Harry walked slowly back towards Gryffindor Tower. His anger had deserted him and he was left with a guilty ache in the pit of his stomach. His friends, Dumbledore, even Snape all agreed that his lessons in Occlumency and Legilimency were important, even urgent, and he’d just quit. Hermione was going to have a fit when she found out.

Worse, he’d not only walked out on Snape, he’d insulted the man, too. Why did I have to say that I didn’t trust him? It was true, of course - even after all this time, Harry still didn’t really trust Snape, certainly not with his most private thoughts and feelings, but that didn’t mean he had to blurt it out. That was hardly the smartest thing he could have done, but he’d let his anger and frustration get the better of him, just as he seemed to have been doing all day.

Control your emotions, Potter. Harry thought of the countless times Snape had told him that and sighed. Clearly he hadn’t made any progress on that front. Still, he wasn’t sure how things had managed to deteriorate so badly, so fast, between himself and Snape. In hindsight, Harry had to admit that his teacher hadn’t behaved unreasonably. He was the one who had overreacted.

Harry felt another pang of guilt, but shoved it away along with the unwanted knowledge that he’d been less than fair to the man. It didn’t matter. Snape was never fair and certainly wouldn’t miss their lessons given how much time and effort he’d had to put into them. Harry frowned. That line of reasoning didn’t seem to be helping.

When Harry arrived at Gryffindor Tower, he didn’t stop to talk with anyone, but went straight up to bed. It took a long time for him to fall asleep. When he did, he experienced no visions. Instead, he dreamt.

Dementors were hunting him through a dark, impenetrable forest. No matter which way he ran, they were waiting to feed on his emotions, leaving him with nothing but despair. At last he was cornered with nowhere left to run. He raised his wand to cast his Patronus, but only a wisp of silver vapor appeared. He searched desperately for a happy thought to give his Patronus form, but he could think of none. He felt nothing but hopelessness and suddenly he didn’t care anymore. He only wanted the misery to end. He lowered his wand as the nearest Dementor reached for him with decaying hands.

Harry awoke with a start and it took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t still in the black forest of his dream. Harry let out a miserable sigh and tried to calm his wildly beating heart. He was wide awake and didn’t want to lie in bed dwelling on his dream, but it was still far too early to go down to breakfast. The sky outside his window was only just beginning to hint at dawn, and the other boys in the dormitory were still fast asleep.

As Harry looked out at the stars a shadow passed across the dark sky, then another. Owls; probably returning from the night’s hunt, Harry realized and this suddenly gave him an idea. It was insane, but the more he thought about it, the more compelling it became. He slipped out of bed and dressed quietly so as not to disturb his sleeping roommates, donning his heavy traveling cloak over his robes. Then he retrieved his invisibility cloak from his trunk along with his broom and left.

The pre-dawn February morning was bitterly cold, but it wasn’t as dark as Harry had expected. The moon reflected brightly off the snow and Harry could actually see quite well. He shrugged off his invisibility cloak and tucked it under the stands at the Quidditch pitch. Then he mounted his broom and kicked off. The rush of joy was immediate and Harry grinned as he soared high over the pitch.

He had only flown his broom at night once before, the night that some members of the Order of the Phoenix had come to take him from Privet Drive to Grimmauld Place over a year ago. That had been exciting with a hint of danger, but this was better. Flying over familiar ground with the dark outline of the castle standing silently in the background was fun and it chased away the specter of his dream.

Harry flew until the stars began to fade and he feared he might be seen. He knew that if he were caught out at this hour of the morning, it would mean detention for sure, so he landed reluctantly, wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak once more and returned to his room. Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville were still in bed. Ron looked sleepily at Harry as he came in.

“Where have you been?”

“I went flying,” Harry answered.

“Flying?” Ron sat up in bed. “It’s freezing outside.”

“It wasn’t bad and I needed to get out for a bit.”

Ron shook his head in a manner that reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley but said nothing else. The other boys soon began to stir and once everyone was dressed, they all went down to breakfast. Harry ate heartily, his morning flight having worked up an appetite, then he headed to Potions with Hermione. Harry was apprehensive about seeing his professor, but happily Snape ignored him completely. Harry did his best to put their row out of his mind and concentrate on his work. But by the next evening he could no longer ignore it.

