A/N: Another chapter...uh...another chapter. Well, I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: NO!!!! I don't own, why would I own it? Do I look like J.K. Rowling? I do? Really? Why thank you but I'm really not her so I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 3- Who Are You?

Harry held his breath as the onyx eyes searched him. There was intelligence there, a great deal of it though what bothered him the most was the glint of a wild animal behind that intelligence, or was that just a trick of the light? Carefully, making sure his hand movements where in plain sight, he reached out to brush back the hair. The onyx eyes suddenly widened in terror and with a silent yell the man jerked away from and crawled with amazing speed to another corner. Once more Harry froze, waiting till the man had settled himself into his new corner before turning to sit, leaning against the wall. He made no more moves towards the man, electing for him to make the first move. If that wild animal glint had been true he knew that it was always better to allow the animal to move first.

:Who is he?: a strangely new and deep voice resonated through his mind, catching him off guard. He started and the man let out a silent whimper, curling further into his protective ball. Once more Harry stilled his movements to the bare minimum until the other had calmed down some what and he allowed his breathing to return to normal. This allowed him to return to his own thoughts. Had he really heard that or had it just been a figment of his over active imagination?

:Is he one of Master's men? But if he is, why hasn't the Games begun yet?: Was it Harry's overactive imagination again or was there a sparkle of curiosity in those depthless orbs? The words floating though the green-eyed boy's mind chilled him to the bone. Master? Games?-What sort of sick place was this? Who was the self-righteous bastard that had reduced this extraordinary man to nothing but a shell of his former self?

He started again, though this time he was able to control any outward movement. Now where had that come from? He didn't even know who this man was and already he was making judgments of him and his former life. He had to have had a life before this place; at least, Harry hoped he had. Deciding that this waiting game was getting him no where in an extreme hurry, he decided to try a new tactic.

"Hello," he murmured in his softest voice yet still the man flinched and hid his face in his arms, "My name is Harry and I have no wish to harm you." There, he'd said it. If the man was not too far gone to comprehend his speech there was hope yet. It was some time before the man reacted and Harry had no idea what he was feeling, his face still hidden in the depths of his knees.

Finally, when the eight-year-old was about to despair, the man lifted his head. :Was he serious?:

"Of course I was serious!" Harry burst out before he could stop himself. The man's onyx eyes widened in surprise and darted around the room, as if trying to find a place that would put further space between him and his visitor. Berating himself for his mistake, Harry took another deep breath and tried to project a calm aura but he didn't know how successful he was. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Could you tell me your name?" It was a relevant question; he certainly couldn't keep calling him 'man' just because of his ignorance.

One glowing orb watched him suspiciously from between the tangled raven locks. :My name? I'm Master's dog, not fit to have a name.:

Sorrow and shame swelled up within Harry at this thought, nearly drowning his anger. Who---Or what as no human could possibly do this to another---had done this to the raven-haired man? Harry was normally a person apposed to violence, being on the receiving end of it a great deal of the time, but in 'Master's' case, he was willing to make an exception.

"I think you're fit to have a name," Harry said with as much conviction as he could muster, "Please, won't you tell me?"

The shame once more reared its ugly head as the dark-haired man turned away. :How can I tell him I do not even remember?:

A great deal of sympathy flooded Harry at that moment for the man. What must it feel like not even to remember your own name? It was as though you'd lost your entire identity, the very essence that comprised who you were. While Harry might not actually like his name it was something he could claim solely as his. This man before him did not even have that.

"Why don't you remember?" he heard himself asking before he could stop himself.

There was no doubting the man's reaction this time. His head whipped up and he glared suspiciously at the boy. :How does he know that I don't remember? Can he read my thoughts?:

It was at this moment that Harry realized for the first time that this conversation he'd been holding was all together one-sided, at least as far as verbal replies went. He knew that if he'd been standing up at that moment he would have fallen flat on his behind in amazement. He could hear this man's thoughts, with startling clarity too! How was that even possible, it shouldn't be possible, not at all.

:I can hear his thoughts. Uh...wow, I don't think there's any other way to describe it,: He thought as he stared off into a corner, totally missing the man's eyes narrowing.

:So...you can hear me.: The sudden "voicing" of the man's thoughts brought Harry from his musings with a start though this time, he was happy to see, the man did not react negatively to it.

:I...I guess so,: Harry tentatively sent back, hoping beyond hope that maybe he was getting somewhere with this man. By the further narrowing of his eyes though he was not going to hold his breath.

:Why?:

That was a loaded question if Harry had ever heard one. Who was he kidding, he didn't know! How was he supposed to even begin to explain that he'd been in his cupboard asleep and then ended up in the cell with him; it sounded insane even to his own ears!

:I don't know, I really don't,: the eight-year-old answered back truthfully. The man seemed to accept this and fall into his own thoughts, leaving Harry to his own devices. After nearly shredding the ends of his sleeves he decided that it was time to repeat an earlier question. :Why can't you remember your name?:

The sound of his mental voice seemed to snap the raven-haired man from his thoughts as he physically focused on the boy in front of him. :You already asked that.:

The green-eyed boy sighed. :I know but you didn't answer me. Please, I really want to know.:

He could see the physical sigh that went along with the mental one. :You should know.:

Now the boy was truly confused; why in the world should he know? It wasn't as though he'd ever met the man before, he knew nothing about him at all! :But I don't,: He confessed, :Won't you tell me?:

:You're a figment of my overactive imagination, of course you know.: The other said stubbornly, surprising Harry.

"I am not! I'm me, just Harry!" he yelled. The effects were instantaneous. The raven-haired man's eyes widened to the size of saucers and he scrambled to another corner where he curled once more into a ball, shivering mightily. Harry tried to speak in order to sooth away his mistake but the man's own mental screams drowned him out.

:NO! Go away, go away, go away, go away. You're one of Master's men, master's men, master's men no, hurt me, pain, master's men, the Games, NO! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!:

Before Harry realized what was happening he found himself tumbling through darkness. With an almost audible 'thump' he landed on his small cot. Eyes snapping open he sat up and panted. When his head stopped spinning he laid himself back down and tried to order his thoughts back into some cohesion. He could faintly hear the Dursleys just finishing up dinner though the open vent and knew that he couldn't have been out long.

Was what just happened to him...real? Was there really a raven-haired man in a dungeon cell somewhere in the world? If that was true, then why was Harry dreaming about him. Or, more accurately, why was Harry visiting him in his sleep. Deep down somewhere he knew that that man was real and very much in need of help. Could he, little insignificant Harry Potter, be that someone to help him? Surely there was a way but would the man accept his help?

So many questions and all of them would have to be set aside for Aunt Petunia was screeching his name, demanding that he come clean the dishes. With a sigh he rose from his cot and pushed open his door, ducking under his aunt's swing with the frying pan and scurrying into the kitchen. His thoughts about Raven would just have to wait.

:::End of Chapter 3:::

A/N: I know this was short and I do apologize but that's just where it decided to end itself. To all of you who may be wondering, yes, that was Severus and yes, he is not in his right mind. Severus's mind at the moment is like a watermelon that someone hit with a hammer: it's absolutely shattered to bits. While at times he will be coherent, there are other times that he will not be, such as we saw at the end. Just don't worry, everything will be explained.

SEVVIE TORTURE!!!

:Clears throat: I ask that you please review, it does help my psyche to know that I'm not the only one reading this.