Harry braced himself as he saw Snape reach for the boy.
Carl's sob was grating through Harry's body. Harry tried to focus on the molestation scene and remove himself from the emotional content of it. He felt as if he were trapped in one of his own night terrors, impotent and immobile. If he didn't find a way out of this soon, he was going to be sick to his stomach.
Harry knew he had to concentrate. Something was off. He knew that, but that hand of Snape's was wreaking havoc with his own controls as much as the boy's. Both Carl and he were telling themselves that that hand shouldn't be pleasurable. Snape's hand was an interloper, an invader, a rapist. That hand of Snape's was . . . .
That hand of Snape's wasn't scratched! The realization shrieked through Harry's mind as a montage of the day's events reeled through his memory: Snape's scratched hand knocking the bacon from the tray this morning, that same damaged hand steadying Westfield in the corridor, his own mind focusing on that cut skin as Snape held the quill to grade papers in Snape's own recollection of the detention . . . .
Carl? Harry mindspoke to his student, who had pulled so far back from what was happening that the boy was hiding in the mental equivalent of a dark corner.
Yes?
Do you remember this morning when you ran into Professor Snape in the corridor? Harry questioned.
Yes.
Would you picture that for me now? Harry requested.
Unsurprisingly, Carl was only too happy to focus on something other than the graphic scene they were currently viewing. The mental picture jumped to the corridor outside the Great Hall, with an angry Snape looming over the clumsy boy.
Carl, look down at Professor Snape's hand on your robe, Harry instructed as Snape steadied Westfield to keep him from falling. Okay, now I want you to bring us back to where Snape opened your trousers in detention. The scene changed around them again and Harry found himself staring down at the young boy's trouser button that was gripped in Snape's smooth-skinned, yellowed right hand. Look at Professor Snape's hand now, Carl.
What am I . . . the cut. There isn't any cut . . . . Carl observed.
I know for a fact that Professor Snape had a scratch on his right hand at breakfast this morning,. . . . Harry stopped, waiting for Carl to piece the puzzle together.
Yes . . . I remember wondering why he hadn't healed it when I saw it in the hall after breakfast. But that means . . . . Rising a few levels in the trance, Carl focused on the scene in front of him. How can this not be real? I felt, I mean . . . ?
Carl, I want you to look at that hand on you. Don't think about who this image is telling you it belongs to, think about the man you know it belongs to. Remember, I'm right here with you. Nothing can hurt you. Just picture the man that hand belongs to and tell yourself that it's all right to remember what really happened.
For an eternity, the dungeon remained firm around them. Then Snape's sleeve seemed to shimmer. Instead of coarse black wool, fine grey brocade covered the forearm.
The Potions' worktable was gone. In its place, Harry saw dry old wood. Harry sent as much reassurance as he could over to his student as the boy began to panic, but Harry didn't know what was happening any more than Carl did.
The one thing that was certain was that whatever had happened, it had not occurred in the dungeon at detention.
Carl and he frantically attempted to take their bearings. The wood Carl was leaning against while a hand manipulated him turned out to be an old barrel.
Over to his right was a row of empty animal stalls with a caved-in roof through which bright autumn sunshine was pouring in and making thousands of dust motes dance in the air. To his left was a wall of loose wooden planks. A few farm tools hung there, but they were so brown with rust and buried under spider webs and birds' nests that it was impossible to tell what they might have been originally.
Recalling Carl's fear of that deserted farmstead, Harry mindspoke, Carl, think back to the road on your way back from Hogsmeade. What really happened by that ruined barn?
Once again, the hypnotized student returned them to the road. The Forbidden Forest was a dark and intimidating wall on all sides of them. The only empty space was the field to his left, which was overgrown with thorny gorse bushes and thick weeds. The decaying barn stood at its centre.
Carl felt that same chill of fear when he looked at the barn; only, this time when Carl made to rush past the desolate ruins, he was stopped in his tracks by a black cloaked wizard apparating directly in front of him.
"Exc-cuse me, sir," Carl stammered, startled by the abrupt manifestation of a stranger on a lonely road.