So far he hadn’t got around to telling his friends that he had quit his lessons with Snape. But as dinner came to an end, Harry realized he would soon be forced to give some explanation for not making his usual trip to the dungeons. He was mulling over the possible choices when Hermione broke into his concentration.

“Harry, aren’t you going to be late?”

Harry looked from one expectant face to the next.

“Er, yeah, you’re right. I’d better go.”

Harry stood up and left the hall, feeling awful for having not told his friends the truth. But he rationalized that the Great Hall was hardly the place to break such news. He’d tell them later in private. In the meantime, he decided to take the opportunity to collect his thoughts by going for a walk. Almost everyone was either still at dinner or settled into their common rooms for the night so the halls were fairly deserted. This suited Harry just fine. He wandered up staircases and down corridors, lost in thought and paying no particular attention to where he went. Suddenly, the staircase he was on pivoted and Harry found himself facing a familiar door. It was the entrance to the third floor corridor where Fluffy had been kept in Harry’s first year. Harry opened the door and went in.

A thick layer of dust everywhere indicated that this section of the castle was still deserted. The only sign of life was the faint trace of tiny paw prints on the floor. Harry knew they must have been made by Mrs. Norris and glanced cautiously around, but Filch’s cat was nowhere in sight. Besides, this corridor was no longer off-limits and it wasn’t yet past curfew, so Harry wasn’t breaking any rules by being here.

Harry relaxed. “Lumos.” He allowed the light from his wand to guide him in the dimness of the corridor and walked slowly, glancing in each room he passed. At the end of the hall he came to a circular chamber. As he looked around, he caught sight of the moon out the window. It was just rising, the barest sliver of white before the new moon, but it appeared huge in the evening sky, like a pale scimitar hanging over the world. Harry moved closer. The window was dirty and Harry used the sleeve of his robe to wipe it clean so he would have a better view. He sat down in the window seat and gazed out at the deep shadows on the grounds below.

It was completely quiet and Harry realized how seldom he had the chance to be truly alone. Always he was aware of the people around him and of the need to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself. Even in his own bed he couldn’t let go for fear of disturbing his roommates. But here there was no one to see or hear him.

Harry stayed where he was until the moon was quite high in the sky and the stars had all come out. Then he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower where he found his friends variously studying or playing chess. They each greeted him as he came in.

“Hi Harry,” Ron said. “You look done in. Rough night with Snape?”

Harry hesitated only fractionally. “Yeah.” He ignored the pang of guilt he felt for once again lying to his friends. He hadn’t had a pleasant evening exactly, but it had been a private one that he didn’t want to discuss. He went up to bed and fell asleep almost at once and once again he had no visions, but dreamt instead.

He was in the third floor corridor which turned into the corridor at the Department of Mysteries. Sirius stepped out of the shadows looking just as he had the last time Harry had seen him, except his expression was sad and disappointed.

“You let us down, Harry,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Sirius, I didn’t mean to, I was trying to help.”

Bellatrix Lestrange appeared behind Sirius. Harry tried to shout a warning, but he couldn’t speak or move.

“Crucio,” Bellatrix cried, then laughed cruelly as Sirius collapsed on the floor in agony.

Sirius turned into Snape who looked accusingly at Harry.

“You’re a danger to us all,” he said.

Then a bolt of green light hit him and he fell at Harry’s feet, dead. Harry ran, panicked, down the endless corridor with Bellatrix Lestrange’s laughter echoing off the walls.

Harry awoke the next morning feeling vaguely disturbed, but remembered nothing of his dream.

---

The next couple of weeks were a blur of activity. All of the teachers had assigned huge amounts of homework, and if it hadn’t been for Hermione and Ron, Harry never would have been able to keep up. His visions were more frequent than ever and he was hardly able to concentrate in class for lack of sleep. Most nights he lay awake wondering if he’d made the right decision in quitting his lessons with Snape or if his visions would have been easier to control if he’d continued. But he salved his conscience by telling himself he never would have had time to study with Snape and do his homework too.

