Freedom

Freedom. noun

the state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement or under physical restraint

exemption from external control, interference, regulation, etc.

the power to determine action without restraint.

political or national independence.

personal liberty, as opposed to bondage or slavery

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter Universe. I'm just playin'

Part Two

Chapter Sixteen

Confusion

Harry couldn't move. There was no visible reason for this, no ropes or chains, but it was like he had been hit with a stupefy. He was in total darkness – it actually seemed brighter with his eyes closed than open, and the feeling of pressure surrounded him, pushed in at him, not like an embrace but more like something heavy on the back of his neck, pushing him down, to kneel, to submit, to bend his head and offer his neck…

That pressure was Voldemort. He didn't appear as Harry did, as a full-bodied person, but he was everywhere and everything and Harry couldn't move.

"I have to say, I'm surprised to find you here." Voldemort's voice was everywhere, and nowhere. Forceful. Delighted.

Harry tried everything he could to break free, to return to his own mind, his own body, and each failure brought a sharpening to his fear. He was panting, flailing, as though he couldn't breathe, though his physical body was so very far away.

"Calm yourself, boy." Voldemort sounded amused. "I do not intend to hurt you. Yet. In fact, I've been thinking that it's time we had a little chat."

Severus scowled as he looked down at the blonde child, one of his most infuriating students if just because she categorically refused to be cowed by him. His fiercest glare was met with round interested eyes, as though she looked not at him but at some sort of invisible something that only she could see. Wracksplats or Merlin only knew what she would come up with next.

"Miss Lovegood." His tongue was sharp enough to cut, and goddammit but he had worked hard to get it that way. "What, exactly, do you think you are doing?"

"I'm following you." Luna's reply was a sort of dreamy forthrightness that only she seemed capable of. Severus ground his teeth together and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes fluttering closed briefly, just briefly, as he reminded himself that it wasn't really acceptable to strangle students, no matter how strange they were.

"Yes, I noticed that." He snapped. "Perhaps you could enlighten me as to why you are following me?"

"Yes, I imagine I could."

Perhaps Albus would fail to notice if just one little student found her way into his next potion?

"Well?!"

"Well what?" Luna blinked slowly, but now she was definitely looking at something overhead, and Severus had to stop himself from following her gaze, his paranoia demanding it just in case…

He was about to snarl at her again, his patience already limited now clear to snapping, but then she jumped and let out a little squeak. He arched an eyebrow, watching as she pulled a golden galleon out of her pocket. He frowned and looked closer… was that… hadn't Harry used them last year to call his little Defence club?

"Oh!" Luna snapped her gaze to him now, and he was startled to see a sudden intensity, clarity, staring back at him. "Harry needs you. Now."

"Lemon drop?"

Neville only just managed to swallow a surprised yell. He was leaning against the wall, next to the gargoyle that led to the Headmaster's office. His wide gaze darted from the headmaster to the stationary statue and back again, wondering how the old man had managed to get out of his office without alerting statue and Gryffindor both. For his part, Dumbledore just smiled merrily, his eyes twinkling with an amusement as clear as outright laughter, and for the first time ever, Neville found himself understanding Harry's frequent exasperation with the old goat. Dumbfounded, he reached out and accepted the small yellow sweet.

"Yes, it is a lovely corridor, isn't it?" Dumbledore continued, as he too leant on the wall next to Neville. "I hadn't really noticed before, but one should take the time to admire one's surroundings. Look there, there's a crack in the stone I never noticed! I wonder how that happened?"

He really is a barmy old man, Neville thought with not a small amount of awe. What, exactly, was he supposed to say to that? Sorry for standing around, but Harry is doing something foolish and dangerous and I'm not supposed to say that unless something goes drastically wrong and then I'm supposed to drag you down there immediately to fix it? Neville smothered a snort and stuck the sweet in his mouth, if only to give him more time to think of something.

