Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Pairings: Lord Voldemort/Harry Potter;

Warnings: dark; slash; dubious-consent (sexual and otherwise); canon deviations;

Summary: An Occlumency lesson has an unexpected side effect and Harry is the one paying for it.

Author's Notes: I've been sitting on this idea for a while now, and I'm still not completely sold on it, so update will be slow in coming. However, I do have the vast majority of this planned out, and it's only a matter of buckling down and writing it. Also, this hasn't been beta-ed, so if you see any typos or anything like that, please let me know so I can fix it.

Any feedback or constructive criticisms would be very appreciated.

IMPORTANT WARNING: there is a scene that might be triggering for anyone who has been assaulted either sexually or otherwise. Please proceed with caution.

Till I've Kept You

Chapter One

Harry tried to ignore Hermione and Ron as they argued. They just kept going on and on about the same things; kept glancing at him as though he was going to explode. He wished they would stop. It wasn't like he cared about or wanted to be a Prefect; he had enough things to deal with without the added responsibilities. He just wished they'd stop shoving it in his face. He sighed and dropped down to sit on top of his trunk to wait for the rest of the Weasleys to finish getting ready. Some days he wondered why he was still friends with them.

Remus and Sirius stood next to him, talking quietly to each other as they cast quick glances around the hall. For a moment, Harry wondered what they were looking for. After a final perusal of the area Remus turned back to Harry's godfather with a smile and a nod. Sirius met his gaze with a grin and nudged Harry's shoulder with his elbow.

"We've got a present for you," he said in a low voice. Remus glanced over and smiled before shifting casually to block Ron and Hermione's view of Harry and Sirius. His godfather kneeled down, pulling a thin package wrapped in butcher's paper from his pocket. "You'll be able to use this to get in contact with us." He handed the bundle over. "Just, ah, don't tell anyone about it. It's not really something most people approve of."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Political reasons mainly," said Remus with a shrug. "The enchantments on it prevents them from using any of the spells that pull memories from objects on it. Anything that can't be used in court tends to make the Ministry twitchy."

Sirius shrugged in agreement. "That and most of the families that have these are on the Darker side of things. Not," he said quickly when Harry went to give him back the package in alarm, "that they're Dark objects! They're just the sort of thing that a Dark family would find useful. Your dad had one of these, actually; his parents gave him one before his first year."

His dad…? Harry blinked down at the parcel with a sense of awe. "Thank you," he said. Sirius laid his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed.

"No problem, kiddo. Just remember that you can talk to us at any time." They smiled, and Harry tucked the bundle away just before Tonks and Kingsley walked out of the kitchen. The four adults nodded at each other in greeting. The Aurors huddled at the base of the stairs as they had a quiet discussion. Moody soon joined them; their talk quickly turned heated. Harry watched them absently, not really paying attention as he tried to guess what it was that his godfathers had given him.

Something that was but wasn't illegal; something that Dark families would want but was acceptable enough for the Potters to consider using… Impervious to memory spells and tame enough for an average first year. Maybe it was because Harry had never really been normal but he couldn't think of anything that would fit. It probably wasn't anywhere near as extraordinary as a Philosopher's Stone or as dangerous as Tom Riddle's diary.

Well, he would find out soon enough he supposed.

Several minutes later, Ginny and the twins were in the entrance hall finally ready to head out. Harry sighed heavily as he stood up and ignored the unsubtle coy smile the red-haired girl sent his way. Why couldn't they have packed last night? They wouldn't have had to rush through breakfast, and the rest of them wouldn't have had to sit and wait. Was a little consideration too much to ask for? Maybe it was.

He scowled at his hands as the irritation he was quickly becoming very familiar with settled under his skin. Harry wasn't sure just what was setting him off but he was tired of it, whatever it was. Though he felt he rather deserved to be angry. After all, wasn't it Harry who had been used in a ritual? Wasn't it Harry who had been forced to spend most of his summer with people who hated his very existence? And wasn't he the one who'd nearly been expelled for defending himself and his cousin?

There was nothing wrong with being a bit moody about things, nothing at all. So yeah, he shouldn't have yelled at his friends but if they'd at least tried to tell him what was going on – or, god forbid, just talked to him – Harry wouldn't have in the first place. It wasn't as though he liked being at odds with them. He just…

He just wanted to know what the hell was going on!