However, Harry still hadn’t told his friends about quitting his lessons. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told them, but he could no longer pretend that it was simply an oversight or that he hadn’t found the right opportunity. He knew he was lying to them and that guilt gnawed at him each time he left to go sit alone in the deserted third floor. But this had become almost a ritual for him, one Harry eagerly anticipated. He found himself rushing through dinner on those nights when he was supposed to be studying with Snape, anxious to slip away to the solitude of his private retreat. He needed the time alone to calm his emotions and spent most of these evenings practicing the mental exercises and meditation techniques he’d learnt from Snape.

The one bright spot in Harry’s life was flying. Only while he was flying was he able to escape the oppressive burden of his memories. When he was flying he felt free and alive. Consequently, Harry relished Quidditch practice and had taken to heading for the Quidditch pitch at every available opportunity. Whenever the pitch wasn’t reserved and he had no classes, Harry could usually be found darting in and out among the stands and pulling hairpin turns around the goal posts. Most mornings he’d taken to rising before dawn and sneaking down to the pitch before breakfast. He had found that this was the only way to clear his mind after a particularly bad night.

That was why he was creeping through the halls hidden under his invisibility cloak very early one Saturday morning with his broom gripped tightly by his side. He paused at the head of the main staircase and surveyed the entrance hall. It was deserted. Neither Peeves nor Mrs. Norris seemed to be lurking about. Harry quickly and quietly began descending the stairs, and was nearly at the bottom when the front door opened. Harry froze and stared in surprise as the big door swung open and a figure dressed all in black slipped silently into the hall.

It was Snape.

The man eased the door closed and headed for the dungeons, moving quickly and silently. The only sound was the whisper of the heavy black robes he wore beneath his traveling cloak. But halfway across the hall, Snape hesitated and glanced toward the staircase where Harry stood. Instantly, Harry looked away and threw up the mental defenses he had learnt in order to close his mind. He didn’t dare breathe. He didn’t know how, but he was sure that Snape had sensed his presence.

Snape stood frowning uncertainly a moment longer then continued across the hall and through the door that led to the dungeons below.

At last Harry let out a slow breath and turned to retrace his steps back to Gryffindor Tower. He had lost all interest in flying that morning. One thought alone was uppermost in his mind. The robes that Snape had been wearing weren’t his usual ones, but Harry had recognized them all the same. He had seen them in his sleep only half an hour before. They were the robes worn by every one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

---

“We need to talk,” Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they went down to breakfast later that morning.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, seeing the grim look on Harry’s face.

“I didn’t sleep well last night and was going to go down to the Quidditch pitch,” Harry said in a low voice. “I got as far as the entrance hall when guess who I saw coming in?”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

“Snape.”

“Snape’s always up wandering around at odd hours,” Ron said.

“Not dressed like a Death Eater, he isn’t.”

“What?” Ron said stopping in his tracks so that the students behind them nearly ran into him.

Hermione took him by the arm and dragged him out of the flow of traffic down one of the corridors and Harry followed.

“He was dressed like a Death Eater?” Ron asked. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Harry answered. “I’ve seen those robes enough in my dreams.”

“He must have been summoned by Voldemort,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “I wonder why. Maybe Voldemort needed some potion or other. What?”

This last was directed at the horrified expressions both Harry and Ron were wearing.

“How can you be so calm about this?” Ron demanded.

“About what?”

“Snape!”

“Oh Ron, honestly! Don’t tell me you think he’s working for Voldemort?”

“You just said yourself that Snape must have been summoned by him!”

“Well, obviously!” Hermione snapped in exasperation. “Voldemort thinks Snape is loyal to him, but that doesn’t mean he is.”

“Then why’s he sneaking around in the middle of the night?” Ron demanded.

“What’s he supposed to do, go marching through the castle dressed like a Death Eater in broad daylight?”

“Ron might be right, Hermione,” Harry interjected.

“There you see,” Ron said looking vindicated, but Hermione paid no attention to him. She was staring at Harry in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” she said slowly.

“We can’t be certain of Snape’s loyalties and I’m not going to trust him blindly.”

