Nights of Gethsemane

In the kitchen, Snape turned on the oven and called ingredients to himself before tying on his apron and rolling back his sleeves. After washing his hands and bidding Harry to do the same, he spread the hazelnuts out on a baking sheet and sent it into the oven. He then ordered, "Peel the potatoes and cut them in quarters," as he began to chop up the herbs, using a small knife to cut them impossibly fine. A drawer opened and a peeler soared towards Harry. Harry grabbed it and carried the potatoes over to the sink.

Dishes flew around him and it was hard for him to concentrate on his work as food cooked itself. Snape, who hadn't looked up from his work, paused and turned on the two burners. As he returned to his work, a spatula rose from the drawer and joined the pan, dancing in the air as it pushed around the beef. For a moment, Harry just gawked at everything. He'd seen cooking with magic before, but Mrs Weasley hadn't made everything look so . . . effortless. If Snape fought anything like he cooked, he would be impossible for Harry to defeat, even with all his training. If only Harry was half as good as him with wandless magic!

Realising he was staring, Harry turned his attention back to the potatoes in his hand. After he had peeled and cut them up, he dumped them in the pot of water. Snape had finished browning all the meat, and was busy mixing, chopping, and sautéing all at the same time on the other side of the room. Without looking up from what he was doing, he said, "Grate the cheese."

A grater appeared, along with a plate, and the cheese flew over to Harry, who caught it and set to work.

"How much should I make?" he asked Snape.

"However much you want," answered Snape without lifting his eyes from the food, his hands flying over the dishes like spiders. Harry shrugged and grated a good amount to cover the top. When he finished, Snape announced that the potatoes should be ready. A large, low bowl flew over from a cabinet and the potatoes rose up out of the pot, shook themselves off and landed in the bowl. From the drawer came a potato masher. Knowing what to do, Harry caught it and pounded the potatoes to a mush.

"Add a cup of milk and a dash of ground pepper," said Snape from the stove where he was adding the peas.

Harry'd never liked cooking for the Dursley, but it was different with Snape. Although Snape bossed him around just as much as Aunt Petunia, he never could stand being in the kitchen with Petunia. Cooking with Snape was less of a chore and more of a hobby. Following Snape's orders, he asked when he finished, "What now?"

Snape transferred the contents of his pan to a pie tin. "Spread the potatoes over the beef and vegetables, then sprinkle cheese on top."

"All right." When Harry finished, Snape opened the oven and used magic to float it in while floating the now-toasted hazelnuts out.

"While that is baking, we'll make dessert," Snape announced. He sent most of the foods back to from where they had come from and the left-over dishes to the sink. Once the workspace had been cleared and a cleaning spell cast, Snape called the new ingredients and told Harry to wash his hands and mix the crumble.

Harry remembered what the tops of crumbles usually looked liked and hurried over to the sink. After he had washed his hands in the sink - a difficult task with the scrubbers leaping out of the water to try to help him clean his hands - he returned to the bowl and mixed up the ingredients with his fingers. As he was mixing, hazelnuts floated over and into the bowl.

"I think this is ready." Harry said once the crumble seemed to look as it should.

"Yes, the rest of the dish should be ready soon." Snape flicked his wand at the icebox and a container sailed out to him.

"We will finish off the ice cream tonight," Snape said as he peered into the container.

"We should make more," suggested Harry.

Never having seen anyone make ice cream by hand, Harry watched curiously as Snape summoned the ingredients and set to work, his long fingers moving with the same fluid grace as when he brewed. Apparently realising that Harry would rather watch the process than participate, Snape didn't give Harry any tasks of his own to do.

A soft chime went off and Snape, without looking away from what he was doing or lifting a wand, opened the oven door and floated the baked cottage pie out to rest on a mat on the counter. The crumble took its place and the door closed.

"Sit down at the table," Snape said.

Harry headed over to the table which had already been set. The pie joined him, along with a serving spoon. Snape poured the ice cream into a container and cast spells on it that Harry couldn't hear. He then stepped over to the counter where the teapot rested, and removed a vial from his robes. Without looking at Harry, but without preventing him from looking, he poured part of its contents into the teapot, then floated the tray over to the table along with two mugs. Using a strainer, he poured two cups of tea, adding a lump of sugar and a spot of milk to his own mug.