The sound of Moody's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Well, we've best be going. Can't afford to be any later now." He gave the twins and Ginny a suspicious stare as he said this. It was a little ridiculous; Harry doubted they'd purposely dawdled as part of some nefarious plan.

"Just a moment, Alastor." Everyone turned to see Dumbledore step through the kitchen doorway with a genial smile on his face. He continued, "I need to speak with Harry for a moment."

"And ya couldn't of done that an hour ago?" He kept his false eye on the aging Wizard and nodded at Harry. "Hurry up boy, and keep it short."

"Yes sir." Harry followed the Headmaster upstairs and into the drawing room. The room was still rather dusty despite the many weeks of work put into cleaning it up. Awkwardly, Harry stood in the middle of the room waiting for Dumbledore to say something. He tried to ignore the growing well of anger in his stomach when the Headmaster refused to meet his gaze.

"Harry, I've been informed that you've been having the occasional dream which allows you to witness Voldemort's actions from his perspective. Is this true?"

How did he – Harry had only told Hermione and Ron about that! And they went and told Dumbledore, even after he had asked them not to? He couldn't believe it. How could they do that to him? After all they had been through?

"Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry swallowed back the urge to yell at someone and nodded.

"Uh, yeah." There was no use lying about it now, he supposed. "The first one was at the beginning of last year and there had only been one or two till the end of the school year." Harry paused and winced. Maybe if he had said something then, Cedric would still be alive… "But lately, they've started to happen a lot more frequently. And my scar's been hurting more." He tried not to squirm too much but the whole thing really freaked him out. The last thing he wanted was a front-stage pass to Voldemort's insane melodramatic tendencies and that was what he had.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "I see," he said. "I've taken the liberty of arranging Occlumency lessons for you, to help solve this problem. I expect you to put forth your best effort to learn all your instructor has to teach you."

"Okay…" Harry had a bad feeling about this.

"Starting the second week of classes, every Wednesday evening at eight o'clock, you will attend Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape," – oh dear Merlin, they would kill each other! – "under the guise of remedial Potions tutoring. Harry, you can't tell anyone about the true nature of these lessons. Do you understand?" At this, he gave the young Gryffindor's forehead a long stare.

"Yes sir."

"Well, you've best be off." Harry nodded at the dismissal and hurried from the room. At the bottom of the stairs, Sirius, Remus and Moody were waiting. The others had apparently gone ahead. He grabbed hold of his trunk as Sirius shifted into his Animagus form.

"I'll be Side-Apparating ya, Potter." Moody curled his hand around Harry's elbow. He gave the other Order members a parting nod, and with a crack they were gone. Harry's body felt like it was being stretched and squeezed through a small rubber tube as the world temporarily flickered out of existence.

They arrived on platform nine-and-three-quarters just as suddenly as they had left.

Harry pressed his hand to his mouth as he took deep breaths through his nose to stem the nauseous feeling in his stomach. Why couldn't he just stick to brooms or Hippogriffs? It would be so much easier on his organs. He spent a few more minutes lamenting the various Wizarding transportations and their horrible effects as he recovered.

"Alright there, Harry?" He squinted up at Remus and tried to nod but gave up when it made him want to vomit. Moody muttered something beside him. "I'd say 'you get used to it' but I don't think you would believe me."

"Nope," he managed to gasp out. Once Harry had himself under control, he smiled at his old professor. Snuffles chose that moment to tackle him, and they roughhoused for a bit until Hermione got annoyed and began to pull him away.

"The train is going to leave soon," she said as she dragged him away; Ron began to drag Harry's trunk along behind them. He sighed, biting back a scowl, and waved at his godfathers and the old Auror. Remus waved back while Snuffles made a valiant attempt to do the same. He felt a genuine smile across his face.

"Bye Remus! Bye Snuffles and behave!" The black dog barked happily in reply. Harry laughed happily. With a mischievous smile, Harry called out, "Bye Uncle Al!" Moody jerked slightly and looked around in suspicion to see who had heard; besides him, Remus politely looked away to cover a grin.

