Disclaimer: See all previous chapters.

A/N: This chapter sees a little movement of the plot, though it's not much more than a few mentions. You'll see where it goes eventually, and I really do have some pretty good scenes for later chapters. If anything, keep reading until I get to those. Please hang with me—Harry'll be getting back to Hogwarts in five chapters or less, and then things will really begin to heat up. Harry's in for a rough year, I have to say. --Miss Laine

00000000000 Chapter 17: Harry's Worst Memory 00000000000000000

After a very long and boring night, in which he did little more than wander about the castle and check up on Remus every now and then, Harry was more than ready to have a solution to his problems, even if it meant asking Snape for it. The eight hours from eleven to seven had been almost torturous after just a short time—there was very little to do in an empty castle, and he kept randomly stumbling into rooms that had aurors sleeping in them, their official robes draped across furniture as they slept in just their pants and shirts.

Remus woke up around six in the morning, looking pale and groggy but otherwise healthy. His first comment was to ask if anyone had gotten the number of that hippogriff and then groan. Tonks showed up almost immediately, seeming to somehow sense that Remus had awoken, and Harry slipped out of the infirmary quietly, hoping it would give the two a chance to maybe see that they liked each other.

Besides, he didn't want to be around when Tonks told Remus about his fight with Malfoy. He did not want to be stuck listening to any lectures involving not fighting and taking the high road and whatever. As far as he was concerned, the fight was between Malfoy and himself, and they could resolve it however they wished.

Besides. It felt good to be able to pick a fight and walk away from it without getting detention or points taken or whatever. Or banned from Quidditch.

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"We're going to head back this afternoon," Tonks told Harry at lunch. Remus had managed to convince Pomfrey to let him up for the day, and Charlie was already up and about.

"Okay," he agreed. He'd been lucky—or perhaps unlucky—all morning and hadn't run into Malfoy again, but he figured he'd rather not press his luck too long.

"Professor Snape will be coming by this evening for an Occlumency lesson and also to try a new potion he's developed for you," Tonks added. "He'll probably stay the night and observe, just so you know."

"Just what I need. Snape watching me while I sleep," he grumbled.

"Better than getting hurt in visions, though, right?" she quipped. Harry rolled his eyes. She reached for the dish of eggs on the table and knocked over a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

Remus cleared the mess with a flick of his wand and Tonks blushed, looking flustered. Harry wondered if something had finally happened between the two, or perhaps Tonks was really nervous about something.

"Great," Harry griped, once order was restored to the table. "Snape gets to try an experimental potion on me."

"Well, it isn't like there's anyone he can test it on," Remus pointed out mildly. "You're the only one with your specific symptoms."

"Lucky me," he mumbled to himself, stabbing at his breakfast morosely.

"I hear you were in a fight," Remus remarked casually. Harry dropped his fork, instantly irritated.

"So?" he asked sharply. "That's my business."

"You shouldn't be—"

Harry frowned, cutting Remus off. He was not going to sit and listen to another lecture on how he should be behaving. Not when it came to Malfoy. That was his own business. "I'll be somewhere around when it's time to go," he announced and got up from the table.

"Harry!" Remus said, but Harry ignored him and stormed out of the room.

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Remus didn't mention anything about the fight on their way back to Grimmauld Place, and Harry hurried up to his room in order to inspect his new belongings. They were stacked carefully at the foot of the bed, most wrapped in brown paper and string, and a rather battered looking trunk was sitting tipped sideways next to it all.

Carefully, he turned it so that the trunk was sitting correctly, and then he realized what the two letters gilded onto the lid stood for.

S.B.

Sirius Black. This had been his godfather's trunk. It hadn't really occurred to him that any of the Marauder's school things still existed, and he supposed his parents' things really had all been destroyed. But Sirius's hadn't. And now Remus had found his trunk for him.

The trunk was a more expensive build than his own had been, with heavier brass fastenings and hinges, and made with some sort of odd leather. Only the faded patches, some ragged gouges, and the tarnishing on the handles gave away the use that the trunk had seen.

He had to sit down for a bit, just staring at this piece of his godfather's childhood, but then he forced himself to turn to the wrapped packages. He couldn't spend his entire afternoon dwelling on Sirius, even if he wanted to, and he wanted to get everything put away before evening.

