“I am getting tired of waiting, servant. What is taking so long?” He was so mad He didn’t even wait for the kneeling figure at His feet to answer before He leveled a brief Cruciatus Curse on him.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” the figure rasped when He finally lifted the curse, “but I still have not had an opportunity to strike. The castle is heavily watched. I cannot go anywhere without being seen by at least three dozen individuals. The portraits themselves prohibit me from moving around the halls freely.”

“That is no excuse!” He hissed.

“Please, my Lord,” the masked figure begged in a dead, toneless voice, “I just need a little more time. Your wishes will be completed. It will be done shortly after Christmas break, I promise. I- AH!”

The masked figure collapsed to the floor, screaming in pain from another Cruciatus.

“Why not before, or during?” another masked figure demanded, coming up behind the kneeling man. His pale blue eyes glinted evilly under his mask as he laid another Unforgivable on his masked victim. The kneeling figure fell writhing to the floor, screaming piteously, but strangely did not try to fight back.

“Now, now, now, Lucius, don’t get too carried away,” He said, interrupting the other man‘s curse. “We still need him alive…”

“Forgive me, my Lord,” the man, Lucius, said, bowing his head.

Turning back to the crumpled figure on the floor, He narrowed His eyes in disdain. “My faithful servant does raise a valid point however…” He said. “Answer him, traitor!”

The kneeling figure slowly - painfully - pulled himself back up onto his knees to answer. He humbly bowed his head. “I need to wait until after the holiday so I can use the time everyone else is gone to complete my preparations. Otherwise, it will jeopardize my plans.”

He angrily swept His robes behind Him and paced along the room. “Very well. But mark my words, servant, if this fails you will be severely punished.”

“I understand, my Lord,” the kneeling figure bowed. “I will not disappoint you.”

“I hope for your sake you do not,” He replied. Then turning to the third man in the room, He said, “Lucius, I wish for our fallen brother here to truly understand that I will not tolerate any more failure on his part. I am sure many of my other faithful servants will also want to help give him an incentive not to fail…”

“As you wish, Master,” Lucius bowed.

Harry abruptly bolted upright in his bed, hyperventilating and shaking, his eyes wide and filled with terror. His entire body was drenched in sweat. The sheets and blankets were twisted around him, tangling him in a tight cocoon.

He frantically struggled to untangle them, almost panicking when he couldn’t immediately free himself. Finally he managed to push the sweat-sodden sheets from him, and leaned back against the headboard, still shaking and gasping for air.

As he sat there trying to catch his breath, he suddenly realized he was sobbing in between his desperate gasps for air. Salty tears were mixed with the cold sweat soaking his face. Harry shakingly reached up and pushed the sweaty bangs from his face, struggling to control himself. His scar was throbbing painfully, pulsing in time with the pounding of his heart. Harry choked back another sob and pushed himself out of bed, trying to keep quiet. Ron was sleeping on the other side of the room, oblivious to his friend’s state of distress. His gentle snores echoed loudly through the otherwise oppressive silence of number twelve Grimmauld Place.

Moving stealthfully in the darkness, Harry grabbed his dressing robe from the end of the bed and went to a large window-seat near his bed that overlooked the back gardens of the old Black estate. Small tremors were still coursing through his body as he sat and curled himself up by the window, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Silver moonlight streamed into the dark room, silhouetting Harry’s huddled form against its brilliant backdrop. Beyond the frosted glass, fat snowflakes lazily drifted past the window, dancing in the wintery December breeze. Harry dully watched them flutter past. His body still trembled, but he felt himself beginning to slowly calm down.

Taking a shaking breath, the boy pressed his forehead against the window pane, letting the icy chill of the glass soothe the painful throbbing in his scar.