The trio of students stepped onto the steam train and headed to the compartment Ron had claimed earlier. Hermione barely managed to wait until they were alone to start asking questions.

"What did Professor Dumbledore want, Harry?" Hermione said eagerly. She tapped her foot with impatience when he didn't answer right away. "Harry!"

"He told me not to tell anyone."

"But Harry," Ron said, "we're your friends! He won't mind if you tell us." That was probably true but Harry couldn't help but feel vindicated over their frustration. He had spent all summer asking them to tell him something and they gave the same excuse he was using now. Not to mention they had told Dumbledore something he had asked them to keep quiet. The two of them would have to wait a while before he considered trusting them again.

He shrugged carelessly as he turned to look out the window. Only a handful of students, still saying their 'goodbyes' to their families, lingered on the platform. "Dumbledore said not to tell anyone. So, I'm not going to." Of course, they might try to go to Dumbledore to complain; Harry doubted he would get in trouble for actually following directions though. Hermione started to protest before he cut her off, "Don't you guys need to report for Prefect duty soon?"

Ron groaned loudly, and Hermione gave Harry a concerned look before she nodded. "You know you can trust us," she said; Ron nodded in enthusiastic agreement behind her. "Just – we are here when you're ready to tell us."

"Okay. Thanks Hermione."

"We'll see you later then." She smiled and pushed the protesting red-head out of the compartment. He forced himself to wait for several long minutes before he relaxed completely. Finally, he could have some peace. It would be perfect if only his headache would go away.

Harry dragged his feet as he headed down the dungeon hallway. He tried not to think about anything; tried not to worry about still not knowing what Occlumency was despite hours of searching or the jeers and taunts he'd endured from his classmates. Harry knew that he wasn't desperate for attention, or a liar, or insane – but hadn't someone said that you couldn't tell you were crazy if you were? No, he couldn't think like that. The Prophet were the desperate liars, not him. How could anyone believe them, when they routinely ruined people's lives just to make a few more coins?

Harry stopped in front of a door and forced himself to take a deep breath.

The door to Snape's office had never seemed to be this intimidating before, even at the beginning of second year after the Ford Angelo had crashed into the Whomping Willow. Harry spent a few minutes tracing each scrap and gouge in the door. Why did he have to do this again? It wasn't like his visions from Voldemort were anything to really worry about, anyway. Maybe he should just hide out in an empty classroom for a few hours, and then head back to the common room… He had just started trying to pick out faces in the knots when the door was wrenched open; he jumped back. The Potions master loomed over him, a dark sneer on his gaunt face.

"You are late." Snape turned around and headed deeper into the room. Harry hesitated at the doorway. "Don't just stand there, Potter! Get in here."

With great reluctance, he stepped into the room. It hadn't changed much at all since he'd last been in the office, in his second year. Numerous jars filled with potions ingredients – only some of which he could recognize – lined the shelves covering two walls; the wall adjacent to them held a bookshelf containing potions texts and journals, and a small portrait of a dark haired woman with sullen eyes. She looked familiar but Harry couldn't place where he had seen her, and Snape was snapping at him to pay attention.

"I don't expect you to understand any of what I will be teaching you, given your previous performances in class." He paused to sneer at Harry's indignant glare. Maybe he would do better if Malfoy and his gang didn't try to sabotage his work or if Hermione didn't make him second guess himself all the time. "Regardless of my misgivings, I am teaching you Occlumency on Professor Dumbledore's request. You will put forth your best effort or you will be spending the rest of your Hogwarts career in detention! I won't tolerate you wasting my time; do you understand?"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. Snape's eyes narrowed into sharp slits.

"What was that?"

"Yes, sir, I understand."

With a sneer, the professor pulled out his wand. "Clear your mind," he said.

"What?" Harry asked but it was too late. Something jagged tore into what felt like his brain, cutting swiftly and deep, tearing passed any obstacle in its path. Pain followed in its wake, and instinctively he tried to claw at it, tried to catch it and throw it out of his head. Flickers of memories rose up, distracting him from his task. His cupboard, Aunt Petunia's distain-filled face, the crack of his glasses snapping under the weight of a punch and the pain of the broke bridge digging into his nose. Harry wanted the images to stop. He wanted this thing – Snape – out of his head!

Harry tried to box in the intruder with imaginary iron walls, but Snape brushed them aside as though they were cobwebs as he pushed deeper into his mind. A memory floated up and Snape latched onto it, pulling them both into it. The memory was from the end of his first year of school. His teacher had expressed concerns over his home life, and his aunt and uncle had been furious.

("You freak!" howled Aunt Petunia. "How dare – What did you say? What lies did you tell them?" Her face was blotched with ugly patches of red; her jaw was so tense that the tendons around it stood out in sharp relief. Harry had never seen her so angry. She wrapped her thin bony hands around his shoulders, squeezing as she shook him. "Tell me, boy."

"I didn't tell them anything! They – they just kept –" His head snapped painfully to the side and he blinked back tears. When he turned back to his aunt, her hand was poised to strike again. Harry's cheek throbbed with a hot pain.

"Don't lie to me.")

He tried to yell, tried to pry the memory away – tried to do something – but Snape just ignored him, easily batting aside his feeble attempts and continued digging deeper. Dimly, he could hear himself screaming. His voice sounded so very far away, garbled and distant as though he was underwater. Everything hurt; it burned like hot sticky tar creeping along his nerve endings. It was worse than the Torture Curse he'd suffered at the end of last year, worse than the knife-point pain from the meeting of Voldemort's magic and the not-quite-enough protection from his mother's sacrifice. Oh Merlin, he just wanted it to stop!

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a barrier began cracking.

Harry could still hear himself scream, louder and louder until it was like he was shrieking into his own ear. A strange familiar-but-not pressure built up somewhere behind his scar. It grew, twisting and snaking its way through his head as it searched. Slipping like oil through half-remembered dreams and fractured memories, the pressure crept along leaving a thin film of something he knew, but didn't.

Snape didn't seem to notice it or realize that Harry had grown too weak to fight back. He dug into another memory, this one of the zoo incident just before his first Hogwarts letter had been sent. He tore into it, picking it apart until he could focus on the negative emotions Harry now associated with it. The humiliation of being unable to defend himself, and the quiet shame of having something in common with Voldemort.

The barrier shattered.

A different sort of agony swept over him; flickers of thoughts and emotions not his own cut through his consciousness, uprooting shaky beliefs and quick assumptions. Hundreds of whispery voices echoed in his ears, muttering all at once and he thought he could recognize a few of them. This tidal wave slammed into Snape's presence, ripped apart his footing in Harry's psyche, and forced him out. Abruptly, the constant pain Harry had been under since this started stopped. A soft silvery laugh continued to ring mockingly in his ears.

With a creeping slowness of someone waking from a long sleep, Harry returned to himself. He was shaking heavily. Tears coated his cheeks and clogged his throat. Slowly, Harry swallowed and chanced a look his prof– no, Snape. He didn't deserve any of the respect Harry might have had for him, not anymore.

Snape stared at him with wide eyes. Blood dripped from the man's nose and the pale sheen of sweat covered his skin. He did nothing but stare with something akin to fear in his eyes as Harry forced himself to stand.

"I'm leaving," was all Harry managed before he bolted from the room, racing down corridors and up stairs to the one room where no one would think to look for him. Startled students watched him tear by, all acutely aware of his disheveled appearance. He ran, ducking into secret passageways that ended four floors up only to take another that let him out on the main level. He continued to do this until he was sure that no one was following him before he snuck into the abandoned girl's bathroom on the second floor. In his third year, Harry had begun to hide out there just to get away from all of the stares and whispers that followed him.

And right now, that was what he wanted – to be alone.

Fortunately, Myrtle had deserted the room in favor of the Prefects' bathroom last year and had yet to return. Quickly Harry darted into the room and to a small alcove near the back and tucked into a corner invisible from the doorway. It had a short protrusion that was just about the same size as a daybed and was cushioned. He had no idea what the alcove was for, or why a lavatory would need something like it but he was grateful for it. It would be really uncomfortable to have to sit on the ground.

Harry stayed huddled there long after the curfew bell tolled listening to the constant drip of water. He tried to avoid thinking about what had happened in Snape's office. Harry would not be going to another Occlumency lesson; he'd put up with visions of Voldemort's actions. That would be easier to deal with.

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

Edited: 21 Jan 2012