Harry had no trouble avoiding Snape for the next few days.  The Potions Master had apparently retreated to the dungeons, no doubt to nurse his wounded pride and, Harry felt certain, plan his revenge.  Harry’s fertile imagination came up with any number of painful and humiliating experiences Snape might inflict upon him.  It didn’t help that the entire school seemed to be talking about his duel with the Potions Master and every time someone stopped him in the halls to congratulate him, Harry’s spirits sank lower. 

By Tuesday morning, he had resigned himself to fate and only wondered whether he was going to wind up in the hospital wing or as the laughing stock of the school before the morning was out.  He took his seat in the Potions classroom with even more trepidation than usual     

“Today we will be making a blood clotting solution,” Snape said with no preamble as he entered the classroom.  “You will find the necessary ingredients on your workbenches.  The formula is in your textbook.  Begin.” 

Snape didn’t look at Harry or acknowledge his presence in any way and Harry fervently hoped Snape would ignore him entirely.  He hunched over his cauldron and began the potion, attempting to remain as inconspicuous as possible.  He worked in silence along with the rest of the class and was just beginning to relax when he realized that something was wrong.  His potion was the same blood red color as everyone else’s, but it seemed to be bubbling much more than any of the other students’.  Harry tried turning down the fire under his cauldron, but the potion only boiled more vigorously.  Then, without warning it exploded.

The potion splattered everywhere as nearby students ducked out of the way, but Harry took the brunt of it.  He stood stunned and drenched in the slick red liquid that was also soaking into his textbook and dripping off the workbench.

“Well, well, well, Potter,” Snape smirked as he came over to survey the disaster.  “It looks as though you’re as inept a potion-maker as ever.  That will be twenty points from Gryffindor and detention.”

Harry didn’t answer.  He had turned deathly pale and was staring unseeing at the ruined potion dripping onto the floor in front of him.

The owner of the bookshop was old and frail, but he showed no fear as the Death Eaters dragged him from his bed in the back of his shop.  Harry slithered among the shelves of books, watching.  He gathered from snatches of conversation that the man had somehow defied Voldemort and was to be punished.  Harry watched, revolted, as the old man was tortured and his shop wrecked.  At last, the Death Eaters dragged their victim outside and chained him up in front of his ruined shop.

One of the Death Eaters stepped forward and Harry recognized Bellatrix Lestrange’s voice.

“You shall be a warning to all those who would resist the Dark Lord.” 

She pointed her wand at the man and spoke an unfamiliar spell.  Dozens of tiny, razor-sharp pieces of metal erupted from the end of her wand and flew at the old man.  They sliced at his exposed skin and tore at his nightshirt to get at the untouched flesh beneath. Soon there were hundreds of tiny cuts all over the man’s body and blood was running down his arms, legs and face.  The man moaned and twitched in agony, but still the little shards continued to attack.  Harry flicked his tongue and could almost taste the blood as it dripped onto the stone pavement, first slowly, then in a torrential rain which slowed once more as the last of the now dead man’s blood drained away in a measured drip, drip, drip. 

“Potter?  Potter!” 

Harry blinked and looked up at Snape.  Their eyes met as a wave of nausea made Harry’s stomach lurch.  He couldn’t breathe and he knew he had to get out.  He pushed past Snape without a word and ran for the door.

“Potter, come back here!” 

Harry paid no attention to Snape’s command.  He threw open the door and stumbled into the cold deserted corridor then leaned against the wall and pressed his sweating palms against the stone, gulping down the cool damp air.  He closed his eyes, hoping to get his wildly pounding heart under control and banish the memory of blood and death.

A hand descended on his shoulder and Harry opened his eyes to find Snape frowning at him in consternation. 

“Potter, what on earth is wrong with you?” Snape demanded.

“Professor, I… I’m sorry.  I’m sick, really I am,” Harry stammered knowing that he’d have no trouble throwing up on his teacher if the man needed convincing. But Snape was looking at him closely and seemed to believe him. 

“Get up to the infirmary at once and have Madam Pomfrey take a look at you.”

“Yes sir.”  Harry pushed away from the wall and managed to make his way down the corridor, swaying only slightly.  He didn’t bother to go to Madam Pomfrey; there was no way he’d be able to explain to the nurse what was wrong.  Instead, he headed for his own room in Gryffindor tower where he curled up on his bed until he stopped shaking. 

Harry skived off Charms.  He knew he’d be useless in class and didn’t want to give his classmates any more fodder for rumors.  His dramatic flight from Potions would already have people whispering about him.  Instead, Harry spent the time studying until the door opened and Ron came in.

“There you are!”  Ron said.  “What happened to you?”

“I was sick.  I just needed to lie down for awhile.”

Ron frowned at Harry, obviously not believing the lie but not knowing whether he should press the point.

“Well, are you up to coming down to lunch?  Hermione’s worried sick about you, you know.”

Harry felt a pang of guilt.  He hadn’t meant to worry his friends.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he said and followed Ron down to the common room where Hermione was waiting. 

“Harry, are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

“I’m fine,” Harry said glancing around to see if anyone was watching them.  “I was just sick that’s all.  I’m okay now.”

“Well, I know why your potion exploded,” Hermione said.  “Someone added ground Bicorn horn to the ground Graphorn horn on your workbench.”

“Let me guess who that might have been,” Ron said in disgust.  “Snape, right?”

“You’d never prove it,” Hermione said.  “But I can’t imagine it was anyone else.  He was probably getting even with you for Saturday.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said tiredly.  “If that’s the worst thing he does to me, I’ll consider myself lucky.  Come on, let’s go get some lunch.”

In the Great Hall, Harry kept up a cheerful façade while Ron and Hermione pretended to believe that nothing was wrong with him beyond an upset stomach.

“We’re  heading to the library after lunch,” Ron told Harry.  “D’you want to come?”

Harry hesitated.  Normally, he’d have been happy to join his friends and forget about his problems for awhile, but at the moment both Ron and Hermione were looking at him with scarcely concealed worry. 

“No, I need to take care of some things before Hagrid’s class.”  Harry stood up.  “You go ahead; I’ll see you later.”

Harry smiled then turned and strode purposefully from the hall.

***

The library was quiet.  Ron and Hermione sat alone with their school books open in front of them, but their minds weren’t on their studies.