"What did you add to it?" asked Harry.

"Something to make sleep easier," answered Snape before taking a sip from his mug. "It's harmless."

Snape wouldn't have poisoned himself, so Harry added milk and sugar to his mug, doubling the amount Snape had used. He found the cup of tea produced to be perfect. He had a liberal serving of the cottage pie that had turned out even better than the ones at Hogwarts.

"How did you learn to cook better than the house-elves?" Harry asked, once he had eaten an entire plateful. "They've been cooking for years."

"I'm not any more of a chef than the Hogwarts house-elves." Snape shook his head. "Mass production lessens the quality of food while cooking for an individual or two allows one to tailor to taste. The trick to obtaining high-quality food at Hogwarts, or any other place with house-elves, is to request specialty dishes, or employ a singular elf who knows exactly what you desire. The crumble is finished." With a flick of his wand, he opened the oven door and floated the crumble over to the table. It smelled wonderful and, even though Harry had stuffed himself full of pie, he hungered to taste it.

Snape, who ate each bite with slow deliberation, still had not finished his meal. Harry waited for him, his hunger for the crumble growing by the second.

To distract himself from the smell of the food, Harry asked, "What else do you think he has guarding his Horcrux?" as he played with his mug.

"That depends on when he placed it," mused Snape. "If he has recently moved it, then the protection measures cannot be too complex as they take a while to craft and he'd suspect that a prolonged absence would call attention to his actions. Therefore, I believe the measures undertaken would be rather simple to set up. Of course, one must not confuse simplicity with ease of defeat. The Killing Curse is very simplistic yet highly effective."

"Could he have another basilisk in the Chamber?"

"I doubt it. Considering how difficult it is to gain access to a basilisk - even for a Dark Lord - combined with the difficulty of smuggling one into Hogwarts undetected.... I don't believe he has managed it. Any creature that speaks Parseltongue would be a poor choice as you might be able to convince the creature to refrain from an attack without him there to monitor it."

"But he thinks I'm broken," said Harry.

"He placed it before he believed that," Snape reminded him. "Creatures are difficult to predict and defend against. A dragon cannot be killed with the Killing Curse - harmed yes, but not killed. Depending on the type of animal, different spells must be used."

"So a water creature will be best defeated with flame magic or something?" asked Harry, remembering something he saw on a fantasy programme once.

Snape scoffed and shook his head. "No, there aren't different types of magic. Even the Light versus Dark magic distinction on which the Ministry loves to focus is cultural instead of based on inherent properties of magic itself. Magically, the Killing Curse is no more closely related to the Cruciatus than Stupefy is."

Harry frowned. "But you said I could get out of my cuffs by having Dark Magic cast at them. If it isn't different then why can only Dark Magic break through the cuffs?"

"Dark Magic is considered Dark because of its caster's intent. Most spells and curses labeled as Dark Magic are those which are designed to hurt, impair, control, or destroy objects and others. If I were to shatter this mug through a Muggle method-" Snape snatched up the mug and threw it to the floor where it dashed to a million pieces. "Reparo!" The mug's pieces flew back together. "-or with an approved magical method- Fragmentus!" The mug burst into pieces again. "Reparo!" The mug repaired itself. "-the mug would be reparable no matter how many times I destroyed it.

"However, use a destructive curse designed to prevent it from ever being repaired- Ruptum!" The mug shattered again. "Reparo!" This time the pieces did not budge from where they were lying on the floor. Snape cleared the mess with a wave of his wand. "-and the mug is lost to us forever. Ruptum is merely a stronger form of Fragmentus and thus requires more concentration to cast; however, it does not tax me anymore than Fragmentus or an equivalently powerful Ministry-approved spell. Despite what you have been led to believe, casting so-called Dark Magic will not affect your soul or your ability to use your magic.

"The reason you must use a Dark Magic spell to destroy the cuffs, is that they must be removed completely. That's why a powerful, irreversible destruction spell must be used. Casting the Cruciatus will not remove the cuffs anymore than a Fragmentus."

Harry nodded. "But then why is he so . . . not human? He was like that before he started making the Horcruxes, and Dumbledore said it was because of his involvement in Dark Magic."