Another one, he bitterly noted. They’re getting worse…

The words echoed through his ears like an ominous chant. This was now his fifth vision in the past three weeks. And they were progressively getting worse. Each new vision seemed to be more violent and painful for the masked man he always saw in them than the last. Harry knew in his heart of hearts who the man was, but for the life in him couldn’t think of anything to do to help him, or make the visions stop. No body but Ron and Hermione seemed to believe him that they were real…

Harry stifled another sob and pressed his face against the glass, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

It had now been almost two months since the disastrous Pensieve incident. Since then, all Occlumency lessons with Snape had abruptly ceased - and understandably so. Every time he looked back on that disastrous night, Harry wanted to curse himself with a strong Stinging Hex.

He knew he shouldn’t have looked, but at the time he’d been so sure there might be some clue as to what was going on with Snape in the Potion master’s Pensieve that he hadn’t even thought about what else might have been in there. Harry wanted to kick himself. He felt like an idiot - a complete, memory-violating idiot…

He still remembered the bitter anger in his Professor’s eyes when he’d pulled him back out of his memory. He should have known better than to snoop around in someone else’s private things. After so many years of getting into trouble for being places he shouldn’t have been and doing things he knew he shouldn‘t, one would have thought he’d have learned by now!

Harry gently bumped his head against the window, wishing he could go back in time and stop himself from looking into Snape’s Pensieve. Then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad now…

Besides stopping his Occlumency lessons, Snape’s vindictiveness towards him in Potions class and out had nearly doubled. He could barely walk through the same room as Snape without losing at least twenty points for Gryffindor. In his last Potions class before Christmas break alone, Snape had deducted a total of eighty-five points from him for having a dirty cauldron; not cutting his dandelion buds small enough; starting a fight with Malfoy - which was the Slytherin’s doing, as usual; and (this one was his favorite) for his shoes making too much noise when he’d gotten up to get his potions ingredients. Not to mention the week after he’d looked in Snape’s Pensieve, the Potion master had deliberately broke his potion sample at the end of class after Hermione had already cleanedhis cauldron for him; thus ensuring him a zero for that day’s lesson…

But despite all this, Harry couldn’t bring himself to actually hold anything against the spiteful Potions master. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if anyone else ever went through his memories like he’d done with Snape‘s. Granted Snape had gone through his memories too during their Occlumency lessons, but that had been under different circumstances; and Snape had taught him some useful Occluding techniques before he‘d been so stupid and gotten himself thrown out. If only he hadn’t gone and destroyed his only chance of ever learning how to stop seeing those horrible visions…

Harry leaned his head back against the window frame and sighed, wishing he could go back and change everything. But he couldn’t. He didn’t have a Time Turner, and even if he did, he doubted it would’ve made any real difference. What was that old Muggle saying about curiosity and the cat..?

Snowflakes continued to lazily cascade past the frosty window.

He hadn’t told Dumbledore about Snape stopping their Occlumency lessons, nor had the old headmaster come to him concerning them, but Harry had a sinking suspicion that Dumbledore already knew. Every time he happened to catch Dumbledore’s eye at dinner or in the halls, he saw a look of sorrow pass over the old man’s face, like he’d somehow disappointed him. Every time he saw that look in the Headmaster’s eyes he wanted to go straight to Snape’s office and beg him to continue their lessons. But he already had an idea of what Snape would say in response and had no wish for anymore Potions ingredients to be thrown at his head…

He couldn’t really blame Snape for being angry. After what he’d seen in his Pensieve it was no wonder Snape harbored such an intense hatred for his father and Sirius. He’d never really put much weight to Snape’s bitter comments about James and Sirius’ old Marauding days before - just attributing them to exaggerated childhood feelings of jealously and inadequacy. But after what he’d seen… It was no wonder Snape always got angry at the mere mention of them. He probably even thought Harry was going to go and tell everyone he knew about what he’d seen.

Yes, looking at it carefully, he could definitely understand the Potion master’s anger…

But what was worse than ruining his only hope of learning how to successfully Occlude his mind was that he had no idea what he could do to mend the tentative channel of communication he’d begun to open with Snape through their weekly Occlumency lessons together. He didn’t think it was something he could fix by something as simple as going to Snape’s office and apologizing. That would be too easy. Plus, if Snape actually did accept his apology, he would probably start wondering even more if Voldemort wasn’t somehow controlling the surly Potions master…

Harry sighed in frustration.