Dumbledore, thankfully, didn't say anything else. Instead, he hummed to himself but remained where he was. Did he know? Neville, about to blurt out such a question, was instead silenced by the slight burn of the coin gripped tightly in hand. He uncurled his fingers and looked at it nervously; as expected, the word NOW burned into the gold.

"Er, Professor?" He looked back at the headmaster, unsurprised to see those sharp blue eyes fixed on the fake galleon, his amusement fading.

"Lead the way, my boy."

The darkness was gone. Though it had been soul-crushing, though it had near driven him mad, Harry wished it would return. Instead, he found himself looking out through the eyes of Lord Voldemort, looking out and seeing a large room with over two dozen black robed, white masked Death Eaters standing in a semi-circle facing the Dark Lord's throne and ignoring the whimpering family cowered between them.

"Do you see, Harry." Voldemort's voice was a whisper. He stalked around the cringing weeping muggles and Harry could literally feel the anticipation, the hunger, clawing its way through Tom's mind. He could only watch as a booted foot stretched out and rested forcefully on the back of the muggle man's neck, pushing his head down. "They are so beneath us in every regard. They do not deserve your pity."

Harry said nothing.

"No? You disagree?" There was that cold amusement again. Voldemort was making the most of his captive audience. "They are unworthy. They are filth not fit to wash our feet, and those few who know of us, they dare look down on us. Crucio!"

Just as in his dreams before Occlumency, Harry felt the curse. He felt every nerve lit afire, the pain beyond bearing. It was made worse, he was sure, by the fact that he was unable to move, unable to writhe, to cry, to scream. He had only the cries of the muggle to satisfy his own need, and after a moment Voldemort lifted the curse. Harry could feel that his attention was now fixed inward, on him.

"Interesting. Did that hurt, Harry?" This time, Harry couldn't reply. "This bears some thinking on." Voldemort mused and now he was stepping back, moving to his gaudy throne, and Harry felt only relief.

He should be worried. He should want to distract the Dark Lord from his thoughts, want to stop him from reaching some… conclusion, but he couldn't remember why. Instead, he sort of mentally sagged, thankful that he and the muggles both had some sort of reprieve.

"Bellatrix. Time to play."

Or not.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

Severus turned from his blank-faced mate and rounded on the two terrified looking Gryffindors. He was glad to see them scared – they should be! He himself was horrified by the sheer amount of fear that swamped him. He'd tried Legilimency, had entered Harry's mindscape, and had found it empty. His mind was still connected to his body, and so the body reacted to whatever the mind was enduring, his expression twisting between fear, revulsion and resignation, but Severus couldn't touch him, couldn't feel him anywhere.

"Now, Severus-" Severus spun on Dumbledore, his glare fierce, daring the old bastard to tell him to calm down.

"We were thinking that it was better he do it with us here than alone." Ronald Weasley answered in a cool tone, his own fiery temper held in check. "He was determined, and nothing we said would stop him. It's your damn fault anyway!"

"Ron!"

"Well it is!" Weasley snapped, glaring. "Harry wouldn't have felt the need to do this if he'd stop bloody spying!"

Severus turned away before he did something he would regret. His teeth were clenched together so tight his jaw began to ache before he could trust himself to speak again. He approached the bed, watching as the Headmaster continued in his attempt to find Harry's consciousness. The minutes stretched until it felt like hours had passed before Albus pulled back and rubbed a hand over his face tiredly.

"I found … something." He said, eventually. "I can see an echo of what happened, a… well, a projection, so to speak. He travelled the line that connects his mind to Tom's, but as he did so, a shadow followed him and seems to be blocking his return. At a guess, I would say that the Horcrux within him has awoken and it either senses itself in Voldemort and is trying to be reabsorbed, or it is trying to get Tom to recognise it in turn – as a Horcrux, it will not only want to serve itself, but to protect its vessel."

"But a Horcrux is a piece of soul, right?" Weasley sounded bewildered – not a new state for him, Severus thought snidely. "It's not like it's a brain. It can't think. How can it want anything?"