“No, you’d rather distrust him blindly,” Hermione said angrily. “How many times has he saved your life? He’s saved all our lives! He spends loads of time trying to teach you to control your visions. How can you still not trust him?”

“All that time I’ve spent with him hasn’t helped me!”

Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Fine then,” she said. “Go and tell Dumbledore what you saw.”

Harry hesitated.

“If Snape is a Death Eater, Dumbledore needs to know it,” Hermione said as if explaining some bit of homework he hadn’t grasped. “If he’s not, you need to know it. One way or another, we need to know the truth. If you don’t tell Dumbledore, I will.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “I’ll go and see him after breakfast.”

Harry turned on his heel and headed for the stairs with Ron and Hermione close behind. The three continued downstairs in silence. In the Great Hall, Harry couldn’t help watching Snape as he ate. The man looked tired but otherwise unperturbed by the night’s events. Hermione was still angry and wouldn’t even look in Harry’s direction. Ron tried gamely to draw his friends into a conversation about Quidditch, but after a few terse responses and a particularly hard glare from Hermione, he gave up. Harry ate quickly then made his way to Dumbledore’s office.

“Harry Potter to see the headmaster,” he told the gargoyle.

Its eyes glowed briefly then it moved aside to reveal the spiral staircase behind. Harry followed the staircase up and found Dumbledore at his desk.

“Ah, Harry. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“I need to talk to you about Professor Snape.”

“Certainly, Harry. Do sit down.” Dumbledore gestured to the chair in front of his desk and waited for Harry to settle into it. “Now, what is it you need to discuss?”

“I saw him come in this morning early and I’m sure he’d been to see Voldemort.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise.

“You must have been up very early indeed to have seen that,” he said.

“You knew?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Naturally,” Dumbledore said. “It is rare for Voldemort to summon Professor Snape, but not unheard of. He informed me, of course.”

“Did he inform you that two people were murdered?” Harry asked, hoping to elicit some response from the headmaster beyond calm unconcern. But Dumbledore was still unperturbed.

“Yes,” he said. “Professor Snape and I have already discussed the matter at length. I’m sure you realize, Harry, that I cannot share the details with you.”

“No, sir. I don’t particularly want to know them.”

“No? Then perhaps you wish to know why Professor Snape would stand by and allow such a crime to occur?”

Dumbledore’s voice had hardened almost imperceptibly and Harry looked away from the piercing blue eyes.

“What would you have had him do Harry? Any attempt to intervene would have only resulted in his own death. Surely you know that.”

“I suppose so.”

“And yet, it does not satisfy you,” Dumbledore noted. “Do you distrust him so deeply?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

“I quit my lessons with Professor Snape.”

“I know,” Dumbledore said. “He told me.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me it was a mistake?”

“I have no way of knowing whether it was or not. Only you know that.”

“But you said it was important for me to learn to control my visions.”

“That is of enormous importance, yes, but it is not the only consideration. You are not merely learning rudimentary methods for blocking your mind. You have been studying very advanced techniques of Occlumency in particular. As I am sure you realize by now, there is no relationship more intimate than that between a student and teacher of these mental disciplines. If there is no concomitant trust, then it is likely that the lessons would do you more harm than good.”

“So, you think I was right to quit?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dumbledore said giving Harry a pointed look. “If you cannot find it in your heart to trust Professor Snape then I must question how it is that you seem to trust me, for he acts with my blessing.”

“How can you be certain of that, especially when he’s with Voldemort?”

“I know Severus Snape. I realize that is not the answer you wish to hear, but it is the only one I am prepared to give. I would trust him with my life, Harry. More than that, I would trust him with yours. Whatever else he may feel towards you, Professor Snape would never harm you, nor allow you to be harmed, if it were in his power to prevent it.”

Harry bit his lip and looked away again. He felt an urgent need to be anywhere other than under the headmaster’s scrutiny and stood up. “Thank you for seeing me, Professor.”

“Thank you for coming to see me. I would not wish you to carry a greater burden than you already do. My door is always open to you.”