He could just imagine Snape now—commenting on how messy his room was, or how he didn't keep his supplies in the right places, or perhaps saying something about how he could of course spend money whenever he wished. And then of course he'd snap something at Snape, and then they'd argue, and then Snape would probably trade whatever potion he'd developed with some sort of poison, just to get him back.

Unwrapping his new textbooks first, he was surprised to see that Remus had managed to get every single sixth-year text that he would need. He felt an empty knot form in his chest, realizing that five years of notes and essays and texts had all been turned to ash, but pushed it away. At least he still had the photo album and his invisibility cloak. Those two items meant more to him than even his wand, really. They were absolutely irreplaceable.

Like his Firebolt had been…

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By the time Tonks came up to his room and announced that dinner was ready, Harry had managed to sort through everything. He had his textbooks out and had slipped his homework assignments into them, and had put everything else away carefully in the trunk.

"I'll be down in a moment," he told Tonks as he stood up to survey the room. He'd cleaned it up as best he could, and just before he left he pushed the trunk against the foot of the bed and closed the lid. It looked pretty cleaned up, compared to how it had been this afternoon, and no one would have anything to complain about.

He tromped down the stairs slowly, feeling drained after his sleepless night. Despite the potion that Tonks had given him, he was starting to feel a little sore and stiff, like he'd been on his feet for way too long. Hopefully, he'd be able to get even just a little sleep tonight, he thought.

When he came into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes automatically narrowed. Snape was at the table. Eating a piece of toast and reading what looked like a notebook. Like he was supposed to be there.

Snape looked up when Harry stopped in the doorway. "Potter," he commented. Harry glared.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded. Snape frowned.

"Surely you remember that you have another lesson this evening?" Snape said. Harry forced himself to relax somewhat.

"I thought that wouldn't be for another few hours," he said. Snape shrugged.

"The sooner we have the lesson, the sooner I can give you the potion, the sooner I can observe its effects, and the sooner I can leave this godforsaken place," Snape said.

"Fine," Harry said. "Let's start now," he suggested. "The sooner we're done, the sooner you're out of my house."

"Harry," Tonks spoke up. "You eat," she directed. "No skipping meals."

He frowned. "I'm not hungry," he told her.

"You didn't have lunch, and I don't even know if you ate breakfast," she said, hands on her hips. "So you're eating dinner."

Harry knew he was getting a little red. He could feel Snape's smirk, almost, at the way Tonks was mothering him. "Yes, Potter," Snape spoke up. The smirk was evident in his voice, but Harry still refused to look at the slimy git. "Do join us for dinner."

"What did you make?" he asked, giving up. He slid into a seat as far away from the Potions Master as he could without being directly across from the man, either. He did not want to look up from every bite and see Snape sitting there.

Tonks set down a shallow bowl filled with stew. "Hestia came by earlier and made this," Tonks told him. "She said it'd fatten you right up!"

Harry rolled his eyes, reddening again as he got a glimpse of Snape's amused expression. He forced himself to be polite, though, and took up his spoon with a weak smile. "Thanks," he said. "It looks really good."

Tonks laughed and Harry glanced up as she suddenly swept out of the room, another bowl of stew in her hands. "Taking some dinner to that werewolf," Snape said icily. "Don't look so alarmed, Potter."

"Excuse me," he snapped. He turned back to his stew, but he could feel Snape's eyes on him.

"So testy, Potter," he remarked. "It's almost as if you don't like all the attention the Order bestows upon you…although, I suppose, if they left you alone, you would just drag them all into another one of your unfortunate messes."

Harry stayed silent for about ten seconds after this remark, spoon halfway to his mouth. Color slowly drained from his face as the words echoed in his head, and then suddenly he couldn't even understand why he'd want to keep quiet anymore.

"You know, Snape" Harry said suddenly, dropping his spoon with a clatter. "I've just about had it—no, actually, I have had it with you. There's no Remus or Tonks or anyone else around right now to tell me I'm being bad or tell me I should be more mature or that I shouldn't listen to you. I haven't had parents for fifteen years of my life—all that I remember, really—and I kind of liked it."