"Don't be an idiot." Severus snapped. "Of course it doesn't think, in the traditional sense."

"It is a piece of Voldemort." Albus explained, with infinite patience. "It has Voldemort's stamp upon it, knows what he knew up to the point it was transferred into Harry. It will understand, in the very basic sense of the word, that Harry is an enemy, but at the same time he is its vessel. It cannot act directly beyond what it is now doing; stopping Harry from returning to his own mind, and we have to hope that Voldemort doesn't recognise what it is."

"What does that mean for Harry?" Granger asked, quietly. "I mean can his body go on like this? Is there... a time limit or something?"

"As long as his needs are taken care of, he will be fine physically." Albus assured her gently. "I will need to contact the goblins; they contained the Horcrux in the first place, and so might know what is needed to get our Harry back."

"Now now Harry, it's very rude to fall asleep when you are in company." Voldemort's mocking voice was accompanied by the strange feeling of being pinched in multiple places. Harry, exhausted, nevertheless forced his 'eyes' open, knowing that a pain far worse than a mere pinch would follow if he didn't. Again, he was looking out of the Dark Lord's eyes, and again he saw nothing but blood and gore and pain.

The Death Eaters were almost giddy in their sadistic glee. They may not know the reason for it, but they were thrilled by their Lord's sudden desire for a party, and as that party had been ongoing for several days now, they were like rabid animals. They laughed. They bled. They cried. They writhed. They tortured. They duelled. They fucked. They killed. They moaned. They screamed. They died.

Some couldn't seem to tell the difference between pain or pleasure, and most were naked and bloody and rutting and…

It was disgusting.

It was depraved.

"Yes," Voldemort mused as he watched his people, "they are animals, but they are my animals. See how they watch me, waiting for a mere word, a gesture, anything to direct their will? See how they kill for me, fuck for me, even die for me? That is power, little Harry, even among such as these."

"That's nothing to be proud of," Harry sneered, "to be an alpha dog amongst these beasts."

"Are they too wild, too uncivilized, for your tastes little Harry?" Voldemort asked, amused. "Do they hurt your delicate sensibilities?"

"It's no wonder you're stuck hiding away," Harry thought viciously, "if these are all you have to serve you. I'm surprised you've survived as long as you have. Don't you know, animals like these always end up biting the hand that feeds them?"

If he'd thought to piss Voldemort off, he was disappointed. The Dark Lord merely laughed at him.

"Perhaps I will show you my worthy followers. I think you would be surprised."

Severus was summoned on the fourth day. He had been buried under a mountain of books in the Black library for days now, frantic to find something – anything – that might bring Harry back to them. He wasn't the only one; Lucius had also spent every waking moment in various libraries and was even now settled on the settee with a pile of books surrounding him. The goblins were searching just as anxiously, working with their curse breakers to comb through their own vast libraries, and had even sent a couple to help them through the Black collection.

He let the tome he'd been skimming slip from numb fingers and rubbed at his bleary eyes, bewildered, for a moment unsure what had called his attention. When he saw Lucius with his own book discarded, his right hand clasping his left forearm, and a hiss of pain escaping between clenched teeth, he realised that his own mark was burning.

"Don't go." Lucius' light blue eyes were intent, his words more a plea than a demand. "We don't know what he has been able to find out-"

"Harry put everything that could be incriminating into the pensieve." Severus pointed out wearily, as he had done every time this same argument had come up in recent days.

"We dont know that." Lucius insisted. "He could have missed something. Even the most innocent of interactions, but it could be enough-"

"I have to go." Severus struggled up to his feet, bone weary. "If I can look him in the eye and let Harry know that he isn't alone, it will be worth it."

The two goblins that had been helping them search through the library studiously ignored the conversation around them, pulling more and more books off the shelves. Severus again thanked them for their aid as he summoned his robes and mask, but before he swept from the room, he looked at his old friend again.