"There are spells which require a heavy sacrifice," Snape said. "But these powerful spells are not confined to the realm of Dark Magic. Some protection spells require a high price; sometimes even the life of the caster." His eyes flickered to Harry's scar. "The Dark Lord traded away his humanity to gain more and more power. To take the life of another with magic, no matter the method, leaves consequences. Using spells labeled Dark Magic normally requires the individual to have certain characteristics that many members of our society abhor. The Killing Curse cannot be cast unless you truly wish to take another's life, just as the Cruciatus cannot be cast unless the hate you feel is strong within you."

Harry remembered what Bellatrix had told him. "You have to mean it."

"Some people believe that any spell that requires hate is automatically more destructive because of this necessary component, but love can be destructive as well." Snape noticed Harry's puzzlement and continued. "Think of Tom Riddle's birth which occurred through the use of a love potion. Love potions are not regulated by the Ministry and the creation of such a thing is not considered Dark Magic, but isn't it a form of enslavement similar to the Imperius Curse? Doesn't it cause one to act in a way contrary to will? Since the intent is to cause 'love' rather than explicit harm, love potions are ignored by the Ministry. They choose to focus on spells and curses which are brought about by hate, but is hate necessarily a negative force? Would it be wrong for you to have enough hate in your heart to successfully cast the Killing Curse on the Dark Lord? I don't believe so. If you didn't, I think there would be something wrong with you.

"Yes, hate and anger can cloud judgement and cause reckless behaviour, but so can love and affection. Ignore these short-sighted restrictions and focus on the outcome rather than the intent. After all, does what we intend to do ever matter more than what we actually do? What does it matter if you should use 'Dark Magic' to destroy a Dark Lord? If you follow these arbitrary rules - these artificial demarcations drawn so firmly by fools who would rather cling to dogma and die like flies when an inventive, unrestrained wizard increases his power - then you will never defeat him. You will never be as powerful as you have the potential to be." At the word 'powerful,' Snape's dark eyes glittered as if he still craved power, even knowing the price of his thirst.

Playing with his mug, Harry said, "But if someone intends to harm me, that's very different than if someone accidentally harms me."

"Is it?" Snape's eyebrows arched. "Think of it this way. Suppose you encounter a situation where ten innocent Muggles are about to be killed. You can save them, but there's a chance the spell will strike another innocent Muggle and kill him. What would you do?"

"I'd try to save all of them," said Harry.

Snape snorted. "You are too idealistic. Often you must decide. Whom do you chose to save?"

"The ten innocent people, I guess."

"Now suppose that, in order to save those ten individuals, you must kill that one innocent Muggle yourself. Do you kill him?"

Harry squirmed in his seat, bothered by the question. "I don't know for sure that the ten will die, right?"

"One rarely has full certainty," answered Snape, his black eyes boring into Harry's. "You don't want to kill the individual, do you? Why?"

"It's different if I kill him than if I let something that is already going to happen, happen."

"No." Snape shook his head. "See, you are focused on intent - the motives behind the actions leading to the outcome, rather than consequences. Either way he dies, does he not? Either way, you could save his life, correct?"

Harry nodded.

"Then do you understand why you should kill him to save the others if you are willing to allow him to die to save the others?"

"No, it's different," argued Harry, although he had trouble explaining why. "In the first scenario, he was going to die. In the second, I am actively killing him."

Snape shook his head. "You are still focused on intent. Do you believe in fate - that destiny overrides choice?"

"No."

"Then your inaction kills him just as equally as your action. As is said - all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. If I stand by and watch a Muggle die when I could save him, am I not as equally guilty as if I killed him myself?"

His stomach clenching, Harry pointed out, "But I watched those girls die and I did nothing!"

"And what was the consequence of that action? If you had saved those girls, you would have gained nothing and lost everything. Countless more lives would've been lost. They died so that thousands - millions - would live. In war, it is impossible to protect the lives of all innocents, even for the most powerful wizard. Do you think it's right to save one life at the expense of many?"

"So it's just a numbers game?" Harry shoved away his mug and folded his arms across his chest. "Kill the smallest amount to save the largest?"