“Ron, you have to talk to him,” Hermione insisted, her Charms homework forgotten on the table in front of her. 

“I’ve tried talking to him,” Ron said in frustration.  “You know I have.”

“Well he can’t go on missing classes and falling asleep all day.  He’ll fail all his subjects.”

“I think failing his subjects is the least of Harry’s worries right now.”

“All the more reason why he needs to do something about this.” 

“Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley,” Snape purred, having appeared out of nowhere.  “The library is for studying, not chitchat.  Prefects should set a better example.  I think you’d better come with me.”

“But sir, we are studying,” Hermione protested.

Snape’s glare silenced her.  “I said, come with me.”

Ron and Hermione gathered their books resignedly and followed Snape from the library to a nearby, unoccupied classroom.  They were prepared for detention or a loss of house points, along with the usual derisive insults, but when Snape shut the door and turned to face them, his words caught them entirely off guard.

“What is wrong with Mr. Potter?”

“What?” Ron asked.

“I do not have an endless supply of time, Weasley, do try to pay attention.  I asked you what is wrong with Mr. Potter?”

“Er, nothing.  Sir.” Ron replied unconvincingly.  He cleared his throat.  “Well, you know, I mean, he’s a little distracted, of course.  I mean, he does have a lot on his mind, what with You-Know-Who and everything. And ever since Sirius, well, that is, you know, he’s just been a bit down.”

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but his voice was as threatening as it was quiet. 

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“No, sir, of course not!” Ron said.

“Good.  It is one thing to doze off in History of Magic.  It is another to fall asleep in Transfigurations.  Potter’s mind is constantly elsewhere.  He’s barely capable of enough concentration to manage the sixth year charms, let alone Potions.

“Surely, this hasn’t escaped your notice, Miss Granger, given that you’re constantly preventing him from blowing up my classroom,” Snape added, glaring at Hermione. 

“This goes beyond being a ‘little distracted’ and a ‘bit down’.  While I couldn’t care less if Mr. Potter fails all his subjects, when it gets to the point where he practically faints in my class for no reason, I feel obliged to take an interest.”

Ron turned to Hermione.  “He almost fainted?  You didn’t tell me it was that bad.”

Hermione threw Ron a warning glance.  “He was just sick, that’s all.  He hasn’t been feeling well.”

“Miss Granger, I am the Potions Master of this school.  To say that I am familiar with the symptoms of nausea is an understatement.  Mr. Potter was not sick, he was in shock and I want to know why.”

Ron and Hermione glanced worriedly at one another, but said nothing.

“If you prefer, I can simply dismiss him from my class.”

“No!” Ron and Hermione said in unison.

“Please, sir,” Hermione pleaded.  “Harry has to take Potions.  He has to!”

“Then answer my question.”

Hermione bit her lip.  “We promised we wouldn’t,” she said miserably.

“What?”

Ron sighed.  “He made us promise not to tell anyone.”

Snape stared at them a moment then his mouth twisted in contempt.  “Well, I’m sure your loyalty will be lauded at his funeral, though I would have thought his welfare would be more important to you than a childish promise.  Obviously Potter is no luckier in his friends than he is his enemies.”

Ron and Hermione both paled.  They stared wide-eyed at Snape for a moment then Ron’s mouth drew into a determined line.

“It’s his dreams,” Ron began.  “Although I suppose they’re more like visions, actually.”

“You know about them?” Hermione asked Snape.

“Somewhat,” he replied.

“Harry’s always had nightmares and problems with his scar hurting,” Ron continued.  “But this year’s worse than anything I’ve ever seen.  He wakes up screaming nearly every night.  Some nights he doesn’t sleep at all.  For the last couple of weeks Neville, Dean, Seamus and I have been taking turns staying awake to keep an eye on him.  Secretly, so he doesn’t notice, of course.  Sometimes, he waits ‘til he thinks we’re all asleep, then goes down to the common room and just sits there all night, staring at the cold fireplace.”

“He won’t tell us what he dreams about, no matter how many times we ask,” Hermione interjected.  “He just keeps telling us not to worry, that he can handle it.  We’ve begged him to go to Professor Dumbledore, but he won’t.  He says there’s nothing anyone can do for him.”  Hermione hesitated then rushed on.  “Please, Professor.  I know you don’t get on with Harry, but if there’s anything you can do for him, please help him.”

“Miss Granger, I do not know what help may be available to Mr. Potter,” Snape said gravely, “but rest assured that he will receive whatever assistance this school has to offer.  At the moment, however, I believe it is past time for the headmaster to be informed of this.  Come with me.”

Ron and Hermione both nodded and accompanied the Potions Master from the room.

***

Harry was bone weary.  Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid was always taxing.  At the moment they were studying Jarveys and the unending stream of insults from the creature Harry was supposed to be caring for was more than his already frayed nerves could stand.  He’d been more inclined to strangle the ferret-like beast than feed it.

Harry hadn’t spoken to Ron or Hermione since lunch.  They’d been nearly late for class and Harry hadn’t waited for them afterwards.  He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed until dinner.

“Not so fast, dearie,” the Fat Lady told him when he approached the entrance to Gryffindor tower.  “The headmaster wants to see you.”

“Why?” Harry asked.

“I wouldn’t know that, now would I?  But it did seem urgent, so you need to go straight away.”

Harry sighed.  An urgent summons from Dumbledore couldn’t be good.  At least he hadn’t been pulled out of class, though.  He deposited his books inside the portrait hole, and made his way to the headmaster’s office.

“Harry Potter here to see the headmaster,” he informed the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s door.  The eyes glowed briefly and then the door swung open to reveal the familiar spiral staircase.  Harry stepped onto it and resisted the urge to sag against the banister as the stairs rotated upward.

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, but rose to greet Harry as he entered.  “Ah, Harry.  Thank you for coming.  I do hope I haven’t inconvenienced you too much.” 

“Of course not, sir,” Harry answered, noticing the concern behind the headmaster’s warm greeting.

“Good, do sit down, Harry.  Would you like a peppermint humbug?”

“No, thank you, sir.  Is something wrong?”

“Professor Snape tells me that you left his class quite abruptly this morning.” Dumbledore began mildly.