No matter what he did, he knew he had to somehow talk to Snape. These continued talks of plans and mysterious attacks did not sit well with Harry. He was going to have to watch Snape very carefully when he got back to school… Plus, with the growing intensity and frequency of these ominous visions, Harry was beginning to worry for the acerbic man‘s welfare. This last one in particular had left him feeling physically sick to his stomach. No matter how many times he saw a person getting tortured, it still made him want to vomit in revulsion…

Harry had to wipe away another trail of salty tears from his cheek. He hadn’t even realized he was still crying…

Outside, the snow was coming down in thick billowy sheets, each individual flake illuminated by the moon’s silvery glow. Staring out into the night’s inky depths, Harry had to wonder if Snape was out there somewhere; still being tortured by Death eaters, or perhaps making his way slowly back to Hogwarts to recover. It was hard to say for certain, and Harry wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know…

The soft rumble of Ron’s snores brought Harry slowly back to the present. Staring into the thick shadows on the other side of the room, Harry could make out Ron’s rumpled form, snoring blissfully away into his pillows.

Harry smiled wanly to himself and looked back out the window.

He wished he could sleep like Ron: without worry or nightmares. But it seemed that even some of the simplest things in life were not to be his…

The only consolation he had in this growing nightmare that was his life was the start of Christmas break. For the first time in all his years at Hogwarts, he wasn’t spending the holidays at school. It had taken some finagling, but Sirius had managed to make arrangements with Dumbledore to let Harry come spend Christmas break at Grimmauld Place. Ron and Hermione had also been invited along with all the other Weasleys; so for the first time in many years, the old Black mansion was filled with the activity and sounds of many people. Though it was still a week before Christmas day, there was a certain note of anticipation in the air. One could barely help but be effected by the general happiness that filled the house - especially when Mrs. Weasley seemed so intent on making sure everyone was fed, warm, and generally felt at home.

But for all the efforts of Mrs. Weasley, his godfather and friends, Harry couldn’t seem to get into the Christmas spirit. He felt like there was some ominous black cloud hanging over him, refusing to relinquish its hold over him…

He suspected his friends and Sirius had also begun to notice his abnormally quiet demeanor. But as of yet, none of them had said anything.

As Harry sat there staring into the cold winter night, he began to notice the drafty breeze seeping through the window and past his dressing gown. Before long, his hands and feet had grown cold and numb.

Harry shivered. His bed lay several feet away, inviting and warm, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to leave the window. He was afraid of what he might see if he went to sleep again.

Harry ran a tired hand over his eyes. He was so tired. Since the start of term that year he’d barely gotten even of handful a full nights’ rest. Every night he’d lay there awake, staring up at the ceiling, afraid of what vision he might see that night before slowly drifting off into fitful sleep. Needless to say, it was nothing short of torture. And not even the sanctuary of the old Black mansion, it seemed, could offer him release from his nocturnal visions of torture and torment. And even after all this time, he still couldn’t think of anything to do for his acerbic Potions master…

It seemed utterly hopeless…

Harry had to fit to fight back the sting of frustrated tears burning his eyes.

He couldn’t think of anything to do. Once again, he found himself wondering if he shouldn’t finally go to Dumbledore about his sleepless nights and reoccurring nightmares. Even if Dumbledore didn’t believe him, maybe he could still somehow help him make them stop…

As another drafty breeze seeped through the window and chilled his skin, Harry was once again forced to acknowledge the icy night wind.

What is it with wizards and drafty old buildings? he mentally griped. They seriously need to look into Muggle central heating…

He wished it wasn’t so cold.

Rubbing his hands together, Harry pulled his robe tighter around him. It was starting to get cold. He knew he could go get a blanket, but didn’t particularly feel like getting up. He pulled his legs up closer to his chest and leaned his head back against the window frame, trying to ignore the cold.

Outside, snowflakes continued to swirl through the air, locked in their ancient hypnotic dance.