"No, of course not." Snape cleared away the dishes with a wide wave of his wand. He Summoned the crumble along with two clean plates and utensils. Spooning out a generous serving for Harry, he said, "If I had to choose between a thousand innocent Muggles and you, I would choose you without a second thought. I abhor the act of murder, but I will do whatever is necessary to win this war and defeat the Dark Lord."

It was wrong to feel delight at such a murderous statement, but a surge of affection flowed through Harry. Snape would kill a thousand people to save him? But why was Snape so determined to protect him? Was he still just a means to an end, or was there more to it? "I . . . guess it was necessary, but I don't think it was right."

"You can't save everyone, Potter, and you aren't required to."

Pulling his crumble closer to him, Harry dug into it with his spoon and said, "I still think I should try."

"Yes, within reason." Snape caught and held Harry's eyes. "But remember, you aren't perfect and you never will be. You are human. You will probably fail at some task or another, and people will die."

The words were delivered in a cold, pessimistic tone, but there was also a degree of comfort behind them. Unlike the rest of the wizarding world, Snape didn't expect him to be perfect. And, although he wanted Snape to have high expectations of him, Snape would accept him with the kinds of faults no one else ever had, and maybe never would. In Snape's eyes, he would be a hero - no matter how bloodied his hands became. No matter what he was forced to do to win the war.

As soon as Snape finished his crumble, he sent his dishes to the sink. "To the practice room, we have time for another small session."

Harry stood and followed him in. This time, Snape shot the spells faster and Harry concentrated on dodging. He hadn't made it to the door when Snape ended the lesson.

"I've work to do," said Snape after he'd returned the room to normal and taken Harry's glasses back. "We will begin again in the morning."

Harry waited for him to finish and then led the way out the door. He was about to turn towards the stairs to go to his cell when he decided to try to take a shower in Snape's bathroom. He didn't bother to ask permission, just walked straight into the bedroom. He half-expected to be ordered out, but no objection came. He tore off his clothes as he walked, dropping them on the floor and stepped into the shower, closing the curtain behind him.

It was far more thrilling than it should have been, but Harry had always enjoyed challenging authority. Rules were meant to be broken; boundaries, over-stepped; and limits, tested.

He took a long, hot shower and languidly stroked himself to hardness. After drying off, he strode out of the bathroom to find Snape sitting at his desk, writing. Harry cleared his throat to call attention to himself.

Snape shot a sideways glance at Harry, noticed his rampant erection, and turned his head fully towards Harry, an eyebrow arching.

"I don't want to go back to my cell. Isn't there something better we can do?" Harry flexed the muscle above his dick, making it wave invitingly at Snape.

Snape's eyebrow climbed higher, the quill pausing on the parchment. "Don't you have any room in that thick skull of yours for any thoughts beyond sex?"

"If you weren't so old and dried up, you'd want it too." Harry grinned at him.

Snape stood and took a step towards his bed. He turned and, with his robes blocking Harry's view, retrieved something from his bedside table. With a dramatic spin, he whirled around and advanced on Harry, his robes billowing around his legs as he marched.

It startled Harry, but he held his ground, determined not to be intimidated. Snape paused only a hand-span away from Harry, his larger frame looming over Harry's smaller one.

"You want release?" Snape asked, his voice deep, his eyes dark.

Harry's penis twitched. "Yes," he answered, his mouth unaccountably dry.

Snape held up a flat, beige jar. "Open this."

Harry took a step back, telling himself that he only did so in order to have room to open the jar. He lifted it from Snape's fingers, unscrewed the lid, and peered past the rim to see a clear, vaguely jelly-resembling substance. He tried sniffing it, but it had no smell.

"What is this?" Harry asked, giving Snape a quizzical look.

"Lubrication." Snape's eyes never left Harry.

Peering at it again, he said, "It's not the kind we normally use."

"I developed that in order to engage in anal sex with you. This, I created for masturbation."

"You created a special lube just to fuck me?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow at Snape. Unable to resist, he added, "Do you do that for all your partners or just your students?"

Snape's eyes narrowed and he raised his hand to snatch the jar back, but Harry ducked out of the way, clutching the jar to his chest. He escaped to the bathroom, announcing, "I gotta try this out."

"Don't make a mess," ordered Snape before he returned to his desk.