Harry had practically forgotten his panic earlier in the day.  Of course, Snape would complain to Dumbledore about him, he thought sourly.  Still, he was relieved.  No one had died, obviously. 

“I was just feeling ill, sir,” he lied smoothly.  “Something at breakfast must have disagreed with me.  I’m fine now.”

“Professor Snape was quite adamant that you were not simply taken ill, Harry.”

“The professor was mistaken,” Harry said coldly.  “And I don’t really see where it’s any of his concern.”

“While you are at Hogwarts, it is the duty of your professors not only to teach you, but also to look after your welfare.”

“I don’t think Professor Snape is the person to be looking after my welfare.”

“He is not the only one of your teachers who has expressed concerns about you, of late.”

Dumbledore waited, but Harry remained silent.  There was disappointment in the headmaster’s voice when he spoke again.  “I had hoped that you would trust me enough to speak freely, Harry, but if there is someone else with whom you would prefer to talk, simply say so.”

“I do trust you, sir,” Harry said, “and no, there’s no one else I’d rather talk to.  But really, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“The truth, Harry.”

Harry sighed.  “It’s just my dreams.  They’re more frequent and I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“And what happened in Potions?”

Harry hesitated, but Dumbledore’s penetrating gaze focused on him. 

“We were making a blood clotting solution,” Harry said, his mouth suddenly dry.  “My potion exploded and it reminded me…” Harry looked away feeling his stomach twist once more at the memory.  In a moment, Dumbledore was at his side, gripping his shoulder.

“Harry, how often are you having these visions?”

There was no point in lying, Harry realized.  “At least once a week, sometimes more.  They’re worse than last term too; more intense.  Since summer, they’ve been getting clearer.  I’ve been trying to practice the techniques Professor Snape taught me to block them; I really have. It just doesn’t seem to be helping.”  Harry shook his head. “I guess I must not be doing it right.  I wasn’t really paying attention to him last year.  I wanted so much to know what was going on that I never really tried to block the visions.  But after Sirius…” Harry swallowed.  “I don’t want to see these things, but I don’t know how to stop them,” he finished desperately.

Dumbledore was thoughtful for a moment.  “Is Voldemort aware of you, do you think?  Do you believe that he is intentionally sending you these visions?”

Harry considered and shook his head.  “I don’t think so.  I’ve read about some of the things I’ve seen in the Daily Prophet, so I know they were real, and there’s nothing like… like what I saw last term.”

Dumbledore nodded, but his next words caused Harry to stiffen.

“I want you to resume your Occlumency lessons, Harry.  These visions are causing you far more distress than I would have imagined.  You must learn to control this connection you have to Voldemort or it will overwhelm you.” 

Harry hesitated.  The headmaster was right, he knew.  The nights he awoke in a terrified sweat from these visions were becoming far too frequent.  Still.

“Who will teach me?” Harry asked, unable to keep the dread out of his voice. 

Dumbledore managed to ignore Harry’s discomfort and said, “I believe it would be best if you resumed your lessons with Professor Snape.”

“But you said that it was a mistake for Snape to teach me!  You said you should have taught me yourself!”

“And so I should have, Harry.  But I did not.  And now, because of the consequences of your lessons last term, I believe there is no choice but for you to study with Professor Snape. 

“The consequences?” Harry asked, feeling a pang of sorrow.  “You mean because Sirius died?”

“Because of everything that resulted from your lessons with Professor Snape.”

“But what can he teach me that you can’t?”

“Let us simply say that you stand to learn far more from Professor Snape than you would from me.  And what you will learn is imperative for you to know.”

“What will I learn?”

“That, I cannot tell you.”

Harry sighed in frustration.  “Why not?”

“Some things cannot be told, Harry.  They must be discovered.  Please trust me on this and believe me when I tell you that this is of the utmost importance.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged.  “If you say so, Professor.  But I think it’ll be a waste of time.  I don’t seem to have learnt anything from Professor Snape last term.”

“Had you been expecting to?” Dumbledore asked mildly.

Harry frowned.  “What do you mean?”

“Harry, you have just admitted to me that you never attempted to learn Occlumency last year.  Even the best teacher cannot teach what you refuse to learn.  I am sure you would have made no more progress with me than with Professor Snape.  Even had he not abandoned your lessons, the results would have been the same.”

Dumbledore spoke gently without accusation, but his words were like a blow to Harry.  The results would have been the same.  Sirius.  No, that wasn’t his fault.  If Snape hadn’t cancelled his lessons…  But even as the familiar excuse came to him, it sounded empty.  Would another few weeks of lessons have made a difference?  He felt bile well up in his throat as he realized the answer was no. 

“What happened was not your fault, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly.  “But just as you must not blame yourself, so you mustn’t blame Professor Snape, either.  Senseless grudges over imagined wrongs only lead to bitterness and sorrow.  If you have learnt nothing else from your Potions Master, I should think you would have learnt that.”

Harry nodded.

“Tell me, Harry, how goes Quidditch practice?”

Harry blinked at the change in subject.  “Um, fine sir.”

“I hear that Miss Bell is continuing in Mr. Wood’s and Miss Johnson’s footsteps as a severe task master.”

Harry rolled his eyes.  “I’ll say.”

“Do you think she pushes you too hard?”

Harry sighed.  “No.  She’s right and I’d probably do the same.  We have to give it our all at practice, or we won’t be ready for the games.  It’s necessary, even if we are miserable sometimes.”

Dumbledore smiled.  “Quite true, Harry, and I am sure you are wise enough to realize that that principle does not apply only to Quidditch.  We are at war and you must do all you can to prepare yourself to confront Voldemort and his followers, even when that means facing unpleasant situations, or people.”

“Such as Professor Snape, you mean?”

“Possibly.  In Quidditch practice, which is more useful, a teammate who allows you to beat him, or one who does his best to defeat you?”

“I understand what you’re saying, sir.  Professor Snape will be harder on me than you would be.  But after last term, I really don’t think he’ll agree to teach me.”

“You might be surprised, Harry.  I believe he was genuinely concerned about you this morning.” 

Harry frowned, unconvinced.  He couldn’t imagine Snape being concerned about him. “If he does refuse, will you teach me?”

“Yes, but I must impress upon you that I consider it a last resort and it should not come to that.  I am quite certain that you will be able to convince Professor Snape to resume your lessons.”