Harry left Dumbledore’s office feeling miserable. Hermione had been right, of course. As usual, his suspicions about Snape had been unfounded, and on top of that, Dumbledore’s gentle chiding had made Harry feel awful. But it still wasn’t enough to make him trust Snape.

Not that Harry could actually think of anything the man had ever done to warrant his distrust, he realized. Harry frowned and thought hard. No, not a single thing came to mind. There were plenty of times when they had all thought Snape was acting suspiciously, times when all the circumstantial evidence pointed to some villainy on his part. But that had always proven to be wrong.

Do I just distrust him because I dislike him? Harry wondered. Don’t I have enough real enemies to worry about? He shook his head, disgusted with himself.

At least Hermione had the good grace not to say ‘I told you so’ when he got back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Going to Dumbledore was the sensible thing to do, Harry,” she said. “It always pays to be on the safe side.”

Ron wasn’t so easily convinced, however. He still didn’t trust Snape on principle alone, it seemed, and refused to budge even in the face of Hermione’s most logical arguments. Harry left his two friends to debate Snape’s loyalty, grabbed his broom and headed out to the Quidditch pitch meaning to make up for his missed flight that morning. It was a perfect day for flying, cold and clear with hardly any wind.

“Harry!”

Harry turned around to see Ginny running towards him across the snow covered lawn, broom in hand.

“Mind some company? I could use the practice myself.”

“That’d be great!”

The next hour was wonderful. Harry discovered that flying with Ginny was even more fun than flying alone as he gripped his broom, plunging toward earth one moment, then soaring to new heights the next. Best of all, Ginny always seemed to know how to make him laugh. When he was with her he could almost believe that everything would work out, that Voldemort would be defeated and that they might all have futures worth dreaming of.

---

It was nearly noon when they got back to the castle. The Great Hall was bustling as everyone rushed through lunch: it was a Hogsmeade weekend and all the students were anxious to be on their way to town. Harry and Ginny joined Hermione and Ron at the Gryffindor table.

“It’s about time you two showed up,” Ron said. “We were getting ready to leave without you.”

“Ron, don’t worry,” Ginny said. “Honeydukes isn’t going to sell out before you get there.”

“Maybe not, but I want to have time to check out Zonkos and Flying High’s latest Quidditch supplies,” Ron said. “What about you, Harry? What do you want to do?”

“Er, I’m not sure,” Harry answered.

“You are coming though, aren’t you?” Hermione asked with a slight frown.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Harry admitted.

“Oh Harry, you have to come!” Ginny said. “You’ve been buried in your studies for weeks.”

Harry grimaced. Ginny was right. He’d been too depressed to care about doing anything with his friends and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t needed the time to study, but he did need a break.

“All right, yeah,” Harry conceded. “I’ll come.”

Ginny grinned and Harry felt his spirits lift. It would be good to go into Hogsmeade and forget his problems for a while.

They met Luna Lovegood and Neville in the entrance hall and the six of them headed for Hogsmeade chatting amiably about what they planned to buy at Zonkos and Honeydukes. As they walked, it occurred to Harry that this was a much more pleasant outing than the last one they’d all been on together. He felt his stomach tighten at the memory and glanced at his companions, wondering if any of them were thinking the same thing. But they were all laughing and chatting happily as if they hadn’t a care in the world, so Harry pushed aside his own depressing thoughts. When they arrived in town, Neville pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and began reviewing it.

“What’s that, Neville?” Harry asked. “A shopping list?”

“Yes. My Mimbulus mimbletonia hasn’t been feeling well and I need to get some ingredients for a tonic.”

“Neville, it’s a plant,” Ron observed.

“I know that,” Neville said a bit defensively. “But plants have feelings too, you know. Luna’s got a recipe for a tonic that should perk it up.”

“We’re also going to look for some soothing music to play for it,” Luna said. “Plants love music, you know.”

“If everything goes well, I’m going to write a paper on it for Professor Sprout,” Neville added.

“Well, I hope it works out then,” Hermione said brightly.

“Thanks,” Neville said. “We’ll see you later.” He and Luna headed off down a side street and Hermione sighed deeply.

“It could work,” Ginny told her, not sounding particularly confident.

“I think Neville’s been spending too much time with Luna,” Ron said.