Harry sat on the toilet and set the jar by his feet. Dipping his fingers in the warm goo, he touched a finger to his penis, smearing a small amount down his shaft. The goo caused a warm, tingling feeling. It felt good, but not particularly impressive. He waited for the substances inside of it to kick in, but, after several minutes of waiting, nothing happened. Disappointed, he slicked up his dick to wank off his normal way. It was a very nice lube - slippery and slick but not sticky or too wet - but he had expected more from a Potions Master like Snape.

After covering his dick in the smooth substance, he slid his hand from the tip of his penis all the way down to the base and back up again. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the toilet as his hand found the familiar rhythm. He was just getting into it, when he realised something was squeezing his penis that wasn't his hand. His eyes flew open and he stared around the room, expecting to see Snape, but Snape was nowhere in sight. The feeling continued as if a ghost hand was now sliding up and down his penis. He glanced down but didn't see anything. What the fuck?

The lubrication! Harry bolted upright as realisation hit him. He took more of the lube and smeared it over a nipple. A warm tingling sensation flowed through the small nub, making it harden, but nothing else happened. He scooped up more goop and smeared it over his other nipple, this time pinching it after he had applied the lubrication. After he removed his fingers, the pinching sensation remained, the potion imitating what his fingers had done.

Holy shit! Harry circled his thumb and forefinger and worked himself using only the foreskin, sliding over the head of his penis while the ghost hand from the lubrication drifted up and down his shaft. With the pinching on his nipple, it was like having four hands, all working him straight to completion.

Overwhelmed, Harry came hard, his hand clenched tight around the base of his dick as he spilled himself. After he had finished spurting and caught his breath, he cleaned up the semen with toilet paper and staggered over to the sink. He washed himself clean, careful to remove every trace of the potion. Once he had wiped away all of the lubrication, he returned to the toilet. Dipping his fingers in the lube, he reapplied it to his nipples, pinching them just the way he liked it. He coated his balls next, lightly rolling them in his hands. Finally, he leaned back and pulled down his foreskin with his non-lube-covered hand. Once he had worked himself to full hardness, he coated his penis with the lubrication and, placing one hand atop the other, squeezed them both rhythmically around his cock.

Harry removed his hands and wiped them clean on the towel in the rack beside the shower. He gripped his balls with his left hand and rubbed the area behind and under them, while his right teased the head of his cock. "Fuck!" Never had he had such a perfect handjob. It was even better than when Snape wanked him.

He held himself off until his balls ached and his cock twitched furiously. Unable to hold in his pleasure any longer, he relinquished control, tightened his grip, and let himself go. A shiver surged throughout his entire body as he came, splashing hot spunk all over his torso. Once he could breathe properly again, he stepped into the shower to clean himself off, his manhood quiescent between his legs.

As soon as Harry finished drying himself off, he staggered out of the bathroom and collapsed on the bed. "Bloody hell, that was brilliant!"

Snape glanced up from the parchment and smirked. "I developed it when I was a student at Hogwarts."

"How did you know how to make it?"

"The same way I make any potion - knowledge of ingredients, preparation, and, of course, trial and error."

Harry sat up, raising a brow at Snape. "Trial and error? You're brave. I'd never experiment on my dick. Do you have different types?"

"Yes, but now you are going back to your cage. I must brew."

Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet. "I don't see why I'm still banned from the potions lab. I could help you brew quicker."

"You want to brew?" Snape motioned for Harry to walk in front of him out his bedroom door.

Harry walked out the door and headed down to the cellar. "I'll even skin flobberworms if it means going someplace unusual."

"I'll speak to the Dark Lord," said Snape.

"'Night!" Harry strode into his cell.

After completing his nightly toiletry, he sprawled out on his bed, and fell asleep.

~

He was standing in front of the wall from his dreams.

He gathered all his magic and thrust it at the door. "Ruptum!"

The door shattered, spraying light and stone. Harry buried his head in his arm to protect it from the shrapnel. When he no longer heard the clatter of stone, he lifted his head and saw a gaping, dusty hole where the door had been. Stepping over broken rocks, he climbed into a large room well-lit with hundreds of candles. A myriad of tables in various shapes and sizes dotted the edges of the room, holding iridescent glass containers filled with multi-coloured liquids. Light from the candles struck the vials, sprinkling colour across the darkly carpeted floor, the walls of stone, and the tall, pale, dark-haired boy who stood in the centre of the room.