“Me!  I thought you were going to ask him!”

“No, Harry.  It will be far more effective coming from you.”

“But he’ll hardly even speak to me!”

“Then I suggest you speak to him.”

“But Professor…”

“Harry, you have faced Lord Voldemort.  Surely you can face Professor Snape.”

***

Harry was in a black mood by the time he returned to Gryffindor Tower.  Wonderful!  On top of everything else, I’ve got to go and beg Snape to teach me Occlumency again, he thought viciously.  Dumbledore might believe that Snape was concerned for Harry’s welfare, but Harry knew better.  Even if he agreed to resume the lessons, it would only be to make Harry’s life even more miserable than it already was.

Harry stormed through the portrait hole and threw himself into one of the chairs by the fire where Ron and Hermione were studying.  They both looked up at him in concern, but for once Harry didn’t care.

“I hate Snape!” Harry blurted out.

His two friends exchanged a quick glance.

“What happened?” Hermione asked.

Harry got up and paced in front of the fire.  “He went to Dumbledore about my leaving class this morning.  I guess he must have said he was worried about me, because now Dumbledore wants me to take Occlumency lessons with him again!”

“Well, that might not be such a bad idea, Harry,” Ron ventured.  “You haven’t been sleeping well and half the time it’s like you’re wandering around in a daze.  You need to do something, mate.”

“I don’t think Snape went to Dumbledore to be mean, Harry,” Hermione said.  “I think… I mean, you really looked awful when you left class this morning and I just think he was concerned.”

Harry stopped pacing and glared at his friends in annoyance.  He’d been looking for indignant sympathy from them, not reason.

“So you two think this is a good idea, too?” he asked angrily.

Ron dropped his voice to a whisper.  “I think these visions are going to drive you mad if you don’t do something about them.”

“And you think Snape’s going to help me?”

“Well, at least he’s taking them seriously, which is more than I can say for you,” Ron replied.

Harry’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “How do you know that?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a rather guilty glance.

“He’s not stupid, Harry,” Hermione said.  “He knew you weren’t just sick in class this morning.  He pulled us out of the library this afternoon to ask about you.”

“You told Snape!” Harry said, outraged.

“We didn’t have a choice!” Ron said jumping to his feet to face Harry.  “He would have tossed you out of class if we hadn’t!”

“I’m glad we told him!” Hermione said standing up as well.  “I can’t take this any more, Harry.  You can’t take this!  You need help.”

“Not from Snape, I don’t!”

“Well, Dumbledore thinks it’s for the best,” Ron said.

“Dumbledore doesn’t know everything!  He makes mistakes too!” 

“So do you!” Hermione said fiercely.  “Maybe if you’d listened to anyone last year and even tried to learn Occlumency, you’d be able to sleep at night, now, instead of having to do it in class!  Maybe you wouldn’t have practically fainted in Potions this morning!  You don’t know everything either, Harry, so stop being so arrogant and obstinate!  I don’t care how much you hate Snape!  If he can help you then you are bloody well going to let him!”

There was absolute silence in the common room.  Everyone was staring at them and Ron’s mouth was open in disbelief.  Harry had gone white.  Hermione held his gaze defiantly and it was Harry who looked away.

“Well, since everyone seems to agree on what’s best for me, I suppose I don’t have a choice.” 

Harry turned his back on his friends and marched back out through the portrait hole.  He made his way to the Snape’s office, his mood growing darker with every step.  He paused in front of the closed door and took a deep breath.  He was suddenly reminded of the dragon he had faced during the Triwizard Tournament, three years before.  Harry shook his head, smiling slightly.  Ridiculous, he thought.  Snape’s much worse than that.  

Harry knocked firmly on the door, before his nerve could fail him and heard an irritable “Come in.”

Taking another deep breath, Harry opened the door and entered the office.  Snape was obviously in the middle of marking a set of essays.  He glanced up and his already sour expression darkened considerably.

“Potter, what the devil are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you, Professor.”

“Any questions you have should be asked in class.  I have no time for you now.” Snape returned his attention to the scroll on his desk.

“It’s not about Potions.”  Harry hesitated then plunged on.  “I need to take Occlumency lessons.” 

Snape looked up and then leaned back in his chair, his customary sneer on his lips. 

“Really, Mr. Potter?” he said smoothly.  “And how many sleepless nights has it taken you to come to that conclusion?  Or was it nearly collapsing in my class this morning?”

Harry’s jaw clenched in anger and when he spoke his voice was nearly as smooth and hard as Snape’s.

“Professor Dumbledore insisted that I take the lessons after you complained about my leaving class.  Will you teach me or won’t you?” 

Snape leaned forward and his expression hardened. 

“Why should I?  You have exhibited nothing but nonchalance in the face of these visions.  I honestly doubt you’re capable of learning Occlumency, Potter.  It requires commitment.  Something I can’t imagine you even know how to give your studies.”

“So shall I tell the headmaster that you refused, then?”

“If I thought for one moment you were serious…”

“Do you think for one moment I’d be here if I weren’t?” Harry snarled.  “Look,” he said, through clenched teeth “I need your help, all right?” 

Snape smiled slightly, clearly savoring Harry’s humiliation. 

“Do you?” 

For a moment, Harry seriously considered cursing that self-satisfied smirk off Snape’s face, but the man must have read his mind, because he stood up and addressed Harry.

“I’ll tell you what, Potter.  Under the circumstances, and given how disastrous your failure last year, I’ll speak to the headmaster on your behalf.  I’m sure I can persuade him to undertake your training himself.”  Snape’s smile was smug and indulgent.

Oh, I just bet you would, Harry thought, his eyes narrowing.  You don’t want to teach me, so you’ll dump me on Dumbledore and pretend you’re doing me a favor

“Actually, sir, I’ve already spoken to the headmaster and he said he’d be willing to teach me if you refused.”

Snape frowned.  “If Dumbledore has already agreed to instruct you, why are you here?”

“I want you to teach me.”

Snape blinked.  “I beg your pardon?” he said, astonishment robbing his words of their usual sarcasm.

Gotcha! thought Harry and he actually smiled.  “I said I want you to teach me, sir, not Professor Dumbledore.”

