Potter." Voldemort. "I must admit that I had hoped you could've been more help than this. No matter. If my snake can't drive you insane, I shall kill you." Harry's hand closed on the familiar coolness of his wand; as Voldemort drew his, Harry whipped it out, still keeping a firm hold on the silent mirror in his other pocket. They both cast curses at the same time, only Voldemort deflected his towards a tree.

            "I will not fall for the same trick twice, Potter." His voice was low, menacing.

            "Do you expect me to just stand around while you try to kill me?" Harry found himself bargaining for time—he needed ten minutes at least.

            "Your defenses will soon falter, Potter. You are weak from your imagined ordeal."

            "Stupefy!" A red light shot from the end of Harry's wand but was easily dodged.

            "Ah, Potter, surely you can do better than that? Avada Kedavra!" Harry, who had been expecting the attack, managed to fling himself to the ground, sheltered by two tree trunks. Pieces of splintered wood flew through the sky. "Now, now, Potter. Why do you always insist on playing games with me?"

            Harry darted to his right, still shielded by trees. Seven minutes, just seven minutes left. "REDUCTO!" A nearby tree exploded in a flurry of splinter, the sharp wood bits imbedding themselves into the back of Harry's arms, as he had flattened himself into a lying position, his arms over his neck.

            "Come out, come out, wherever you are…" Harry crawled another ten feet as Voldemort entered the thicket of trees. He was coming closer… "You cannot hide forever, Potter!" He was trying to lure a response from Harry, and Harry would not allow it. He moved faster, trying to keep as quite as possible. Another tree exploded due to the Reductor curse, but Harry didn't bother to stop as he was pelted with more wood shavings. Three minutes.

            Harry paused as he advanced. Snape wasn't far off. Another tree was demolished but a bigger dilemma was unfurling in Harry's rapidly clearing head. Snape—he had followed Harry. Would he, Harry… could he just leave Snape here, here to die at the hands of his old master? Yes, Snape had always hated Harry, and the feelings were mutual…. But… One minute. To get Snape meant to leave the cover of the trees, to enter the clearing. He was not aware of making a decision, just of springing to his feet and running to Snape, pulling the mirror out as he went. As Voldemort exited the cluster of annihilated trees, a euphoric grin alighted on his face. Harry placed one part of the mirror on Snape's shoulder, keeping a firm grip on it himself.

            "Now, Potter, you die." Voldemort didn't notice, or seem to care of, the actions Harry had just done. Let this work… Please let it work…Voldemort raised his wand hand.

            "AVADA—" But before the incantation was completed, Harry felt the tug behind his navel. The last thing he heard was Voldemort's infuriated scream, the prone body of Snape traveling with him. He was going back… back. A rush of powerful emotions overtook him as he hit a stone floor. Falling victim to his mental exhaustion, he didn't hear Dumbledore's relieved exclamation.

~

            Harry awoke to a familiar scene—the hospital wing—and to the familiar face of Dumbledore. "Ah," he said, "you are awake."

            "Professor Dumbledore?" Harry's voice was rough, unused. He fumbled for his glasses and put them on, his view of the room cleared. He looked at Dumbledore again and immediately saw the weariness, the fear, shining in his headmaster's eyes. "What's going on? Is his snake… is it going to… will he force me to come to him again?"

            "Relax, my dear boy. The snake's influence has been eliminated."

            "But—how?"

            "Easily enough. I hope you'll pardon me for the intrusion, but I daresay it was necessary. I probed you mind with Occlumency, and was able to find, and destroy, the remnants of the snake's control over you."

            "But how did it get there in the first place?"

            "I theorize that Voldemort implanted the seed into you mind when he possessed you last."

            "I- I don't remember anything… What happened?"

            "You were forced to exit your house and come to Voldemort. That is the basic story and therefore all that you need to understand."

            "And Snape—why was he there?"

            "I asked Professor Snape to see if you were alright. I was suspicious when you neglected to return your letters. He followed you into Voldemort's lair."

            "But then Voldemort knows, because of me, he knows that Snape—"

            "Professor Snape believes, as do I, that Voldemort already knew. You saved his life, Harry, and you mustn't forget that."

            "But what about the Dursleys? What did I do to them?"

            "You hurt them," Dumbledore said reluctantly, "but they have been healed and there is no lasting damage."

            "And Snape? What did Voldemort do to him?"

            "Voldemort did what he felt was a justified punishment. Professor Snape has lost his arm, but it has been replaced. What you should worry about, Harry, is the damage caused upon yourself."

            "But I'm not h—"

            "Physically, no. But you have suffered a terrible mental ordeal. You will need time to heal."

            "But if I turn into the snake again…"

            "Listen to me, Harry. You survived; you drove it out of your head. No lasting damage has been done. It was your love that saved you yet again. You have the strength; you can beat it." And with that, Dumbledore stood and exited, leaving Harry sitting on the bed thinking of the has-beens and will-bes.

~

            Dumbledore decided that it would be prudent to keep Harry in the castle for the remainder of the summer holidays, and although it wasn't boring, what with all the visitors, Harry knew that his happy times were coming short. The final battle with Voldemort replayed often in his head, as a warning to the culmination of their fighting. He saw Snape in the hall, a golden hand glittering from beneath the left arm of his robes, even apologized (to silence). And as his sixth year approached rapidly, Harry couldn't dream of what the curse of his scar would soon bestow upon him.

~

End

A/n: I mean it! This is the end of the entire story—no foreseeable sequels. I hope you liked it, but if you didn't, just remember that the first chapter was written at one in the morning and was never expected to develop into a story that spanned nine chapters.