Before Snape could get a word in edgewise, Harry stood up, leaning forward across the table towards Snape. He put his hands down right on either side of Snape's plate, which held a half eaten piece of toast, and leaned forward some more, glaring angrily. His face was only a foot and a half from his Professor's, and he stared directly into the dark eyes as he spoke.

"Professor Snape, you are the most petty, shallow, greasy, arrogant, sour, bitter, hateful person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. I'm sick of how you seem to think that I am my father reincarnated, though by now, after all those Occlumency lessons, you should know different. Every chance you get, you do something to humiliate or infuriate me, and though I know now that you have to do it at school, you have no reason to do it here." He took a breath and went on.

"I know I've made my share of mistakes, Snape, but I wasn't the one that humiliated the other the first time we met. I didn't try to get you fired, I didn't do anything. As childish as it sounds, you started all this, and I'll be damned if I let you finish it! You come here like you own the place, act like you're not guilty of any crimes, and seem to think that you can mock Remus, who's lost everyone, without repercussions!

"I promised Remus that I wouldn't start anything with you, but I told him that I couldn't promise not to do anything if you started it! I've tolerated your presence because I know you're part of the Order and all that, but this has gone—"

He had expected Snape to eventually react, once he recovered himself a little. But, once again, he misjudged how his enemy would react. He thought Snape would hit him or shove him roughly away, as he had done in the past when upset, and he was ready for that. What he wasn't ready for, though, was any sort of magical attack.

Snape must have had his hand on his wand the entire time, because just as Harry was starting to really raise his voice, Snape's icy tones cut in. "Legillimens," he said.

Harry collapsed almost immediately, the pain of breaking his arm in his second year shooting through his body. Then, he was on grass again, in the dark graveyard, when Voldemort had cursed him the second time. He forced himself to roll off the table, dishes clatter and breaking all around him, and when the pain subsided he managed to draw his own wand.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted.

"Protego!" Snape said back. Harry saw his spell ricochet away before he was suddenly drawn back into another memory.

This one was something Harry hadn't seen before. He hardly remembered it at all, in fact, but now it came back as if it had happened just the day before.

His vision was slightly blurry in this, and he quieted, disoriented and not even beginning to fight the Legillimens spell.

The first thing he noticed was that it was dark. There was just a line of light somewhere above his head, from the hallway, and he realized he was in his cupboard. Sitting on the ground, facing the door.

He wasn't sure if this memory was very important or not. It was like a lot of his memories; sitting in a cupboard, waiting to be let out. Now, at sixteen, and having finally escaped the Dursleys, it seemed altogether too embarrassing. He was ashamed, he realized, that he'd had to live like that for ten years. And after finding out he was a wizard, things really hadn't gotten that much better.

What this specific memory was about, he wasn't sure. It had to be something, though, for Snape to want to see it so badly. He racked his brain, trying to recall this day before the events happened.

But he couldn't remember anything, and nothing seemed to be happening. He just sat there, in the dark, facing the cupboard door. Much like he had spent many of his days.

The memory blurred, as if Snape too had gotten irritated at the lack of action in the memory, and had moved on. Harry tried to fight the spell then, but he just couldn't seem to force his way free. Snape was probably putting a lot of effort into the spell, perhaps more so than usual.

After a while, the memories slowed again, and Harry was once again watching his memory-self, sitting there facing the cupboard door.

But this time it opened, and a large hand reached in and dragged him out roughly. He whimpered with pain, and Harry saw that he was about seven in this memory, glasses held together with tape since Dudley had broken them when he was six.

His uncle leaned down, face red with anger, and shook Harry hard, just once. "No more funny business, brat," he snarled. Harry shook his head frantically.

"N-no," he whispered. "I—"

His protests were cut off as his uncle gave him another hard shake. "Did I say you could speak, boy?" he snapped. "Marge was having a good week until you had to remind her that you were in here!"

"B-but I had to go to the bathroom!" Harry protests, turning a little red. "I couldn't hold it any longer!"

"And whose fault was that?" Vernon snapped. "You know I don't want you out during the day when Marge is here!"

"B-but—" A shake silenced him.