"I've been waiting for you, Harry," said the boy.

Harry stared at the figure before him. Tom Riddle looked exactly the same as he had when Harry had seen him in the Chamber of Secrets - handsome and tall with an air of elegance.

"Come now, Harry." Tom swept towards him, his arms open as though he was about to hug Harry. "I know we got off to a bad start, but there is no reason to be so cold to me."

Harry threw his arm forward. "Avada Kedavra!" The magic surged through his arm only to fizzle at his finger tips.

Tom threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I won't hurt you; in fact, I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" Harry would physically murder the bastard if he had to. He charged forward, running across the room towards Tom. Bars shot out of the ground, blocking his path. "What the hell?" As he turned around, more appeared, enclosing him in a small cell.

"It doesn't need to be like this, Harry. Calm down and listen to me."

"Like hell I'm listening to you, you bastard! You-"

Tom flicked his hand and Harry's lips sealed shut. Harry fell to his knees, clawing at his mouth.

"Severus really should be more heavy-handed with you. If I were him, I would've given you a greater punishment for your little stunt in the kitchen earlier today."

Harry's heart tightened with alarm. How did he know about that? Oh god, it was all over. He needed to get out of here and warn Snape.

Tom smiled. "Yes, I know all about Severus. I must confess to you, I never would have imagined it. Of all my servants, he seemed the most faithful. I won't underestimate the strength of his affection again, I promise you that." He looked at Harry again, his eyes filled with more amusement than malice. It terrified Harry more somehow, this raw display of power combined with delight rather than anger. "I suppose I owe you an explanation. After all, I know everything there is to know about you, but you know nothing at all about me."

He waved his hand and the cage bars melted. Harry sprung at him, his fists flying towards Tom's face. Bands wrapped around his arms and pulled him back, yanking him into a soft chair. The bands tied his wrists to the edges of the armchair and more wrapped around his legs, spreading them apart, and binding his ankles to the front legs of the chair.

"I would offer you tea but I've no desire to associate myself with Lucius." Tom's voice darkened on Malfoy's name and his eyes narrowed. With flashing eyes, he said, "We'll kill him first."

Kill Lucius? Why the hell would Voldemort want to kill Lucius?

Tom strode forward and bent down before Harry. Harry lunged forward in his chair, to do what, he didn't know, but he had to attack. Tom chuckled and stroked a hand down the side of Harry's face, running his fingers over Harry's sewn-shut lips. Harry jerked away, trying to pull his head out of Tom's reach, but there was nowhere for him to go. He settled for glaring daggers as he tore at his bonds. He'd tear him to shreds. He'd beat him to a pulp. He'd-.

"So much fire. You remind me of myself. Severus did too, did you know that? When I first saw him, I knew he would be great. He was young then - with more ideas than sense. I originally had to keep him on the edge of my circle to prevent the more powerful Purebloods from revolting. I always knew he'd eventually stand beside me and bring me glory." Tom pushed up Harry's chin, examining his face as if it were a painting. He seemed unconcerned about Harry's anger; at how Harry growled deep in his throat and clawed at the chair. In the same casual tone, he said, "I underestimated his feelings for her. I thought he was above those petty, biological concerns, but love is a weakness for many."

Harry mumbled, "I'm going to kill you," through his sealed lips.

Tom released Harry's chin. "Ah yes, Dumbledore did tell you that your ability to love was your greatest weapon, did he not?" Tom smirked. "He was mistaken about a great many things though. You see, Harry...." Tom tilted his head, examining Harry as if he were a new species of magical creature which had just been discovered. "I seem to have fallen in love with you."

Harry choked. He tried to cough, but with his lips glued, he couldn't do it, and his body shook as he gasped for air through his nose. The seal binding his lips opened and Harry gulped in deep gobs of breath. His heart pounding, he glanced over at Tom who waved a throne into appearance and took a seat.

"I know, it seems ridiculous, doesn't it?" said Tom casually. "I scarcely believe it myself sometimes. I thought myself to be incapable of those feelings, yet I find myself wanting to harm those who hurt you, and reward those who express concern for you. As you can imagine, it is quite disconcerting."