Snape stared at Harry as though he still hadn’t heard him quite right.  He opened his mouth as if to say something then closed it.  He repeated the process and finally blurted out, “Why?”

“Because you hate me,” Harry leaned across the desk and fixed Snape with a look a pure loathing.  “As much as Voldemort does, maybe more.  If I’m going to learn how to defend myself against him, then I need a teacher who I can count on to be every bit at cruel and sadistic as he is.”

Harry had practically spat the words in his professor’s face, but even with them still ringing in his ears, he couldn’t believe he’d just said them.  He knew he’d gone too far.  Snape’s expression was utterly unreadable, but when he spoke, his words were surprisingly calm.  “I see.”

It was Harry’s turn to blink in surprise.  Snape’s mouth twitched and Harry had the momentary impression that his professor was trying not to laugh, but in the next instant, the familiar smirk was in place and Harry was sure he’d been mistaken. 

“You’re quite right, Potter,” Snape continued in his usual languid drawl.  “The last thing you need is more coddling from the headmaster.  I must admit that I wouldn’t have expected you to have such insight.  But then I suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“Does that mean you’ll agree to teach me?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I will instruct you on two conditions.  First, you must give these lessons one hundred percent of your effort.  If I so much as suspect that you are not giving your best, I will end the lessons instantly.  Is that understood?”

Harry nodded.  He was certainly planning on doing his best this time.

“Second,” Snape continued, “you are never to use the Dark Lord’s name in my presence again.” 

Harry’s skepticism must have shown, because Snape continued, his voice hard.  “Whatever your adolescent bravado may lead you to believe, I do have my reasons.  You will respect that, or our association ends here.”

“I’m not going to call him You-Know-Who and I really don’t think I could manage ‘Dark Lord’ with a straight face,” Harry said.

“I don’t care what you call him, so long as it’s not his proper name,” Snape said impatiently.  “Surely, that irreverent mind of yours can think of something.”

“Okay,” Harry conceded, “I’ll think of something.”

“Fine.  Be back here at seven o’clock tonight.  We’ll see if you remember anything at all from my efforts of last year.  Don’t be late.”

Snape turned back to the essays on his desk and Harry, realizing he’d been dismissed, made his way back to the Gyffindor common room.

***

Severus Snape paced in his office.  Damn Albus Dumbledore! he thought angrily.  Am I ever going to learn not to underestimate that man?

Potter desperately needed Occlumency lessons.  Snape had known it the moment he’d looked into the boy’s horrified eyes and seen the memory of blood and death.  He’d spent the rest of the morning questioning his colleagues about the boy.  “Yes, Potter had been acting strangely, of late.”  “Yes, he’d been tired, jumpy, and distracted.”  But no one seemed overly concerned.

Does the Dark Lord have to possess the boy’s soul before anyone will notice that something’s amiss? Snape thought viciously.  Why does it always fall to me to look after the brat? 

By the time he’d dragged Weasley and Granger from the library, he’d only been looking for confirmation, but even so he’d found their confession chilling.  Snape was shocked that Potter’s friends could have let matters degenerate so badly.  Granger was intelligent enough; surely she at least might have realized what was at stake.  Of course, Potter had lied and told them he was fine, overconfident, as always, in his ability to handle anything.

Snape snorted and threw himself into his chair.  He’d taken Weasley and Granger to the headmaster and they had obediently repeated their harrowing story.  Dumbledore had reassured them that everything would be fine and, once they were dismissed, had immediately turned the conversation to Occlumency.  Snape had been expecting this and had thought he was prepared.  He’d been wrong.

“Severus,” Dumbledore had begun.  “It is clear that Occlumency lessons are no longer an option for Harry, but a necessity.”

“Obviously,” Snape agreed.  “I would also say that it is imperative to ensure that he make the best progress possible.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Since my efforts were ineffectual, last year, I believe it would be best if you instructed him.”

“You mustn’t be so hard on yourself, Severus.  I believe the failure last term was Harry’s, not yours.”

“Nevertheless, we were clearly unable to form the proper rapport.  Surely it would be in the boy’s best interest to have an instructor he could work with.”

Dumbledore smiled gently, his eyes twinkling.  “It’s good to see you so concerned for Harry, Severus,” Dumbledore said without the slightest hint of sarcasm.  “As it happens, I do agree with you.  I think it would be best if Harry decided which of us he would prefer to study with, assuming that is agreeable to you.”

Snape had agreed enthusiastically, certain that Potter would rather test the poison antidotes the fourth year Slytherins had prepared than spend one more second with him.  And yet, there the boy had stood, telling him against all reason, that it was he, Snape, with whom he wanted to study Occlumency.  The look of pure hatred Potter had given him had only increased the absurdity of the situation, to the point where Snape had barely managed not to laugh.  If there had been any way for him to refuse, he would have done.  But he’d given his word to Dumbledore and couldn’t go back on it. 

Still, at least there had been no doubt that Potter was sincere.  The boy’s look of surprise when he’d agreed to teach him had held no disappointment. Albus had certainly done a good job of persuading the boy.  Snape had absolutely no doubt, of course, that Dumbledore was behind this, though why the headmaster wanted him to teach Potter was beyond him.  Surely Dumbledore’s affection for the boy was well known by now and couldn’t possibly be a factor. 

Besides, Snape was taking a real risk in teaching the boy.  The more closely he associated with Potter, the greater the chance that the Dark Lord might find the wrong memories of him lurking in the boy’s mind, should he ever think to look. Snape was all too aware of what would happen in that event. 

But no one cares about that, he thought bitterly.  All that matters is precious Potter! 

A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie. 

“What!” he snarled before realizing that it must be Potter coming for his appointed lesson.

There was a long moment during which Snape was certain the person on the other side of the door must have fled. Then the door opened and, sure enough, Potter’s tousled head poked in, though to Snape’s satisfaction the boy did look ready to run.

“Professor?” Potter asked hesitantly.

“It’s about time you got here,” Snape growled.

“You said seven o’clock,” Potter protested, coming fully into the room and closing the door behind him.  “It’s just gone seven, now.”

Not so timid, after all, Snape thought.  “Then we’d best get started.  I don’t have all night to waste with you.”

***

Harry stood facing Snape across the desk, every muscle in his body tensed.  Now that he’d made the decision to study Occlumency with the Potions Master, he was determined to make his best effort to defend himself against Snape’s mental attacks.  He had been practicing, though clearly it hadn’t diminished his visions.  Harry worried that he might be incapable of blocking them, but pushed that thought aside as Snape spoke. 

“All right, Potter, we’ll start slowly.”  Snape raised his wand.  “Legilimens.”

Harry braced himself for the flood of memories, but nothing happened.  He and Snape stared at one another a moment, and then the Potions Master cleared his throat.

“Well, perhaps not that slowly,” he said.  His brow creased in concentration and he repeated, “Legilimens.”

This time, the memories came, but immediately Harry’s determination to resist the invasion flared up. 

“No!” 

Harry didn’t know if he had said it aloud, or only in his mind, but the effect was instantaneous.  Snape’s head jerked back as though Harry had punched him.  He stumbled and the images were suddenly gone from Harry’s mind. 

Snape steadied himself and this time his eyes narrowed appraisingly. 

“All right, then,” he said almost to himself.  He raised his wand a third time, eyes locked on Harry’s.  Harry could almost feel the intensity of his professor’s focus.  “Legilimens!” 

The memories hit Harry like a tidal wave and he was swept up in the past. 

He was being chased through the park by Dudley and his gang and could almost feel his heart pounding… It was Dudley’s eighth birthday party and Harry lay in the cupboard under the stairs and listened to Dudley and his friends opening presents and enjoying cake.

Stop it, Harry thought desperately.  I’ll never be able to fight Voldemort, if I can’t fight Snape.  Fear and anger at his own weakness combined in a white-hot fury at the invasion of his mind.  “Stop!”  

There was a burst of power and Harry gasped as the memories abruptly ceased.  The first thing he was aware of was that he was on his knees and trembling badly.  The second thing he noticed was the crumpled form of his professor, lying, unmoving, on the other side of the room. 

Panic seized Harry and he scrambled across the floor to where Snape lay, very clearly unconscious.  Oh no!  Harry swallowed hard.  “Professor?” Harry asked, tentatively reaching for the man’s shoulder.  He was relieved by a soft groan as Snape stirred.

“Are you all right, sir?” Harry began, but stopped as Snape’s eyes opened and fixed him with a murderous glare.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean…”

“You never even tried!” Snape snarled.

“What?”

“I thought you were simply lazy and incompetent,” Snape sat up gingerly, “but now I can see that I was far too generous in my assessment of you.  Tell me, Potter, how long were you planning to waste my time?  Didn’t you have anything better to do?”

Harry stared, bewildered, at Snape’s raving.  He glanced reflexively at the door, wondering if he should go for Madam Pomfrey.  

Snape caught the look and sneered.  “No, Potter, I’m not mad, though if anyone could drive me to it, you could.”  He stood up and straightened his robes. 

“So, tell me, how is it that after months of no progress last year, you have suddenly developed such a keen grasp of Occlumency?”

Harry was startled.  “I haven’t.  I mean, I’ve been practicing what you taught me last year, sir, but it hasn’t helped.  The visions are even more frequent than they used to be and I don’t know how to make them stop.”

Snape frowned and considered Harry, then seemed to come to a conclusion.

“I need to look more deeply into your mind to see some of the visions you have had.”

“Why?” asked Harry nervously. 

“As far as I know, the Dark Lord has not been aware of your presence in his mind for some time now.  The question is why.  If I know what you’ve seen, perhaps it will shed some light on the mystery.”

“All right,” Harry said, reluctantly.

“Up until now, I have used an undirected form of Legilimency,” Snape continued.  “What I am proposing is a deeper, more intentional probing.  It will not be pleasant, but it is necessary and I must impress upon you that the idea here is not to fight me.  The more you can open your mind, the easier this will be for both of us.  Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, not quite certain that he did and not at all liking the idea of Snape poking around more deeply in his mind.

“Sit down, Potter,” Snape said.  He didn’t raise he wand but fixed Harry with a penetrating gaze.  “Now, look at me and remember that I am trying to find the more lurid memories you have of the Dark Lord.”

Harry couldn’t think of any visions he’d had lately that wouldn’t qualify as lurid.  As that thought crossed his mind, Harry was plunged into memory. 

The house before him was engulfed in flames and the Dark Mark blazed in the night sky, overhead.

No, please, not this one!  Harry thought.  He knew how this vision ended.  He still had nightmares about the mother and daughter lying lifeless at his feet.  Please, no.  Please!

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at the child.  The mother was screaming and his own silent scream of agony tore at his heart.

Harry was jerked out of the memory and back into Snape’s office.  He was on his hands and knees, again trembling violently.  He squeezed his eyes shut trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“Potter!”  It was Snape’s voice, but Harry had never heard it so full of… what?  Shock?  Harry cringed inwardly.  It was bad enough that Ron and Hermione threw worried glances his way whenever they thought he wasn’t looking.  Those people, thankfully few, who knew about his visions, seemed to regard him with either pity or fear.  Still, none of them knew the real extent of what he experienced.  But Snape had just seen one of the worst episodes, first hand.

Harry composed himself as best he could and looked up at his teacher.  Snape’s brow was furrowed, but the horror Harry had expected to see in his eyes was absent.  Instead, his professor’s gaze was hard, almost angry. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?”

“I didn’t think anyone could help me.”

Snape shook his head in disgust.  “Potter, you deserve the misery you endure.  Wait here.”

Snape turned away and disappeared through a side door.  Alone, Harry sat on the floor, leaning against the desk.  He drew his knees up under his chin and stared at nothing. 

Within a few minutes, Snape returned carrying a goblet.  He held it out to Harry and said, “Here, drink this.  It should help.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, taking the cup.

“My own preparation.  Drink it.”  That was definitely an order.

Harry was not happy with the thought of drinking any potion that Snape gave him, much less some unknown concoction.  Unfortunately, he was in no position to refuse.  Deciding it was unlikely the Potions Master would poison a student in his own office Harry took a deep breath and drained the cup.

The effect was dramatic.  The memories faded along with the tightness in his chest and he stopped shaking.  He wasn’t entirely himself, but at least he could think clearly. 

Snape sneered at the surprise on Harry’s face.  “What were you expecting?” he asked in a tone that made it clear he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking.

Harry had no answer, so instead he said, “That’s amazing, Professor!  What was it?” 

“Something I keep on hand,” Snape answered.  “Unfortunately, it must be used judiciously.  It isn’t something you can take often.”

“Oh,” Harry said, disappointed. 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Potter.  I’m sure we can dispense with these visions of yours.”

“How?”

“With practice, of course,” Snape said dismissively.

Harry felt a flash of anger.  “I’ve been practicing,” he snapped.  “What am I doing wrong?”

“I didn’t say you were doing anything wrong, Potter.  You simply need to learn better control.  The Dark Lord is not aware of you, so there is no immediate danger.  Have patience.” 

“Patience!” Harry jumped to his feet.  “Do you have any idea what it’s like seeing through his eyes?  What it’s like going to bed knowing that I’m going to see some new horror that’s worse than the last?”  Harry knew he shouldn’t be screaming at Snape, but he couldn’t stop himself.  “Maybe you have the luxury of being patient, Professor, but I don’t!” Harry finished.  He stood glaring at Snape waiting for the man to unceremoniously throw him out, but Snape simply regarded him calmly.

“You didn’t kill them, you know,” Snape said.  “He did.  If you’re going to blame someone, blame him, not yourself.”

Harry stared at Snape, dumbfounded.  He opened his mouth to say that of course, he hadn’t killed them.  He didn’t blame himself.  It was all Voldemort’s doing.  But the words wouldn’t come, because it was true.  He felt like a murderer.  It didn’t matter that Voldemort had been holding the wand.  He had said the words.  He had felt the power surge through him and part of him had reveled in it. 

Harry had never dared admit it to himself before.  He had kept the visions hidden from everyone, even his best friends, so that no one would see his guilt and shame.  But he couldn’t deny it any longer.  Snape knew.

Harry turned and bolted from the office without a backward glance.  He hardly noticed that Snape didn’t try to stop him.

***

Snape strode through the halls with his usual purposefulness.  It was getting late and there were few students about.  Those he did encounter scurried out of his way, but he was too preoccupied to notice.  All the anger and resentment he’d felt earlier were gone, replaced by a single, overriding concern.  Potter’s situation was even worse than he had imagined. 

Snape reached Dumbledore’s office and gave the password, “jam doughnut”.  The moving stairway took him up into the headmaster’s domain.  He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Dumbledore at his desk and wasted no time on preambles. 

“I can’t do this, Albus.  The boy needs more help than I can give him.”

“Severus, how good of you to stop by.  I was going to come see you about Harry’s lessons.  Do sit down.  May I offer you a peppermint humbug?”

“No, thank you,” Snape replied shortly, refusing the sweets as well as the proffered seat.  “Occlumency is not going to be sufficient. Potter needs to learn Legilimency, as well, and there is no time to waste.”

“Yes, I thought as much,” Dumbledore said conversationally.

Snape’s irritation flared.  “Then why did you send him to me?”

“We agreed that Harry would choose which of us to study with, as I recall.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have a great deal to do with that choice.  I’m not that stupid.” 

“And why do you find that choice invalid simply because Harry needs to learn Legilimency?  You are as capable of teaching him as I.”

“I don’t believe my memories make the best training ground for a sixteen year old boy.  He certainly needs no more fodder for nightmares than he already has.”

“I believe the young man is more than capable of handling your memories, Severus.”

“I don’t want him in my mind!”

“I realize that,” Dumbledore said, his tone sharpening.  “But this is not about what you want.  It is about what is necessary.”

“You do realize the risk?”

“Yes.”

“But naturally, that doesn’t matter,” Snape said bitterly.

“Of course it matters!”  Dumbledore was on his feet.  “But I have more to worry about than you, or Harry, for that matter.  There is the Order and the Ministry, as well as all our efforts abroad, most of which only I know the full extent of.  Do you really want Voldemort to have access to my memories?”

Snape sighed and dropped into the chair next to him.  “No, of course not,” he said defeated.

Dumbledore came around the desk and laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.  “Severus, I would never willingly put you at risk, nor disregard your feelings, if it were not absolutely necessary.  You are the only one who can do this.  In time, I hope you will find that it is not the burden you fear it to be.”

“It doesn’t matter.  I’ve suffered worse things than Harry Potter.  If you require it, then I will teach him.” 

***

Harry had evaded Ron and Hermione’s questions about his first Occlumency lesson and gone up to bed soon after returning to Gryffindor Tower.  He hadn’t meant to sleep, but he must have been more tired than he realized, because he soon drifted off.  For the first time in months, however, his sleep wasn’t disturbed by either nightmares or visions and he awoke the next morning, refreshed.  Harry wondered if the potion Snape had given him might have been responsible. 

Unfortunately, thoughts of Snape immediately caused Harry’s good mood to give way to trepidation.  That was twice he’d managed to end up running from Snape yesterday, and he was pretty sure the Potions Master wasn’t going to be happy.  Harry grimaced.  He’d just have to apologize and hope that Snape didn’t yell at him too much.

Harry dressed and headed for breakfast with Ron and the other sixth year boys. 

“All right there, Harry?  Sleep well?” asked Seamus.

“Yeah, I feel great,” Harry replied honestly.

“Good,” said Ron enthusiastically.  “We’ve got Defense this morning.  I can’t wait to see what Ryan’s going to throw at us.”

“I don’t know,” said Dean.  “He gets a little too philosophical for me, sometimes.”

“Our attitude towards the Dark Arts is every bit as important as learning the spells to defend against them,” said Hermione as she and Ginny joined the boys.  “It’s too easy to be manipulated if we’re not on our guard.”

“I suppose,” said Dean, not sounding convinced.

Harry grinned, but stopped short as they descended the last set of stairs to the entrance hall.  There, foreboding as ever, stood Snape.  Harry had the uncomfortable suspicion that the man had been waiting for him.  This was confirmed a moment later when Snape caught his eye and raised one impatient eyebrow at him. 

“Everything okay, Harry?” Neville asked, glancing nervously at Snape.

“Yeah, go on.  I’ll catch you up,” Harry said.  Mentally preparing his apology, Harry made his way to where Snape was waiting, but his professor spoke before he got the chance. 