"Now that that's ruined, you're going to take care of Ripper for her," Vernon went on, voice deadly. Harry nodded, green eyes wide. He did not like Ripper, and Ripper did not like him.

But Ripper had teeth and claws and the entire Dursley family on his side. Harry had himself, and the weird things that sometimes happened to him.

Little Harry was forced to follow his still slightly purple uncle out into the kitchen, when the snarling bulldog and its mistress were waiting. Aunt Marge glared down at him, face a little red as well.

"Brat," she said, in way of a greeting. "Ripper needs fed and watered," she told him, "And I expect it to be done correctly."

"Yes, Aunt Marge," he said quietly, keeping his hands behind his back. He didn't want to give the dog any ideas—last time he'd had to feed Ripper, he'd gotten bit hard on the hand.

He turned to go to the cabinet where the dog food was kept, his eyes darting from Aunt Marge to his uncle, but he didn't realize that Ripper had slipped behind him.

That is, not until the loud yip, followed by menacing growling, alerted him. Aunt Marge screeched. "Oh, poor dear!" she cried. "My poor little Ripper!"

No one was watching Harry, so he started to back up. The dog's beady eyes were fixed on him already, and he really wanted to just get away from the huge, to him, dog.

Aunt Marge saw him trying to get to the door. "You!" she cried. "Ripper! Sic him, boy!" she snapped.

The dog was after him like a shot, and it was all Harry could do to get out the back door. Ripper was right on his heels in an instant, and he couldn't get around the house to the street because of the dog.

And so he ended up in the tree, hanging onto a limb tightly while Ripper growled and slavered and snarled below him.

The bulldog kept him treed while the Dursleys calmly ate dinner, while they watched television, and while they chatted. He was starting to feel really sleepy and very cold by the time Aunt Marge came out, looking like she'd had a little too much to drink with Uncle Vernon.

"Learned your lesson yet, brat?" she called up to him. He nodded frantically, shivering.

"Yes, Aunt Marge," he said out loud. She glared up at him.

"My brother was very kind to take you in, whelp," she snapped, still not calling off the dog. "You should at least be thankful for that."

Harry didn't agree with her, really, but he was ready to do anything to get out of the tree and back to his warm, albeit small, cupboard. "Yes, Aunt Marge," he settled for.

"If you were a dog, they would've been well within their rights to have drowned you," she told him, smiling evilly. Sudden, the memory melded and reshaped, and he was thirteen, sitting at the dinner table and Aunt Marge was gesturing towards him, red in the face from drinking like before.

"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."

Harry saw himself sitting there, face deathly pale, staring at his plate. Trying to ignore what was being said, but it wasn't really working.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia, but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

Harry saw that he was getting even more pale, and his hands were trembling in his lap. He looked ready to burst, and as his aunt's words rang in his mind once more, the anger resurfaced.

The memory dissolved into clouds of black smoky something, and his head split with agony before he slipped into total darkness.

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He woke up lying on the wood floor, staring upwards at a dark-eyed face. His body ached terribly, especially his head, and the whole memory was still fresh in his mind. He knew his face was turning red, even as he pushed himself up. Snape had seen it all, had made him go through that entire memory with everything as fresh as if it had just happened.

And now the man was actually leaning over him, no expression on his sallow face. Harry felt his anger growing, but he tried to keep it in check.

"Get away from me," he snarled, getting to his feet unsteadily. The world tipped a little to the left, and he staggered, hitting the edge of the counter against his side as his legs buckled somewhat. He caught himself with his hands, noting vaguely that his wand was still clutched in his hand.

"What in the world? Harry!" came a voice. He groaned weakly. Tonks. It was Tonks. It had to be Tonks. He'd been so close to escaping the kitchen, too.

He felt her hands as she heaved him back up to his feet all the way, and he shook his head, clearing it as best he could. As soon as he thought he was able, he pulled away from Tonks, wanting to stand on his own two feet.

"What happened?" Tonks demanded. Harry blinked a few times, still feeling sick and weak.

"Nothing," he got out. "Nothing happened. I don't feel good," he told her.

