Midsummer found Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry nearly deserted.

Minerva McGonagall walked quickly through the empty halls as she made her way to the dungeons, which managed to be as chill and damp in the heat of summer as they were in the dead of winter. McGonagall shivered slightly and pulled her robes closer around her. Her footsteps echoed in the oppressive silence. The rest of the castle might be uninhabited, but the dungeons felt abandoned. Even the ghosts seemed to shun them during the summer. But McGonagall knew there was one person, still here, who seemed oblivious to the loneliness of the place. She stopped in front of a wooden door and knocked briskly.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply.

McGonagall pushed open the door and found Severus Snape frowning intently at a potion simmering on his workbench.

“Severus, I was just going over the class registers for next term. I don’t see Mr. Potter’s name on the list of your sixth year students.”

“That’s right, you don’t,” Snape said, making an entry in the notebook beside him and not bothering to look at his colleague.

“May I ask why not?” McGonagall inquired stiffly.

Snape lowered the heat under his cauldron then turned to face her.

“I only take the most capable students in my NEWT class,” he said smoothly. “Mr. Potter is not one of them.”

“He received an ‘Outstanding’ on his Potions OWL.”

“Be that as it may, he will not be in my class.”

The two professors stared at one another in a silent test of wills. At last McGonagall spoke in a tightly controlled voice.

“Severus, I allow you to browbeat my students, but if you think I will stand by and allow you to ruin Mr. Potter’s future out of spite, you will find that you are very much mistaken.”

“So, the famous Potter charm has finally worked its magic on you, I see,” Snape said derisively.

“Don’t be insulting,” McGonagall snapped. “The boy has earned the right to be in your class. You have no grounds to exclude him.”

“I’m astonished he would even wish to continue in my class given his usually abysmal performance,” Snape said contemptuously.

“He wants to be an Auror and you know very well that NEWT-level Potions is required.”

“An Auror,” Snape sneered. “Naturally. One would have thought he’d have had enough of fighting dark wizards by now, but I suppose the allure of fame and glory is too much. Why don’t you do us all a favor, Minerva, and advise the boy to go out for professional Quidditch instead. Surely that would provide him with the adoring fans his ego craves?”

“Is that what you really think it is? Ego? Hasn’t it occurred to you that Potter may have decided, quite reasonably, that the only way he’s likely to survive is by becoming an Auror?”

“It didn’t help his father.”

McGonagall’s eyes flashed and she pressed her lips into a thin line. “I gave Mr. Potter my word that I would do everything in my power to help him become an Auror and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Unfortunately, deciding whom I admit to my class is not within your power,” Snape said.

McGonagall smiled slightly. “No, but as Deputy Headmistress, I can make your life quite miserable, you know. It’s only two more years, Severus and then he’ll be gone. I will not be. Do you really want to make an enemy of me?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he considered the woman in front of him. “Very well,” he said. “I will accept Mr. Potter into my NEWT class. But if he fails to live up to my standards, I will dismiss him.”

McGonagall sighed, knowing that was the best she would get from Snape. “Fair enough,” she said. McGonagall turned to go, but paused at the door.

“You know, Severus,” she said, glancing back at Snape, “I would have thought you’d know the boy better by now.”

She swept out of the room leaving the Potions Master to scowl after her.

Harry pointed his wand at the pale young man cowering at his feet.

“Crucio!” he hissed.

The young man screamed and writhed on the ground.  Harry felt his lip curl in a cruel smile, then he reluctantly released his victim. 

“Perhaps now you will be forthcoming with the information I require,” he said in a low menacing tone.

“Please,” the young man sobbed.  “I don’t know where he is!  I swear it!  I’d tell you if I did.  Please!  I’m telling the truth!”

Harry looked into the young man’s eyes and knew it was true.  The fool knew nothing.

“Very well,” Harry said.  “I believe you.” He pointed his wand at the trembling man once more.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Green light shot out of the end of Harry’s wand and hit the young man in the chest.  He fell back and was still, his vacant eyes filled with terror and shock.

Harry bolted up in bed gasping for breath.  He had no idea who the young man was he’d just seen being tortured, but he knew that somewhere Voldemort had just killed him. Harry turned on his bedside light and got up to pace his room. 

It had only been three weeks since the end of term, but already this was shaping up to be the worst summer of Harry’s life.  He had been frustrated the previous summer by the total absence of information about Voldemort.  Only now did he realize how lucky he’d been.  Be careful what you wish for.  You may get it!   Harry thought sourly. 

Since Voldemort’s return had become public, Death Eater activity had exploded.  The Daily Prophet contained almost daily accounts of torture, murder and disappearances.  Hardly a night went by where the Dark Mark didn’t appear in sky.  But Harry didn’t need the Daily Prophet.  His mental connection to Voldemort gave him a front row seat for the horror. 

More than ever Harry was sorry that he hadn’t worked harder at his Occlumency lessons the previous term.  He had been so starved for information that he hadn’t wanted to block out the only source he had.  After witnessing the resurgence of the Death Eaters, however, he understood why Dumbledore had thought it a bad idea to allow these visions to continue.  Harry was quite certain that he was losing his mind.

I can’t keep on like this.  I have to do something, Harry thought desperately.  He could write to Dumbledore, but what use would that be?  The headmaster couldn’t do anything for him here at Privet Drive.  Neither could Ron, Hermione or Lupin who were the only other people he could think to turn to for help.  He thought of Sirius and felt the familiar ache in his chest.  His godfather couldn’t have helped him either, Harry knew, but just having Sirius around would have been a comfort. 

Sirius’ death had left a huge hole in Harry’s life that he didn’t know how to fill.  Sirius had been the only real family Harry had ever had, certainly the only family that cared about him.  Of course, Harry had many close friends, but somehow it wasn’t quite the same, though he couldn’t have really explained why.  The simple fact was that no other adult gave him the undivided attention and unconditional support that Sirius had.  No one else acted like a father to him.  At almost sixteen Harry was annoyed to realize how much he still needed that.  

Harry shook his head to banish his thoughts.  There was no point in moping.  His parents and Sirius were all dead, so he’d just have to manage on his own.  At the moment he had to find a way to control these visions.  He’d spent three months studying Occlumency with Snape.  Surely he had learnt something useful in all that time.  He thought back to what his professor had told him.  Empty your mind.  Control your emotions.  During those classes with Snape he had discovered that was easier said than done, but he had to try.

Harry sat down on the edge of his bed, closed his eyes and tried to relax.  He took slow deep breaths and tried to think of nothing.  Concentrate on breathing.  In.  Out.  In. Out.  After several minutes Harry opened his eyes.  He definitely felt calmer, but he wasn’t sure this would help to block his visions.  Unfortunately, at the moment it was all he had.  He climbed back in bed, turned off the light and once more focused on his breathing.  He drifted off to sleep, mercifully undisturbed by visions or nightmares.

***

The following morning Harry was up at 5:30 as usual, and set about doing the odd jobs his aunt had given him.  By noon he had finished weeding the flowerbeds and washing the windows.  He made himself a quick sandwich and retreated to his room to work on his homework, or rather the extracurricular homework he’d given himself.

After Harry had got over the initial shock of learning of the prophecy that he must kill Voldemort or be killed by him, he’d become nearly obsessed with honing his defensive skills.  He was still quite proud of all that he and his schoolmates had accomplished in the DA meetings during their previous term, but he realized that what he’d taught them would never suffice against Voldemort.  Harry knew he’d only escaped death by chance in all of his previous encounters with the evil wizard.  If he was going to have to stand and fight he’d need more than luck to win. 

Consequently, he’d written to Lupin during the first week of the summer holidays and asked his former Defense teacher to send him some books on advanced defensive techniques.  Lupin had responded almost immediately by sending him a huge tome entitled The Complete Book of Curses and Counter-Curses by Beatrice Arronby. 

Harry had been dismayed to discover how many different curses there were, particularly the advanced ones. Many he wished he had known a month ago when he’d been fighting the Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic.  Others were so obviously Dark Magic that they made his skin crawl. Fighting his revulsion over some of the illustrations in the hefty book, he had set about memorizing as many of the curses and counter curses as he thought might be useful.  He also practiced.

Harry knew that just reading about the spells wouldn’t be enough and was determined to perfect his reflexes so that he could cast a wide range of curses and counter-curses without thinking.  He didn’t actually cast the spells, of course.  After nearly being expelled the previous summer, he was very careful not to perform any magic.  With this in mind, he had saved a likely branch from his work in the Dursleys’s garden and had fashioned it into a rough wand, which he used in hours of imaginary duels against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.   He might have spent too much time dwelling on Voldemort, however, because that night, despite repeating the Occlumency exercises, his visions were back.

Harry slithered silently along the ground as embers floated up into the night sky from a house that was engulfed by fire.  Figures in dark robes and masks hovered around an old man and woman who looked defiant even though they had clearly been tortured.  As he moved towards them he flicked his tongue and could taste blood in the air.

“You won’t be going back to the Aurors,” one of the black robed figures said.  “By the time we’re done, there won’t be an Auror left alive.”

The old couple glared back at the Death Eater, but Harry could smell their fear and it was intoxicating.  He made straight for them and could sense their fear spike as they caught sight of him.  Then he reared back and struck.

Harry awoke after too little sleep with the night’s horrors fresh in his mind.  His mood wasn’t improved by the arrival of the Daily Prophet.  The headline read “Death Eaters Escape Azkaban!” and the article went on to detail the escape of the Death Eaters that had been captured barely a month before at the Ministry of Magic. 

Harry cursed.  It wasn’t as though he hadn’t been expecting it, of course, but it still galled, especially the thought of Lucius Malfoy going free.  He had rather relished the idea of Malfoy being locked up in Azkaban.  Worst of all, this escape would undoubtedly mean a fresh round of attacks, which he’d be forced to witness in his sleep while being helpless to prevent.  Harry shuddered and opened the paper hoping to find something to take his mind off his visions.

He skimmed the pages until he came to the editorial page.  This was nearly as depressing as the news of the Death Eaters’ escape.  Most of the columns were hand-wringing affairs that either directly or obliquely looked to him for salvation.

“The Boy-Who-Lived, who has escaped You-Know-Who not once, but four times…”  “The young man who alone inspires hope…”  “He defeated You-Know-Who once.  He can do it again!”

The sole dissenting voice belonged to Averill Pembroke.  He was the senior editor at the Daily Prophet and seemed to have nothing but contempt for Harry.

“Any wizard who believes that a mere boy could defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named needs a stay at St. Mungos!” 

Harry wasn’t sure which of these opposing views he found most disturbing as he tossed the paper aside.  Suddenly, he felt closed in by his room.  He pulled on a t-shirt and jeans and went downstairs.  Aunt Petunia tried to stop him with a list of odd jobs, but he brushed by her without a glance and left the house.  It was a beautiful morning, but Harry didn’t notice.  He had no particular destination in mind, so he just walked, as if putting distance between himself and Number Four Privet Drive would somehow diminish the visions that gnawed at his mind.

It was late afternoon by the time Harry returned home and he didn’t even open his book on curses.  Instead he devoted his time to practicing Occlumency.  He was getting better at calming his mind, though he was skeptical as to whether it might actually help keep his visions at bay.  He really didn’t trust Snape to teach him anything useful.  Still, the exercises couldn’t hurt and he had no other ideas for blocking his mental connection to Voldemort.  He stayed up late and finally crawled into bed with a kind of fatalism.  He was asleep almost at once and the night produced no visions, though he did have a terrible nightmare of Sirius falling through the veil at the Department of Mysteries, which, all things considered, wasn’t much better.   

***

It was three weeks later that the neat, blue envelope arrived.  Uncle Vernon was sorting the post and opened it as Harry sank into a chair at the breakfast table. 

“Look Petunia,” he said handing the note to his wife.  “We’ve won a sweepstakes you entered.”

Aunt Petunia frowned slightly.  “I don’t remember entering a sweepstakes.”

“Well, you must have, done,” Uncle Vernon said around a mouthful of sausage.  “We’ve won dinner for three this evening at Chez Vous.  That’s that French place over on Romney Circus, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Aunt Petunia’s eyes lit up at the prospect of fine dining.  “It’s very nice from what I’ve heard.”

They both turned to glare at Harry who had been following the exchange without interest.

“Now listen, boy,” Uncle Vernon warned, brandishing his fork at Harry.  “We’ll only be gone a few hours and I don’t want any funny business while we’re away.  You understand me?”

“I won’t destroy the house while you’re gone,” Harry said biting into a piece of toast.

“I don’t want any of your sort hanging about,” Uncle Vernon growled, his jowls wobbling.

“Don’t worry.  No one I know would want to come here.”  Harry didn’t bother to hide his disdain.

“You ought to be grateful you’re here!” Uncle Vernon said, turning crimson. “You’ve got nerve turning your nose up at respectable people!”  

“Sorry,” Harry said without sincerity.  He swallowed the last of his toast, stood up and left, leaving Uncle Vernon to fume noiselessly behind him. 

Back in his room, Harry brooded, unable to make up his mind whether to study curses or Occlumency.  He sighed; he wasn’t sure if either were doing him any good.  Hedwig hooted softly as she came to perch next to him.  He stroked her gently, but it gave him little relief from his melancholy. 

He was lying on his bed staring dejectedly at the ceiling when a small owl flew in through the open window and began circling the room.  Harry couldn’t help but grin at Ron’s owl, Pigwidgeon, though Hedwig was clearly put out by his arrival.  She flew back up to her perch as Harry stood up eagerly and scooped the tiny bird and its overly large parcel out of the air.  Harry opened the letter first which turned out to be a birthday card.  It read:

Happy Birthday Harry! 

Hope the Muggles aren’t being total gits!  It’s quiet here at the Burrow with Fred and George gone most of the time.  But they’re doing so well with their shop in Diagon Alley that even Mum has come round and says it was the best thing for them.  They’ve sent along their latest invention as a birthday present.  Maybe you can use it on Dudley.  Ginny sent you a gift too, though she won’t tell me what it is.  Girls!

I’m sure you’ve been following the papers, so I don’t need to tell you how tense things are.  It’s all been blown out of proportion though.  You-Know – Voldemort has got everyone spooked.  It’s stupid really!  We’re all fine of course, so don’t worry.  Just take care of yourself.

Ron

Harry let out a slow breath.  Ron might want to brush it off as no more than an annoyance, but Harry knew all too well how bad the Death Eater attacks were.  He was isolated from Voldemort’s rampages here in the Muggle world, particularly at Privet Drive where Voldemort couldn’t touch him.  It had to be awful for Ron and his family being in the middle of it, especially since the Weasleys were known for their sympathies towards Muggles and Muggle-borns.  Harry felt his stomach twist in fear and he clutched Ron’s letter tightly knowing that, for once, his best friend was probably in more danger than he was.

Pig hooted and nipped at Harry’s ear.  Harry got the excitable little owl a treat then turned his attention to the parcel.  Ron’s present to him was, predictably, a book about Quidditch.  The twins had sent him a bag of Weasleys’ Colorful Candies, multicolored jellybeans guaranteed to turn whoever ate one the same shade as the sweet for an unspecified duration.  Harry grinned at the thought of slipping Dudley a green one.

Ginny’s gift was a small box wrapped in simple brown paper.  Harry opened it to find a pewter charm on a chain.  The charm was the head of a dog that looked uncannily familiar.  A short note in Ginny’s handwriting said,

He’ll always be with you.

Harry stared at the words, then looked back at the charm.  He took it out of the box and held it gently in the palm of his hand, tracing the finely etched design with his index finger.  After a moment, Harry took a deep breath and ran a sleeve across his eyes.  He slipped the chain around his neck and tucked the charm inside his shirt. 

Harry stashed the rest of his gifts under his floorboard with the book on ancient magic Hermione had sent him several days earlier.  Next he scribbled out separate thank you notes to Ron, Ginny and the twins that he sent off with Pig.  Finally, he sat down to compose a letter to Hermione.  It wasn’t easy; he didn’t want to let on how worried he was about Ron, but he did want to know if she had heard anything more than he had.

Hi, Hermione, 

Thanks again for the birthday present.  Pig was just here from the Burrow.  Ron says things are pretty quiet there, but I was wondering if you’d heard anything from them about Voldemort.  Ron didn’t say much and I feel a bit in the dark.  

Harry

That should be all right, he thought.  Make her think he was just feeling left out.  He gave the letter to Hedwig who disappeared out the window.

***

The Dursleys left for dinner at six o’clock, warning Harry darkly not to ‘do anything’ while they were gone.  Harry briefly considered sticking chewing-gum in all the door locks as he’d once seen Peeves do, but decided it wouldn’t be worth it.  He settled for studying his curses on the sofa in the living room, then running through his Occlumency exercises before bed. 

No horrors assaulted him, not even nightmares of Sirius’ death.  Instead he dreamt of his neighborhood, the streets of which had become a familiar landscape during his summers. 

It was dark and cold.  Streetlights illuminated the empty streets and blank facades of the houses.  He walked up Magnolia Crescent, past the playground and paused at the corner of Privet Drive.  He looked up the street to number four, but a movement to his left caught his attention.  A figure stepped out of the shadows.  It was shrouded in dark robes and silently approached him.  As forbidding as this apparition was, Harry felt no fear and when the man spoke, Harry felt a thrill of recognition. 

“All is ready, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy quietly.  “The house is surrounded.  The boy will not escape this time.”

Harry felt himself smile.  “Good, Lucius,” he said in a cold, soft hiss.  “Very good.  It is time to be rid of Harry Potter.”

Harry opened his eyes, too terrified to scream.  He knew with certainty that what he’d just seen had been no dream.  Voldemort was coming for him.  Harry rolled out of bed and grabbed his glasses and his wand.  His scar was already throbbing painfully.  He ran from his room and down the hall.

“Wake up!” he called frantically pounding on Dudley’s door.  He continued to his aunt and uncle’s room and repeated the pounding. 

“Wake up!  You’ve got to get out of the house!” 

There was no answer, so Harry threw open the door.  The room was empty, the bed obviously not having been slept in that night.  Harry frowned and ran back to Dudley’s room, which was empty as well.  Where were they?  They had gone to dinner, but surely they should have been home by now. 

Wherever they were, they clearly weren’t in the house, Harry realized as he made his way downstairs, checking every room as he went.  He leaned against the wall in the hallway, relieved that the Dursleys at least wouldn’t have to face Voldemort.

A shadow passed across the living room window and Harry gripped his wand tightly, his mouth dry.  He tiptoed quietly to the window and peeked through the crack in the curtains.  He could just make out two cloaked figures hiding in the shadows on either side of the garden.  He backed away from the window, hardly breathing and made his way to the kitchen.  As stealthily as possible, he peered out the window and spotted three more figures.  Harry let out a shuddering breath and retreated to the hallway where he leaned against the wall once more.  So it was true.  They were here and he was trapped. 

But how could this be happening?  Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be able to touch him at his relatives.  Obviously he’s found a way around that, Harry thought bitterly.  Still, Harry knew the house was being watched by the Order of the Phoenix.  Surely someone must have seen Voldemort and his Death Eaters arrive and would have sent for help.  Unless Voldemort killed them before they could raise the alarm, a pessimistic voice in Harry’s mind reminded him.  Lucius Malfoy certainly hadn’t seemed concerned about being caught and neither had Voldemort. 

“And either must die at the hand of the other…”  Harry recalled the words of the prophecy.  If it was his fate to kill Voldemort or be killed by him, Harry knew which way he’d bet at the moment.  Voldemort and the Death Eaters had him surrounded and he was standing here alone and barefoot in his pajamas. 

Well, he wouldn’t die without a fight.  Harry moved down the hallway so that he had a clear view of the front door, but could still hear anyone attempting to enter through the kitchen.  He strained his senses to their limits trying to pick out the smallest sound or movement outside the house.  Then he heard it, the sound of slow measured footsteps coming up the path, up the steps, onto the front porch.  Harry’s heart was pounding wildly.  There was a pause.  Then, without warning and to Harry’s shock, the front door was blasted off its hinges.  Harry, fighting down panic, fled back towards the kitchen as an unnaturally tall and thin man stepped over the threshold and into number four Privet Drive.  Harry stumbled into the table in the dark and knocked over a chair.

“Harry.”  Voldemort’s voice sent a chill down Harry’s spine.  “There’s no point in running.  Better to face me and die like a man.”

Harry could hear Voldemort coming down the hall.  He kicked open the door to the back garden then quickly and quietly ducked back through the dining room and into the living room.  He peeked back into the hallway and heard Voldemort in the kitchen calling to his Death Eaters through the back door.  Harry slipped soundlessly past the remains of the front door and up the stairs.  He had reached his room when he heard Voldemort come back into the hall. 

“I know you’re up there, Harry.  You’ve nowhere to run.”

There was no more point in stealth.  Harry wrenched open his window and climbed up onto the sill.  He could hear footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs and desperately looked left and right for an escape route.  The roofline sloped steeply up above him and there was no ledge, only a gutter and he had no idea if it would support his weight.  He was looking for handholds on the roof when he sensed rather than heard the presence behind him.  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Voldemort standing in his bedroom doorway with a wand leveled at him. 

Instinct took over.  Harry swung out his window to the left and flattened himself against the roof just as a jet of green light shot past him.  He scrambled up onto the gable above his window and waited.  A moment later the misshapen head poked out of the window beneath him.

“Stupefy!” Harry yelled, but Voldemort seemed to anticipate him and jumped back into the room.  The spell had missed and Harry could hear Voldemort’s cold brittle laughter. 

“Well done Harry!  Very well done indeed!  But you cannot win.”

Suddenly, the roof next to where Harry was perched exploded.  Harry lost his balance and fell, sliding down the roof.  He tumbled over the edge and without thinking, caught the gutter to break his fall.  His feet dangled in midair as the sharp edge of the gutter cut into his palms.  His wand was somewhere below him in the hydrangea bushes.  He could hear running figures converging on him from below.  Death Eaters.  Harry closed his eyes momentarily in resignation then looked up to face the monster smiling down at him.  Voldemort raised his wand, but just then, two gray streaks came racing across the roof and launched themselves, hissing and scratching, at his face.  Voldemort cursed and swatted at the cats.

“Harry!” a voice called from below.

Harry looked down and was astonished to see Remus Lupin standing below him.

“Harry, get down from there!  Let go!”

Harry dropped from the roof and landed in a heap in the bushes.  Lupin tried to pull him to his feet, but Harry resisted, feeling around frantically on the ground. 

“I’ve got to find my wand!  I dropped it!”

Voldemort had succeeded in throwing off the feline attack, but now there were other figures in the yard and they began hurling curses up at him.  Red and green sparks arced over Harry’s head as he and Lupin searched for his wand in the dark. 

“This is ridiculous,” Lupin said.  “Accio wand!”  Harry’s wand immediately came flying out of a nearby bush and Harry grabbed it thankfully.

“Come on,” Lupin said, pushing Harry in front of him.  They ran in a crouch, keeping close to the front of the house.  They slipped around the corner, out sight of the battle raging in the front yard.  Lupin stopped and picked up a rusted paint can.

“This is a Portkey,” Lupin said.  “Hold on!”

Harry numbly took hold of the handle, as Lupin gripped the bottom of the can firmly.  

“Aardvark,” Lupin said and Harry felt the unpleasant jerk just behind his navel that told him the Portkey had been activated.  A moment later he was standing in the unkempt square outside Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

“Come on Harry, let’s get you inside,” Lupin said.

Harry hesitated.  He hadn’t been to Grimmauld Place since before Sirius had died and he wasn’t sure he could handle those memories just now.  Lupin seemed to understand and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Come on Harry,” he said gently.  “Sirius would have wanted to know that you were safe here.  Besides, I think it’s clear you can’t return to Little Whinging.”

Harry nodded and followed Lupin into the house.  It looked the same as he remembered it.  The portrait of Mrs. Black still hung in the hall by the front door and Harry was careful not to wake her as he followed Lupin to the kitchen.   The memories of the last time he’d been in the house brought a lump to his throat and he pushed them away.

“So the Order is still using this as its base?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lupin answered.  “Sirius left the house to me, so we’ve continued to use it.  It’s still unplottable and about the safest place we could find.”  Lupin hesitated uncertainly.  “He would have left it to you, but he didn’t think you’d want it what with all the Black family history.”

Harry nodded numbly.  “I’m glad he gave it to you.  He was right.  I wouldn’t have known what to do with it.”

Harry lapsed into silence and Lupin frowned in concern.

“Can I get you anything Harry?  Tea?”

“No thanks, Professor.”

“I’m not your professor anymore, Harry.  Please, just call me Remus.”

“All right, Remus,” Harry said, smiling slightly.  “Listen, I need to find my aunt and uncle.  They went to dinner, but they should have been home hours ago and I don’t know where they are.”

“Don’t worry, Harry, they’re safe,” Remus said.

“How do you know that?” Harry asked, frowning.

“We, er, arranged for them to take a bit of a scenic drive,” Remus answered looking slightly guilty.

“What?”

“We’re the one’s who arranged for them to go to dinner this evening, Harry,” Remus said.  “Then we put a Confundus spell on their car so they wouldn’t be able to find their way back home.”  Remus couldn’t contain his grin.  “They’ll be driving around all night, looking for the house.”

Harry stared at his former teacher and felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “Then you were expecting this?”

“Yes,” Remus nodded.  “We received word that Voldemort was going to go after you tonight.”

“AND YOU DIDN’T WARN ME!” Harry exploded.

“We couldn’t, Harry.”

“Why not?  You had enough time to get my aunt, uncle and Dudley out of the way!”

“It would have looked too suspicious!  Voldemort had to think he was taking you unawares, otherwise it would have compromised the source of our information.”

“I almost died,” Harry said furiously.

Remus grimaced. “That was my fault.  We expected you to be asleep when Voldemort arrived, not standing in the front hall.  I Apparated into your bedroom just before Voldemort blasted open the front door.  My heart nearly stopped when I realized you were already downstairs.  When I heard you throw open the back door, I thought you had made a run for it, so I Apparated to the backyard.”  Remus shook his head in self- disgust.  “I should have stayed put and let the rest of the team who were already outside handle it.  By the time I realized what had happened and got back around to the front of the house, you were hanging from the roof.  Thank God Minerva was there.”

“You mean Professor McGonagall?”

Remus smiled.  “Yes, she and Arabella Figg’s cat, Mr. Tibbles, kept Voldemort busy long enough for us to get you out of there.  I bet she left some deep claw marks too.”

Harry was stunned to think that the furious spitting ball of fur that had attacked Voldemort was actually his aloof Head of House, but pushed that thought aside.

“How did you know they were coming tonight?” Harry asked, suspecting that he already knew.

“I’m sure you know where we get our information on Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Harry,” Remus said shrewdly.

“Snape,” Harry said in contempt.  “Well, then I’m not surprised I almost got killed.  I’m amazed he bothered to warn you at all!”

“Harry!”  Remus was clearly shocked, but Harry didn’t care.

“He hates me, Remus and he never misses an opportunity to show it!  It’s his fault that Sirius died and I’m sure he wasn’t broken up over that!  Believe me, given a choice, he’d rather see me dead, too!”

Remus had gone white, but before he could speak a familiar languid drawl interrupted.

“Your gratitude is overwhelming, Potter,” Snape said from the doorway, his voice dripping with sarcasm.  “Given that I risked my life to save yours, I can’t tell you how much that means.”

Harry turned slowly to face the Potions Master.  “Whatever risk you took, it wasn’t for me, so don’t pretend you’re doing me any favors,” he said.  “I know better.”

“You know nothing!  You’re just too arrogant to realize it.”

“I was nearly killed tonight in a house where your Dark Lord wasn’t supposed to be able to touch me.  If you know so much, tell me how he managed it.”

“Your blood, Potter,” Snape said.  “It was the basis of the magic that protected you at your mother’s sister’s home.  No one who did not share that blood could enter there to harm you.  But the Dark Lord does share your blood, as surely you must remember.”

Harry flashed back to the memory of the graveyard where he’d been bound to a gravestone to be used in Voldemort’s resurrection.  Wormtail had taken a dagger and cut his arm. 

“That happened over a year ago,” Harry said.  “Why did it take him this long to come after me?”

“You left your aunt and uncle’s last August, barely two months after he had returned.  He was still weak, still building his power and he knew you were being watched by the Order.  He needed to wait until he thought that victory would be assured.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me this?” Harry said through clenched teeth.

Snape hesitated briefly then said.  “It did not become apparent until very recently that he had determined how to circumvent the protection at your home.”

“Really?  Are you sure you just didn’t want me to know?”

“If I wanted you dead, Potter, you wouldn’t be standing here now.”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Remus interrupted, stepping between them.  “Harry, it’s late.  Get upstairs to bed.  You’re obviously not thinking clearly after what you’ve been through tonight.”

Harry started to object, but the look in Remus’ eyes stopped him. 

“I said go,” Remus said in a low voice, and Harry realized it would be a mistake to argue with him.

“Fine,” Harry said and stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs.  He found the room he’d stayed in the previous year and threw himself on the bed.  It wasn’t long before he heard soft voices in the downstairs hall and the front door open and close.  A few moments later there was a knock at his door.

Harry momentarily considered pretending he was asleep, but decided that would be cowardly.  “Come in,” he called.

Remus entered the room looking for all the world like a father getting ready to reprimand a wayward child.  But it wasn’t the anger in his eyes that made Harry’s throat tighten.  It was the disappointment.

“Well,” Remus asked.  “Would you like to explain yourself?”

“What is there to explain?”

Remus sighed and sat down on the other bed. 

“Harry, I know Severus Snape isn’t your favorite person.  He isn’t mine, either.  But do you have to provoke him?  Would it have killed you to be polite?  He really did risk a great deal to save your life tonight.”

“He did that for Dumbledore and the Order, not for me.”

“What difference does that make?  You’re still alive and he doesn’t deserve to be insulted by you.”

“He never worries about insulting anyone.  He enjoys it.”

“So you’re going to lower yourself to his level?” 

“It’s his fault Sirius died.”

“We’re at war, Harry.  People die.  It’s no one’s fault.”

“Maybe you can forgive him, but I won’t!”

There was a long pause as Remus regarded Harry sadly.

“I know I can’t change your mind, Harry,” Remus said.  “I never managed to change Sirius’ and God knows I tried.  But I had hoped that his death might have taught you something.  You need to think long and hard about how many more lives you’re willing to sacrifice to this hatred.”

Remus got up and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Harry lay back down, but couldn't relax.  He tossed and turned until he finally fell into a fitful sleep filled with dreams of masked figures and a cruel high-pitched laugh.

***

The sun was high in a clear sky by the time Harry awoke the next day.  He lay in bed thinking about everything that had happened the previous night.  He wondered if Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had made it home and whether or not he’d ever see them again.  He’d be perfectly content not to and in any case he couldn’t see how he’d ever be able to stay at Privet Drive again. 

Harry’s reverie was interrupted by a loud growl from his stomach, so he got up and went downstairs in search of breakfast.  The house was very quiet.  No one else seemed to be awake.  Harry realized that he didn’t even know if anyone else was in the house besides himself and Remus.

When he got to the kitchen, Harry discovered Remus hovering over a pot of something on the stove.  The aroma made Harry’s stomach growl even more insistently.   

“Ah, Harry, I was wondering if you were going to sleep through lunch too.”

“What time is it?”

“Nearly noon.  Did you sleep all right?”

“Fine,” Harry answered honestly.  He suspected Remus hadn’t, though.  The man looked haggard, but at least Harry’s row with Snape the night before seemed to have been forgiven. 

“Sit down, you must be famished,” Remus said. 

He brought Harry a big bowl of what was obviously homemade soup along with a plate of sandwiches.

“This is delicious!” Harry said, tucking into the food.  “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s amazing what years of living alone will teach you,” Remus said joining him at the table.  “Sirius said it was my greatest contribution to the Order.”  He grinned then froze and shot Harry a worried glance.

“It’s all right,” Harry said.  “I don’t mind you talking about him.  It helps, actually.”

“Anything at all I can do to help, Harry, you know you only have to ask.” 

“I know,” Harry said.  He swallowed the lump in his throat and changed the subject.  “Is anyone else here?”

“Not at the moment.  Dung was by earlier and brought all of your things.  The Department of Magical Catastrophes did a brilliant job, by the way, fixed up the house, replaced the front door and obliviated the memories of all the neighbors.  Your aunt and uncle will never know anything was amiss.  We left them a note saying you were gone for the year, but would be in touch.”

“They’d just as soon I wasn’t,” Harry said.  “Are Ron and Hermione going to be coming to stay? 

“Later, as we get closer to the start of school.  Everyone will be in and out though, so don’t worry; you won’t be stuck with just my company.”

“Your company’s a lot better than the Dursleys’,” Harry said.  “Though I suppose that’s not saying much.”

Remus laughed.  “Tonks will be here for dinner, by the way.  She’s going to be spending the night, so if you need anything just ask her.  She isn’t as good a cook as I am, but between you I’m sure you’ll manage all right.”

“You’re not going to be here?” Harry asked.

Remus hesitated fractionally, then smiled.

“It’s a full moon tonight, Harry.”

Harry blushed in embarrassment.  “I’m sorry Remus.  I didn’t realize.”

“There’s no reason you should,” Remus replied smiling slightly.  “Most people don’t follow the phases of the moon quite as closely as I do.  I’ll be in my study over night.”

“You’re taking the Wolfsbane Potion then?”

“Yes.  With all the increased Death Eater activity in the last couple of months, Dumbledore thought it would be too inconvenient for me to be incapacitated for days at a time.”

“Who’s making it?”

“Your favorite Potions Master, of course,” Remus said, grinning wickedly.

“Snape?”

“You needn’t sound quite so horrified, Harry.  He is one of the best potion-makers around.  Besides, he’s a member of the Order which avoids a great many awkward questions.”

“You trust him?”

“Of course I do.  Why shouldn’t I?”  Remus said dismissively.  He rose from the table.  “Now listen.  Don’t worry about doing anything today, just relax and get settled in.  I’ve got some work to do for a few hours, but if you need anything just call me.”

Harry wasn’t happy about Remus having to rely on Snape for the Wolfsbane Potion, but it was clear that Remus wasn’t going to discuss it further.  He watched his former teacher head for the library then went to retrieve his belongings from the front hall. 

Harry was happy to discover that Mundungus Fletcher had brought everything, including his birthday presents that had been hidden under the floorboards in his room at the Dursleys’.  He dragged everything up to his room and spent the next hour unpacking.  He spent the rest of the afternoon studying until Remus came knocking at his door.

“Harry, I’ll be in my study the rest of the night.”

“Is there anything you need?” Harry asked.

“No, I’ll be fine.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry studied a while longer until he heard noises from downstairs.  He followed the sounds of banging pots and pans to find Tonks on her hands and knees with her head buried in a kitchen cupboard.

“Hi Tonks,” Harry said.

“Hi Harry!  Do you have any idea where Remus keeps the big pots?”

“Er, not really.”

“I was going to make spaghetti but all I can find are saucepans.”

At that moment, the front doorbell rang.  “Are we expecting someone else?” Harry asked.

Tonks shrugged.  “Maybe.  You never know who’s going to turn up around here.”  She went back to rummaging through the cupboard while Harry went upstairs to answer the door.  To his surprise and delight it was Mrs. Weasley.

“Harry dear, how are you?” she said giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m okay,” said Harry.  “We weren’t expecting you, though.  Is everything all right?”

“Oh yes, everything’s fine.  I won’t be staying long.  What with the full moon and the horrible fright you had last night, I just wanted to stop by and make sure there wasn’t anything you needed.”

“Do you happen to know where Remus keeps the large pots?”

Harry explained that Tonks was trying to make dinner as Mrs. Weasley followed him back to the kitchen.  She took one look at the disarray and promptly volunteered to cook.  Harry and Tonks set the table and chatted while Mrs. Weasley prepared dinner.  The Wizarding Wireless Network was on and Harry’s attention was suddenly caught by the mention of his own name.

“So, Mr. Pembroke,” the WWN announcer was saying, “you don’t believe that Harry Potter is the answer to the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“Of course not,” said Pembroke, sounding as arrogant as Harry had always imagined him to be.  “The greatest wizards of our age have been unable to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  It’s ridiculous to think that a boy could do so.”

“But Harry Potter isn’t just any boy.  He’s the Boy-Who-Lived and he’s escaped You-Know-Who several times over the last few years.”

“He’s been lucky and he’s no doubt had help.  But now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned to power, it will only be a matter of time before –”

Mrs. Weasley turned off the wireless.  “What rubbish!  They have nothing better to do than sit around debating something they know nothing about!  Pay no attention to them, Harry.”

Harry nodded, but managed only a weak smile and the mood in the kitchen was much more subdued.  Soon, however, dinner was ready.  Harry and Tonks sat down to eat, but Mrs. Weasley didn’t join them.

“I’ve baked some biscuits for later,” she told them, gathering up her things.  “They’re just next to the stove,”

“You’re not leaving already?” Harry asked.

“I’m afraid I have to get home to Arthur and the children.  We’ll all be seeing you very soon, I’m sure.  For now, get some rest, Harry.  You’re safe here.”  With one last smile and a hug, Mrs. Weasley was gone and Harry felt unaccountably lonely. 

He shrugged off the feeling as he and Tonks tucked into dinner.  While they ate, Tonks filled him in on the latest exploits of the Order, or at least those that weren’t confidential.  They weren’t nearly as impressive as Harry would have hoped.  Most involved identifying Death Eaters and their sympathizers.  It was necessary work, but not the sort that was going to save lives anytime soon. 

Harry listened politely, but whereas last summer he would have soaked up every detail and wanted to be involved in any way he could, now he found that he really didn’t care.  He went to bed early, not so much physically tired as emotionally exhausted.

***

Harry awoke to another beautiful day with sunshine streaming in through his window.  It did nothing to cheer him up.  Lying in bed he could hear Averill Pembroke’s voice in his head.  “The greatest wizards of our age have been unable to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.  It’s ridiculous to think that a boy could do so.”

Pembroke was obnoxious, but he was also right.  It was ridiculous.  If the likes of Dumbledore couldn’t defeat Voldemort, what chance did he, Harry, have?  Unbidden, memories of the attack on Privet Drive came vividly to mind along with the hopeless certainty that he was going to die at Voldemort’s hands and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Harry rolled out of bed and went downstairs, hoping that movement would keep his thoughts at bay.  He found Remus in the kitchen nursing a cup of tea.  The man looked pale and tired, but otherwise unharmed.

“Good morning, Harry.  Happy birthday.”

Harry started.  He’d forgotten it was his birthday.

“Thanks, Remus.  How are you feeling?”

“Better than I look.  Sit down; I’ll get you some breakfast.”

“I can do it.”

“Nonsense!  It’s your birthday.”

Remus set about making breakfast while Harry set the table.  Although he was obviously stiff, Remus did seem well enough, Harry noted. 

“Eat up and then get dressed, Harry,” Remus said as they sat down to eat.  “We’re going to Diagon Alley, today.  Your booklist for this year arrived with the post this morning.”  Remus handed Harry a sheet of paper.  There were only two new textbooks: Sixth year charms, of course and an advanced Transfigurations text.

“Something else arrived for you as well,” Remus said holding out an official looking letter from the Ministry of Education. 

Harry’s heart skipped a beat.  It had to be his OWL results.  He reached for the letter, took a deep breath and opened it.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have received passing marks on the following OWLs:

Astonomy                                             Acceptable

Care of Magical Creatures                       Acceptable

Charms                                                Exceeds Expectations

Defense Against the Dark Arts                 Outstanding

Divination                                             Troll                      

Herbology                                             Acceptable

History of Magic                                     Acceptable

Potions                                                 Outstanding

Transfigurations                                     Exceeds Expectations

Sincerely,

Addlebert Dunce, Department of Education

Harry sighed in relief.  The last two were the only ones he had really been worried about.  He needed to take Transfigurations and Potions if he was to have any hope of becoming an Auror, and both McGonagall and Snape required high marks on the OWLs.  He’d been particularly worried about Potions, but without Snape around to distract him, he’d obviously managed quite well.

“Good news?” Remus asked.

Harry grinned and showed him the letter.

“Wonderful, Harry!  Well done!  I’d say this calls for a double celebration.  After we pick up your school supplies, what do you say we stop by Florean Fortescue's for the biggest ice cream they have?”

“That’d be great,” Harry said enthusiastically.  Getting out of the house was exactly what he needed.  He wolfed down the last of his breakfast, dressed, then accompanied Remus to a nearby teashop where they took the Floo to Diagon Alley. 

It didn’t take long for Harry to purchase all of his supplies.  He’d been doing this for years and knew just what he wanted and where it could be found.  He smiled at the younger children, first years no doubt, who were obviously on their first shopping trip to Diagon Alley.  They stopped at every shop window, gazing wide-eyed at the wonders within while their parents tried vainly to hurry them on their way.

Of course, Harry thought wryly, Remus was almost as bad.  He had wondered at first whether his former teacher would be up to the trip so soon after the full moon.  He also worried that Remus might get bored shopping for such mundane supplies as quills and parchment, but Remus seemed delighted to follow Harry from shop to shop examining every curiosity and chatting about Quidditch and the upcoming school year.

He must be lonely too, Harry realized.  He probably misses Sirius even more than I do.    

“I think that’s everything,” Harry told Remus as they exited Flourish and Blotts.

“What about your Potions ingredients?”

“I didn’t get a list for any.”

Remus frowned momentarily.  “Well, I suppose you can pick up whatever you need in Hogsmeade.  Right now I think it’s time to go see the newest proprietors in Diagon Alley.”

Harry grinned.  He knew exactly whom Remus meant. 

***

Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes at Number Ninety-Three Diagon Alley was a sight to behold.  The building itself kept changing colors, from orange to purple to a truly hideous shade of green to virtually every other color Harry could name and some that he couldn’t.  There was a giant tongue lolling out of an upstairs window that occasionally drooled on passers-by.  And there were clangs, bangs and random explosions coming from within.  Harry and Remus exchanged grins and went in.

Fred and George Weasley were standing in the midst of half a dozen enraptured children whom Harry vaguely recognized as Hogwarts students, though they were younger than himself and not in Gryffindor.

“Now, this here is what you want for unauthorized meanderings about the castle,” Fred was saying as he gestured to what looked like a chocolate bar that George was holding.  “The ‘Chameleon Crunch’, one of our latest inventions.  George, if you’d be so good as to demonstrate?”

George grinned and took a small bite out of the bar.  He immediately seemed to fade out of sight, blending into the shelves behind him.

“As you can see, this works like a Disillusionment Charm.  One bar guarantees you twenty minutes of near-invisibility.  Of course you don’t have to eat it all at once.  A mere nibble will be enough for you to give someone the slip in the halls.”

“Two boys at the back of the group exchanged a quick glance.  “We’ll take a dozen of them,” one boy said as they both began rummaging through their pockets for money. 

“And a box of those ‘Absent Teas’,” added his obvious partner in crime.

“Excellent choices, gentlemen!  Step this way,” said George who was once again visible.  “Anyone who would like to make a purchase, please come up to the front counter.  And, don’t forget that we also have catalogues available for your convenience.”

The entire group of students followed George up to the counter.

“Harry!” Fred called, spotting Harry and Remus.  “Welcome to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes!  We were wondering when you were going to grace us with your presence.  Remus, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Remus said shaking Fred’s hand.  “Harry’s just come to stay for the rest of the summer, so I thought I’d bring him by.”

“Fred, this is brilliant!”  Harry said.

“Well, we owe it all to you, mate.”

“No you don’t!”

“We couldn’t have done it without you.  You were our financier.”

“That’s right,” Remus said with a glint of amusement in his eyes.  “I do recall hearing something about that.  I must say you know a good investment when you see one, Harry.

“I just provided the money,” Harry said feeling slightly embarrassed.  “Fred and George here are the geniuses who come up with all the good ideas!”

“Geniuses?” asked George joining them after having ushered all the students and their considerable purchases out of the shop.  “Did I just hear someone refer to us as geniuses, Fred?”

“You did indeed, George!  Of course, Harry here always was exceptionally perceptive, unlike our professors at Hogwarts.  No offense, Remus!”

“None taken,” Remus replied with a chuckle. 

The shop door opened and a man about Remus’ age entered wiping a large patch of drool off the shoulder of his expensive robes.

“May I help you, sir?” George asked.

“No, no thank you,” the man said hardly glancing at George.  Instead, he approached Harry and Remus. 

“Mr. Potter isn’t it?  Harry Potter?  Averill Pembroke from the Daily Prophet.” 

Harry frowned.  The last thing he wanted to do was to talk to a reporter, particularly Pembroke.

“Since your participation in the dramatic events that heralded the return of You-Know-Who, everyone’s been talking about you, Mr. Potter,” Pembroke continued.  “Yet you’ve been utterly incommunicado.  I was hoping to get your reaction to the fact that the whole wizarding world seems to be looking to you for guidance.”

“I think everyone’s just frightened, that’s all.  If anyone wants guidance, they should look to Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts.  I don’t have any to offer.”

“Then the rumors that you are personally opposing You-Know-Who are unfounded?”

“Almost everyone is opposed to Voldemort,” Harry said.  He felt a glow of satisfaction as he saw Pembroke pale at the sound of Voldemort’s name.  Still the reporter wouldn’t be deterred.

“So you’re not afraid of him?”

“No, I’m not afraid of him.”

“That makes you either very brave or very foolish, Mr. Potter, particularly after recent events.”

Pembroke’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes and looking into them, Harry felt a chill.  He couldn’t have said how he knew, but he was certain of it.  Pembroke was a Death Eater.

“I’m still alive,” Harry said carefully.  “And, you can tell those…” Harry hesitated fractionally as he glanced at Pembroke’s left arm.  “…you report to, that I intend to stay that way.”

Pembroke’s expression didn’t change, but he stiffened just enough for Harry to know his message had been understood. 

Remus stepped forward, “That’s enough questions for now, I think.”

“And you are?” Pembroke asked, not bothering to hide his disdain.

“A friend,” Harry said before Remus could answer. 

“So are we,” George added, slinging an arm over Pembroke’s shoulder amiably.

“And this happens to be our shop,” Fred said copying his brother’s move on the opposite side.

“And, as much as we believe that the customer is always right…” George said as they ushered the reporter away from Harry and towards the door.

“…You haven’t bought anything, and we really think it’s time for you to be moving along.” Fred finished.  They reached the door and gave Pembroke a huge shove so that he only barely managed not to go sprawling onto the street outside.

“And don’t come back,” George said pleasantly, shutting the door on the furious man.

“What a git!” Fred said. 

“Dad told us what happened at your aunt and uncle’s place, Harry,” George said with uncharacteristic seriousness.  “We know you’ll be all right with Remus.” 

“But if you need anything -” Fred said in the same tone.

“Anything at all -” George said.

“You let us know.  We mean that.” Fred finished.

Harry smiled at the twins.  “Just take care of yourselves.”

Fred and George grinned.  “Don’t worry about us, Harry,” Fred said. 

“Yeah.  We’re experts at looking after ourselves,” George agreed.

***

Harry and Remus returned to Grimmauld Place in the early afternoon.  True to his word, after leaving Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, Remus had bought them the biggest ice cream sundaes at Florean Fortescue's and Harry was feeling vaguely nauseous even though he’d only managed to eat half of his. He went upstairs and had just finished depositing his school supplies in his trunk when Remus called him.

“Harry, will you give me a hand in the library for a minute?”

“Coming!” Harry called back.  He went downstairs and pushed open the library door.  “What can I do, Remus?”

“Surprise!”

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.  The room was full of people, all applauding and smiling at him.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there along with Ron and Ginny.  He saw Fred and George standing next to Hermione.  Then there were Moody and Tonks as well as a number of Order members, some of whom he barely knew.  Hermione and Ron detached themselves from the crowd and came over to him. 

“Happy birthday, Harry!” Hermione said, hugging him fiercely.

“What’s all this?” Harry asked, at last managing to find his voice.

“It’s a surprise party, you prat!  What do you think?” Ron said clapping him on the shoulder.  “Come on, we’ve got presents and cake and all sorts of food.”

Harry let himself be dragged into the room.  Ron was right.  There was a mountain of food and a lovely cake, made by Mrs. Weasley.  And there were more presents than Harry had ever received at one time in his life.  But best of all, he was surrounded by his friends.  It was without a doubt, the best birthday Harry had ever had.

The next few weeks passed calmly, or at least as calmly as life ever seemed to get at number twelve Grimmauld Place.  Members of the Order came and went at all hours of the day and night. Harry didn’t even attempt to listen in on the closed meetings in the library.  Since Sirius’s death, he’d lost his desire to discover what secrets the Order might be keeping from him.  He simply didn’t care anymore.  Besides, his recurring visions told him more than he wanted to know. 

Harry spent a great deal of time in his room studying.  If he got bored or lonely he’d go down to the kitchen where Remus or some other Order members were usually happy to chat with him.  All except Snape, of course, who was there with annoying frequency.  But aside from a glare or two the Potions Master ignored Harry entirely, which suited Harry just fine.

In the last week of August, Ron, Ginny and Hermione came to stay.  Harry was thrilled.  He hadn’t seen his friends since his birthday party and although they had owled one another frequently, he missed them.  But he was also troubled.  He still hadn’t told anyone the details of his conversation with Dumbledore at the end of the previous term.  In particular, he hadn’t told them of the prophecy.  Knowing that he was destined to either kill Voldemort or be killed by him weighed heavy on Harry and he was reluctant to lay that burden on his friends as well.  He was also uncomfortable discussing the contents of his visions.  He had mentioned vaguely that he was still having them, but hadn’t revealed just how nightmarish they had become.  Instead, he chose to push his cares aside and to enjoy the simple pleasure of being with his friends.

Finally the day arrived for Harry and the others to return to Hogwarts.  Remus had warned them all in his most professorial tones to pack the night before and they had.  Or at least they thought they had.  However, there were more last minute details than they had anticipated which, once again, left them running late.

“Do you four want to miss the train?” Remus called up the stairs in a thoroughly exasperated tone.  “Harry, Ron, I need your trunks down here now!  Hermione, would you please come and collect Crookshanks off the curtains in the library!  We need to go!”

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny descended the stairs in a clatter of luggage and stomping feet.  Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks and Mundungus Fletcher were waiting, along with Remus, to escort them to the Hogwarts Express.  Between them, they finally managed to corral all the luggage, animals and personal belongings that had somehow been mislaid since the previous evening. 

The walk to the train station was uneventful and soon they were at platform Nine and Three-Quarters.  Harry and his friends boarded the train and waved goodbye to Remus and the others as the Hogwarts Express pulled away.  Most of the compartments were already occupied, but about halfway down the train they came across Neville and Luna Lovegood with a compartment to themselves.  Harry knew at once why no one else had joined them.  Neville’s Mimbulus Mimbletonia had grown considerably over the summer and took up an entire seat.  It seemed to sway and croon all by itself, and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him.

“Hi Neville!  Hi Luna!  Mind if we join you?” Ginny asked, pushing her way into the compartment.

“Oh, hi. Come in,” Neville replied.  They all piled into the compartment.  Harry sat as far from Neville’s plant as possible and noticed Ron and Hermione were giving the plant a wide berth too, but Ginny didn’t seem to mind it at all.  They exchanged news about the summer, though Harry stayed fairly quiet, not wanting to talk about the attack at Privet Drive. 

The conversation turned to school and Ron said, “I hope we get someone decent for Defense this year.”

“We should be.  His name’s Comyn Ryan,” Luna said.  “He’s a Hogwarts graduate, but he’s spent most of the past two decades traveling on the continent.”

“How do you know that?” asked Hermione.

“My dad heard about it from one of his associates when we were in Sweden last month.  My dad’s worked with Ryan from time to time.”

“Oh, well, that inspires confidence,” Ron said and Ginny kicked him hard in the shin.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” she said. 

“If he went to Hogwarts, do you have any idea what house he was in?” Neville asked.

“Slytherin,” Luna said without looking up from the Quibbler.

“You’ve got to be joking!” Ron exclaimed.  “A Slytherin Defense teacher?  Has Dumbledore gone mad?”

“Well, he can’t be as bad as Umbridge,” said Hermione.

“No, but he’ll be as bad as Snape.  And just when I’ve manage to get away from that git!”

“I don’t imagine Dumbledore had much choice,” Ginny said.  “Nobody seems to want the job.”

“Yeah, but now that You-Know-Who’s back, you’d think somebody decent might take an interest,” Ron said.

“Well, he might be good,” Hermione said, gamely.

“Yeah, and I might inherit a million Galleons someday,” Ron scoffed.

***

They arrived at Hogwarts and took the Thestral-drawn carriages up to the castle and the Sorting feast.  The Sorting Hat once again warned them of the necessity of unity among the houses then proceeded to sort the first years.  When the Sorting was complete, Dumbledore stood to welcome the students. 

“Difficult times are upon us.  There is no point in pretending that the danger in the world around us does not exist.  In fact, to do so would be the gravest mistake.  But rest assured that you are safe here at Hogwarts from any outside danger.  And, of course, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will do his best to prepare you to face that danger once you leave this school.  It is my great pleasure to introduce Professor Comyn Ryan.” 

A handsome man, who appeared to be in his late forties, stood and bowed gracefully, first to Dumbledore, then to the assembled students.  He wore dark, tailored robes with a green and silver Slytherin scarf around his neck. He had short brown hair, a brown goatee and a warm open smile.  His blue eyes twinkled merrily and Harry had to admit that he seemed all right at first glance.  Plus, Snape was scowling at him, which had to be a good sign. 

Dumbledore continued as the polite applause died away.  “You will find Professor Ryan to be exceptionally qualified and I hope that all of you will take advantage of his insight.  Now, I believe it is time to eat.”

Platters laden with food instantly appeared on the tables and the students all began to eat and talk.  When the feast was over, the students found their way to their rooms and went to bed.  Harry made sure to take the time to practice his Occlumency exercises.  He didn’t really think they were helping to keep his visions at bay, but he did seem to sleep better when he practiced. 

***

The next morning, the students gathered for breakfast and McGonagall came around to pass out their class timetables for the term. 

“Potter, I don’t believe you received a complete booklist this summer,” she said as she handed Harry another sheet of paper in addition to his timetable.  “Here’s the correct one.” 

Harry looked at the list and his stomach dropped.  “There’s a new Potions text?”  His eye scanned down the page to the long list of potion ingredients.  “I don’t have any of this!” 

“I thought not,” McGonagall said.  “This is the text.”  She produced a large book and handed it to Harry.  “I’ll have the ingredients you need sent up from Hogsmeade.  You’re obviously behind on your reading, so I suggest you spend every spare moment today with your nose in that book.” 

She walked on leaving Harry to stare miserably at Advanced Potion Brewing by Ainsworth Brewster

“You didn’t do any of your Potions homework, Harry?” Hermione looked appalled.

Harry scowled at her.  “I didn’t know we had any.”

“I bet that was Snape’s doing,” Ron said.  “He’s got it in for you Harry, no mistake.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Harry said.  “When’s our first Potions class?”

“First thing tomorrow morning,” Hermione answered.

“Well that gives me a little time at least.  What do we have first today?”

“Let’s see.”  Hermione glanced at the timetable and frowned.  “Double Defense with the Slytherins?”

“What?” said Ron, picking up his own timetable for the first time.  “That can’t be right!”

“Well, that’s what it says,” Hermione said.

“Good.  I want to see what Ryan’s like,” Harry said glancing up at the head table where the new Defense professor was chatting amiably with Professor Sprout. 

“Yeah, but Defense with the Slytherins!” Ron said.  “That’ll be worse than having Potions with them!”

“No, it won’t,” Harry said in a strangely calm voice.  He was watching the Slytherins across the Great Hall and Malfoy in particular.  “We’ve taken on Death Eaters.  We can defend against anything they throw at us.” 

“Er, yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Ron said, not sounding entirely convinced.

The Gryffindors hurried through breakfast and arrived at the Defense classroom early.  The Slytherins arrived soon afterward.  The two groups of students settled into seats on opposite sides of the classroom and glared at one another while they waited for Professor Ryan to arrive.  The animosity took over almost immediately.

“Well, Potter,” Malfoy sneered.  “Have a nice summer?  How are those Muggle relatives of yours?”

“Just fine, I’m sure you’re sorry to hear.”

“Well they probably won’t be for long.  Accidents do have a way of happening.”

Harry felt his stomach twist, but kept his face passive.  “Not if your dad has anything to do with it.  That’s twice he’s botched killing me.  I can’t imagine Voldemort’s very happy with him.”   

Malfoy went white with fury.  “I’m the one who’s going to kill you, Potter.”

Harry smiled.  “No, you’re not.  But I can’t wait to see you try.  I haven’t had the chance to curse anyone since your dad at the end of last term.  It’ll be interesting to see if you fight as badly as he does.” 

Malfoy was on his feet instantly with his wand drawn, but Harry was faster and already had his wand pointed at Malfoy’s chest.  The rest of the Gryffindors and Slytherins were out of their seats as well with their wands pointed at one another.

“Ah, it’s always good to have an enthusiastic class!” Ryan said appreciatively as he strode into the room.  “You might want to put those away for now, though,” he added as he walked up the aisle between the drawn wands.  At the front of the class, he perched on the corner of his desk, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically.  His eyes shone with amusement. 

“Well, what have we learned so far today?”

The students, still standing with their wands half-raised glanced around at each other in confusion.

“No one knows?  Never let yourself be provoked!  That is one of the most important lessons you’ll learn in this class.  Mr. Malfoy, since you allowed Mr. Potter to provoke you, that’ll be five points from Slytherin.”

“What?”  Malfoy’s outrage almost equaled his surprise.

“Anyone who allows himself to be provoked in this class will lose house points.  Don’t worry, Malfoy, I’m sure you won’t be the only one.  Now sit down, everyone and let’s get started.”

The students resumed their seats.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve chosen to do double classes this year,” Ryan began.  “At this point, you’ve all learned a fair number of curses and counter curses.  “Your two houses, for one reason or another, are particularly advanced and some of you could hold your own in a fight against even adult wizards.  So teaching you more curses wouldn’t improve your abilities significantly.

“However, few duels are won or lost on the basis of which curses are used.  The victor is determined up here.”  Ryan tapped his temple.  “It’s the battle of wits that makes the difference.  That’s why self-control is the first and probably the hardest lesson you’ll need to learn.  When you allow anger or any other emotion to overrule your judgment, you give your opponent an advantage.  If you lot can learn not to react to one another, you’ll have more self-control than most wizards. 

“One final point. I am here to teach all of you how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts.  I don’t care who your parents are, how much money you’ve got, or what house you’re in.  I also don’t care what your allegiances are beyond this school.  I will judge you only on your performance in this class and I will treat everyone equally.

“I don’t do this out of altruism, but because I’ve discovered over the years that indulging in petty prejudice is one of the fastest ways to underestimate an opponent.  People who do so are fools and fools always wind up losing in the end.  Do yourself a favor and don’t be one of them.  Now, collect your things and follow me.”  

Ryan led his astonished students out of the castle and down to the lake. 

“What do you make of Ryan?” Neville asked as he fell into step beside Ron and Harry. 

“I dunno,” Ron said.  “He’s certainly not what I expected, but anyone who’ll take points from Malfoy can’t be all bad.”

“Well if he’s going to go into the psychology of dueling, it should be a fascinating class,” Hermione said excitedly.  “I’ve done some reading on the subject –”

“I just want him to teach us how to duel effectively,” Harry interrupted.  “We’re in a war and I’m not interested in theory.”

They arrived at the lake and Ryan clapped his hands briskly to get the class' attention.  “This is where we’ll be meeting from now on, no matter the weather.  Everyone pick an opponent from the opposite house and we’ll practice dueling.  Hexes only today.  No curses.  I want to see how you handle yourselves.  And spread out, I don’t want you hexing your neighbors.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, if you could stop glaring at one another for a moment, I’d like to impress upon you both that I don’t want anyone up at the hospital wing my first day teaching, to say nothing of my very first class.  That would hardly endear me to the headmaster.  Consequently, if either of you lets loose with anything more deadly than a bat-bogey hex, you’ll lose fifty points for your house and have detention for a week.  Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?”

Harry and Malfoy eyed each other menacingly, but nodded agreement.

“That goes for the rest of you as well,” Ryan said.  “Let’s get started.”

Each pair of students dueled until one was incapacitated, which only took a few minutes.  Once all the duels were completed, Ryan reversed the worst effects of the hexes and everyone switched partners and began again.  Those students who could no longer duel simply watched.  They continued in this way for the next hour.  By the time Ryan finally called a halt everyone except Harry had been hit by at least one hex.  Though Ryan reversed most of the effects, they were all still dirty and tired, though for the most part in high spirits.

Ryan dismissed the students and they trooped back up to the castle.  No insults were exchanged; an hour of hard dueling seemed to have temporarily obviated the need for verbal attacks.  They poured into the entrance hall only to be confronted by Professor Snape, who took one look at their bedraggled appearance and scowled. 

“What on earth have you all been doing?”

“Defense class, sir,” Pansy Parkinson answered.  “Dueling down by the lake.”

Snape’s eyes raked over them disapprovingly.  “Well, go and get cleaned up, all of you.  You can’t go into lunch in this condition.”

The students all mumbled their consent and split up with the Slytherins heading for the dungeons and the Gryffindors heading for the stairs.

“Mr. Potter.”  Snape’s cold voice stopped Harry.  “How is it that you don’t seem to be in the same state of dishevelment as the rest of your classmates?

Harry met Snape’s eyes and said, “I won all of my duels, sir.”  He continued to hold Snape’s gaze, silently daring his professor to find fault with him.  

Apparently Snape couldn’t, because all he said was, “I see,” and turned away.

The sixth year Gryffindors washed up and returned to the Great Hall for lunch.  Ginny joined them just as they were sitting down.

“So how was Defense?  Is Ryan as bad as Snape?”

“Oh, please don’t ask!” Harry said with feeling.

“He’s brilliant!” said Ron.  “I think he’s the best Defense teacher we’ve ever had.”

Harry sighed.  “He’s been going on about how great Ryan is since class ended.  We only just now got him to shut up.” 

“But he’s a Slytherin,” said Ginny.

“Well, he doesn’t act like one!” Ron said enthusiastically.  “At least, he doesn’t act like any of the ones I’ve ever met.  He and Snape are like night and day.  He even took points from Malfoy!”

“Well, I can see where he’d be your favorite teacher, then,” said Ginny.

“I’m serious.  You just wait.  You’ll see what I mean.”

***

Tuesday morning was sixth year Potions.  Harry would have given anything to be able to drop Snape’s class this year as Ron had done.  Snape was the last person he wanted to spend any time with.  But he needed a NEWT in Potions if he wanted to become an Auror, so after breakfast he and Hermione headed for the dungeons.

The first thing Harry noticed was that there weren’t just Gryffindors and Slytherins in class as there had been in previous years, but Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well.  Malfoy was there but, thankfully, Crabbe and Goyle were not.

Snape entered in his usual abrupt manner and strode to the front of the class.

“By this time next year, half of you will be gone,” he began.  “I tolerate shoddy work and laziness in my younger students because I have no choice.  I will not tolerate it in you.  I will dismiss anyone who does not put forth his best effort.  If you aren’t prepared to give it, leave now, the door is there.” 

No one moved.  No one even breathed.   

“No?  Then let’s get started.”  Snape walked slowly up the aisle as he spoke.

“Today you will be making Pepper-Up Potion,” he said.  You will find the instructions on page forty-three of your text.  Open your books and begin.”

Harry started to flip open his book, but Snape laid a hand on it to stop him.

“Not you, Mr. Potter,” Snape drawled.  “I’m told you aspire to be an Auror.  As such, I’ve prepared a special lesson that’s a bit more appropriate to your future endeavors.” 

Snape smirked at Harry then held up a vial of some purple liquid and addressed the entire class.

“This is the Cruciatus Poison which you should have all read about by now,” he said.  Harry hadn’t, but he hoped that wouldn’t matter.

“Though by no means as intense as the Cruciatus Curse, the poison’s primary function is to cause prolonged pain that escalates until the victim can no longer bear it and loses consciousness.  The antidote is relatively straightforward.  Any fourth year could brew it under normal conditions, but for an Auror in the field conditions are never normal.”

Harry swallowed.  He knew where Snape was going with this.

“One of the primary reasons an Auror must be accomplished at Potions is self-defense.  It is usually much faster to brew a potion than to obtain one.  That is always the case for potions that must be brewed fresh, such as the antidote to the Cruciatus Poison.  In many cases, an Auror’s life may depend upon his proficiency at brewing antidotes.

“Therefore,” Snape said, returning his full attention to Harry, “We will see how well you manage under duress.  The Cruciatus Poison is relatively slow acting.  The effects don’t become completely debilitating for at least an hour.  You have that long to produce the antidote.”

“I’m not drinking that,” Harry glared at Snape defiantly.

Snape held Harry’s gaze and said in a perfectly calm voice, “Drink it or you will never set foot in this class again.”

So, that was it then.  Drink the poison or lose any hope of becoming an Auror.  Either way, Snape had won and he knew it.  Harry hated the man.  With one last savage glare, he took the vial from Snape and swallowed the contents in one long gulp. 

Snape smirked at him again, then turned to Hermione who was staring at them in horror from her place next to Harry. 

“For today, Miss Granger, you will take a seat in the back of the classroom.  I wouldn’t want you to distract Mr. Potter.” 

“But Professor –” Hermione started to protest. 

“We can wait as long as you like,” Snape said with a thoroughly nasty smile. 

Harry looked desperately at Hermione and shook his head in warning.  He could already feel the effects of the poison and he was acutely aware of each second ticking by.  Hermione understood.  She gave him an apologetic look, then grabbed her books and headed for the back of the classroom.

“Now, Mr. Potter, you may begin.”

With a final sneer, Snape turned away and Harry went to work on his antidote.  The potion was straightforward, however it was slow to prepare, with each step needing to be timed precisely before the next ingredient could be added.  Harry worked as quickly as he could; he knew he was racing against time. 

Unfortunately, despite Snape’s assertion that the Cruciatus Poison was relatively slow acting, it had begun working almost instantly.  Harry had suffered pain before and this wasn’t as bad as some of his experiences, at least not yet.  But it grew steadily worse and it was relentless.

What had begun as a dull ache in his stomach had quickly turned to cramps that spread down into his groin and up into his chest.  A sharp pain shot through Harry’s shoulder and he gasped.  He tried to concentrate on the potion he was brewing, but it was no use.  He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think.  He knew the antidote wasn’t difficult, but he also knew that he didn’t have it right.  He ran a shaky hand across his forehead and wiped away the sweat.

“Having trouble, Potter?” Snape’s self-satisfied voice purred in his ear.  Harry gritted his teeth, but said nothing.  “Well, obviously something is amiss,” Snape continued, looking disdainfully into Harry’s cauldron.  He withdrew a vial from his robes and held it up for Harry to see.  “It’s supposed to be clear green, not, yellow.  Really, Potter, I would have thought even you could manage this.”

“I don’t think even Aurors are expected to make potions they’ve never brewed before when they’ve been poisoned,” Harry retorted as a particularly sharp pain lanced through his abdomen. 

“Excuses won’t keep you alive, Potter,” Snape sneered at him.

“Will you shut up!” Harry snarled.

“What did you say?” Snape asked in a soft and deadly tone.

Harry turned to face the Potions Master.  Too many sleepless nights filled with nightmarish visions pushed him past the breaking point and hatred and pain obliterated any thought of discretion.  

“I said shut up!”

The entire class was staring at Harry in shock.

“Well, Potter, your ineptitude seems to be matched by your disrespect,” Snape’s eyes narrowed in anger.  “Clearly, you aren’t fit to be in this class.”

“And you’re not fit to teach it!  What kind of maniac poisons his students?”

“I was planning on giving you the antidote since you’re obviously incapable of making it!  But perhaps you’d prefer to suffer the consequences of your failure.”

Harry lunged for the vial in Snape’s hand.  Snape pulled it away, but Harry was faster and his hand closed around the top of the vial.  However, Snape was stronger and he held fast to the antidote.  In fury, Harry yanked as hard as he could and the vial went flying across the room and smashed on the stone floor.

There was a moment of absolute silence in the room.

“That, Mr. Potter,” Snape said slowly, “was incredibly foolish.” 

Snape looked from the ruined potion to the rest of the students who were all staring at Harry and him in varying degrees of stunned disbelief. 

“Get, back to work, all of you.”  He snapped grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him towards the door.  “If there is any disturbance while I’m gone, I will give this entire class detention!”  He gave the students one last scowl, then pushed Harry into the hallway. 

“You are nothing but trouble, Potter!” Snape said as he propelled Harry down the corridor. 

“This isn’t my fault!  You’re the one who decided to poison me!”

“That is beside the point now.  The question is what to do with you.”

“Just give me the antidote then you can punish me all right!”

Snape stopped in his tracks and shoved Harry up against the wall, fixing him with a furious glare. 

“There is no more antidote, Potter!  Nor is there time to make any!  The poison will run its course in less than an hour.”

Harry stared at Snape and tried not to believe what the Potions Master had just said.  He can’t be serious!  Harry thought desperately.

Snape’s attention had been drawn to a nondescript door in the wall next to them.

“Let me see your wand,” he said suddenly.

Harry obeyed automatically, pulling his wand from his pocket.  Snape snatched it from Harry’s grasp and deftly pocketed it. 

“Give that back!”  Harry yelled, outraged.

“Believe me, Potter, you’re not going to need it.”  Snape pulled Harry away from the wall, opened the door next to them and shoved Harry into a very small room that he immediately recognized as a broom cupboard.

“What are you doing?”  Harry asked incredulously.

“Stay here,” Snape said, stepping back to close the door.

Harry might have been in tremendous pain, but his reflexes had been honed by years of Quidditch.  He jumped forward, blocking the door and grabbed Snape’s arm.

“You can’t leave me in here!”

“There is no better place for you at the moment.  I am not going to take you all the way up to the hospital wing and there is nothing Madam Pomfrey could do for you if I did.” 

Snape gave Harry a shove that sent him stumbling back into several mops and a bucket.  The door slammed shut and Harry heard Snape cast a locking spell.

“Wait!” Harry yelled.  He threw himself against the unyielding door.  “Professor, please! Don’t leave me here! You can’t do this!”

“Potter, stop screaming!” Snape called in exasperation.  Then Harry heard his professor cast a soundproofing charm and everything went deathly quiet.

Harry slid to the floor and leaned against the door, stunned.  He knew the Potions Master hated him, but he wouldn’t have believed even Snape was so cruel as to leave him here alone in the dark to die.  A sharp pain knifed through his gut and Harry slumped onto his side gasping.  Every muscle in his body felt like it was being strained beyond its limit and he wondered how bad the pain would get before he passed out.  He pressed his forehead to the cold stone floor and tried to find some respite.  He moaned and was grateful that no one would hear him in his death throes. 

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about Voldemort anymore.  Or visions he couldn’t control.  He could see Sirius again and his parents, too.  Besides, hadn’t Dumbledore said that death was just the next great adventure?  But none of these thoughts did anything to lift the cold dread that gripped his heart. 

Harry gritted his teeth against the pain that was rapidly becoming agony.  It had to end, he knew.  Snape had said he had less than an hour.  But time seemed to stand still as he tossed and turned with increasing violence in the confined space, hardly noticing the buckets, mops and brooms he knocked over.  His robes had become a twisted, sweat-soaked mess, but he didn’t have the presence of mind to shrug them off.  He knew he was screaming, but didn’t care and he no longer feared death.  He hoped for it.  Finally, his struggles subsided into jerks and twitches and at last he lost consciousness.  

***

“Potter, wake up!” 

Harry felt someone shaking him and opened his eyes.  Snape was kneeling next to him. 

“You can’t lie here all day.  Get up.”

Harry stared at the man wondering if this was some strange vision associated with dying. 

“Potter, can you hear me?”

Harry nodded, still certain this must be a dream.  Snape sighed, took hold of him and pulled him up into a sitting position.

After the near total darkness of the cupboard, Harry blinked at the light streaming in through the door from the corridor.  He ached all over which had to mean that he was still alive, but the terrible pain was gone.

“Did you make more antidote?” Harry asked

Snape frowned at him.  “No, Potter.  I told you there was no time for that.”

“Then why am I alive?”

“What?”

“Why am I alive?”

Harry saw Snape’s look of annoyance slowly shift to one of horrified understanding.

“Potter, haven’t you done any of your reading?  The Cruciatus poison isn’t fatal!  It’s used to torture, not to kill.  Surely you didn’t believe I was leaving you here to die?”

Harry didn’t answer.  He didn’t have to. 

Snape shook his head in disgust.  “As many times as I’ve saved your wretched life, when will you stop expecting me to kill you at every available opportunity?”

 “You’d just poisoned me and locked me in a cupboard!  What did you expect me to think?  Besides, torturing me doesn’t exactly fill me with trust, you know!”

“It was never my intention for it to go that far!”

“No, just far enough to humiliate me in front of everyone!” Harry said, his voice choked with bitterness.  “Far enough that I’d do something to give you an excuse to throw me out of class!  How long were you going to wait before giving me the antidote, Professor?  Were you going to make me beg you for it?  You’d have had a long wait because I’d have died before I’d have done that!”

Harry and Snape glared at one another until Harry spoke again.

“What about my wand?  Why’d you take it?”

“To prevent you from breaking it while thrashing about,” Snape said.  He pulled Harry’s wand from his robes and thrust it at the boy.  “I certainly have no use for it.  Since you obviously haven’t done any of your homework, I’d say you deserved the fright you got this morning.  Now get out!”

Harry didn’t need any more encouragement.  He pushed his way out of the cupboard and headed for the stairs, but Snape’s voice stopped him.

“Potter!”  Harry turned back to see Snape regarding him coldly and the Potions Master’s next words sent a chill down his spine.  “If I ever do decide to kill you, you’ll never know it.  Then Snape turned in a swirl of robes and stalked away.

“Harry!” Hermione called as Harry entered the Great Hall for lunch and joined his friends at the Gryffindor table.  “Where were you?  I went to see Madame Pomfrey, but she said you hadn’t been up.”

“Hermione told us what Snape did, Harry,” Ron said.  “I think the git ought to be sacked, or better yet, forced to drink some of his own potions!”

“Where’d he take you?” Hermione asked.

“He locked me in the broom cupboard by his office,” Harry said matter-of-factly.

Ron choked and spat his pumpkin juice across the table.  “He what?”

Harry sighed.  “He took my wand, locked me in the cupboard and set a sound-proofing charm so no one would hear me.”

Ron and Hermione gaped at Harry.  Then Ron’s jaw clenched and he was on his feet glaring furiously at the head table where Snape now sat.

Hermione grabbed his sleeve.  “Ron, sit down,” she hissed. 

“I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not!  Don’t be ridiculous!” 

“Yes, I am!  He’s not going to get away with this!  I’m tired of him treating Harry and anyone else he pleases like dirt!”

“I don’t like it either, Ron!”  Harry said.  “But Hermione’s right.  You’re not going to kill Snape right here in the middle of the Great Hall.  Don’t be stupid!  You’d just get expelled and Snape would love that.”

Ron sat down still flushed and breathing hard.  “Someday, I swear I’m going to kill him.”

***

As the weeks went by, Harry found himself struggling in most of his classes.  Despite continuing to practice Occlumency, his visions hadn’t decreased at all.  Between these and the nightmares that resulted from them, hardly a night went by that Harry didn’t awake in a terrified sweat.  He knew he was disturbing Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville and some nights he forced himself to stay awake just so he wouldn’t wake them with his screaming.  Because of all this, he was too tired most of the time to concentrate in class and his professors were increasingly looking at him with varying degrees of concern and bewilderment.

Potions was by far Harry’s worst subject.  It demanded precision and concentration that he was rarely capable of.  Snape, of course, relished Harry’s difficulties, holding each new failure up to the scorn of the class.  But even the Potions Master had taken to giving Harry perplexed looks from time to time.  At least Snape hadn’t poisoned him again.  Apparently, the man did have a limit to his cruelty.  That he had gone too far and chosen to step back was plain.  Of course, he might have just been worried about what Dumbledore would say to a student being poisoned and locked in a cupboard.  It didn’t matter to Harry, so long as Snape left him more or less alone.

Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures weren’t too bad since they required more action than thought and Charms he could fake his way through most of the time.  But History of Magic had always been boring and now Harry found it impossible to stay awake.

He had tried his best the first couple of classes then given up.  Ron had attempted to wake him a few times, but Harry had only gone straight back to sleep, so he’d given up too.  Consequently, for the first time in six years, Harry found himself really looking forward to History of Magic and wishing he had it more than twice a week.  He had taken to getting to class early, settling into his seat in the back row and going to sleep, often before Binns even started lecturing.  After the first couple of weeks, no one bothered him anymore, unless he started snoring in which case Hermione would simply cast a Silencing Charm on him.   

Transfiguration was a different matter.  Harry couldn’t simply read the text to learn what he’d missed in class.  He had to practice his transfigurations and most of the time he couldn’t focus enough to manage them. 

Currently, he was supposed to be changing a chintz throw pillow into a cat.  Harry had only managed to give his pillow a tail, feet, and two eyes that blinked at him through the fringe.  Without warning, the pillow jumped off his desk and went scurrying across the room. 

“Hey, come back here!” Harry yelled, diving after it.  Professor McGonagall caught it first and with a wave of her wand turned it back into a simple pillow.  She thrust it at Harry. 

“Mr. Potter, this is not your best work.”

“No, Professor, I’m sorry.” 

Harry sighed and returned to his seat where he stared at the pillow unenthusiastically.  Just ahead of him, Hermione sat petting a lovely Cheshire cat whose fur had a subtle chintz mottling to it.  The cat was butting its head against her hand and purring loudly. 

“Oh, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you,” she cooed at it.

Harry scowled enviously at her and put his head in his hands.  Concentrate! He told himself.  I’ve just got to focus.

“Potter!” 

Harry’s eyes flew open.  His head was on the pillow, which he noted absently was quite comfortable.  Unfortunately, at the same moment, he noticed Professor McGonagall standing over him looking very displeased.

“If you’re going to sleep on that, perhaps you should Transfigure it into a bed!” she told him.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Harry said chagrined.  He sat up and glanced around to see how many of his classmates were watching this exchange.  Thankfully, most were ignoring him. 

“Mr. Potter, I want to see you in my office after class.  That’s assuming you can stay awake that long.”

“Yes, Professor” Harry said, thinking that the last thing he needed was detention.  The lesson ended soon afterward and Harry followed McGonagall to her office.

“Mr. Potter, in all my years teaching I have never had a student fall asleep in class.  What is wrong?”

“Nothing, Professor.  I’m just really tired today.  I didn’t sleep well last night and I think I must be coming down with something.”

McGonagall regarded him closely, taking in his pale, haggard face and the dark circles under his eyes. 

“You certainly don’t look well,” she said.  “All right then, I want you to go straight to Madame Pomfrey for some Pepper-Up Potion.  And, for heavens sake, get some rest, Potter.

“Yes, I will, thank you,” Harry said.  He left McGonagall’s office, relieved not to have detention.  He didn’t bother going to the infirmary.  He’d already tried Pepper-Up Potion and knew it wouldn’t help.

Harry made it through Herbology, struggled through a Potions essay he was certain he’d be lucky to pass and finally joined Ron and Hermione for dinner.  They had barely sat down when Ginny and the other fifth years arrived, breathless and grinning.  Ginny sat down next to Hermione.

“You should have seen us take on those Slytherins in Defense,” she said happily.  “We did teams this afternoon, four on each side.  We drove two of them straight into the lake!”

Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table where, sure enough, the fifth-year Slytherins were looking angry and sullen.  He strongly suspected they’d be getting even in the next class.

Ron had been right about Professor Ryan.  The general consensus among the older students was that he was the best Defense teacher since Lupin.  While some were still wary of having a Slytherin teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, most were so relieved to have a competent teacher that they didn’t care.

What was curious though, was the muted reaction of the Slytherin students.  They seemed indifferent to the Defense teacher but the reason rapidly became obvious.  Snape.  It was no secret that Snape coveted the Defense position and he had displayed varying degrees of contempt for all of the prior Defense teachers.  But that was nothing compared to the pure loathing he showed towards Ryan.  Even Remus Lupin hadn’t inspired such hatred.

Ryan, by contrast, was effusively pleasant to Snape, even friendly.  Looking closely, though, Harry noted that the man’s jovial smile became distinctly predatory when directed at the Potions Master.  Whatever rivalry was going on between the two men, the Slytherin students had wisely chosen not to take sides.

Ryan arrived at that moment and joined the rest of the teachers at the head table.  As usual he seemed on top of the world.  He whispered something to McGonagall, who smiled delightedly at him.  He returned her grin before taking his seat.  Snape, meanwhile, was doing an uncanny impression of a snake poised to strike his victim. 

“You think he might actually kill Ryan?” Neville asked nervously eyeing Snape.

“Of course not!” Hermione said.  “Besides, it’s not as if Dumbledore would give him the Defense post anyway.”

“It’s not about Defense,” Ginny said knowingly. “I overheard some of the Slytherins talking.  Ryan wants Head of House.”

“You’re joking!” said Harry.  “He’s only been here a month.”

“Well, Slytherins are known for their ambition,” Ginny said.

“You know,” Ron said around a mouth of food.  “Dumbledore could do a lot worse than make Ryan Head of House.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Hermione said.  “Snape has seniority and he’s been Head for ages.  It’d be a worse insult than sacking him.”

“Yeah, but Ryan would be about a thousand times better than Snape is.  Either we’re serious about all the houses working together, or we’re not.  Besides, it might encourage him to stay around more than a year.  If he wants it, I say Dumbledore should give it to him.  If Snape doesn’t like it, he can pack it in.”

Harry couldn’t have agreed more and spent the rest of dinner thinking about how happy he’d be without Snape around. 

***

By the next Defense class, Harry was seriously wondering if there was anything they could do to convince Dumbledore to make Ryan Head of House, if for no other reason than because Draco Malfoy clearly despised the man.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Ryan said as Harry and Malfoy faced each other during the next Defense class.  “You’ll never beat Potter that way.  He’s faster than you are.  You have to find a way to catch him off guard.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Malfoy snapped. He feinted and attacked Harry, but Harry dodged the curse and cast a Disarming spell that ripped Malfoy’s wand out of his hand.

Harry grinned triumphantly while Malfoy flushed in anger and embarrassment. 

“I hate to say I told you so,” Ryan commented dryly.

Malfoy whirled on his teacher.  “You call yourself a Slytherin?” he yelled.  “You ought to be helping us, but instead you ridicule everything we do!  Potter’s perfect, isn’t he?  The fastest, the cleverest!  Maybe you should have been a Gryffindor!” 

“I’m no Gryffindor, Mr. Malfoy,” Ryan said calmly.  “But I’m not Professor Snape, either.  I prefer to teach my students, not coddle them.  You can’t learn anything if no one ever tells you when you’re wrong!  I’m not going to waste my time or yours.”

“I don’t need to learn Defense against the Dark Arts anyway,” Malfoy sneered.

“Why, Mr. Malfoy?  Because your father’s a Death Eater?”  All the students froze.  Insults might be hurled in the hallways, but to have a teacher make such a bald statement in class was shocking.

Ryan looked around at the students, eyebrows raised in amusement.  “Oh come now.  We’re not going to have this nonsense, are we?  I’ve found that the things that aren’t said are usually the ones most in need of saying.”  He turned back to Malfoy. 

“I don’t care where your loyalties lie, Mr. Malfoy.  But don’t fool yourself into thinking they make you better than anyone else.  There’s nothing more deadly than hubris.  And remember, the lies you tell yourself are precisely the ones your enemies will use against you.”

Ryan raised his voice and addressed the whole class.

“We’ll see how much all of you have learned about dueling soon enough.  I’ve spoken to the headmaster and he’s agreed to let us have a school-wide dueling competition in two weeks.”

Neville raised his hand. “Is that going to be like the dueling club we had four years ago?”

Ryan grinned.  “This will be a competition, Mr. Longbottom, not just a demonstration, so you may find it a bit rougher.”

***

The dueling competition was held on the Quidditch pitch, the second Saturday in October.  Everyone who wasn’t participating turned out to watch and bleachers had been erected on the ground all around the stadium to accommodate the spectators. 

The rules were simple.  All competitors were paired up, and each pair then dueled until a winner was determined.  The winner then advanced to the next round.  The last duel between the final two remaining competitors would determine the champion.  There were few restrictions on the actual duels.  No Unforgivable Curses could be used, of course, nor any curses intended to cause death or permanent injury.  Beyond that, anything was acceptable.

The Slytherins took full advantage of this, using any underhanded tactic to win, although the Gryffindors’ sheer daring was usually a match for this.  Neville’s finest moment was defeating Pansy Parkinson, who had cast a ventriloquism spell to confuse him.

Although the competition started by pairing up students from different houses, this quickly broke down as more and more people were eliminated.  Friends wound up dueling one another other.  Ginny took great pride in defeating Ron who claimed that, as his sister, she had an unfair advantage.  Hermione beat both Neville and Seamus before Harry finally beat her.  Malfoy beat Ginny after a particularly dirty fight during which Hermione had to hold Ron back to keep him from intervening.  The final match was between Malfoy and Harry, who had won all his previous duels easily.  Harry had been watching the Slytherin, and knew Malfoy would stoop to anything to win.  Harry was determined not to let him.

The two faced one another each looking for an opening.  Suddenly, there was the sound of a loud explosion behind Harry and he whirled to see what had happened.  He realized his mistake instantly.

“Reducto!” Malfoy yelled.

Harry had no time to defend himself.  Instead he dropped to the ground and Malfoy’s spell barely missed him.  He rolled over to find Malfoy’s raised wand pointed at him again. 

“Relashio!”

“Protego!” Harry barely managed to deflect the curse at the last moment then cast his own curse.  “Diffindo!” he cried.

Malfoy’s robes were ripped down the front and the Slytherin gaped in surprise.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled

Malfoy’s wand went flying.  Harry jumped to his feet, his own wand leveled at Malfoy who stood with his fists clenched in impotent fury. 

“One of these days, Potter, we’re going to catch you off-guard,” Malfoy said.  “You can’t watch your back forever.”  He stalked off the pitch just as Ryan came up to Harry.

"Well done, Potter!" Ryan said.  "I've never seen anyone your age who was a finer duelist.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“He’s competent enough for a boy.”

Harry turned to find Snape sneering at him.

“Do you think you’re up to dueling an adult?” Snape asked in contempt.

Harry’s jaw clenched.  “I’ve fought adults before.”

“Yes, but you can’t run this time,” Snape said nastily.

Harry fought the urge to curse Snape on the spot and forced his voice to be calm. “I doubt I’d need to.”

Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously and he took a step closer to Harry.

“Let’s find out, shall we?” he said

“I’d be delighted,” Harry agreed.

“If you two are serious about this,” Ryan interjected in a tone somewhere between alarm and amusement, “I have to remind you that no Unforgivables or deadly force should be used.”

“Of course,” Snape purred.

“Right,” Harry answered.

Neither Snape nor Harry so much as glanced in Ryan’s direction.  Their eyes were locked on one another’s and the hatred between them was almost palpable.

Ryan sighed.  “Fine then.  Take your places.  Professor Snape, if you’ll step over there please.”  Ryan grabbed Harry’s arm and spun him around, at last breaking his eye contact with Snape.  He marched Harry a few yards away from the Potions Master and whispered urgently in his ear.

“This is no amateur you’re dueling, Potter!  Keep your wits about you and for Merlin’s sake don’t let him provoke you!”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. 

He turned to face Snape who already had his wand ready and looked far more relaxed and confident than Harry felt.  Harry raised his wand, nodding his readiness and Ryan gave the signal to begin. 

Harry felt as though he’d been hit by a bus.  The force of Snape’s Reducto curse had knocked him halfway across the pitch and left him dazed and out of breath. 

“Spicula!” Snape called.

Harry knew he had no hope of blocking the curse, but his reflexes were still excellent.  He dove aside just as a stream of silver arrows blasted the ground where he’d been lying.  He continued to roll and another curse sizzled in the air next to him.  If Snape wasn’t trying to kill him, he was doing a great imitation of it.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to run, Potter,” Snape jeered at him.  

“Relashio!” Harry hurled his own curse, but Snape deflected it with a flick of his wand.

“Pitiful.  Is that really the best you can do?”

Harry didn’t answer, but Snape’s taunting had given him time to get to his feet.

Snape smiled contemptuously at the sweating, disheveled young man and attacked again.

“Reducto!”

This time, Harry was ready.  “Protego!”  Although he could feel the intensity of Snape’s curse, his blocking charm held and the spell rebounded towards Snape. 

“Murus!” Snape barely managed to stop the deflected curse.

“Diffindo!  Stupefy!” Harry called in rapid succession.

Snape blocked both curses easily, but this stopped him from attacking, which was what Harry had been hoping for.  Harry put all his focus into his third curse. 

“Inflictum!” he cried and an invisible knot of force slammed into Snape’s defenses, which buckled under the blow.  The Potions Master was thrown back to land winded and surprised in the sand.  Now it was Harry’s turn to smile coldly as Snape rolled to his feet glaring furiously at Harry. 

The two circled one another looking for weakness, trying to anticipate the other’s next move, attacking, blocking and feinting.  Harry had never concentrated so completely in his life.  He wasn’t even aware of the sweat running down his neck or his own deep measured breathing.  His eyes never left Snape’s as they moved almost in a kind of dance together.  The curses flew more and more rapidly as they each became familiar with the other’s style and abilities.

“Turbo!”  A whirlwind picked Harry up and tossed him across the pitch.  He landed and immediately rolled into a crouch.

“Onis!”  Hailstones flew from Harry’s wand and hurtled towards Snape.

“Declino!”  The chunks of ice separated and passed harmlessly on either side of Snape.

“Relashio!” Harry yelled just as Snape cried “Spicula!”  The spells met in mid air and ricocheted off one another and into the crowd of spectators.  Students screamed and dove out of the way as everyone scrambled for a safer viewpoint.  Neither Snape nor Harry noticed the bedlam.  They were completely absorbed in the duel. 

“Murus! Snape yelled. 

“Prote-”  Harry faltered realizing that Snape had just cast a blocking charm.  Since Harry hadn’t attacked, he had no idea why Snape would do such a thing and that momentary confusion caused him to hesitate. 

Snape was ready for it.  “Expelliarmus!” he cried.

Harry’s blocking charm was an instant too late.  His wand was ripped from his grasp and he was thrown backward to land in a heap in the sand.  Harry shook his head to clear it and sat up, only to find Snape's wand leveled at his chest and his own wand grasped lightly in the man’s other hand. 

"So easily distracted, Potter,” Snape sneered.  “You’ll never win a real duel like that.”

Harry's fists clenched in fury and he found himself holding a handful of sand.  Without hesitation, he threw it.  The fine grains caught Snape full in the face and he gasped in pain and surprise, temporarily blinded.  Harry didn't wait for him to recover.  He launched himself at Snape with all the speed and force he could muster.  As he tackled his professor he had only one thought on his mind.  Harry’s fingers closed around his wand as he and Snape both went sprawling.  He had it at Snape's throat almost instantly. 

"I haven’t lost yet," Harry panted.

For a moment Snape’s eyes widened in complete astonishment then he grabbed Harry by the collar with tremendous strength.  Harry knew from the murderous look in Snape's eyes that the man would think nothing of strangling him on the spot.  He felt a genuine rush of fear and shoved the point of his wand deeper into Snape's neck.

"I'll do it.  I swear I will."

But Snape's grip didn't loosen.  Instead, he pulled Harry closer until their faces were only inches apart.

"Go ahead," Snape whispered. 

For a moment they stared twin looks of pure loathing at one another while Harry's mind raced to think of a curse that wouldn't hurt him as much as Snape at such close proximity.

"That will be enough!"

Startled, Harry and Snape both looked up to find Professor McGonagall towering over them in outrage.

"Get up this instant!  Both of you!" she commanded.

Harry scrambled to his feet and Snape managed only slightly more dignity as he stood up as well.

"It is bad enough that you nearly cursed a dozen students in this ego-driven spectacle of one-upmanship,” McGonagall was livid.  “But I draw the line at allowing brawling in front of the entire school!"

Harry glanced up at the shocked faces in the stands above him and felt chagrined.

"Potter, join the rest of your classmates at once!"

Harry started to apologize, but McGonagall held up a hand.  "Not a word, Potter.  Go."

Harry sighed and left the pitch.

"And not a word from you either, Severus!"  McGonagall told Snape when Harry was out of earshot.  “I am appalled!  You are no longer a sixteen-year old boy cursing James Potter in the halls!  You are a professor of this school.  Act like one!” 

Snape crossed his arms and glared at McGonagall who glared back.

“Potter is the one who attacked me in a most unsportsmanlike way," Snape said angrily.  “He’s the one –”

"This was not only Potter’s doing and don't even suggest taking a single point from Gryffindor!” McGonagall interrupted.  “It was obvious from the beginning that neither one of you had the slightest interest in dueling etiquette.”

"That doesn't give him leave to cheat!"

"He didn't cheat, Snape.  He just changed tactics," Ryan said pleasantly as he joined them.  Unlike McGonagall, he looked thoroughly delighted.  "My only stipulation was that no Unforgivables or deadly force be used.  I don't believe in having a lot of rules for dueling.  It's not very realistic, after all.  Death Eaters aren't going to fight fair."

"This is a school, Professor Ryan,” McGonagall said.  “Undisciplined free-for-alls are not acceptable."

"Nonsense!” Ryan said affably.  “Every student and most of the staff here learned an invaluable lesson about dueling today.  You never give up!  You do whatever it takes to win and if you can't win, you force a draw.  I couldn't have asked for a better demonstration!"  He smiled broadly at Snape who scowled sourly in return.

“Nevertheless, Professor Ryan, if you plan to arrange another such event, it will require a more stringent code of conduct,” McGonagall insisted.

“As you wish, Professor,” Ryan agreed easily.  “I’ll make certain of it.”  He nodded to both his colleagues and walked away.

“Don't sulk, Severus," McGonagall said, smiling slightly, having calmed down.  “Potter beat you fairly and you know it.”

“He didn’t beat me!” Snape said outraged.

“I suspect you’ll find the rest of the school disagrees,” she said, nodding towards where Ryan had rejoined the duelists.  There was already a throng of people gathered around Potter, obviously all congratulating him.  Snape grimaced.  The day Harry Potter left Hogwarts would be the happiest day of his life.

***

The students arrayed around Harry couldn’t have been happier if he’d just defeated Voldemort, himself, it seemed.  With the notable exception of the Slytherins, all the duelists plus a good number of the spectators were trying to shake his hand and congratulate him. 

“This calls for a celebration,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the back.  “We’re going to have the best party ever in the common room tonight!” 

Harry grinned at him, but before he could say anything, Ryan addressed them all.

“So, what have you learned today?”

“Snape’s not as great as he thinks he is,” Ron said immediately.  There was a general murmur of agreement from the assembled students.

Ryan didn’t respond, but looked at Harry.  “Mr. Potter, how would you describe Professor Snape’s dueling skills compared to your fellow classmates?”

Harry thought a moment before answering.  Ryan often asked them to analyze one another’s skills, something Harry found fascinating and beneficial. 

“He knows a lot more curses than any of us do,” Harry said.  “I have no idea what some of the ones he threw at me were.  He’s also a lot stronger.  Curses I know I could have deflected from anyone else knocked me off my feet.  And he’s incredibly fast.  I could barely keep up with him.”

“So, how did you get the upper hand?”

“Harry’s the best!” Dean said to more general agreement.

Ryan’s eyes didn’t leave Harry’s and Harry knew he was being judged on more than just his dueling skills.

“I got lucky,” he said truthfully.  “Professor Snape should have beaten me.”

“Why didn’t he?  Getting lucky usually means your opponent made a mistake.  What was his mistake?”

“He didn’t think I could beat him,” Harry answered at once, smiling slightly.  “When he got my wand away from me, he should have cursed me.  Instead he stood there talking and gave me the chance to attack.”

Ryan’s mouth curved up into an appreciative smile.  “Well done, Potter!  All of you need to learn from this.  It’s a perfect example of what I told you the first day of class.  Your attitude is at least as important as your dueling skills.  You’re quite right, Mr. Potter.  You’re a fine duelist, but you should have been no match for Professor Snape.  He underestimated you.  He was trying to teach you a lesson.  You were trying to win.”

Ryan looked at all the students gathered around him and smiled.  “Now, go and celebrate, all of you,” he said.  “You’ve earned it.”

Everyone began to disperse, but Ryan stopped Harry.

“Potter, I’d like a word.”

“Yes sir?”

 “I’d stay out of Professor Snape’s way for a while,” Ryan told Harry quietly.  “That’s a man who doesn’t like to lose.”

Harry nodded.  “Thank you, sir.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

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.”

The next several weeks were some of the most miserable Harry had ever endured. Between his visions and delving into Snape’s mind, he seemed to spend more time dwelling on other people’s thoughts than his own. His visions were as bad as ever, but it was Snape’s memories that disturbed him the most and he wasn’t even sure why.

There was nothing horrifying about them. In fact most were quite mundane. But there was an overwhelming sense of loneliness that never failed to depress Harry. Snape’s childhood, as far as Harry could tell, had been unrelentingly bleak. The boy had had no friends. His father had been cruel and distant when he was around at all. For the most part the child had been left alone and appeared to have spent the greater part of his time poring over books on the Dark Arts.

At Hogwarts he’d continued to be an outsider, even among his fellow Slytherins. The only students he associated with were those Harry recognized as future Death Eaters, but they clearly didn’t consider him a friend. They simply recognized the usefulness of his considerable knowledge of the Dark Arts and potions. The only student in school who really seemed to pay much attention to Snape at all was James Potter and he was without doubt the bane of Snape’s existence.

Harry hadn’t seen anything as humiliating as what he’d witnessed in Snape’s Pensieve the year before, nevertheless James (Harry couldn’t think of the child as his father) clearly took every opportunity to harass Snape. Snape had fought back, of course, and was ruthlessly vindictive, which helped placate Harry’s emotions somewhat. But he still knew that he wouldn’t have liked his dad if they’d been at school together, and he hated Snape for that.

Worst of all, despite his best efforts he wasn’t making any progress at Legilimency. While he’d become used to viewing Snape’s memories using the Protego charm, he seemed incapable of casting the Legilimens spell. No matter how much he tried to alternately clear his mind or focus his thoughts, nothing happened. Harry was both frustrated and desperate. With each failure he became more convinced that he’d never be able to succeed. It didn’t help that Snape, never a man of patience, was clearly at his wit’s end. Annoyance had given way to exasperation that was now just short of fury.

“Potter, you aren’t trying!”

“Yes, I am! I don’t know how to do it!” Harry protested, his own nerves frayed to the breaking point.

“Yes, you do! You’ve cast the Protego charm. This is no different.”

“Yes it is! That’s defensive! Legilimency is an attack and I can’t do it!”

“Oh, please don’t tell me it’s your sense of propriety getting in the way!” Snape snarled. “I know perfectly well that you have no respect for my privacy, not after your indiscretion last year. Or perhaps you’re simply afraid. Is that it? You’re too much of a coward to find out what your father was really like?”

Harry went white with fury. Blood was pounding in his ears and he felt a perfect, calm hatred for the man in front of him. Snape deserved every misery and humiliation he’d ever suffered and more! Harry felt suddenly dizzy as his perspective shifted and he found himself in Snape’s mind. There were memories swirling around him, but his own anger and hatred brushed them aside. Then he felt the resistance to his presence. Something was trying to drive him out.

Snape, Harry realized with a fresh surge of anger and hatred. The man thought he could control everything, tell him what to do, what to think and feel, which memories to have. Not this time.

Get out of my way! Harry thought viciously. The resistance broke and Harry felt a thrill of power. It was the same thing he felt in his visions at the moment when Voldemort struck down his victims. It was the power of life and death, the power to kill.

Harry gasped and staggered back catching the edge of Snape’s workbench to keep from falling. His connection to Snape’s mind had been broken as suddenly as it had begun and Harry felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. But Snape was by far the worse off.

The man was on his knees, visibly shaking. His breathing was ragged and he had one hand pressed to his eyes in evident pain. Harry’s fury and hatred vanished, replaced by the horrible realization of what he had just done.

“Professor?” Harry began, but stopped when he saw Snape flinch at the sound of his voice.

“Go, Potter,” Snape said. “Just go.”

But Harry was rooted in place. “Professor, I… I didn’t…”

“Get out!”

Harry fled from the office and didn’t stop running until he reached Gryffindor Tower. He slumped against the wall next to the portrait hole and tried to compose himself before entering the common room, but it was no use. He had no idea how he’d managed to enter Snape’s mind without casting any spell, but one thing he was absolutely certain of. If Snape hadn’t broken the mental connection, he would have murdered his professor. Harry knew it and he was sure that Snape knew it as well.

Harry closed his eyes. He felt a shame deeper than any he’d ever imagined. Do I really hate him that much? he wondered. Certainly, Snape did everything in his power to make Harry’s life miserable. The man despised him, no question. And this year in particular, he’d hounded Harry mercilessly in Potions. Snape was mean, insulting and unfair, but... Is that enough to make me want to kill him? Would it be that easy for me to become a murderer? Harry felt a stab of horror at the thought.

“Harry, are you okay?”

Harry opened his eyes to find Ginny looking at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’ll be okay. My lesson with Snape was just really rough tonight.”

Ginny frowned. “Harry, if Snape’s treating you badly –”

“He’s not,” Harry interrupted, unable to let Snape take the blame. “The training is just hard, that’s all. I’ll be all right.”

“Well, I hope so,” Ginny said as she led the way into the common room. “We’ve got our first game against Slytherin tomorrow, so you’d better get some rest.”

“I will,” Harry promised. But once in bed, sleep eluded him. Despite the fact that he was exhausted, he couldn’t stop replaying in his mind the scene in Snape’s office. The murderous hatred he’d unleashed against his teacher terrified him. Snape at least had known how to defend himself, but what if he attacked someone else? Harry tossed in bed until the sky finally began to lighten with the coming dawn. He got up, dressed and left the tower. He wasn’t up to talking to anyone.

***

The Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match was always hard fought and Harry knew before he took the field that he wasn’t ready for it, neither physically nor mentally. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten and for the first time in his life didn’t care whether they won or lost. The Slytherins didn’t know this, though, and put enormous effort into hounding him. Malfoy was still out for blood and had obviously enlisted his entire team in the pursuit of revenge. Harry was constantly jostled by the Slytherins. Bludger after Bludger was sent hurtling his way and once or twice he actually considered letting the deadly balls hit him. One well-placed Bludger to the head and all his problems would be over. But self preservation always won out and he dodged the balls.

Between the Slytherins’ harassment and his own desperate thoughts, he never saw the Snitch appear. By the time the roar went up in the stands, Malfoy was already half way across the pitch and there was no way Harry could catch up. Aside from the time the Dementors had disrupted the match, this was the first time in six years that Harry had failed to catch the Snitch. Even the Slytherins seemed surprised and the Gryffindors were in shock.

Fortunately, the rest of the team had played brilliantly and Ron had only let one goal through the whole game, so they hadn’t actually lost by much. As they landed, the team was already calculating how much of a margin they’d need to win the next game by in order to beat out Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Ginny said. “The way those Slytherins were on you, it would have been a miracle if you’d managed to get to the Snitch.”

“Yeah, Harry,” Ron said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it up.”

Harry nodded and managed a wan smile. No matter what they said though, he knew he’d let his team down. But as he headed back to the castle, all Harry could think of was his lesson with Snape that evening.

The afternoon wore on and Harry’s mood grew more and more bleak. Luckily, everyone assumed he was simply depressed about the Quidditch loss. After a few futile attempts to cheer him up, his friends left him alone. Harry tried to study, but after reading the same page in his Charms book three times without understanding a word of it, he decided it was hopeless and gave up. Finally, he couldn’t stand sitting around anymore and went for a walk.

It was late afternoon and cold outside. Harry pulled his cloak around him and headed out towards the lake in the lengthening shadows. He found the spot where he’d sat in June just after Sirius had died, and without thinking, he reached for the charm Ginny had given him for his birthday. The grief wasn’t as acute now, but he wished more than ever that Sirius could be here with him. He had never felt so alone and desperately needed someone to talk to. There was no one he really felt comfortable discussing his fears with the way he could have done with Sirius.

When he entered the office he found Snape poring over an old book with several others piled on his desk in front of him. Harry didn’t sit down, but stood uncertainly by the door half expecting Snape to throw him out.

“Come in, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, looking up at him. “Sit down.”

Snape didn’t seem upset. In fact he seemed to be in a better mood than usual and his gaze held no hostility. Harry sat down, still tense and not knowing what to expect.

“You played dreadfully this morning,” Snape said conversationally. “How on earth could you let Malfoy beat you?”

Harry blinked. The morning’s Quidditch match seemed like a lifetime ago and he couldn’t imagine why Snape was mentioning it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not that I don’t relish a Slytherin victory, of course, but it was clear that your mind wasn’t on the game.”

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Harry said.

“No, I don’t imagine you did.” Snape said quietly. He regarded Harry thoughtfully for a few moments and Harry fought the urge to look away.

“Potter, there is a reason why Legilimency training is restricted,” Snape said. “This is very advanced magic, and, therefore, inherently dangerous. Such incidents as the one you experienced yesterday evening are not unheard of in the early stages of training. Unfortunately, I underestimated the intensity of your emotions. That was my mistake and I assure you it won’t happen again. But believe me, you are not the only student of Legilimency to ever attack his teacher.”

Harry stared at Snape. Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. This was the man who never forgave a slight and who gleefully punished Harry for every infraction, no matter how minor. Yet now that Harry had committed a genuinely reprehensible act, Snape was acting as though it had been a simple accident. He made it sound so reasonable and normal, but Harry knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

“I almost killed you,” Harry said.

“Yes, but you didn’t.”

“But I wanted to!” Harry said, becoming more and more agitated in the face of Snape’s unflappable calm. “You must know that!”

“Of course I do,” Snape said impatiently. “I saw your thoughts, Potter. They were hardly surprising, or do you suppose I didn’t already know what you think of me? Do you imagine for one moment that I care?

“Much as I might enjoy your enthusiasm for self-flagellation, we really have no time for it. Despite what your overwrought mind may believe, you’ve done nothing to warrant the debilitating sense of guilt you seem to be wallowing in. So spare me your hand wringing over what crimes you might have committed and the fact that your thoughts aren’t as pure and noble as you would wish to pretend. If that’s the worst thing you can dredge up to berate yourself for then I have no sympathy.”

Harry had no idea how to respond. However, Snape’s relentless insistence that this situation was not just normal but inconsequential was definitely having an effect. For the first time in twenty-four hours, Harry was beginning to think beyond the horror of what he’d done, to the practical implications.

“You said this was dangerous. How dangerous? Maybe you can defend yourself, but what if I… I mean I don’t want to hurt anyone else, either.”

“You aren’t going to attack anyone in the halls, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Snape said. “Intensive practice has attuned our minds to one another; therefore I was particularly vulnerable to you. It wouldn’t be possible for you to do to anyone else what you did to me. Besides, I doubt even Malfoy could provoke you as effectively as I did. Of course, you will need to learn to control your emotions better. This should help.”

Snape handed Harry the book he had been reading earlier, which bore the title, Meditative Techniques for Mental Discipline.

“It explains various techniques which should prove useful in calming and controlling your mind,” Snape explained. “I want you to read the sections I’ve marked before your next lesson, so that you’ll be prepared to practice. And you must realize, Potter, that while I can guide you, you alone are capable of controlling your own mind. I can’t do it for you.”

Harry nodded, clutching the book and trying to focus on Snape’s reassuring instructions. “Yes sir.”

Snape stood up and came around the desk to face Harry. He produced a vial from his robes.

“Since you obviously are in no condition to practice this evening,” Snape continued, “I suggest you take this and get some sleep.”

Harry stood up and took the Dreamless Sleep potion from Snape. He had clearly been dismissed but he made no move to leave. His emotions were still a confused jumble and he envied Snape’s self-assurance. Another time, Harry might have found the man’s easy confidence annoying or arrogant, but right now, it felt like the one piece of solid ground in a storm-tossed ocean.

Snape sighed at Harry’s obvious immobility. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and propelled him firmly towards the door.

“Potter, do as I say for once. Sleep and I promise you everything will look better in the morning.” Snape’s exasperated tone was unmistakable, but so was the unwavering grip on Harry’s shoulder as Snape turned to face his student in the doorway. Harry looked into Snape’s eyes and for the first time in months he didn’t feel quite so alone.

“Yes sir.”

Harry left the dungeons with a renewed sense of purpose. He would go straight to bed and then spend all of the next day studying the book Snape had given him. His plan was derailed at once, however, as he arrived at Gryffindor Tower to find Ron and Hermione screaming at one another. This didn’t surprise him as much as the fact that everyone else in the room seemed to be ignoring them.

“Just because I care about my studies doesn’t give you the right to make snide insinuations!” Hermione yelled.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Ron yelled back. “You can see whoever you bloody well please! It’s no surprise that he’s a Ravenclaw, I suppose.”

“You’re impossible!” Hermione screamed. She pushed past Ron and hurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. Harry was certain he’d seen tears brimming in her eyes.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Ron turned to face him and had the grace to look sheepish.

“Ron’s just being a git as usual, Harry,” Ginny answered without looking up from the book she was reading by the fire.

“I am not!” Ron protested. “If she’s going to spend all her time with Anthony Goldstein, why won’t she at least admit that they’re seeing each other?”

“Maybe because it’s not true,” Ginny answered, still not looking at her brother.

Ron snorted then turned and stormed up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. When he was gone, Ginny looked up at Harry.

“If you think your lessons with Snape are bad, try spending every evening with those two. You miss most of it, Harry, but I swear they’re driving the rest of us crazy.”

“What’s Ron on about?” Harry asked sitting down opposite Ginny.

“Hermione and Anthony are working on an Arithmancy project together and Ron is positively seething with jealousy. Not that he’ll admit it, of course! Really, Harry, you have to talk to him. I think he’s mental, honestly.”

Harry sighed. He really didn’t need this on top of everything else he had to worry about, but Ron and Hermione were his best friends.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll talk to Ron.”

Harry went upstairs and found Ron alone, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Harry was too tired to be subtle.

“Ron, why don’t you just tell Hermione that you fancy her?”

Ron looked at Harry in horror. “What?”

“Well, it’s obvious to everyone and it’d be better than these rows you keep having.”

Ron looked at Harry a moment longer then went back to staring at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I just can’t!”

“Ron, it’s only Hermione.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Ron said glaring at Harry. “Your stomach doesn’t cramp up every time she gets near you. What if she doesn’t feel that way about me? What if she laughs at me?”

“She won’t laugh at you. And what if she does feel the same way? Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

“Of course I would.”

“Well, you won’t until you ask her.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron said with sudden inspiration. “That’s it! Harry you could ask her for me!”

“No! Absolutely not!”“But Harry, you can talk to her.”

“I’m not asking Hermione if she fancies you!”

“You’re right. I ought to ask Ginny to do it.”

“Ron, why can’t you just talk to her yourself?”

“Because she’s Hermione!” Ron said as if that explained everything. Harry stared at him, unimpressed.

“Oh, come on, Harry. We’ve been best friends since first year. We’ve been through everything together. I don’t want to ruin that. If she doesn’t fancy me, I could handle that, but I won’t be able to stand it if I lose her friendship too.”

“Ron, I really think you’re more likely to lose her friendship by being horrid to her all the time. That’s not how you treat someone you care about.

”Ron lay back on his pillow and sighed miserably. “You’re right. I really have been a git, I suppose.”

“Yeah, you have. So go and fix it. Things aren’t going to get any worse than they already are.

”Ron heaved a huge sigh and sat up. “All right, I’ll do it,” he said, looking as though he were about to face a dozen Dementors.

Harry smiled encouragingly at his friend and Ron left. Harry undressed and got into bed. He was completely exhausted. He started to uncork the vial Snape had given him, but stopped. His conversation with Snape had done wonders for his mental state and he really didn’t think he’d have any trouble sleeping. He slipped the vial into his bedside drawer in case he ever needed it in the future. Then he lay back, closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. In moments, he was asleep.

***

Ron paced the common room. Ginny, after much coercion, had gone up to tell Hermione he wanted to see her. That had been ten minutes ago, yet neither of the girls had come down. Ron was beginning to think they weren’t going to. He had never felt so nervous. Harry and Ginny were both right. He had behaved terribly and was ashamed of the way he’d treated Hermione. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already ruined their friendship. He felt his stomach sink. He certainly didn’t hold out any hope that she might feel more for him than that. Why should she? He’d certainly never given her any reason to.

Ron was ready to give up and go to bed when Hermione appeared on the stairs. He could tell she’d been crying and he felt a pang of guilt. He wasn’t good enough for her. Not by half. She deserved someone like Anthony who was smart and handsome and didn’t spend all his time shouting at her and making her cry. Ron knew he didn’t deserve Hermione’s friendship either, but he was determined to try to earn it. He’d tell her the truth about how he felt and take it well when she told him she wasn’t interested. Then maybe they could go back to the way things used to be.

“You wanted to see me?” Hermione asked stiffly.

Ron nodded. “Can we go somewhere private?”

Hermione frowned slightly then shrugged. “Fine.” She walked past him and led the way out the portrait hole.

As prefects, Ron and Hermione had more leeway to move about the castle at night. They found a nearby classroom and went in.

“So what did you want to talk about that you couldn’t shout in front of the entire common room?” Hermione asked coldly.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been acting,” Ron said.

“I see. So you can insult me in front of everyone, but you won’t apologize in front of them. Is that it?”

“No!” Ron said desperately. “Hermione, please, I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“Then why are you trying so hard to make me hate you?”

"Because I’m an idiot, all right! Because I’m afraid I’m going to lose you and it makes me crazy. You’re one of my best friends, Hermione, and I don’t want that to end."

Hermione stared at him incredulously. “Ron, you really are mad. I’m not going to stop being your friend.”

“Yes, you are,” Ron said seriously. “One of these days you’re going to find someone special who you really care for and you won’t have time for childhood friendships any more.”

“Ron, that will never happen,” Hermione protested.

“Of course it will.” Ron’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact now. He took a deep breath. “You’re brilliant, Hermione. You’re smart and beautiful and you’ve got the heart of a lion. You’re never afraid to stand up to anyone or to fight for what’s right even when you don’t have to. You’re the finest person I’ve ever known and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Ron was staring into Hermione’s eyes and couldn’t seem to look away. Every nerve in his body was tingling. Hermione bit her lip and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Well, what about you?” Hermione’s voice trembled when she spoke. “It’s not as though you’re going to want to hang about with me forever. After all, you’ve got a wonderful sense of humor and an adorable smile. You make everyone feel at ease. And you’re as loyal, kind and caring as anyone could ever be. There’s not a better person in the whole world and anyone would be lucky to have you. One of these days you’ll meet someone and you won’t have time for me any more.”

Ron took a step towards her. “Hermione, I swear as long as I live that will never happen.”

“You’re sure?” Hermione’s tone was challenging but her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, I am. I always have been.”

Hermione took a step towards Ron. “Well, then I guess we’re stuck with each other,” she said holding his gaze.

“Yeah, I reckon we are,” Ron said. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” Hermione said.

She was so close that Ron could feel her breath on his cheek. Ron, swallowed hard, trying to get up the nerve to make the next move, but Hermione beat him to it. She reached up and kissed him.

***

Harry was shaken out of a deep sleep to find Ron standing over him.

“Harry, wake up!” Ron said urgently.

Harry bolted up in bed. “Ron, what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.

“I did it! Just like you said. I told her!”

Harry had no idea what Ron was talking about. “What?” he asked.

“Hermione. I told her I fancied her.”

“You did?”

“Yeah! Or, well, I don’t think I actually told her, but she got the idea.”

“That’s great, Ron,” Harry said lying back down, relieved that there was clearly no danger.

“And I think it’s going to work out. She really seems to fancy me too.”

“Really? That’s terrific.” Harry yawned and closed his eyes.

“We even kissed.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open. “You kissed Hermione?”

“Yeah. Or, er, I think she kissed me, really. The first time, I mean. After that it was pretty much, you know, mutual.”

Harry was wide awake now. It was one thing to tell Ron to confess his feelings to Hermione. It was quite another to imagine his two best friends –

“You’re okay with this, aren’t you Harry?” Ron asked.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course I am. That’s wonderful! I’m just really tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Sorry, mate. I shouldn’t have woken you.”

“It’s all right; I’m glad you did. It’s great about you and Hermione. I told you it’d work out.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, Harry. I mean it. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

Ron turned away and Harry drew his curtains. He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling not feeling the least bit inclined to sleep. He let out a deep sigh. This is ridiculous! he thought in frustration. He needed to sleep. He certainly wasn’t going to lie awake thinking about Ron and Hermione or the fact that he, himself, hadn’t had the chance this term to even think about girls, much less kiss one.

Harry rolled over and punched his pillow in an effort to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. I know I can do this, he thought as he concentrated on clearing his mind. He breathed deeply and eventually drifted back to sleep.

***

The next morning Harry awoke late feeling much better than he had the day before. The other boys had already left and Harry realized gratefully that they must have decided he needed sleep more than breakfast. But if he hurried, he could still make it to the Great Hall in time to eat.

Harry dressed quickly and went downstairs. Some of the Gryffindors were still lingering at the table including Ron and Hermione who were sitting apart from their classmates. Harry hesitated as he remembered what Ron had told him. For a moment, he wondered if it might have been a dream, but one glance at his two friends dispelled that thought.

They were looking at each other in a way that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable and he suspected the entire castle could collapse around them and they wouldn’t notice. The rest of the Gryffindors seemed to be trying not to laugh with varying degrees of success. Ginny caught Harry’s eye and waved him over.

“Have you heard the news,” she asked looking pointedly at Ron and Hermione. “Or would you care to guess?”

“Actually, Ron told me last night,” Harry said, scooping food onto his plate. “So they really are, er…?”

“Sickening?” offered Seamus. “Yeah, I’d say so. Ron won’t stop grinning like an idiot and Hermione keeps giggling.” Seamus clearly considered this last offense to be irrefutable evidence of madness.

“Maybe they won’t argue so much, though,” Neville said hopefully.

“Hard to say,” Dean said. “Sometimes people argue even more, though in this case I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Well, at least it should be fun to watch,” Ginny said. “They’ve really got it bad for each other.”

Everyone nodded agreement except Harry, who ate in silence. Neither Ron nor Hermione had noticed him and he somehow didn’t feel comfortable approaching them. But it felt strange sitting here ignoring each other. The other Gryffindors were starting to leave and Harry gulped down the last of his breakfast and joined them. He really needed to read the book Snape had given him after all and he’d certainly have a chance to talk to Ron and Hermione later.

But after breakfast, Ron and Hermione stopped by the common room only briefly to collect their books, then left to go study in the library, though, once they had gone, Ginny quipped that she didn’t believe that for a moment.

Harry buried himself in his studies. He read Snape’s book, finished his Defense homework and was nearly done with his Potions essay by lunchtime. However, Ron and Hermione weren’t at lunch when Harry went down and he decided it would be silly to hang around waiting for them. It was late afternoon by the time they returned to the common room. Harry had run out of homework to do by then and was re-reading Snape’s book when they came through the portrait hole.

“Hi, Harry. What’s that you’re reading?” Hermione asked.

“Just something for Snape,” Harry replied. He wanted to get them alone and tell them all about his last two lessons with Snape, about the new power he’d discovered and his fears that went with it. He needed Ron’s humor and Hermione’s practicality to make sense of these latest events. But Ron had his arm around Hermione’s waist and Harry felt certain it wouldn’t be a good time to discuss his problems. Instead he set his book aside and the three of them joined Ginny and Dean in a game of Exploding Snap.

The evening passed pleasantly, but once they headed up to bed, the conversation turned to what appeared to be on everyone’s mind.

“So, come on Ron, spill it,” Dean said. “What’s she like?”

“What do you mean?” Ron said innocently. “You know Hermione.”

“Not as well as you do, mate,” Dean leered.

Ron threw him a dirty look. “We only kissed,” he said.

“I’ve heard you can tell a lot about a girl from the way she kisses,” Seamus offered.

“I already know plenty about Hermione. Thanks just the same,” Ron said climbing into bed.

“Oh, come on Ron,” Dean pleaded. “You’re not the sort who won’t kiss and tell, are you?”

Ron just smiled. “Good night,” he said and pulled his curtains shut.

“Figures,” Dean said disgustedly. He pulled his curtains shut as well and everyone else settled into bed, too.

Harry also turned over to go to sleep, but unlike Dean, he was very grateful that Ron wasn’t the bragging type.

The next week was awkward for Harry. Although he, Ron and Hermione went about their normal routine, the dynamics in their relationship had definitely shifted. It wasn’t that Ron and Hermione were overtly affectionate around him; they weren’t. It was subtle things, a casual touch or the way they stood closer together than they had before. And when they smiled at one another, it seemed to be a very private gesture that Harry wasn’t meant to share. All in all, Harry felt very much alone. Worst of all, his friends didn’t seem to notice.

***

It was Saturday afternoon and Ron was waiting for Hermione outside the Arithmancy classroom where she spent most Saturdays working on her team project. Since they’d started seeing each other two weeks previously Ron had made it a point to meet Hermione here. The door opened and several students came out. Anthony Goldstein gave Ron a friendly smile that Ron managed to return despite a flash of jealousy. Hermione finally came out, weighed down by what seemed to be a small library.

"Hermione, what is all this?” Ron asked.

“Materials for our project mostly,” Hermione answered trying to shift her book bag and the books she was cradling in her arms so that they counterbalanced one another. “We had a lot to go over today. The rest are for studying with you and Harry.”

“I thought we were only studying Charms and History,” Ron said.

“I like to be prepared.”

Ron shook his head. Some things never changed. “Here, let me carry some of those for you,” he said reaching for the bundle in Hermione’s arms.

“You don’t have to, Ron,” Hermione answered. “I can manage.”

“I know that. I just don’t want to look ungallant following you through the halls,” Ron said, taking the stack of books. “It’s purely selfish on my part.”

Hermione leaned close to him. “Well, I suppose I can forgive a little selfishness.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Now come on. We’ve got to meet Harry in the library.”

They headed off down the hall together. They didn’t notice Harry who had come up the hall and stopped a few yards behind them. Harry watched them walk away. When they were out of sight, he turned and went back to Gryffindor Tower.

***

“Where were you?” Ron asked as he and Hermione took seats opposite Harry at dinner that evening. “We were supposed to study in the library this afternoon.”

“I must have forgotten,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, mate, but you missed out on Hermione’s synopsis of the Giant Revolt in 1390. Pass the potatoes, will you?” Ron turned to Hermione and said, “I swear I don’t think I’d survive Binns’ class without you.”

“Of course you would, Ron. Honestly, you know the subject. I don’t know why you want to hear me drone on about it.”

“I guess I just like to hear you talk,” Ron said leaning close to Hermione. “You’re not nearly as boring as Binns.”

“If that’s supposed to be a compliment, it’s pathetic,” Hermione said, trying to look offended. Ron grinned. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you.”

Hermione lifted her chin haughtily, but couldn’t contain her own grin. “You certainly will.”

“Well, I’ve got lessons with Snape, so I guess I’d better be going,” Harry said getting up from the table.

“Okay. See you later, Harry,” Ron said, barely glancing at him.

Hermione just smiled in his general direction and Harry stalked away from the table, fuming. Ron and Hermione were supposed to be his best friends, yet they never even seemed to look at him anymore. Most of the time he was uncomfortable around them and he certainly couldn’t talk to them. It was still too early for his lesson so Harry went for a walk around the castle to try to calm down, but his mood only deteriorated. He was tired of having no free time, tired of the visions and nightmares that kept him up at night, tired of all that was expected of him. And most of all, tired of having no one to talk to about any of it.

He had seriously thought of writing to Remus. He was certain his father’s old friend would be sympathetic, but Remus was surely busy working with the Order and had far more important things to worry about. Besides, writing a letter wasn’t really what Harry needed. He needed to talk to someone. He was tired of keeping all his thoughts and emotions bottled up. Maybe Snape could do that, but he couldn’t.

As he finally turned his steps towards the dungeons Harry knew Snape wasn’t going to be happy with him, but he didn’t care. If Snape wanted to throw him out that was fine. All these lessons didn’t seem to be helping him anyway. There had been a lull in Death Eater activity in recent weeks, which had given Harry a respite from his visions, but the few he still had were as gruesome as ever.

Harry stalked into the Potions Master’s office and sat down in his usual chair. Snape glanced up from his seemingly perpetual stack of papers to be marked and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked impatiently.

Harry rolled his eyes. He might not have learned much in the last couple of months, but Snape had perfected the ability to spot Harry’s mood at a glance.

I wish my friends knew me that well! Harry thought savagely. Aloud, though, he merely said, “Nothing’s wrong, sir. I’m fine.”

Snape put down his quill and shook his head in disgust. “Potter, do I need to remind you that controlling your emotions is the first step in mastering both Occlumency and Legilimency?”

“No sir.”

“Then explain to me why you’re wasting my time.”

Snape’s expression was hard and his eyes held not the slightest hint of compassion. Harry felt a familiar flash of anger and stood up.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time, professor,” he said heatedly, and turned towards the door before Snape stopped him.

“Don’t even think of walking out that door, Potter,” Snape said in a quietly menacing tone.

Harry looked back at his professor. “Why not? You said I’m wasting your time. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. Sir.”

Snape stood up and came around his desk to face Harry. “Sit down.”

Harry glared at Snape for a moment then slumped back into his chair, staring at a bottle of bat guano on the edge of the desk.

Snape folded his arms and scowled at Harry. “Potter, you have been sullen and distracted for days. This has gone on long enough! What is wrong?”

“Noth – ”

“Don’t say ‘nothing’.”

Harry sighed again and looked up at Snape. “It’s nothing you could help me with.”

Snape’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Help you, Potter? I don’t recall saying anything about helping you. I simply wish to impress upon you that if you think you can come to my office to sulk, you are very much mistaken. Since you choose to bring your personal problems with you, you may tell me all about them. Perhaps then in the future you will give more thought to leaving them behind.”

Harry stared at Snape. The man couldn’t be serious. Harry wasn’t about to explain to Snape about Ron and Hermione. Snape would never understand. Besides, there wasn’t a less sympathetic soul in the world.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than agonize over Weasley’s and Granger’s romantic dalliance?” Snape asked smoothly.

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Don’t you think I’ve noticed?” Snape asked with his usual sneer. “They aren’t exactly subtle. How long are you going to let this nonsense distract you?”

“It isn’t nonsense,” Harry protested. “They’re my best friends and they’ve taken to looking through me as if I weren’t there.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“What?”

“Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger aren’t ignoring you on purpose. They’ve simply been temporarily addled by their hormones. Distasteful certainly, but hardly unusual at their age. You’re the one who’s chosen to withdraw and sulk. What was it tonight? Did they fail to walk down to dinner with you? Honestly, if it’s bothering you that much, say something to them, but stop moping about like a forlorn puppy feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t have the luxury of that sort of self-indulgence and I’m tired of putting up with it!”

Harry stared stonily up at Snape wondering if the man had ever cared about anyone in his life. Probably not.

“I’m sorry if my problems are annoying you, Professor, but I really don’t think I need your advice on how to deal with them.”

“Do you really believe you’re the only person alive who’s ever had a friendship disrupted by romance? Or are you simply jealous that you’re no longer the center of their universe?” Snape taunted him.

“I’m not jealous!” Harry said angrily.

“Of course you are. You’re jealous that they have the audacity to be happy when you’re miserable and to have lives that include more than worrying about you.”

Harry jumped to his feet. “That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” Snape sneered. “Then what’s the problem?”

Harry looked daggers at Snape. In fact, the man was far too close to the truth. There were times when Harry was jealous of his friends. How could he not be? But there was more to it than that. Harry didn’t know how to put his feelings into words and his frustration made him lash out.

“Since you don’t have any friends, Professor, I doubt you’d understand,” Harry said coldly.

“Understand what, Potter?” Snape asked matching Harry’s tone. “Loneliness? Or the weight of a burden that can’t be shared?”

Harry stood perfectly still, his anger giving way to a strange sort of fear. Snape knew what he was feeling. More than that, he understood. Harry couldn’t have said why exactly, but he found that horribly disturbing.

“Which is it going to be Potter?” Snape asked. “Are you going to wallow in self-pity and allow your emotions to rule you, or are you going to master them?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I, sir?” Harry said.

“Not if you wish to control your visions, no.”

Harry nodded slowly. “All right. Let’s get started.”

It was very late when Harry finally returned to Gryffindor Tower. Snape had been particularly brutal this evening and Harry’s head was pounding, but he hadn’t done badly. He was definitely becoming adept at Occlumency. Unfortunately, he was still unable to extricate himself from Snape’s memories during Legilimency practice. He was relieved that despite his low spirits he’d done no worse than usual and would have been content under normal circumstances, but tonight his earlier conversation with Snape haunted him.

“Loneliness and the weight of a burden that can’t be shared.” That was a perfect summation of what was preying on his mind. How was it that Snape could identify his feelings so accurately when he couldn’t? And why didn’t anyone else even try?

It wasn’t fair. The one person who actually seemed to understand what he was going through was the last person he could talk to about it. Snape was as cold and unapproachable as ever. Why couldn’t it have been someone who didn’t try to make his life miserable at every turn?

Harry shoved his thoughts aside. He was starting to feel sorry for himself again and Snape was right. That wouldn’t help at all.

Ron and Hermione were still up when Harry arrived in the common room. They tended to sit up talking until all hours these days. Harry didn’t even acknowledge them as he headed for the stairs. Ron’s voice took him be surprise.

“Harry, you all right, mate?”

Harry turned, ready to brush off the question and continue on to bed, but Snape’s words suddenly came back to him. “You’re the one who’s chosen to withdraw and sulk.” He looked at his friends. Snape was right. They weren’t trying to hurt him.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked.

Harry went over and sat down across from his friends.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been acting like a total prat and I’m sorry.”

“What?” Hermione said. “Of course you haven’t!”

“Yes, I have, you just haven’t noticed,” Harry said. “It’s been hard getting used to the two of you together. It isn’t that I’m not happy for you, I am! But I guess I’m just feeling a bit left out.”

“Oh Harry! We didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” Hermione said. “I suppose we have been ignoring you, but we didn’t think you’d care.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been a million miles away since summer,” Ron said. “You hardly talk to us. You won’t tell us anything. It’s like you’re in your own world and you won’t let anyone else in.”

“I know you don’t want us to worry about you,” Hermione said. “But we’re your friends, Harry. Whatever’s bothering you, you can’t keep it inside forever.”

“And if we ignore you, just tell us we’re being idiots,” Ron added. “Everyone else does.”

Harry grinned. “All right, I will,” he said, “And I do need to talk to you.”

He proceeded to tell them all about his lessons, the night he’d attacked Snape and the fact that he seemed to be making no progress at controlling his own mind. Ron and Hermione listened in silence until Harry struggled to a halt.

“I’m just afraid I’ll never learn how to do this,” he finished.

“Of course you will, Harry!” Hermione said as though the possibility of failure was out of the question. “Legilimency is very advanced magic and you’ve only been studying it for a little while. Give yourself time.”

“Besides,” Ron said, “If you were truly hopeless, Snape wouldn’t be wasting his time with you. You know he’s not going to do you any favors.”

“No, you’re right about that,” Harry conceded.

“Just do your best and you’ll be fine,” Hermione said.

Harry smiled at Hermione’s fussy encouragement. Being able to talk about his problems made him feel so much better. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he went up to bed feeling happier than he had in weeks. As he settled under the covers, Snape’s words came back to him once more. “Loneliness and the weight of a burden that can’t be shared.” Nothing was worse than that and Harry promised himself he wouldn’t fall into that trap again. He wasn’t alone. He had good friends who would help him bear the burden.

Harry closed his eyes contentedly then opened them again. A sudden thought had just occurred to him. What did Snape do to ease his loneliness and the burdens he carried? Harry couldn’t imagine the man sharing his doubts and fears with anyone, not even Dumbledore. But Harry knew they were there. Sometimes, he could almost sense them and tonight Snape had known far too well what was troubling him.

Harry shoved these thoughts away. Snape’s troubles were none of his business. He had more than enough problems of his own to worry about. He closed his eyes once more and relaxed. Soon he had drifted into a peaceful sleep.

***

It had been a month since Harry’s first near-disastrous incursion into Snape’s mind. Thankfully, that experience had not been repeated. But Harry had quickly found that Legilimency was considerably more difficult to learn than Occlumency.

“Potter, it is one thing to go blundering into someone else’s thoughts,” Snape had told him impatiently. “To have the finesse to be able to control that connection is something else again. You need perfect focus, perfect control.”

That was easier said than done. Learning basic Occlumency skills had been fairly straightforward for Harry once he’d applied himself. Learning Legilimency was slow and tedious by comparison. Harry no longer had any trouble getting into Snape’s mind, but once there, memories hurtled at him at a dizzying pace and he found it impossible to wrench himself free. Worst of all, Harry now knew far more about the Potions Master than he would have ever wanted which was disconcerting. Of course, Snape was no happier about this forced intimacy than Harry.

“Potter, that was pathetic!” Snape complained. “You’re the one initiating the spell. How can you be so incapable of controlling it?”

Harry sighed at the familiar criticism as he lay staring up at the ceiling, having once more been unceremoniously shoved from his professor’s thoughts.

“Professor, have you ever considered getting carpeting for your office?” he asked to avoid discussing his most recent failure. There was a pause as Snape seemed to consider him.

“I brew potions, Mr. Potter. Carpeting would be decidedly impractical.”

“You could conjure some just for our lessons,” Harry offered, with his hands folded across his stomach and making no attempt to rise. “As often as I wind up lying on the floor, it’d help. People are starting to ask why I have so many bruises all the time.”

“Tell them extra Potions lessons are dangerous work. Do you plan to lie there all night?”

“I don’t know, sir. Do you plan to knock me down again?”

“That, Mr. Potter, depends entirely upon you,” Snape answered smoothly, reaching out his hand.

Harry took it and let Snape pull him back to his feet.

“Potter, what is the problem?” Snape asked tiredly. “Are my memories so fascinating that you simply can’t tear yourself away? I would have thought the novelty would have worn off by now.”

“I don’t know what the problem is,” Harry said in frustration. “I just don’t know how to break away.”

Snape sighed and ran a hand across his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Let’s try one more time, shall we?”

They faced each other again. Harry took a deep breath and raised his wand. “Legilimens!”He was on his knees in a clearing in the middle of a wood. It was night and a fire burned brightly off to one side, throwing long shadows across the scene before him. He was surrounded by figures in long black cloaks and silver masks. Death Eaters. And directly in front of him stood Voldemort. He felt no terror, however, only nervous anticipation.

“Severus,” Voldemort addressed him. “The time has come for you to take your place as one of my most loyal followers. Are you prepared?”

“I am.”He held out his bare left arm and Voldemort raised his wand.

Harry was having considerable trouble distinguishing his own emotions from Snape’s in the memory. Horror and fear, resignation and acceptance were all jumbled together in his mind. Then Voldemort touched the tip of his wand to the pale, unblemished skin of Snape’s forearm and all thought vanished in a searing pain worse than any Harry had ever experienced. It wasn’t just a physical pain. The torture seemed to reach into his mind, wrapping invisible chains around his soul. This was a mistake. He didn’t want this to happen to him, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t scream, or even breathe. For a moment, Harry was convinced that he was dying and longed for the welcome release. It would be better than this, better than slavery.

“It is done,” Voldemort said in a cold, hard voice that sounded like an iron door slamming shut.

***

“Potter! Potter, wake up!”

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on his back again and Snape was kneeling next to him, looking more shaken than Harry had ever seen him. The memory of the clearing flashed again in Harry’s mind. He let out a strangled cry and rolled away onto his knees, clutching his left forearm. Another sound, half moan, half sob, escaped him and he might have collapsed again if Snape hadn’t caught his shoulders from behind.

Instead, Harry retched.

When he had finished, he closed his eyes and sagged against Snape, too numb to care what his professor might think of him.

“Potter, what is wrong with you!” Snape demanded. “Why did you endure that?”

“I didn’t know how to stop it,” Harry said dully. “And I know I should be able to and that I’m a failure, so you don’t need to tell me that, all right?”

There was a long pause and then Snape said, “I shouldn’t have put you through that. I thought that if the memory was bad enough, you’d pull away.”

Harry looked up at Snape. Had that been an apology? Then the man’s words sank in.

“You can control what I see?”

“Of course, Potter. That’s the whole point of Occlumency, if you remember. I can direct you away from certain memories and towards others.”

Harry nodded, absently.

“Now get hold of yourself," Snape said. "It wasn’t real. It was only a memory.”

Harry looked up to meet his teacher’s eyes. “It was real for you,” he whispered. For once it was Snape who looked away, unable to hold Harry’s gaze.

“That was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?” The question was out before Harry realized he meant to ask it. Snape hesitated only fractionally before answering.

“Seventeen.”

Harry fought down the urge to be sick again.

“Professor, do you have any of that potion you gave me before? I think I could really use it right now.”

Snape nodded, rose silently and was gone. Harry took a deep breath to try to steady himself. He felt feverish and was too exhausted to get up off the floor. A single thought kept running through his mind. Seventeen. He was only a year older than I am.

Snape came back in and wordlessly handed Harry a cup. Harry took it, drank and handed the empty cup back without looking at his professor. He closed his eyes and let the potion work. He heard Snape sit down in the chair across from him and murmur a vanishing charm, no doubt to clean the floor where Harry had thrown up. Surprisingly, the silence between them wasn’t awkward at all.

“Professor, what if I can’t learn this?” Harry asked.

“You’re a wizard, Mr. Potter, you can learn. Some people simply have more difficulty than others.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

“I know your mind. I know what you’re capable of. There is no reason why you shouldn’t be able to master this.”

Harry wished he could have as much confidence. But if he couldn’t pull away from the memory he’d just seen, then what would it take?

“Professor, why did you…?” Harry stopped. He realized what he was about to ask wasn’t appropriate. But Snape picked up the question.

“Why what, Mr. Potter? Why did I become a Death Eater?”

Harry looked up. “Why did you become a spy?”

“Because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“That’s it?”

“What more is there? Why do you do the things you do? Why follow the difficult path when the easy one is before you?”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Harry said quietly.

“There are always choices, Potter, just not always pleasant ones. Now, I think you ought to get to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said as he got to his feet. “Good night, Professor.”

***

It was just after dinner a few nights later when McGonagall entered Gryffindor’s common room.

“I need everyone’s attention, please. If you plan to remain at school over the Christmas break, please raise your hand.”

Several students raised their hands and so did Harry.

“Not this year, mate,” Ron said dragging Harry’s arm down. “This year you’re coming to the Burrow for a traditional Weasley Christmas! Mum’s already arranged it with Dumbledore.”

“She has?” Harry asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, we wanted to be sure it would be all right before we said anything,” Ron said. “You do want to come, don’t you?”

“Don’t be daft, Ron,” Harry grinned. “Of course I want to come! I can’t wait!”

“Brilliant! Hermione’s coming too and Charlie’s even coming from Romania! It won’t be fancy or anything, but we always have a great time.”

“It sounds perfect!” Harry said. He was elated at the prospect of spending Christmas with the Weasleys.

***

“You’re what!” Snape was clearly appalled.

“Going to Ron’s for Christmas,” Harry repeated completely taken aback by Snape’s reaction.

“For two weeks?” Snape’s tone made it clear that he considered the idea madness.

“It’s Christmas! Don’t I have the right to a holiday?”

“If that’s more important to you than your sanity!”

“I think my sanity will be better off if I get away from school for a while. And anyway, you ought to be happy to get a break from me.”

“Yes, Potter. It’s so much more convenient wasting my evenings with you during the term when I also have classes to teach. Honestly! Why do I bother with you at all? But by all means, do as you please! You always do. Is there any point in reminding you to practice while you’re away or won’t you have time for it in your busy schedule?”

“I’ll practice. I promise I will.”

“We’ll see about that when you get back.”

Harry stalked out of Snape’s office and down the corridor, fuming. Just because Snape didn’t have a life he thought no one else should have one either! Harry deserved this holiday. He needed it. And there was absolutely no reason why he should feel guilty about it.

At last it was time to leave for the Christmas holiday. Everyone was in high spirits and Harry managed to forget his worries as the train carried Ron, Hermione, Ginny and him to London where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley met them at the station. Mrs. Weasley hugged each of them in turn. Then they all piled into the Ministry car Mr. Weasley had borrowed and headed for Ottery St. Catchpole.

It was dark when they arrived at the burrow. Fred and George were in the garden demonstrating some of their more spectacular inventions to Charlie who had just arrived that morning from Romania. Their elder brother was clearly impressed with the twins’ entrepreneurial talents and success.

“And to think Mum didn’t want us to open a joke shop,” Fred said innocently as soon as he was sure his mother could hear him.

“As long as you’re making an honest living,” Mrs. Weasley sniffed. “It would be nice if you were home once in a while, though, instead of wandering in at all hours. I swear you practically live at that shop.”

“Mum, you know we’ve been over this,” George said. “Fred and I have to keep ahead of the competition and the only time we have to develop new products is after hours.”

“Yes, well, to each his own I suppose. It’s your business.”

“Yes, it is and business is booming,” Fred said. “We’ve hired a fellow to help us out through the holidays, but even so, we can barely keep up with demand.”

“You think you’ll need help over the summer?” Ron asked. “I could use a paying job.”

“And what, pray tell, do you need money for, little brother?” Fred asked.

“Not more Chudley Cannons memorabilia, surely?” George asked.

“I know, he must want to stock up on all our Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and figures he’ll get a discount if he’s working for us,” Fred continued.

“Nah, he knows we wouldn’t be that generous,” George said. “But, you know I do believe he might have a new passion.”

“No!” Fred said feigning astonishment. “Not something above Quidditch, surely!”

“Yes!” George insisted. “I’ve heard it from a very reliable source. Our little Ronniekins has been smitten by the fairer sex.”

“What, our baby brother?” Fred asked. “Ah, they grow up so fast.”

“Will you two shut it!” Ron said, blushing furiously.

“Oh, I think we hit a nerve,” George said gleefully.

“Hermione, can it be true?” Fred asked. “We hear you actually fancy this poor, pathetic, excuse for a male.”

“And you always seemed like such a bright young woman,” George added.

“Leave her alone!” Ron said angrily. “You want to act like prats to me that’s one thing, but you’re not going to treat Hermione that way!”

“Ron!” Hermione said in exasperation.

“What? I’m defending you!”

Fred and George burst out laughing.

“Blimey Ron, you really are in a state!” Fred was clearly amazed.

“Listen mate,” George said, putting an arm around Ron’s shoulder. “This is how it is, all right? Hermione here has been like family for quite a while now in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Not to mention being our potential future sister-in-law,” Fred added with a wink.

“And we take great offense at the suggestion that we shouldn’t treat her as such,” George said.

“Only a complete dolt wouldn’t know we’re joking, after all,” Fred said pointedly.

“Furthermore –”, George began.

“Furthermore,” Hermione interrupted him. “While chivalry is nice in a quaint sort of way, I’m more than capable of handling these two if they get too cheeky, so I don’t need you defending me.”

Ron seemed to deflate, but the twins grinned delightedly.

“There, you see,” Fred told Ron. “Hermione’s not fussed. Now, why don’t we all go in and see when mum’s going to have dinner ready?”

“And while we wait, there are some fascinating stories we could tell, Fred,” George offered.

“Excellent idea, George!” Fred agreed. “Not to mention, we’ve got some charming family photos Hermione really ought to see before making any firm plans for the future.”

Ron paled. “You wouldn’t?”

“Ron,” George said, sounding wounded. “How can you ask such a question? Of course we would.”

“Come along Hermione, m’dear,” Fred said offering Hermione his arm.

“We’ll tell you all about our little brother,” George said taking her arm on the opposite side.

Hermione shot Ron a mischievous grin. “Why not?”

The three of them marched off towards the house arm in arm, the twins already regaling Hermione with tales of Ron’s misspent babyhood.

“I should have stayed at school,” Ron said miserably. “What was I thinking?”

“It’s all right Ron,” Harry said sympathetically. “Come on. Let’s go in and see what everyone else is doing.”

***

The next few days were a blur of activity. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny helped Mr. Weasley put up the Christmas tree. Harry was thrilled, having never had a proper Christmas himself. Mr. Weasley was delighted by his enthusiasm and told him the history of every ornament along with stories of past Christmases. He even showed Harry how to create tiny little flickering lights on the tree branches. The whole effect was enchanting, far nicer than the garish fake tree the Dursleys hauled out of the basement every year. Next they went to work on the house. They hung wreaths in the windows and mistletoe in the doorway, something that made Ron blush.

Mrs. Weasley busied herself cleaning and baking what seemed to be an endless stream of pies and puddings for various friends and relatives. Charlie obligingly took these into the village to be posted. This was a relief to Harry, who was certain there was no way Errol could survive delivering so many parcels.

The twins weren’t around much, busy as they were with the Christmas rush at their shop. But when they were there, they could usually be found in some out of the way spot conspiring in hushed voices with all the family photo albums spread around them. They wouldn’t say what they were doing, but Harry suspected it was something to embarrass Ron.

On Christmas Eve, Bill arrived with Fleur Delacour.

“’Ello,” Fleur said, greeting everyone. “Ron, ‘Arry. ‘Ow nice to see you both again.” Harry noticed that Ron showed not the slightest trace of the crush he’d had on the young woman two years previously. Hermione must have noticed too because she greeted Fleur warmly.

“I don’t suppose Percy’s coming,” Harry asked Ron quietly.

“No,” Ron replied in an equally low voice. “He’s still not really speaking to Mum and Dad. I think he’s too proud to admit how wrong he was in following that idiot Fudge! Mum tries to pretend she doesn’t mind, but I know she does, especially at Christmas when everyone else is here. At least he didn’t send his jumper back this year, that’s something.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen.

They all filed into the kitchen which seemed to have been stretched a bit to accommodate everyone and sat down to one of Mrs. Weasley’s exceptional meals. By the time dinner was over, Harry was completely stuffed. He helped clear the table then slipped away and went out in the garden. The night was cold and clear. Harry brushed snow off a bench and sat down to stare up at the stars twinkling above him. He could hear voices and laughter coming from the house behind him and couldn’t remember when he’d ever felt this content.

“Are you all right?”

Harry started. He hadn’t heard Ginny come up behind him.

“I’m fine. I was just warm, so I thought I’d come outside.”

Ginny sat down next to him.

“I always like sitting out here, too. It’s so peaceful. You can forget all your troubles.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “So, any idea what Fred and George are up to with those old photos?”

“No, but it’s bound to embarrass Ron, whatever it is. They’ve been giving him an awfully bad time.”

“Yeah, but I think Hermione’s enjoying it.”

Ginny laughed. “She is. She says Ron deserves it for being so defensive.”

“He’s got it bad, that’s for sure,” Harry said, smiling.

“Are you okay with that?”

“Of course. I think it’s terrific.”

“I only ask because for a while you were looking pretty depressed around them.”

“Well, it took some getting used to, but it’s okay now. Who are you seeing these days, by the way?”

“I’m taking a break at the moment,” Ginny said. “What with Quidditch and OWLs coming up, I don’t really have the time for boys right now.”

Harry nodded. He could certainly understand that.

“So, how about you?” Ginny asked. “Do you fancy anyone, Harry?”

Harry laughed. “Me? I haven’t even had the chance to think about it. Besides, I spend all my free time with Snape.”

Ginny grimaced. “How’s that going, anyway?”

“Some days I think I’m making progress. Other days I’m sure I’ll never manage it.”

“How’s Snape though? It must be dreadful studying with him all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry said quickly, not wanting Ginny to feel sorry for him. A moment later he realized it was true.

“It was at first,” Harry said more slowly. He’d never really thought about what his lessons with Snape were like. “But I think we’ve sort of got used to each other. In a way…”

Harry broke off, not certain he should finish that thought, but Ginny pursued it.

“In a way, what?”

“Sometimes it’s easier being with him than anyone else.”

Ginny looked at Harry in surprise. “Why?” she asked, clearly perplexed.

“Because I don’t have to pretend that I’m okay when I’m not. I don’t have to explain anything. There are some things I just can’t talk about, Ginny. It’s too hard right now and the more everyone worries about me, the harder it gets. Snape doesn’t feel sorry for me or worry about me.”

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose that makes sense. Just remember that you’ve got lots of friends, Harry, and we’re all here if you do need us.”

Harry smiled. “I know, and believe me, I’m grateful for that. I don’t know what I’d do without all of you. I really appreciate your mum and dad having me for Christmas.”

“Harry, you know you’re part of the family. We’d have invited you before if we could have. This year mum absolutely put her foot down with Dumbledore and insisted you come. She said it was positively cruel to leave you alone at school.”

Harry laughed again. “I think ‘cruel’ is going a bit far.”

“Well, mum can be a bit dramatic,” Ginny said, laughing as well. “She’s right, though. No one should have to be alone at Christmas.”

Harry glanced sharply at Ginny. He knew she was thinking of him, but her words had brought different memories to mind.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back inside.”

They found everyone in the front room where Fred and George were telling some apparently hilarious story. Mrs. Weasley was beaming at them all, clearly delighted at having so many of her children at home again.

Ginny started to join the gathering but paused when Harry headed for the stairs instead.

“Harry, where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he said and hurried upstairs.

In Ron’s room Harry dug through his trunk until he found parchment and a quill then sat down to write. And stopped. He had no idea what to say. Actually, he had no idea why he even felt compelled to do this except that Ginny was right. No one deserved to be alone on Christmas. He knew all too well what that felt like; he remembered all the Christmas mornings that he’d sat forgotten while Dudley opened mounds of presents. But he remembered other Christmases too, in a home that lacked even the trappings of Christmas and was bereft of any love or joy. Harry took a deep breath. He was probably going to be sorry for this, but at the moment he didn’t care. He started to write.

Professor,

Just wanted to let you know I’ve settled in here at the Weasleys. I’ve been going through the exercises you taught me, but it’s not the same as having someone to actually practice with. I suppose it’ll be all right though. See you next term.

Harry Potter

P.S. – I hope you have a happy Christmas.

Harry folded up the letter before he could think better of it and reached for Hedwig who was perched on top of her cage watching him.

“Here you go, girl,” Harry said, tying the note to his owl’s leg. “Make sure this gets to Hogwarts tomorrow morning.”

Hedwig hooted her consent and sailed out the window.

Harry watched her go then let out a deep breath. He frowned at his own foolishness. There was absolutely no reason to be so nervous. It was just a simple letter. He shut the window and went back downstairs. Mr. Weasley was passing around eggnog and hot, spiced cider. Hermione was deep in conversation with Bill and Fleur about their work, so Harry went to join Ron and Ginny who were playing chess. Ron was obviously having trouble concentrating though, since Fred and George wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Do you play chess with Hermione much, Ron?” Fred asked innocently, pitching his voice so that no one beyond the chessboard would hear him.

“Oh, I bet they play everyday,” George said equally quietly. “So, do you checkmate her most of the time, Ron, or does she often checkmate you? Or would you say it’s usually more of a draw?”

“I’m sure Hermione knows her way around a chessboard,” Fred said. “I bet you’ve got to be in top form to keep her from trouncing your king.”

“Will you two shut it!” Ron whispered furiously.

“Checkmate,” Ginny said.

“What!” Ron looked at the board in disbelief then threw his brothers another angry look. The twins only grinned happily at him.

“Why don’t we all play a game of Exploding Snap?” Ginny offered.

“Yeah, come on, that’d be fun,” Harry agreed.

“Sounds good to us,” Fred and George agreed.

Ron was not so easily placated. “Only if these two agree to keep their mouths shut.”

“What is there to say about Exploding Snap?” George asked, unable to keep from grinning.

Ron looked ready to launch himself across the table at his brother when Hermione interrupted them.

“Mind if I play too?” she asked.

“That would be great,” Harry said quickly. Hermione smiled at him and Harry knew that she had heard more of the conversation than either Ron or the twins realized. They all settled down to play and with Hermione present the twins gave up tormenting Ron. They stayed up quite late playing games and talking, but eventually they all made their way to bed.

***

Harry awoke to pounding on the bedroom door. He sat up and reached for his glasses just as Fred stuck his head in the room.

“Oy, you two! We’re not going to wait all morning for you. Come on, there are presents to open.”

Harry and Ron didn’t need any more encouragement. They jumped out of bed and followed Fred downstairs where everyone else was beginning to gather around the tree in their dressing gowns. It was a glorious, bright morning and Harry could see blindingly white snow and clear blue sky out the window. Mr. Weasley positioned himself closest to the tree, beaming, and Harry thought the man couldn’t have looked more excited if he’d been a small child and all the presents were for him.

“Merry Christmas, everyone!” Mr. Weasley said, fairly bursting with delight. His mood was infectious and Harry found himself grinning in anticipation as Mr. Weasley began handing out presents.

Everyone got a Weasley jumper, of course. Fleur had brought French pastries for everyone, complete with preservative charms to keep them fresh. Charlie brought dragon tooth charms for everyone except Mrs Weasley, of course, to whom he gave a lovely Romanian scarf. The twins gave Ron and Harry enough of their Weasley Wizarding Wheezes to wreck serious havoc at school, which delighted the boys, though Mrs. Weasley was clearly unhappy. Mr. Weasley opened his gift from the twins and stared at it in confusion.

“Er, ah, what is it?” he finally asked.

“It’s a toaster, dad,” Fred told him.

“A Muggle invention,” George added.

Mr. Weasley’s eyes lit up. “Really!” he asked excitedly. “How does it work? Does it need eklectricity?” He looked as if he might jump up and run out to his workshop at that very moment, but Mrs. Weasley stopped him.

“Arthur, you can look at it later! There are still presents to open.”

“Right, of course Molly,” Mr. Weasley said, reluctantly setting the toaster aside, but Harry noticed him give the toaster a surreptitious pat before turning his attention back to the Christmas tree.

“Open yours, Mum,” George said, indicating a large gift.

Mrs. Weasley opened the package and gasped. It was a set of dress robes, elegant and obviously expensive.

“Fred, George, this cost far too much money!”

“No, it didn’t,” Fred said. “We told you, Mum, business has been good.”

“Besides, we’ve got nothing else to spend our money on,” George said.

“Hermione, that one’s yours,” Fred continued before his mother could say anything else.

Hermione tore the paper off her gift and found a large scrapbook. She opened it and grinned. “This is wonderful!”

“What is it?” Ron asked suspiciously.

“That, little brother, is a compilation of the highlights of your life from birth ‘til the present,” George said.

“What!”

Ron shoved a pile of discarded paper and boxes aside and leaned over to see Hermione’s gift. He let out a choked scream and tried to snatch it out of Hermione’s hands.

“Ron, stop that!” Hermione said, gripping the book tightly.

“You can’t look at that!”

“It’s my gift!”

“They’re my pictures!”

Harry had leaned over to look at the album as well. On the first page was a picture of a baby with wispy red hair who couldn’t have been more than six months old. He was cooing happily and sucking on his toes. He was also completely naked. Harry couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

“Oh, right! Some best friend you are!” Ron said indignantly.

“Ronald Weasley! Stop that this instant!” Mrs. Weasley scolded coming over to settle the confrontation. She glanced down at the album.

“Oh, I haven’t seen that picture in ages!” she said. “How precious! Arthur, you should come and see this.”

Ron buried his head in his hands and groaned miserably.

“Don’t worry, Ron,” Fred said. “It’s not all pictures. We included all sorts of stuff.”

“Yeah,” George said. “We even found that poem you wrote about your teddy bear when you were six.”

“Molly, we do still have presents to open,” Mr. Weasley said to his wife who was still beaming at the baby picture of her youngest son.

“Oh, of course dear,” Mrs. Weasley answered. “I’m sorry.”

With a sympathetic smile at Ron, Mr. Weasley quickly handed around the next presents.

***

Christmas morning at Hogwarts found all of the castle’s current residents seated around one large round table in the Great Hall. Dumbledore was wearing rather unusual red and gold robes which depicted various miniature Christmas scenes that actually moved. Here, children were sledding down a hill in the falling snow; over there, others were opening gifts by a tree. On his right sleeve there were carolers singing softly. He seemed delighted with his attire and chatted amiably with everyone including two rather awed first years to whom he was relating some long ago Christmas tale.

Professor Sprout had received a new scarf from her daughter and was proudly showing it off to everyone. Professor McGonagall was reading a lengthy roll of parchment she had received from her sister. She was chuckling to herself but occasionally burst into a full-throated laugh.

“Oh Minerva, honestly!” Snape finally said in exasperation. He was seated directly to her right and scowled at her over his copy of the Daily Prophet. “I’m trying to read.”

“Severus, can’t you dispense with that depressing news for one morning?” McGonagall replied equally exasperated but still in high spirits. She returned to her letter, and to chuckling. Snape rolled his eyes and buried himself behind his paper.

Just then a snowy white owl flew in and landed gracefully in the middle of the table. Everyone except Snape looked up. The owl hopped up to the Potions Master, ruffled her feathers and hooted softly. Snape ignored her. She cocked her head to one side, doing an excellent job of looking affronted then bit Snape on the finger.

“Ow!”

Snape started and looked up from his newspaper to meet the owl’s stern gaze.

“What?”

“It’s customary to remove the letter, Severus,” McGonagall said dryly. “Or would you like me to do it for you?”

Snape glared at his colleague and retrieved the note from Hedwig.

“Isn’t this Potter’s owl?” McGonagall asked, reaching out to stroke the bird.

“Indeed she is,” Dumbledore answered coming up behind Snape to give Hedwig a bit of toast. “Hello, Hedwig. What brings you to us this fine Christmas morning?”

The question was addressed to Hedwig, but all eyes were on Snape who had read the note, turned it over to glance at the back then read it again, frowning.

“Is something wrong?” Dumbledore asked a smile playing on his lips as he glanced at the letter over Snape’s shoulder.

“No,” Snape answered. He was clearly perplexed.

“Well, what is it then?” McGonagall asked.

“Nothing,” Snape said looking up at her in annoyance. “The boy doesn’t say anything at all.”

“He didn’t send you a blank piece of parchment, Severus. It must say something.”

“Nothing of importance,” Snape said with his customary sneer. He tossed the letter to McGonagall, who picked it up and read it. Something flickered in her eyes but was gone before Snape could identify it and when she next spoke her voice was very controlled and she wasn’t looking at him.

“Well, clearly Mr. Potter needs some sort of reassurance. You should write to him immediately.”

“What?” Snape snatched the letter back and read it once more wondering if there were some hidden message he’d somehow missed. No, it was the same utterly mundane drivel he’d read a moment ago.

“You’re joking,” Snape said incredulously.

McGonagall fixed him with her most imposing Deputy Headmistress stare. “It’s only polite, Severus.”

A piece of parchment and quill appeared at Snape’s elbow. He looked up to find Dumbledore smiling at him benignly. “I always carry some with me, just in case.”

Snape took the parchment and glanced at the rest of those seated at the table. He was relieved to find that the other teachers looked as confused as he felt. McGonagall hadn’t taken her eyes off him though.

“Fine. What would you suggest I say? ‘So nice to hear from you. Keep in touch.’?”

“If that’s the best you can come up with,” McGonagall said ignoring Snape’s sarcasm.

Snape snorted and picked up the quill.

‘There’s no need to rush, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sure Hedwig doesn’t mind resting here for a bit.” He stroked Hedwig who nipped affectionately at his thumb. “And I doubt Harry is waiting around for a reply. He’s on holiday, surrounded by his friends. I’m sure he has a thousand things to keep him busy.”

Snape frowned slightly and glanced back down at Potter’s letter then up at all the expectant faces watching him. This was definitely not the place for correspondence. He gathered his things and stood up.

“Hedwig will be in my office when you need her,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, Headmaster.”

Snape retreated to his office and read Potter’s note yet again even though he could already recite it from memory. It simply made no sense. Dumbledore was right. The boy surely had any number of things he’d rather be doing than writing to school, especially something this banal.

Not that he could think of anything better to write, Snape had to admit. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written anything but professional correspondence. He was quite good at that. It had a purpose. But mindless pleasantries had never been his forte. When he tried to write them he wound up sounding like… well, like Potter’s note, forced and self-conscious. Well, he wasn’t going to do it. If Minerva wanted him to reply to Potter’s insipid letter, he’d give the boy something to remember.

***

It had been a perfect day, easily the best of Harry’s life. After opening presents they’d had a wonderful breakfast that included Fleur’s French pastries. Then they’d gone out to play a game of Quidditch that even managed to take Ron’s mind off Hermione’s scrapbook. Bill and Charlie were amazing flyers and the game was nearly as exciting as the ones Harry played at school. In the afternoon they’d sat by the fire and played chess and Exploding Snap. Every time Harry turned around Mrs. Weasley seemed to be handing him something to eat, so by the time dinner was announced he was already half-full. But what a dinner it was.

The table was laid with a simple white cloth, most of which was hidden beneath an impressive feast. There was an enormous turkey that must have been hit with an Engorgement charm in life, along with a dizzying array of serving dishes heaped high with stuffing, potatoes, Christmas pudding and all sorts of other wonderful foods.

Mrs. Weasley had dressed in the new robes the twins had given her and looked lovely. Everyone told her so, but Harry noticed that it was the smile Mr. Weasley gave her that made her blush. It reminded Harry of the way Ron looked at Hermione sometimes. Mr. Weasley kissed his wife on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Molly,” he said softly. Mrs. Weasley flashed her husband a brilliant smile and Harry suddenly wondered if anyone would ever look at him that way.

The moment passed and everyone took their places at the table, all talking and laughing at once. Harry was almost overwhelmed at how fortunate he was to be a part of this family if only for a little while. When dinner was finished, he went up to Ron’s room and stretched out on his bed. He was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a tapping at the window. It was Hedwig.

Harry jumped up and let her in. She flew up to perch on the top of her cage and shook out her feathers. Harry handed her some food then noticed the letter she was carrying and frowned. He hadn’t expected Snape to write back to him! He reached out slowly, took the letter from Hedwig and read it.

Mr. Potter,

Thank you so much for wishing me a happy Christmas though in truth it was better before your wretched owl bit me. I don’t blame the bird, however; she no doubt learnt from you. The next time you write to me, say what’s on your mind instead of spouting inane platitudes. Even you have more wit than that.

S. Snape

Oh, and I’m sure you had a lovely Christmas.

Harry stared at the note, speechless. Snape was unbelievable. The man couldn’t just ignore Harry’s letter or send some perfunctory reply. No, Snape had to throw it back in his face! Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it, Harry thought determinedly. Snape wasn’t the only one who could hurl insults. Harry snatched up a piece of parchment and wrote furiously. He turned back to Hedwig.

“Sorry girl. I need you to make one more trip.”

***

This time Hedwig didn’t land on the table. Instead, she settled on the back on Snape’s chair and hooted at him loudly.

“You can’t be serious,” Snape said addressing the owl in disbelief.

In response, Hedwig stuck out her leg impatiently. Snape scowled, but took the note and read it.

Dear Professor Snape,

I made Hedwig promise not to bite you this time. Wouldn’t want her to catch anything. You’re right. I had a great Christmas since your letter didn’t arrive until after dinner. Sorry for the inane platitudes. I only wanted to wish you a happy Christmas, but I reckoned you’d bite my head off. It’s nice to know some things in life are predictable.

Sincerely,

H. Potter

Snape had years of experience controlling his emotions and managed not to let his utter astonishment show. At least Potter had skipped the false obsequiousness and gone for his usual impertinence this time. He’d rather outdone himself, actually, which certainly made for more interesting reading. Not that Snape could let the boy get away with such cheek, of course.

“Is everything all right, Severus?” Dumbledore asked mildly.

“Fine,” Snape replied as he pulled a quill from his pocket. He flipped Harry’s note over and wrote quickly, smiling to himself. When he’d finished he tied the note to Hedwig’s leg. The owl gave him one last appraising look then took flight.

“What did Potter have to say this morning?” McGonagall asked.

“He merely needed some instruction that I believe I’ve provided quite clearly,” Snape answered easily. “I doubt I’ll be hearing from him again.”

However, the next morning, Hedwig was back.

“Obviously whatever you said wasn’t sufficient,” McGonagall said trying not to laugh at Snape’s consternation. “You know, he never has any trouble with my assignments.”

Snape threw her a venomous look but said nothing as he snatched the letter from an equally disgruntled bird. He read it then slammed it down on the table.

“The boy is absolutely insufferable! You’d think I could at least have a little respite from him during the holidays!”

“Perhaps if you stopped replying to his letters, Severus, he would stop writing,” Dumbledore suggested.

Snape looked horrified. “And let him have the last word?”

“Severus, what on earth is this about?” McGonagall asked, taking up the letter.

“It’s none of your concern,” Snape said. He tried to snatch the letter back, but she held it out of reach.

“He’s in my house, Severus. I think that makes it my concern.” McGonagall read the letter then looked at Snape with an expression both scandalized and amused. She handed the letter back to Snape and turned her attention to her breakfast.

“Just keep in mind, Severus, that you can’t award detention or take house points while the boy is away from school.”

***

“Harry, who are you writing to?”

Harry started. He’d been so intent upon his latest letter that he hadn’t heard Ron come in.

“No one,” Harry answered.

“Well, you’ve been writing to them every day for a week or don’t you think anyone’s noticed Hedwig coming and going all the time?”

“I’m just writing to school,” Harry said. “I, er, promised Professor Snape I’d let him know how my practices are going.”

“There’s nothing wrong, is there?” Ron asked, instantly concerned.

“No, of course not. I just need to check in with him.”

“Leave it to Snape to find a way to put a damper on the holidays,” Ron said.

Harry glanced down at his latest diatribe and felt a twinge of guilt. “It’s not a big deal, really. In fact it was my idea.” That at least was mostly true.

“Well, hurry up. Mum’s already breaking out the cider. It’ll be time to ring in the New Year soon.”

Harry quickly finished his letter and sent Hedwig on her way then went to join the rest of the household. The New Year’s Eve celebration ran well past midnight and included some of Fred’s and George’s more spectacular and erratic inventions that they set off in the garden. Mrs. Weasley tutted that it was a wonder they didn’t set the house on fire, but everyone else enjoyed them immensely. It was past one o’clock when Harry and Ron finally went up to bed. Harry climbed under the covers, exhausted but happy, turned off the light and was soon asleep.

***

“Harry! Wake up!”

Harry’s eyes flew open. Ron was bending over him shaking him.

“Harry! Are you all right?”

Harry was drenched in sweat and shaking, but he began to calm down as he took in his surroundings and realized where he was.

“Yeah, I’m all right,” he said weakly. He sat up and saw that he and Ron weren’t alone. Hermione and Ginny were there along with the twins. He wondered how loudly he’d been screaming.

“You haven’t had one that bad in a while,” Ron said grimly.

“No,” Harry agreed. “Voldemort outdid himself tonight.”

Harry buried his head in his hands and tried to block out the memory. The staff at the Muggle Orphanage had had no idea what was happening and, of course, no hope of defending themselves. The Death Eaters had killed everyone. Harry could still hear the terrified screams of the children echoing in his mind.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up. It was Ginny. She didn’t say anything, but the steady look of compassion in her eyes helped banish some of the horror Harry felt.

“Bloody Voldemort and his bloody Death Eaters!” Ron said. “You’d think someone could do something to stop them!”

“Haven’t you heard?” Fred asked sarcastically. “Harry’s supposed to save us.”

“That’s not funny!” Ginny snapped.

“Tell that to the Daily Prophet,” George replied in disgust. “It seems to be the only answer they can come up with.”

“Dad says the Ministry’s doing everything it can,” Fred said in frustration. “There just aren’t enough Aurors to go around.”

“Plus, no one wants to stand up to Voldemort, of course. Most people are too scared to fight,” George added.

“Well, until these attacks do stop, Harry, you have to find a way to block these visions,” Hermione said sternly. “Haven’t your lessons with Professor Snape helped at all?”

“Not really,” Harry sighed. Then he felt his stomach drop. Snape. Harry had a clear memory of his last letter to his teacher and it didn’t seem at all appropriate at the moment. Harry jumped out of bed and rummaged in his trunk for some parchment.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Ron asked.

“I have to write to Snape.”

“What? Right now? It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“I know, but I need this to get to Hogwarts before Hedwig gets there. Can I borrow Pig?”

Ron looked at Harry as though he thought his friend had lost his mind, but before he could say anything, Fred spoke up.

“Blimey, are these the letters you and Snape have been writing to each other all this time?” Fred and George were standing over Harry’s open trunk reading a stack of letters.

“Give me those!” Harry made a grab for the letters but the twins blocked him easily.

“Oh come on, Harry,” George said. “It’s not everyday you see this many insults hurled back and forth. It’s very impressive.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked. She stepped forward and took one of the letters from George.

“Oh no! Harry, he’s going to kill you!”

“No, he’s not.” George said. “Read the back.”

Hermione flipped the letter over. “Oh my goodness! Harry, how in the world did this get started?”

Ron and Ginny had come up behind Hermione and the twins and were now reading the letters as well. Harry sighed.

“I wrote Snape a stupid letter and of course he had to write back and insult me. So, I got angry and wrote to him and, well, now I just think neither one of us wants to be the one to back down.”

“Harry, I can’t believe you said this stuff to Snape.” Ron sounded genuinely awed.

“Yeah, and who’d have thought Snape had such a wicked sense of humor?” Fred said.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Harry, Snape would have come down here and killed you by now if he were taking any of this seriously,” George said. “It’s obviously all in good fun.”

“Yeah. This is brilliant stuff, but nobody writes this way when they’re really upset,” Fred added. “I mean, you’re not honestly angry with him, are you?”

Harry considered. “No,” he said, surprised to realize it was true.

“Well, there you are then,” George said. “You know Fred, this has given me an idea for a new product.”

“What’s that?” Fred asked

“Poison Pen Pal Quills!” George said enthusiastically. “Insult your friends in style.”

“Brilliant!” Fred said. “We’ll sell thousands!”

“I’m glad you two think this is brilliant,” Harry said. “But believe me, it’s not going to be funny in the morning when Snape gets my latest letter along with the Daily Prophet!”

“Don’t have a fit, Harry,” Fred said. “You can use Mercury. He’ll catch Hedwig.”

“Fastest owl in Britain. Guaranteed!” George promised.

“Really, you’ll let me use him?” Harry asked.

“For our benefactor and the inspiration of our next best seller? Of course!” Fred said.

“You write your letter, we’ll make sure it gets there,” George said. He and Fred left to go and get their owl, discussing the intricacies of enchanting quills as they went.

Harry sat down and began to write. By the time he was finished, the twins had returned with a large, handsome, gray owl that looked far too dignified to belong to Fred and George Weasley. Harry attached his letter to the owl’s leg while George spoke.

“All right Merc, here’s the deal. Harry’s owl has about a three-hour head start on you and she’s no slouch. She’s on her way to Professor Snape at Hogwarts and we need you to get there first. Can you manage that, mate?”

Mercury hooted once, decisively and took off, disappearing almost immediately into the night.

***

The front page of the Daily Prophet held a picture of the ruins of the orphanage. The story itself was short on specifics since there had been few eyewitnesses, but clearly this was the work of Death Eaters.

"Horrible!" Professor Flitwick proclaimed. "Just horrible."

"This is worse than anything he did last time," Madam Pomfrey said.

"But why kill all those poor children?" Professor Sprout asked. "What possible benefit could it be to him?"

"They were Muggles," McGonagall said with barely contained fury. "That's reason enough for him."

"It is more than that, I believe," Dumbledore said sadly. "I think he was hoping to bury what was left of his past."

"What do you mean, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

"Unless I am very much mistaken, this was the orphanage in which Tom Riddle grew up," Dumbledore answered.

Snape paid no attention to the conversation around him and said nothing. There was only one person on his mind and he automatically glanced up at the opening high in the rafters where the owls arrived. Not that Potter's owl would carry any useful information. He obviously would have sent her before going to bed. Snape scowled. He was in no mood for flippancy this morning. Just then, an owl soared into the Great Hall. But, it wasn't Hedwig. This was a large gray eagle owl and it landed right in front of Snape. Everyone stared at the unfamiliar visitor.

"You do seem to be getting more post than usual of late, Severus," McGonagall commented.

Snape was reaching for the letter when Hedwig arrived and dropped down unceremoniously beside the big gray. The two owls eyed one another and the grey hopped closer to Snape. Hedwig ruffled her feathers and hopped closer too.

"Oh, sit still both of you!" Snape scolded them. The two owls froze immediately and Snape took the opportunity to grab both letters.

He opened the gray’s letter first and instantly recognized Potter’s handwriting.

Professor,

Please ignore Hedwig’s post this morning. If you’ve received the Daily Prophet you’ll know why. I know you said I should be able to learn how to block these visions, but I’ve tried everything and I just don’t know what else to do. You were right. I should have stayed at school. At least I’m used to it there. Nothing this horrible belongs at the Burrow. I won’t bother wishing you a Happy New Year. I don’t think anybody’s going to have one.

Yours,

HP

Wordlessly, Snape passed the letter to McGonagall who read it and passed it to Dumbledore. When Dumbledore had finished reading it, McGonagall spoke.

“Albus, perhaps I should go and bring Potter back to Hogwarts.”

“No, Minerva,” Dumbledore answered. “Despite what Harry may think, he is better off surrounded by his friends. A lonely castle is no place for a desperate mind.”

“Then you should write to him.”

“I believe Severus is more than capable of answering his own post,” he said. They both glanced at Snape who showed no sign of having heard their conversation. He sat deep in thought with his arms folded and his chin on his chest. His mouth was set in a thin angry line.

“Severus?” Dumbledore said gently.

Snape looked up and sighed. “I will see to it, Headmaster,” he said. “You have my word.” He stood up and swept out of the Hall.

***

Harry had only half-heartedly participated in the festivities of New Year’s Day. They played Quidditch, but even that didn’t lift the weight of the vision he’d seen the night before. He ate listlessly which made Mrs. Weasley fuss over him even more than usual, but, for once, Harry didn’t mind the pampering. It wasn’t just the vision he’d had that was bothering him, either; he was also anxious about what Snape would say to him. Fred and George were right. It was much easier swapping insults with the man than attempting to actually talk to him.

Late in the afternoon there was finally a tapping at the kitchen window that announced Mercury’s return. He flew straight to Harry who took the letter and opened it as everyone gathered around.

Potter,

As disconcerting as your dreams may be, remember they are only visions. You have no control over the events you witness and bear no responsibility for them. Had you not dreamt last night, the attack would have still occurred. However, it is obviously to your benefit to minimize these visions and you will learn to master them. I give you my word that I will see to it.

SS

PS – Professor McGonagall insisted that your owl stay overnight to have a ‘much needed rest’ as she put it. The bird should be back to you tomorrow evening.

“Well, that’s boring,” Fred said feigning disappointment. “He didn’t insult you once.” Harry wasn’t paying attention. He was relieved that Snape had taken his letter seriously and knew his professor was right. There was nothing he could have done to stop the attack on the orphanage. It was the last sentence, however, that held his attention and filled him with hope. “I give you my word that I will see to it.” Harry had learned a great many eclectic details about Snape over the preceding months and he was certain that the man never gave his word unless he meant to keep it.

“Harry, are you all right?” Ginny asked.

Harry looked up at her and smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I am.”

As much as Harry had enjoyed his stay with the Weasleys, he was glad when the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station at Hogsmeade. He had managed to get caught up in his class work over the holidays, though admittedly this was due more to Hermione hounding him than his own initiative, and he was anxious to get back to his classes. But more than anything else, he wanted to resume his lessons with Snape. Harry was still having nightmares about the attack on the orphanage and he’d dreamt of two other attacks in the past few days as well. With the new year, Death Eater activity had exploded. Voldemort seemed determined to outdo himself which in turn made Harry more determined than ever to be rid of his visions once and for all.

As the students arrived at the castle, Professor McGonagall pulled Harry aside.

“Mr. Potter, I need a word with you, please,” she said. Harry followed his teacher to her office. When they arrived, McGonagall sat down at her desk, regarded Harry severely and sighed.

“Sit down, Potter.”

Harry sat down, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He wondered what could be wrong to warrant an audience with his Head of House before the new term had even begun.

“Professor Snape wants to see you immediately after dinner,” McGonagall said as if answering his unspoken question.

“You called me up here to tell me that, Professor?” Harry asked.

“No. I also wanted to find out how you could have possibly thought it a good idea to accuse the Potions Master of this school of having no greater pleasure in life than to torment you. And to do so in writing, no less!”

Harry’s mouth fell open. “He told you that?”

“No, I read it along with a few other of your choice opinions! What on earth possessed you to write such things?”

Harry had no idea what to say. It was mortifying to think that McGonagall had read his letters to Snape.

“Honestly, Potter, do you really need to provoke any more bad blood between you and Professor Snape?”

“I wasn’t the one who started it,” Harry said petulantly.

“I have no doubt. But when will you learn not to rise to the bait? Couldn’t you have just once done the sensible thing and let it go? Did you have to insult him?”

“I didn’t mean to offend him.”

“Then I’d hate to see what you consider offensive!”

Harry winced. McGonagall was right, of course. He had been terribly rude and it was impossible to explain that he hadn’t really meant most of what he’d written and didn’t think Snape had either. It was even harder to explain that these irreverent letters had seemed to be the only way he and Snape could communicate at all. But maybe Snape had been in earnest. Sitting here in McGonagall’s office, Harry felt doubt close in around him.

“Is he very angry with me?” Harry asked.

“Don’t you think he ought to be?”

Harry didn’t answer, and McGonagall continued. “Although Professor Snape cannot strictly punish you for your behavior outside of school, I’m sure he’s resourceful enough to find a way around that technicality.”

“I don’t care,” Harry said, rolling his eyes in frustration. “He can give me detention for a month. It doesn’t matter.”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows at Harry in surprise.

“I’ll apologize to him,” Harry continued. “Not that it’ll help.”

McGonagall regarded Harry closely and her stern demeanor softened.

“Well, I don’t think you need to go that far,” she said with a hint of a smile. “I merely wanted to be sure that you understood what you were doing. I’m quite certain Professor Snape took your letters in the spirit in which they were intended.”

Harry frowned slightly at his teacher and wondered if he’d heard her right.

“So then you mean… he’s not angry?” Harry asked slowly.

McGonagall fixed Harry with a wry look.

“No more so than usual. Which isn’t to say that he won’t still give you detention, you know.”

“I know, Professor. That’s all right.”

“Potter, do be careful,” McGonagall said seriously. “Severus Snape is not a man to be trifled with.”

“I know that, Professor.”

“I hope you do. Now, you’d better get down to dinner.”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry rose and was nearly at the door when McGonagall spoke again.

“And Potter, you didn’t hear any of this from me, or I’ll give you detention myself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. Dismissed.”

Harry left McGonagall’s office and hurried down to the Great Hall to join the rest of the students for dinner. Everyone was sharing stories about the holidays and Harry was soon talking animatedly with his friends. He kept an eye on the head table, though, and when he saw Snape get up to leave, he wolfed down the last of his dessert and followed. It wasn’t that Harry was looking forward to his meeting with Snape, but after his conversation with McGonagall he wanted to find out just how much trouble he was in.

Harry knocked on Snape’s office door and waited, but there was no response. He frowned and was about to knock again when a door at the end of the hallway opened and Snape emerged. He saw Harry and frowned.

“Well, well, Potter. Aren’t we punctual tonight?”

Snape closed the heavy, polished, oak door behind him and came towards Harry.

“Professor McGonagall said you wanted to see me, sir,” Harry said.

“So I do.”

Snape led the way into his office. Harry followed and closed the door behind him. He stood facing his professor who made no move to sit down.

“Because you have shown a certain proficiency for Occlumency, last term I chose to focus your lessons primarily on Legilimency,” Snape began the moment the door was shut. “However, I believe now that it would be best to study both in tandem.”

“But I already know how to block my thoughts using Occlumency,” Harry said.

“Really?” Snape asked. “What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

Harry frowned at the odd question and his thoughts immediately went back to breakfast and what he’d eaten. Before he could answer however, Snape spoke again.

“Eggs, sausage, pumpkin juice and toast.”

Snape sneered at the look of disbelief on Harry’s face.

“The idea is to prevent me from discerning your thoughts quite so effortlessly. And no, looking away is not an option. You need to be able to look me in the eyes without allowing me to see every thought that wanders through your mind and you must do so without using your wand to cast a spell.”

“How?” Harry asked in exasperation, angered and embarrassed by how easily Snape had read his memory of breakfast.

“Potter, surely you must realize that neither Occlumency nor Legilimency are actually used the way you practice them in these lessons? Both rely heavily on stealth for their success. Do you honestly think brandishing a wand at someone and crying ‘Legilimens’ would produce any useful information? Likewise, if you forcefully eject a Legilimens from your mind, he will know that you are hiding something and is likely to find a less subtle way of extracting it. It is essential, therefore, that your opponent be unaware that you are using either of these disciplines.

“You have learnt basic Occlumency skills, but although these do a reasonable job of protecting you from a blatant, long-distance attack by the Dark Lord, they are useless against a more subtle invasion. It is time for you to learn more advanced techniques, not least because they should aid your Legilimency training as well. Now let’s begin.”

Snape drew his wand.

“Why do you get to use a wand if I’m not supposed to?” Harry asked as he tried to prepare himself for the mental attack. Leave it to Snape to spring something entirely new on me after two weeks of no lessons, Harry thought.

“Because it brings your memories vividly to mind and allows you to concentrate on blocking them. If I weren’t using a wand, you’d have no hope of succeeding, given your current abilities. Now concentrate. Legilimens!”

Memories of his childhood flooded Harry’s mind and he had no idea how stop them. It was as bad as the first Occlumency lessons he’d had the previous year. Then all at once, the memories ceased.

“That was pathetic, Potter,” Snape said in disgust. “Your mind is ridiculously easy to manipulate.”

“I can’t help it!” Harry said. “I can’t defend myself without my wand.”

“Yes, you can. Remember the night you attacked me. You didn’t use your wand. You cast no spell. You used your mind. This is no different.”

“But I don’t know how I did that!”

“Then I suggest you discover the answer quickly, because you will not leave here tonight until you do.”

“What?”

“You need to master both Occlumency and Legilimency to effectively defend yourself against the Dark Lord and you don’t have forever in which to do it. I will not waste my time while you continue to dawdle about. You will make progress, and if you think I’ve pushed you hard in the past, you have no idea what I can put you through.”

“Threatening me isn’t going to help me learn any faster,” Harry said.

“Perhaps a demonstration then? Legilimens!”

Harry was thrust into another memory, but this one wasn’t of any childhood humiliation. It was one of Voldemort’s attacks. When the memory ended, Harry found himself trembling violently on his hands and knees while Snape stood regarding him dispassionately.

“You must have quite a few memories of the Dark Lord by now,” Snape said as Harry got shakily to his feet. “Would you like to relive them all tonight?”

Harry had his wand out and pointed at Snape before he realized what he was doing.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Harry said angrily. “And if you think I’m going to stay here, you’re mad!

Snape was unmoved by Harry’s outburst. He flicked his wand at the door and locked it with a word. Harry instinctively glanced that way as well and Snape was ready to take advantage of his momentary distraction.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand was ripped from his grasp and went hurtling towards Snape who caught it in mid air and pocketed it without taking his eyes off Harry.

“Now Mr. Potter,” Snape continued calmly as though nothing had happened, “let’s get on with your lesson, shall we? Concentrate on stopping me this time.”

---

Harry vomited, or rather tried to. But although his stomach contracted violently, nothing came up; which made sense, he supposed. He couldn’t remember if this was the third or fourth time he’d thrown up this evening, but surely there was nothing left in his stomach by now. He’d lost all track of time, but knew that morning had to still be hours away. He was becoming genuinely afraid that his sanity wasn’t going to make it.

So far, Harry had been unable to block any of the memories Snape had called forth. Horrors he’d entirely forgotten presented themselves in lurid detail. Snape showed no mercy and no inclination to stop the torment. Harry knew he couldn’t endure much more. He could feel panic gnawing at the edges of his mind.

I’ve got to stop him! Harry thought desperately.

“Look at me, Potter,” Snape said. “I will not let you take the coward’s way out.”

Snape’s voice was brittle with some emotion Harry was too tired and miserable to be bothered trying to identify. But, cowardly or not, Harry wasn’t about to look Snape in the eyes again. He wasn’t going to make it that easy anymore.

“Potter, do you really want to suffer the added humiliation of having me force you? I can, you know.”

Harry knew that was probably true. Snape surely wouldn’t be deterred by something as simple as Harry refusing to look at him and without his wand Harry had no other defense. Better to face the inevitable with dignity, he realized, and wondered if anyone would come looking for him before he was reduced to a raving lunatic fit only for St. Mungos. He pushed that thought aside and looked up to meet Snape’s gaze. That alone was frightening. The man looked feverish and half-mad himself. His eyes burned unnaturally bright and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Legilimens!”

Harry was at the Ministry of Magic, deep in the Department of Mysteries. A pitched battle was raging and on a dais not far away stood Sirius and Bellatrix Lestrange battling one another.

Not this! Harry begged silently. Please, not this!

Sirius was laughing, then Bellatrix’s curse hit him and he fell backwards towards the veil…

“Noooooooooooo!” Harry screamed. He shoved the memory away and felt an overwhelming relief. He’d done it. He’d managed to throw off Snape’s attack even without his wand.

“Finally,” Snape said sounding relieved as well. “Now if you could manage that without being utterly desperate, we’d be getting somewhere.”

Snape spoke as calmly as if Harry had just managed to grasp some arcane principle of potion brewing and Harry stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re mad. Do you know that?” Harry said seriously.

“Not mad, Potter. Just tired of the tediously slow progress you’ve been making. After the hopeless letter you sent me a few days ago, it was clear that something needed to be done.”

“And you thought torturing me would help?” Harry snarled, his composure splintering.

“It worked,” Snape said. “Besides, self-preservation is an extremely powerful instinct. There is no way you would have allowed yourself to be seriously harmed without fighting back. Even your mind is stronger than that. You simply needed to reach the point where you felt genuinely threatened.”

“Is that all?” Harry asked icily. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you did this to help me?”

Snape’s eyes flashed angrily. “I had to relive your memories too, Potter,” he said quietly. “Do you think I enjoyed that?”

Harry met Snape’s glare. I’m sure you loved it! he thought viciously. But, before he could put the thought into words, Harry realized that beneath the practiced self-control, Snape was nearly at the breaking point himself. No, Harry thought, the horror hadn’t been lost on his teacher.

Harry ran a hand across his eyes, feeling his anger ebb away.

“No, of course you didn’t enjoy it,” he said wearily. He closed his eyes against a pounding headache and missed Snape’s startled look. The Potions Master had composed himself a moment later as he reached for a nearby decanter.

“Here,” he said pouring a familiar potion into a cup and handing it to Harry.

“You ought to have some of this, too, you know,” Harry said offhandedly as he took the cup.

Snape looked at Harry sharply once more, but poured himself a cup of the potion as well. He drained it immediately and Harry followed suit. As Harry put down his empty cup, Snape handed him his wand.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Snape said, managing to make the simple statement sound like a threat.

Harry sighed. Wonderful! he thought miserably. “Yes, sir.”

Harry left Snape’s office and headed for his own bed. It had been a long, exhausting day and Harry was sure that if Snape had his way, the days to come weren’t going to get any easier.

---

“Wonder what we’ll be doing in Defense this term?” Ron mused as the Gryffindors headed down to the lake the next morning. “It’s getting a bit boring stunning Crabbe and Goyle. ‘Course, they’re already halfway there to begin with, so it’s not much of a challenge.”

Ryan was waiting for them, his usual infectious energy not at all dampened by the bitter January cold.

“You’ll be working in teams of two today, so everyone needs to have a partner.”

They’d done this plenty of times in the past and the students were already starting to pair up.

“Not your usual partners,” Ryan said. “Today I want you to pair up with someone from the other house.”

There was a moment of complete silence where no one moved.

“What?”

That was Malfoy finding the perfect mix of disbelief and disgust. For once Harry agreed with him.

“Did you lot learn nothing last term?” Ryan asked. “Do you think you spent hours analyzing each other’s fighting styles simply as a lark?

“Mr. Malfoy, when you duel, you use distraction and stealth to gain the upper hand. You fight well enough, but you’re always looking for a sneaky way to undermine your opponent.

“On the other hand, Mr. Potter, you almost never attack first. You certainly never attempt to take your opponent off guard. But once the duel begins, you fight boldly and never back down.

“Understand that neither of these approaches is inherently superior to the other. Some situations call for boldness, others for more subtle tactics. But one thing is certain: if you only know how to fight one way, you’ll lose more often than someone with more versatility. Right now, each and every one of you is completely predictable. My job is to teach you not to be and the easiest way is for you to learn from each other.

“Now, since you don’t seem inclined to choose partners, I’ll do it for you. Miss Granger and Miss Bulstrode, you’ll work together.”

Hermione and Millicent eyed one another warily, but moved to stand next to each other.

“Mr. Crabbe, you’ll be with Mr. Weasley. Mr. Potter, you’re with Mr. Malfoy.”

“I’m not working with him,” Malfoy insisted.

“Professor, I really think we’d do better with other partners,” Harry chimed in.

“Really? Well then, the next time I ask you to choose partners, perhaps you’ll remember that. For now gentlemen, do as you’re told and don’t interrupt me again or you’ll both have detention.”

Harry and Malfoy subsided into glaring at one another while Ryan finished pairing up the remaining students. Next he paired up the teams for duels and everyone split up.

When the students were dueling in teams, Ryan employed a different technique from the sort he used with individual duels. Instead of simply having the teams spread out and fight, he assigned each pair of teams a designated location somewhere around the lake. This gave everyone plenty of room and allowed the students to develop tactics beyond simply hurling curses at one another. For this reason, opposing teams typically took different routes to the dueling site in order to plan their strategy without being overheard.

For the first duel, Harry and Malfoy were to fight Hermione and Millicent. The girls headed off in one direction and the boys struck out sullenly in another.

“I can’t believe Ryan expects me to work with you,” Malfoy seethed scornfully.

“I’m not particularly thrilled, myself,” Harry growled.

The clearing where they were to duel came into view and Malfoy strode ahead of Harry to take up position behind a large tree at its edge.

Harry scowled, but followed Malfoy and took cover nearby.

“Try to keep the Gryffindor heroics in check, Potter, and follow my lead,” Malfoy snapped, smirking at his would-be partner.

“In your dreams, Malfoy!” Harry glared at Malfoy. “Just remember who you’re supposed to be cursing.”

“You don’t trust me, Potter?” Malfoy sneered.

“Not for a second.”

“I’m not so thick as to take you down in Defense. Believe me, when I’m ready there won’t be any witnesses.”

“You talk big, Malfoy, but you’re awfully short on action. You want to take me on? You’re welcome any time.”

“Impedimenta!”

The twin curses caught Harry and Malfoy completely off guard and left them both lying on the ground unable to move. Harry looked up to see Hermione and Millicent standing over them.

“You two really ought to talk less and pay more attention,” Hermione chided them.

“This is all your fault, Potter!” Malfoy declared furiously.

“My fault! You were the one threatening me.”

“If you’d just done what I told you in the first place –“

“I’m not one of your lackeys, Malfoy!”

“You think maybe we should use a silencing charm?” Millicent asked Hermione. Hermione smiled and they both raised their wands.

---

Harry stormed into the castle plucking canary feathers off his robe with Malfoy close on his heels.

“How could you let Neville Longbottom sneak up on us?” Malfoy demanded, brushing feathers out of his hair. “Are you blind?”

“You were supposed to be watching our back!”

“I was trying to get around behind Goyle!”

“Nice of you to mention that!”

“I don’t need to tell you everything I’m doing, Potter!”

“You do when we’re supposed to be working together!”

They stopped mid-stride as they spotted Snape, arms crossed, blocking their path. He clearly wasn’t happy and looked them both up and down with perfect disdain.

“Mr. Filch will not be amused by feathers littering the entrance hall,” Snape said. “Clean them up, Potter, before you wind up with detention.” The Potions Master glared at Harry, who had the sudden impression that Snape was trying not to laugh. That absurd thought was gone a moment later as Snape stalked away.

Malfoy smirked at Harry. “Yeah, Potter. Clean it up,” he said then headed off towards the dungeons, dropping feathers as he went.

“Harry!”

Harry turned to see Ron, Hermione and Neville entering the hall.

“Are you okay?” Neville continued. “I really didn’t think that hex would be so effective.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Only Snape told me to clean up all the feathers in the entrance hall or he’ll give me detention.”

“Oh, for heavens sake, Harry!” Hermione tutted. She raised her wand. “Evanesco!” All the feathers vanished.

“Hermione, have I ever told you you’re brilliant?” Ron asked, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said feeling considerably cheered as they went in to lunch.

---

The day wore into evening and sooner than Harry would have liked, it was time to meet with Snape again. He wasn’t sure if he could handle another lesson like the one he’d had the evening before. He was still furious with Snape for having put him through such misery and the memory of Sirius’ death had been a stark reminder of the hatred he harbored towards the Potions Master. Logically, Harry knew that Sirius’s death hadn’t really been Snape’s fault, but somehow he still blamed the man.

Snape looked up as Harry entered the office and took his accustomed seat. He leaned back in his chair, and regarded Harry with an unreadable expression. Harry met Snape’s gaze with an impassive expression of his own and fought the urge to squirm. But when Snape rose, drew his wand and pointed it at him, Harry couldn’t help it. He flinched.

“Nervous, Potter?” Snape drawled, obviously amused.

Harry’s jaw clenched and he stood up as well and faced his professor.

“I’m here. Let’s get on with it.”

Snape smirked and raised his wand once more. This time Harry didn’t even blink.

“Legilimens!”

To Harry’s surprise and relief the memories that sprang to mind were the run of the mill childhood humiliations he’d relived so often in the past. Even more surprising, he found that he could banish them without using his wand. Not as easily and not always, but more often than he would have imagined possible two days ago.

At last Snape stopped the exercise. Harry was drenched in sweat from the effort, but Snape seemed satisfied with his progress.

“All right, Potter, that will be enough of that for this evening. Let’s see how rusty your Legilimency is.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He was already exhausted and hadn’t practiced Legilimency in over two weeks. Snape knew that of course and Harry was sure the man was simply trying to show him up as a way to get even with him for going away on holiday. Harry took a deep breath to focus his mind, drew his wand and faced Snape.

“Legilimens!” he said and his scar exploded in pain. Harry screamed and dropped to his knees clutching his forehead. A moment later Snape was beside him.

“Block it! You know how to do this! Focus!”

Harry tried. Through the haze of pain, he drew upon the skills he’d been using only a few minutes before. The pain began to recede. Harry concentrated harder and the pain vanished.

“Potter, you must always be on your guard!” Snape scolded. “This isn’t just an academic exercise we’re practicing here!”

Harry looked at Snape and sighed. “I know that, Professor,” he said miserably. “Believe me, I know.”

Snape took Harry’s arm and pulled him to his feet.

“I think you’ve had quite enough practice for one night. Go and get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. He hesitated a moment, then continued. “He’s really angry about something. I don’t know what it is, but he’s furious.”

Snape’s expression didn’t change, but Harry felt the man’s grip tighten on his arm.

“There’s no point in worrying about it. We’ll simply have to wait and see what transpires,” Snape said as he led Harry to the door. “Put it out of your mind.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ll try, sir,” he said, not holding out much hope of success. He reached for the doorknob, but Snape stopped him.

“Potter, I have told you before,” Snape said angrily. “It isn’t your place to be concerned with the Dark Lord’s activities.”

“Well, it’s a little hard not to be when I dream about them every other night!” Harry said, his own anger flaring. He and Snape glared at one another, but Harry was too tired to keep up the staring contest. He sighed.

“Professor, I promise to try not to worry about whatever it is he’s doing. Now can I just go? I’m tired and I’d really like to get to sleep.”

Snape searched his eyes for another moment then relented and stepped aside. Harry pulled open the door and left, without a word or backward glance.

---

The next morning, Harry sat in the Great Hall nursing his pumpkin juice. He picked at his breakfast and glanced at the clock again. It didn’t seem to have moved at all since the last time he’d looked at it. Harry sighed and nibbled at his toast. He was exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping all that well recently and last night had been bad. He wanted to forget about it and get on with the day before he fell asleep here at the table.

Not that he was looking forward to Potions. He still wasn’t sure what to make of Snape. The tentative rapport he and the Potions Master had managed to develop before Christmas had vanished. Snape seemed harsher than ever and ready to explode in anger at the least provocation. Of course, that was hardly unusual. What really disturbed Harry was that Snape seemed… worried. At least, Harry thought that’s what it was. It was hard to tell with Snape, but he’d definitely seen something like that in the man’s eyes as he’d struggled to control the pain in his scar the previous evening.

Harry didn’t like to think about what it would take to worry Snape. The man wasn’t exactly the sort to be easily rattled. Harry had spent a good portion of the night agonizing over this until he’d finally given up. Second guessing Snape was impossible and Harry knew he’d only drive himself mad trying. Right now, he just wanted to get on with his classes so he could forget about Voldemort and his visions and just be a normal sixteen year old for a while.

If only that stupid clock would cooperate, Harry thought as he scowled at the massive timepiece once more. It seemed to have only grudgingly inched forward.

Seamus gave a low whistle. He was seated across from Harry next to Ron and was reading the Daily Prophet.

“Have you read this?” he asked his fellow classmates. “Death Eaters killed a family in Oxford last night. Mother was Muggle born. Father and six-year old son died too.”

Harry looked away. He was certain the paper didn’t carry any but the most general information on the murders. It wouldn’t mention the surprised look on the mother’s face as she was struck dead upon opening the door. Nor would it mention how the father had sobbed over his son’s dead body. Harry stood up, unable to bear the bustle in the Great Hall or the smell of food.

“Harry, are you all right?”

Harry glanced over at Ginny who was looking at him in concern.

“Yeah, I just forgot something,” he said. He left before anyone else could question him and went down to the dungeons. It was still early and the corridor outside the Potions classroom was deserted. Harry leaned against the stone wall and shut his eyes. The coolness and quiet helped to settle his stomach.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry opened his eyes to find Snape watching him.

“It isn’t your habit to be early for class,” Snape said.

It isn’t yours either, Harry thought. But he knew perfectly well that Snape had followed him and answered the unspoken question.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

Snape nodded curtly and stepped past him to open the classroom door. As Harry followed his teacher in, he wondered idly what someone overhearing their conversation would make of his and Snape’s seemingly unrelated comments to one another. Harry took his seat and soon the rest of the students began to arrive. Once everyone was assembled, Snape addressed the class.

“In my experience, two weeks is more than enough time for the average student to have forgotten everything I have spent three and a half months painstakingly teaching. Dare I hope that any of you will prove an exception?”

Total silence reigned in the classroom as each student found someplace to look other than at their teacher. Each student except for Hermione, who looked as eager to prove herself as ever.

“Who can tell me the seven uses of Bicorn horn and the difference in the preparation for each?”

Hermione’s hand shot up instantly. Harry had a vague memory of having studied this, but that had been a couple of months ago and he certainly didn’t remember it. Apparently, no one else did either because Hermione’s was the only hand raised.

Snape ignored Hermione and scowled at the rest of the class. “What are the ingredients of Rust Repellant solution?”

Hermione’s hand stayed up but no one else moved. Most of the students were now staring at Snape with varying degrees of disbelief. The man couldn’t really expect them to have that potion memorized. He’d barely mentioned it in passing.

“What are the steps that must be taken to harvest and prepare Mandrake for use in restorative droughts? Miss Granger, put your hand down. I am well aware that you know the answer. I would like to discover if anyone else does.”

Hermione lowered her hand as Snape regarded the rest of the class icily.

“No one?” Snape said in a silky voice that was barely above a whisper.

The whole class sat frozen in place. Even the Slytherins looked scared. They had all long ago learnt that the angrier Snape got, the quieter he got. As long as he was shouting at you, things couldn’t get too bad. At the moment, though, no one dared breathe for fear of getting a month’s detention or worse.

“I should fail you all,” Snape snarled.

“Mr. Potter!” Harry jumped as Snape’s furious glare turned towards him. “What are the two ingredients that should never be combined in any potion?”

“Asphodel and Mandrake,” Harry answered immediately.

Snape blinked, then his eyes widened in surprise. “Correct.”

It was obvious that Snape hadn’t expected Harry to know the answer and in truth, Harry hadn’t. He’d simply blurted out the first two ingredients that had come to mind and was no less astonished than his teacher that they’d been right.

Harry was certain that Snape would read his expression and know he had simply made a lucky guess and sure enough, Snape was looking at him with dawning realization. But instead of the suspicious sneer Harry was expecting, Snape wore a look of suppressed triumph.

“Well, Mr. Potter. It would seem that your extra Potions lessons are finally paying off.”

Harry frowned slightly in confusion. Snape never passed up an opportunity to insult him and certainly never complimented him. Strangest of all, Snape looked genuinely pleased with him. Harry blinked.

No he doesn’t, Harry thought. Snape was wearing the same coldly aloof expression he usually did.

Am I going mad? Harry wondered.

No.

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. The answer to his unspoken question had been unmistakable, but he was certain he hadn’t thought it. It had simply popped into his mind like… Like Asphodel and Mandrake.

Harry suddenly understood. He hadn’t known the answer to Snape’s question, but Snape had.

“Clearly even you are capable of learning, given enough time and effort,” Snape told him. The Potions Master turned away from Harry and glared at the rest of the class. “Which means the rest of you should be able to do at least as well. I want an essay on the interactions of all the standard potions ingredients listed in your book. At least three feet due Thursday at the start of class.”

Most of the students slumped dejectedly at this news. They knew better than to groan. But Hermione’s eyes had lit up excitedly and Harry was sure that she was looking forward to the assignment. Harry was too stunned by what had just happened to care. Snape had already launched into the day’s lecture and Harry did his best to concentrate, but it was nearly impossible. His thoughts were in turmoil. Was it really possible that he had read Snape’s mind? That seemed unbelievable, yet the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that there was no other answer.

Harry glanced over at Hermione. He desperately wanted to ask her opinion. If there were some other reasonable explanation for what he’d experienced, he was certain Hermione would know about it. Harry couldn’t wait for the lesson to be over so he could talk to her.

Naturally, class seemed to drag on interminably. More than once, Harry glanced at his watch certain they had somehow missed the bell. At last the class ended and Harry quickly gathered his things.

“Hermione, I need to talk to you,” he said.

“Is everything okay, Harry?”

“Yeah, fine. I just need to talk to you and Ron.”

“Potter, I need a word with you,” Snape called from the front of the class. “Alone,” he added with a pointed look at Hermione.

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied. He turned back to Hermione. “I’ll see you in Charms.”

“Okay, Harry,” Hermione said. She glanced between Harry and Snape then followed the last of the students out.

“Well, Potter,” Snape said once he and Harry were alone. “Although, I would prefer that you actually learnt something about potions in my class, I suppose Legilimency is an acceptable alternative.”

“So, I really did read your thoughts then?” Harry asked excitedly.

“Did you know the answer to my question?”

“No, sir,” Harry admitted. “I had no clue at all.”

“Then I’d say you read my thoughts. It’s not all that surprising really. I was furious and you were terrified. Both are highly emotional states.”

“But I didn’t do it on purpose.” Harry said. “I didn’t even realize what had happened at first.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” Snape said with his usual condescending smirk.

Harry pursed his lips in annoyance.

“So, is this sort of thing supposed to just happen,” Harry asked nonchalantly. “Or should I have a little control over it?”

“No, Potter, it’s not supposed to ‘just happen’ and yes, obviously you need to learn to control it,” Snape replied testily. “Your problem is that you pay no attention to what your own mind is doing, so it takes you unawares.”

“So how do I learn to control it, sir?”

“Like everything else, it takes practice.”

Harry had a sudden thought.

“How did you know, I’d used Legilimency, Professor?”

“I know what you do and don’t know about potions, Potter.”

“I might have made a lucky guess.”

Snape raised his eyebrows disdainfully at that suggestion but offered no other opinion on the efficacy of wild guesses in Potions class.

“I felt your presence in my mind, of course, so I didn’t consider guesswork as an option.”

“Excuse me, you felt what?” Harry asked.

“Your presence, Potter,” Snape repeated. “Your mind,” he clarified at Harry’s blank look. “A competent Occlumens can sense the presence of a Legilimens in his mind. That’s what makes defense possible.”

“Oh,” Harry said, still not quite understanding what Snape meant.

“Never mind, Potter, we’ll deal with this tomorrow evening in your lesson. Now go before you’re late for class.”

Harry only just made it to Charms on time and was even more distracted than usual, but at last it was time for lunch and Harry, Hermione and Ron made their way to the Great Hall. Hermione broached the subject first.

“Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asked “You said you wanted to talk to us. Is everything all right?”

“I think so,” Harry answered. He explained what had happened in class and Ron gave a low whistle.

“Now that’s a nifty trick. I wish I could read my professors’ minds. I’d never have to study again. Do you suppose it would work during exams?”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded.

“I really don’t think so,” Harry answered.

“So that’s why Professor Snape kept you after class?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, he just wanted to talk to me about it.”

“But how’d he know you used Legilimency? You might have actually known the answer.” Ron asked.

“Any good Occlumens would have known,” Hermione said. “I’ve read all about it. An Occlumens can sense the presence of a Legilimens who is invading his thoughts.”

“That’s what Snape said. He also told me I need to pay more attention to what my mind is doing so I don’t go wandering into other people’s thoughts without meaning to.”

“Yeah, I can see where that would be important,” Ron said looking a bit worried. “Er Harry, you haven’t ever… I mean, you’d tell us if you… er…”

“I’ve never read your mind, Ron,” Harry insisted firmly.

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes!”

“All right, all right, I just wanted to ask.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully in a flurry of classes and homework. Harry was happy to discover that they were no longer studying Jarveys in Care of Magical Creatures, though he wasn’t sure that Glumbumbles were going to be much of an improvement. He certainly didn’t need anything to make him more depressed than he already was.

After dinner, Hermione cornered him and insisted they work on Snape’s essay. That took the rest of the evening to finish, but with Hermione’s help, Harry was confident he’d done a respectable job of it.

---

The next morning Harry followed the rest of his class down to the lake for Defense, pulling his cloak tightly around him against the frigid morning air.

“Same drill as Monday. Same partners,” Ryan announced, his usual buoyant mood unaffected by the cold.

“Er, Professor,” Harry said as diplomatically as possible. “Malfoy and I didn’t do very well together last time.”

“No, Mr. Potter, you didn’t,” Ryan said easily. “Hopefully, you’ll do better today.”

Harry started to respond, but Malfoy stopped him.

“Don’t waste your breath, Potter. Come on!”

They marched off around the lake to meet the other team they were going to duel.

“Look,” Harry said. “We have to find a way to work together.”

“Ah yes,” Malfoy sneered. “Saint Potter holding out the olive branch. Want to make peace, do you?”

“No, I just don’t want to wind up sporting feathers today. Do you fancy spending the next hour and a half getting hexed?”

Malfoy grimaced. “All right Potter, what do you have in mind.”

“We just need to not work against each other. We’re facing Ron and Crabbe, right? Well, I know Ron and I know I can beat him. If you can take Crabbe, we should be all right.”

Malfoy snorted. “I can take down Crabbe. But all the same, we need to be careful. Come on.”

“Where are you going?” Harry asked as Malfoy headed off in the wrong direction.

“Just be quiet and trust me this once, Potter. I know what I’m doing.”

Harry bit back a snide retort and followed Malfoy, who moved as quietly as possible through the bushes. At last, Malfoy stopped and held up a warning hand. Harry stopped, then crept forward to crouch down beside his partner. There was a small stretch of water separating them from the clearing where the duel was supposed to take place. The clearing was empty, but directly in front of them, hiding behind another clump of bushes and watching the clearing intently were Ron and Crabbe.

Malfoy leaned close to Harry. “Expelliarmus on three,” he whispered.

Harry nodded and Malfoy held up his hand, ticking off the count on his fingers. One. Two. Three. They jumped to their feet and pointed their wands simultaneously.

“Expelliarmus!”

Ron and Crabbe were taken completely off guard and their wands went flying.

“Oh well, that’s a fine thing! Sneaking up on us from behind,” Ron declared indignantly.

“Yeah, and I’m sure you two were just resting behind that bush,” Harry responded, feeling no sympathy at all for his best friend.

The rest of the class went considerably better for Harry and Malfoy than the previous one had. They managed to keep their animosity in check and hold their own against most of their opponents. By lunch time, Harry was in high spirits.

“Practice schedule,” Katie Bell said as Harry, Ron and Hermione took their seats in the Great Hall for lunch. She handed a slip of parchment to both Harry and Ron as she continued talking.

“We’re up against Hufflepuff in a little over a month and we need to trounce them. I expect to see everyone giving their all at practice.”

“But you’ve got us skipping lunch three days a week in addition to Saturday morning practice.” Ron protested as he glanced over the schedule.

“Would you rather eat or win, Weasley?”

Ron looked very much as though he thought that eating might take priority, but he didn’t dare say so in the face of Katie’s stern glare.

“Grab something to take with you and let’s go,” Katie said.

“What? You mean we’re starting today?”

“It says Wednesday on the schedule doesn’t it? We’re meeting on the pitch in 10 minutes.”

Katie moved off down the table to collect the rest of the team. Once she was out of earshot, Ron sighed irritably.

“What is it about being Quidditch Captain that makes people go mad?”

“It’s her job to make sure you win,” Hermione said. “Don’t worry Ron, I’ll take something up to the common room for all of you.”

“Don’t bother for me,” Ginny said, shoving a sandwich into her pocket as she got up from the table.

Harry stood up as well. He shoved his own sandwich and an apple into his pockets and gulped down his pumpkin juice.

“Don’t worry about me either. I’ll be fine.”

“Come on Ron, you won’t starve to death,” Ginny said.

“Oh all right!” Ron said. He stuffed two sandwiches into his own pockets then grabbed a tart which he attempted to swallow whole.

“Sab‘ee sub ’atoes,” he told Hermione.

Ginny looked at her brother in disgust then turned to Hermione. “I don’t know what you see in him.”

“Wha’?” Ron asked as she stalked off towards the door.

“Come on,” Harry told Ron as he followed Ginny. He didn’t mind missing lunch at all. He wouldn’t have cared if he missed breakfast and dinner, too. After his poor showing against Slytherin, he was determined to win the next match.

Once everyone had gathered on the pitch, Katie’s instructions were short and simple.

“Bludger practice today. Beaters, I want to see you send everything you’ve got at the others. Don’t hold back. The rest of you keep your eyes open and Harry, I’ll be counting how many times you catch the Snitch.”

They all nodded and mounted their brooms. Harry kicked off hard, determined not to let the elusive Snitch get away. The day hadn’t warmed up much since Defense class and the air was bitingly cold, but Harry loved it. Soaring high above the pitch he felt all his cares fall away as the sheer joy of flying took hold of him. He raced around the pitch, diving and rolling. He dodged a Bludger effortlessly and spied the Snitch darting among the goal posts at the other end of the pitch. He grinned and gave chase. Two more Bludgers came hurtling his way. He dodged one and outran the other, as he picked the little golden ball out of the air with ease.

“That’s one, Potter!” Katie called grinning at him.

Harry grinned back, released the Snitch and watched it disappear behind the stands. The rest of the hour was sheer delight. Harry caught the Snitch eleven times in all and hadn’t been as happy since Christmas. He was so exhilarated he even managed to stay awake through most of Binns’s class and his spirits didn’t begin to flag until he arrived for his lesson with Snape that evening.

---

“Legilimency,” Snape said. “More difficult to master than Occlumency and, if you recall, the main point of these lessons. You have an unfortunate tendency to invade the thoughts and feelings of others, usually without even realizing it and you seem incapable of controlling yourself. In short, your mind is completely undisciplined, which is becoming a serious liability. Regrettably, it is my job to remedy this. So, let’s begin shall we?”

Harry grimaced and drew his wand. He’d been dreading this. He’d never been anywhere near as good at Legilimency as Occlumency and it had been three weeks since he’d last practiced. He was certain this wasn’t going to go well. He concentrated as hard as possible and raised his wand.

“Legilimens!” Harry said.

The memories leaped out at Harry, but they were so intense he could hardly distinguish one from another.

Snape gave Harry a mental shove that made him stagger as the link between their minds was broken.

“That was abysmal, Potter!” Snape scowled at Harry. “You’ll never learn to master your own mind this way. Concentrate and try again.”

Harry sighed. This definitely wasn’t going to go well.

---

“Potter, have you no control at all?” Snape yelled in complete exasperation.

“Apparently not!” Harry snapped back.

They had been at this for well over an hour and Harry had made no progress at all. In fact he suspected he was getting worse. His head was pounding and he had no patience left for his professor’s snide remarks. He was doing his best and was even more frustrated than Snape by his continued inability to control the memories he called forth from his teacher’s mind. He wondered briefly if his professor was doing something to hamper him, but decided that couldn’t be the case. Snape seemed genuinely perplexed and angry.

“Potter, pay attention to what you are doing.” Snape repeated for what had to be the twentieth time. “Legilimency requires subtlety and finesse. You have all the finesse of a Mountain Troll!

“I’m doing my best.”

“Well, you need to do better! Now, try again!”

Harry sighed and tried to concentrate harder. He met Snape’s eyes and raised his wand.

“Legilimens!”

Snape actually flinched this time and instantly repelled Harry’s mental attack.

“Potter, which part of subtlety and finesse don’t you understand?”

Harry sighed again. He had no idea what he was doing wrong. His head was throbbing from the intense concentration and he rubbed his temples in hopes of relieving the pain. He noticed that Snape was doing the same and had a sudden thought.

“Professor,” Harry asked. “Yesterday, you said that you could feel my mind. Can you feel it now?”

“Like a club,” Snape said in disgust.

“Could I be trying too hard?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed as he considered Harry for a moment.

“Possibly,” he said at last. “Relax and clear your mind.”

Harry took a deep breath and did as Snape instructed

“This time when you cast the spell, use no more effort than you would when casting Lumos. Don’t concentrate on anything. Just keep your mind as empty and still as possible.”

Harry nodded. He took another deep breath and raised his wand. “Legilimens.”

Snape’s memories obediently sprang to life, but this time they weren’t nearly as overwhelming and Harry discovered that he didn’t become lost in them as he usually did. He pushed the memories away just as he had learnt to do in Occlumency and they vanished.

“That’s it, Potter! That was much better!” Snape said. “You’ve finally taken the first real step towards learning Legilimency.”

“Let me try again,” Harry said raising his wand. But, Snape shook his head.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

“But, Professor –”

“You’ll be able to manage that from now on. At the moment you need rest. I don’t want you falling asleep in Potions tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry left Snape’s office and walked slowly back to Gryffindor Tower. He was excited about his progress in Legilimency and hoped that Snape was right that one day he’d be able to control it as easily as he had learnt to control Occlumency. He had been unnerved by his unintentional foray into Snape’s thoughts the day before. He could imagine getting to the point where he had no control over his mind at all and helplessly read the thoughts of everyone foolish enough to look him in the eyes. Rationally, he knew things probably wouldn’t get that bad, but it still worried him.

Then there was Voldemort.

Harry’s visions were getting worse and not just because they were becoming more frequent. The connection between himself and Voldemort seemed to be getting deeper and sometimes as he lay awake alone in the dark, Harry was terrified that he might lose himself entirely. If Snape could teach him to put an end to these visions, all the time and misery would have been well worth it.

The arrival of the morning post had become a tense affair at Hogwarts. Since New Year, Voldemort had been on a rampage of terror. For a month now there had been almost nightly Death Eater attacks and the students and faculty alike dreaded opening the Daily Prophet. But curiosity always won out. This morning, audible gasps could be heard in the Great Hall, as the previous night’s attack had been particularly vicious. A family of four had been killed and there were eyewitness reports that the youngest child had been swallowed by a giant snake.

Snape glanced from the paper to the Gryffindor table where Finnigan was obviously reading the same article to anyone within earshot. His housemates, though horrified, were hanging on every word. All except Potter. He was staring at nothing and gave no indication that he even heard. He looked sick.

And I’ve got him for Potions in half an hour, Snape thought in disgust. Potter’s visions had become the bane of Snape’s existence and not only because he’d been tasked with teaching the boy to control them. His sixth year Potions class was an exercise in sheer nerve. Depending upon the events of the night before, Potter could either be attentive and competent or distracted to the point of being dangerous.

Snape glanced at Potter again. This was not going to be one of his good days. That was a problem because they had a particularly difficult potion to brew this morning. He couldn’t simply excuse the boy from class - he refused to set that precedent. But neither could he stand over the boy’s shoulder the whole time to ensure he didn’t blow up the classroom.

Snape considered. He would simply have to rely on Granger to keep Potter out of trouble. She had already been doing this to some extent, Snape knew. She shared Potter’s workbench and Snape had seen her stop the boy from concocting volatile combinations on more than one occasion. She was always surreptitious about it, no doubt afraid of drawing her teacher’s attention and disapproval. Probably because of this concern, she had missed a few memorable mistakes. She couldn’t afford to miss any today.

The Great Hall was already emptying as students headed for classes. Snape rose too and made his way to the dungeons.

---

“Harry, are you sure you’re all right?” Hermione asked for the third time.

“I told you, I’m fine,” Harry answered irritably. “I’m just tired, that’s all. It doesn’t help that Seamus has to read the Daily Prophet to us over breakfast.”

Hermione looked dismayed. “I know, Harry, but Seamus doesn’t understand.”

“Just forget it, all right? We’ve got enough to worry about with Potions.” They entered Snape’s classroom and found their seats as the rest of the class filed in. Snape, as usual, was the last to arrive and began without preamble.

“The Eternal Sleep potion you will be brewing today is so called because whoever drinks it falls into a state of almost perfect suspended animation and may sleep for centuries without aging a day. The only way to revive someone who has ingested this potion is by administering the antidote. Unfortunately, it has some unpleasant side effects, so I would advise against drinking your potions as a lark.

“I expect that you have all read up on the potion’s preparation. The instructions are on the board and you will find all the necessary ingredients before you.” Snape paused and surveyed the class.

“This potion is a particularly dangerous one to brew, requiring meticulous attention to detail,” he said as he walked among the workbenches fixing each student with a stern glare.

“The slightest mistake could prove disastrous and I have no desire to send anyone to the Hospital Wing today.” This was said with a particularly pointed look at Harry.

“Therefore, I need you all to be certain that no mistakes are made,” Snape turned his piercing gaze on Hermione as he made this last point, which was odd. Harry was sure Hermione had never made a mistake in Potions. But as Snape stared at Hermione, his eyes flickered for the briefest instant to Harry. Hermione stiffened and glanced his way as well then gave an almost imperceptible nod to Snape.

Harry could feel his face going red. It had been a subtle exchange, but he knew everyone in the vicinity had caught it. Their neighbors, long accustomed to Harry’s erratic potion brewing, had already inched as far away from him as possible. The least subtle students had piled books on the edges of their workbenches to form makeshift barriers. Now they were glancing hopefully at Hermione. Even the Slytherins were giving her encouraging looks.

Harry was furious. He wasn’t incompetent! He had got an Outstanding on his Potions OWL, after all. He didn’t need Hermione to baby-sit him! Snape told them to begin and Harry pointed his wand to light the fire under his cauldron. Hermione cleared her throat and Harry glanced over at her. She was staring intently at the board and Harry followed her gaze to the potion instructions. The first one caught his attention immediately. In a cold cauldron, combine the first three ingredients and let sit for five minutes.

Harry forced himself not to sigh. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t at his best. He gritted his teeth, determined to follow the instructions to the letter and make no further mistakes.

By the third step, he’d given up. He was simply too tired and distracted to focus. Instead, he settled for mimicking Hermione’s every move. He could tell that she knew what he was doing. She’d slowed her usual brisk pace enough for him to keep up, but at least she didn’t have to stop between steps to wait for him.

At last the potions were done. Harry’s bubbled in his cauldron as perfect as Hermione’s, but he felt no satisfaction. He knew he couldn’t have brewed it on his own. As the other students went up to turn in vials of their potion to be marked, Harry hung back and busied himself cleaning up the workbench. When there was enough activity in the classroom that he knew he wouldn’t be noticed, he Vanished the contents of his cauldron and left.

---

Wednesday dawned cold but clear, much to the Gryffindors’ relief. True to his word, Ryan had continued Defense class down by the lake even in what Harry considered near blizzard conditions. They were still working in inter-house pairs. Depressingly, Harry was still teamed up with Malfoy, though he had to admit that he had learnt a few things. Harry didn’t think he would ever use some of the underhanded tactics Malfoy came up with, but it was certainly useful to know how the other side operated. They had learnt to work together well enough to beat all the other teams with the exception of Hermione and Millicent, who still managed to consistently defeat everyone. Against all odds the two girls seemed to have formed an unbeatable rapport and remained undefeated

"What do you two do, read each other's minds?" Ron asked as they walked back up to the castle in the late January snow.

"Of course not," Hermione said. "We just know to play to each other's strengths, that's all. Professor Ryan is right. We can learn a lot from one another."

"Yeah, but Millicent Bulstrode?"

"She's not that bad, Ron."

Harry was only half listening to the conversation. He was cold, dirty and exhausted and had only just managed to hold his own in Defense. He hadn’t had an uninterrupted night’s sleep in weeks. He still hadn’t learnt to block his visions and he knew they were taking a toll on him. He was more distracted than ever and could hardly keep up in his classes. Even in Defense it was becoming impossible to concentrate.

He trudged into the entrance hall and spotted Snape glaring at the whole class in disgust. For once, though, the Potions Master didn’t yell at them. Instead he addressed the Defense teacher who had entered the Hall behind Harry.

“Ryan!” he snapped. “Must the students always return from your class in this condition?”

Ryan surveyed the filthy and bedraggled students. “They’re all healthy enough. What’s the problem?” he asked congenially.

“They’re a disgrace! We have standards here at Hogwarts in case you weren’t aware of it.”

“It’s not my job to keep the students clean and tidy, Snape. All I care about is teaching them to defend themselves against the Dark Arts. Of course, I realize that may not be high on your agenda. All things considered.”

Snape turned pale with fury, but Ryan brushed past him and into the Great Hall before he could respond to the Defense teacher’s insinuations. The students knew their Potions Master well enough to scatter before his wrath could fall on them. Even the Slytherins didn’t look at him as they hurried towards the dungeons. Harry, Ron and Hermione ducked down a side corridor, not willing to brave the exposed main staircase.

“Did you see the look on Snape’s face?” Ron crowed.

“Ryan really shouldn’t bait him like that,” Hermione said. “He all but called Snape a Death Eater. Millicent told me that Ryan has been making insinuations to the Slytherins about Snape’s loyalties for months, but if you ask me, it’s getting out of hand if he’s going to start doing it in the entrance hall.”

“Ryan can take care of himself and Snape deserves it. It’s good to see him get a taste of his own medicine for a change. Right, Harry?”

“I suppose,” Harry answered without interest.

“You suppose?” Ron said incredulously. “As awful as Snape is to you all the time, Harry, you ought to love seeing him get bullied for a change.”

Harry glanced sharply at Ron and pressed his lips together.

“I’m tired and hungry and I don’t care what Ryan and Snape say to each other,” he said irritably. “Let’s just get cleaned up and get some lunch, okay?”

“Fine,” Ron agreed, though he was clearly irritated too.

Lunch was a sullen affair. Harry was too tired to care that he’d snapped at his friend. Ron looked as though he wanted to say something, but didn’t dare and Hermione kept glancing worriedly at both of them. But soon it was time for History of Magic and Harry gratefully settled into his seat. As usual, it didn’t take long for Binns’ droning to put him to sleep.

---

“My Lord, we have found the coward,” Lucius Malfoy said, bowing deeply to Harry.

Two other Death Eaters dragged a man in and shoved him to his knees. Harry recognized the man at once. Igor Karkaroff was trembling and wore a wild, terrified expression.

“Igor,” Harry said in a low hiss. “How nice of you to finally rejoin us.”

“My Lord,” Karkaroff croaked in a hoarse whisper.

“You didn’t think I’d forget the way you betrayed me, did you?” Harry continued smoothly.

“My Lord, I didn’t betray you! I thought you had been destroyed! I would never have denied you while you lived!”

“You’re a coward, Igor,” Harry said contemptuously. “And you disgust me. I will show you what the fate of traitors is.”

Harry raised his wand.

“No, my Lord!” Karkaroff begged. “Please!”

---

Harry screamed and bolted up in his seat. The rest of his classmates, most of whom had been dozing themselves, jumped. Some screamed; others knocked their books off their desks as they leapt out of their seats. Neville was so startled he fell out of his chair and even Binns paused in his lecture and looked up.

Harry looked around wildly before taking in the shocked stares of his fellow students and realizing where he was. Embarrassed, he tried to calm his pounding heart.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Nightmare.”

Harry slumped miserably in his seat, his face burning as the rest of the class resumed their seats and Binns continued with his lecture. He was wide awake, but paid no attention to what Binns was saying. The torture he’d just witnessed had been some of the worst Harry had ever seen and he felt sick. Fortunately, class ended shortly thereafter.

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked as they left class.

“Voldemort found Karkaroff,” Harry answered quietly so that only Hermione and Ron would hear.

Hermione gasped. “Is he dead?” she asked.

“Not yet. At least he wasn’t when I woke up.”

“You need to tell Dumbledore,” Hermione continued.

“He’s not here,” Ron said. “Remember, he’s away at the Ministry all day.”

“McGonagall then,” Hermione suggested.

“I’ll tell Snape,” Harry said. “I’ve got lessons with him right after dinner.”

Harry struggled through the rest of the day and arrived at Snape’s office, that evening, knowing he was in no condition to work. He wouldn’t have gone at all if he had thought he could get away with it, but he was certain Snape would come looking for him if he didn’t show up. He briefly considered going to Madam Pomfrey and pleading an upset stomach, but somehow, he suspected that Snape wouldn’t be fooled by such a ruse. Besides, Harry had a message to deliver.

Snape was marking homework as usual when Harry arrived. Harry sank down into his accustomed chair and stared at the jars of potions ingredients lining the shelves of the office.

“They found Karkaroff,” he said dully.

Snape froze then his head snapped up.

“It was during History of Magic,” Harry continued matter-of-factly. “I don’t know if he’s dead or not. He probably is, but I woke up before they finished. I didn’t know if you knew or not.”

There was a long pause before Snape spoke.

“No. I didn’t,” he managed to say in an even tone. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. I’ll pass that along.”

Harry nodded wearily still not looking at his teacher, though he could feel Snape studying him.

“Why didn’t you turn in your potion in class yesterday?” Snape asked at last.

Harry looked at Snape, surprised by the unexpected question.

“I wasn’t able to make it,” he answered.

“Then what exactly were you doing all through class?”

“I was following Hermione. I couldn’t keep the instructions straight, so I just copied what she was doing.”

“Then I should think your potion would have been perfect.”

“It wasn’t my potion, it was hers. It would have been cheating to turn it in.”

Snape’s lip curled in contempt. “Of course, the noble Mr. Potter, always above any hint of impropriety. Tell me, Potter, do you think I’m incompetent?”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Then how can you imagine I failed to notice what you were doing? If you can’t follow directions, it would be useful to know if you can at least follow Miss Granger when she’s practically leading you by the hand.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “All right! Fine!” he said in exasperation. “I promise I’ll never fail to turn in a potion again. Sir.”

“You’ll do better than that, Potter. Since you’re supposed to be taking individual potions lessons from me, I think it’s about time you actually had one. Come with me.”

Snape stood up and swept out of the office into the adjoining classroom. Harry had no choice but to follow. He found Snape setting out potions ingredients on one of the workbenches.

“You want me to brew a potion?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“Specifically, I want you to brew the Eternal Sleep potion we made in class yesterday,” Snape answered.

“You’re joking!”

Snape scowled disdainfully at Harry. “Do I look as if I’m joking, Potter?”

No, Harry thought; Snape certainly looked serious. But it was madness. He could barely make it through the day; much less brew a complicated potion. What difference did it make anyway? At this rate, he was going to be insane before he ever got the chance to take his NEWTs. Snape’s demand was so absurd it was all Harry could do not to laugh. But Snape clearly wasn’t about to back down and Harry felt a kind of surreal calm settle over him.

“Okay, Professor,” he said. “If that’s what you want.” Harry came over to the workbench, ran his eye down the lengthy list of instructions and surveyed the large number of ingredients arrayed before him. There was no way he was going to be able to manage this.

“Potter, there is nothing required in the preparation of this potion that you have not done successfully dozens of times before.” Snape told him. “The difficulty is in staying focused on what you’re doing. Concentrate, follow the directions exactly, and you should have no trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, trying desperately not to giggle. Snape favored Harry with one last scowl before stalking over to his desk at the front of the classroom. Harry turned his attention to the potion. He had only brewed it the day before and although he’d been following Hermione, he still remembered quite a lot of it. He scanned the instructions again, set out his ingredients in order as Hermione had done and began.

Without the time pressure of class, Harry found that the potion really wasn’t that hard to make, so long as he didn’t let his concentration wander. He didn’t fancy blowing up the classroom and himself along with it, so he did his best to follow the instructions carefully.

Minutes dragged into an hour and more. Harry forgot about his visions as he methodically chopped, ground, measured and stirred his way through each step. He was nearly finished and as far as he could tell, he’d done everything correctly. Once he added the last ingredient he’d know for sure. If he’d got it right, the potion would turn a clear blue. If not, it would explode rather spectacularly.

Harry was eyeing his ground Billywigs cautiously when Snape approached and peered over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you done yet, Potter?” Snape asked impatiently.

“Almost sir. I’m at the last step.”

“Well, hurry up then.”

Harry took a deep breath and dumped the Billywigs into his cauldron. The potion immediately began to hiss and boil then turned a clear crystal blue and settled down to bubble gently.

“It worked,” Harry said in amazement, not quite believing he’d got the potion right.

“Well, it would appear that you’re not entirely incompetent after all,” Snape said grudgingly.

“Sorry to disappoint you, sir,” Harry said before he could think better of it.

“Of course, if you could manage the same performance in class that would be truly astonishing,” Snape said, ignoring Harry’s impertinence. “Clean this up and that will be all for tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said as Snape swept out of the classroom. Harry quickly cleaned up the workbench. His success with the potion had boosted his confidence but it had also made him angry. He wasn’t incompetent. He might never be a brilliant potion-maker but he wasn’t hopeless at it either and he was tired of Snape treating him like an idiot. But he knew this year he’d made it far too easy for the Potions Master to ridicule him, what with botched potions and incomplete homework. That was going to change. No matter what it took, he was never going to walk into Snape’s class unprepared again.

Harry left the classroom and headed purposefully down the corridor, but as he approached Snape’s office, he slowed. The office door was ajar and Harry could hear voices. He moved quietly forward and stopped just outside the door. The voices were clear now and he recognized Draco Malfoy’s most fawning tone.

“You see, Professor, some of us were hoping to spend some extra time working on our potions, but we don’t have the ingredients we need in the student stores.”

“Boomslang skin is a very potent ingredient, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape replied. “And it is used in only a handful of potions which could be safely brewed in your dormitory.”

“I realize that, sir,” Malfoy continued. “I assure you we take it quite seriously and it’s for a very good cause.”

“Be that as it may…” Snape hesitated and Harry leaned closer to hear.

The door was suddenly yanked open and Harry found himself staring up into Snape’s accusing glare.

“Well, Mr. Potter, eavesdropping?” Snape said in his nastiest tone.

“No sir!” Harry said quickly. “I’ve just finished cleaning up the classroom as you told me to. Everything’s put away. I wanted to know if I could go back to my dormitory now.”

Harry knew he’d already been dismissed and knew that Snape wasn’t at all fooled by his excuse, but he was hoping that the Potions Master wouldn’t push the point. He glanced at Malfoy who was clearly amused at the thought of Harry cleaning the Potions classroom. The Slytherin obviously considered such menial tasks beneath him.

“Very well, Mr. Potter,” Snape said. “You may go back to your dormitory. But if the classroom is not in perfect order when I inspect it, you’ll have detention. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir,” Harry said.

Snape turned back to Malfoy.

“Mr. Malfoy, see me after class tomorrow and I’ll make certain you get what you need.”

“Thank you, sir,” Malfoy said. He nodded amiably at Snape, gave Harry one last condescending smirk and disappeared back towards the Slytherin common room.

“Mr. Potter, I assume you don’t plan to stand in the hallway all night,” Snape said.

“No sir,” Harry said. “Goodnight.”

Harry quickly returned to his own common room where he found Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville in the middle of a game of Exploding Snap.

“Hi Harry,” Ginny said. “Want to play?”

“Sure,” Harry sat down between Ginny and Hermione as they began a new round.

“Hermione,” Harry asked, “What’s the worst potion you can brew that requires Boomslang skin?”

“Boomslang skin?” Hermione said. “There’re all sorts.”

“What’s the worst one that Draco Malfoy could brew?”

“Malfoy! Well, that narrows things down a bit. Why do you ask?”

“I just overheard Malfoy asking Snape for Boomslang skin,” Harry told her. “Whatever he wants it for, I’m sure he’s up to no good.”

“The only thing I can think of that Malfoy and his gang could manage would be Polyjuice Potion,” Hermione said.

“What would he need that for?” Ron asked. “I can’t imagine Malfoy wanting to be anyone but himself.”

“Maybe he’s not planning to use it on himself,” Ginny said.

“Who, then?” Neville wondered.

“And who’d be stupid enough to drink anything Malfoy brewed?” Ron added.

“I can think of a couple of people,” Ginny said.

“Crabbe and Goyle,” Neville said.

“Yeah, but what are they smart enough to do once they’ve taken it?” Ron protested.

“Maybe they plan to impersonate you and Harry,” Hermione said with a remarkably straight face.

“Funny,” Ron said.

“Well, they’ve got to be up to something,” Harry said. “We’d better keep an eye on them.”

They all nodded agreement.

---

The next day they all took turns shadowing Malfoy and it didn’t take long for this to pay off. It was Ginny who spotted him slipping into an unused classroom down a usually deserted dungeon hallway.

“I need to get into that room and find out what they’re making,” Hermione said when Ginny had reported the news.

“We can use my invisibility cloak and go tonight,” Harry said.

“I’m coming too,” Ron said.

“Actually, I think Ginny and I should go alone,” Hermione said.

“What?” Harry said.

“You can’t!” Ron protested.

“We can’t all fit under the invisibility cloak,” Hermione said reasonably. “Ginny knows where the room is and I need to see the potion. We’ll handle it.”

“But what if you’re caught?” Ron asked worriedly.

“All the more reason for you to stay behind,” Ginny said. “We don’t need half the Quidditch team getting suspended.”

Neither Ron nor Harry was particularly pleased with the plan but they had to admit it was the only one that made sense. They met in the common room at midnight and Harry handed over his invisibility cloak along with the Marauder’s Map.

“So this is the Marauder’s Map.” Ginny peered at it with interest. “Fred and George told me about it over the summer, but I wasn’t sure whether to believe them or not. Wow, it really does show everyone. Look! Here we are in the common room.”

“You’re supposed to be looking for the teachers or Filch,” Ron said testily. “You’ve got to keep a close eye on the map so you don’t run into anyone.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Just be careful,” Ron said.

“We will, Ron,” Hermione told him kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Honestly! And you accuse me of worrying too much.”

She and Ginny slipped under the cloak and vanished from sight. Ron opened the portrait hole and waited.

“Okay,” came the whispered acknowledgment from the hallway and Ron swung the door shut.

Harry sat down by the cold fireplace and tried to ignore Ron, who had begun to pace back and forth. It seemed to take forever, but eventually there was a tap at the portrait hole. Ron hurried to open it and in a moment Ginny and Hermione appeared from underneath the invisibility cloak.

“It’s Polyjuice Potion all right,” Hermione said.

“But we still don’t know why they’re making it,” Ginny said.

“It looks as though the potion won’t be ready for at least two weeks,” Hermione continued. “We’ll just have to keep checking back.”

They went back to bed and Harry was almost glad of the mystery surrounding Malfoy and the Polyjuice Potion. Watching Malfoy would give him something to do and at least it might take his mind off his visions for awhile.

---

Harry took special care to prepare for his lesson with Snape the following evening. He took the time to run through some mental exercises to ensure that his mind would be particularly focused and controlled. Now that he and his friends were spying on Malfoy he knew he’d have to be especially careful. He certainly didn’t want Snape to find out what they were up to. Fortunately, Harry had become quite proficient at Occlumency. He could now dispel his memories as quickly as Snape could summon them with little more than a mental shrug. He was confident that he could keep these particular memories hidden.

Harry arrived at Snape’s office and they began the lesson with Occlumency which had become their standard practice. Harry’s memories sprang to life and he could feel his mental control assert itself. But as he was about to banish a memory of Dudley having locked him out of the house in the rain, he felt a wholly new sensation.

He couldn’t really describe the feeling. It was the mental equivalent of a gentle breath on the back of his neck. In the next moment it was gone and Harry wondered if he’d simply imagined it.

“You aren’t focusing, Potter,” Snape admonished. “Concentrate.”

“Yes sir.”

Harry took a deep breath to calm his mind and tried to focus on the memories rushing by. He concentrated, reached out mentally… and felt the sensation in his mind once more. Instantly, Harry’s concentration was shattered and he instinctively threw up all the mental barriers he’d learnt.

“Potter, what on earth are you doing?” Snape asked in exasperation.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I just felt… something…” Harry trailed off not sure how to describe the sensation he’d felt and not sure that Snape would believe him in any case.

“Is that so?” Snape said, regarding Harry keenly. He slipped his wand into his pocket. “Clear your mind and keep it as still and quiet as possible.”

“Yes sir,” Harry said.

He did this all the time and it wasn’t difficult. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Slowly he emptied his mind of all thought as his breathing deepened.

“Now focus on your mind, itself,” Snape said. “Be aware of the stillness and quiet.”

Harry did as Snape instructed.

“Now, without losing your inner focus, open your eyes and look at me.”

Harry opened his eyes. He was still very much aware of his own calm control. He felt detached from his surroundings and met Snape’s gaze without the slightest trepidation.

Then he felt it.

The sensation was much stronger than before and Harry now recognized it for what it was: the whisper of another mind touching his. The presence brushed against his consciousness and Harry gasped. In the next moment it was gone again.

“Well, it would seem you are making progress,” Snape said.

“That… was you?” Harry asked.

“Of course.”

“I’ve never felt that before.”

“No,” Snape said. “It takes a fairly competent Occlumens to be able to sense the invasion of his mind. It can be disconcerting the first few times, but you’ll get used to it.”

If Snape meant that to be reassuring, he failed miserably. The thought of experiencing Snape’s mental presence again only filled Harry with dread.

“I’m not sure I want to get used to it,” Harry said.

“Potter, how else do you suppose one can effectively perform Occlumency?” Snape said impatiently. “You have to be able to sense when your mind is being invaded. The mental awareness you just experienced is what provides that warning, so like it or not, you will have to get used to it. Now, let’s move on to Legilimency.”

“Yes sir.”

The rest of the lesson passed uneventfully and Harry experienced no more brushes with Snape’s mind. Nevertheless, he left his professor’s office that evening feeling deeply disturbed.

---

The next morning at breakfast Harry was still preoccupied with his experience in Snape’s office the night before. He looked up at the head table where Snape was engrossed in the paper and wondered why it had affected him so badly. He and Snape had been reliving one another’s memories for months not to mention all the times he’d inhabited Voldemort’s murderous thoughts. This had been the barest touch and not at all unpleasant. There was no reason why it should have left him so shaken and yet it had. He wondered if Snape was right. Would he simply get used to the sensation? Somehow, he didn’t think so.

“Harry!”

Harry started and looked across the table at Ron.

“What?”

“I said pass the jam.”

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, handing over the jam.

“You’re a million miles away this morning,” Ron said glancing over his shoulder to follow Harry’s gaze. “What are you staring at anyway?”

“Nothing,” Harry answered a little too quickly.

Ron gave Harry a knowing look. “Snape give you a hard time last night?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Are you making progress?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know. I guess so. I felt something different last night when we were practicing Occlumency.”

“What do you mean ‘different’?” Ron asked.

“Normally, I just see my memories, or Snape’s, but last night I felt, I don’t know, a sort of presence in my mind, as if there were someone else there.”

That sounded insane, Harry realized, and in fact Ron was looking at him as though his sanity might be in question. Hermione, on the other hand, looked delighted.

“Harry, you felt Snape’s mind!” she whispered excitedly.

“What?” Ron asked.

“Ron, don’t you remember? I told you. A good Occlumens can sense when his mind is being invaded. Harry, if you can manage that, you’ve made tremendous progress! This is wonderful!”

“Yeah, wonderful,” Harry said with considerably less enthusiasm.

“What’s the problem?” Ron asked. “Hermione’s right. This is a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Harry conceded. “Of course it is. It’s just… I don’t know how to explain it. When I first started studying with Snape, I thought there couldn’t be anything worse than having my memories invaded. That’s humiliating enough. But this was different, subtler. And, yet in a way, it felt even more…” Harry trailed off searching for the words to describe what he’d felt.

“Intimate?” Ginny supplied.

Harry looked sharply at her and she met his eyes calmly.

“Yes,” Harry said. “That’s it exactly. It was too intimate.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to it?” Ron said.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Harry agreed. “Snape did say it could be disconcerting at first.”

“Listen, don’t worry about it, Harry,” Hermione said. “I’m sure it will work itself out. Why don’t you come to the library with Ron and me? That’ll take your mind off Snape for a while.”

“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you for a few minutes, Harry,” Ginny said before Harry could answer.

“Sure,” Harry said. “No problem.”

“Well, we’ll see you two later then,” Hermione said. She and Ron rose from the table and left.

“So, what is it you want to talk about?” Harry asked.

Ginny glanced around. “I don’t want to talk about it here. Come on.”

She got up from the table and Harry followed her out of the Great Hall. But instead of heading for the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Ginny made her way down a side corridor.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked.

“Somewhere private.”

They reached an empty classroom. Ginny led the way in, shut the door and turned to face Harry with an unusually serious expression. Harry was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable and wondered if he shouldn’t have gone to study with Ron and Hermione after all.

“I know why Snape affected you so badly yesterday,” Ginny said.

“You do?” Harry said, surprise driving away his discomfort.

“I’ve never told anyone about this before because I didn’t think anyone else would understand. In my first year, when I finally figured out what Riddle was doing to me, it was like what you talked about with Professor Snape and your memories. He made me do things against my will and that was humiliating and terrifying. But even though he was controlling me, we were still separate. There was a barrier between us, between our minds. Do you know what I mean?”

Harry nodded.

“But then one day, I must have tried to defy him and he got really angry and he… I could feel him touch me, his mind touch my mind. It made me feel naked and violated. It was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Harry stared at Ginny in horror. It had been bad enough having Snape touch his mind, even for a moment and he studied with the man all the time. He didn’t want to think what it must have been like for Ginny to have Riddle force himself on her. Harry didn’t know what to say, so he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ginny. She slid her arms around him as well and they stood holding each other in silence.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered at last.

“I know. It’s all right.” Ginny looked up at Harry. “I just wanted you to know that you’re not crazy for feeling uncomfortable about what happened with Professor Snape.”

Ginny pulled away from Harry and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “Hermione’s right, it’ll work itself out.”

Ginny flashed a quick smile then left. Harry watched her go, wishing he could share her confidence, but the memory of his brush with Snape’s mind filled him with dread and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. Maybe it had just been a fluke, Harry thought. Maybe he wouldn’t even sense Snape’s mind again. However, that hope was soon dashed.

---

Over the course of his next few lessons Harry’s spirits as it became obvious that his mind, having been introduced to the sensation, was now eagerly watchful for the presence of another mind. Harry felt irritated and slightly betrayed that his mind would do this when he so desperately wanted it not to. He found Snape’s mental presence horribly disconcerting and distracting. Worse, his latest vision had turned his already gloomy mood bleak.

“Whew!” Seamus whistled. “Did you see this? Gringott’s was attacked last night! They stole hundreds of thousands of Galleons!”

“You mean they got past the Goblins’ defenses?” Dean asked. “That really is something!”

“But why attack Gringotts?” Neville wondered. “That’ll only anger the Goblins and that can’t be a good idea.”

“I guess even omnipotent, evil wizards need money,” Ron said.

“More likely, it’s just a new phase of the terror campaign,” Hermione said. “Gringotts’ defenses were supposed to be impenetrable. Getting past them makes Voldemort seem even more unstoppable.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Ginny asked.

Seamus scanned the paper. “Just one Auror who happened to be passing by. He was killed.”

Harry slammed his fork down on his plate and glared at his tablemates.

“Can’t we ever talk about anything besides what’s in the bloody paper every morning?”

His friends looked at him, startled by his outburst.

“It’s Gringott’s, Harry,” Seamus said. “It’s sort of important.”

“Besides, it wasn’t that bad,” Ron said.

“Fine,” Harry said throwing down his napkin and standing up. “I’ll see you all in Defense.”

He stalked out of the hall leaving his bewildered classmates to stare after him, and headed for the lake muttering angrily to himself.

“Bloody stupid paper!” It was bad enough that he had to witness Voldemort’s attacks in his sleep without having to recap the highlights at breakfast! Why couldn’t his friends realize that?

“Good morning Mr. Potter,” Professor Ryan said cheerily as Harry approached.

“I suppose so, sir,” Harry answered curtly.

Ryan arched one eyebrow at him, but said nothing else. The rest of the class began to arrive and soon they had paired off for the first duel of the day. He and Malfoy were set to duel Ron and Goyle in a small copse of trees and had split up to outflank the enemy.

Harry was unusually edgy and distracted as he took cover behind a tree. He spotted Goyle lumbering towards him and stepped out to face him.

“Stupefy!” Harry cried.

But Harry’s aim had been off and Goyle dove for cover which was probably fortunate since Harry had put so much force into the spell that it splintered the sapling in its path. Harry and Goyle both stared at the ruined tree, stunned.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand went flying and he spun around to find Ron grinning at him. Harry felt a flash of pure fury though whether his anger was directed at Ron or himself, he couldn’t have said.

Just then Malfoy came storming up to them.

“What is wrong with you, Potter?” he said angrily. “Can’t you aim straight or are you just trying to attract attention? And how could you miss Weasley coming up the path? I saw him from the other side of the woods! I’m surprised you didn’t let Goyle sneak up on you too!”

“Just shut it, all right!” Harry said, turning his anger on Malfoy.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Potter! You’re the one who’s hopeless.”

Harry was suddenly furious beyond rational thought. Without thinking, he launched himself at Malfoy. He didn’t bother with a wand, but shoved the Slytherin to the ground and punched him hard across the jaw. He pulled back his fist to strike again, but Ron grabbed him.

“Harry, no!” Ron dragged Harry off Malfoy. “Stop it! He’s not worth it!”

Malfoy got to his feet, rubbing his cut lip.

“You’re mad, Potter!” he said.

“Maybe I am, so you’d better stay away from me, Malfoy!” Harry warned. “Stay away from me or I swear you’ll be sorry!”

Harry pulled away from Ron and stormed off. He was half way back to the castle when he finally came to a halt He stood still, trying to get his churning emotions under control. He was furious and he had no idea why. Malfoy had called him worse things than hopeless in the past and he’d actually got quite good at ignoring the Slytherin’s taunts this year. So why had he gone off on Malfoy today?

“You’re mad, Potter!” Malfoy’s words echoed in his mind along with his own. “Maybe I am.” Was it true? Was he finally going mad? He’d been distracted and unable to concentrate before and he knew what it was like to have his anger get the better of him. But there was more to it than that. He felt a sort of desperation he never had before and it frightened him.

”Harry!”

Harry turned as Ron came running up to him.

“Harry, don’t let Malfoy get to you,” Ron said regarding Harry with obvious concern. “He’s just trying to make you angry. You know that.”

“Yeah, well I am angry,” Harry snapped. “Malfoy’s right. Goyle could have snuck up on me and I wouldn’t have noticed! I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He resumed his determined march back towards the castle and Ron fell into step along side him.

“Will you stop being so hard on yourself,” Ron said. “You’ve hardly slept in weeks. It’s no wonder you’re a wreck. You’re exhausted.”

Harry looked at Ron. “There’s not much I can do about that,” he said.

“Look, why don’t you go lie down until McGonagall’s class?” Ron suggested. “Voldemort’s not going to be out murdering people in broad daylight. You can get some sleep.”

“We’ve got Quidditch practice at noon,” Harry said.

“Forget practice!” Ron said. “It’s not like you need it. I’ll tell Katie you’re sick.”

Harry took a moment to consider and his rage began to subside. “Okay,” he said at last. “Maybe you’re right.”

They were at the castle now and Harry left Ron in the entrance hall and went up to his room. He shrugged off his robes and curled up on his bed. Maybe Ron was right. Maybe all he needed was to get some sleep. But despite his exhaustion, sleep didn’t come. Instead, Harry’s mind went back to the scene in the Great Hall at breakfast.

“Gringotts Attacked!” the headline in the Daily Prophet had read that morning. But Ron was right. Compared to all the people who had been tortured and murdered in recent months, it hadn’t been that bad. Hundreds of thousands of galleons hardly seemed important and the attack itself hadn’t been too bloody.

Even so, Harry’s dream from the previous night kept replaying in his mind. Most of Gringotts defenses were magical and Voldemort had dispensed with them with a wave of his wand. Then the Auror had shown up. The Death Eaters on the scene had stood aside at Voldemort’s command, leaving the battle to their lord. The Auror had put up a good fight, hurling curses Harry had only read about. But of course, it hadn’t been enough. It had been nothing more than a game to Voldemort. Harry recalled the sense of mild amusement he’d felt as he effortlessly turned aside the Auror’s most potent spells in his dream. He had played with the Auror until he’d become bored then with a single flick of his wand, he’d ended it. Harry shook his head to banish the memory.

Others might fear Voldemort, whose powers were almost mythical in the Wizarding World, but Harry knew just how impossible it was to stand against him. He felt his stomach lurch as another wave of desperate hopelessness washed over him.

Stop it! He told himself. I’ve got to sleep.

As so often in the past few months, Harry turned to his mental exercises to clear his mind. If his lessons with Snape had accomplished nothing else, they had at least taught him this. For that, Harry was truly grateful. He was sure he’d have been driven mad by now if he hadn’t had the ability to block out his worst thoughts. Harry relaxed and soon drifted off to sleep.

---

Harry opened his eyes. He felt well rested but still comfortably sleepy. He let his eyelids droop shut again, savoring the cozy warmth of his bed as the shafts of late afternoon sunlight angled in through the window. Harry started up in bed and looked out the window. Sure enough, long shadows were stretching across the grounds. He looked at his watch. It was nearly five o’clock. Harry was dumbstruck. He’d been asleep for over five hours and had missed his afternoon classes. He stumbled out of bed and went down to the common room where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess.

“So did they cancel classes this afternoon, or did you just forget about me?” Harry asked Ron.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Ron said defensively. “It was Hermione’s idea to let you sleep.”

Harry turned to Hermione but she returned his accusing look calmly.

“Actually, I threatened to curse anyone who woke you up,” Hermione said. “This was the first decent rest you’ve had in ages and it was more important for you to sleep than go to class. You would have been useless anyway. I told Professors McGonagall and Sprout that you were sick and they seemed to understand.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. That Hermione would consider anything more important than going to class was astonishing and he had to admit that she was right. He would have been useless in class.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I suppose I did need the rest. I feel a lot better than I did.”

In fact, now that the grogginess of his long nap was wearing off, Harry realized he felt more alert than he had in a long time and more relaxed and in control than he had earlier in the day. He was hungry too, having skipped lunch. Fortunately it was time for dinner. Harry ate heartily instead of picking at his food as he had in recent weeks and then headed for Snape’s office.

“Hello Professor,” Harry greeted Snape.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” Snape replied as he stood up and fixed Harry with his usual penetrating gaze.

Harry met his teacher’s eyes without hesitation. Neither of them bothered to draw his wand. Being well rested and well fed seemed to help Harry focus his thoughts even better than usual. He ignored Snape’s presence in his mind and concentrated on banishing his memories.

Harry was hanging from the roof at number 4 Privet Drive with Voldemort staring down at him. Harry gave a mental shrug and instantly the memory was gone. He was in a dimly lit room with a large snake coiled up near by. Gone. Harry was in a graveyard surrounded by Death Eaters and Voldemort was laughing at him. Gone. Tom Riddle was standing over him as the Basilisk poison worked its way through his body. Gone.

The memories ended and Harry looked at Snape in surprise. His teacher never interrupted this exercise, but Snape was frowning at him.

“Is something wrong, Professor?” Harry asked.

“Your memories are all of the Dark Lord this evening. May I ask why?”

“I had another dream last night,” Harry said.

“You’ve dreamt of worse things than an attack on Gringotts,” Snape said impatiently. “Why has it affected you this badly?”

“It hasn’t,” Harry said, not quite meeting Snape’s eyes.

“You’re an abysmal liar, Potter,” Snape said easily. “Do you know that?”

Harry rolled his eyes and looked back at Snape.

“There is little point in learning Occlumency when all your emotions are visible on your face,” the Potions Master continued. “Tell me.”

The last command was given in a tone Harry knew all too well and which brooked no disobedience. Harry sighed in annoyance. He didn’t want to think about the vision he’d had the night before. Since awaking that afternoon, he’d put it out of his mind, but now the memory returned vividly.

“It’s nothing,” Harry said dismissively, trying to ignore the dread that was starting to take hold in his mind once more. “It’s just that most of the time they don’t fight back. His victims, I mean. Most die without even trying to defend themselves, but the Auror last night did fight. And he was good, too. But it didn’t make any difference. All of his spells were just waved aside. Nothing he tried had any effect at all.”

“If the Dark Lord were easy to defeat, someone would have done so long ago,” Snape said. “Surely you realize that.”

“Of course, I do! I’m not stupid!” Harry snapped. His stomach was cramping and he was sorry he’d eaten so much at dinner.

Snape pressed his lips together in anger and his voice was hard when he spoke.

“Then what is the problem?”

“Nothing!” Harry yelled without meaning to. He could feel the familiar desperation rising in him along with the anger that seemed to always accompany it.

Snape’s eyes narrowed and Harry felt the touch of his teacher’s mind once more. Instantly, he looked away.

“Stop it!” Harry said furiously, looking back to glare at Snape. “Stay out of my mind!”

“Then stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re hiding something!”

Harry hesitated and saw Snape’s eyes flash in triumph. He knew he’d just been outmaneuvered and felt a surge of outrage.

“So what if my memories are all of him?” Harry demanded. “What difference does it make? Why do you care?”

“Because it’s my job, Potter,” Snape snapped. “Because you can’t focus your mind when it is fixated on the Dark Lord. Now tell me why this attack was so significant to you.”

“No,” Harry said defiantly.

“I beg your pardon,” Snape said in a dangerously low voice.

“I said, no,” Harry answered, matching Snape’s tone.

Snape scowled and came around his desk to face Harry.

“Stay away from me!” Harry hissed.

“Potter, get hold of yourself,” Snape said angrily.

He took another step towards Harry, but Harry backed away. Snape’s eyes widened in surprise then narrowed appraisingly.

“Potter, what is wrong with you?” Snape was studying Harry closely now

Harry didn’t know how to answer. His heart was pounding and he had no idea why he felt so panicked. He swallowed and tried to calm down. Snape took a tentative step towards him as though he expected Harry to bolt like some skittish animal if he moved too quickly. In truth, Harry did feel like running, but he stood his ground as his professor took another slow step towards him. Snape was now positioned between Harry and the door. He folded his arms and frowned.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” Harry answered defensively.

“Aren’t you?” Snape sneered.

Harry looked away once more. He had all of his mental defenses in place, but even so he knew that Snape was far too close to seeing the dark fear lurking in his mind. Harry couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t admit that fear to anyone. Not to Snape and certainly not to himself.

“Look at me,” Snape ordered.

Harry felt a surge of anger and embraced it, allowing fury to banish every other emotion from his mind. He looked up and glared at Snape.

“No! I don’t want you in my mind anymore! I want some privacy! I’m tired of you poking around in my thoughts as if you had a right to be there! You don’t!”

Harry felt Snape’s mind touch his once more and he braced himself to fight the invasion, but the presence paused, as if unwilling to confront him, and then was gone. Snape’s expression didn’t change and his keen gaze continued to bore into Harry who had the sudden, awful impression that Snape could read his mind even without using Legilimency.

“I can’t help you if you won’t let me,” Snape said evenly. “Either you trust me, or you don’t.”

“Well, I don’t!” Harry snarled, wanting nothing more than to push Snape away and to stop the man from staring at him so intently. It worked. Though he didn’t move, Snape seemed to withdraw into himself and when he next spoke it was with his usual coldly aloof manner.

“Then you have learnt as much as I can teach you. I’m sure your evenings can be better spent elsewhere. Mine certainly can.”

“You’re stopping my lessons?” Harry asked, taken aback.

“I can’t continue them if you don’t trust me. Clearly you don’t have enough faith in my intentions to do so and I have neither the time nor inclination to prove myself to you.”

“If that’s the case then why did you even bother starting these lessons in the first place?” Harry snapped in frustration.

Snape tensed and his expression became unreadable. “As I recall, you asked me to.” Snape spoke calmly, without any emotion, but Harry glanced away, suddenly finding it impossible to look the man in the eyes.

“The choice is yours,” Snape continued in the same quiet, controlled tone. “Stay or go, but don’t waste my time.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Harry said in his own tightly controlled voice. Then he pushed past Snape and left the office without a backward glance.

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.

Harry struggled through the next week feeling utterly alone. He missed Sirius terribly. He considered writing to Remus, but there was no way he could explain what he was feeling in a letter. In truth, he wasn’t sure if he could explain it at all. Luckily, he had a couple of things to take his mind off his depression.

The mystery of Malfoy’s Polyjuice Potion remained. Hermione was certain the potion would be ready soon, but they still had no idea what Malfoy was planning despite shadowing the Slytherin whenever possible.

However, Harry, Ron and Ginny were all increasingly distracted from this puzzle by the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. The Gryffindor team had been practicing hard during the last few weeks and Harry felt confident that they were going to win. In the days leading up to the match, his spirits were buoyed by anticipation.

They had perfect weather the day of the match. It was cold and clear and the whole school turned out to watch as usual.

From the outset, the Hufflepuffs were no match for the Gryffindors who played as though possessed. Within an hour Gryffindor was ahead by 120 points, then Harry spotted the Snitch. Harry raced towards it and saw the Hufflepuff Seeker, Kevin Whitby, closing on the tiny ball as well. It was going to be a near thing as to which of them got to the Snitch first and Harry lay flat on his broom to urge it to greater speed. The whole crowd below was shouting encouragement to one Seeker or the other. Harry was gaining on the Snitch and he was certain that he’d reach it ahead of the Hufflepuff. The frenzied cheering from below had reached an earsplitting volume when it suddenly changed to what sounded like a collective gasp. There was a moment of complete silence which was broken by a terrified scream.

Harry glanced down in alarm to see what had happened. The single scream had been joined by a mounting chorus of others.

Harry slowed and looked around at the other Quidditch players, but they all seemed to be frozen in shock. Kevin Whitby, who had been racing Harry to the Snitch sat on his broom unmoving, staring up in horror. Harry followed his gaze and at last understood what had caused the fear in the stands. Above him, directly over the Quidditch pitch, glowed the Dark Mark.

Harry was stunned. It wasn’t possible. There was no way that Death Eaters could have breached the school’s wards. But surely Voldemort couldn’t be at Hogwarts. Harry’s heart leapt into his throat at that thought, but a moment later Harry realized that in fact Voldemort wasn’t there. Harry didn’t feel even the slightest twinge of pain in his scar which he certainly would have done if Voldemort were anywhere nearby. Harry felt overwhelming relief. Never had he been so grateful for his scar.

But his relief was instantly replaced by angry resolve. Someone had sent up the Dark Mark and Harry was going to find him. Harry pulled up on his broom and soared above the stands, circling the stadium. From this vantage point he searched the grounds to see if he could spot anyone who shouldn’t be there. There was no one except a few terrified students fleeing the stadium. Whoever had cast the Dark Mark had somehow managed to slip away unseen.

Harry nudged his broom back down amongst the stands where the students had begun to panic. The exits were all jammed as everyone tried to run and Harry was certain someone was going to be crushed by the crowds that continued to push forward.

The situation was made worse by the fact that most of the teachers had no way to reach the terrified children. Only McGonagall and Snape had managed to get hold of brooms. They were flying over the crowds desperately trying to restore order. But their efforts were nearly useless. There was no way for two people to stem the chaos.

Harry had an idea and looked around for the other Quidditch players. Both teams still sat their brooms either too dazed to think of landing or wise enough to realize they were safer in the air. Harry flew up to the players.

“Come on! We have to help calm things down!” he said.

The other players stared at him blankly.

“Snap out of it!” he yelled. He gestured to the stands.

“Look at that! We have to help or somebody’s going to get killed!”

This succeeded in getting the players’ attention and although they still looked scared they also looked capable of acting.

“Hufflepuffs, you take the left side of the stadium, Gryffindors, we’ll take the right. Just fly over the stands and do whatever you can to calm everyone down.”

The others nodded and they all split up. Harry flew in close to the section where the Ravenclaws were and tried to get the attention of the students nearest him.

“Stop shoving!” he yelled. A few of the students glanced his way, but otherwise his entreaty had no effect. He flew up to the front of the crowd that had choked the exit. People were packed in so tightly, he wasn’t sure how anyone could breathe.

He swooped at the crowd.

“Back up!” he yelled.

Startled by Harry’s sudden maneuver, the students stopped pushing forward. There was no room to actually retreat, but they did relax and lean almost imperceptibly backward. However, this slight movement seemed to be amplified as it rippled back through the tightly packed crowd. The backward momentum picked up speed, knocking some students off their feet. The human wave broke against the front of the stands and Harry watched in horror as three students were thrown over the railing. One boy was caught by his classmates, but the others fell towards the ground. Harry was already racing forward. He caught one student, a girl, and pulled her across his broom in front of him, then dove sharply. He reached the other student and grabbed his arm. The ground was very near and Harry pulled up hard on this broom.

Alone, he could have pulled out of the dive easily. He had pulled out of steeper ones dozens of times, both in practice and in matches. But with the weight of three people his Firebolt simply couldn’t respond as nimbly. He had almost leveled out when they hit the ground.

Harry heard a snap and a cry of pain then he and the two Ravenclaws were tumbling across the pitch. They came to rest in a tangled heap. Harry had had the wind knocked out of him, but was unhurt. The girl, who looked like a first year, was sobbing hysterically, but appeared unhurt as well. The boy was groaning in pain and clutching his ankle which Harry knew was probably broken. Otherwise, the boy seemed in good shape though. At least no one was dead.

Harry looked around at the complete pandemonium. Students were pouring out of the stands and running panic-stricken in every direction. Some were crying, others screaming. It was bedlam and Harry felt utterly helpless for one of the few times in his life.

“CALM DOWN, EVERYONE!” boomed a deep voice that carried easily over the din and confusion.

It was so unexpected that everyone did indeed stop and look around for the speaker. Dumbledore stood in the middle of the pitch at once calm and commanding.

“THERE IS NO DANGER HERE BEYOND WHAT WE INFLICT ON EACH OTHER!” He flicked his wand skyward. “FINITE INCANTATEM!” he said as though banishing a first year’s charm that had gone awry.

The Dark Mark vanished instantly and without a trace. A murmur of relief ran through the crowd.

Madam Pomfrey came running up to Harry at that moment. She looked a bit frazzled, but otherwise her professionalism was intact.

“Mr. Potter! Are any of you hurt?”

“I think his ankle’s broken,” Harry said indicating the boy next to him.

The nurse examined the ankle briefly then healed it with a wave of her wand.

“Get back up to the castle and take Miss Bentley with you,” she said told the boy then turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter, I need you to get me up to the stands.”

Harry nodded. He picked up his broom, mounted it and waited for Madam Pomfrey to climb on behind him.

“Take me around so I can see who’s hurt,” Pomfrey told him.

Harry nodded acknowledgement and kicked off. He circled the stands slowly. The panic was over. Most of the teachers were now on hand and the students who could walk were beginning to disperse in an orderly fashion. However, there was a distressing number who seemed to have been injured in the stampede. Some appeared to be unconscious, or at least Harry fervently hoped they were.

He looked around worriedly for his friends and housemates. He spotted Ron almost at once with Hermione in the Gryffindor section. McGonagall was there as well and they were tending to Neville, who although clearly injured, didn’t seem to be in serious condition. Harry didn’t see Ginny and looked around anxiously for her. Finally, he saw her in the Ravenclaw section, helping the injured alongside Luna Lovegood.

“Take me down there,” Madam Pomfrey said, pointing to a group of Hufflepuffs.

Harry landed at once to find an unconscious girl cradled in the arms of another who had to be her older sister. The older girl was sobbing inconsolably as Madam Pomfrey knelt down to examine the younger girl. Professor Sprout was there and looked ready to cry as well. Ernie Macmillan was standing nearby and spoke up.

“In all the pushing and shoving, Alice fell,” he said miserably. “Eleanor, Owen and I tried to get to her, but it was just too crowded. We couldn’t help her.”

“It’s her first year,” the sobbing girl choked out. “She was so excited about coming to Hogwarts. Please, Madam Pomfrey, is she going to be all right?”

“She’ll get the best of care, Miss Branstone, I promise,” Pomfrey answered kindly, but Harry noted that she hadn’t actually answered the girl’s question.

Madam Pomfrey conjured a stretcher and settled the injured girl on it. The Hufflepuffs stepped aside to make way for the stretcher. Professor Sprout put her arm around Eleanor Branstone’s shoulder and they followed the stretcher out.

Harry glanced around to see if anyone else needed help, but no one seemed to. Harry clapped Ernie on the shoulder in mute sympathy. They nodded grimly to each other and Harry took off.

The stadium was nearly empty now. All the injured had been taken back up to the castle and a few of the teachers were rounding up the stragglers. Harry flew straight up to the castle and landed on the lawn. This wasn’t permitted by school rules, but at the moment Harry doubted anyone would care.

Students were milling around, some looking dazed, some frightened. Many were speculating on where the Dark Mark had come from. Harry saw Dumbledore approaching. He wore an unusually determined expression and carried the same air of calm control that he had shown at the stadium. He was flanked by Professors Snape and McGonagall.

McGonagall was clearly livid and Harry was reminded of a cat with its hackles up. Her hair had come loose from its neat bun and her eyes darted over the students she passed looking for any sign of injury or distress that might fuel her righteous anger. Snape, on the other hand, looked grim and withdrawn. He seemed not to notice the students at all and appeared lost in thought.

The teachers swept up the steps to the entrance hall and Harry hesitated only a moment before following them. Dumbledore and the others headed straight for the hospital wing. It was packed with students who had obviously been injured at the match. Harry shoved his way in to find Dumbledore greeting each student warmly while McGonagall looked as though she considered every injury to be a personal affront. Snape was nowhere to be seen, so Harry approached Dumbledore.

“Professor, may I speak with you a moment?”

“Of course, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Right after the Dark Mark appeared, I flew up to have a look and I didn’t see anyone suspicious at all. Whoever it was, they were either invisible or hiding in the stadium.”

Dumbledore exchanged a brief look with McGonagall, then addressed Harry.

“Thank you, Harry. That does help us.”

At that moment, Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey came out of the back ward.

“I will have the potion for you by tomorrow afternoon,” Snape was saying.

“Thank you, Professor,” Pomfrey said. “Miss Branstone’s condition is critical and there’s nothing more I can do for her without the Nerve Regeneration draught.”

“Headmaster,” Snape said as they came up to Dumbledore. “Madam Pomfrey requires my services at once. I’m afraid my other duties will have to wait.”

“By all means, Severus,” Dumbledore replied. “The students are our first priority.”

Snape nodded and left the ward. He hadn’t even glanced at Harry.

“Mr. Potter, are you hurt?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“No, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Then I want you out of here,” the matron said sternly. “There is no place for visitors right now.”

“Right.” Harry nodded to his professors and left, making his way back to Gryffindor Tower.

The common room was full of students. Harry glanced around until he spotted Ginny and Neville then cut a path through the crowd towards them.

“Hi, Harry, where have you been?” Neville asked as he pressed a cold compress against a large lump on his forehead.

“Just down at the hospital wing,” Harry said.

“You weren’t hurt, were you?” Ginny asked.

“No, I just needed to talk to Dumbledore,” Harry said. “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

“Prefect meeting,” Neville said. “They just left. We’re all supposed to wait here until they get back.”

Harry went up to his dormitory and changed out of his Quidditch robes then returned to the common room where everyone was still milling about, speculating on who might have cast the Dark Mark. After half an hour Ron and Hermione returned along with the other prefects and told everyone as much as they knew.

They had met with the Head Boy and Girl, and McGonagall, who told them that the Ministry Aurors had arrived and were inspecting the Quidditch pitch. A wand had been found which proved to be the one that had been used to cast Morsmordre. But it wasn’t one of Ollivander’s and so far there was no evidence of whom it might belong to, much less who might have used it to send up the Dark Mark. All students were to stay in their houses until dinner at which point Dumbledore would give everyone further instructions.

“That’s it?” Lavender complained. “That’s all they told you?”

“They don’t know much at the moment,” Hermione said.

“And McGonagall was in a right state, let me tell you,” Ron said. “I’ve never seen her so angry. Believe me, it wasn’t the time to press her for answers.”

“But why are they keeping us confined to our dormitories?” Dean asked. “Do you think they’re expecting some sort of further attack?”

“So long as Dumbledore’s here, I’m not worried,” Harry said. “Voldemort would have to be suicidal to try to attack Hogwarts. Whoever sent up the Dark Mark was just trying to scare us and I refuse to be scared.”

A few heads nodded approvingly and everyone seemed to calm down. Fortunately, it wasn’t long until dinnertime, and the Gryffindors all trooped down to the Great Hall together. The atmosphere was subdued, though Malfoy and his cronies were looking insufferably smug. Harry glanced up at the head table and noted that McGonagall still looked angry, her mouth set in a thin, severe line.

Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to have already put the incident behind him. He looked as calm as if it had never happened. He leaned over and said something to McGonagall. She glared at him, but then she seemed to smile despite herself and relaxed visibly.

Harry looked up and down the table. The teachers all seemed more quiet than usual. Some looked worried, others grimly determined, still others a bit sad. Harry’s gaze reached Snape and he was startled to find the Potions Master watching him. Snape’s expression was unreadable and he alone besides Dumbledore showed no effect from the afternoon’s events. Of course, Snape was always reserved and introspective anyway. Harry held the man’s eyes for a moment then looked to Dumbledore who had risen to address the students as the Hall fell silent.

“Difficult times are upon us,” he said. “Those are the first words I spoke to you at the beginning of the year and they are still true. That was brought home to us dramatically this afternoon. But it is also still true that you are safer here at Hogwarts than anywhere else. This school will continue to stand as a bulwark against the darkness spreading throughout our world. I give you my word that I will not allow the cowards who cast the Dark Mark to terrorize this school. We will not live in fear. To do so is to hand victory to the enemy. I urge each of you to put fear aside and to live life with hope, for we cannot be defeated so long as hope is alive.

“In an equally urgent matter, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff will have a re-match which I have scheduled for the 19th of April. I wish both teams good luck and promise a much more mundane match than the aborted one today. Now, let us enjoy good company and good food.”

With that, the tables were suddenly laden with food. Dumbledore’s words had lifted everyone’s spirits and the atmosphere had improved considerably as the students tucked into the meal. They ate and chatted and when they were finished Harry and his classmates rose together to return to Gryffindor Tower. They had just stepped into the entrance hall when Malfoy and his gang confronted them.

“So, you get a rematch,” Malfoy drawled. “That’s good. I’d hate to miss seeing you lose to Hufflepuff.”

The other Slytherins snickered maliciously.

“That’s funny, Malfoy,” Ron said. “And here I thought you arranged for the Dark Mark just to keep us from winning.”

“It doesn’t take the Dark Mark for that,” Malfoy scoffed. “I’m taking bets on how badly Potter’ll choke at the next match.” Malfoy grinned contemptuously at Harry.

“As I recall, you weren’t so cocky when you lost to Ravenclaw a few weeks ago,” Ginny said.

“Yeah, and we’ll see who’s laughing when the Quidditch Cup is awarded this year,” Ron added heatedly.

“You did it,” Harry said quietly, staring unblinkingly at Malfoy. “You sent up the Dark Mark.”

Everyone turned to look at Harry in surprise and Malfoy’s smile faltered.

“What?” Malfoy asked, trying to sound casual.

“You cast Morsmordre.” Harry spoke with calm certainty as the other students exchanged nervous glances.

“You’re mental, Potter!” Malfoy said angrily.

The rest of the assembled students looked as though they might agree with Malfoy, but Harry was sure he saw fear in Malfoy’s eyes.

“I know you did it,” Harry said. “I can see – ”

“Potter!”

Harry turned to see Snape coming towards him. The man was furious and the other students all backed out of his way.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor and detention this instant!” Snape said. He grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him towards the door leading to the dungeons.

Harry was furious, himself. “Professor, it’s true!” he said.

“Not another word, Potter or I’ll make it fifty points!”

Harry seethed silently as he was marched to Snape’s office. Snape threw open the door and shoved Harry into the room with so much force that Harry nearly fell. Snape entered the room and slammed the door behind him.

“Are you mad?” he shouted. “Have you no sense at all?What were you thinking accusing Malfoy like that?”

Harry stared at Snape, too shocked to answer. He’d had plenty of altercations with Malfoy over the years and he’d never seen Snape react like this. The only time he’d ever seen his professor this angry was when he’d spied into the man’s Pensieve.

“Honestly, Potter, it’s a wonder you’re still alive, as stupid as you are!” Snape continued ranting, his face pale with fury.

“It’s true!” Harry insisted, angered by Snape’s insult. “Malfoy cast the Dark Mark!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” the Potions Master snarled. He sighed at the confused expression on Harry’s face and ran a hand across his eyes in frustration.

“What were you going to tell him?” Snape asked contemptuously. “That you knew he did it because you can read his mind? Really, Potter, have you no discretion?”

Harry stared at Snape, aghast. It was true. He had read Malfoy’s mind. He had looked the Slytherin in the eyes and known he was the one. But it had been so natural, so automatic, that Harry hadn’t even been aware of what he was doing, and he realized now, with a chill, just how close he’d come to giving himself away.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said. “I didn’t think.”

“You never think!” Snape snapped. “Tell me, Potter, you do know the Dark Lord has a keen interest in your activities, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you haven’t forgotten who Draco Malfoy’s father is, by any chance?”

“No, sir.”

“Then surely you’re not so dim that you don’t realize anything you say in front of that boy has the potential to find its way to the Dark Lord? Tell me you’re not that thick, Potter!”

“No, sir!”

“Then why do you let Malfoy provoke you?” Snape demanded.

Harry looked away. He had no answer. He had simply reacted to Malfoy without thinking.

“No idea at all?” Snape asked in his most sarcastic tone. “Do you ever consider the consequences of your actions?”

“Of course I do!” Harry responded, stung by Snape’s continued criticism.

“Really? Then tell me why you pulled that reckless stunt at the Quidditch match this afternoon. What were you thinking, flying at the crowds like that? Do you have any idea how many people could have been hurt or killed?”

“I was trying to prevent people from being hurt or killed,” Harry said angrily. “I’m not reckless! But I won’t stand by and do nothing when the situation is desperate.”

“Not even when your actions make matters worse?”

“No one died!”

“Yes, fortunately your skill on a broom far exceeds your ability to think ahead. But while no one died because of your poor judgment this time, that hasn’t always been the case, has it?”

Harry blanched. Snape had never before made any reference to the previous year’s battle at the Ministry of Magic, nor to Sirius’ death, but his meaning now was impossible to miss.

“Your friends may be willing to die for the honor of following you on every fool’s errand you dream up, but I for one would rather not,” Snape continued angrily. “You allow your emotions to rule you. You take wholly unnecessary risks. You act with no thought or care. If that’s your idea of considering the consequences of your actions then I promise you your late godfather won’t be the last person to die because of your mistakes!”

Harry felt a white-hot fury course through him. That Snape would dare to throw Sirius’s death in his face after the way Snape, himself, had treated Sirius was beyond belief.

“I’m sure you didn’t lose any sleep over Sirius’s death, did you?”

“Not a bit, no.”

“No, all you ever did was criticize him and make him feel useless. He never should have even been at the Ministry. He was trying to prove himself because of you!”

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself all this time, that it was my fault?” Snape favored Harry with his most condescending sneer. “Do you honestly think anything could have kept Black from rushing to protect his beloved godson?”

“If you had done anything to help me –”

“I did everything to help you! Or has it somehow escaped your notice that you and your friends would have died if it weren’t for me? You blame me for not saving you from your own foolhardiness? Then tell me, Potter, why didn’t you come to me for help in the first place? Didn’t you know that I could discover the truth of the situation at once, or didn’t you think of that?

“Oh, but of course, you don’t trust me. You’d rather pursue your own ill-conceived scheme and try to get yourself and your classmates killed. Something you came very close to accomplishing, I might add. Well, tell me, Potter, why should anyone trust you?”

Harry couldn’t speak. He was too stunned even to be angry with Snape. The anguish in his heart drove out every other emotion. Snape was right; it had all been his fault. He had been a fool and had walked right into Voldemort’s trap. Would he recognize the next trap Voldemort set for him? How many more people were going to die trying to protect him and what was the point? Harry turned numbly towards the door.

“Potter, I have not dismissed you!” Snape said. Harry ignored him and reached for the door handle, but Snape caught Harry’s shoulder and spun him around.

“Let me go,” Harry whispered, not looking at his teacher.

“What’s the matter, Potter? Can’t our brave Gryffindor bear the truth? Well, it’s something you need to hear and that too few people will risk your tender feelings to tell you!”

“I ALREADY KNOW THE TRUTH!” Harry screamed. “I know it was my fault! I was stupid and I made a horrible mistake and I’ll never be able to make up for it, all right? I’m sorry I didn’t die, too! Maybe if you’re lucky, one of these days I will! I’m sure nothing would make you happier!”

Snape’s reflexes were lightning fast. Harry never even suspected the blow was coming and gasped more in surprise than pain as Snape slapped him.

“Don’t ever speak to me like that again.”

“Why not?” Harry demanded. “It’s the truth! You hate me!”

“What of it? Don’t you have enough friends and admirers?”

“I have enough enemies too!”

“I’m not your enemy! If I were, you’d be dead! But I refuse to coddle you. You continue to wallow in morbid memories and to agonize over your nightmares.”

“No I don’t!”

“Really? How much time have you spent brooding alone on the third floor?”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, but Snape didn’t pause.

“I roam the halls at night too, Potter, and it’s not just to keep recalcitrant Gryffindors in line. You, at least, are innocent of the atrocities you’ve witnessed.”

“It’s not my dreams,” Harry said.

“Then what is it?”

“I can’t do it!”

“Do what?”

“Kill him!”

Harry saw startled understanding in his professor’s eyes but it barely mattered. This was the fear that had been lurking in the back of Harry’s mind all these months, always there, but rarely glimpsed, and never spoken of. But since the attack on Gringotts, fear had become certainty. There was no point in pretending he didn’t know what lay before him. He couldn’t keep the hopelessness at bay any longer and now that he had begun, all of his darkest fears came tumbling out in helpless despair.

“I’m supposed to defeat him,” Harry said bitterly. “Even Dumbledore expects me to! And that stupid prophecy says I’m the only one who can do it. Only I can’t! There’s no way I can beat him in a fight! He’s too strong and every day he gets stronger. The only reason I’m still alive is because I’ve been lucky! Sooner or later my luck’s going to run out and he’s going to kill me. And that doesn’t even matter, but what happens then? Does he win? People are dying and it’s my responsibility to stop it! What happens when I fail?”

Harry finished speaking and his agonized words were followed by a crushing silence more painful than Snape’s grip on his shoulders. Harry was trembling with the effort to maintain any sort of composure. He knew it wouldn’t take Legilimency for Snape to read his desperate emotions, but Harry was past caring what the man might think or say. The pain in his chest was so acute he could hardly breathe.

Snape released his grip on Harry and stepped back.

“Sit down, Mr. Potter.”

Snape spoke in a measured tone that gave no hint of emotion, but Harry knew his teacher well enough to recognize the tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw which betrayed intense feeling. Harry slumped into a chair and ran a hand across his eyes. He didn’t look at his teacher. He knew it had been a mistake to blurt out so much in front of the man, but he didn’t care and didn’t even try to steel himself for the verbal lashing he expected was coming.

“This is why I despise prophecies,” Snape said with vehemence. He began to pace the room as he continued speaking in barely contained anger. “They are vague, notoriously useless charades whose full meanings conveniently only become clear in hindsight.”

“You don’t believe in them?” Harry asked looking up in surprise.

“Oh, some of them are true enough, I suppose,” Snape said derisively, pausing in his stride only long enough to shrug dismissively. “But for all the good they do in predicting actual events they might as well be pure fiction. I still can’t believe the headmaster burdened you with this.”

Harry instinctively jumped to Dumbledore’s defense. “He didn’t do it lightly. And I needed to know.”

“Then you also need to know how to interpret it!”

Snape stopped directly in front of Harry and fixed him with an intense and unusually earnest stare.

“Potter, the fate of the world does not rest solely upon your shoulders. Surely you’ve noticed all the people working tirelessly to oppose the Dark Lord. Do you think all those efforts are meaningless? They aren’t.”

Snape resumed his restless pacing.

“Yes, somehow your presence is essential to victory. How, I would not even venture to guess, but no one in his right mind would expect you to defeat the Dark Lord single handedly!”

Snape stopped and faced Harry once more.

“And you certainly aren’t responsible for the people who have died!” he said. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned this to you before, but clearly I didn’t impress it upon you forcefully enough!”

He bent forward, clutched the arms of Harry’s chair and fixed the young man with a fierce stare. Harry flinched at Snape’s sudden closeness but managed not to shrink back in his seat.

“You do not bear the slightest blame or responsibility for any of the Dark Lord’s actions,” Snape said in tight, clipped tones. “Do you understand that, Potter?” Snape’s voice rose in frustration. “Can you manage to get that truth through your thick skull?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, not quite sure why Snape was so angry with him. Why does he always have to wind up shouting at me? he thought miserably.

Snape seemed to realize he was yelling at the same moment. He stepped back and regarded Harry more calmly.

“Potter, you do no one any favors by allowing yourself to sink into despair.”

“No, sir.”

“It impairs your judgment which has never been all that keen to begin with.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And brooding does no good whatsoever!”

“No, sir. Thank you for pointing that out. I’ll cheer up straight away.”

Snape sighed and when he spoke again it was with forced calm.

“I only meant that you mustn’t allow worry to consume you. The burden you bear is heavy enough without you assuming sole responsibility for the fate of the entire wizarding world.”

Harry nodded, unconvinced and looked away. Snape regarded the miserable youth and shook his head in exasperation.

“Have you discussed this with anyone? Your friends, perhaps?”

“No. I can’t tell my friends,” Harry said. “They’d be horrified and they worry about me enough already. Besides, it doesn’t exactly slip easily into conversations about Quidditch or homework. Dumbledore’s too busy and there isn’t really anyone else here at school I can talk to.”

“No, I suppose not,” Snape said quietly.

They were both silent for a moment then Harry spoke softly.

“Professor, do you really think we can win?” Harry searched Snape’s eyes for the truth. There was no hesitation.

“Of course I do.” It was a simple statement made with quiet conviction, but it filled Harry with relief and a hope he hadn’t realized he’d lost.

“Potter,” Snape continued. “I am no seer, but there is one thing I do know for certain. If your death were a foregone conclusion, the prophecy would not have pointed to you as the one who could defeat the Dark Lord. There is hope, and the only thing you must do is not give up.”

Harry nodded. More than anything he wanted to believe his professor, to believe that somehow there was hope. But he knew there was something else he needed to do as well.

“Professor, I need to resume my lessons with you. You’re right - I can’t keep reading people’s thoughts without realizing it. It’s too dangerous. And my visions, I think they’re getting worse.”

Snape didn’t seem surprised by Harry’s request.

“Legilimency is not like most other forms of magic. A person may be a barely adequate potions maker and there are no consequences to the gaps in his knowledge beyond a few ruined potions. The same is true for most other disciplines. Even Occlumency does not need to be mastered. Rudimentary skills are helpful.

“But as you’ve now discovered, Legilimency is not something you can learn halfway. Once your mind has awoken to its ability to reach out to others, it must be disciplined or it runs wild.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Would it have made any difference if I had?” Snape asked.

“No, sir, probably not,” Harry conceded.

“We can discuss this Monday evening at your usual time,” Snape said. “For now, I think you need to go back to your dormitory and find something to take your mind off all of this for a while.”

Harry hardly thought that possible, but he nodded noncommittally, stood up and turned to go.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape stopped Harry. “If you need…” Snape paused then started over. “Don’t ever hesitate to come to me at any time if you require my assistance.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said in surprise. “Thank you, sir. I’ll remember that.”

---

The corridors were deserted as Harry made his way slowly back to Gryffindor Tower. After venting his fears to Snape, Harry was surprised to discover that he actually felt better than he had in a long time. Talking about his worries seemed to have diminished them. It was true, he wasn’t alone. He had Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix on his side, plus his friends. And he was letting all of them down by allowing his emotions to get the better of him. No more, Harry promised himself. They were in a war and he needed to start fighting it.

“Harry, you’re back,” Ginny said in greeting as Harry climbed through the portrait hole. “Are you all right?”

“We thought Snape was going to kill you,” Ron added.

“No,” Harry said reasonably, “he just yelled at me a lot.”

Ron snorted in disgust. “Snape’s a complete git! He’d stick up for Malfoy, no matter what.”

“He wasn’t being a git,” Harry said. “He was right. What I did was stupid.”

“But you were right, Harry!” Ron protested. “After Snape dragged you off, Hermione and I went to have a look at that potion Malfoy’s been brewing. It was gone. He must have used it to somehow help cast the Dark Mark. He has to have been involved.”

“He was,” Harry said. “I saw it in his mind.”

There was a moment’s startled silence then Ginny spoke up.

“You read Malfoy’s mind?”

“Yeah, though I didn’t realize I was doing it at the time. Fortunately Snape did.”

“Why fortunately?” Ron asked.

“Because if Harry had let on that he could read Malfoy’s thoughts that could have made things very awkward for both Harry and Professor Snape,” Hermione answered. “No wonder Snape was so angry.”

Ron was looking very uncomfortable.

“Harry, I hate to say this. But don’t you think this is getting a bit out of hand? I mean dreaming about Voldemort is one thing. Reading people’s minds without even knowing it is something else. Aren’t your lessons with Snape supposed to stop that sort of thing?”

Harry hesitated then decided if his friendships meant anything at all he needed to start being honest.

“I quit my lessons with Snape three weeks ago.”

“What?” Hermione asked. “Harry, why?”

“Because I just couldn’t deal with Snape running around in my mind all the time,” Harry said.

“Then where have you been going all these evenings?” Ginny asked.

“For walks around the castle,” Harry said, not quite ready to reveal his private hideaway. “I needed time alone. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“But why didn’t you tell us?” Hermione asked, clearly bewildered.

“I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. I felt guilty and I knew you’d all be disappointed with me.”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione said throwing her arms around Harry and giving him a hug. “We could never be disappointed with you. We just worry about you, that’s all.”

“I know and I didn’t want you to worry any more,” Harry said, blushing slightly as Hermione released him. “Anyway, it’s all right. I told Snape I want to start my lessons again.”

“And he agreed?” Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. “After what happened with Malfoy, I don’t think either of us has much choice. Ron’s right. I have to learn to control this.”

“Well good,” Hermione said. “At least that’s sorted.”

“Just remember that we’re here no matter what happens,” Ginny said.

The others all nodded and Harry was grateful once more for having such good friends.

---

The next morning the Gryffindors went down to breakfast only to find a crowd of students gathered in the entrance hall.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked a group of Hufflepuffs.

“Reporters,” someone told him.

Harry pushed his way through the crowd to the front door and craned his neck to see outside. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were close behind him. There were indeed half a dozen strangers outside, along with a man Harry recognized. Averill Pembroke stood towards the back of the group of reporters and the sight of him sent a chill down Harry’s spine. In front of the reporters stood an incensed and imposing Professor McGonagall.

“This is a school,” she was saying. “You have no business here.”

“We’re here to report on the Dark Mark,” a tall, lanky wizard said.

“Then report on it,” McGonagall snapped. “You don’t need free run of the school for that.”

“We need eye-witness accounts of what happened.”

“I was an eye-witness. I can tell you what happened.”

“We’d like to talk to the Quidditch players to find out what they saw from their vantage point,” a plump witch said, smiling sweetly.

“You aren’t talking to any of the students and in any case they saw nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Have you any idea who cast the Dark Mark?” a mousy wizard asked.

“No.”

“How many of the students have left Hogwarts since yesterday?” Lanky asked.

“None.”

“Are you considering closing the school?” the plump witch asked, no longer smiling.

“Are you mad? Of course not!”

“When do you expect the Aurors to complete their investigation?” Mousy piped up.

“I’ve no idea. Ask them”

“Where’s Dumbledore? Why can’t we talk to him and what is he doing to get to the bottom of this?”

“The headmaster is devoting all of his effort to getting to the bottom of this which is why he has no time to waste talking to you.”

The students had spilled out onto the front steps to watch this verbal jousting. Harry was quite proud of his Head of House. If these reporters thought they were going to fluster McGonagall they were going to be very disappointed.

With the confrontation taking place on the driveway, no one noticed a lone figure approaching the castle until he was nearly upon them.

“Dad?” Ginny murmured.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all glanced the way she was looking and caught sight of Arthur Weasley who appeared rather befuddled by the scene he’d come upon. He glanced their way as though hoping to make a dash for the door, but just then the reporters noticed him. As one, they all turned on him like a pack of wolves scenting fresh meat.

“Mr. Weasley, are you here on behalf of the Ministry?” the plump witch asked.

“Er, no,” Mr. Weasley answered.

“You’re not here to investigate the Dark Mark?” Lanky asked.

“Not unless you think it had something to do with the misuse of Muggle artifacts?” Mr. Weasley replied. “I’m simply here to see my children.”

“Then you believe Dumbledore doesn’t have the situation in hand?” Averill Pembroke asked, speaking for the first time.

“I’m certain Professor Dumbledore has the situation well in hand,” Mr. Weasley answered.

“But you are concerned enough about your children’s safety to come and have a look for yourself,” Pembroke pressed.

“My reason for being here is none of your business,” Mr. Weasley insisted, but Pembroke had found his quarry and refused to give up the pursuit.

“But you must admit, as a parent, that the safety of Hogwarts has been called into question. If Death Eaters could gain access to the school grounds to cast Morsmordre, who knows what else they might do.”

“I repeat that I have every confidence in the headmaster.”

“Then let me ask you this,” Pembroke said, nimbly changing tactics. “Don’t you think it’s strange that no representative of the Ministry has come to Hogwarts to investigate this incident?”

“There are a dozen Aurors on site investigating this incident, Mr. Pembroke,” McGonagall answered, trying to force her way between Mr. Weasley and the reporters.

“But no one from the Minister’s office.”

“I work at the Ministry, Pembroke and I assure you the Minister is taking this event very seriously!”

“So then you are here as a Ministry representative?”

“No,” Mr. Weasley said through clenched teeth. “I’m merely telling you what I know. The Minister is doing everything possible to fight the threat from these Death Eaters and to protect us all.”

“You know that from your work in the Department for the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?”

“I know that because all of us at the Ministry have only one goal at the moment which is to defeat You-Know-Who and no one is working harder than the Minister!”

“You have confidence in the Minister?” Lanky asked, interrupting Pembroke’s interrogation and earning a glare from the man.

“Yes, I do,” Mr. Weasley answered.

“That’s your professional or personal opinion?” the plump witch asked.

“Er, both.”

“Mr. Weasley, isn’t it true that you, yourself, were investigated for the misuse of Muggle artifacts four years ago?” Pembroke interjected, smoothly regaining control of the questioning once more. There was a moment’s silence as everyone waited to hear Mr. Weasley’s response.

“That was an unfortunate accident,” Mr. Weasley said, trying to pick his words carefully. “And it points out the need for a greater understanding of Muggles and their society.”

“I’d say it points out how inherently dangerous any dealings with Muggles can be,” Pembroke said.

“That’s not true!” Mr. Weasley said, clearly exasperated now. “That’s the same superstitious fear that has allowed You-Know-Who to return to power. We can’t continue to hide from what we don’t understand. I’ve met Muggles and let me tell you I like some of them better than I like some of the wizards I know! We can’t pretend that the Muggle world doesn’t exist. My children go to school with children from Muggle families. Some of my children may marry Muggles or Muggle-borns. There is no shame in it and I say that as a pure blood wizard from one of the oldest families! Until we rid ourselves of this fear and prejudice we will never be free of the evil that You-Know-Who embodies.”

Pembroke’s eyes narrowed, but the other reporters were all scribbling furiously with their quills.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Everyone turned.

Dumbledore now stood in the doorway, exuding quiet authority. The students stood aside to let him pass as he descended the stairs and approached the reporters, none of whom seemed to want to be the first to address the headmaster.

Dumbledore waited patiently and at last the plump witch cleared her throat and spoke.

“Headmaster, we’re here to investigate the Dark Mark.”

“Ah, then you are in the wrong place, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore said. “The Dark Mark appeared over the Quidditch pitch. You are more than welcome to investigate there, so long as the Ministry Aurors have no objection.”

“We were hoping to speak to some witnesses,” Lanky said.

“The staff have already given their statements to the Aurors who can provide you with any information you need.”

“What about the students?” Pembroke asked.

“They have already been traumatized enough by yesterday’s events. I will not allow them to be disturbed further. In any case, they saw nothing beyond what has already been reported.”

The reporters exchanged nervous glances and squirmed. Apparently, no one wanted to argue with Dumbledore.

“The Quidditch pitch is that way,” Dumbledore said amiably, pointing in the appropriate direction.

The reporters took one last hungry look at the students gawking from the stairs then turned and headed off the way Dumbledore had indicated.

Mr. Weasley and Professor McGonagall followed Dumbledore back up the steps to the entrance hall, herding the students before them.

“Insufferable people!” McGonagall said once they were inside. “They have no respect for anyone’s privacy at all. Really, Headmaster! You were much too polite.”

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. “They are merely doing their jobs.”

McGonagall snorted indignantly then turned to the crowd of students. “Everyone to breakfast!” she said briskly. “There’s nothing else to see here.”

The students immediately began to disperse to the Great Hall, except for Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione who approached Mr. Weasley.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Ginny asked, hugging her father.

“Just came to see Dumbledore,” Mr. Weasley replied. “You’re all right aren’t you?” he asked, clearly referring to Harry and Hermione as well as his own children.

Four heads nodded.

“Good. You’re safer here than anywhere. Just keep your eyes open.” He gave them a reassuring smile, then turned and accompanied Dumbledore upstairs.

Monday morning Harry was looking forward to classes with the hope that a regular schedule would help calm everyone’s nerves. Tensions were high at Hogwarts; everyone seemed to be looking over their shoulders and jumping at shadows. Many of the students clearly expected that some sort of attack was imminent despite the fact that since the Dark Mark had appeared, life had been relentlessly mundane.

The teachers were prowling about more than usual too, keeping a watchful eye on their nervous charges. The Aurors had taken until late Sunday to finish examining the Quidditch pitch and the surrounding area, but their investigation had been inconclusive. There was still no evidence of who might have summoned the Dark Mark and this caused another spike in anxiety among the castle’s residents. At least the reporters had left.

“Hey, Ron! Your dad’s in the paper,” Seamus announced, interrupting Harry’s reverie.

“What?” Ron said.

“Yeah, have a look.” Seamus passed the paper to Ron as both Ginny and Hermione huddled around to read over his shoulder.

“Listen to this,” Ron said.

“Ministry spokesman, Arthur Weasley, yesterday echoed the Minister’s call for an end to Muggle-baiting. He referred to the prejudice against Muggles and Muggle-borns as “the same superstitious fear that has allowed You-Know-Who to return to power.”

“We can’t continue to hide from what we don’t understand,” Weasley said. “We can’t pretend that the Muggle world doesn’t exist. My children go to school with children from Muggle families. Some of my children may marry Muggles or Muggle-borns. There is no shame in it and I say that as a pure blood wizard from one of the oldest families. Until we rid ourselves of this fear and prejudice we will never be free of the evil that You-Know-Who embodies.”

“Pretty good, don’t you think?” Ron said, grinning broadly.

“It’s about time someone spoke out about what Voldemort stands for,” Hermione said. “Your father’s right, Ron; hate and prejudice are the real dangers. As long as they exist, wizards like Voldemort will exploit them to gain power.”

“It was really brave of your dad to say those things,” Neville said. “You must be really proud of him.”

Ron and Ginny both beamed

Harry looked back at his breakfast feeling oddly melancholy. It must be nice for Ron and Ginny to have someone they could be proud of. Harry didn’t have that. He certainly wasn’t proud of the Dursleys. He wasn’t even proud of his own father anymore, not after all that he had learnt about the arrogant bully James Potter had been as a boy. He pushed that thought away and concentrated on his food until it was time to leave for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry rose along with the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors and headed for the entrance hall.

“Harry!”

Harry turned to find Eleanor Branstone pushing her way through the crowded hall towards him.

“Harry, I’m glad I caught you,” Eleanor said, coming up to him. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did on Saturday. If you hadn’t brought Madam Pomfrey up to the stands, I don’t know what would have happened to Alice.”

“Is she going to be all right?” Harry asked, genuinely concerned for the young girl.

“Yes.” Eleanor hesitated and bit her lip. “Her neck was broken. She would have died, but Madam Pomfrey was wonderful! She gave Alice a Nerve Regeneration draught and she says Alice is going to make a full recovery.”

“That’s terrific!”

Eleanor smiled. “Yes, I’m so grateful! Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate your help.”

“It was nothing, really,” Harry said, blushing slightly at what he considered undeserved gratitude. “If you want to thank someone, thank Professor Snape. He’s the one who made the Nerve Regeneration draught.”

Eleanor’s smile faltered and she looked at Harry askance. “Professor Snape?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered frowning slightly in confusion at the girl’s reaction. “I heard him and Madam Pomfrey talking about it.”

“Oh,” Eleanor said, still looking at Harry oddly. “Er, okay. Anyway, I’ll let you get to class. Bye, Harry.”

Eleanor turned away and Harry wondered at the girl’s strange behavior. Snape had done as much to save her sister’s life as anyone, yet she didn’t seem at all grateful to the man. Harry shrugged and hurried to join his friends.

When they arrived at the lake for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry noticed that Professor Ryan looked uncharacteristically serious.

“Follow me, everyone,” Ryan instructed as soon as all the students were present.

He offered no explanation, but struck off across the grounds leaving his bewildered students to follow. But curiosity turned to apprehension when it became obvious where Ryan was headed. Harry quickened his pace and came up along side his teacher.

“Professor, are we going to the Quidditch pitch?”

“That’s right, Mr. Potter.”

Harry glanced behind him and saw the other students exchanging nervous glances.

“May I ask why, sir?”

“I’ll be happy to explain that to the entire class as soon as we get there.”

Harry fell back to walk with the rest of his classmates and soon they had arrived at the pitch. Ryan stopped beneath the closest set of hoops and motioned for the students to gather around.

“Is there anyone here who wasn’t at the match on Saturday?” Ryan asked.

No one raised their hand, so Ryan continued.

“Good. You’ve all made tremendous progress at dueling this year. You’ve even learnt to put aside your personal feelings and work with people you don’t like. So, the little prank we saw here on Saturday comes at the perfect moment to discuss our next topic: strategy and tactics. Let’s start, though, by discussing logistics.

“Mr. Malfoy. If you were going to cast Morsmordre as it appeared in the sky Saturday, where would you need to be located?”

Malfoy paled slightly but responded with his usual bravado.

“Well, I wouldn’t do it from the stands where I was sitting. Everyone would see me.”

“Good point! No one could have cast that spell from the stands without being seen or heard.”

“They couldn’t have been on the pitch either,” Dean said. “They certainly would have been seen there.”

“So they must have been just outside the stadium, then,” Ron concluded.

Harry shook his head. “I went up to have a look and I didn’t see anyone running away.” He tried not to glare at Malfoy.

“Maybe they were wearing an invisibility cloak,” Neville said.

“That’s one possibility,” Ryan said.

“It could have been an Animagus,” Hermione said.

“That’s possible also, though Animagi aren’t common.”

“Voldemort has at least one in his service,” Ron said.

“Maybe they used Polyjuice Potion,” Harry suggested.

Malfoy froze and shot Harry a startled look.

“What good would that do?” Seamus asked.

“If someone were to take the appearance of one of the students, they could blend into the crowd without being discovered,” Harry said, studiously ignoring Malfoy.

Harry didn’t know exactly how Malfoy had managed it, but he knew this was close enough to rattle the Slytherin.

“That’s a clever idea, Potter. But don’t forget, the impersonator would need a strand of hair or fingernail clipping from the person he or she was imitating.”

“I’m sure there are ways to arrange that,” Ron said.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Weasley,” Ryan agreed with a slight smile. “All right then, let’s talk about the more important question,” Ryan continued. “Why? Why would Voldemort expend the resources to add a bit of excitement to a Quidditch match at Hogwarts? What did he accomplish?”

“He did it for the same reason he attacked Gringotts,” Hermione said. “He wants to make people afraid. He wants everyone to believe that no place is safe and that his reach extends everywhere.”

“It does,” Malfoy said. “The sooner people realize that, the better off they’ll be.”

“You mean, the more people Voldemort can frighten into submission, the better off he’ll be,” Hermione retorted.

“You mudbloods will be some of the first he makes an example of,” Malfoy sneered.

Hermione’s expression darkened but before she could reply Ron had his wand pointed at Malfoy.

“Say that again,” Ron said. “I dare you to!”

“Defending your girlfriend, Weasley,” Malfoy scoffed. “Pure blood traitors like you are even worse than the mudbloods. Believe me, your kind will be the first to pay.”

“You're sick, Malfoy,” Ron said in disgust.

“That’s enough, both of you!” Ryan snapped. “This isn’t a debating club. I’m here to teach you how to defend yourselves in a war regardless of which side you may take, and part of that is being able to anticipate your enemy’s next move. Your homework for next Monday is to analyze the political and social causes and ramifications of Voldemort’s rise and the influence his strategy and tactics have had on the latter. I want at least three feet.”

The whole class stared at Ryan speechless and the usual mischievous twinkle returned to Ryan’s eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve already told you that most battles are won up here,” he said tapping his temple. “I expect your best effort. Dismissed.”

---

“The political and social causes and ramifications of Voldemort’s rise,” Ron repeated miserably as they headed back to the castle. “I don’t even know what that means!”

“It means what caused Voldemort’s rise and what has been the result of it.”

“Well, how should we know?”

“He wants our opinions, Ron,” Hermione explained patiently. “There isn’t really a right or wrong answer so long as we can show that we’ve thought about it.” Hermione was clearly looking forward to the assignment.

“I really don’t see how three feet of parchment is going to be enough, though,” she said.

Ron rolled his eyes and looked at Harry.

“I’m glad there’s no right or wrong answer,” he whispered.

They got to the entrance hall and were about to go in to lunch when a familiar, sarcastic drawl stopped them.

“Well, well, what have we here?” Snape said, surveying the class. “No mud. No one’s soaked to the bone. And not one of you is in need of a visit to the hospital wing. Can this really be Professor Ryan’s Defense class?”

“We were discussing the strategy and tactics behind the appearance of the Dark Mark,” Ryan said, coming into the hall. “The class actually came up with a fascinating theory on how the culprit managed to get away unseen. They think someone might have used Polyjuice Potion to impersonate one of the students. What do you think, Severus?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, warily and flickered towards Harry for the briefest instant.

“It could have been,” he conceded.

“But I wonder how they might have got hold of a strand of hair from one of the students? It seems to me they would have needed inside help, don’t you think?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed even further. He clearly knew exactly where this was going and was in no mood for Ryan’s insinuations.

“Possibly,” Snape said in a dangerously silken drawl. “If, in fact, your theory is correct. I don’t suppose you actually have any evidence?”

“None whatsoever,” Ryan said good-naturedly. “It’s pure speculation.”

“In that case, I’ll leave you to your fantasies,” Snape said. He turned to walk away, but only managed three paces before Ryan stopped him.

“Snape,” Ryan called. “You are the only one at Hogwarts who possesses the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion, am I right?”

Snape slowly turned to face the Defense teacher. He looked ready to strangle the man, but managed to maintain his composure.

“Yes,” he said, making the word sound like a threat.

Ryan smiled. “Thank you, Severus,” he said amiably. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

The Defense professor turned away and strolled into the Great Hall. Snape glared after him resentfully, then turned and stalked off towards the dungeons.

Harry stared glumly after his teachers. He had watched the scene unfold with growing frustration. Ryan had used his suggestion about the Polyjuice Potion to bait Snape which had never been Harry’s intention, but then Ryan never missed an opportunity to needle his colleague. It seemed the two men couldn’t be in the same room without snide remarks being exchanged. However, while Snape was contemptuous of Ryan’s teaching abilities, Ryan’s comments always amounted to thinly veiled accusations about Snape’s loyalties.

Harry found the constant insinuations irritating. In fact, he was beginning to find Ryan’s joviality grating. He didn’t trust the man. It was an open secret that Ryan was after Snape’s position as Head of Slytherin, and he was clearly doing all he could to undermine Snape in order to get it.

Harry followed the rest of his classmates in to lunch. He glanced at the head table where Ryan was regaling his fellow professors with some obviously amusing story. They all laughed heartily and Harry felt a fresh surge of indignation. Couldn’t anyone see what this man was doing?

“Well, that’s another round to Ryan,” Ron said as they sat down. “Honestly, I don’t know why Snape doesn’t just run when he sees him coming.”

“I don’t know,” Neville said. “I’m not sure making an enemy of Snape is the wisest thing to do.”

“Ryan can take care of himself,” Ron said. “And it isn’t as if he doesn’t have any friends,” he added, nodding casually in the direction of the head table.

“He does seem to get on really well with all the other teachers,” Hermione commented.

“Not to mention the students,” Seamus added.

Harry reached for a sandwich and tried to ignore the conversation.

“I really do hope Dumbledore decides to make him Head of Slytherin,” Lavender said.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Maybe then they’d be hiring a new Potions teacher next year instead of a new Defense one.”

“Do you think Snape would really quit?” Neville asked.

“It’d be nice,” Dean said.

“Ryan’s a better teacher and he certainly fits in better,” Pavarti said.

“Yeah, well if he’s so wonderful why is it he goes out of his way to insult Snape every chance he gets?” Harry asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.

“Snape’s a git,” Ron said, as though this was a definitive answer and no other reason needed to be offered.

“Well, at least Snape didn’t accuse Ryan of casting the Dark Mark,” Harry replied.

“Ryan was just saying what everyone else was thinking,” Seamus added.

“Really?” Harry said. “That’s funny. It had never occurred to me that Snape might have had anything to do with it! Can’t any of you see that Ryan’s only trying to undermine Snape for his own gain?”

“So what if he is?” Dean asked. “He’s the best Defense teacher we’ve had in ages! And he treats all of us decently. Ron’s right, Snape’s a complete git!”

“Snape may be a git, but at least he’s not stabbing anyone in the back!” Harry said in disgust. He stood up, threw down his napkin and stalked away.

He was halfway across the entrance hall when Ron came running up behind him.

“Harry, wait!”

“Why?” Harry said not checking his pace or looking at his friend. “So you can tell me how brilliant Ryan is?”

Ron grabbed his arm and Harry spun around to face his friend.

“Harry, what is your problem?” Ron demanded. “Why are you defending Snape?”

“Well, no one else seems inclined to!”

“Why should they? This is Snape we’re talking about.”

“He didn’t cast the Dark Mark and you know it!”

“No, he’s just the one who gave Malfoy the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion! You’ll notice he hasn’t mentioned that!”

“You know he can’t turn in Malfoy.”

“All I know is that if he isn’t a Death Eater, he’s doing a really good impression of one.”

Harry’s hands clenched in frustration and he was very close to punching his best friend when Hermione came hurrying up to them.

“Harry, what is wrong with you?” Hermione demanded in an urgent whisper. “Are you trying to get Professor Snape killed?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“He’s supposed to be on Voldemort’s side. Remember? How do you think it looks for you to be defending him? Malfoy’s not stupid, Harry, and if he gets suspicious…”

Hermione didn’t finish the thought. She didn’t have to. Harry felt his stomach drop.

“I told everyone that you were just upset because, after everything you’ve been through, you can’t bear the thought of another of Voldemort’s supporters here at school. They all seemed to believe that, so it should be all right.”

Harry sighed in relief. “Thanks, Hermione. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I went off like that. You’re right. I ought to know better.”

“I know it isn’t easy, Harry, but you have to be careful!”

“So, just to be clear,” Ron interjected. “You both trust Snape?”

“Yes,” Harry and Hermione both answered without hesitation.

“Well, I only hope you’re right,” Ron said, obviously not convinced.

---

Harry arrived for his lesson with Snape promptly at seven o’clock, feeling slightly apprehensive. It had been a month since he’d walked out on Snape and after their confrontation Saturday evening, Harry wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the Potions Master. But he needn’t have worried. Snape acted as though Harry had never quit his lessons and made no reference at all to Harry’s breakdown in his office. Harry was immensely grateful for this, though of course he didn’t tell Snape that.

Snape greeted Harry in his usual terse fashion, wasting no words as he rose from his desk.

“Let’s see what you can do with Legilimency.”

Harry nodded and drew his wand.

“Put that away - you won’t need it.”

“But I’ve never tried Legilimency without a wand,” Harry protested.

“Don’t be absurd, Potter,” Snape said. “You’ve read Mr. Malfoy’s thoughts as well as my own and who knows how many other of your unsuspecting classmates’? The fact that you didn’t intend to is beside the point.”

Harry sighed. He slipped his wand back into his pocket and stood facing his teacher uncertainly.

“Well?” Snape drawled.

“Well what?” Harry asked.

“You need to initiate the spell, Potter.”

“How?”

“You need to focus your thoughts while calming your mind just as you have always done. But use your mind to direct the energy instead of your wand. Now look me in the eyes and open your mind. What did I have for breakfast this morning?”

“What?”

“Breakfast, Potter! It’s the simplest of memories, requiring no interpretation.”

Harry stared at Snape feeling slightly panicked. Simple or not, he had no idea how to read Snape’s memories without a wand.

“Potter, I won’t waste my time with you if you aren’t going to even try!” Snape said impatiently.

“I don’t know how!” Harry replied in exasperation.

“And clearly you aren’t serious about learning,” Snape sneered.

Harry flushed angrily. “Yes I am!”

“No you’re not, and spare me the earnest protestations! You’re afraid to take responsibility for your own mind! It’s so much easier to be a victim, isn’t it! Or do you simply enjoy being privy to the Dark Lord’s thoughts?”

If there hadn’t been a desk between them, Harry would have punched Snape.

“Do you think I’d spend one minute here if I didn’t want these visions to stop?” he said furiously. “I’m doing my best! Why don’t you try helping me instead of criticizing me? Give me a hint, at least! You’re the one who’s wasting time or do you just like watching me fail? It seems to me if you really wanted –”

“What, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked, leaning across the desk. “Don’t look away! If you’re not afraid then prove it! What do I want? What am I thinking right now?”

“That you’re going to teach me Legilimency if it kills us both,” Harry answered.

The hint of a smile played across Snape’s lips.

“A slight exaggeration,” he said. “But close enough. Now pay attention to your mind. Can you feel the sharp awareness, the focused openness? That’s the sensation you have to be able to create at will. Now, tell me what I had for breakfast.”

Harry could see the memory clearly. “Toast with jam and tea,” he said without hesitation.

“There, you see, you can do it,” Snape said. He stepped back and the memory was gone, the connection broken. Snape was perfectly composed and Harry stared at him with dawning understanding.

“You were baiting me,” Harry said indignantly. “You made me angry on purpose.”

“I do everything on purpose, Potter,” Snape answered without apology. “It was the quickest way to overcome your reticence and show you the proper technique. Learn to perform Legilimency on your own and I won’t need to provoke you.”

Harry glared at his teacher. He was angry with Snape for manipulating him and even angrier with himself for allowing it. But he had to admit that Snape was right. It had been the quickest way to show him how to open his mind.

“Now try again, and see if this time you can manage it on your own,” Snape said.

Harry took a deep breath, relaxed and tried to recreate the proper mental state. He met Snape’s eyes and reached out mentally. All at once he was plunged into an ocean of memories and emotions that swirled around him. He felt as though he were drowning and struggled to pull away.

“Steady, Potter,” Snape said, breaking the mental connection. “Try again but this time, maintain some control.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry used the Oclumency techniques he’d learnt to erect a barrier in his own mind then reached out once more. It was the same sensation he’d felt the first night he’d broken into Snape’s mind with murderous intent, but he wasn’t angry now and he’d had months of training to help him make sense of what he was experiencing. This was both more intense and more richly nuanced than the Legilimency he’d performed using his wand and Harry was fascinated despite himself. He could sense not only memories, but the mind behind them. Snatches of thought and emotion bombarded him, but slipped away before he could identify them. Harry reached deeper to try to follow these elusive phantoms.

“Potter!”

Harry stumbled into the work bench and grunted in pain as he slammed his elbow against the hard wood. It had been a long time since Snape had given him such a strong mental shove and Harry was genuinely surprised at his professor’s violent response to him. Harry straightened up rubbing his elbow and glared at Snape.

“What?” he demanded. “I thought the whole idea was for me to look into your mind!”

“Look, not take up residence! Honestly, no wonder you can’t disassociate your mind from the Dark Lord’s! Try again and this time, have a little self-restraint!”

Harry sighed. “Yes, sir.”

---

Over the next several weeks, life gradually returned to normal at Hogwarts as the memory of the Dark Mark faded, along with fears of any further attacks at the school. Harry continued to spend most of his free time on the Quidditch pitch, but more often than not, Ginny accompanied him now. Ron even showed up for extra practice from time to time with Hermione along to cheer them on.

Malfoy had been keeping a low profile and Harry took satisfaction in believing that his harassment of the Slytherin was the cause. Malfoy certainly seemed to eye him warily whenever he thought Harry wouldn’t notice.

Meanwhile, Harry’s lessons with Snape had fallen into a routine that was both frustrating and comfortable. Harry was frustrated because his progress at Legilimency seemed agonizingly slow. He was anxious to learn and could now reliably reach into Snape’s mind without using a wand. Unfortunately, he had almost no control once the connection was made; he could make little sense of most of the churning memories and emotions he encountered and was only rarely able to break the bond himself.

Remarkably, Snape didn’t criticize him for his failure and actually seemed more or less satisfied with his progress. Whether Snape was reserving his criticism because he feared Harry might quit again, or simply because he expected no better of his student, Harry didn’t know and didn’t care. He and Snape hadn’t shared such an easy rapport since before Christmas and Harry was surprised to discover how much he’d missed that. It probably wouldn’t last, but for now, the lessons were comfortably relaxed.

---

“Potter –”

“I don’t know!” Harry snapped. He broke eye contact with Snape and turned to pace across the office. Harry was having a particularly frustrating evening. All his efforts seemed futile and he felt like screaming.

“I can’t tell if you had sausage and eggs for breakfast, or cereal and fruit, or something else entirely. You eat breakfast every morning! How am I supposed to sort today from yesterday from last week?”

“With practice.”

Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to hide his sarcasm when he spoke. “Thank you, Professor. I can’t tell you how much that helps.”

“Potter, what is wrong with you?” Snape asked in exasperation. “Legilimency is very advanced magic. Grown wizards have spent years studying it. Are you really so arrogant that you expect to master it in a few weeks?”

“Of course not. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“You aren’t doing anything wrong,” Snape said. “You simply aren’t doing enough right.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Snape sighed. “Potter, do you know what the purpose of this exercise is?”

“To see if I can read your thoughts,” Harry answered.

“No. It’s to teach you control. You could, at this moment, look into my mind and find any number of dramatic memories I’ve accumulated in my life. But that would do nothing to teach you what you need to know. Requiring you to distinguish between subtly different memories forces you to discipline your mind. That is what is required in order for you to block your visions. If you’re going to control your mind in your sleep then it must become second nature to you while you’re awake.”

Harry considered what Snape had said and had to admit that it made sense.

“But how do I do that?” Harry asked.

“Perusing another’s mind is an art. Few people will oblige you by thinking of precisely the memory you wish to see and nothing else. Therefore, you must learn to sift the useful information from the chaff. Most memories are not terribly unique and even those that are can still be virtually impossible to place in time. Alone, it’s difficult to glean anything from them. But memories are highly associative. Finding the right associations will give meaning to what you see.”

“How do I find the right associations?”

“Time and practice will teach you which clues to look for.”

“How much time?”

“That depends on you, but impatience will not help speed the process.”

It was Harry’s turn to sigh. He felt thoroughly discouraged. “I just don’t think I have years to learn this.”

“Potter, do you honestly think I would have promised to teach you Legilimency if I thought for a moment it would take years to do so?” Snape asked.

Harry couldn’t help but smile at that. “No, sir, I suppose not.”

“I think we’ve done enough for tonight,” Snape said. “Besides, you have a Potions essay due tomorrow that I’m certain you haven’t started yet.”

Harry rolled his eyes in mock annoyance as he turned towards the door.

“That’s the problem with having a teacher who can read minds,” he said.

Snape smirked at him. “I assure you there is no Legilmency involved. I am well aware of the amount of effort you devote to my class. Not that I think more diligence would improve your marks.”

Harry paused with his hand on the door handle. “You know Professor, one of these days I might actually study and surprise you.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it. Good night, Mr. Potter.”

“Good night, Professor.”

Harry pulled open the door and nearly bumped into Draco Malfoy. The two boys gaped at each other in surprise.

“Come in, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said evenly. “Potter was just leaving.”

Malfoy glanced at Snape then back at Harry who quickly pushed his way past the Slytherin and headed down the hall. Harry waited until he heard Snape’s door close, then stopped and glanced back towards the office. It was deathly quiet in the deserted corridor and Harry was sure he could hear his heart pounding. For just an instant as he’d looked into Malfoy’s eyes he’d seen a dawning suspicion that chilled him far more than the dank cold of the dungeons. He hoped fervently that Snape had seen it too.

---

Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room and was met by an unusual sight; Neville was in one corner with his Mimbulus mimbletonia. Harry hadn’t realized how big the plant had grown. It was at least four feet high. Some soft music was playing and Neville was humming along, though vaguely off-key. He was misting the plant with something that even from a distance didn’t smell particularly pleasant. Harry noticed that everyone was giving Neville a wide berth. Harry decided this was probably wise and went to join Hermione and Ginny by the fire.

Hermione was curled up on the sofa, somehow balancing both Crookshanks and her Arithmancy textbook in her lap. Ginny sat in a chair by the fire, reading as well. Harry took the chair opposite Ginny.

“What’s Neville doing?” he asked.

“Administering the tonic he and Luna made,” Ginny answered with a scowl. “You’d think they could have made it smell better.”

“It smells even worse in close quarters,” Hermione said, laying aside her book to pat her cat who was butting his head against her for attention. “Ron, Dean and Seamus all swore they’d hex Neville if he brought it back into your dormitory.”

“Good,” Harry said, wrinkling his nose at the odor wafting over from the opposite side of the room.

The portrait hole opened and Ron came in. He paused long enough to glower in Neville’s direction then came over and sat down next to Hermione. Crookshanks, who had been purring loudly in pleasure, pricked up his ears and leapt out of Hermione’s arms. He meowed loudly and went to prowl by the fireplace.

“I swear that cat hates me,” Ron said.

“He’s probably just jealous,” Ginny said.

“Don’t worry, he’ll come around,” Hermione assured Ron as she snuggled close to him. Then she turned her attention to Harry and lowered her voice.

“How are your lessons with Professor Snape going?” she asked.

“Okay,” Harry said. “I’m worried about Malfoy, though. I bumped into him on my way out of Snape’s office tonight and I’d swear he suspects something.”

“Do you think he knows Snape’s not really teaching you Potions?” Ginny asked glancing around to make sure no one was listening to them.

“No,” Harry said, leaning in towards the others and dropping his voice. “Not yet, anyway. But we can’t afford for him to find out. If it got back to Voldemort that Snape has been teaching me Occlumency and Legilimency, it wouldn’t be good.”

“Does Snape know that Malfoy is suspicious?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Probably, yeah. He definitely knows that Malfoy could be a threat to us.”

“Well then, I doubt you have much to worry about,” Ron said leaning in as well. “Snape’s spying on Voldemort, after all. If he couldn’t handle the likes of Malfoy, I don’t think he’d have lived this long.”

“All the same, make sure you don’t show any support for Professor Snape in public,” Hermione warned Harry. “If Malfoy really is suspicious, you can’t afford to slip up there.”

“Right,” Harry said.

“One good thing is that Malfoy isn’t exactly subtle,” Ginny said. “You probably know more about what he’s thinking than he knows about you and Snape.”

“Malfoy’s nothing but an arrogant, foul mouthed braggart who thinks he knows far more than he does,” Hermione said. “You’re smarter than he is, Harry. So is Professor Snape.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Harry said.

“You know I love it when you insult Malfoy,” Ron said affectionately, giving Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Mrowr!” Crookshanks meowed loudly, swishing his tail and pacing in front of the fireplace.

“Oh, be quiet you!” Ron said.

---

Talking with his friends had helped to calm Harry’s fears. Hermione was right: Malfoy was sneaky, but he certainly wasn’t smart enough to get the better of Snape. Harry would keep an eye on the Slytherin, but he wasn’t going to let worry overwhelm him. He’d learnt his lesson there.

Harry devoted the rest of the evening to his Potions essay, determined to prove to Snape that he could do well when he put his mind to it. By the time he crawled into bed, he felt content and happily listened as Neville enthusiastically told them how much better his Mimbulus mimbletonia was doing since he’d begun its “therapy”. Harry shared a skeptical grin with Ron then rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

Even in his sleep, Harry knew this was no dream. He had dreamt of the Burrow many times, but this was different – and familiar.

The night was cold, but not bitterly so. A stiff breeze rustled the trees and an owl hooted somewhere. A wisp of cloud floated across the full moon. Harry took a deep breath, drinking in the scents of the night.

A woman’s scream ripped through the silence and Harry smiled. He savored the sound of pain and terror. The whole wizarding world would cower before him. Slowly, he made his way up the steps and entered the house. Four Death Eaters stood over the crumpled form of their victim. One brandished a wand.

“Crucio!”

The cold, cruel voice of Bellatrix Lestrange was unmistakable. Mrs. Weasley screamed again in agony.

“Enough, Bella,” Harry said. “We want her coherent.”

Bellatrix Lestrange gave her wand a flick and the screams died away into ragged breathing.

Harry stepped past his Death Eaters and regarded Mrs. Weasley, who was now staring at him in utter horror.

“Good evening, madam,” he said easily. “We’re looking for your husband.”

Mrs. Weasley seemed to snap out of her shock. She raised her chin defiantly.

“Then you’re wasting your time,” she said. “He’s not here.”

“Where is he?” Harry asked with polite boredom.

“With the Ministry tracking down some of your Death Eaters, I imagine.”

“And when do you expect him home?” Harry continued, unfazed by her comment.

“I’ve no idea,” Mrs. Weasley answered. “Often he doesn’t get home before morning.”

“Well, well, that is unfortunate,” Harry said, sounding mildly disappointed. “For you,” he added. He raised his wand.

---

Harry bolted up in bed, gasping in panic. He glanced automatically at Ron’s bed, but he couldn’t wake his best friend. Not yet. He had to get help. Harry scrambled out of bed, grabbed his dressing gown and slipped out of the room, down the stairs and out of the common room. Then he ran.

A detached part of Harry’s mind wondered why it was that when he was trying to sneak around the castle, there always seemed to be someone waiting to catch him, yet now, when he was desperate to find help, he could run headlong through the halls and encounter no one. But at last he skidded to a breathless halt at his destination and pounded on the polished oak door in front of him. Though it seemed like an eternity, it couldn’t have been more than a few moments before the door was yanked open by an obviously just awoken Severus Snape.

“Potter? What the –?”

“They're at the Burrow!” Harry blurted out. “Ron's house! Mrs. Weasley… They…”

All trace of sleep vanished from Snape’s face. He grabbed Harry by the arm, dragged him into the room and shut the door.

“He’s there now?”

Harry nodded.

Snape pulled Harry farther into the room and shoved him into an armchair by the fireplace at the same moment that he pointed his wand and said, “Incendio!”

A fire instantly sprang up in the grate. Snape took a pinch of Floo powder from a box on the mantelpiece and threw it into the flames.

“Headmaster?” he called. “Albus!”

“Yes, Severus, I’m here,” said Dumbledore, whose head had just appeared in Snape’s fire. “What is it?”

“Mr. Potter is in my quarters. He just informed me that there are Death Eaters at the Weasley residence.”

Harry saw Dumbledore’s expression darken.

“Do you know how many there are?”

Snape glanced at Harry.

“Four, at least,” Harry answered. “And Voldemort’s there, too.”

“Did you see any of the Weasleys?” Dumbledore asked gently.

“Mr. Weasley isn’t home. I think Mrs. Weasley was the only one...”

Harry trailed off, overwhelmed by the memory.

Dumbledore nodded compassionately and turned his attention back to Snape. “I’ll contact the Aurors. You’d best keep Harry there with you, until you hear from me.” The next moment, he was gone and Harry was left staring at the fire.

A movement caught his attention. He looked up to find Snape standing in front of him. The Potions Master handed him a small cauldron.

“If you’re going to be sick, use this,” Snape said, then turned away.

Harry stared down at the cauldron. He felt vaguely nauseous, but decided he was too numb to actually be sick. Snape appeared at his side again and handed him a cup. Harry seized the familiar potion and gulped it down. He felt his head clear almost at once and the shock began to fade. But unlike in the past, this didn’t help. It was one thing to witness atrocities committed against total strangers. Harry could pretend those weren’t real. But to be at the Burrow and to see Mrs. Weasley –

Harry sprang out of his chair and began to pace feverishly, as though hoping the movement would banish the pictures seared into his mind. He dug his fingernails into his palms, but it didn’t distract him from what he’d seen. Mrs. Weasley had stood up to Voldemort, bravely. She’d been afraid, but she’d also been defiant and hadn’t even flinched when he’d raised his wand.

“No,” Harry moaned. He stopped pacing and pressed his hands hard against his eyes to stop the scene playing out in his mind. “No!”

Snape caught him by the shoulders and shook him, “Potter, stop it! Look at me.”

“No!” Harry repeated desperately, still caught up in the memory.

Snape shook him harder. “Look at me!”

“No!” Harry screamed and tried to pull away. He didn’t want Snape to see the memory in his mind. The guilt and pain were already more than he could bear.

“It wasn’t your fault!” Snape said, refusing to release Harry. “You know that!”

Harry ignored Snape and only struggled harder. He tried to shove the man away, but Snape’s grip was like steel.

“Let me go!” Harry screamed.

“Not until you do as I say!” Snape shook Harry once more. “Look at me!”

Harry looked up and met Snape’s eyes, which burned with a feral intensity.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Snape insisted. The man’s fingers dug into Harry’s shoulders painfully, but Harry didn’t care. It was nothing compared to the pain tearing at his heart.

“I killed her,” Harry whispered.

Snape’s features softened and his voice was gentler than Harry had ever heard it. “I know.”

The room was terribly quiet. Harry could hear the fire crackling in the grate and his own ragged breathing as he and Snape stood staring at one another. Neither of them spoke; there was nothing to say.

Snape made no move to release his grip on Harry’s shoulders, for which Harry was suddenly very grateful. He could feel Snape’s presence in his mind, but he sensed no revulsion or horror, only weary regret and a quiet determination. That calm presence stood in stark contrast to Harry’s own distraught emotions and provided unexpected solace.

“Severus?” Dumbledore’s voice called from the fire.

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape replied, not taking his eyes off of Harry’s.

“The Aurors just notified me that two Death Eaters have been captured at the Burrow. The rest escaped. I have spoken to Arthur Weasley. He is on his way to Hogwarts now. Minerva has gone to wake the Weasley children and bring them to my office. If you would bring Harry as well, I believe he should be here.”

“Is that absolutely necessary?” Snape asked.

Dumbledore hesitated. “I’m afraid so. It must be faced at some point and it is better to get it over with now.”

“Very well.”

Snape still hadn’t broken eye contact with Harry who was fairly certain the unwavering gaze was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“I can’t,” Harry pleaded desperately. “I can’t see Ron and Ginny right now.”

“Yes, you can. You have faced worse than this.”

“But – ”

“You were an innocent witness, Potter.” Snape said. “You bear no responsibility for what happened. In fact, you likely saved Arthur Weasley’s life tonight. Do you realize that? No one else could have done as much and you have no cause to expect any more of yourself.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yes, sir.”

---

Snape ushered Harry out of his quarters and through the halls towards Dumbledore’s office. It felt to Harry as though he were on his way to his own execution. What could he possibly say to Ron and Ginny? They arrived at the gargoyle too soon and Snape gave the password. As the door swung open, he stepped back to allow Harry to enter, but Harry froze.

“You’re coming with me, aren’t you?” he asked shakily.

There was the barest flash of surprise in Snape’s eyes as they met Harry’s, but he answered without hesitation.

“Of course I’m coming with you.”

Reassured, Harry stepped onto the staircase and Snape followed him.

They emerged in Dumbledore’s office to find McGonagall sitting on a loveseat with her arm around a sobbing Ginny. Ron sat in a chair with his head buried in his hands. Dumbledore stood next to him with a hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder.

“Harry, do come in,” Dumbledore said gently.

Harry stepped forward hesitantly and Ron looked up at him. Harry nearly broke down at the sight of the anguish in his friend’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Harry’s voice was barely audible.

“You saw it?” Ron choked out.

Harry swallowed hard and nodded.

“What happened?” Ron asked. “Did they…? Did she… suffer?”

Ron’s eyes bored into Harry’s looking for some kind of comfort and Harry wished desperately that he were somewhere else. Ginny was watching him too, waiting.

“No,” Harry lied. “She… she didn’t suffer. They… broke into the house and… took her by surprise. She tried to fight, but there were too many of them. She was hit from behind. She never even saw it coming.”

Ron looked away as tears welled up in his eyes and Ginny sobbed. Both were relieved. It was a small comfort, but it was something.

There was a soft knock at the door and Harry turned, grateful for the distraction. It was Mr. Weasley. As hard as it was to see Ron and Ginny’s naked grief, the stunned, helpless sorrow in Mr. Weasley’s eyes was even worse.

Ron and Ginny were at their father’s side in an instant. Mr. Weasley hugged his children close as they clung to him for comfort. Harry looked away, embarrassed to witness such a deeply personal moment. Dumbledore stepped forward and laid a hand on Mr. Weasley’s shoulder.

“Arthur, I am so sorry,” Dumbledore said. “Is there anything I can do?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “No, not right now.”

“Let me know if there is anything at all,” Dumbledore persisted.

“I will. Thank you. We just need some time,” Mr. Weasley said, blinking back the brightness in his eyes.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding and smiled sadly.

“Our thoughts will be with you all,” he said.

Mr. Weasley nodded. “Come along then, let’s get your things,” he told Ron and Ginny. He ushered his children from the room, followed closely by Professor McGonagall.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said. “If you’ll wait here, I need to speak with Arthur alone, but I’ll be back shortly.” With that, Dumbledore also left.

Harry stared at the door for a moment and then sank into the nearest chair. He took a long shuddering breath, then buried his face in his hands as his own tears, at last, began to flow. They grew rapidly to wracking sobs that echoed in the lonely silence of the office. In this dreadful quiet, the touch on Harry’s shoulder came as such a surprise that he practically leapt out of his chair. He’d completely forgotten that Snape was in the room.

“Here, take this,” Snape said, offering him a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” Harry mumbled, taking the plain white cloth without looking at his teacher. Harry wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked calmly. He stood with his arms folded, watching Harry solemnly.

Harry glanced up at Snape and then away, “I… I’m not sure. I just… I know I shouldn’t… I mean I just can’t believe she’s gone. I saw her at Christmas. She made me a jumper, a brown one with my initial on it. She makes them for all the Weasleys every year, even Bill and Charlie. Mr. Weasley, too.” Harry had no idea why he was telling Snape all this, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“She made me a green one my very first year at Hogwarts. It was the first time anyone had ever… given me… anything… And I know she only felt sorry for me, but she’s always treated me like family, and… and I know she’s not my mother and I don’t have the right…”

Harry knew he was making no sense. Worse, his tears were flowing again and he couldn’t stop them.

Snape knelt down next to Harry. “Potter, you don’t need a right to grieve for someone,” he said softly. “There is no reason for shame.”

Harry swallowed hard and wiped his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

The door opened and Dumbledore came in. Snape immediately stood up and stepped away from Harry. The headmaster bent down and took Harry’s hand in his.

“Harry, I am so very sorry. If there were anything I could do to ease this pain, I would do it.”

“I know, sir. Thank you. I just feel awful for Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys.”

“They will take care of one another. We must take care of you. This has been a hideous night for you, Harry. I want you to spend the rest of it in the hospital wing.”

“I’m all right, sir, really,” Harry protested.

“Be that as it may, I would prefer that Professor McGonagall had the opportunity to speak to the rest of your house about tonight’s events, before you have to answer any questions. You will be excused from all your classes tomorrow and I urge you to take the time to rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Severus, if I might impose upon you to take Harry down to Madam Pomfrey, since you are going that way?”

“Of course, Headmaster,” Snape answered. “Come along, Mr. Potter.”

“Get some rest, Harry, and remember, my door is always open to you, whatever you should need,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Harry replied.

Harry followed Snape from Dumbledore’s office and along the corridors to the hospital wing. He felt empty and exhausted and there was a single sharp pain that seemed to be buried deep in his chest. Snape left Harry to wait in the front ward, while he went to wake Madam Pomfrey. The two of them returned shortly and Harry knew immediately that Snape had filled her in on the night’s events by the way she fussed over him. She bustled him off to the back ward and found him a bed and extra blankets. Surprisingly, Snape followed them, keeping a silent watch as if to make certain that everything was in order. When Harry was in bed, Madam Pomfrey produced a dreamless sleep potion and at last, Snape spoke.

“A half dose only. He’s already had a powerful dream-blocking potion tonight.”

“Yes, Professor.” She adjusted the dose and gave it to Harry. “Drink it all down, Mr. Potter, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

Harry did as instructed and fell asleep almost instantly. The last thing he remembered was Snape watching him.

---

Severus Snape sat staring into the fire in his quarters. It was very late, or more accurately, very early. Daybreak couldn’t be far off and Snape hadn’t slept at all since Potter had come pounding on his door at midnight, pale as death and stammering about Death Eaters at the Weasleys’s. Potter. Why did everything have to happen to that boy?

Snape had witnessed a great many horrors in his life, many of his own making. But murdering his best friend’s mother wasn’t among them and he was fairly certain it would trump anything on his list. It didn’t matter that Potter hadn’t actually killed her; he felt as though he had. Snape had seen it all in the boy’s mind, the horrible memory and unbearable guilt. Potter’s emotions had been almost overwhelming, even though Snape had braced himself for them. And for one terrible moment as he’d looked into the green eyes, Snape had been genuinely afraid for the boy’s sanity.

It was clearly imperative that Potter learn to block these visions as soon as possible. However, the boy was already doing his best to learn Legilimency; Snape was certain of that. Potter’s mounting frustration and anxiety were proof enough that the will was there, and it wasn’t as though he didn’t have the raw talent. Snape had never encountered a more naturally adept mind. Not that he had told Potter that, of course. But even for the gifted, it took time to master the intricacies of the mental arts.

Unfortunately, time was the one commodity Snape felt certain they were running out of. Many more shocks like the one he’d had tonight and Potter would wind up catatonic in St. Mungos. The conversation in Dumbledore’s office hadn’t helped, either.

Regardless of the fact that his mother had just died, Snape could have strangled Ron Weasley when the idiot boy asked Potter what he’d seen. As if a description of his mother’s death would make him feel better. Snape had watched Potter comfort the boy with a lie and had felt an overwhelming respect for a young man he had never believed deserved any. He’d been wrong. In fact, if there was one thing Snape knew with crystal clarity it was just how wrong he’d been about Harry Potter.

Even though he had seen endless memories of Potter’s miserable childhood, Snape hadn’t really understood how alone and emotionally deprived the boy had been. Or maybe he just hadn’t wanted to understand. And Potter hid it well, always so confident and defiant, but tonight had been different.

The pale, distraught boy in Dumbledore’s office had been a total stranger. Potter had truly believed that he didn’t have the right to grieve for Molly Weasley, that somehow he wasn’t worthy. Snape hadn’t needed Legilimency to read Potter’s churning emotions. The shame and loneliness on the boy’s face had been almost unbearable to witness. Not least, because they were far too familiar to Snape. How did I ever mistake him for James?

Snape sighed. Sleep deprivation was getting him nowhere. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was 4:30 am. His first class was at nine, which meant he could still get four hours sleep. He’d often functioned on less. Snape rose and retrieved a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion from his private stores and retreated to his bed.

---

Harry awoke in the Hospital Wing to a gray, dull morning and didn’t even bother to reach for his glasses.

“Harry, how are you feeling?”

Harry glanced up at a blur that had Hermione’s voice.

“Hermione? What are you doing here?” he asked, belatedly fumbling for his glasses.

“I thought you might want some company.”

With his glasses on, Harry could see that Hermione had been crying.

“Professor McGonagall told us what happened,” Hermione continued.
But I still can’t believe it. And you dreamt about it?”

Harry nodded.

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“It’s Ron and Ginny you ought to feel sorry for. They’re the ones who lost their mum.”

“I know and I do,” Hermione said. “But it must have been awful for you, too. No one else knows, by the way. About your dream, that is. Professor McGonagall just told us all that word of the attack had come late last night. But she pulled me aside and told me what really happened.”

Harry lay back on his bed, immensely relieved that he wouldn’t face a flurry of questions from the rest of the school. At that moment, Madam Pomfrey came in.

“Mr. Potter, how are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, sitting up. “I should be getting back to Gryffindor Tower. What time is it?

“Nearly ten,” the matron answered. “Miss Granger, shouldn’t you be in class?”

“No, Madam Pomfrey, I was excused from class this morning,” Hermione answered.

The nurse gave Hermione a skeptical look, but didn’t press the point. “Mr. Longbottom brought you a change of clothes, Mr. Potter. They’re on the chair at the foot of the bed. If you need anything throughout the day, don’t hesitate to come back.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He watched Madam Pomfrey leave then turned to Hermione.

“Snape excused you?” he asked in disbelief.

“Well, no,” Hermione said, blushing. “Actually, I skived off. But I wasn’t going to let you wake up here alone.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Hermione,” he said, gratefully. He drew the curtains and changed quickly, then he and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor Tower. While they walked, Harry gave Hermione a quick overview of what had happened the night before. He didn’t give any details of what had happened at the Burrow, saying only that he had known Mrs. Weasley was dead. Likewise, he didn’t say much about what had happened in Snape’s quarters or Dumbledore’s office.

When he finished Hermione was frowning in concentration. “It’s a good thing you raised the alarm before Mr. Weasley got home. He wouldn’t have been a match for four Death Eaters plus Voldemort. You know, you probably saved his life.”

“That’s what Snape said. I wish it made me feel better.”

Hermione looked at him oddly, started to say something then stopped.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Why did you go to Professor Snape?”

The question surprised Harry. “I had to get help.”

“Yes, but Professor McGonagall is a lot closer and she’s our Head of House. Professor Dumbledore’s closer for that matter. Why didn’t you go to either of them?”

Harry blinked. He had no answer. Why had he gone to Snape? Until that moment it had seemed the most natural thing to do. But Hermione was right, of course, it made no sense at all.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I wasn’t thinking. I guess I just spend so much time with Snape that he was the first person that came to mind.”

They had arrived at Gryffindor Tower and Hermione gave the password to open the portrait hole then turned to regard Harry with a worried frown.

“I’ve got to get to class, Harry, but you try to get some rest, all right?”

“I will,” Harry said. “Don’t worry about me.”

Hermione bit her lip then startled Harry by stepping forward and hugging him tightly.

“I’ll see you this afternoon, then.”

Before Harry could say anything, Hermione turned and hurried back down the hall. Harry watched her go, feeling suddenly very alone and wishing Hermione would stay. He fought down an irrational urge to call after her and instead climbed into the common room. It was deserted since the rest of the Gryffindors were in class and Harry didn’t linger, but went straight up to his room. His bed was still the rumpled mess he’d left it, though he noticed that someone had neatly made Ron’s bed. Harry’s memories pressed in on him and he knew he couldn’t bear to stay in the room alone. Fortunately, he wasn’t tired: he’d slept well in the hospital wing and for once, felt well rested. Harry quickly made his bed as though covering it up would somehow cover up the tragedy he’d experienced there. Then he grabbed his broom along with some biscuits he’d had in his drawer and left.

Harry didn’t return to the castle all day. He spent some of his time flying, but mostly he wandered the grounds and sat out on the far side of the lake. Finally, at dusk, he returned to the castle for dinner. The Great Hall was bustling as usual, but the Gryffindor table was noticeably subdued. Harry sat down across from Hermione and Neville.

“Hi Harry,” Neville said. “Haven’t seen you all day, how are you doing?”

“I’m all right,” Harry said.

There was an awkward silence then Hermione chimed in.

“I’ve got all your homework assignments, Harry, and I made copies of all my notes from class for you, too. I also got Parvati’s notes from Potions, so we should be all right there.

“That’s good,” Harry said.

“My Mimbulus mimbletonia is doing well,” Neville offered. “It’s much healthier since I began the tonic and music therapy. I should be finishing up my paper for Professor Sprout soon.”

“That’s wonderful, Neville,” Hermione said.

They subsided into silence again which suited Harry fine. He was famished, having eaten next to nothing all day, and was happy to devote his attention to his meal.

The mood in the common room after dinner was also quiet, but Hermione immediately cornered Harry and began filling him in on what he’d missed in class. She shoved a stack of notes at him and launched into a recital of which homework assignments they needed to complete that evening. For once, Harry didn’t mind Hermione’s insistence on studying and obediently set to work on his Charms homework. By the time he finished his History essay it was very late and even Hermione’s eyelids were drooping.

“We should turn in,” Harry suggested.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Hermione agreed.

They packed away their books and went up to their respective dormitories. Harry paused outside his door. He remembered the oppressive weight he’d felt in the room that morning and wondered if he’d be able to sleep in his own bed. He slipped into the room quietly since the other boys were already asleep and went straight to his bed, peeling off his clothes as he went and trying to avoid looking at Ron’s empty bed.

A small bottle sat on his bedside table. It was unfamiliar and Harry knew it hadn’t been there the night before. He picked it up and saw that it was labeled ‘Dreamless Sleep Potion’. Harry felt a surge of relief. Of course, this was exactly what he needed, but it hadn’t even occurred to him to go to Madam Pomfrey for the sleeping draught. Obviously the matron had thought ahead and sent some up, for which Harry was deeply grateful.

Harry climbed into bed, uncorked the bottle and gulped down its contents. He barely had time to lie down and pull his covers up before sleep overtook him.

---

Harry awoke the next morning to the sight of Ron’s empty bed and immediately felt a pang of grief. He got up and dressed quickly, needing to move to keep his memories at bay. He went down to breakfast, but had no enthusiasm for eating. Hermione soon arrived and sat down across from him. She hardly touched her breakfast either, but kept casting furtive glances at Harry. Once or twice he was sure she was about to say something, but she seemed to change her mind.

“Hermione, is there something you want to talk about?” Harry finally asked.

Hermione started guiltily, then collected herself.

“I’m leaving for the Burrow this afternoon,” she said.

Harry stared at her a moment, digesting this information.

“You’re going to the Burrow?”

“Yes,” she said. “Ron asked me to come. I owled my parents yesterday and they’ve sent their permission. Bill’s picking me up and I’ll be staying through the funeral.”

Harry was silent, not knowing what to say.

“I wish you could come too, Harry,” Hermione continued. “I know Ron and Ginny would want you there, only –”

“Only Sirius is dead and my aunt and uncle would never give their permission,” Harry finished.

Hermione bit her lip. “Harry –”

“It’s all right,” Harry interrupted. “You go and give everyone my regards.”

He stood up and left the Great Hall feeling even more lonely and miserable than he had before. He was glad that Hermione was going to be able to go to the Weasleys’s, but he was bitterly angry that he couldn’t go, too, when he desperately wanted to be with his friends. What really hurt, though, was that Ron hadn’t even asked him to come. Of course, Ron knew he wouldn’t be able to leave Hogwarts and might simply have thought there was no point in inviting him, but in the back of his mind, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Ron didn’t want him there. Ron might not entirely understand what Harry’s visions were like, but he knew generally that Harry wasn’t simply a witness to the events. Maybe Ron didn’t want the person who had killed his mother attending her funeral. Harry pushed that thought away and dragged a sleeve across his eyes, then hurried to class.

The day passed slowly in a kind of surreal haze. Harry wandered through his classes out of habit, but learnt nothing. Fortunately, all of his teachers were understanding and asked little of him. That evening, however, as he made his way to the dungeons for his usual lesson with Snape, Harry felt a rush of anxiety. He hesitated outside the Potion Master’s office. The memories from the other night were still too fresh and, for the first time, it wasn’t the ones from the Burrow that were bothering him.

He’d been in a terrible state that night. Harry wouldn’t have wanted his best friend to see him in that condition; for Snape to have witnessed him blubbering incoherently was utterly humiliating. But even more troubling, Harry knew he’d crossed a line between himself and his teacher that he shouldn’t have. He hadn’t meant to do it; it had simply been automatic. He had been so desperate and Snape’s presence in his mind had been so calm and steady. How could he not have reached out to it for support? Snape had flinched in surprise, but he hadn’t pushed Harry away and with that solid presence to cling to in his mind, Harry had managed to overcome his panic and wrestle his emotions back under control. But now he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Harry was fairly certain that Snape would ignore the incident as he did most of Harry’s unseemly emotional outbursts. Still, Harry was concerned about what effect his breach of decorum might have on his lessons. If ever he needed the familiar routine of his exercises with Snape, it was now and he didn’t want anything to interfere with it. Harry sighed. Hanging out in the hall wasn’t going to solve anything, so he braced himself and went in to face Snape.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” Snape said in his usual no-nonsense manner as he stood up to face Harry.

“Good evening, Professor.” Harry responded with the same polite formality.

“We’ll start with Occlumency,” Snape said. “If you’re ready?”

Harry nodded wordlessly and almost at once felt the familiar sensation of Snape’s mind. A memory sprang up.

He was ten years old and Dudley and his gang had him cornered in an alley. Dudley shoved him up against the brick wall and aimed a meaty fist at his face.

Harry gave a quick mental flick to banish the memory and another appeared.

It was pitch dark and Harry lay on his mattress in the cupboard under the stairs. He was probably no more than six and he was terrified, alone in the dark.

That had been a common occurrence when Harry was little and he dismissed the memory easily. Harry’s anxiety fell away as he felt himself relax and his mental focus sharpen, but the next memory was completely unfamiliar. He saw what seemed to be a contemporary image of himself sitting at a desk hunched over a stack of parchments. Except that Harry was certain he’d never been in this room before.

“Come on Harry, it’s time to say goodnight to daddy,” a young woman said as she rose from a chair with a child in her arms.

Harry recognized his mother at once and as the young man at the desk looked up, Harry realized that what he’d taken to be himself was actually his father. But this wasn’t the swaggering teenager he’d seen in the past.

James had the look of someone burdened by too many worries, but the smile he gave his son was radiant with love and pride. The baby laughed delightedly and reached out for his father. James took Harry, hugged him tightly and kissed him while Lily smiled affectionately at both of them.

Suddenly, Lily glanced sharply towards the door and frowned.

“James, did you hear something?”

“No,” James said, frowning slightly as he followed her gaze. He sat Harry down on the floor and stood up to put his arms around his wife.

“Lily, it’s all right. Don’t worry,” James said. “We’re safe here. No one can find us now.”

Baby Harry had no idea what his parents were saying, but the sixteen year old watching did and a horrible suspicion was taking hold in Harry’s mind.

Oh, please no! Harry thought frantically. It can’t be.

As if on cue the front door exploded. Lily screamed and James shoved her behind him as he drew his wand.

“Lily, it’s him!” James yelled. “Take Harry and go!”

Lily stood frozen for an instant, then snatched up her son and ran. Harry could hear the sounds of a fierce duel behind them as his mother raced down the hall. A curse exploded against the wall to their left. Lily screamed and darted into a room on the right, slamming and warding the door behind her. It didn’t help. An instant later, the door splintered and Voldemort stepped into the room.

“Stand aside, you silly girl,” he said.

“No! Not Harry! Please not Harry! I’ll do anything!” Lily cried.

Voldemort raised his wand and Lily turned her back to him, shielding her son with her body.

The memory was gone and Harry found himself on his knees, shaking violently. Snape was staring at him in horror.

“I should have stopped that,” Harry said, numbly. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

In one fluid motion, Snape stepped forward, knelt down, grabbed Harry by the shoulders and shook him hard.

“Stop it!” he said angrily. “You have suffered more in sixteen years than most people do in a lifetime! Don’t ever apologize for that, not to me, not to anyone!”

Snape stood up and dragged Harry to his feet. He pushed the young man towards the door, wrenched it open and shoved Harry into the corridor beyond.

“Go! You’re in no condition to learn anything! We’ll continue when you have yourself under control.”

Snape slammed the door in Harry’s face. The sound echoed through the empty corridor as Harry stood gaping in disbelief. Anger replaced the grief he’d felt only moments before.

What a git! Heartless didn’t begin to describe Snape. The man was incapable of even the simplest human kindness or decency. Harry turned and stormed away towards Gryffindor Tower muttering a few very descriptive phrases about Snape under his breath.

---

Snape sat at his desk with his head in his hands and willed himself to stop shaking. He should have pulled Potter out of the memory sooner, but he’d been too shocked by what he was seeing. James and Lily had been so young. They had all been so young and all of their lives had been ruined that night. Seeing Potter’s memory had brought his own flooding back and for a horrible moment he had thought he was going to break down in front of the boy.

Instead, he’d thrown Potter out. Snape felt a brief pang of guilt for that, but it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t let Potter see just how deeply he’d been affected by that memory. But perhaps there was a way to make up for it. Snape ran a hand across his eyes and went over to the fireplace. He threw a pinch of Floo powder into the flames.

“Headmaster?”

Dumbledore appeared in the flames a moment later. “Yes, Severus.”

“Mr. Potter has just relived a very old and disturbing memory here in my office. I believe he is on his way back to Gryffindor Tower now.”

“I see,” Dumbledore replied, looking closely at the Potions Master. “And is there anything else you need?”

“No, sir,” Snape said.

Dumbledore hesitated, but then nodded. “Very well, I will see to Harry.”

---

Harry had taken his time returning to Gryffindor Tower. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone and Ron’s conspicuous absence wouldn’t let him forget Mrs. Weasley’s death even for a moment. He was shuffling down the last corridor when Dumbledore appeared around a corner.

“Harry,” the headmaster said kindly. “Just the person I was hoping to find. How are you this evening?”

“All right, sir. Better than yesterday. Have you heard from the Weasleys?”

“Not directly, however Remus Lupin is with them and he sent word that Charlie arrived yesterday evening. Everyone is still in shock, of course. But they are a close-knit family, Harry. They’ll survive this.”

“I know they will,” Harry said.

“And is there a reason why you’re wandering the halls alone, this evening?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry shrugged. “It’s too hard staying in the common room.”

“Did you have lessons with Professor Snape tonight?”

Harry’s voice hardened. “Professor Snape said we’d continue my lessons another time.”

“That is probably for the best. After the shock you’ve had, I’m sure you will need time to recover. The memories are too fresh and may resonate especially deeply for you, Harry. The Weasley children are not the only ones who have ever lost a parent. It is only natural that you may feel your own loss quite acutely at this time.”

Harry nodded, but he really didn’t want to think about the memory he’d seen in Snape’s office. Instead, he seized the opportunity to address the issue that had been nagging at him all day.

“When do you think the funeral will be?” Harry asked.

“Within the week, most likely. They haven’t set the date yet.”

“Can I go?”

Dumbledore looked at Harry appraisingly. “I will do everything in my power to make certain that you are able to attend. I will be more than happy to have you accompany me.”

Harry felt his spirits lift. “Thank you, sir. I’d really appreciate that.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Harry. Now, you’d best get back to your dormitory.”

Harry nodded and hurried back to Gryffindor Tower. The prospect of being able to attend Mrs. Weasley’s funeral had improved his mood considerably and he spent the evening doing homework with Neville, Dean and Seamus. When he finally went up to his dormitory, he was surprised to find another bottle of Dreamless Sleep potion on his bedside table. Harry found it odd that Madam Pomfrey would continue to send this to him without so much as leaving a note. He didn’t think he needed it, though on second thought, given the memory he’d seen in Snape’s office that evening, it might not be a bad idea to take it. He undressed, got into bed and downed the potion as he had done the night before.

---

Harry was feeling almost himself again the next morning as he headed down to breakfast. He had recovered from the shock of seeing the attack on Godric’s Hollow. After all, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t already known how his parents had died and his experience with the Dementors in third year had been much worse. He actually felt grateful at being able to see his parents as they had been when he was a child. They had seemed to be a loving family and Harry wished for the first time in a long while that he could have known them.

Harry’s reverie was interrupted as he spotted Eleanor Branstone and her sister leaving the hospital wing. He smiled to himself, happy to see the younger girl up and around. Madam Pomfrey was standing with the girls.

“Now remember, you may feel a bit lightheaded for the next few days. It takes a while for the side effects of the potion to wear off. If you feel faint, come and see me.”

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Alice agreed. “Thanks.”

The two girls walked away and the matron turned to go back in the hospital ward.

“Madam Pomfrey!” Harry called hurrying up to the nurse.

“Mr. Potter. You’re looking unusually well today. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to thank you for the Dreamless Sleep potion you sent up. I don’t think I’ll be needing anymore.”

Madam Pomfrey frowned slightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“It really helped the last couple of nights, but I don’t think I need it anymore.”

Madam Pomfrey’s frown deepened. “Mr. Potter, I haven’t sent you any Dreamless Sleep potion.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown in confusion. “You didn’t send me a small bottle of potion last night and the night before?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t send a potion to a student without seeing him first. If someone is sending you potions, perhaps we ought to speak with Professor McGonagall.”

“No,” Harry said slowly. “No, that’s all right. I think I know who sent it.” He turned and walked away, leaving Madam Pomfrey to stare after him in bewilderment.

---

Snape hated staff meetings. He could think of any number of things he’d rather be doing than sitting around the staff room with his colleagues discussing the minutia of running the school. Snape rarely contributed to these meetings. In truth, there were few matters he cared about. Any issue that did concern him he always took straight to the headmaster.

“There is one last item,” Dumbledore said, grabbing Snape’s attention with the hope that the meeting might soon be over.

“As most of you know, Molly Weasley’s funeral is tomorrow. The Weasley children will be returning to school Sunday afternoon and I am certain that I can count on all of you to be sensitive to their loss.” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape who only scowled in return.

“You will give Arthur our deepest condolences, Headmaster?” Professor Flitwick asked. “He and Molly were such fine young people.”

Dumbledore smiled sadly. “I have already spoken at length with Arthur and given him all of our deepest regrets. Unfortunately, I will be unable to attend the services myself as I have an urgent meeting with the Ministry that cannot be rescheduled.”

“Who’s taking Potter then?” Snape asked.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him and Snape shifted under the sudden scrutiny and cleared his throat.

“That is, I assume he’s going. The Weasleys have practically adopted him.”

“I’m glad you brought that up, Severus,” Dumbledore said with a slight smile. “I gave Harry my word that he would be able to attend Molly’s funeral, but alas, I’m afraid I shall have to disappoint him. With Voldemort’s Death Eaters so active, I am loath to allow Harry outside of Hogwarts without an escort who is well versed in Defense.”

“Minerva could take him. She’s more than capable of protecting the boy,” Snape said.

“I am also Deputy Headmistress,” McGonagall said. “In the current climate, I can’t be away while the headmaster is gone.”

“I hardly think an army of Death Eaters is going to storm the gates of the school while you’re away,” Snape sneered.

“I’m relieved to hear you say so, but I doubt many of the parents would take your word for it,” McGonagall shot back.

“Then arrange something!” Snape snapped. “He’s in your house. So are the Weasleys for that matter. If he were in mine, I would take the boy myself.”

“Would you, really?” asked Ryan who was watching the Potions Master slyly. “Why not do it then?

“I hardly think that would be appropriate,” Snape said with contempt.

“Why not? You’re certainly an expert in the Dark Arts.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed in pure hatred, but before he could reply, Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Actually, Severus, Comyn does have a point,” he said.

Snape looked at Dumbledore in disbelief. “You can’t be serious?”

“It does make the most sense. I can think of no one with whom I would trust him more and you do understand the need. I would consider it a personal favor.”

Snape began to protest, but Dumbledore cut him off. “We can discuss the details later, of course. Now, if there is no other business, I believe this meeting may be adjourned.”

Most of the staff rose and began to file out of the room. McGonagall gave Snape a particularly stern glare, before leaving. Dumbledore rose as well, but Snape blocked his path.

“Albus, I am not taking Potter to the Weasley woman’s funeral!” he insisted angrily.

“We can discuss the matter in my office, Severus, but at the moment I really must have a word with Peeves. He’s been stopping up the drains in the third floor boys’ lavatory and Argus is furious. If you would like to wait in my office, I will be along shortly.” Dumbledore swept out of the room, leaving Snape fuming.

“Oh, come now Snape, it can’t be all that bad.”

Snape whirled around to face a grinning Ryan who was still lounging in his chair in the otherwise deserted room.

“This is all your fault!”

“Temper, Severus. I’m not the one who insisted the boy needed to go to the funeral. You have a thing or two to learn about how not to volunteer for unpleasant tasks.”

“And you need to learn to keep your nose out of my affairs!”

“Well, I would if you knew how to handle them yourself.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Ryan rose from his chair to face Snape and his grin vanished. “You know, for a clever man, you can be awfully thick. If the headmaster orders you to take Potter to Molly Weasley’s funeral, then you’re going to do it, like it or not. Surely anyone would understand that.

“On the other hand, while it’s admirable that you’ve chosen to champion Potter’s cause, I gather it’s not something you’re known for; not from the way everyone was looking at you as if you’d just grown another head. If it were me, I’d be more concerned about that juicy bit of information getting back to my friends, rather than worrying about who gets tapped to attend a funeral.”

Ryan walked out leaving Snape alone in the staff room. The Potions Master wanted to be furious with the insufferable man, but at the moment all he felt was something uncomfortably close to fear. Ryan was right; he should never have spoken on Potter’s behalf. But what really troubled him was that he hadn’t meant to; it had just slipped out. That kind of incaution could get him killed. What’s more, it wasn’t like him at all.

He’d have to be more careful, particularly around Ryan. The man saw far too much, far too clearly and Snape didn’t trust him at all. Snape was sure that Ryan wasn’t trained in Occlumency or Legilimency, nevertheless, the Defense teacher was quite adept at concealing his thoughts and feelings and Snape had yet to determine where the man’s loyalties lay. But there was one thing Snape knew for sure. Ryan was definitely hiding something.

---

By the time Dumbledore returned to his office, Snape was pacing impatiently.

“I am sorry, Severus. Peeves was more obstinate than I anticipated. I had to summon the Bloody Baron to convince him to desist in flooding the lavatory. Now, what was it you wished to discuss?”

“How can you expect me to take Potter to the Weasley funeral?” Snape demanded, irritably. “I hardly knew the woman and I can’t imagine I’d be welcome.”

“Nonsense, Severus. Arthur respects you and you will be there to represent Hogwarts in my stead as well as being Harry’s escort. Surely that is official enough for you.”

“Why me?”

“You did broach the subject.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in amusement and Snape scowled as the headmaster continued.

“But as I said at the staff meeting, my primary concern is for Harry’s safety. I am certain that Voldemort will take any opportunity to get to him. There will no doubt be a great many people at the funeral. I want to be sure that nothing untoward occurs. As much as I respect the talents of our staff, none are as capable at fighting Death Eaters as you are.”

Snape shook his head impatiently. “Albus, Death Eaters are not going to attack Potter when there are dozens of people standing around, half of whom will be Aurors and members of the Order.”

“It is a long way to Ottery St. Catchpole. A great deal can happen along the way.”

“And if it does come to a fight, are you willing to risk losing my other services?”

“If Harry is lost, I do not believe the rest of our efforts will matter.”

“Then why not keep him here?” Snape asked testily.

“I believe you know the answer to that as well as I do. He needs to heal and move beyond this tragedy. I can think of no better way to push him along the path to recovery. And Molly’s funeral, I believe, will heal more than one hurt. But I need you with him, Severus. I am asking you as a personal favor to do this.”

Snape sighed. He hadn’t really expected to win this argument. “All right, I’ll take him,” he said grudgingly.

Dumbledore beamed, “Thank you Severus. I do appreciate the sacrifice.”

---

Harry was in the middle of picking at his lunch when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to find Snape looming over him.

“Potter, I need a word,” he said and turned on his heel, not bothering to wait for Harry. Harry sighed, gulped down the last of his pumpkin juice and hurried after Snape.

The man was waiting for him just outside the door and began speaking the moment Harry appeared.

“Mrs. Weasley’s funeral is tomorrow. The headmaster has asked me to escort you. You will meet me here at ten o’clock. Wear something decent and don’t be late.” Snape turned to go, but Harry stopped him.

”Professor, wait! You’re taking me? I thought Professor Dumbledore –”

“He will be in a meeting at the Ministry and has already sent his regrets. However, you obviously cannot leave school alone, so someone must escort you. My time appears to be the least valuable of any of the staff since I was appointed the task. Any other questions?”

“What do you mean by ‘wear something decent’?”

Snape scowled and looked Harry up and down. “Just wear your school robes, Potter. That will suffice.”

Harry dashed through the corridors the next morning, headed for the entrance hall. He had changed clothes three times trying to find something appropriate to wear, not that he really had any idea what that might be. He’d finally settled on the jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted him for Christmas and a plain set of trousers along with his school robes. He’d eaten nothing at breakfast and had spent most of the morning fidgeting in the common room. Studying had been hopeless and he had been so desperate for something to take his mind off the trip to Ottery St. Catchpole that he’d actually volunteered to help Neville move his Mimbulus mimbletonia to a sunnier spot in the common room. That had been a mistake; Harry wasn’t sure if it was just bad luck, or if the plant didn’t like him, but as he’d set it on a small table in a shaft of sunlight, it had unceremoniously spewed Stink Sap all over him. He’d had to change into a clean set of robes and consequently, was now nearly late for his rendezvous with Snape.

“Harry!”

Harry skidded to a halt at the top of the main staircase and looked around to see Luna Lovegood standing a short distance away.

“Hi, Harry,” Luna said coming up to Harry. “I was hoping I’d catch you.”

“Hi, Luna,” Harry said, glancing down into the entrance hall. Thankfully, Snape hadn’t arrived yet. “Er, look, this isn’t a good time.”

“I know. You’re going to Mrs. Weasley’s funeral, aren’t you?”

“That’s right, and I have to meet Professor Snape.” Harry tried to edge away towards the stairs.

“I was only hoping you could take something for me,” Luna said, seemingly oblivious to Harry’s impatience. She dug in her pocket and pulled out a letter. “If you could give this to Ginny, I’d be very grateful.”

“Sure,” Harry said. He grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into the pocket of his robes.

“And tell Ginny I know how she feels, but it will get easier.”

“Potter, it’s bad form to be late to a funeral,” Snape’s impatient voice cut in. “Are you coming or not?” Harry turned to find the Potions Master standing behind him, looking thoroughly put out.

“Coming, sir,” Harry said. He turned back to Luna. “I have to go.”

“Okay, bye Harry.” She waved cheerily as Harry followed Snape down the stairs and out of the castle.

The morning was clear and crisp with a lingering chill of winter in the air that made Harry glad of his traveling cloak. Snape set off purposefully across the lawn towards the main gate, not bothering to wait for Harry. Fortunately, thanks to Harry’s growth spurt the previous summer, he was nearly as tall as Snape now and fell into step alongside his teacher without having to work too hard to keep up.

“Professor?” Harry asked. “How are we getting to Ottery St. Catchpole?”

“We’ll take a Portkey from Hogsmeade,” Snape answered without looking at him.

“Why Hogsmeade? Why not use it here?”

“Because the Portkey Authority is in Hogsmeade.”

“The what?”

Snape glanced at Harry, irritably. “The local branch of the agency that provides authorized travel by Portkey. Honestly, Potter, don’t you know anything?”

“I thought people could enchant their own Portkeys.”

Snape shrugged. “It can be done, of course, but it’s rather tedious and it requires an object from the destination as well as the departure point. It would be rather impractical to keep items around from all of the places to which one might wish to travel. The Portkey Authority provides transportation to every community in Britain as well as many abroad.”

That made sense, Harry thought. Then he broached another subject that had been worrying him.

“Sir?”

“What?” Snape’s voice had an edge of impatience to it which Harry ignored.

“What are wizard funerals like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are they anything like Muggle ones?

“How should I know?” Snape was clearly irritated.

“Well, you must be able to tell me something about what goes on,” Harry said, exasperated.

“Do I look like a professional mourner to you, Potter?” Snape asked testily.

Actually, Harry thought, Snape did, given that he always dressed exclusively in black, but Harry didn’t think it a good idea to say so.

“I just don’t want to do the wrong thing and offend anyone.”

“This is a funeral, not a high Ministry function,” Snape said. “As long as you don’t laugh or insult the deceased, I can’t imagine you’ll offend anyone. All that will be required of you is that you be still and keep quiet.” Snape glanced at Harry and sneered. “Admittedly, something you seem incapable of doing.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Harry sighed. “I guess I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Potter, there will be dozens of people at the funeral and, for once, you will not be the center of attention,” Snape said. “There is no reason for you to be nervous. The Weasleys are your friends, are they not?”

“Yes, sir, I suppose you’re right.”

Harry lapsed into silence. He didn’t want to admit that he wasn’t really sure of the reception he’d get when he arrived at the Burrow. He still hadn’t heard from Ron, nor had he managed to write to his friend. At minimum, he knew he should have told Ron he would be attending the funeral, but he had been afraid Ron might write back and tell him not to come.

---

Harry and Snape arrived in Hogsmeade and Snape led the way to what, apparently, was the Portkey Authority. Although Harry had been to Hogsmeade numerous times, he’d never noticed it before and he realized at once why. It resembled nothing so much as a junkyard. It consisted of a large fenced-in yard with a rather tired looking shed (he couldn’t think of a more complimentary term) set off to one side. The yard itself was brimming with every sort of worn out and broken piece of junk. Old shoes lay next to rusted pipes and worn out tires; used meat tins and mildewed rags were heaped in dented barrels; broken bottles and splintered wood were scattered everywhere.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Harry asked.

Snape gave him a pained look and led the way in. They picked their way carefully through the rubbish until they reached the shed. A disheveled looking young man, not many years older than Harry, sat on a high stool behind an old counter.

“Morning! What can I do you sirs for?”

“We need to go to Ottery St. Catchpole,” Snape replied.

“Right! Did you have any particular item in mind, sir?” the clerk asked cheerily.

“Something… clean,” Snape replied, looking distastefully at the shabby surroundings.

That’ll be a bit of trick, sir, but I’ll do the best I can.”

With that, the young man bounded out of the shed and began rummaging through the debris in the yard. Harry followed him.

“Are all of these Portkeys?”

“They can be,” the young man replied, discarding a rusted bucket that smelled of manure. “I’ve got a cabinet full of totems that’ll let me enchant any of these to take you wherever you’d like to go.” He grinned. “Within reason, of course.”

Harry grinned back. Despite the business he was on, he found the young man’s good mood infectious.

“I think this is the best I can do,” the clerk said, holding up an old wicker picnic basket with the bottom broken out.

“That should be okay,” Harry agreed.

They went back to the shed where the clerk began digging through file drawers. “Let’s see, Orkney… Orleans… Ottery. Here we are. Ottery St. Catchpole.” He pulled out a scrap of parchment and placed it, along with the picnic basket, on an old metal desk behind the counter. He began murmuring the words to the spell that Harry assumed would create the Portkey. Harry couldn’t catch what the young man was saying, but he still watched, fascinated. Snape, on the other hand, looked thoroughly bored.

“I’m going to wait outside,” he said, turning towards the door. “Call me when he’s done.”

Harry nodded absently in acknowledgement as he continued to watch the clerk work. At last, the young man straightened up.

“Here you go,” he said, setting the picnic basket on the counter. “That’ll be twelve sickles.” While Harry produced the coins, he continued. “It’s good for one round trip. All you do is grab hold and say ‘Allez’. Same thing coming home. After that, just toss it in the rubbish bin.”

“Great! Thanks,” said Harry, taking the basket.

“You and your dad heading down to the Cannons game?”

Harry started. “What?”

“The Cannons. They’re playing Puddlemere today, you know. Old Barney Walbat in the Daily Prophet says they’ve got their best team in a hundred years and may put in a decent showing this year. Might even win a few.”

“Mr. Potter and I,” came a familiar silken drawl from over Harry’s right shoulder, “are on official Hogwarts business.”

Snape leaned past Harry and pinned the young man with his most dangerous glare. “None of which is yours,” he snarled. “Do I make myself clear?”

The young man blanched and swallowed hard. “Yes, sir! Of course, sir. I… I’m sorry, sir!”

Snape snatched the picnic basket from Harry and, with a final withering glare at the clerk, stalked out of the shed.

Harry was too stunned to move. He looked desperately at the stricken clerk.

“It’s not your fault; he’s always like that.”

It sounded ridiculous, of course, and the clerk looked at him as if he weren’t sure whether to be incredulous or horrified. Harry decided he’d better leave before he had to think of anything else to say. He hurried out of the shed and found Snape waiting by the gate.

“Hurry up, Potter,” Snape snapped. “We don’t have all day.”

Harry’s embarrassment was instantly replaced by anger.

“What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

“Don’t use that tone with me, Potter,” Snape warned, but Harry ignored him.

“Do you terrorize random strangers for fun?”

“He was impertinent!”

“He was making conversation! It’s something people do to be polite! Not that I’d expect you to know that, of course. No, you’d rather be offended!”

“And you weren’t?” Snape sneered.

Harry stared at Snape, completely lost. “Why would I have been offended?”

“I’d have thought you’d be mortified to have that simpleton mistake me for your father.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he could feel himself blush. He looked away, suddenly unable to meet Snape’s eyes.

“We need to go,” Snape said evenly, holding out the picnic basket. “What is the trigger word?”

“Allez,” Harry told him, still not meeting his gaze, or making any attempt to take hold of the basket.

Snape sighed. “Potter, we are on a schedule.”

Harry looked up at him defiantly. He grabbed hold of the basket’s handle and stepped in close to glare at Snape.

“The only thing that mortified me was the way you acted,” he said. “Allez!”

As soon as he spoke the word, Harry felt the familiar tug behind his navel. The world rushed past him, then jerked to a halt. He and Snape were still glaring at one another, but now they stood in a thicket of woods. Harry could hear the rushing sounds of a stream close by and the flutter of birds in the trees. Snape let go of the basket and stepped away.

“This way,” he said, heading off into what appeared to be an arbitrary direction. Harry followed him. The sounds of water grew louder and they emerged from the woods onto a deserted country lane that ran beside a small river. A quarter of a mile up the road, Harry could see that an old wooden bridge crossed the river. Beyond it lay a picturesque village that had to be Ottery St. Catchpole. Snape didn’t hesitate, but continued up the road with a determined stride. Harry quickly hid the cumbersome picnic basket under some brush next to a large tree, so it would be easy to find on their way back, then ran to catch up with Snape.

Ottery St. Catchpole was not an all-wizarding community like Hogsmeade, but it clearly allowed for eccentricity among its residents. Harry spotted both Muggles and wizards going about their business and nodding politely to one another as he and Snape entered the village. A few people glanced their way, but no one seemed shocked by their attire. No one spoke to them, but Harry was fairly sure that was due to Snape’s forbidding demeanor.

The tension between them was palpable and neither had spoken as they walked. Harry was still furious with his professor. Of course Snape would have been livid at the suggestion that they were in any way related. Harry should have realized that to begin with. I’m surprised you can bear to be seen in public with me, Professor! he thought viciously.

“Are you going to say anything at all?” Harry snapped at last.

Snape didn’t check his pace or even glance at Harry, but his answer was immediate. “You overreacted.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. “I overreacted?” Harry shouted.

“Yes!” Snape stopped too and turned to face Harry. “What business is it of yours what I say or do? I wasn’t criticizing you, for once! You should have been relieved.”

“I’m the one who had to apologize!” Harry continued heatedly.

Snape stared at him, aghast. “You what?” Snape took a step towards Harry with murder in his eyes. “You had no right!”

Harry met his gaze unflinchingly. “What business is it of yours what I say or do, Professor?” he retorted sarcastically.

They stared daggers at one another, neither willing to back down. At last Snape took a deep breath and spoke in something resembling a normal tone.

“Potter, why are you so angry? What do you want?”

“I want you to act like a human being, for once,” Harry said bitterly.

Snape smirked at him. “And if I promise to be on my best behavior, will you have enough self-control to at least be civil when we arrive at the Weasleys’s? I may not be an expert in the social graces, but I do seem to recall that showing up on their doorstep, shouting at one another, might not be appropriate under the circumstances.”

The funeral. Harry had been so angry with Snape that he’d completely forgotten why they were here in the first place. Snape clearly read the expression on his face and sneered at him contemptuously.

“I’m sure the Weasleys would be touched by your concern for their dearly departed.”

Snape spun on his heel and headed off down the street without a backward glance. Harry followed him in silence, his face burning in shame. Snape was right. How could he have let such a stupid argument make him forget why they were here?

At last the Burrow came into sight and Snape stopped. “That’s it?” he asked, dubiously.

Harry nodded. Snape sighed and shook his head. He resumed his march towards the house, but paused when he realized Harry hadn’t joined him.

Harry stood rooted to the spot. The sight of the Burrow brought back a slew of memories, including his most recent. He swallowed hard. He could feel panic clawing inside his chest, trying to get out.

“Potter?” Harry glanced up to see Snape at his side looking at him intently.

I can’t do it, Harry thought, meeting the man’s eyes with his own unblinking stare. I can’t go back in the house. I can’t face that!

“Then he wins,” Snape said in answer to Harry’s thoughts. “Don’t let him win, Potter. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

Harry took a steadying breath and nodded. His face set in determination, Harry marched on towards the Burrow.

The house was unnaturally quiet, Harry realized as they entered the garden. He’d only ever been here at holidays when most of the Weasley clan was present. At those times, there were constantly doors slamming and people pounding up and down the stairs. There were shouts and complaints and a perpetual din of at least three conversations going on at once. And laughter. Always laughter. It was the bustle of too many people in too close quarters, yet no one would have wanted it any other way. Now there was only silence.

Snape knocked on the door and a moment later Mr. Weasley answered it. He looked older and more tired than Harry had ever seen him.

“Professor Snape, Harry, I’m so glad you could both come. Please, come in.”

“Mr. Weasley, you have my deepest sympathy for the loss of your wife,” Snape said, taking Mr. Weasley’s hand with what seemed to be genuine feeling as he and Harry entered the house. “All of us at Hogwarts are deeply saddened by this tragedy. Albus was devastated that he couldn’t be here.”

“Thank you. Thank you, that means a great deal to all of us.” Mr. Weasley managed a wan smile though his eyes were bright.

“Harry, how are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m all right, sir,” Harry replied, feeling decidedly ineloquent compared to Snape.

“Ron’s upstairs,” Mr. Weasley continued. “Would you mind going up and telling him to come down? We should be leaving for the cemetery soon.”

“Of course, ” Harry said, grateful for something to do. He headed upstairs to Ron’s room. The door was closed and Harry hesitated briefly, then knocked. There was no answer, so Harry opened the door and poked his head in. Ron lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Ron?” Harry said quietly.

“Harry, you made it!” Ron leaped off his bed, looking thoroughly relieved. “I was afraid you wouldn’t.”

“You knew I was coming?” Harry asked in surprise as he came fully into the room and shut the door.

“Yeah, Dumbledore sent word a few days ago, but then Dad said he couldn’t come and I reckoned that meant you wouldn’t be able to, either.”

Harry felt a tremendous weight lift from his heart. “Ron, you know I wouldn’t miss being here for the world.”

Ron shrugged apologetically. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if it might be too hard for you after… you know.”

“Not as long as it isn’t too hard for you to have me here.”

“Don’t be daft,” Ron said as though that were the most absurd thing he’d ever heard and Harry couldn’t help but grin.

“So how’d you get here, anyway?” Ron asked.

“Professor Snape brought me.”

“Snape?”

Harry nodded. “Dumbledore sent him with me.”

“You mean he’s here in the house?” Ron looked utterly horrified. “All the teachers at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore had to send him?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, smiling at Ron’s reaction. “It’ll be all right.”

There was a knock on the door. Ginny peeked in and her eyes lit up.

“Harry, I thought I heard your voice.” She came in and gave Harry a big hug. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Me, too,” Harry said, hugging her back.

“Snape’s here,” Ron said glumly.

“I know. I saw him downstairs with Dad.” She frowned in puzzlement. “He was actually quite polite.”

Ron looked skeptical, but didn’t say anything.

“Your dad said to come down, by the way,” Harry remembered. “It’ll be time to go soon.”

Harry, Ron and Ginny headed downstairs, but paused outside the living room at the sound of angry voices coming from behind the closed door.

“We’ve paid our price!” Percy said bitterly. “Let someone else fight this war!”

“I can’t do that, Percy, especially not now!” Mr. Weasley insisted. “Your mother would never want us to give up!”

“She wouldn’t want to see anyone else dead, either! This is too great a risk! I’ve said so all along. Fred and George are already involved. So are Bill and Charlie.”

“They’re adults. Do you honestly think I could stop them from joining Dumbledore in this fight?”

“Have you tried?

“Percy –”

“And what about Ron and Ginny? They could have been killed at the Ministry last year. You’re only encouraging them to take risks. Give this up, for their sakes at least.”

Ron stepped forward ignoring Ginny’s urgently whispered, “Ron, no!” He shoved open the door to confront his brother.

“I’d rather die!”

“Ron.” Mr. Weasley held up a hand to try and forestall his youngest son’s outburst, but it was no use.

“I know what’s at stake better than you do,” Ron snarled at Percy, “and if you think Dad quitting would make any difference to what I do then you don’t know me at all!”

“You can’t win this!” Percy insisted.

“Then I’ll die trying!” Ron yelled. “Just because you’re a coward, don’t think the rest of us are!”

“Just because I don’t want to see any more of my family killed, that doesn’t make me a coward, or your enemy!”

Percy turned and stalked towards the front door.

“Percy, wait!” Mr. Weasley said.

“I’m going to the cemetery to help Bill and Charlie since I’m obviously not doing any good here. Don’t worry. I’m sure this won’t be the last funeral we all get to attend.”

Percy yanked open the door and slammed it behind him as he stormed out, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the room.

“Dad, don’t mind Percy,” Ginny said, coming to lay a hand on her father’s arm.

“Why don’t you three go see if Aunt Rose needs any help?” Mr. Weasley said without looking at any of them.

Harry, Ron and Ginny exchanged glances then wordlessly filed out of the room. Ginny led the way to the garden while Ron fumed.

“Percy is a complete git!” he said furiously. “He’s been on Dad to stop supporting Dumbledore for months, but to pressure him now, of all times – I swear, Percy’s a disgrace to the family!”

“He just doesn’t get it, Ron,” Ginny said. “He thinks fighting is hopeless.”

“He’s not the only one,” Harry said seriously. “Most of the wizarding world agrees with him.”

“Well, then he can go hide with the rest of them and leave us alone,” Ron said.

They arrived in the garden to find the twins along with a short, thin woman with graying red hair busily putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a large reception.

There was an impressive feast laid out on two long banquet tables, which included trays of cheese and vegetables as well as several kinds of salad. Large platters of roast beef and ham sat along side steaming bowls of potatoes and gravy, magically being kept warm. There were all variety of pies and puddings along with several kegs of butterbeer.

There were tables everywhere with neat white linen cloths covering them and simple floral arrangements as centerpieces. Similar decorations adorned the fence as well as a trellis that had been set up at the gate. The whole effect was very welcoming.

The woman was directing the activity in a brisk, no-nonsense manner.

“Fred, George, will you move this crate please?” she said, referring to a four foot high wooden box sitting near one of the banquet tables. “I need to put another table here.”

“Sure, Aunt Rose,” Fred answered as he levitated the crate and sent it floating across the garden. Aunt Rose waved her wand and a round table scurried over and took up position where the crate had been. The crate landed next to the new arrivals and Fred greeted Harry with a wide grin.

“Hi, Harry, glad you could make it,” he said.

“Good to see you, Harry,” George added, coming over to shake hands.

Hermione appeared carrying a large bowl of pumpkin juice.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, hurriedly depositing her burden on the nearest table then turning to hug Harry as Ginny had done. “I’m so glad you could come! I knew Dumbledore would manage it.”

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“I wonder if Dumbledore could manage to keep Percy away,” Ron said darkly.

“Why? Is Percy acting up again?” George asked.

“He and Dad just had another row,” Ginny explained.

“He does everything he can to make Dad’s life as hard as possible!” Ron said.

“Try not to be so angry with Percy, Ron,” Hermione said. “I’m sure he feels guilty for having fallen out with your parents. That has to be awful.”

“Yeah, well he ought to feel guilty!” Ron said indignantly.

“Now there’s compassion for you,” George said.

“Always thought you were a bit more sensitive than that, Ronald,” Fred added.

“Since when are you two defending Percy?” Ron demanded.

“We’re not defending him,” Fred said.

“But we’ve spent half our lives breaking Mum’s heart,” George said. “So we know a little bit about what guilt’s like.”

“We should have been here, you know,” Fred explained to Harry in an uncharacteristically sober tone.

“Mum was always nagging us to come home at a decent hour.” George shook his head sadly. “But we never paid attention.”

“We’re always in the middle of some invention we’d rather be working on instead of sitting at home chatting over tea,” Fred added with obvious self-reproach.

“That evening after we closed up shop we set straight to work on some new ideas for our Poison Pen Pal Quill,” George said.

“Next thing we knew, it was after midnight and there was an Auror pounding on our door telling us we were needed at home,” Fred concluded.

“If you’d been here, you’d have died,” Harry said, feeling a terrible chill.

George shrugged. “We know that, but it doesn’t make us feel any better.”

“It does go to show one thing, though,” Fred said. “You never know what’s going to happen. Mum hated us working late because it worried her, but here it wound up saving our lives. So you can’t know how things are going to turn out. You just have to make decisions you can live with and hope they don’t blow up in your face.”

“We can live with our decisions,” George said. “But Percy knows he’s been a giant prat, so he’s miserable. ‘Course, being Percy, he’s making it worse by being an even bigger prat, but I really don’t think he can help himself.”

“Don’t make excuses for him!” Ron shouted. The others looked at him, startled. He took a deep breath to collect himself then spoke in a more normal tone. “I need to go for a walk.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hermione said.

“No!” Ron snapped, then collected himself once more. “I just need to be alone for a while.” He turned and stalked away.

Hermione bit her lip as she watched him go. “I have to get the rolls,” she said and fled back into the house, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather be back at school playing Quidditch, Harry?” Fred asked lightly.

“He’d probably rather be back at school studying Potions,” George said. “Everyone’s a bit mad just now, Harry.”

“Madder than usual, he means,” Fred corrected.

“Fred, George, we need to finish getting the chairs set out,” Aunt Rose said, coming over to them.

“Sure, Aunt Rose,” Fred said. “By the way, this is our friend Harry. Harry, this is our mum’s sister, Aunt Rose.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said. “I mean, I’m very sorry – that is…”

“Yes, dear,” Aunt Rose said kindly. “We all are. Absolutely dreadful! Would you mind giving us a hand? We’re running a little behind schedule.”

“Er… all right,” Harry agreed.

“Thank you, dear. Oh, and Ginny, there’s another bowl of pumpkin juice in the kitchen that needs to be brought out.

Ginny nodded and went back into the house, almost bumping into her father on his way out.

“Aren’t you all done yet?” Mr. Weasley asked, sounding rather frazzled but far more himself than he had earlier. “We need to go.”

“We need to finish here first, Arthur,” Aunt Rose said. “If you’d like to help set out chairs it would speed things up.”

“Can’t we just finish this later?” Mr. Weasley asked, flicking his wand at a stack of chairs lying on the ground. The chairs jumped up and waddled over to the nearest table, jostling one another for the best spot.

“Arthur, there are going to be a hundred people here,” Aunt Rose said. “What doesn’t get done now isn’t going to get done. Ginny, set the pumpkin juice on that table over there next to the glasses.”

“I don’t want to be late,” Mr. Weasley said.

“They’re not going to start without us, Dad,” George said, marching a neat line of chairs up one side of a long table as Fred marched his own formation up the other side.

“And it’s not as though Mum’s in a hurry,” Fred added.

“Fred!” Mr. Weasley admonished.

“Well, she’s not going anywhere, is she?” Fred said.

Mr. Weasley apparently had no answer to this and turned his attention to getting the chairs in place. Harry did the same as he tried to make sense of the family dynamics in play.

Harry had been so worried about how the Weasleys would receive him that he hadn’t really thought beyond that. Nevertheless, whatever he might have expected here today, he was certain this wasn’t it. Emotions were obviously running high, yet strangely, no one seemed particularly sad except maybe for Mr. Weasley. On top of that, the bustle of mundane activity seemed jarringly out of place with what was supposed to be a somber occasion.

Finally, the last chair was in place and they all went around to the front garden where Ron and about a dozen members of the Order of the Phoenix were waiting for them. Ron was talking to Remus and his mood seemed much improved. Harry, Hermione and Ginny went to join them.

“Hi, Remus.” Harry said. “What’s all this, an escort?”

“We thought it might be wise,” Remus said.

Harry was about to ask why, but was cut off as Mr. Weasley addressed Kingsley Shacklebolt nearby.

“I think we’re all ready to go.”

The tall, black man nodded and led the way out of the garden. Mr. Weasley and Aunt Rose followed him with Fred and George close behind. Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron followed behind them, along with Remus while the other members of the Order of the Phoenix brought up the rear.

Harry noticed Hermione take Ron’s hand and squeeze it. Ron squeezed back, giving her a small, apologetic smile and she smiled affectionately at him in return.

It was a short walk to the cemetery, which, Harry discovered, was an inviting place. Shade trees dotted the rolling grounds which were covered by all sorts of flowering plants, most of which Harry couldn’t name. They arrived at an ancient chapel and Harry was heartened to see the large number of people who had come to pay their respects. Ron’s aunt hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said there would be a hundred in attendance. If anything, she had underestimated the numbers.

Harry had intended to hang back in the crowd, but Ron and Ginny dragged him up to the front where the rest of the family was seated. He felt awkward at first, but it helped that Hermione was there, too, as was Fleur Delacour who was talking with Bill. In any case, no one objected to his presence as he sat quietly between Ron and Ginny. Aunt Rose sat to Ginny’s left and Mr. Weasley next to her while Hermione sat next to Ron. Fred and George were next to Hermione followed by Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and finally Percy.

As everyone settled into their seats, an old witch dressed in white, who looked nearly as old as the chapel, came forward to greet the Weasleys. She then addressed those assembled.

“Welcome and thank you all for coming to celebrate the life of our dear Molly.” She said. “My name is Agatha and I have been the minister of this chapel for many years. I have known Molly and Arthur since they brought me their first son, Bill, to be christened. That was obviously quite some time ago,” she said, smiling at Bill.

“Molly was a loving wife and mother, a caring and helpful friend, and a strong, courageous woman. She and Arthur bore seven children during the darkest years our world has ever known, a tremendous display of hope at a time when there was little to go around. Now that dark days are upon us again, I would ask each of you to not give up hope. Molly always believed that the future was worth fighting for, that it could and would be better. And although we are gathered here in grief, we must not let grief turn to despair. Molly would never have wanted that. We must let her life guide us, not her death.”

Harry heard a sniffle on his right and glanced over to see tears running down Ron’s cheeks. Fred and George were crying too, and Hermione was sobbing quietly into Ron’s shoulder. Harry swallowed hard and turned his attention back to Agatha who had begun recounting the highlights of Mrs. Weasley’s life. Harry glanced to his left. Aunt Rose had her arm around Ginny who sat with silent tears running down her cheeks. Ginny’s grief, more than anyone else’s, moved Harry and he looked away. His own tears had begun to flow, but for once, he felt no shame. If all these people could gather to grieve with the Weasleys, then surely he could grieve too. He certainly had enough to grieve for. It wasn’t just Mrs. Weasley, but his own parents, Sirius and all those he’d been forced to watch murdered in his visions.

Harry took off his glasses and bowed his head. He was weary to the bone. He hadn’t realized how much pain he’d been holding inside for so long. He was angry, too. Harry felt a furious rage toward Voldemort, not just for the deaths the evil wizard was responsible for, but for all the pain and grief he’d caused as well. Harry felt his resolve strengthen. This couldn’t go on. He had to find a way to stop Voldemort. He had to. But even as he thought it, he felt the familiar uncertainty and despair creeping up on him. How could he stop Voldemort?

“Arthur?”

Harry looked up, aware that the old witch had addressed Mr. Weasley. She flicked her wand at the casket and it rose off the dais to hover in midair. Mr. Weasley and his children all rose and surrounded the casket. Hermione stood up as well and Harry followed her example, wondering what he should do next. Fortunately, Aunt Rose came to stand between him and Hermione and put an arm around each of them. Agatha led the Weasleys, with the casket in their midst, out of the chapel. Aunt Rose, Harry and Hermione followed close behind and the rest of the assembly proceeded after them.

They arrived at the gravesite where the casket was silently lowered into the grave. Ginny let out an anguished sob and her father pulled her close. The old witch was speaking once more, but Harry wasn’t listening. His attention was on Ginny, whose sobs punctuated the quiet surroundings, even though her father held her tight, whispering words of comfort to her. Her brothers hovered close by in silent solidarity, but none of them wept. Each looked grimly determined to stand as an example of their mother’s strength and seemed to draw support and comfort from the others.

Harry heard the words “the Burrow” and realized that the service was over and that Agatha was inviting those present to come back to the house for the wake. People were beginning to take their leave, passing by the grave to pay their respects.

Soon, the gravesite was nearly deserted except for a few members of the Order who were clearly waiting to escort them back. The family lingered, huddling together, each trying to comfort the others. To Harry’s relief, Ginny had stopped crying and actually managed to give Fred a wan smile in response to something he had said. Harry waited at a discreet distance, not wanting to intrude. There was a touch on his arm and he turned to find Hermione beside him. Her eyes were red, but she smiled at him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, not trusting himself to say more.

Hermione hugged him tightly and he wrapped his arms around her. They stood holding each other until Harry felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Mind if I cut in?” Ron said, eliciting a smile from both Harry and Hermione. “Come on, it’s time to go home.”

---

The mourners retraced their steps to the Burrow. Soon, the house came in sight and they could hear the reception even before they entered the front gate. The house and garden were full of people, which Harry found comforting, even though he didn’t know most of them. The funeral service had left him feeling drained and the sheer normalcy of the snatches of conversation he heard as he made his way through the crowd was a relief.

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione got food from the buffet tables and found an empty table where they could sit down to eat.

“It was a lovely service,” Hermione commented.

“Yeah, it really was,” Harry agreed.

“Bill and Charlie arranged everything,” Ginny said. “Dad… wasn’t quite up to it.”

Ginny wiped her eyes and Harry felt a horrible pang of guilt. Hermione laid a hand comfortingly on Ginny’s arm. But Ginny shook her head as if annoyed with herself, took a deep breath and held her head up high.

“It’s really hardest on him, you know,” she continued in a steady voice. “The rest of us are away, mostly, but he and mum were so close; I know he misses her dreadfully.”

“Fred and George are here,” Hermione said, “and Bill’s only in London. I know they’ll help.

“I know; I just wish I could stay home longer to be with him.”

“Dad’s not here most of the time, himself,” Ron said. “Since Fudge was ousted, the Ministry’s been working round the clock to find some way to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters. And whenever Dad’s not at work, he’s usually with the Order.”

“I still wish I could be here,” Ginny said.

“How are things at school, Harry?” Hermione asked to change the subject.

“Okay,” Harry said. “Everyone feels really badly and said to give you their regards,” he told Ron and Ginny. “That reminds me.”

Harry dug in his pocket for the letter Luna had given him that morning. He pulled it out and presented it to Ginny.

“I almost forgot. Luna gave me this for you.”

Ginny opened the letter, read it and smiled slightly. Then she passed it to Hermione who read it aloud.

Dear Ginny,

I’m so sorry to hear that your mum died. I know how dreadful that is. Just remember not to spend all your time being sad. Your mum wouldn’t want that at all! She’d want you to be happy and get on with life.

Yours, Luna Lovegood

“Well, that’s a chipper condolence,” Ron said.

Just then, a burst of laughter drew their attention. At a long table not far away, Fred and George were talking animatedly to a crowd of people while drawing glasses of butterbeer from a large keg.

“You know, I think Fred and George would like Luna,” Ron said.

“Come on,” Ginny said, standing up. “Let’s go see what they’re up to. I could do with a laugh.”

The other three exchanged glances, but followed her over to Fred and George. George was speaking as they drew near.

“Mum was livid! She said we were supposed to be getting rid of the gnomes, not dressing them up in tutus and teaching them to dance.”

“We never did manage to get them to do the Can-Can,” Fred said regretfully. “’Course, we were only ten.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten that!” Ron said, his eyes widening at the memory. “I think you two are the only people who have ever actually managed to scare gnomes away.”

Another laugh rippled through the crowd.

“Right, so who’s got another story?” George asked, taking a swig from his glass.

“I have one.” All eyes turned to Aunt Rose, sitting at the end of the table. “Back when we were in school, it was Molly’s fourth year, I think, one of her roommates had a huge crush on this boy named Edmond Fosse. Inez Bobkin was her name and Inez got it into her head to slip Edmond a love potion in his pumpkin juice. She spent days brewing it and Molly volunteered to pour it in Edmond’s cup at breakfast while Inez distracted him. Well, it seemed to come off without a hitch, but the results were beyond anything poor Inez could have imagined.

“Edmond was so totally smitten that he took to following her everywhere, quoting absolutely hideous poetry at her, or he’d leap out from some hiding place and burst into a wretched love song, then throw himself at her feet and beg her to be his eternal love. Poor Inez became so rattled, she went and locked herself in her room and wouldn’t come out, not even for meals.”

“Didn’t someone think to give Edmond an antidote?” Hermione asked.

“No one knew the antidote and it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway.” Aunt Rose chuckled at the memory then gave Hermione a mischievous smile. “Molly never put the potion in Edmond’s cup.”

“What?”

“She warned Edmond about what Inez was planning and they worked out this wicked scheme to get even with her. It was all just an elaborate act and Edmond hammed it up brilliantly! We were all in on it, too. Molly organized the whole thing and got practically the entire house involved. I helped write some of the worst poetry ever!

“While poor Inez was cowering in her room, the rest of us were having a great laugh at her expense. After three days, we finally relented and told her the potion had worn off. But then Edmond was absolutely horrid to her for days afterward, supposedly as an after effect.”

“Our mum did that?” Fred asked with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

“And to think that we never thought of it,” George lamented. “It would have been brilliant!”

“Ah, the missed opportunities of youth,” Fred sighed.

“There’s quite a lot of your mum in you two,” Aunt Rose said. “She was quite wild before she started going out with your father.”

The twins grinned, delightedly then George asked, “So how did those two get together, anyway?”

“Well –”

“Rose,” Mr. Weasley interrupted in an unmistakably scandalized tone.

“I think that’s a tale for another time,” Aunt Rose finished smoothly.

Everyone laughed except the twins who looked thoroughly disappointed.

“Hello, Harry?”

Harry turned to find Remus standing next to him. “Hi, Remus.”

“Do you have a moment?” Remus asked. “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Sure,” Harry replied readily. He and Remus left the group as Fred and George launched into another tale about their mother. They wound their way through the crowd to an out-of-the-way corner of the garden.

“So, how are you doing?” Remus asked.

“I’m all right,” Harry replied. “School’s going okay. We have a decent Defense teacher this year, though he’s not as good as you were.”

“That’s very flattering; I hear he’s excellent.” Remus said. “But I wasn’t asking about your school work. I’d like to know how you are.”

“I’m okay,” Harry said. “As well as anyone is, right now, anyway.”

“I’ve had the chance to talk with Ron, Ginny and Hermione quite a bit this week,” Remus said. “They’re worried about you, you know. They say you hardly talk to them at all.”

Harry shrugged. “There’s not much to talk about.”

“Isn’t there?”

Harry studied the shrub next to him. “They already know about my dreams. It’s not as if I want to discuss them.” He reached out and picked a Camellia blossom.

Remus came to stand next to Harry. “You haven’t told them about the prophecy,” he said gently.

Harry glanced at Remus, then away again. “I can’t.”

“Harry, they’re your friends –”

“They have enough worries of their own. Besides, they wouldn’t understand.”

“Of course they would.”

“No, they wouldn’t.” Harry turned to face Remus. “What am I supposed to tell them? That I’m going to die? Because that’s exactly what they’d think it means.”

“Is that what you think it means?” Remus asked quietly.

Harry turned away again to stare at the trees which were just starting to show their spring buds. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

Remus laid a hand comfortingly on Harry’s shoulder.

“Harry, I know I haven’t been here for you.” Remus sighed. “That was always Sirius’s biggest regret, you know, that he couldn’t be with you. I should have made more of an effort all these months. I should have at least written to you.”

Harry turned to face his father’s old friend. “Remus, it’s not your fault. I’m the one who should have written to you. I don’t even know why I haven’t. It’s just that I don’t know how to put what I’m feeling into words.”

“I understand, and I know that a letter is no substitute for having someone to talk to. That’s why you need to confide in your friends.”

Harry sighed. “I know I ought to tell Ron and Hermione, but I just don’t know how and right now it would only make things harder. Besides, I really am all right; you don’t need to worry about me.”

Remus frowned at him skeptically. “What about your dreams?”

“They’re still bad,” Harry admitted. “But there’s nothing anyone can do about that.”

“Haven’t your lessons with Professor Snape helped at all?”

Harry shook his head. “Not yet. He says that blocking my visions is the hardest thing to learn, but he’s confident that I’ll be able to do it eventually.”

“He told you that?” Remus asked, mildly surprised.

“Well, no, but I know he thinks so,” Harry said, then smiled slightly. “I am studying Legilimency, you know.”

“Is he treating you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “He’s actually been pretty decent to me for the most part. He’s just confusing sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry shrugged. “One minute he’ll insult me and the next it feels like he’s looking straight into my soul and knows exactly what I’m feeling. He’d hate to admit it. I hate to admit it, but he’s the only one who can really understand what my connection to Voldemort is like. I think he understands me better than anyone else alive.”

Harry suddenly realized what he was saying and looked guiltily at Remus. But Remus didn’t seem offended. He was regarding Harry thoughtfully.

“Is that because of your lessons?”

Harry considered. “Partly. But mostly it’s because we’re both connected to Voldemort.” Harry looked at Remus, hoping that made sense. “No one else has to fight this war, Remus. You could walk away tomorrow, if you wanted to. So could everyone else. But I can’t and neither can Snape. We’re bound to Voldemort and no matter where we go, or what we do, neither of us can escape him. So long as he lives, we can never be free of him. One way or another, he’ll always control our lives.”

Remus had turned pale and was staring at Harry with a mixture of horror and sadness.

“I never thought of it that way,” Remus said softly. “I never realized. I suppose Severus would understand you better than anyone else.”

“Does that bother you?” Harry asked.

“Of course not, why would it?”

Harry shrugged. “Sirius would have been furious. He and my dad hated Snape.”

Remus smiled sadly. “You’re right, Sirius would have been livid at the thought of you and Snape having anything in common. But I’m not Sirius and you’re not James. You have to do what’s right for you.

“You know, Harry,” Remus continued, “Sometimes, our family and friends can care too much, worry too much about us. Sometimes, it takes someone else to understand us best.

“When I was very young, before I came to Hogwarts, my schooling was a constant problem. Attending a regular school was out of the question. I missed too much because of my condition and of course, none of the other wizard parents wanted me around their children. My mother tried to teach me herself, but with all the medical expenses associated with my condition, she couldn’t afford to stay home.

“Eventually, my parents decided to hire a tutor for me. It wasn’t easy finding someone who would take the job, but finally they found Mrs. Gilroy, a stern, forbidding woman who would have made Professor McGonagall seem positively cuddly by comparison. I was a shy nine-year-old and absolutely terrified of her.

“The first month, as the full moon approached, she didn’t cut back on my assignments as my mother always had at that time of the month. If anything, she seemed to increase my workload. When I mentioned that, Mrs. Gilroy said, ‘Lupin, you’ll never keep up with your work if you indulge yourself. You know when the full moon is. Plan for it and don’t use it as an excuse to shirk your responsibilities.’

“Well, my mother was furious that the woman could have so little sympathy for me and would have sacked her, but I begged my mother not to. You see, Mrs. Gilroy was the first person who had ever treated me like a normal child. Other people treated me like a monster and my parents treated me like some fragile thing that needed to be protected, but Mrs. Gilroy did neither. She was harsh, but at the time, I needed that more than my parents’ smothering compassion.”

Harry nodded emphatically. “That’s how I feel. I don’t want people to worry about me or feel sorry for me.”

“Then it’s hardly surprising that you feel more comfortable letting Professor Snape see your pain than your friends. If he can help you, then let him. And remember that even though I may not understand what you’re going through as well as he does, I’m here if you need me.”

“I won’t forget,” Harry assured him.

“Good, now go and find your friends.”

Harry smiled and headed back through the crowd. He spotted Ginny and had just reached her when George came hurrying up to them.

“Hey, you two!” George said. “We’re going to have a round of Quidditch. Fred’s getting the brooms.”

“Quidditch?” Harry asked incredulously. “Now?”

“Why not?” George said. “Come on! Ron, Bill and Charlie are playing too. Hermione’s going to be our cheering section.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances.

“All right,” Ginny said. “But I’m on Charlie’s team.”

“Traitor!” George said. “You won’t desert your old teammates, will you Harry?”

“How about us and Ron against Bill, Charlie and Ginny?” Harry suggested.

“Brilliant!” George said. “We’ll fly circles around ‘em!”

“We’ll see about that!” Ginny said.

---

Snape had always preferred solitude to crowds and he found the press of people at the Burrow unpleasant. More importantly, it made keeping an eye on Potter next to impossible. He realized now why Dumbledore had insisted on him accompanying the boy. Even with members of the Order present, security was woefully inadequate for the number of people congregated. Anyone could wander onto the premises without being questioned. Consequently, Snape devoted most of his time to scrutinizing the seemingly endless stream of mourners.

He had just noted the arrival of several of Mr. Weasley’s co-workers when he looked up to see Potter and the Weasley children soaring high over a nearby field. He stared in disbelief for a moment, but his surprise immediately gave way to anger. Was the boy trying to get himself killed? Didn’t he realize that the Dark Lord’s servants could be anywhere? Snape stood fuming silently at the boy’s recklessness.

“Don’t worry, Moody and Tonks are watching them,” a quiet voice whispered next to him.

It was Lupin, looking more tired and drawn than even the recent full moon should have accounted for.

“Oh, well, that fills me with confidence,” Snape sneered in disgust.

“A moving target is harder to hit,” Lupin pointed out.

Snape scowled, not wanting to admit that Lupin was right. Potter was no doubt safer in the air than in the middle of all these strangers. Snape also noticed that, despite his evident fatigue, Lupin’s eyes were alert and watchful.

“It was good of you to come today, by the way,” Lupin continued politely.

“It wasn’t my choice,” Snape grumbled as he scanned the crowd to see if anyone was paying undue attention to the Quidditch players.

“I know,” Lupin answered with the hint of a smile, watching people mingle around the garden as well. “All the same, thank you for bringing Harry, he needed to be here. How’s he holding up, anyway?”

Snape looked at Lupin in surprise. “Why are you asking me?”

Lupin cast a furtive glance at Snape and continued in a low voice.

“Albus told me what happened the night Molly died. You have the best idea of Harry’s mental state. How is he?”

Snape shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

“That’s not saying much. You must be able to tell me more than that.”

“Why don’t you simply talk to him yourself?” Snape asked irritably.

“I have. I wanted your perspective.”

“It’s hardly my place to discuss the matter unless you suppose he’d want his darkest fears and memories gossiped about behind his back?”

Lupin regarded Snape grimly. “It’s that bad?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Lupin asked.

Snape shook his head dismissively. “No, I can take care of Potter.”

The two men fell silent once more. Snape watched the crowd, but Lupin seemed lost in thought.

“You know, you’re the last person James would have ever trusted to watch over Harry,” Lupin said quietly at last.

Snape was startled by the unexpected insult. “Yes, well, he didn’t have the best judgment when it came to choosing whom to trust, did he?” Snape said icily, feeling a vicious satisfaction as Lupin paled.

“Severus, I didn’t mean it that way.”

Lupin looked genuinely contrite, but it didn’t matter to Snape. “I couldn’t care less what you meant,” he snapped. He turned away, but Lupin grabbed his arm.

“Sixteen is a difficult age even under the best of circumstances,” Lupin said, cryptically.

Snape scowled, unsure of what Lupin was getting at. The man was giving him an unusually earnest look that Snape found disquieting.

“If ever there was a time you needed to prove James wrong, it’s now,” Lupin said.

“I would have thought I already had.” Snape pulled his arm from Lupin’s grasp and stalked away.

---

“Harry, you’re a madman!” Charlie said admiringly.

Harry grinned, holding up the Snitch he’d managed to catch after a particularly suicidal maneuver. “You’re pretty mental yourself, you know.”

“Comes from dodging dragons for a living.”

“Enough chitchat, you two,” Bill said. “Let’s go again.”

“Afraid not, Bill,” George said.

“We’ve got to get back,” Fred explained.

“Why?” Ginny asked.

“We’ve got something special planned for the reception,” George said matter-of-factly.

“It’s very tasteful,” Fred insisted at the horrified looks that had accompanied George’s announcement. “Honestly George, you’d think they didn’t trust us!”

“We don’t,” Ginny said firmly.

Fred grinned as he and George turned their brooms back towards the Burrow. “You’ll just have to come and see for yourselves then, won’t you?”

“We’d better go have a look,” Bill said and the rest of them followed the twins back to the garden.

---

They all landed and put their brooms in the broom shed, but as they came back into the garden, they were confronted by Percy.

“Having fun, are you?” he demanded, waving a large glass at them and sloshing some of its contents onto the ground. Harry could smell the alcohol. Percy took a long swallow, swaying slightly. “I might have known that even Mum’s death couldn’t keep you lot from Quidditch.”

“Well, it beats trying to drown your sorrows,” Charlie said, eyeing his brother worriedly. He stepped forward and laid a hand on Percy’s arm. “Come on, I think you’ve had enough.”

Percy shrugged off Charlie’s touch and drew himself up with a haughty air. “I’m an adult, thank you. I think I can decide for myself when I’ve had enough to drink.”

“Right,” Bill agreed amiably as he joined Charlie at Percy’s side. “Then why don’t we go for a walk and you can tell us all about your work.”

“I don’t want to go for a walk,” Percy said petulantly. “Unlike some people, I’m not going to walk out on my own mother’s wake.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Percy, you’re making a fool of yourself,” Ron said impatiently.

“Ron, stay out of it,” Bill warned, but it was too late.

“I’m making a fool of myself?” Percy said indignantly. “Oh, that’s rich, Ron! I’ve spent my whole life trying to do the right thing, the respectable thing, trying to be the good student, the good son, the good employee. And what do you do? You go off half-cocked trying to get yourself killed every chance you get. You hang about with a lunatic who’s on some quixotic quest to defeat You-Know-Who. You have the temerity to think you can beat him and you call me a fool? You’re mad, all of you, and Dad’s the maddest of all.”

“Don’t you talk that way about Dad!” Ron’s face darkened in anger and everyone nearby had now stopped to watch the confrontation.

“Why not?” Percy said. “It’s the truth. Do you know that they laugh at Dad at the office? Him and his ‘silly obsession with all things Muggle’, as they put it. Do you know how humiliating it is to have your co-workers think your father’s nuts?”

Ron launched himself at Percy, but Fred and George grabbed him before he could take more than two steps.

“Dad’s leading this whole family to ruin!” Percy continued.

“That’s a lie!” Ron yelled.

“It’s his fault that Mum died!” Percy yelled. “You all know it; you just won’t admit it!”

There was an awful silence as everyone stared at Percy in shock.

“You’re right.” Mr. Weasley had maneuvered his way through the spectators and stood regarding Percy sadly. “It was my fault. I never tried to hide where my sympathies lie. If I had, if I’d been less outspoken, your mother would very likely still be alive. That’s something I’m going to have to live with the rest of my life. But it’s not going to keep me from doing what’s right, because I know what it’s like to live under his shadow, Percy. You don’t.

“You were too young to remember, but your mother and I lived through the last war. We didn’t want you and your brothers and sister to have to live with the constant fear and horror that we suffered. That’s why we knew this time we couldn’t sit by and do nothing. Your mother used to always tell me, ‘Arthur, never mind what anyone else thinks. Do what you know is right.’ And then when You-Know-Who returned, she insisted ‘Someone has to stand against him. If we don’t, who will?’

“Maybe you’re right, Percy. Maybe it won’t do any good. Who am I to think that I can make a difference? I’m just a poorly paid, mid-level bureaucrat. But if I can stand up for what’s right then maybe others will see that they can too. Yes, it’s dangerous. But there are worse things than death, and living as a slave to fear is one of them. I can’t live like that and I can’t let my children live like that. I won’t and your mother wouldn’t have either. She died fighting for what’s right and I won’t let her sacrifice be in vain.”

Mr. Weasley turned away and the crowd parted silently to let him through. No one spoke as he disappeared into the house.

George broke the silence. “Nice going, Percy. And here I thought Fred and I would steal the show today.”

Ron shrugged out of Fred and George’s arms, threw a venomous glare at Percy and stormed off after his father. Hermione didn’t hesitate, but hurried to catch up with him.

“Come on Percy, let’s go for a walk,” Bill said firmly, taking his brother by the arm. This time Percy didn’t object, but allowed himself to be led away by his two older brothers.

“I think this calls for a round of butterbeer and something to lighten the mood,” Fred told George, eyeing the crowd.

“Right you are,” George agreed, then raised his voice to address the assembled guests. “Ladies and gentlemen, if we could have your attention, please.”

“Compliments of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes …” Fred said.

“… We’d like to present a tribute to the best mum in the world!” George finished.

They both waved their wands and the large crate Harry had seen earlier burst open to emit dozens of Fairy Lights. Large translucent orbs also rose into the air and floated around the garden. Harry watched these curiously as did the rest of those assembled. Without warning the orbs popped and showered everyone with rose and lilac petals. A murmur of surprise and delight ran through the crowd and Harry found himself smiling. Who would have thought the twins could do something this tasteful?

Harry turned to say as much to Ginny, but she was gone. He looked around and spotted her pushing her way through the crowd towards the front of the house. Harry followed her as a flock of brightly colored birds flew out of Fred’s and George’s crate and began to sing sweetly as they took up roost around the garden.

Harry found Ginny standing alone under a willow tree in the front garden with her back to him. She was hugging herself and crying softly. Harry approached but stopped a few feet away.

“Ginny?”

Ginny sniffled but didn’t turn around.

“Ginny, I know Percy was awful, but I’m sure he didn’t mean the things he said.”

“It’s not Percy,” Ginny said, turning around to face Harry. “I’m used to him being an idiot. It’s just that since Mum died it feels like the whole family is being torn apart by this war. Dad’s practically obsessed. He spends every waking moment at work. Bill and Charlie have stepped up their involvement in the Order and so have Fred and George. I heard them talking to Remus just yesterday about some of the inventions the Order’s asked them to come up with. Ron’s practically as obsessed as dad. He keeps saying how he wishes he was out of school so he could join the Order, too.

“I’m not afraid to fight or die, Harry, but I am afraid of losing my whole family. And I’m afraid that Percy’s right. I’m afraid that nothing we do is going to matter, anyway. How can anything we do stop Voldemort?”

Harry stepped forward and grasped Ginny’s shoulders. “We can stop him, Ginny. He’s not invincible; I know he’s not. We just mustn’t give up hope.”

“I want to believe that, Harry,” Ginny said. “I can’t bear to think that Mum died for nothing.”

The anguish in Ginny’s eyes broke Harry’s heart.

“Ginny, I’m so sorry,” he said. “If there was anything I could have done… But I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop…”

Ginny looked at Harry in confusion, then understanding dawned.

“Harry, it wasn’t your fault!”

“I know,” Harry said miserably, “but it feels like it was.”

Ginny’s eyes flashed in sudden anger.

“Stop it!” she yelled, pushing him away. “Don’t you dare do this! Dad blames himself! Fred and George blame themselves! I can’t take you acting like an idiot, too! It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anyone’s fault! Voldemort killed Mum just like he’s killed dozens of other people and just like he’s going to keep on killing until someone finds a way to stop him. You of all people know that, and blaming yourself only gives him another victory!”

Ginny was right; Harry knew that blaming himself wouldn’t help. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he offered, proffering his hand. “You promise not to give up hope and I’ll promise not to blame myself for what Voldemort does. What do you say?”

Ginny considered a moment, then smiled and shook his hand. “All right, I guess I’m being a bit of an idiot, too. It’s not like worrying about the worst is going to help.”

Just then a burst of fireworks exploded overhead in the clear, late-afternoon sky.

“Come on, let’s go see what’s happening,” Harry said, grateful for something to take their minds off Voldemort.

They headed back to the reception and arrived just as another burst of fireworks went off. This was followed by another, and another. As the last display faded away, the crowd applauded. Fred and George bowed in acknowledgement and then levitated their now empty crate away to a distant corner of the garden.

Ron and Hermione appeared and Ron seemed to have forgotten his anger at Percy.

“That’s the best show I’ve seen Fred and George put on yet,” Ron said. “They’re actually getting pretty clever. But don’t tell them I said so,” he added as Fred and George approached them.

“So, what did you think?” Fred asked.

“Not bad,” Ron said.

“Not bad?” George said indignantly. “It was our best ever.”

“Do you really think so?” Ron asked skeptically.

“I thought it was brilliant!” Hermione said.

“Ah, a woman of taste,” Fred declared.

Remus came up to them. “Fred, George, brilliant job! Listen, I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”

“You’re leaving?” Harry asked.

Remus nodded and dropped his voice. “Dumbledore just sent word that he needs to see all the Order members. I wish I had more time, but promise me you’ll write.”

“I will. I promise.”

Remus gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze, then turned to go, but Harry stopped him.

“Remus - be careful.”

Remus smiled. “I will, Harry. Now, don’t you worry about me, you have enough on your mind.” He tousled Harry’s perpetually messy hair affectionately then disappeared into the crowd. Harry watched him go, feeling a twinge of loneliness.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry glanced around to find Snape standing behind him. He had forgotten his professor was there. He hadn’t seen the man since they’d arrived and wondered idly if Snape had been avoiding him.

“It’s quite late, we must be going,” Snape said.

“It’s not even five o’clock,” Harry protested. “It’s not like we have classes tomorrow.”

“It will be getting dark soon and we need to get back to school. No arguments.”

Harry sighed.

“It’s all right, mate,” said Ron. “We’ll be back tomorrow.”

“We’ll keep in touch too, Harry,” said Fred, and Harry nodded reluctantly.

---

By the time Harry had said his goodbyes to Mr. Weasley and the rest of the family it was indeed nearly dusk and Snape set a brisk pace as they left the Burrow.

“Potter, when I say it is time to go, I don’t mean for you to spend another half hour saying goodbye to all your friends,” he snapped.

“I didn’t want to be rude,” Harry replied easily.

“There are some things that are more important than being polite,” Snape said, quickening his pace to the point that Harry had to practically run to keep pace.

“What’s the hurry?” Harry asked.

“Don’t talk, Potter. Just keep up.”

Harry sighed. Snape’s moods were unfathomable. They passed through the village, where the lights had already been lit and crossed the bridge over the river. Here by the woods it was already quite dark and Snape slowed his pace considerably. Harry drew his wand to cast Lumos so they could see better, but his professor touched his arm in warning.

“Don’t,” said Snape quietly. “Keep your wand ready, but out of sight.”

“Why?” Harry asked in a similarly quiet voice.

“We’re being followed. Don’t turn around!” he hissed at Harry’s involuntary glance over his shoulder. “We don’t want them to know we’ve seen them.”

Actually, Harry thought wryly, he hadn’t seen them. Even straining as he was now to detect some telltale sound or movement, he couldn’t tell that there was anyone behind them. He wondered if Snape could be mistaken and stole a quick glance at his professor. No, Snape didn’t seem the type to make that kind of mistake. The man moved almost silently, poised and alert as he watched the road ahead intently.

“How many are there?” Harry asked.

“Two, I think, but there are undoubtedly more ahead, most likely in the trees where the road curves up there.”

Harry’s mouth was dry, but his voice was steady. “So, what do you want to do?”

Snape glanced at him and Harry knew he was being appraised.

“When we turn the bend up ahead, we should be out of the line of sight of those behind us, for a few moments. I’ll cast Incendio into the woods on our right. You do the same on the left. Then, take cover and curse anything that moves. But be careful! We don’t need to get separated and start cursing each other.”

Harry nodded. They were nearly at the bend, now. Harry could feel his pulse quicken and his senses sharpen as anticipation sent a rush of adrenaline through him. It was the same way he felt before a Quidditch match; relaxed, yet very focused.

---

Snape didn’t care for their odds. There were at least two, and probably more, Death Eaters ahead of them, plus the two behind. More worrisome than the number, though, was the fact that they were concealed, while he and Potter were out in the open. There was no room to maneuver on the narrow road and nowhere to run. They were being herded into an ambush and if he had misjudged their enemies’ location, they were both going to die.

Snape was furious with himself and if he could have spared the time, he would have been cursing his own stupidity. Why hadn’t he brought the Portkey with them? True, it might have been odd and a bit unwieldy to drag a picnic basket around with them, but at least they would have been safe. But he hadn’t been thinking about safety when they’d arrived. He and Potter had been in the middle of that ridiculous argument and he had stalked off in anger. Naturally, the boy, with no thought of danger, had left the Portkey behind. Snape didn’t blame Potter, though. It was his responsibility to keep the boy safe. Dumbledore had trusted him and he was very likely going to fail.

Still, they did have a few advantages. The Death Eaters wouldn’t be aiming to kill, but to incapacitate, for one thing. Also, the same trees that hid them would hamper their aim. But what Snape was counting on fervently was that they wouldn’t expect him to fight. That miscalculation by their enemies would give him the crucial seconds he needed to act.

---

They were approaching the bend in the road. Snape quickened his pace and Harry automatically matched his teacher’s stride. Harry was scanning the woods for any hint of movement and he caught it.

He whipped his wand around and cried, “Incendio!”

The brush in front of him burst into flame and Harry was rewarded by startled cries as two figures fled their hiding places.

“Stupefy!” Harry yelled, pointing his wand at the nearest Death Eater. The man slumped to the ground, but his companion was already taking aim at Harry. Harry had no time to block the curse but instead dove to the ground as red sparks sizzled in the air where he’d been standing. He rolled into a crouch.

“Expelliarmus!” he yelled, but the Death Eater ducked behind a tree and Harry missed. He was only peripherally aware of the battle taking place on the other side of the road and had no time to hope that Snape was holding his own as two more figures came running into view. The two Death Eaters that had been following them had clearly heard the fight and in their haste to join it, had made the mistake of coming up the road instead of remaining hidden among the trees.

“Stupefy!” Harry cried. His spell connected as did its twin from the opposite side of the road and both Death Eaters dropped in their tracks.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand went flying and he whirled around, realizing too late that the Death Eater he’d missed earlier had snuck around behind him. Unarmed, his reflexes took over and he threw himself to the side as a curse exploded next to him. He kept rolling as another curse blasted the ground. He rolled again and slammed into a tree flanked by impenetrable brush. He’d gone as far as he could and the Death Eater in front of him clearly knew it.

“Stupefy!”

The Death Eater stiffened and keeled over, unconscious. Snape didn’t even glance at the man as he stepped over the prone body, grasped Harry’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Never lose track of your opponents, Potter!” Snape scolded angrily. “That’s the fastest way to wind up dead! Accio wand.”

Harry’s wand obediently leapt out of a bush and came flying towards them. Harry caught it as Snape continued.

“Get back to Hogwarts and find Dumbledore. He should be back by now. Tell him what’s happened.”

“What about you?” Harry asked.

“I’ll handle things here. Make certain you tell no one besides the headmaster what has happened.”

“What if he’s not back yet?”

“Then go to Professor McGonagall, but tell no one else. In particular, avoid Ryan at all costs. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Go then. Hurry!”

Harry needed no more encouragement and took off at a run in the now total darkness. He knew the spells they’d used to incapacitate the Death Eaters wouldn’t last forever and he wasn’t particularly pleased about leaving Snape here alone. The silhouette of the large tree he was looking for loomed into view. Harry dove beneath its branches and seized the Portkey.

“Allez!” he said.

He felt the expected tug behind his navel and then he was sitting outside the Portkey Authority in Hogsmeade. Harry tossed the now useless basket aside, got to his feet and sprinted for Hogwarts.

By the time Harry reached Dumbledore’s moving staircase, having somehow remembered the password from a few days before, he was panting and drenched in sweat. He entered the headmaster’s office and was relieved to find Dumbledore seated behind his desk.

The old man looked up as Harry entered and rose, frowning in concern. “Harry, what’s happened?”

“Professor Snape and I were ambushed by a group of Death Eaters on our way back to school,” Harry replied as he tried to catch his breath. “We’re both all right,” he added quickly. “We managed to take them all down and Professor Snape sent me to come and get you.”

“Where?” Dumbledore asked seriously.

“In the woods outside Ottery St. Catchpole,” Harry said.

“Very well, I shall go at once.” Dumbledore came around his desk with a purposeful stride and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “In the meantime, Harry, I must ask that you tell no one what has transpired this evening.”

“Why, sir?” Harry asked curiously. Both Dumbledore and Snape had now urged him to secrecy.

“I cannot explain that at the moment,” Dumbledore answered, ushering Harry towards the door. “For now, I would ask that you trust me. All will become clear soon, I promise you.”

“All right,” Harry agreed.

“Good. You’d best get down to dinner then.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry left the headmaster’s office feeling much calmer now that he was confident Dumbledore would have the situation in hand. He decided to stop by Gryffindor Tower to shed his traveling cloak and wash up before going down to dinner. The common room was empty as was his room and he changed quickly.

Despite the run in with the Death Eaters, Harry felt better than he had in days. The funeral for Mrs. Weasley had helped to bury the nightmarish memory of her death. It was heartening to see the Burrow so full of the family and friends who had loved her. There had been tears, but there had also been laughter and joy, which had healed him in a way he couldn’t explain.

Harry suddenly wondered what his funeral would be like, if he were to die. He had no family to gather round. His friends would be there, of course, Dumbledore, the Weasleys, Hermione and Remus, along with many of his classmates. But mostly there would probably be lots of strangers come to pay their respects to the famous Harry Potter. Harry found that somehow depressing.

Don’t be stupid! Harry chided himself. You wouldn’t be around to care anyway, so what difference does it make? He shook his head at his own foolishness then went down to dinner.

---

Snape stood over the unconscious Death Eater. Jameson was his name, a recent recruit to the Dark Lord’s forces and one of the hapless fools who had been taken off-guard on the road. Snape didn’t know Jameson well, but he did recognize the man. More importantly, the man would recognize him. He pointed his wand.

“Ennervate!”

Jameson stirred and blinked at his surroundings in confusion. Snape bent down, grabbed the man roughly by his collar and shook him.

“Where’s Potter?” Snape demanded angrily.

“What… Snape?” the man asked dazedly.

“The boy, where is he? Believe me, you do not wish to discover how very displeased our Lord will be if you let Potter get away!”

Jameson’s eyes widened in fear and he looked around wildly as if hoping to find Potter hiding behind a tree. “I don’t know where he is!” he said desperately. “We heard the sounds of a fight and came running, but someone cursed me.”

“Some idiot cursed me, too! Now, where is everyone else? You weren’t out here alone! How many of you were there?”

“There were six. Two of us were following you, the other four were supposed to be waiting off the road. But I don’t know where they are now!” Jameson pleaded. “Wait a minute!” he added as sudden hope appeared in his eyes. “If the others aren’t here they must have already taken Potter and returned to our Lord!”

The man’s relief was palpable. Snape released his hold on him and stood up.

“I suppose that’s possible,” Snape conceded.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Jameson said.

“Yes, it is,” Snape agreed as he casually raised the wand he was holding. “Avada Kedavra!”

Jameson slumped back to the ground and Snape noted dispassionately that the vacant eyes hadn’t even had time to register surprise, but still held a look of hope. Snape laid Jameson’s wand next to its owner’s body. He’d already used it to kill the other five Death Eaters and had no more need of it. He turned away and walked up the road to await Dumbledore’s arrival. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Severus?” Dumbledore’s quiet voice sounded close behind Snape. It was the first indication of the headmaster’s presence.

“Is everything under control?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes,” Snape said. “The Death Eaters have all been accounted for.”

Dumbledore sighed wearily. “I will take care of all the details, of course. Is there anything else I can do?”

“You mean other than not asking me to take Potter on any more outings?” Snape snapped then instantly regretted it. “Forgive me, Headmaster,” he said formally. “It’s been a rather taxing afternoon.”

“You have every right to be angry with me,” Dumbledore said. “I would rather you focused your anger where appropriate than take it out on the students or staff. Now, go back to school and I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Snape nodded and Disapparated.

---

“Harry, you’re back!” Neville exclaimed as Harry joined his housemates for dinner. “How are Ron and Ginny?”

Harry settled down to eat and told Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors all about the funeral and the reception afterward, paying special attention to Fred and George’s unique memorial. He omitted any mention of Death Eaters, of course, as well as his argument with Snape which he’d forgotten entirely. He felt happy, as though a burden had been lifted from him.

When dinner was over, he returned to the common room and spent a relaxing evening playing Exploding Snap with his fellow Gryffindors and catching up on his homework. The sight of Ron’s bed no longer filled him with unbearable grief and remorse. Instead, he felt an upwelling of compassion and gratitude for all the good friends he had. Mrs. Weasley’s funeral had made him more thankful than ever for all the people who cared for him and he felt truly at peace as he drifted off to sleep. Unfortunately, his contentment didn’t last long.

The next morning at breakfast Seamus opened his newly delivered copy of the Daily Prophet and gave a low whistle. “Wow! Harry, listen to this!” He cleared his throat and read from the paper.

“Yesterday evening, six Death Eaters attempted to ambush Ministry Aurors on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. No one can say for sure why the Death Eaters were there, but this is the same village that saw another Death Eater attack, Monday last, that resulted in the death of long time resident, Molly Weasley.

None of the Aurors were injured in this most recent attack, but all six Death Eaters were killed. Ministry officials are investigating.”

“What!” Harry reached across the table and snatched the paper from Seamus. He scanned the article himself.

“Merlin!” said Neville. “Do you think they were after you, Harry?”

“It could have been Mr. Weasley they were looking for,” said Dean worriedly.

“I’m glad those Aurors managed to take them down!” Seamus said. “Filthy, stinking Death Eaters!”

“It’s a good thing you and Professor Snape didn’t run into them though, Harry,” Neville said. “Six against two would have been rough odds.”

Harry looked up from the paper to the head table and saw Snape watching him with an enigmatic expression.

“Yeah,” Harry said his mouth dry. “Really rough.”

The conversation at the table turned to other matters, but Harry paid no attention. He picked at his breakfast and tried not to let his churning emotions show. No matter how many times he went over it in his head he kept coming to the same conclusion. Snape had killed them – murdered them as they lay unconscious. Harry shuddered at the thought, but there was no other possible explanation. He could clearly recall Snape saying that he would ‘handle things’ and felt sick to realize what that off-handed comment had meant.

Dumbledore was a mystery though, Harry thought as he looked up to where the headmaster was engaged in conversation with Professor Sprout, nodding with interest at whatever the Herbology professor was saying. He had to know the truth, and yet he didn’t seem the least bit upset that his Potions Master had committed murder. Did that mean Dumbledore condoned Snape’s actions? Had Snape somehow convinced him that killing the Death Eaters had been justified?

Harry fought the urge to look at Snape. He couldn’t bear to meet the man’s eyes again. Instead he shoved his uneaten breakfast aside and stood up. He needed time alone to think.

---

Snape hadn’t touched his breakfast either. The previous day had been a near disaster, but fortunately Dumbledore had done a masterful job of covering up the pitched battle with the Death Eaters. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been contacted and had arranged for the right Aurors to give the right information to the Daily Prophet. The details had all been taken care of and anyone who cared to dig deeper would find an entirely plausible story that exonerated him of any suspicion. No one would ever guess he’d been involved; no one but Potter.

At most, that should have been a minor annoyance. After all, he’d killed six men quickly and efficiently, with little thought and no emotion. He hadn’t enjoyed it, it had simply been necessary. Snape knew that and the opinion of one sixteen year old boy didn’t change anything.

Except that Snape was having a surprisingly hard time forgetting the expression on Potter’s face as he’d looked up from reading the paper. Not that Snape cared what the boy thought of him, of course, far from it. But the horror in those piercing green eyes still filled his mind. Snape caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Potter leaving the Hall.

---

Harry was planning to head for his third floor retreat, but he never reached the stairs.

“Mr. Potter!” Snape called.

Harry froze in the middle of the entrance hall, then slowly turned to face the last person he wanted to see.

“In my office, now,” Snape ordered.

Harry seriously considered refusing, but the look in Snape’s eyes quickly put an end to that thought and reluctantly, he followed his teacher to the dungeons.

“Sit down,” Snape said as he took his own seat behind his desk. Harry took a deep breath and sank into his usual chair.

“From the look on your face at breakfast, it’s obvious that you’ve surmised what transpired in your absence yesterday evening,” Snape continued.

There was no point in being delicate, Harry knew. “You killed them.”

“Yes,” Snape said easily. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Potter!” he snapped at the expression on Harry’s face. “You’re not a child and you’re certainly not naïve! We’re at war!”

“That doesn’t justify murder!” Harry said.

“It was necessary.”

“No, it wasn’t!” Harry jumped to his feet and leaned across the desk to confront Snape. “They were already unconscious! You could have turned them over to the Ministry!”

“Yes, Potter,” Snape said wearily. “I could have turned them over to the Ministry and they would have been sent to Azkaban. Then what? Azkaban is hardly the impregnable fortress it once was. It took all of a month for Lucius Malfoy to escape. Do you really think it would have taken much longer for the gentlemen we encountered last night to manage it?

“I can explain six dead bodies. I cannot explain why, on a deserted road with no witnesses and you outnumbered six to one, I would choose to defend you rather than stand aside and allow my associates to take their prize.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.

“You mean… They expected you to let them take me?”

“Of course!” Snape was on his feet now, too, glaring at Harry. “I am on their side; at least as far as the Dark Lord is concerned. Believe me, I have no desire to disabuse him of that notion.”

Harry stared at Snape speechless and Snape shook his head in disgust.

“What did you think?” Snape demanded with a sneer. “That I’d done it for sport? That I enjoyed it?” Even Snape’s biting sarcasm couldn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.

“No, of course not,” Harry insisted.

“Do you simply take it for granted that I have no conscience then?” Snape persisted. “Given that you always assume the worst of me I suppose that’s hardly surprising!”

Harry bristled at Snape’s accusations, knowing that there was at least some truth to them.

“Well, how did you think I’d react?” Harry demanded. “You leave me to read about it in the paper and then expect me not to be shocked? Why didn’t you tell me any of this last night?”

“There was a great deal to do last night. As you may imagine, it took a fair amount of work to arrange for that particular story to appear in the morning paper. There was no time to brief you which is why I am doing so now.”

Harry held Snape’s gaze a moment longer then sank back into his chair. Snape sat down as well. They didn’t look at each other and neither spoke. Finally, Harry broke the silence.

“You knew we were going to be followed, didn’t you?” he asked. “That’s why you were so anxious to leave the Burrow.”

Snape sighed. “I suspected that some of the Dark Lord’s servants would be watching for you, yes.”

“And you didn’t bother to tell me that?”

“What would have been the point? It wouldn’t have helped the situation and you had enough on your mind already.”

“I might have paid more attention when you said it was time to go.”

Snape shook his head dismissively. “Actually, it was probably to our advantage that we encountered them in the dark.”

“Why?”

“It made certain things easier.”

From the way Snape said it, Harry was sure that he didn’t want to know what ‘certain things’ were, but there was another worry that had begun to nag at his mind.

“Professor, you did kill all of them, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Potter,” Snape said in exasperation. “There would hardly have been any point in killing only a few of them.”

Harry looked Snape in the eyes. “What if one of them had got away?”

Snape held Harry’s gaze. “In that case, I would be in considerable difficulty,” he said evenly.

‘In considerable difficulty’ was one way to put it, Harry thought. Of course, ‘dead’ was another. For the first time, Harry had a vivid understanding of the dangerous game Snape was playing and the hard choices he was forced to make. Harry swallowed.

“How do you know you got them all? How do you know there weren’t others besides the ones we fought? There could have been. It was dark and –”

“Potter,” Snape interrupted Harry. “I have not survived this long by being careless. There are ways to discover information – don’t ask me how – just believe me when I tell you that all of the Death Eaters were accounted for.”

Harry wasn’t entirely convinced, but he nodded.

“Now, I trust you understand the need for absolute secrecy regarding these events?” Snape said.

“Of course, sir,” Harry replied readily.

“That means you must tell no one, not even your closest friends.”

Harry hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he could keep this from Ron and Hermione.

“I have also not survived this long by relying on the discretion of others,” Snape said. “You can trust your friends with your own life, not mine.”

Snape had a point, Harry knew. “All right, sir,” he agreed. “You have my word. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good. Now then, regarding your lessons, I have spoken to the headmaster and he has agreed to take over your tutoring. You will resume your studies with him tomorrow evening.”

“What?” Harry asked in surprise. “Why?”

Snape scowled at Harry as though the answer ought to be obvious. “Under the circumstances, I assumed you’d want another teacher.”

Snape spoke dismissively and without resentment, but it was clear that he took it for granted that Harry would want nothing more to do with him after what had happened in the woods. Harry pressed his lips together, feeling a surge of indignation.

“Well, you assumed wrong,” Harry said. “You said yourself that I’m not a child and I’m not naïve. Whatever you did yesterday can’t be any worse than the visions I’ve had. Besides, it’d be a little hypocritical of me if I couldn’t handle you killing six Death Eaters.”

Snape frowned at Harry quizzically. “Why?”

“I’ve got to either kill him or die,” Harry said calmly, “and I need to at least hope that I’m not going to die. So believe me, Professor, I’ve done my share of contemplating murder, even when I’m not dreaming of it.”

Harry held Snape’s gaze and saw something like pain flicker in the depths of the black eyes.

“Very well,” Snape said. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Mr. Potter, if you’re up to it.”

“I’ll be here, sir,” Harry said.

---

Harry spent the rest of the morning in the common room doing homework. Just before lunch, the portrait hole opened and Ron, Ginny and Hermione appeared. Ron and Ginny were instantly surrounded by their fellow housemates and given a heartfelt welcome. When the greetings and expressions of sympathy had died down, Harry finally got a chance to greet his friends.

“You’re back early,” he said.

“Well, you know Hermione,” Ron said. “She can only be away from her school books for so long.”

“That’s not true!” Hermione retorted. “Besides, I brought all the ones I needed with me.”

“Truthfully, we were ready to come back,” Ron said. “Charlie and Aunt Rose left this morning and everyone else is busy with one thing and another, so there’s not much left to do at home.”

“I think Dad was anxious for us to come back too, after what happened last night,” Ginny said seriously. “You read about the Death Eaters in the paper, didn’t you, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I heard about that.”

“Dad figures it might be best if we didn’t stay at the Burrow for a while,” Ginny said. “He, Fred and George are going to go stay with Remus for the time being.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Harry said. “There’s no point in taking any chances.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “But it just makes me angry to be driven out of our own home.”

“Come on,” Hermione said. “Let’s go have lunch and it’ll make you feel better.”

The four Gryffindors headed down to the Great Hall with the rest of their housemates, but Hermione touched Harry’s sleeve and held him back as they descended the stairs.

“Harry,” she asked quietly. “You didn’t see anything or anyone unusual yesterday, did you?”

“Er, no,” Harry answered. “Why do you ask?”

“It just seems strange that Death Eaters would try to come after Mr. Weasley again so soon. It’s not as though he’s that important to the war effort and they must have known there’d be all sorts of extra security around the Burrow yesterday. I just can’t help wondering if the Weasleys might have not been their target after all.”

“You mean you think they might have been after me?” Harry asked trying to keep his voice neutral.

“It’s possible,” Hermione said. “It wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out you’d be there and Voldemort would do anything to get his hands on you.”

Harry nodded. “All the same, though, I think it’s probably just as well that Mr. Weasley, Fred and George go to stay with Remus.”

Hermione nodded. “Actually, I think it’s the best thing for them, especially Mr. Weasley. Getting away will do him good, I’m sure.”

Harry and Hermione caught up with Ron and Ginny as they descended the last set of stairs.

“I’m telling you, they don’t stand a chance against us,” Ron was telling Ginny.

“Don’t get overconfident, Ron,” Ginny scolded. “Hufflepuff are no pushovers. I’ve seen them practicing. Besides, Katie would have a fit if she heard you talking like that.”

“Katie’s mental. It’s got to be in the job description for Quidditch Captain.”

“We still need to keep to our practice schedule,” Ginny said.

“Oh, no!” Hermione said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Ron agreed.

“No,” Hermione said, pointing across the entrance hall. “Look.”

Snape was halfway across the entrance hall on his way to lunch and striding purposefully towards him from the opposite side of the hall was Comyn Ryan.

“Professor Snape!” Ryan called.

Snape stopped and turned towards the man. One glance at his expression told Harry that Snape was in no mood for Ryan, but the Defense teacher didn’t seem the least bit concerned.

“I haven’t had the chance to welcome you back,” Ryan said brightly. “How was Mrs. Weasley’s funeral?”

“Lovely,” Snape said dryly. “If you like funerals.”

“It’s lucky you didn’t run into those Death Eaters, though.” Ryan said.

Snape stiffened almost imperceptibly “Yes, it was,” he said evenly. He barely spoke above a whisper but such was the silence in the entrance hall that everyone heard him. The students had all stopped to listen to this exchange, having long since given up the pretense of ignoring their teachers’ constant verbal sparring, and were hanging on every word.

“You know,” Ryan continued. “I wondered why it was that you were so anxious for Mr. Potter to attend the funeral, yet so set against taking him yourself. But with Death Eaters lurking about, I can see how you wouldn’t want to be responsible if anything unfortunate happened.”

Snape’s eyes flashed with anger. “You go too far,” he said.

“Do I?” Ryan said with a smile. “Tell me, did those Death Eaters know they’d be meeting up with a group of Aurors instead of Potter on that road, or didn’t you get the chance to warn them?”

Snape had his wand out and leveled at Ryan instantly. But the Defense teacher was just as fast. His wand seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The two men faced off as the students all scrambled out of the line of fire.

Snape was trembling with rage, but Ryan was still perfectly composed. He smiled and there was no mistaking the triumphant gleam in his eyes.

“Go ahead,” Ryan taunted. “Try it.”

Snape glanced at the students then back at Ryan. With obvious effort he wrestled his emotions back under control.

“One day, I promise you will pay,” he said then he lowered his wand and stalked off towards the dungeons.

Ryan pocketed his own wand and headed into the Great Hall.

“This rivalry between Professor Snape and Professor Ryan is getting out of hand!” Hermione said as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. “Ryan’s insinuations are becoming entirely too blatant.”

“Well, you have to admit Snape acts awfully suspicious most of the time,” Ron said.

“He’s not a Death Eater, Ron and you know it!” Hermione said in a low voice.

“Maybe I know it,” Ron answered in a whisper, “but Ryan doesn’t. It’s supposed to be a secret, isn’t it?”

“Ryan must have hit pretty close to home to make Snape that angry,” Seamus said as he sat down and cast a worried glance at Harry.

“Dumbledore really needs to do something,” Lavender said, glancing Harry’s way too.

Hermione shook her head unconcernedly as she reached for the salad. “I’m certain Dumbledore trusts Professor Snape.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s made a mistake,” Dean said darkly, “and Snape wouldn’t be the first Death Eater we’ve had at Hogwarts.”

“That’s true enough,” Seamus agreed. “Look at Quirrell and that dodgy business with Moody. Dumbledore didn’t have either of them spotted.”

“You don’t really think Snape’s a Death Eater, do you?” Neville asked worriedly.

“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious,” Dean said. “Look how he coddles Malfoy and his gang and everyone knows what they are.”

Up and down the table, people nodded in agreement.

“He was best mates with Malfoy’s dad too,” Seamus added, “and if you ask me, they should have gone to Azkaban together.”

This statement was rewarded by a general murmur of agreement, then Lavender jumped in.

“I was talking with the Hufflepuffs,” she said. “Ernie’s mum knew Snape from school and doesn’t trust him at all. She thinks Dumbledore ought to sack him. So do a lot of the other parents.”

Hermione stared at her in disbelief. “Isn’t that overreacting just a bit? I mean, there’s no evidence.”

“There’s one way to prove it,” Seamus said. “Someone ought to stun him and have a look at his left arm. I’d bet ten galleons he’s got the Dark Mark.”

Dean’s eyes lit up. “Now that’s something Ryan would do! I wonder if we ought to suggest it to him.”

“He’d have to get through me first,” Harry said.

Everyone turned to stare at Harry in stunned silence.

“I don’t trust Ryan,” Harry told them bluntly. “In case you’ve all forgotten both Moody and Quirrell taught Defense, and no one suspected them until it was too late. If Snape hasn’t tried to kill me in six years, I’m not going to start worrying about him, now. Ryan’s the one I’m keeping my eye on.”

Harry stood up. “I’m going out for some extra Quidditch practice,” he announced to no one in particular.

“I’ll come with you,” Ginny said, getting up as well.

Harry hesitated, then nodded and Ginny accompanied him out of the castle in silence. They were halfway to the Quidditch Pitch when Ginny finally spoke.

“Don’t worry about Professor Snape, Harry. He can take care of himself.”

Harry looked at Ginny in surprise.

“I may not be able to read minds,” Ginny said, “but I can tell when you’re worried about something.”

“I’m not worried,” Harry said. “It’s just not right what Ryan’s doing, that’s all. He’s got everyone convinced that Snape’s a Death Eater!”

“But Ron’s right. Isn’t that for the best?” Ginny asked. “I mean, at least it’ll keep anyone from suspecting that he’s really working for Dumbledore.”

“I suppose,” Harry conceded. “But I know what it’s like to be distrusted by everyone. Believe me, it’s no fun!”

They had arrived at the Quidditch pitch and Ginny pulled out her wand.

“Accio broom!” she said.

Harry drew his own wand and repeated the spell. A moment later two brooms came hurtling at them from the castle. Ginny caught hers and mounted it.

“Come on, Harry,” she said with a quick smile. “I know how to take your mind off Snape and Ryan.” She kicked off from the ground and went zooming into the air.

Harry straddled his broom and took off after her.

---

Over the next few weeks, life slowly returned to normal for Harry and his friends. Mrs. Weasley’s funeral had healed some of the pain of her death; and more. Harry wasn’t sure why, but he felt more at peace now than he had since before Sirius died.

Harry had resumed his lessons with Snape and they had quickly fallen back into their former, comfortable routine. They didn’t speak of any of the events that had taken place the week of Mrs. Weasley’s death. Snape, for his part, seemed determined to pretend that they had never happened at all and Harry was happy to follow his teacher’s lead. He had no more desire than Snape to explore the disturbingly dark understanding they had shared. So long as he could avoid acknowledging that, he’d be able to ignore the horrors lurking in Snape’s mind as well as his own. