The day was passing much to quickly for Harry. 

It seemed to him he had woken up only moments before, yet his watch told him it had been hours since then. He sighed and turned back to Lupin, shrugging.

"Try it again," said Harry wearily, motioning to the man.

Lupin grinned and walked up to him, his arms swinging about like a little schoolboy’s, shabby robes fluttering about. "How was that?" He asked eagerly, looking rather pleased with himself. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, so he simply shrugged again, nodding his head. Unfazed, the professor continued, his usually sad, careworn face resembling something close to happiness. "You know, I’ve always wanted to come back here as a student." He straightened his robes, brushing a hand through his hair. "What about that, then?"

Harry shook his head, reminded of James Potter in Snape’s memory, messing up his hair and strutting about just as Lupin was. "Too much like my dad," he explained, feeling a bit guilty by the put-out look on Lupin’s face. This seemed to be a problem with James’ old friends. They really thought of Harry as a sort of mini-James, or so he was beginning to realise. Mrs. Weasleys words from so long ago came ringing back, along with the slightly unsettling echo of Remus’, ‘he’s not James, Snape!’, ringing in his ears. If he wasn’t James, then why was it so difficult for Remus to learn how to be a proper Harry Potter—one without the arrogant strut, or the annoying, unnecessary hair ruffling?

"Have I been channeling Severus this whole time, then, Harry?"

Severus? What did that—Oh, yeah, he’d almost forgotten. Remus must have thought Harry was talking about Snape. What a terrifying thought.

"No, no, no, not him. I meant James. You’re acting like James again."

For nearly two hours they had been slaving away at ‘Harry Lessons’. Remus needed to fit the role perfectly, because Ron and Hermione were far too clever not to notice if something was off about their friend. Even the tiniest slip in character would alert them that something was off, and that was not a risk anyone was willing to take.

"Watch me," he instructed, walking to the other side of the room. He strolled over, nonchalant, stopping and readjusting an imaginary strap where his bag would have been. "See? You’ve got to walk normally, and don’t keep messing up your hair or anything, cause I don’t do that. My dad did that."

Lupin frowned, looking concerned.

"It’s not that bad, though," said Harry hastily, afraid he might have insulted his friend.

"No, no, it’s not that. It’s just, well, I’m worried for you, Harry. I know this has been a heavy load on your shoulders, and you and Severus don’t exactly get along . . . .and, I suppose—I suppose I’ve been treating you a bit too much like James, haven’t I? You look so much like him . . . ."

"Tonks could look like him as well, if she wanted to," Harry interrupted, unsettled by the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was only just beginning to hit him how big this would be. People wouldn’t be treating him like James Potter’s son anymore. In fact, they probably wouldn’t even like him. He wasn’t sure what he liked less—always being recognized, but admired by many, or not being recognized and probably being hated by the rest of the school. "She’s a metamorphmagus. If you want a clone of my dad, you can ask her. I’m sure she’ll show you."

Lupin started, looking rather alarmed. "Tonks? Oh–oh, yes, well, I suppose she could, couldn’t she?"

There was something in the way he said it that made Harry think instantly of Ginny Weasley, and he could tell that Lupin’s stomach was flitting around just as much as his was.

Five o-clock found both Harry and Remus exhausted. They had been working for hours on minuscule details, movements, memories, and personality traits that Lupin was likely going to need to know.

"What’s my favorite color?" Harry quizzed, rubbing his eyes. When was the last time he’s had a good, uninterrupted sleep?

"Blue."

"Why?"

Lupin thought for a moment, before saying briskly, "Because you always wanted to go to the sea, and blue makes you think of the ocean." Harry nodded. They were making progress.

"What did Myrtle yell to Ron and me in second year?"

"To throw a book through her."

"Was Ron for it or against it?" They were doing very well indeed.

"For it."

"And what," began Harry, "did I see in Snape’s memories last year during Occlumency lessons?"

Remus paused. They hadn’t covered this one. "James and Sirius teasing him?" He suggested, sounding unsure. Harry shook his head. "What did you see?"

"I saw his mum and dad fighting while he cried, and him blasting flies off his ceiling as a teenager, and then him trying to mount a broomstick as it was bucking him off, while a girl laughed at him." Harry bit his lip. He hadn’t exactly meant to share these particular bits of information with Remus, as they weren’t actually important to being him. No one else knew what he’d seen, but he needed someone to know. Even if he had promised Snape not to tell, he needed someone to be able to understand just what was going through his mind, and Remus would be able to guess better than anyone. He, like Snape, had the uncanny ability to guess just at what Harry was thinking. Perhaps it wasn’t guessing?

"Everyone guessed Severus wasn’t happy with his family." Lupin shrugged. "It doesn’t come as much of a surprise to me, to tell you the truth, Harry. There is worse I have heard of them."

Harry stared at his hands for a moment, painfully aware of the fatherly smile Lupin was currently directing at him. He meant it to be comfortable, no doubt, but the boy could find nothing comforting in discussing Severus Snape.

"You don’t think he’ll—" He broke off, still looking down, this time at the pearly scar on his hand from last year’s detentions with Umbridge. He was thinking of all the times Snape would shout and belittle him, all the time’s the man’s grip on his arm had been bruising and almost cruelly strong.

"Children often mirror the behaviour of their parents, Harry, that is true," said Lupin softly, as though he had read Harry’s mind. "But that is not to say Severus will turn out as his father or mother. There is much more good in him than you realise, I think. He just needs some time. Don’t worry about it too much. He’s not his dad, Harry, and he most certainly is not your uncle."

Harry grinned, hastening to change the subject. "What do you do if Ron and Hermione start bickering over school?" He questioned, his eyes bright.

Lupin chuckled. "Stay away from them and try not to get involved, as they’ll both start trying to get me on their side, and of they get worse, walk away."

"And if they row?"

"About what?"

Thinking, Harry said briskly, "Ron being an arse and Hermione being an annoying know-it-all."

"I stand by in case they need mediating, then walk off and do something else. If it really gets out of hand, I go where they can’t find me, and then try to help them afterward, while still trying not to jeopardize my neutral disposition." Lupin laughed, ruffling Harry’s hair before rising to his feet and brushing off his robes.

"Use the other hand. I’m right-handed."

"Got you," he helped the boy up, collecting his things and walking to the door. "I think we’ve done enough for tonight. And you’ve got Occlumency with Severus, haven’t you?"

Harry sighed, nodding. It had been nice not remembering the dreaded lessons, but he knew he couldn’t avoid them. He’d promised Dumbledore, and the Headmaster would only share everything when Harry had at least come close to mastering the subject. He almost snorted. With Snape teaching him, there was a better chance his wand was going to break into a song and dance number.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? We’ve still got more to go over." He hated the way his voice sounded so anxious. Aunt Petunia would have called it whiny.

Lupin’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "You’re less like James now, you know, now that I’ve gotten to know you. It’s funny, I always used to think how alike to your father you are. I think I was right."

With that small, confusing bit of information, he left. Harry stood for a moment, trying to make out how he could be anything even remotely similar to Snape before sighing in defeat and heading off toward his Occlumency lesson. Fortunately for him, the corridors were less crowded than usual, so he didn’t have to worry about running into anyone, meaning no one would see him heading off for Snape’s office. He was getting sick of having to explain how Snape was giving him Remedial Potions lessons. That really would have to change, and soon.

"Mr. Potter."

Snape glanced up, a single eyebrow raised delicately, black eyes glaring from behind a curtain of greasy hair. The man looked every bit as undesirable and unpleasant as he had been during their last visit, yet Harry couldn’t help but remember Lupin’s words on Snape’s parents.

"No, it’s Voldemort," he said sarcastically, dropping unceremoniously into a chair. "And how come I’ve got to tell people I’m taking Remedial Potions? They’re beginning to think I’m a bit thick, you know." He frowned, his green eyes narrowed thoughtfully, the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead more pronounced than ever.

"Imagine that," said Snape dryly, ruffling through a pile of parchment. He withdrew one, glowering at it, before passing it to Harry. "You are not nearly as dense as you limit yourself to being, Potter, although, your grades in my class are beginning to suggest otherwise . . . ."

Was that a complement? Harry ears perked up, and he couldn’t help but smirk. A complement from Snape. Those came about as often as bright ideas came to Crabbe and Goyle.

"Good to know I’m not completely thick-headed, then. I was beginning to think it ran in the family." He grinned cheekily, ruffling his hair. How long would it take for Snape to—

It didn’t take long at all.

"Five points from Gryffindor, for your cheek, and I believe we have a lesson to attend to," growled Snape, his nostrils flaring. "Begin with the earliest memory you possess, and then continue until we lose time."

Harry started. He had forgotten that tonight’s lesson, along with many other lessons, would be him spilling his life story out to a man who couldn’t care less. The very thought of it was sickening. The great prat didn’t care whether he got spanked as a little kid, or if he blew up his aunt, or how stupid Dudley had been.

"You are wasting my time, Potter."

Chewing heavily on his bottom lip, Harry said calmly, "I’ve decided not to, actually. I don’t see why sharing any of this with you will ever help me learn Occlumency, and I’d rather not treat you to One Hundred and One of Harry Potter’s Most Embarrassing Moments, thanks."

The silence that followed his words was asphyxiating.

Snape cleared his throat, standing and making his way to a shelf opposite the door. His robes billowed behind him, the hems flicking up with every step, doing a sort of crazed dance that reminded Harry of Hagrid dancing with Madame Maxime at the Yule Ball. Everything was still, with the exception of Snape, who was currently reaching for his wand to point at a high shelf, summoning a small bottle that looked all-too familiar.

"This is not a matter of foolish pride, Potter," he sniffed, pocketing the bottle, much to Harry’s surprise. The Potions Master’s pale face was twisted into a sneer, his lip curling, empty black eyes calculating. Harry couldn’t keep himself shrinking into his chair a bit, but he stood his ground. "Yet again you take me by surprise with your complete lack of understanding."

Harry squirmed, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was now sitting in a chair in Snape’s office, completely at the mercy of a man he was just doing his very best to offend.

"Stand up, Potter," Snape barked, pushing the chair out from under Harry with a flick of his wand.

Harry cursed, rubbing his backside and rising to his feet, all the while glaring daggers at Snape. "What was that for? I was going to get up on my own, you know." He chewed the inside of his cheek furiously, green eyes boring into depth-less black.

Snape, however, was unperturbed. He simply raised his wand again, leveling it with Harry’s head and hissing, "I am going to remind you just why these lessons are so important, Potter." And that was the last he heard before a cold ‘LEGILIMENS’ tore through the air.

Snape was telling him about Occlumency lessons in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, while Sirius growled from his chair. It was his first lesson, and he was on his knees, screaming, as Snape glared down at him, reaching out a sallow claw and placing it almost comfortably on his shoulder.

Where had that come from?

It was a few months ago, and he was sitting in Dumbledore’s office, listening as the man revealed the Greasy Git to be his father.

Groaning, Harry rolled onto his back, his eyes taking on a somewhat dazed, lost expression.

"Stand up, Potter," ordered Snape, his voice harsh, cutting through the thick fog that was beginning to develop in the boy’s mind. He emitted several words that would have done a sailor’s mother proud, stomping over to the crumpled form that was Harry and laying a hand on the sweaty brow. Perhaps he had been too rough with the little fool? Potter certainly hadn’t been expecting that sudden attack on his mind, but he should be ready for these sorts of things. The Dark Lord didn’t wait for people to gather their senses and prepare for an attack, and neither could Snape.

"Sit, Potter. There you are—No, don’t speak. Silence, I’m afraid, is a virtue you were most certainly not blessed with." Snape watched as Harry sat up, shaking his head and blinking confusedly. "Remain seated. You look as though you have just been hit by a Confuddlement Charm. You’ll feel better in a moment if you do as I say and sit down!"

Harry blinked again, feeling the ground sway beneath him. It took him a minute to regain full consciousness, and his glasses were now starting to fog from Snape’s heavy breathing, giving him a massive headache. Livid, he pushed away, his wand out and pointed straight at the man’s greasy head.

"What do you think you’re playing at? We were talking! And you think you have any right to say Sirius was a git to you, but look at yourself! How’d you think Dumbledore’d feel if he knew you were cursing students behind his back, huh? During lessons that he set up to offer help, not to hurt me even more!" His voice sounded ragged in the stone office, the angry shouts bouncing off the dungeon walls and back into his own ears. He’d had it with this, he really had. He’d had it with Snape being a git, and Dumbledore thinking it was all for him, all for his safety. Well, he wasn’t so safe now, was he? And what was Dumbledore thinking letting Snape, a Death Eater, teach Harry anything at all? As far as he was concerned, Snape was a Dark Wizard, no matter what the stupid paternity test said, or whatever miscellaneous reasons the Headmaster had for trusting the man.