"What did Professor Snape do?" she growled. Harry saw that Snape was standing, arms crossed, and watching them talk calmly. He didn't seem to be at all guilty for anything.

"Nothing," he said again. "I want to go lie down."

"You still have an Occlumency lesson to do," Snape spoke up, voice hard. Harry shook his head.

"No way," he said. "I can't concentrate," he added, so Tonks would think he had a valid reason.

Snape regarded him coldly, but Harry was finding it hard to even see the man's face clearly. If he could have, he had a feeling he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from lunging at the man and trying to knock his teeth in. "The potion still must be administered," he said stonily.

Harry didn't say anything, but turned away. He didn't want to ever see Snape again, and he didn't ever want to hear the man's voice. Ever again. At that moment, he would have preferred dropping out of Hogwarts to going back. "I want to lie down," he said aloud.

Tonks nodded. "Okay, Harry," she agreed. "You go upstairs and lie down, and Professor Snape and I'll have a little…chat…and be right up with the potion," she told him.

"Tonks…" he warned. She gave him a light push.

"Go," she told him. "No more talking from you."

Harry went. He was much too tired and much too disoriented to argue any more.

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When Tonks and Snape finally reappeared up at his bedroom, he was lying in bed. He'd managed to change into some pajamas, though vertigo had made it difficult. He'd fallen twice, and in the end had to sit down in order to pull his pajama pants over his feet.

Tonks looked slightly smug, and Harry decided tiredly that she had probably yelled at Snape or something. Which would be just more proof to Snape that the Order catered to Harry's wishes and nobody else's. "How you feeling, Harry?" Tonks asked him.

"Better," he lied. Well, he didn't feel like he was going to fall over…because he was lying down…but everything else still felt terrible. "Just a little weak still," he added. "I think that potion you gave me for last night has completely worn off."

"It isn't meant to replace sleeping," Snape snapped. "The effects are only temporary."

"Really?" Harry said with mock surprise, trying not to think of what Snape had seen. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"I have the potion," Snape said. Harry turned to see Snape's hand, holding out a small flask, and he sat up enough to take the flask brusquely.

"I just drink it and that's it, right?" he checked, looking at Tonks. He didn't want to see Snape's face. To see those black eyes, probably laughing at him and the embarrassing memories that they had witnessed.

"Yup," Tonks said. He sighed and uncorked the flask before tipping it back.

The thick, syrupy liquid tasted like liquid nails, burning and tearing its way down his throat. Only his convulsive swallows allowed him to down most of the potion, and the last of it ended up coughed out onto his blankets as he hacked and wheezed painfully. He saw Snape shift out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to look at the man.

"Sometimes it is impossible to make a potion completely—ah—palatable," he commented. "In order to achieve the necessary effects, the cure itself sometimes borders on poison."

"Poison?" Tonks echoed. Harry couldn't speak. He was too busy hacking and coughing painfully through his burning throat. "Are you sure it won't—"

"He will live," Snape snapped, sounding angry finally. Harry took a ragged breath as he forced himself not to cough again, and then slowly relaxed back onto the pillows behind him. Tonks took the flask from his weak fingers and then cleaned up the spatter on his blankets with a spell.

"I don't feel sleepy anymore," he reported, realizing that he wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon. His voice was raspy and weak from coughing, and it hurt even more just to say those few words.

"There is a mild form of an energy potion worked into the potion," Snape said idly, calm once more. "It will keep you awake for perhaps five minutes—it's supposed to give you time to clear your mind," he explained.

"Fine," he responded, unwilling to say more with his abused throat. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, though his throat still hurt badly.

It was difficult to clear his mind while thinking about what Snape had seen at dinner, wondering what Tonks had said, and thinking about how he and Remus needed to talk. He tried to focus on pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, but before he'd done more than calm down a little, his eyes drooped heavily and he relaxed back onto the pillows.

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Voldemort was saying something, but the words were garbled and indistinct. Harry could not decipher what was being said, but the tone was clear.

Voldemort was enraged.

Pain raced through his body, starting at his scar, and he realized Voldemort must have cast Crucio on someone. The pain dipped and wavered as if it was having trouble finding him.

