Rehabilitate

For the first time since the battle, Harry’s nightmares were not filled with the blood-soaked halls of Hogwarts, the screams of his friends or the white nothingness of Kings Cross station. They instead showed him Snape’s prone body, with wide open eyes that were empty black holes. They drew Harry in until he was lost and falling, filled with a mounting sense of dread.

In the morning, Harry returned to Snape’s bedside in an effort to shake the lingering unease of his dreams. Hermione accompanied him. With the trial only a few days away, they had much to discuss and plan for. When they arrived, Snape was already awake and sitting up. His eyes flicked towards them as they entered, and Harry had to suppress a shudder at the reminder of his dream. Mumbling a greeting, he conjured two armchairs and flopped down into the one closest to Snape.

“Good morning, Professor,” Hermione sat primly in the other armchair. “Harry tells me you have been communicating via blinking and legilimency. Is that correct?” Snape blinked once.

“Very good. Firstly, do you require a vow of none-aggression from me before we proceed?"

Receiving a double blink, Hermione got right to the point. “We need to discuss some details concerning your trial, sir. To avoid any nasty surprises, it would be good to know the details of your work for the order.” Harry had to admire Hermione’s unflinching efficiency. He cast a look in Snape’s direction and was immediately caught by his gaze.

If you have no objections, this conversation would be a lot quicker with the use of legilimency, Mr. Potter.

Uhm, sure. Do you want me to ask Hermione if you can talk to her this way?

Snape hesitated. I would prefer not to intrude on anyone else’s privacy. How is Miss Granger’s occlumency?

“How’s your occlumency, Hermione?” Harry asked, without breaking eye-contact with Snape. He could feel Hermione wince and shift next to him. “Not great,” she admitted reluctantly. “I’ve been working on it, but it doesn’t come naturally to me, at all.”

When have you been working on it? Harry refrained himself from asking, but the question was heard by Snape.

Presumably while you have been chatting with adoring fans and giving interviews to the press, Snape jibed.

Oh, shut it, Harry returned automatically and froze, expecting a sharp retort. But Snape only laughed at him silently. Your continued insolence is hardly shocking to me, Potter.

“This is very disconcerting,” Hermione interrupted them. “Are you talking, or just staring into each other’s eyes?”

“Talking, obviously,” Harry drawled, letting Snape’s response influence his own.

“Creepy.” Hermione shuddered exaggeratedly. “But that’s something I wanted to bring up. Since you will likely be called upon to speak on your own behalf during the trial, we will need to find a way for you to talk. I did some research and found this spell that lets a legilimens temporarily take over someone’s body. It’s called – “

“Mens sonari,” Harry repeated Snape’s interruption.

“You know it?”

“Snape does.”

“No offence, Harry, but I didn’t expect you to know it. It’s very obscure and rarely used.”

“Thanks, Hermione”, Harry answered sardonically, feeling Snape’s glee.

“Anyways, that’s precisely why the spell is necessary. The court has to be convinced that it’s actually him speaking, and not the person he’s speaking through. Otherwise his statement won’t be admissible.”

It’s too invasive, Snape protested.

What do you mean?

Mens sonari is similar to a temporary form of possession, during which the active party remains in contact with their original body.

So, you would be possessing me?

Are you volunteering, Potter? Snape sneered.

Well, my privacy is already in shambles –

You don’t know what you’re talking about, you foolish boy! Snape cut him off.

Alright. Why don’t you explain it to me, Harry said, trying to keep his annoyance in check.

I would be taking your agency. I could make you do anything, once the spell was in place, Snape hissed. Harry’s heartbeat sped up and his palms got clammy as he imagined it.

Very good, Potter. Finally, some self-preservation, Snape commented scathingly.

Don’t talk to me about self-preservation, Harry retorted, resisting the urge to shove Snape out of his mind. “Are there any other options, besides the spell?”, he asked aloud, for Hermione’s benefit.

“Well, they could do something complicated, like give you veritaserum, ask their questions, and then extract your memories of answering them in your mind, Professor. But that would be really invasive,” Hermione explained apologetically, unknowingly echoing Snape’s earlier protest.