"Please let Remus know where I am, if you return before I do." His wolf was sitting with their mate, none of them wanting to leave him alone.

Once outside of the wards, Severus apparated, allowing his magic to pull him to the Dark Lord's side.

Harry couldn't help but be relieved when the party finally ended. The bodies and blood and gore had been cleared away and now the throne room looked as though nothing had happened. Harry even found himself wondering if perhaps he really had imagined it all, maybe a bad dream sent to unnerve him? No, one needed to sleep to dream…

…Didn't they?

His confusion wasn't helped by the fact that Voldemort mood had done such a complete turnabout. For days he had been full of giddy satisfaction and outright smug, and then in the blink of an eye, he was absolutely furious, scowling, swearing, spitting. He questioned Harry on all sorts of things – things Harry knew were important, but couldn't remember anyway. He threatened and cajoled and promised and snarled, each change in mood instant and fully felt.

Harry began to feel like he was trapped in a room with a rabid animal. He himself was full of emotion, but to go from one extreme to another at the flip of a switch and so completely, it was intimidating and terrifying and unpredictable…

But at least the party had stopped.

He didn't know how long he had been trapped here now. Sometimes it felt like days, but mostly time seemed to stretch on and on and he'd swear it had been years. He was still violently discouraged from sleeping, from getting any rest at all, and now his reality was starting to distort and he didn't know what was true and-

He blinked – a long, slow, time-swallowing blink – and the empty throne room was suddenly occupied by a dozen or so black-robed figures. Voldemort was talking to them, and for the moment he seemed to at least be partly sane and lucid. These were his worthy followers, his inner circle, his most trusted.

"Ssseveruss," Harry shuddered as that silky hiss came from his own – no from Voldemort's – no his? – lips, and watched as one of those robed men stepped forward. There was no mask here, and Harry gazed upon the oddly familiar face with puzzlement. He knew this man. Severus… Severus Snape?

"My Lord?"

That voice, it made Harry shudder inwardly for entirely different reasons that the Dark Lord's hateful hiss.

"Tell usss the happeningss at Hogwartss."

Did Voldemort think that hiss seductive? He didn't do it when he was angry and ranting and raving and swearing and snarling. He didn't do it when he spoke to Harry within his mind. So why now?

The man named Severus was eyeing him impertinently – how dare he meet my gaze! Harry shook his head, scowling. Not his gaze. Not impertinent. Searching?

"All is well, My Lord." Severus replied with a quiet confidence. "But for Potter."

"Potter?" Yes, Voldemort's tone was starting to get giddy again.

Severus paused, and he was still looking straight into those crimson eyes, still looking beyond them, seeking, delving, searching…

"Yes, My Lord." He answered eventually. "Something appears to be wrong with the brat, he is unresponsive and has been for some days now."

Voldemort laughed.

Harry tried to remember this Severus Snape, and why the man's mere presence was a comfort. He tried to ignore himself – no, Voldemort? – no, h- and pushed forward as far and as fast as he could, as though he could pour himself out of the Dark Lord through his eye sockets and – no, Voldemort snarled and shoved him back. Bound him. He couldn't move, again.

But not before the familiar black eyes of Severus Snape had widened ever so slightly, recognising a flash of emerald in that crimson gaze.

The curtains around the bed had been charmed shut, allowing only those through who's magical signature had been attuned to the warding. Within, Harry lay motionless, his expression showing exhaustion and despair, bandages wrapped around his chest and arm where deep gashes had opened up seemingly of their own accord. It had been a week now since he'd become lost in Voldemort's mindscape, and yet his physical body had not once been left alone. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny and Luna all took shifts throughout the day, going so far as to skip lessons if one of them didn't have a free period at the right time.