Harry snorted, then grinned. “Come on, let’s go.”

They stopped first at Honeydukes where they stocked up on as many sweets as they could carry, then they moved on to Zonkos. Harry did nothing more than browse; Fred and George had a far better selection of items, as Ron pointed out authoritatively. More than that, Harry found he had also lost much of his taste for simple pranks and tricks.

They wandered up the street, sucking on sugar quills and came to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

“Ron, can we stop in here a moment? There are some things I want get.” Hermione asked.

“Sure, I need a few things too,” Ron agreed.

“We’ll meet you back at the Three Broomsticks, then,” Ginny said.

“Actually,” Harry said, “I could use some new – ow!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry!” Ginny exclaimed. “Was that your foot? Come on, let’s go and get a butterbeer.” She took Harry’s arm in a viselike grip.

“Er, okay,” Harry agreed.

“We’ll see you two later then,” Hermione said cheerfully as she and Ron hurried away.

Harry watched them go then turned to Ginny.

“You didn’t have to stand on my foot!” he said.

“It’s Valentine’s weekend, Harry. Hermione and Ron want some time alone.”

“Yeah, well, couldn’t you have just said so?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “So are we actually going to the Three Broomsticks or was that some sort of coded message meant only for Hermione?”

Ginny grinned. “We’re going. Come on.”

They continued up the street discussing their impending Quidditch match against Hufflepuff and were nearly at the Three Broomsticks when Harry spotted Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle lurking in an alley. Crabbe was talking rapidly and intently while Malfoy nodded in response.

“Now that’s odd,” Harry said to Ginny as he stopped to stare at the Slytherins.

Crabbe almost never spoke except to acknowledge orders from Malfoy. That Crabbe could carry on a conversation was a shocking discovery; that Malfoy seemed to be deferring to him was unbelievable.

Just then, Goyle, who was obviously supposed to be standing guard, spotted Harry and Ginny and said something over his shoulder to his companions.

Malfoy and Crabbe fell silent at once.

“Well, well, it’s Potter and Weasley,” Malfoy sneered. “Where are the rest of your pathetic Muggle-lovers?”

Harry and Ginny both flushed angrily at the slur and Ginny stepped forward to confront Malfoy.

“You’re a real worm,” Ginny said in disgust. “One day, someone’s going to shut that big mouth of yours.”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed dangerously and he pulled his wand.

“You want to try?” he said.

Harry had his wand out and was instantly at Ginny’s side. Ginny and Goyle both drew their wands as well and Harry figured that two to three odds against Malfoy and his cronies wouldn’t be too bad. He and Ginny had certainly faced worse. But before anyone could make a move, Crabbe leaned close to Malfoy and whispered something. He glanced at Harry, but it wasn’t his usual brutish glare. His expression held real malice and it sent a chill down Harry’s spine.

“Tell you what,” Malfoy said. “We’ll let you two go this time. I’ve got better things to do than curse you, right now, so move.”

They all glared at each other a moment longer then Harry spoke.

“Come on, Ginny, let’s go.”

Ginny nodded. They backed away from the alley and quickly continued up the main street, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that there had been something very wrong about the whole encounter.

---

The Three Broomsticks was packed with students all enjoying their afternoon away from school and the jovial atmosphere soon banished Harry’s misgivings about the run-in with Malfoy. He and Ginny found a table and ordered a couple of butterbeers.

“So,” Ginny said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Harry asked.

“Whatever’s been bothering you the last couple of weeks. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how on edge you’ve been. And getting up to go flying at five every morning is a bit extreme, you know.”

Harry didn’t really want to talk about his problems, but the calm, open look on Ginny’s face seemed to draw him out.

“It’s just that my dreams have been especially bad lately,” he said.

“What’s Professor Snape think?”

“Snape?”

“You have talked to him about it, haven’t you?”

“Well, no, not really,” Harry admitted.

“Harry, he’s supposed to be helping you. If whatever he’s doing isn’t working, you need to tell him.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably and glanced away. He knew he ought to tell Ginny the truth, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Harry, I know you don’t like Snape,” Ginny continued. “None of us do. I’d be miserable if I had to spend as much time with him as you do. But you’re a mess and you need to find a way to stop these dreams.”