I suppose it’s simply a question of whose mind should be invaded, Professor, isn’t it? Yours or mine, Harry pointed out spitefully. He could feel that Snape was seething.

It could very well be someone else’s mind, Potter. I’m sure Miss Granger would volunteer.

A convoluted mixture of fear, protectiveness, jealousy and anger coursed through Harry. Gritting his teeth, he replied: Sure. Why don’t you go ahead and ask her?

There was a brief moment, where time seemed to stand still. Then, Snape abruptly broke the connection. Harry closed his eyes and breathed, feeling nauseous.

“Harry?” Hermione sounded concerned. “Is everything alright? What’s going on?”

“Snape’s being a dickhead, that’s what’s going on,” Harry said, rubbing at his forehead out of habit.

“Harry,” Hermione said in admonishment.

With a groan, Harry got up from his armchair. “I need a break.” He walked out. As he left the hospital wing, Harry cast a disillusionment on himself. He was in no mood to talk to anybody. Setting his route towards the sixth corridor, with the vague notion of doing some discreet repair work, he tried to sort out his tangled emotions.

It seemed like Snape only needed a few words to drive Harry nuts. He didn’t even really understand what they were fighting about, only that Snape’s attitude enraged him. It wasn’t precisely that Snape was ungrateful. After dealing with the often-self-important spongers at the ministry, Harry doubted that a lack of gratitude would infuriate him like this. And Snape had thanked him more in the last couple of days, than in the seven years they had known each other combined.

Maybe it was the constantly implied insult that Harry was stupid, naïve, and reckless. This was hardly new; Snape had always thought of Harry that way, along with deeming him a typical Gryffindor and just like his father. And Harry could admit that a lot of his actions, especially during his first years at Hogwarts had been reckless and stupid. But later, when the war had fully broken out, they had been driven by desperation. He did not feel that he had had much choice at all, during his months on the run.

Finding himself in front of a crumbling section of wall in a deserted corridor, Harry cast some architectural diagnostics, to determine if the area was structurally unsound. When the wall did not appear to be load-bearing, he set about repairing it slowly and carefully.

In the end, all choice had been taken from him, by Dumbledore, by Voldemort, and even by Snape. They had, collectively, condemned him to walk to his death like a lamb to slaughter. To be called reckless, stupid, and naïve, by the man who had delivered his death sentence to him, rankled. It wasn’t reckless, stupid, or naïve to walk to one’s death, if it was the only way to end a war. And to be accused of having no sense of self-preservation!

The stones Harry had been levitating crashed down into a pile of dust and debris. Harry deliberately evened out his breathing, before raising his wand to try again.

It was Snape who had sent him to his death, and the man had the sheer audacity, to call him stupid and reckless, for following through on the truths he had revealed to him. If Snape hadn’t wanted Harry to do something reckless, he should not have passed on those memories. And if that hadn’t been an act of utter recklessness in itself. To give Harry those memories without any reassurance that he would watch or act on them. To give him so many memories, which were hardly relevant to the winning of the war. To reveal all those vulnerable moments with Lily, the cruel nature of James, the callousness of Dumbledore. And to wait, to pass on the crucial information, until the last possible moment! Snape could have died at any time, during the last year, by the hand of any death eater, or order member, or even the Dark Lord himself. When it had come down to it, he had not even raised his wand in defense against the Dark Lord’s attack. Had he known that Harry was crouching only a few feet away, or had he already given up. If those actions didn’t show recklessness and a lack of self-preservation, Harry didn’t know what did.

Harry looked at the repaired wall in front of him. As happened often at Hogwarts, the moment the wall was whole, it took on a new character, as though the castle were trying out different styles. This piece of wall had transformed into a solid block of white marble. Harry smiled and stroked his hand over it, feeling the magic strumming within. Already, he felt better, not just for the accomplishment, but also for having understood at least part of his anger.

Snape was wrong to think of Harry as a foolish Gryffindor, because Harry’s actions had been motivated by desperation and the desire to end the war. And even if Harry still sometimes acted rashly, Snape was in no position to judge him for it. Harry grinned as he realized that this might just be one more thing which he and Snape shared. They were both a little too willing to throw their life away, if they thought it might make a difference.

Harry walked on to search for something else to fix. His thoughts turned to the mens sonari spell. Frankly, the idea of giving over control of his mind and body to someone else, terrified him. He had already lived his whole life with a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside his head. He had no desire to give up his recently gained autonomy. But the thought of leaving the task to someone else, made him intensely jealous. Harry felt a little embarrassed, admitting his jealousy even to himself. It made no sense. He had no claim on Snape, no right to be the only one whose mind he saw. But still, Harry felt somewhat proprietary towards Snape – and Merlin help him if the man ever found out about it. This possessiveness was not only inappropriate and unfounded, it was also impractical. If Snape could communicate only through legilimency, entering other people’s minds was a necessity. Seeing no other solution at the moment, Harry resolved to simply keep an eye on his jealousy, to see if it would disappear on its own.

He stopped in front of another pile of rubble. The diagnostics told him that a suit of armor and a tapestry were buried underneath, so he started to unearth them.

Jealousy or no, Harry would still volunteer for the mens sonari spell. He would be there at the trial, anyways, and Hermione would have to focus on running the defense. The ministry had provided a defense lawyer, but he was not just incompetent, but also very much disinclined to help a death eater. So, Hermione could not be connected to Snape’s mind during the whole trial, and most other people who would be there either could not be trusted or would never consent in the first place. Some people from the Order and the DA would agree to be the recipient of the spell if asked, but it would be a very uncomfortable experience for everybody involved. Of course, Harry wouldn’t be comfortable with the possession either, but it would not be due to the person possessing him, only to the idea in general. Snape could sneer and snarl all he wanted, Harry was sure that he was the best option for the spell.

Harry dragged the tapestry out from the pile of rubble and cleaned it off with a spell. It had a tear down the middle and had been deserted by its occupants. With a wave of his wand, he sent it off to the antechamber of the great hall, where they stored everything which would have to be repaired by magical craftspeople.

“Hello, Harry,” a familiar voice floated down the corridor, just as Harry was dusting off the suit of armor.

“Hey, Luna,” Harry turned to her. Luna’s presence always put a smile on his face.

“Walk with me?” she asked, already drifting past him.

“Sure.” Harry fell in step beside her, bumping their shoulders together. “How are you, Lou?”

“I’m alright, Harry,” Luna said, smiling gently. “Ginny has the best lips for kissing, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry guffawed. “She does. Are you guys dating, then?”

Luna tilted her head, reminding Harry of an exotic bird. “I suppose we are,” she said in wonder.

“That’s great, Luna!” Harry felt joy spark in his chest for the first time in days.

Luna hummed, and they walked in comfortable silence for a while.

“Have you ever seen a wizard die?” Luna asked out of the blue.

Harry looked at her quizzically. “What do you mean. Haven’t we all?”

“No, I mean, of old age? A natural death, without any violence, or injury, or sickness?”

Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”

Luna nodded, as though he had confirmed something for her. “That’s because it doesn’t happen that often. Wizards and witches can get very old.”

Harry frowned. “Like Dumbledore?”

“Dumbledore was killed by Snape,” Luna said, staring at Harry as though he had lost his marbles.

Harry’s lip twitched. “I know that, Luna. I meant, do all wizards grow as old as Dumbledore?”

“Oh. No, much older. Dumbledore was only a little over a hundred, I think. Most wizards and witches can live to one hundred and forty.”

“Really?” Harry asked in bewilderment.

“The first war killed most of the older generations, in Britain at least. They all died way too early.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Hundred and forty years, Luna? That’s a long time.”

Luna smiled beatifically. “Right. You have a lot of time now, Harry. We all do.”

Harry’s heart squeezed with some unidentifiable emotion. “So we do,” he said, his voice suddenly raspy.

Luna stepped in to hug him briefly, and then floated down the corridor with a wave and a “See you around, Harry!”

Looking around, Harry realized that Luna had led him back to the hospital wing. He snorted and shook his head. Apparently, his break was over.

When he stepped back into Snape’s room, he found him holding eye-contact with Hermione, who was frowning and scribbling on the parchment in her lap, without looking down. Harry noticed the pang of jealousy and filed it away, before dropping back into the armchair he had abandoned earlier and settling in to wait. He had to agree with Hermione – watching two people engaged in a mental conversation like this was indeed a bit creepy.

Harry briefly considered asking Kreacher to get him some food, but then felt bad about eating in front of Snape, who was currently surviving on nutrient potions, which, in Harry’s experience, were anything but satisfying. It did not take long for Harry to start fidgeting in his seat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat still for so long and done nothing. He thought guiltily of the piles of letters and paperwork waiting in his room that desperately needed to be taken care of. But before he could motivate himself to send Kreacher to fetch them, Hermione came out of the mental connection with a blink.

“Hey…” she said, as though she was only slowly waking up from a dream. She looked down at the notes in her lap and narrowed her eyes at them. Taking her wand from behind her ear, she tapped the paper, until the writing was aligned into her usual neat lines. She cleared her throat. “Alright. Professor Snape has kindly given me a run down of his activities as a spy, including a few more people we could approach to speak on his character and his role in the Order. He has also agreed to the mens sonari, provided whoever is subjected to the spell is willing, and that they practice with him beforehand. Since the spell can be invasive, it would be best to familiarize oneself with the feeling. I have already volunteered to be the … host, but I think you, Harry, would be the better choice, since I will need my faculties about me during the trial.”

“I agree,” Harry said calmly. “Would you be willing to try now? Or would you prefer someone else?” He asked, turning to face Snape.

I am ready to try now. Snape spoke into Harry’s mind, equally impassively. Apparently, talking with Hermione had evened out his temper as much as talking with Luna had helped Harry.

Very good. Is there anything I should know beforehand?

It will likely be an unpleasant experience. You might feel … constricted…or detached from your surroundings.

Is it anything like the imperius curse?

The imperius curse is akin to a very strong suggestion, which overrides your natural skepticism and willpower. The mens sonari is an application of brute force. You will be completely conscious of being out of control of your own body and mind.

Harry did not try to hide the anxiety shooting through his veins at the description. There was no point, Snape would know soon enough, how he felt. This time, Snape did not comment on the emotions that were surely seeping through the bond, other than to ask:

Should we agree on a signal to end the spell? A particular word or phrase?

Yeah. Harry said, feeling surprisingly relieved at the offer, even though it did not give him anymore real control over the situation than before. How about “Quidditch”?

How inane. Snape sounded vaguely amused. It will do. If you could inform Miss Granger of our impending experiment?

“Hermione? We’re going to try the spell now.”

“Right now? Oh, okay.” Hermione shuffled her armchair closer to Harry’s. If anything goes wrong, I’ll stun one or both of you, okay?”

Harry nodded for both of them. Snape fortified their mental connection. Harry suspected that he was stalling.

Ready, Mr. Potter?

Yes. Harry wasn’t.

Mens sonari. Snape needn’t have bothered verbalizing the spell in his head. The moment it snapped into place, Harry felt as though he was suffocating, being pressed under water by an immense weight, which he had no hope of ever lifting. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. He tried to struggle upwards, to break free from the iron fist that was curled around him, squeezing the life out of him, but it only tightened its hold. Panic curdled through him like lightning. He wanted to scream, but he had no lungs to scream with. He no longer knew where he ended and where the other began. It was around him, through him, within him. He was disintegrating, being ground up into dust and burrowed into and ripped apart. In a last, instinctual act of desperation, he did what he had done once before. He remembered love. Memories of Ron and Hermione, of the Weasleys, of Sirius, of Remus and Tonks, of Neville and Luna and Ginny, even of Dumbledore flashed through him in quick succession. For a few, agonizing moments, nothing changed. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, he was free, gulping in lungfuls of air, feeling his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. He sobbed in relief and clawed at his arms and legs to reassure himself of their presence, of being able to sense and command them. He touched his face, his hair, noted that he could see his hands and hear his own gasping breath.

„You’re alright, Harry. You’re safe. Nothing bad is gonna happen. It’s over, Harry. We’re safe. You’re at Hogwarts, in the infirmary. The war is over. You’re safe, Harry.“ Hermione’s soothing voice filtered through into Harry’s awareness. He realized that he was on curled up on the floor, rocking slightly back and forth. Hermione was crouched next to him, but not touching. Harry reached out and took her hand, feeling immensely grateful for his ability to do so. She squeezed his hand back, and smiled weakly. „Hey,“ she said. „You had a panic attack, I think.“

Harry nodded and tried to slow his breathing enough so he could speak. With effort, he wheezed: „The fuck?“

Hermione snorted, the noise more relaxing to Harry than any soothing could ever be. „What happened?“ Hermione asked.

„Awful. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Like Voldemort at the Ministry,“ he gasped out.

„Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think of that“, Hermione said in dismay.

„Not your fault, ʼMione.“

Hermione bit her lip. „Want to sit in a chair?“ she offered.

„Sure.“ Harry let her pull him to his feet and steer him into the armchair. Now that he was no longer panicking, other emotions crept in. Harry did not want to look at Snape just yet. Embarrassment, anger and fear warred within him.

„Tea? Calming draught?“ Hermione asked. „Nah, I’m good,“ Harry said, just as a tea tray popped into existence on his lap. Now that he thought about it, Harry could feel the light electric crackle of Kreacher’s agitated magic in the air. Not wanting to worry either Hermione or Kreacher further, he poored himself a cup of tea and nibbled on a biscuit. The silence stretched, but his companions seemed contend to wait. Starting to feel ridiculous with his own avoidance, Harry finally looked up.

„That could’ve gone better, I suppose.“

Snape huffed.

„Is it supposed to feel that way?“

„What did it feel like?“ Hermione asked, at the same time as Snape raised a questioning eyebrow. Harry swallowed. „Like suffocating?“ he ventured, feeling uncomfortable under their scrutiny. Snape furrowed his brow in confusion. Harry wanted to suggest legilimency, but found the words lodged in his throat. Tendrils of his earlier panic licked at the edges of his mind. He desperately wanted to shield his mind from further intrusion. But his desperation had never granted him any skill at occlumency before, and it was unlikely to start now. If he let Snape enter his mind again, he would be defenseless against an attack. Harry shook his head as if to dislodge his thoughts. He had already made the decision to trust Snape. To withdraw that trust now would be irrational and counterproductive. They had a trial to get through, and no time for Harry to get spooked.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he set aside the tea tray and lent forward to meet Snape’s eyes. „Let’s try again,“ he said with steely determination.

„Harry, do you really think that’s …“

He did not hear the rest of Hermione’s objection, as his attention was drawn to the mental link Snape established between them. Its touch was feather-light, the connection almost flimsy. Harry knew that he could break it with a thought.

I was not aware that you had already experienced the spell, Snape said. It sounded like an apology.

I’m not sure it was the same spell. It was a lot less painful this time. But maybe that’s because there’s no horcrux.

Harry could sense Snape’s discomfort at the mention of Voldemort’s method of immortality.

It should not have caused you any distress at all. You said it felt like suffocating?

Yes. And like being crushed and drowning and everything at the same time. You didn’t feel it?

No. I only felt your panic. Snape hesitated. Would you show me?

Although the prospect of reliving the spell made a spike of fear shoot down Harry’s spine, he shoved the memory forward without hesitation. On rewatching it, he realised that he could not have spent more than a few seconds under the spell. Although his heart beat frantically, he did not feel the same panic, as he had in the moment. Snape replayed the memory a few times, before carefully bundling it up and putting it on a shelf in Harry’s mind that Harry hadn’t even known existed.

Why on earth would you wish to repeat that experience, Mr. Potter? Snape asked, sounding genuinely baffled.

Because it’s the best way for you to speak at your trial. And because I’m an idiotic Gryffindor, Harry replied with confidence he did not really feel.

Of course. That makes perfect sense, Snape drawled sarcastically. Your reaction to the spell is quite atypical. While I agree that you would be the most convenient option as the recipient of the spell, under the circumstances, Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley, or perhaps Minerva might be more suitable.

What would be a typical reaction? Harry asked, not responding to the suggestion.

Anything ranging from grudging acceptance to involuntary participation. But certainly not magic-defying resistance, Snape said in exasperation. It seems that you can never do anything normally, Mr. Potter.

Harry felt a spike of annoyance. So I should’ve just let myself be crushed? Weren’t you just complaining about my lack of self-preservation?

I believe it would be better if you did not assist me in this matter at all. The severity of your reaction to the mens sonari only cements my stance in this regard.

Harry had to grit his teeth at the repeated dismissal of his help. Breathing deeply, he tried to regain some of the tranquility his talk with Luna had inspired. The only thing that mattered now was getting Snape through the trial, by whatever means possible. Everything else could wait. If Snape wanted to act like a stubborn, ungrateful git, so be it. There would be time to work through their issues later.

Alright, he answered with forced calm. Let’s give it one more try, and if it doesn’t work, we can ask Hermione to be your spokeswoman.

What gave you the impression that the problem could be solved by simply trying again?

Harry didn’t let Snape’s disbelieving tone affect him. I will try not to resist this time.

Your resistance did not appear to be voluntary. To shut off a panic response is beyond the capabilities of even the most bull-headed of Gryffindors.

Harry gave a mental shrug an felt his body mimic the gesture. I can at least try. He could clearly sense Snape’s scepsis through the link, but chose steadfastly to ignore it. Now that he knew what was coming, he hoped to have a better chance of quelling his fear.

Very well, let’s get this foolishness over with, Snape said. Ready yourself.

Harry breathed and thought of Luna’s blinding smile.

Mens sonari.

The all-consuming pressure snapped around his mind instantly. He was getting crushed, suffocated, drowned, ground up and ripped apart. Instead of trying to breath or fight, he forced himself to be completely still. It took all of his will and concentration to keep from struggling. For long moments, he did nothing but endure. The pressure remained. He could slowly feel his focus slipping, could feel the panic encroaching. Knowing that this was his last chance to prove his suitability for the spell, he did what was easiest and hardest of all – he gave in.

He surrendered to the deadly pressure all around him, let himself be crushed, drowned and annihilated. He let go of his will to live.

Instantly, the pressure ceased.

He could feel his mind any body as though from a distance, or as he was looking through a thick, frosted window. Muffled, he heard his own voice saying: „It seems, we have succeeded, Miss Granger.“

„Oh. Um, hello Professor. I mean, that’s … good. Is Harry alright?“ That was Hermione’s voice, echoing through the fishbowl in which Harry’s conciousness drifted. I’m okay, he attempted to say, but the words could not reach his mouth. Even the connection to Snape’s mind seemed far away.

„He appears perfectly fine, albeit somewhat disoriented. I will end the spell, so that you may ascertain his condition yourself,“ Harry’s voice said. Then, the world tilted on its axis and Harry was unceremoniously dumped back into his body and mind. The restoration of his senses was jarring and he shook his head to get rid of the lingering numbness and confusion.

„Brrrr. That’s super weird. Bleugh. Horrible,“ he stood to shake out his limbs as well.

„It worked?“ Hermione asked, though by now she sounded more amused than worried.

„Yeah. It’s unpleasant, but not painful or … panicky, anymore. Turns out, I just had to stop resisting“, Harry said, grinning at her sheepishly. „We should probably practice, though“, he added, turning to meet Snape’s blank stare. Snape blinked once, although he still seemed reluctant. Harry counted it as a victory.

The rest of the day they spent practicing the mens sonari, until Harry could accept the spell easily and Snape could speak with his voice efficiently. They agreed to reconvene the next day to go over their plans for the trial.