Severus and Remus took shifts of their own, refusing to chance him waking without one of them there, talking to him, trying desperately to draw him back to himself. They were all of them tired and growing irritable, none getting the sleep they needed as they focused on either their guard duty or researching. They were getting desperate, looking even further afield in any subject that may possibly have a bearing on the situation, and still Harry suffered in ways they could only imagine.

They could do nothing but hold him as he suffered under what was clearly the effects of the Cruciatus curse, seal the wounds caused by Sectumsempra, use salve on the bruises and bandage the broken bones while Skele Gro worked its magic. That they could only watch, could only grip his hand in some pathetic attempt at comfort, while that mouth flew open and that beautiful face was twisted in a rictus of absolute agony… it was killing them all, friends and future-mates alike.

But… Severus had seen him. He'd looked right into those horrid blood red eyes of the bastard of a Dark Lord, and had – for a very brief moment – seen their Harry fighting, so full of fire and fury, it gave them a little hope.

Harry began to understand what it meant to be mentally and emotionally drained as his captivity in Voldemort's mind stretched onwards. It had been days, but Voldemort showed no sign of letting him go, refused to even let him rest, to sleep – such as one was able to sleep in such a state, anyway. When allowed to look away from whatever the Dark Lord was seeing, he saw himself as full bodied, despite knowing otherwise. How could his eyes sting so badly from lack of sleep, how could his heart, his chest, ache so much at what he was forced to witness, how could he feel such pain, when he knew his physical body was hundreds of miles away in Hogwarts?

It didn't make any sense.

At least he still felt Fawkes with him. The phoenix seemed to be as tired as he was, but was trying his best to act as a shield between Harry and what he was seeing and hearing. How many times now had Harry wished the bastard would just get it over with and kill him? How many times had he screamed and clawed and tried to break free? Time felt different, here. Almost like the trunk, it seemed to go so damned slowly, and yet at the same time so many things happened, so many deaths, so many screams, so much blood and gore and hate and suffering.

Without Fawkes, he knew he would have lost what little sanity he had managed to hold on to. He grasped at it with both hands and yet there were times when he felt it pulling away from him, voices murmuring that it would all hurt so much less if he just let go. Those voices belonged to his parents, to his friends, to Sirius, to Snape and Remus, and he knew, he knew that they were all him, all Voldemort.

The Dark Lord had been furious to discover that Harry was not entirely himself. His own thoughts and memories had been shredded as Voldemort looked for specific information, to no avail. He asked Harry constantly about certain people and locations and plans and plots and Harry couldn't answer a damn thing – and he wanted to, Merlin did he want to, anything to stop the deaths, anything…

Hermione ran through the corridors with a thick tome pressed tightly against her chest. She narrowly avoided several collisions with students in her haste and only shouted a hurried apology over her shoulder when she did crash into somebody. The Hospital Wing appeared empty at first, but the curtain around the far bed had been sealed and the startled head of Remus Lupin appeared between the folds at the sound of her rather enthusiastic entrance.

For all her haste in getting here, she still had to wait several long minutes as she fought to catch her breath and press against the stitch in her side. She could only watch and pant harshly as Remus took one look at her, saw the excitement, and immediately retreated to Pomfrey's office. He emerged several minutes later with several people; Dumbledore, Pomfrey, Snape, Lucius Malfoy and two small goblin healers. Hermione had finally managed to compose herself and flushed to see them waiting expectantly.

"Er-" She coughed, feeling a sudden surge of doubt now that she was here and all these people were looking to her. She was saved for a moment as the door opened again and this time Ron entered, struggling under a veritable tower of books, peering around them to look at his girlfriend with both exasperation and fondness.

"Thanks for the help, 'Mione!"

Hermione flushed again.

"I- we've had an idea."

With her usual bustling efficiency, Madame Pomfrey soon had them all seated in her office, the books spread out on her desk, and cups of tea and coffee offered around.

Nervously, Hermione began to explain.

Fawkes had left him.