Harry sighed. “I know. I promise I’ll do whatever I can, all right?”

Ginny’s frown of concern disappeared and her face lit with a smile.

“Fair enough!” she said then launched into a discussion of Quidditch, much to Harry’s surprise and relief. Ginny obviously wasn’t one to belabor unpleasant matters, for which he was immensely grateful.

The next hour passed too quickly. Harry would have been content to sit and talk with Ginny all afternoon, but soon Ron and Hermione arrived looking very happy, though curiously free of parcels from their shopping spree. Neville and Luna, on the other hand, barely managed to shove their way in the door they were so burdened with bags. They were equally happy, though, having apparently found all the ingredients for their tonic.

They all strolled back to Hogwarts and enjoyed a good dinner, after which Harry and his fellow Gryffindors spent the rest of the evening playing games in the common room. All in all, it had been a wonderful day, but as bedtime approached Harry felt his good mood give way to apprehension.

This is ridiculous! he thought. I’m afraid to even go to bed! Ginny’s right, I’ve got to do something about this.

Unfortunately, Harry could think of only one option as he crawled into bed. He sighed miserably. Tomorrow he would deal with it. He didn’t want to think about it right now. He closed his eyes, forced all thought from his mind and was soon asleep.

---

The next morning Harry was up early. He had had no visions, but he still wasn’t in a good mood. After staring at his uneaten breakfast for twenty minutes, hoping to find an appetite, Harry decided that postponing the inevitable wasn’t doing him any good. He pushed his plate aside and headed for the dungeons, rehearsing in his mind what he planned to say to Snape. Harry reached the Potions Master’s office, summoned all of his nerve and knocked briskly at the door.

There was no answer.

Harry knocked again, listening intently for any response, but there was still none. Frowning slightly, Harry moved down the hall and tried the classroom door. It was locked. He pressed his ear against the door and knocked tentatively. There was no response, definitely no one there. Harry went back to the office door and pressed his ear against it listening for any hint of life within.

Where could Snape be? He hadn’t been at breakfast but surely he couldn’t be away on business on a Sunday morning. Had Dumbledore sent him on some urgent errand for the Order? Or worse, had Voldemort summoned him again? Surely he’d be back by now if that were the case.

“Potter!”

Harry jumped and hit his head on the door as he spun around.

Snape stood in a doorway at the end of the hall, looking murderous. He pulled the heavy, polished, oak door closed with a bang and stalked towards Harry.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Snape demanded.

“I, er, just wanted to talk to you a moment, sir,” Harry answered, absently rubbing his head where he’d hit it.

“And how is eavesdropping at my office door supposed to accomplish that?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Harry protested. “I knocked, but there was no answer.”

“So instead of deducing that I wasn’t in, you decided to listen at my door? Why? Did you think I was hiding from you? Not that the idea doesn’t appeal, I must admit.”

“I just needed to talk to you and I didn’t know where else you might be.”

“Potter, hard as I know it is to believe, I don’t live in my office and it’s a trifle early to expect me to be at your beck and call, don’t you think?”

Harry blushed in embarrassment as the obvious finally dawned on him. Of course Snape wouldn’t be in his office at this hour on a Sunday morning. He’d be in his private quarters. Harry glanced reflexively towards the door Snape had come out of.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry said. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Snape said.

Harry flushed more deeply, but met Snape’s sneer with as much dignity as he could muster.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir,” Harry said stiffly. He turned to go.

“Potter?”

Harry stopped and looked back at his teacher.

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?” Snape asked.

Harry hesitated. He was certain this wouldn’t be a good time to ask the man for help. Snape must have sensed his thoughts.

“Whatever it is, I assure you there won’t be a better time to discuss it than the present,” Snape said.

Harry knew Snape didn’t mean that in a good way. The gulf between them seemed impossible to bridge and Harry was too disheartened to try.

“Never mind, Professor,” Harry said. “It wasn’t that important.”

Harry turned and walked away. He could feel Snape watching him, but the Potions Master said nothing and Harry didn’t look back.