A sharp spear of agony jolted through his skull, and he was dimly aware that his body was reacting to the pain. He knew he should be waking up, that the pain should be pulling him out of this half-vision half-nightmare thing. But it was not.

He heard laughter. Whether it was his own or Voldemort's, he was not sure. Everything was still wrapped in a thick blanket of fog, and he could only partially make out any shapes.

Voldemort said something else in a low growl that Harry could barely hear. Searing pain snaked through his middle, and his eyes teared up in reaction to the pain.

Everything came into focus in an instant, and he was less than ten feet from Voldemort. Now, he could hear the monster's words.

"My servant has done well," Voldemort said coldly, a smile on his snake-like face. Harry realized he was on his knees and struggled to his feet. He refused to face his parent's murderer on his knees.

"Why don't you just go back to being dead?" Harry asked sarcastically, determined not to let the monster know he was afraid.

"I have no time to waste trading insults with you, Potter," Voldemort snapped. Harry forced himself to look bored and rolled his eyes.

"What, no time to listen to me compare you to Hippogriff dung?" he asked. Pain lanced through his body in a sudden jolt, and when it ended he was on his knees, panting.

He stood up again with difficulty, shaking slightly. "I would advise against making me angry, Potter," Voldemort said coldly. "While I cannot kill you here—probably—I can hurt you."

Another sharp slash of pain, that tore up and down his body once before ending. He had to climb back to his feet once more, the effort making him almost nauseous. As it was, he felt dizzy and weak, his vision blurring a little at the edges.

"What do you want, Tom?" Harry asked. "There must be some reason you're hanging around here chatting with me."

"I know you've seen It," Voldemort said.

"It?" Harry echoed, wondering just what Voldemort was talking about. The monster's eyes narrowed angrily.

"Don't play the fool with me, Potter," Voldemort snarled. "You have seen It, I'm certain. You're going to tell me how."

"Er—I paid two pounds and got to the theatre early?" he said mockingly. A burning at his knees forced him to the ground, but he pushed himself back up despite the pain.

'It's all in my head,' he told himself. 'I'm not on fire, I'm not slowly burn—'

"Tell me!" Voldemort shouted, cutting off his thoughts. Harry blinked.

"If I knew what in bloody hell you were talking about…well, I still wouldn't answer," he said angrily. Voldemort raised his wand, and Harry braced himself for more pain.

But it didn't come.

"Legillimens," Voldemort said, and Harry screamed for the first time, caught unprepared for the absolute agony that seared through his head along his scar. Voldemort was shoving himself into his head, searching for the answers he wanted.

The pain made him quite clearly imagine his head being split down the middle with a giant axe. The pain was blinding, agonizing…and despite it he tried to focus on Voldemort, tried to block his memories and force the monster out of his head.

He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he was panicking, unsure what to do now that his Occlumency skills, or lack thereof, were being put to the test, and all he could wish for at that moment was to wake up, to escape the vision and be back in Sirius's room with Tonks.

He felt the pain lessen as he thought of Sirius, and he grasped onto that thought.

He hadn't seen it before, hadn't understood before. It was the emotion, the love, that forced Voldemort from him in the Department of Mysteries. The same feelings had kept him from being possessed at his relative's home. And now it could save him again, if only he could focus on it…

Sirius, he thought. Sirius…standing up for him, demanding he be told what was going on, the Firebolt…

He could feel Voldemort in his head, could almost feel cold fingers trying to pull apart his thin wall of emotions and dig right into his memories.

And the memories of Sirius were not enough. He wasn't skilled enough to focus all of his power onto those thoughts, to dredge up all the love and sadness that they stood for.

Remus could do that. The sorrow he felt was plain on his face, in his eyes.

The hold weakened. Harry grasped at this new straw and forced himself to think about the last week and more with Remus and others of the Order. He recalled instantly how Remus had held onto him that first night, when he had broken down and cried. He could almost feel tears running down his face once more, and he cried out, just once, just one whimper, as pain drew back through his body.

And the hold was gone.

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A/N: Well, that's it for this chapter! Next one's coming up soon, and I'll try to keep the updates coming. I'm a little stuck on chapter twenty-two or somewhere around there, but it'll work out soon. Thanks for reading, and please, please, please, review!