The man was tall and broad, nearly twice Snape's width and muscular with it. His clothes were well-tailored, and put Harry in mind of Lucius Malfoy as far as style went. The suit beneath the black cloak was grey and appeared to be made of fine lambs' wool. He looked to be near fifty, with dark hair and cold grey eyes.
Harry winced as the boy made his fateful mistake and met the stranger's gaze.
The stranger cast an amused sounding, "Imperius," and said, "Come along, boy. We've much to accomplish in a short time."
As soon as the words were voiced, Carl's body was no longer his own.
Harry felt Carl's absolute terror and impotent fury as his legs moved to accompany the older wizard off the road and into the barn without protest or question, even though everything inside Carl wanted to scream and flee. Carl tried with all his will to turn around and run for Hogwarts, but he could not deny the iron will that had overwhelmed his own.
Carl, we're going to pull back from this again as far as we can, Harry said and did everything in his power to buffer the boy from the subsequent events.
There was a part of Harry that wanted to simply pull Carl out of the memory to safety, but, for all their sakes, they had to know what had really happened. So, Harry braced himself and let the scene play out around him.
The bastard didn't even bother with the foreplay that the illusionary Snape had. The stranger led the enslaved Carl straight to an old rain barrel. With a flick of his wand, and no words, the man magically removed Carl's school robes, while the boy trembled inside and did everything in his will to force his frozen limbs to work.
But Carl's efforts were useless.
The stranger loomed over Carl like a giant as he reached down to undo his trousers. Carl couldn't even gasp as he was bared to the air. He could only stand there in impotent terror with tears streaming down his face as the wizard roughly took hold of him and bent him over that ancient rain barrel. The brittle wood bit into his thighs and belly as he landed against it, scratching the tender skin.
Harry did his best to shield the present Carl from the events that followed. The rape really was like something from Harry's own nightmares. Only, Carl couldn't even scream as he was violated. All he could do was stand there bent over the sharp rim of the barrel, staring down at the mouldering straw on the floor while he was ravaged.
Inside Carl, observing the scene, Harry was so livid with rage he could barely watch. It felt like the bastard took the bespelled boy cold with only saliva for lubrication. The penetration was dry and agonizing, done as fast as the boy's reluctant flesh would permit. Those minutes that Harry spent inside Carl, bent over that barrel while that hateful stranger plundered his virginity, were some of the worst of his life. The terror and pain were fully as surreal as that of his night terrors.
Harry held Carl as far away from it as he could. The Hyptnoserum was the only thing keeping the boy from total meltdown.
When the monster was done, it didn't end there. Then he raped the boy's mind with as little regard as he'd shown for Carl's body.
The man's Legilimency and Occlumency skills were astonishing, his mind cold and ruthless. Harry frantically tried to pick up anything from the attacker's thoughts to reveal his identity, but the bastard was better than Snape at hiding behind mental barricades. There was simply nothing for Harry to grab hold of, just a scimitar probe that ripped everything it wanted from the boy's unprotected mind, while revealing nothing. Harry wasn't even sure if the man were human, there was such an utter dearth of emotion.
Almost spellbound, he watched as the stranger took every memory Carl had of Snape, and used it to create the false memory of Snape assaulting the boy during detention. It was one of the most insidious and brilliant illusions Harry had ever seen. The man left nothing to chance, going so far as to make the trigger to the false memory be Snape's dismissing the boy from detention; that way, should Carl miss today's detention, the memory would surface after the next one.
When it was finally over, the stranger redressed Carl with an absent flick of his wand before apparating from the barn without another word, leaving the boy sobbing on his knees in the rotting straw beside the barrel.
It took Carl some time to pull himself together enough to rise from the spider-infested straw. Every step was an agony to Carl, for it felt as if he had glass shards up inside him every time he moved.
Harry couldn't understand how the kid could have gotten back to Hogwarts while feeling as bad as he did, but the fiend had thought of everything. No sooner had Carl staggered out the barn door, than the subconscious programming took over and masked the assault from the boy's conscious mind with a Feel Good Charm. The rape was buried deep in his subconscious, while Carl was programmed to ignore the pain in his rectum until the proper time, after the false memory was triggered.
But the stranger couldn't erase the memory completely, Harry realized. On some level, Carl had known something terrible had happened at that barn, hence his fear in even the implanted memories of simply passing it on the road.
