Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything of JK Rowling's.

Thank you for my reviews!

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I might have updated sooner, but I did not have internet at the hotel I was at… crazy right?

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4

Harry woke up in the dark hospital room. He felt too weak to sit up, so he just let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He felt a little woozy, perhaps from the calming draught that Madame Pomfrey had given him yesterday after Snape had carried him up to the Hospital Wing. After he had…

After he had almost killed Snape. Harry shuddered at the thought. His stomach tightened as the images of the past afternoon raced through his mind. He had cast spells he had never learned. How was that possible? Voldemort had used Acastifrenza against him during their final encounter. How had he used it with such ease? How had he cast spells that Voldemort knew?

Harry reconsidered his connection with Voldemort. He had not thought much about his blackouts, nightmares, and blurring vision that occurred over the past month. For years he had had nightmares, and visions of things he had never seen before. In fact, unknown memories were sort of normal for Harry. He'd been able to access Voldemorts thoughts from miles away. He remembered the night he had woken knowing that Arthur Weasley had been attacked in a hallway in the Ministry of Magic. Yet, that was when Voldemort was alive. How could he be remembering the memories of a dead man… unless…

Harry's thoughts froze as he came to a conclusion his mind had been circumventing for weeks. Unless Voldemort was inside of him. Harry's body tensed, his mind went numb and he found himself hurling up his last meal onto the stone floor.

He sat up and looked around the room that was dimly lit from the moonlight. Shaking slightly, he decided to try occulemency to wade through his thoughts. He would start with a simple theme, to warm up his mind. He began to return to all the memories he had from the Hospital Wing: The time he had fallen off his broomstick first year during a quidditch match. The time he had snuck in with Ron to visit a petrified Hermione second year. The time he had snuck in and stolen antidotes and Harbleweed from the medicine supply cabinet third year. The time he had come in to treat his wounds after fighting the Hungarian Horntail. The time… Harry paused. He had never stolen Harbleweed. What was Harbleweed? He returned to the memory and scrutinized it.

The vision formed in the front of his mind, and he slowly replayed it. He snuck down the hallway, extinguishing the torches, until he reached the Hospital Wing and entered the main doors. He walked quickly towards the supply closet, and whispered Alohomara. The door remained locked. He tried a more complex spell – Retici Alohomara. The door clicked open and he found himself looking at the medical supply shelves. As he reached up, Harry examined his own hand as it clutched the Harbleweed. It had long white fingers, and a green serpent ring on its middle finger. It wasn't his hand. Harry struggled to keep the memory from blurring because of the shock of seeing that ring, the ring that he had seen on Voldemort's hand when he was clutching his wand and aiming it at Harry's heart.

Tom Riddle had snuck in to steal Harbleweed and an antidote called Tilitrune.

As if fearing the vision would slip out of his grasp, Harry's mind slowly placed the foreign memory into a corner of his mind. And drew himself out of his thoughts and back into the dark hospital wing. He smiled darkly.

Voldemort's memories were his. In fact, Harry could hardly tell them apart. He sat their stunned as he realized that he possessed the Dark Lord's vast knowledge, as well as his cruel memories, and perhaps even his emotions. Harry, the used to be Boy-Who-Lived, and the current Boy-Who-Killed-Voldemort, should now be more aptly labeled the Boy-Who-Absorbed-Voldemort, or perhaps worst, the Boy-Who-Became-Unstable-With-The-Combined-Power-Of-Potter-And-Voldemort.

Harry turned over on his side and clutched his pillow as tears ran down his cheeks. He had become the man he had spent his life trying to kill. Every day the control he had over his own mind had been slipping away. What if he woke up tomorrow and couldn't remember the Harry part of him. What if his Voldemort memories overpowered him? What if he became a dark wizard tomorrow? Harry hugged the pillow tighter, curled up in the fetal position, and fell into a restless sleep.

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Harry sat in Charms class thinking about anything but the inanimate object talking spells that Flitwik was explaining. He had woken up late, eaten breakfast with Madame Pomfrey, and then McGonagall had arrived with two mediwitches from St Mungo's, Healer Grunwright and Healer Efft. Harry figured out quickly that these healers were a wizard euphemism for a muggle shrink. They think I'm crazy, a fair surmise considering my behavior, thought Harry. Actually, pretty accurate altogether.

Grunwright, a curly-haired, tall woman with a kind face and brown affectionate doe eyes had led the meeting. She explained her past experience with patients who had suffered trauma. In fact, she had worked with the late Healer Miller, who was famous for his devotion and success on solving trauma situations with Ministry Aurors. She let Harry know how common his situation was. Although, Harry noticed, she never really explained what she thought his situation was. Healer Efft didn't say a word. Instead, the large man with a bristly black beard seemed more like a rugby player than a doctor. Maybe he was there to protect Healer Grunwright from Harry.

Harry answered the basic medical questions. He avoided talking about the revelation he'd had last night. It made him nauseous just thinking about it. How exactly was he supposed to let them know that 'Oh, by the way, I've self-diagnosed myself as having absorbed the most powerful wizard's mind, power and maybe soul. Nice to meet you.' He was going to talk to Hermione and Ron first. They would know what to do. At least, that was his excuse.

Neville elbowed Harry in the ribs. He looked up to see people practicing the charm they had just learned. Harry tried to do the same. He looked at Neville as he tapped the pillow in front of him and said "Incantiar". The pillow began to speak to Neville, explaining how he used to not have a spot, but some careless third year had spilled ink on him last week. Harry and Neville stared until Neville waved his wand again and said something and the pillow stop speaking. Harry tried five times, but couldn't make anything happen. Luckily the bell rang, and they filed out of the classroom towards the great hall for lunch.

As Harry made his way towards lunch, he noticed the wide berth students gave him in the hallway. Ron, Hermione and Neville stuck close to him, but the other students were darting out of their way. A group of first year girls ran into the bathroom when he glanced in their direction. Hermione updated Harry that three students had returned home that morning on their parents' orders. Rumors had circulated quickly within and without Hogwarts about his mental imbalance and frightening power.

As he sat down in the Great Hall, he recognized that those who had fought with Harry, former DA members and most Gryffindors were loyally trying to deny the rumors, and pretended to sit around the table acting normal. As friendly as the Gryffindors appeared to him, their eyes held traces of fear. They were scared of him. His chest tightened as he wondered if Neville, Ron or Hermione were afraid of him now. If they were scared of him without even knowing what he had discovered last night, how would they react to his epiphany? He glanced thoughtfully at the three of them as they ate.

Ron would deny it loyally. He wouldn't even really absorb what Harry was saying. To believe that Harry was possessed, unstable, would be disloyal. To Ron, Harry would always remain Harry, his bestfriend, and Ron would stand by him no matter what.

Harry looked next at Neville, who now was approaching six and half feet and ate more than Ron. He had changed into a thoughtful, capable young man, and he would listen to Harry with an avid ear, and believe anything Harry said. He would perhaps be scared of Harry, because, unlike Ron, he would understand Harry's predicament, his change. Despite his inevitable fear that Harry might turn into a dark wizard, he would stand by Harry.

Finally, Harry contemplated Hermione's reaction. She would listen attentively, interject her own comments, as she analyzed his reasoning, and would of course, pick up on what he was saying the fastest, if she didn't already have an idea herself. She would look at him with pitying eyes and pat him gently. She would assure him that they would figure it out how to deal with the problem. She would view Harry's situation in two ways. First, from the perspective of a pre-healer in a logical academic manner, she would conclude there had to be an antidote, and she would dedicate her energy to finding it. And then a little later, she would view it from a second perspective, when Harry was somewhere else, she would contemplate what he said, and her emotional response would be that of fear as well.

Harry's mouth was dry and his thoughts became jumbled. He didn't hear Neville ask him if he was going to eat his corn bread. Instead, Harry drew a shaky breath as he realized that his friends would fear him. Except for Ron perhaps, if… when everyone in Gryffindor, at Hogwarts, in the wizarding world found out about what was really wrong with Harry, they would fear him.