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there staring out the front-covered glass, but he eventually felt himself begin to grow sleepy. He felt more at peace now than he did before, the falling snow having helped soothe his troubled mind. Strangely, he also felt warm, like the winter draft was no longer there. Exhaustion tugged softly at his sense, urging him to go back to bed.

Harry tiredly rubbed his eyes. He felt better now. At least a little bit… He felt he might be able to go to sleep now. He just hoped he wouldn’t have any more visions that night.

Getting up, he made his way back to his bed and crawled in. As he laid there listening to Ron’s gentle snores, he tried to clear his mind of everything - just like how Snape always told him to. Despite the lingering fear of having another vision, Harry slowly drifted off into shallow, restless sleep.

Unbeknownst to Harry though as he glided through the empty darkness of unconsciousness, was the thin film of moisture fogging the window he’d just been sitting beside. Water dripped down the glass from the icicles hanging outside from the window eves. Even the snow that had begun to accumulate on the outside window ledge had disappeared, melted as though hit by some powerful Hearting Charm.

But Harry noticed none of this as he fell into deeper sleep.

The basement kitchen/ dining room was filled with the numerous voices of laughing, talking people. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the Weasley twins were all in attendance, valiantly trying to make a dent in the huge feast Mrs. Weasley had prepared for lunch. Only Ron seemed to be making any headway.

Sirius, sitting in the midst of all the children and enjoying the fresh sense of Life they’d brought back with them from school to the old Black house, laughed at some joke one of the twins had just told. Lupin was also there, sipping quietly on his tea while his friend boisterously joined in to the table’s general chaos.

“Harry, dear, eat some more. You’ve barely even touched your sandwich,” Mrs. Weasley said as she leaned over Harry’s shoulder, as though inspecting his plate to see if he was ready for more.

“I’m just not very hungry, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied.

“But you didn’t eat breakfast this morning,” she said, eyeing him closely. “You slept in so late, I was afraid you were going to sleep through lunch too. Are you not feeling well?” She leaned down and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

“No, no,” he hastily replied, pulling away from her. “I was just really tired, s’all.” He knew even then how feeble his assurances sounded.

Mrs. Weasley, just as expected, looked unconvinced.

By now, everyone else at the table had quieted to listen.

“What’s the matter, Harry?” Sirius said, looking concerned. “Are you not sleeping well?”

“I’ll say,” Ron interjected as he paused in taking another bite of his turkey sandwich. “I’ve heard him get up in the middle of the night several times the last few weeks. Driving me nuts - no offense, mate…” he quickly added.

Everyone glanced back at Harry, waiting for him to answer.

Harry racked his brains for something to say. He knew he couldn’t lie without his friends and godfather somehow knowing, but he also didn’t want to tell them the truth of what was actually going on.

“Er…” he murmured.

“Are you still having visions?” Hermione abruptly asked, sending the room into sudden, absolute silence.

“No, no,” Harry hastily lied. “I just had a bad dream last night. That’s all. Nothing to get worried about.”

“What do you mean still having visions?” Sirius demanded, not even listening to what his godson was saying. “Dumbledore told me you were taking lessons to learn how to stop them.”

“I was but-”

“He’s not taking them anymore,” Hermione butted in, meeting Harry‘s angry gaze as she did undaunted. “He hasn’t been for the last two months.” Harry felt a prickling of betrayal at his friend’s unwelcomed offering of information. She’d been on his case for the last several weeks about not taking Occlumency lessons anymore, and apparently still hadn’t given up on it.

Sirius stared at Harry. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t need anymore lessons,” Harry hotly shot back. “I don’t understand why everyone is making such a big deal about it.” He wasn’t really sure why he was getting so upset. Maybe it was because of all his friends and godfather questioning him like this - like he was some kind of criminal on trial - or maybe it was just frazzled nerves from lack of sleep. But whatever the case, Harry felt like he was being pushed onto the defensive.

“It’s a big deal because it’s important for you to learn how to stop these dreams you keep having,” Lupin calmly said. “And if you no longer need these lessons, then why are you still having visions?”