I think we've seen enough here, Harry said as Carl's memories left them standing on the Hogsmeade road beside the overgrown field.
It – it wan't Professor Snape, Carl mindspoke to him, his emotions dangerously close to the surface.
No, it wasn't, Harry answered, sending as much reassurance to the boy as he could. Carl seemed understandably overwhelmed by the deception that had been foisted upon him. Harry could sense how he felt as though he'd been raped yet again, on all levels.
Harry felt the same himself. He was shaking like he would after one of his dreams, his heart pounding madly against his chest as he struggled to hold onto the contents of his stomach.
You knew all along, didn't you? The Hyptnoserum must have been starting to wear off because Carl's words were an emotion-packed accusation. Or perhaps all of this was just too much for Carl to keep himself distanced from.
I didn't know what had happened; I just knew it wasn't Professor Snape who hurt you, Harry answered. I'm sorry, Carl.
The road, field, and barn dissolved around him, propelling him into Carl's distraught mind. If Snape's mind were a maelstrom, this was an all out tornado of emotion. The anger and pain buffered and beat at Harry the same way his own night terrors did.
Harry did what he could to comfort, but there wasn't much to be done. The wounds and betrayals the boy had suffered went too deep. The most he seemed able to do was let Carl know that he wasn't alone, and that he would do everything in his power to help Carl get through this.
How long he stayed there blanketing the boy with comfort, Harry didn't know.
Finally, Carl seemed to want some privacy in his own mind.
Weary to the bone, Harry struggled to disconnect himself from Carl's mind. As he came to himself, he had the briefest impression of having his face buried in a woman's white-covered bosom, but upon opening his eyes, he realized that he was still picking up Carl's perceptions.
Madam Pomfrey had the boy in her arms and was stroking his back as Carl clung to her and sobbed his heart out.
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at a gentle touch to his arm.
"You all right, Harry?" Ron asked from beside him, his face lined with concern.
Realizing that it was the wetness on his own cheeks that had no doubt spurred the question, Harry quickly wiped his cheeks dry. Giving a mute nod, he took hold of Ron's arm and all but staggered out of the boy's room.
Once the door was shut behind him, Harry let go of Ron and leaned back against the cold stone wall. Breathing deep, he tried to get control of his emotions. It hadn't happened to him. Carl was the one who'd been raped, but right now, Harry couldn't differentiate between his own memories and Carl's. They hurt the same, no matter where they came from.
For a moment Harry stood there, trying to process all he'd felt and seen, but it was too much. Feeling as raw and violated as the boy, Harry sank down to the floor and buried his face in his knees.
"Harry?" Ron knelt beside him, a strong, loyal presence at his side.
The touch to his shoulder made him flinch. It was all Harry could do to remind himself that this was Ron and that what he'd seen and felt hadn't happened to him.
He was still trying to work his way through all that when Ron reached out and pulled him into his arms. His initial resistance faded as soon as he felt Ron's warmth. Shivering all over, Harry pressed his face into Ron's scarlet Auror robes and breathed in his friend's reassuring, familiar scent.
Strong. Ron was always so damn strong, and always there for him. Ron knelt beside him on the icy flagstones, holding him close and rubbing his back in an unrushed manner that seemed to promise that he'd kneel there forever if need be.
It took a while, but eventually Harry got hold of himself. He pulled back with a shaky smile. Fortunately, they were alone in the infirmary corridor. He'd hate to think what the reporters would have made out of this scene. "Thanks."
"No, thank you," Ron said. "You're the one doing us the favour."
Harry could see the questions in Ron's eyes, and appreciated that they remained unvoiced for the moment. Knowing that time was everything in a case like this, Harry took a deep breath and reported, "Carl was stopped on the way back from Hogsmeade by an unfamiliar wizard in his fifties with brown hair and grey eyes who placed him under Imperius and raped him in a deserted barn. Afterwards, the wizard used Legilimency to plunder the boy's mind for information on Snape, which he then used to create and implant the illusion of the detention molestation. What happened to him in that barn was worse, Ron, much worse than the fantasy the bastard made up. I don't know that I did Carl any favours by helping him remember the truth."