Harry knew that the phoenix had needed to escape, to rest, but he still felt utterly abandoned and absolutely terrified when he realised that he was alone. He was so damn tired, but now he discovered that to be a good thing. He had reached a point where he was so exhausted, so shattered, that he stopped thinking altogether. Still he saw through Voldemort's eyes, but he couldn't understand, couldn't register anything, and no matter what pain he suffered, what taunts and jibes the Dark Lord sent, Harry was just too damn tired to even notice.

He was almost empty.

Almost dead.

So wretchedly alone.

Voldemort had two choices; let him die, or let him sleep.

He slept.

Remus clasped Harry's hand between both of his own and rested his chin on top of them. He gazed down at his youngest mate, ignoring the clamour coming from the other side of the curtains, and just held onto that hand like it was his lifeline. It was. Neither he nor Severus could lose Harry, not now, and their little mate was so far gone, his body so torn and hurt, that the chance of him surviving Hermione's melded together ritual was next to none. It was their only chance, but so many things could go wrong.

Harry's friend – no, his sister – had resorted to muggle science and fiction. With no where left to turn, she had researched into what the muggles, or shamans of decades past, had called out of body experiences, or astral projection. She had found some obscure rituals meant to guide the soul back to its home and then to anchor the mind to the body. Severus' initial reaction had been to scoff and dismiss it, but then Hermione presented them with case after case of supposed projections, that even he had to admit that there might – might – be something to it.

The rituals seemed little more than thick incense, questionable herbs and smelling salts. The idea was to mix this with Legilimency, where they would imprint a certain scenario into his mind that he would feel a strong pull to answer. For Harry, there was absolutely nothing that would ever stop him from rushing to the aid of friends or family if it was physically possible. It was cruel. It caused an untold amount of arguments between them all, but it was eventually decided; they would alter one of Severus' memories, replacing nameless muggles with Hermione and Remus. Harry would see them suffering, would see them being tortured and terrified and helpless and they knew that he would do everything possible to literally tear himself away from Voldemort in a bid to reach them.

Finally, they would induce the second part of the Mating Call; the meeting of the minds. This was the most dangerous part; Harry was already hurting and they had no idea how bad he might be mentally and emotionally. To force the mating call without his agreement would be painful; he would have to live every memory both Severus and Remus had and it would be excruciatingly fast with little to no time to sort between them. Not only that, but with many of his own memories removed to protect them from the Dark Lord, he would also be forced to review his own life from birth until current time. To actively force the bonding could also alter the nature of the relationship – Harry could become submissive to them in all areas.

As the youngest mate, that was likely to be true in the bedroom, especially to Moony, but this could remove all choice from the equation and affect all aspects of his life. Hermione assured them that Harry had been studying up on mating and wanted it as badly as they did, and so they could only hope that his willingness would be taken into account, along with his physical presence, despite his… true absence.

If, after all of that, it worked and Harry came back to them, it was entirely possible that he would awake not as Harry, but as a strange amalgamation of all three of them. He would live their lives and his own, a culmination of perhaps nearly seventy years, and it would take place in a matter of minutes.

Remus hated the idea.

The mating call was supposed to be joyous; it was supposed to grant true understanding between prospective mates, to bring an intimacy to their relationship that few others could boast. To use it like this, in deception, was almost physically painful to him. Remus wished fervently and frequently that he and Sev had been upfront right from the start; if they had completed the bonding, Harry could never have been lost, because where he ended, Remus began, and where Remus ended, Severus began. They would be a triad, complete, an ouroboros, entwined together and always there.

Remus startled when he felt a hand land on his shoulder, and he jerked his gaze away from Harry to see his lover waiting, blanked face and trying to be strong for all of them.

"We're ready."

A deep breath. Remus stood.

"Fingers crossed."

"And toes."

Because if this bastardised ritual failed, they would have only two choices; let their Harry die, or turn him into a vampire.

AN: Sorry if there any any mistakes, it's 6:20am and I havent been to sleep yet and so havent re-re-checked before posting as usual!