Snape, however, seemed to be thinking differently. When he spoke, it was in a tone of forced calmness, his strong hands pushing Harry back into the chair. He tapped his foot, wand folded under the crook of one arm, eyes glinting as he fumed, "You think this is a sort of Joke, do you, Potter? Do you think the Dark Lord will let you sit and prepare yourself for an attack? I assure you, he will do no such thing, and it is high time you realised how much everyone else has put on the line to ensure your safety, only to find that the Golden Boy isn’t concerned. He’s decided not to." Snape paced back and forth, stroking his left forearm and glowering at his fingers.

"I have practiced," Harry blurted, splotches of red marring the lightly tanned skin of his face. "I practiced three nights now, and I still haven’t got the hang of it, because you won’t teach me."

Snape stopped dead, his entire facing alight with fury. "Haven’t I?" He bit back, flecks of spit flying onto the desk in front of him. "I have tried, Potter, yet, despite my best efforts, you refuse to obey me. If you refuse to do your part, then I cannot do mine," he finished, bitting off each syllable.

Harry glared back from his seat, his eyes shining dark green from under a fringe of untidy black hair. How pleased Snape would be when James Potter’s unruly hair was finally gone.

"Now, you will tell me what I need to know so that we can work out this problem," instructed Snape, folding his arms across his chest. When Harry didn’t respond, he continued direly, "We will meet again tomorrow, in which time you will do as I have instructed. I will give you the day to ready yourself. You are dismissed."

Harry had never been more pleased to hear those three words before in his life. He fled the dungeons as quickly as he could, heading straight for the Room of Requirement. It was becoming his all-purpose room lately—being used as a study room, relaxing room, and a place where Lupin and him could hold ‘Harry Lessons’ in secret.

I need a place to calm down, somewhere no one can find me, not even my friends. I need a place to calm down . . . . .

The door appeared, and he slipped inside, pleased to find a small, cozy little bedroom, complete with a squashy, blue armchair and a four-poster bed, its blue hangings blowing in an artificially-created breeze. Paintings of the beach adorned the walls, the ocean blowing lazy waves onto the white shore as a little boy made a sand castle, his plastic pail full of shells.

He had black hair.

The little touch made Harry smile. He could almost see himself on that same shore, collecting shells with the pail, his blue swimsuit ruffling in the ocean breeze. He took a whiff of the air, almost expecting to smell the salt from the sea, but there was nothing other than the sweet, drowsy aroma of cinnamon and lilacs—an interesting combination.

"Your pail is . . . watch the pail," he warned the boy in the painting, yawning and dropping onto the bed. It felt good. The blankets were soft and warm, creating a comfortable cocoon around his shivering body. This was what he needed, more than any amount of protection, more than a lifetime’s worth of Occlumency lessons. This was what he really needed. He’d have to make a note of it for Dumbledore, thought Harry contentedly. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"Harry! My darling, why would anyone want to hurt a beautiful child like you? Why, my Harry?"

His mum was smiling, her emerald eyes shining with pride and love. He giggled as she touched his little nose. She was hugging him close, her arms keeping him safe and warm.

"My Harry! You are adorable, you know. I don’t think James will ever let you alone now. He’ll want to teach you Quidditch, of course . . . ."

"You’ve got that right," said a loud, amused voice. His dad’s face came swimming into view, the same unruly black hair, the same chin. His hazel eyes crinkled in laughter as held the baby.

"You’re a true-born Quidditch Star, my boy. It runs in the family, you know."

"So does pig-handedness," interrupted another voice, and there he was.

Sirius.

His handsome face was contorted into a look utmost glee as he lifted the little Harry, his nose merely inches from the baby’s own.

"But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll take after your mum, poor kid. Just imagine another little James running about." He smirked, ruffling the soft mop of messy black hair. "Uncle Sirius’ll teach you how to be a proper man, you little devil."

Lily’s tinkling laughter rang out. She took the baby back, cooing, "We’ll keep you from all of those nutters, Harry. Don’t worry, my baby. I’ve got you. Mummy’s got you . . . ."

The images faded, leaving Harry shrouded in blackness once again. He curled up in his mum’s arms, unaware that they were only his soft blanket and a spare pillow.