Of all the things Harry had ever expected to hear from Tom, that confession was not one of them. "You're mad."

Tom continued as if he hadn't heard Harry. "I have not been one to care about how others are treated, but I fill with rage every time they hurt you, despite all my attempts to enjoy your pain. It is as if they dare to hurt me." His hands tightened into fists and, in a soft, dangerous voice, he added, "Not many have dared to hurt me."

Harry stared at him. What the hell was going on? He didn't know what to think. It was all too crazy and strange, like some bad movie where the villain suddenly decided to switch teams in the middle of the film.

"When those cuffs were placed on you, the connection between our souls ripped open and your memories poured into me. For weeks I was assaulted with visions, emotions, and experiences from a life outside my own. I watched your relatives abuse you. I experienced your first Quidditch victory. I felt your pain in the graveyard. Through every torture session I've been with you. It was most disorienting and for a while, I could do nothing but just feel. It was some time before I could manipulate your dreams in order to speak with you. I suspect that he has been drugging you - giving you potions to prevent me from accessing your mind at night. Fortunately for us both, he slipped up and I was able to show you the doors in the laundry room."

"That was you," whispered Harry, stilling as he realised what those memories meant. "In the house. You were that figure in my cell!"

"Yes." Tom nodded gravely. "That was the extent of my abilities then." A sly smile graced his lips. "Obviously, I have improved." He stood and the throne melted into the floor. A small, circular table rose between Harry's feet, rising to his chest level. "I want to help you escape this prison, Harry. I can show you how." He waved his hand over the table and a glass filed with dark red liquid appeared upon its surface. "But first, I need your help."

Harry cleared his throat. "Did Snape put you up to this? Is this some sort of trick? Are you Snape? What the hell is this? Am I dreaming? Fuck. This is too fucking strange."

"It's not a dream, Harry. I called you here, to my cell within the prison which confines the two of us. I know you love him, Harry, but you should not trust him."

"What are you talking about? I don't love Snape!"

Tom arched his eyebrows at Harry. "In denial still? I swear, watching the two of you is worse than watching a pair of besotted third years. The way you dance around each other, hiding your true emotions behind the thinnest veneer of disdain and indifference that even a child could see through.... It grows ever tiring to me. Use the few brain cells you seem to possess and acknowledge how your libido has taken control of you." He shook his head. "This is why I never allowed myself to give in to sexual feelings or pleasure. It makes complete and utter fools of even the best of us."

"So I fuck around with Snape." Harry shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage with his hands bound. "Big deal. Loads of guys do it in prison."

Tom swooped forward, slamming his hands on the table and making the glass jump and spilling some of the dark red liquid on the table. "Stop being so thickheaded and think. What matters is that he loves you - that he will kill for you. You must take control of him, Harry. He has told you many lies, many of them lies of omission. He made these walls," Tom raised his hands, motioning to the brick walls around them, "that trap your magic. Break through these, and you will have your magic again."

"The fucking cuffs you put on me stop me from accessing my magic!" shouted Harry. "Take them off if you want me to get it back!"

"I can't take them off. I would've done so already if I had the power." Tom leaned forward again and placed his hands on the table. "Listen to me, Harry. You've fallen into his lies. Tell me, why are you here?"

"I don't fucking know. I don't know where the hell I am!"

Tom leaned even closer, his dark eyes glittering. "Why are you still in this prison?"

"I'm going to destroy you." Harry leapt forward in his chair, fighting the bonds. "I'm go-"

Tom waved his hand, once again sealing shut Harry's lips. "You've been here for months, yet you still trust him? Haven't you wondered why he hasn't told you his plan? Why he distracts you whenever you ask pointed questions about what the future brings? Hasn't he been promising a few more days for a while now? How many more days will it be before you finally realise he'll never let you go?"

Harry's defence of Snape died on his tongue. Why didn't he know the final plans? He knew he had asked about them several times, yet he'd never heard them. Snape had said that he wanted Harry to keep the element of surprise, but didn't he always have excuses? Doubts crowded his head like giant storm clouds.

Tom smiled. "Haven't you ever wondered why you've been able to Occlude without magic? Why you heal so fast - faster than normal even with the aid of his potions? How you can even occasionally throw off spells cast upon you?"