Harry had nothing to say in response, and sat there in sullen, angry silence as Lupin went on. “Dumbledore is worried Voldemort might be trying to somehow influence you with these dreams. We don’t know what he might be planning. That is why for both your sake and the Order’s you have to learn how to Occlude your mind like Dumbledore says.”

Harry knew it was going to come to this, but knew he couldn’t keep it secret any longer. “Well that’s going to be a problem seeing as how Snape won’t give me lessons anymore.”

Anger flashed through Sirius‘ eyes. “What do you mean he won’t give you anymore lessons?” he shouted. “Why that greasy little snake… I knew it was a bad idea to let Dumbledore trust him with something so important. I swear I’m going to go straight to Dumbledore about this! This is the last time that forked-tongue git does something like this. What happened, he got bored and decided he didn’t want to waste anymore of his precious time? Just wait until I tell Dumbledore…” Sirius actually began to stand, anger spurring him to immediate action.

“It’s not his fault!” Harry angrily shouted, meeting his godfather’s startled look. “It’s not Snape’s fault he won’t give me lessons anymore…” he softly repeated, dropping his gaze to the tabletop. “It’s mine.”

Sirius looked like a sail that had suddenly lost all its wind. “What? Why?”

“Because I looked at something of his I shouldn’t have while he wasn’t there,” Harry murmured, not quite able to meet his godfather’s eyes anymore. “He came back and caught me…”

“What were you looking at?” Lupin asked.

“His Pensieve.”

“Oh, Harry…” Mrs. Weasley sighed in disappointment. Everyone else seemed to share her sentiments. Lupin shook his head sadly. Even Sirius looked disappointed by his godson.

Harry slouched down in his seat, once again feeling like something the size of an ant.

“When did this happen?” Lupin gently asked.

Harry sighed. “I don’t know… About two months ago. Before the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor match…”

“Why did you go looking through Snape’s Pensieve?” Sirius said. Harry winced at his godfather’s stern tone. He’d never reprimanded him or disciplined him before, but Harry could tell his godfather was very angry with him right now.

“Snape’s been acting strange ever since the raid on Azkaban last August,” Harry vehemently tried to explain. “I tried to tell everyone that Voldemort’s done something to him, but no one will listen to me. Every time before we had Occlumency lessons, Snape would put memories into his Pensieve. I thought they might have something to do with what Voldemort did to him, so when Snape left to go check on something, I thought that might be my chance to find out what was wrong with him…”

“And I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for?” Lupin noted.

Harry had to force himself to answer. “No…” he bit out under his breath. I found something worse, and both you and Sirius were involved.

“That was inexcusable, Harry,” Sirius said, looking very grim. “You shouldn’t have done that, even if it was Snape.”

Harry stared at his godfather, appalled. Even if it was Snape? He might not have necessarily liked his Potions master, but something about his godfather‘s comment made him want to go to his Professor‘s defense. Why should it have mattered if it was Snape or not? No matter whose memories they were, he knew he shouldn’t have looked.

Once again the sour memory of what he’d seen in Snape’s Pensieve came back to him.

“I don’t know,” he softly whispered, meeting Sirius’ eyes coldly, “it kind of seemed like something the old Marauders would have done…”

Sirius and Lupin both stared at him, startled expressions on both their faces. A sudden tension filled the room.

“Well, since everyone’s done with lunch, I think you should all go upstairs now,” Mrs. Weasley said, hurrying to break the tension that had formed between the three with forced cheerfulness. “Come on, everyone! Upstairs! That means you too, Fred. Ginny, would you mind staying behind and helping me clean up? Hermione, dear, could you go up to third floor and see if you can‘t find anymore Christmas decorations for the front parlor? Ron, why don‘t you go with her?”

Everyone slowly got up to leave, not willing to defy Mrs. Weasley’s orders. Harry, however, was not about to let his godfather and Lupin get away so easily. He had questions, and knew he couldn‘t put off asking them any longer, even if he dreaded the answers.

“Can I talk to you two?” he asked as the others began to move for the stairs. “Alone?”

Sirius and Lupin both exchanged looks, before Sirius finally replied, “Of course, Harry,” and led them upstairs. As the others went their separate ways - giving Harry one last worried look over their shoulders before going to each of their individual tasks - Sirius, Lupin, and Harry headed for the Black family library.

As Sirius closed the door behind them, Harry turned to face them.

“What did you want to talk to us about, Harry?” Remus asked. Sirius came up beside him and waited for Harry to answer.

Somehow now faced with the opportunity to ask his godfather and ex-professor the questions that had been haunting him for the last two months, Harry suddenly felt his resolve begin to waver. Did he really want to do this? Did he really want to know?

Sirius and Lupin were patiently waiting for him to begin, concern shadowing both their faces.

Harry took a deep breath and began. “Remember how I said I looked in Snape’s Pensieve?” he asked. Sirius and Lupin both silently nodded. “Well, I saw one of his memories. It was from his days as a student at Hogwarts. Both of you were in it…and my father…”

Lupin solemnly averted his eyes from Harry - as if he knew where this was going - while Sirius said nothing in response except perhaps perk up a little at the mention of his old friend.

“All of you were in the hallway between classes,” Harry went on, hurrying now to get it all out before he lost his nerve. “I think you were going to lunch, I’m not sure. But my dad was upset about some girl and you-” he looked at Sirius “-tried to cheer him up by distracting him… There was a boy in the hall with you. He wasn‘t doing anything to you, but you pointed him out to my dad, and…” He couldn’t find the words to go on. He struggled for a moment to say what he’d asked his godfather and ex-professor there to say. But for the life in him, he couldn’t find the words to do so. It left too much of a bad taste in his mouth to even try to form the words he wanted - no, needed - to say.

“The boy you saw was Snape, wasn’t it?” Lupin said, his eyes distant and filled with the ghosts of old memories. “I think I know what incident you’re talking about…”

Harry couldn’t hold back anymore and blurted out the one word that he’d been trying to understand since witnessing that painful memory. “Why?” He stared at Sirius, as if beseeching him to tell him everything he’d seen was nothing more than some kind of trick - that his father and godfather weren’t really the arrogant bullies he’d seen in his Potion master’s Pensieve.

“Why did you do that?” he desperately pleaded. “Snape wasn’t doing anything to you. He was just walking down the hall when you attacked him. And my father actually tried to get my mother to go out with him by promising not to pick on Snape anymore.”

Lupin took a deep breath and sighed. Sirius looked suddenly uncomfortable, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“You have to understand, Harry,” Lupin began, “that we were very… let’s just say, wild and insensitive in our younger days at Hogwarts - your father and Sirius especially…” He gave Sirius a somewhat disapproving glance out of the corner of his eye. “They even made me a Prefect to try and keep those two in line. But I am ashamed to admit that I somewhat failed in that area. Sirius and James got away with a lot of things they probably shouldn‘t have while in school.”

“Oh, come on, Remus,” Sirius huffed. “We weren’t even half as bad as how you’re making us out to be. You’re making it sound like James and I were some kind of bullies.”

Harry couldn’t help but bite back that that was exactly what he thought they’d been from what he’d seen in Snape’s memory.

Sirius seemed to notice his godson’s skeptical look, and gave a heavy sigh. “Harry,” he said, “by the time of that memory you saw, Snape and your father had already established a long running grudge with each other. They were still hiding in wait and cursing each other around corners all the way up until graduation. I can safely tell you their feelings for each other were mutual.”

“But I still don’t understand why you attacked Snape like that in front of the whole school. He wasn’t doing anything to you, and my father decided to pick on him just because he was upset about a girl. And you helped him.”

Sirius heaved another sigh. “Harry… I admit, James and I probably shouldn’t have done what we did. But like I said, feelings were mutual between us and Snape. He could give just as good as he got.”

Harry stood there a moment, silently rolling that over in his mind, trying to accept that as an excuse for the blatant, unprovoked attack on a younger teenage Snape. In a way, he believed his godfather when he said Snape probably got back at them somehow. After spending so many years being taught by the acerbic man, he had no doubt in his mind that his Potion master would not have quietly accepted such abuse. But… did that really absolve his father and godfather of any blame?

Something deep inside him couldn’t accept that. He’d experienced too much bullying and name calling himself in his younger years with the Dursleys to be able to forgive someone - even his godfather - so easily for such a crime.

“What about my mother?” Harry softly asked. “She didn’t seem to like my dad very much…”

Sirius chuckled. “Aw, Lily? James couldn’t stop himself from liking her. She gave your father quite a hard time trying to convince her to go out with him.”

“But she said she never would,” Harry said, remembering his mother’s vehement declarations that James Potter was one of the last people on earth she’d ever consider going out with.

“Yeah, well, she stuck to that promise for awhile,” Sirius chuckled, smiling fondly at the memory. “But James finally managed to win her over with his charms and they started going out their Seventh year. And the rest, as they say, was history… ”

Harry nodded silently, still unexplainably torn by conflicting emotions. Everything he’d once believed about his parents and godfather had been torn apart, rearranged, and glued back together into a picture that was much like its original but still bore the tears and folds of where Harry‘s original preconceptions had been ripped apart and repaired, but not completely erased or put together in the exact same way as they were before. He felt a little better now hearing his godfather’s and Lupin’s own side of the story, but at the same time he knew he would never be able to think of Sirius or his father in the same way again. The memory he’d seen had been unbiased and indisputable - seen for what it really was from an outside party’s point of view. There was no denying what had actually happened, no matter what Sirius said about Snape and James’ hatred going beyond just what he’d seen.

“Harry, I know you might not want to do it, but you need to see about taking those lessons with Snape again,” Lupin said, bringing the boy back from his thoughts. “They’re very important. Both for you and the Order. You’re putting yourself in danger by not learning how to keep Voldemort from getting into your thoughts. You have to talk to Snape about giving you lessons again.”

“He barely even looks at me without taking twenty points from Gryffindor, let alone will let me actually talk to him,” he said in frustration.

“Have you tried apologizing?” Lupin pressured.

Harry sighed. “No. And I don’t know how I can… He‘ll probably just think I‘m lying or trying to pull his leg.”

“I could talk to Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “If I tell him Snape’s stopped giving Harry lessons, he’ll make Snape do it. That way the greasy git won’t be able to squirm his way out of it.”

Lupin shook his head. “That’ll just make things worse, Sirius. He’s already angry that Harry went through his memories. Having Dumbledore make him continue Occlumency lessons isn’t go to help Harry. Snape might start giving him lessons again but if he‘s still angry, he could easily decide not to teach him anything useful.”

Sirius scowled and crossed his arms, knowing his friend was right.

“When’s the next Order meeting?” Harry tentatively asked. “I know there were a few the last couple nights. Maybe I can talk to Snape then before the next one and apologize.”

Sirius and Lupin both exchanged guarded looks.

“What?” Harry demanded.

“Snape hasn’t been to any meetings lately,” Lupin explained. “Even Dumbledore looked a little worried when he didn’t show for the last one. None of us have actually seen him since school let out for Christmas break.”

Harry felt a chill race down his spine. “Are you sure? Dumbledore doesn’t know where he’s been?”

“Not that I know of,” Lupin replied. “Dumbledore really didn’t say anything about it. Only that he was slightly worried that Snape wasn’t there.”

Sirius snorted. “He’s probably with Voldemort and his little pack of Death eaters for the holidays. You know, spying, or so Dumbledore says…”

“How can you say that, Sirius?” Lupin said, giving his friend an incredulous look. “After all he did to help Harry last summer. I would have thought you’d show at least a little bit more respect towards the man who helped save your godson.”

Sirius grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but - looking chastised - didn’t say anything else.

Meanwhile, Harry felt a nauseous feeling of unease begin to form in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling Snape was with Voldemort for the holidays just like Sirius thought, but not for the same reasons.