“I’ll see you this evening, Potter.  Don’t be late.”  Snape strode away before Harry could even acknowledge the appointment.  Harry watched the black figure disappear down the corridor.  “Yes, sir,” he mumbled to himself.   

***

“Given that you’re in my NEWT class, we can hardly use remedial potions as an excuse for your lessons with me,” Snape began when Harry was once more settled in his office that evening.  “And even I can’t give you detention four times a week.”

“Four times a week?”

“Yes, Potter.  I’ll expect you here at this time, every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.  And don’t plan to do anything afterwards.  You won’t be in any condition.”

Harry stared at his professor, horrified, wondering when he was going to find time to do his homework.

“I assure you, Potter, I have no more desire to be here than you do, but you have a great deal to learn and, I feel certain, very little time to learn it in.”

“Yes sir.”

“That does not, however, resolve the issue of what reason you will give for your lessons.” 

“What about extra potions work?”  Harry had been giving this some thought too.

“Even Miss Granger doesn’t take extra credit projects from me, Potter.  No one will believe that you are doing so.”

“Not extra credit, just extra work to keep up in class.  Everyone knows you’re disappointed in my work and don’t want me in class, anyway,” Harry said, not quite able to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  “The extra work could just be a way for you to try to force me to quit.”

“A fond wish I have absolutely no hope of realizing now, obviously,” Snape said sourly.  “Very well, extra potions work it is. Now,” Snape continued, “as to your studies, I have spoken to the headmaster and he agrees that Occlumency lessons alone are not sufficient to stop the visions that have been plaguing you.”

“Why not, sir?”  Harry asked, frowning.  “I thought it was supposed to block Vol- him from prying into my mind.”

“It does.  Unfortunately, it does not prevent you from prying into his.”

Harry felt as though ice water had been poured into his veins as Snape’s words sank in.  “What?”

“Potter, I do not pretend to understand the unique connection between the Dark Lord and yourself.  What I do know is that he has not been sending you these visions intentionally, nor is he even aware that you have been receiving them.  I find it difficult, therefore, to believe that he is the instigator of them.”

“You think I’m doing it?” Harry said, his anger rising.  “Do you think I want to see those things?”

“No, but I believe that the connection is nearly automatic and your sleeping mind is too undisciplined to control itself.  Think of what you know of Legilimency, Potter.  It is used primarily to view another person’s thoughts and is most effective when the victim is in a highly emotional state.  Now consider the nature of your visions.  You are able to gain access to the Dark Lord’s thoughts precisely when he is most emotional.”

Harry sank back into his chair, dismayed.  “What can I do then?  If I’m already using Legilimency, how will studying it help?”

“Occlumency blocks others from entering your mind or seeing specific thoughts.  Legilimency is the art of controlling your own mind, even to the point of entering someone else’s.  Of the two, Legilimency is by far the more difficult to learn and the more dangerous.  Normally, only a fully trained wizard who is of age may undertake the training.  It is strictly regulated by the Ministry of Magic.” 

“Do they know you’re going to be teaching me, sir?”

“I would imagine that Professor Dumbledore could gain permission, if he so desired,” Snape said evasively.  “But your training is not something we wish to become public knowledge.  I trust you understand that.”

“You don’t want him to find out.”

“Precisely.”

Harry nodded.  “So, what do I do?”

“Stand up and draw your wand.”

Harry did as he was told and stood facing Snape across the desk. 

“Now, you have to concentrate on wanting to know what is in my thoughts.”

“I’m going to read your mind?”

“Obviously, Potter,” Snape answered testily.  “Who else’s?  Believe me, I’m no happier about this than you are.”

Harry took a deep breath.  “Right,” he said as matter-of-factly as possible. 

“Before we begin, understand that I expect absolute discretion from you.  If you breathe one word of anything you see in this room to anyone, you will regret it.”

“You don’t need to threaten me, Professor,” Harry said.  “I’m not going to tell anyone about your memories.  You have my word.”

“Very well,” Snape said.  “Do you remember last term when you used Protego to defend yourself and ended up seeing my memories?”

“Yes sir.”

“We’re going to start the same way so that you get used to the sensation of seeing my thoughts.  I will cast Legilimens.  Instead of simply repelling me, I want you to use Protego to reverse the spell as you did before.  Try to relax and reach out with your mind.”

Harry nodded and Snape raised his wand.

“Legilimens!”

A six-year old Harry lay crying on his mattress in the cupboard under the stairs.  It was very dark and he was frightened… Ten-year Harry was dusting the mantelpiece when Dudley came running into the room.  He bumped the table by the door and knocked over a vase full of flowers.  The vase shattered on the floor.  Dudley looked from the vase to Harry and grinned maliciously.  “Mum,” Dudley yelled.  “Harry broke the vase!”

“Protego!” Harry said.

The memories began to fade, becoming transparent.  They were replaced by new memories that weren’t his own.  These memories were harder to follow since Harry didn’t have the benefit of experience to tell him what was happening.  He also didn’t know who the people were, though he could guess. 

A dark haired woman lay on a bed sobbing while a young boy, no more than five-years old watched silently from the doorway…a boy whom Harry now managed to recognize as Snape, stood alone in a graveyard.  He was dressed in Hogwarts robes and couldn’t have been more than eleven.  He bent down and placed a small bouquet of flowers on the grave at his feet.  Harry read the tombstone, “Eileen Snape.  1938 – 1967.”  Snape stared at the grave a moment longer then turned and walked away…It was winter at Hogwarts and the grounds were covered with snow.  Snape trudged through the deep drifts towards the greenhouses along with the rest of his class.  He didn’t look any older than the previous incarnation.  Suddenly a large, wet snowball hit him squarely in the back of the neck.  He turned to glare at whoever had thrown it only to be hit by another full in the face.  The two perpetrators were boys the same age as Snape, one of whom Harry nearly mistook for himself.  They laughed and ran back towards the castle.

The memories vanished and Harry found himself staring at his professor once more.  His head was pounding.

“You need to relax, Potter.  You’re far too tense.”

Harry took a deep breath.  “Yes sir.”

“Let’s try again.”  Snape raised his wand once more.

“Was that your mother who died?” Harry asked before he could think better of it.

Snape hesitated.  “Yes, Potter.  She died when I was seven.  Now, focus and let’s try again.”