Harry sat, dumbfounded. He hadn't ever noticed those peculiarities, much less thought about them. Could it possibly be true? He had become amazingly adept at identifying spells in a very short time for someone who had no magic. But even if he did have his magic, what did it all mean? No, it had to be a lie. This had to be some sort of trick. This was Tom Riddle, the future Voldemort. He would not fall for his lies the way Snape had.

"Your magic is not blocked from you," said Tom, a heated excitement in his voice. "It's walled up within you. These walls have sealed your magic so that even I can't access it. They-"

Harry growled.

"Harry, I know that you may find it difficult to trust me based upon our past, but-"

Harry growled deeper in his throat, flexing his muscles.

"I could have shown you any face you desired to see, spun you whatever lies I thought would make you most agreeable, but I have chosen to be honest with you." His eyes narrowed. "Do not make me regret it."

"Fuck you," said Harry behind his lips.

"Will you listen to reason?"

Harry shook his head vehemently.

Tom released Harry's mouth. "Think-"

"I don't care what the fuck you say. The walls are staying."

"Listen to me! We will both be destroyed unless-!"

"Shut it," Harry interrupted, unwilling to sit through bullshit. "I'm not listening to a fucking thing you say. Take your drink, shove it up your arse and leave me the fuck alone."

Magic flared in Tom's eyes and he clenched his fists as if he wanted nothing more than to slam them into Harry's face. "Listen to me, you stupid brat!"

"Snape? What the hell is this? Stay the fuck out of my dreams! If you want something, just ask for it."

Tom slashed the air with his hand and Harry's mouth sealed shut again. His eyes wide, his teeth bared, his chest rising and falling with quick breaths, he opened his mouth and unleashed a flood of angry words. "You don't believe me? Fine. Go ask him why he's never told you that you still retain your magic. Ask him for your parents' photo album. Ask him why you are still in this prison after all these months. Ask him why he needs to have the Elder Wand instead of you. Ask him if the laundry room contains doors leading outside and see if he doesn't lie to your face. If his answers satisfy you, then you will always be his puppet to manipulate and control. If he doesn't try to steal your memories again - if you can think for yourself for once, question his authority and fight to save your life - then return to me." The table in front of Harry disappeared and Tom surged forward, thrusting his hands out to push Harry back against the chair. Tom's magic flowed into him, filling him with an electric charge. His hair stood on end as his entire world went white, the magic so intense, it seemed to push him from his body.

When his vision returned to him, he was lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Harry touched his face, to make sure he still existed. Whatever had just happened, it hadn't been a dream. It was as if he had somehow been sucked back into the Chamber of Secrets to deal with the Horcrux hidden in the diary all over again. A memory tugged at the corner of his mind. What was it that Dumbledore had said then? That Voldemort had transferred some of his powers to him. That Voldemort had put a bit of himself inside of him.

Harry rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the sink. He ran the water until it chilled his hands, then splashed it on his face until it soaked his hair and dripped down his back. With shaking fingers, he turned off the taps and reached for the towel, his fingertips barely scraping at the cloth. His knees crumbled and he collapsed to the floor.

Why was he still alive, kept here in this prison for all these months instead of killed? Why did Voldemort command the Death Eaters not to hurt him outside of his presence? Why did he have this strange connection to Voldemort: a scar that had once pained him, twinned cuffs that could contain his magic completely, and an uncanny ability to survive curses that would have killed anybody else?

No matter how he tried to rationalise it, he couldn't explain it away. Every path he took drew him inexplicably back to the same unwanted conclusion. He had a Horcrux living inside of him.

[[I always get a giggle when I read that line in Chamber of Secrets
“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?” Harry said, thunderstruck.

I have a colleague who studies the neuroscience of morality. He tells me that when brain scans are done on people contemplating the 'trolley delimma' (which is what Snape has given to Harry), different parts of the brain activate for the two different scenarios. The one in which you must indirectly kill an individual to save more is contemplated with the parts of the brain that are considered more 'human' and 'evolved' and usually subjects decide to kill the one to save the many. However, the situation where you must kill the one to save the many fires up the more 'primitive' brain that is shared with many of our fellow primates. The first scenario is decided with logic, while the second is usually decided with emotion.]]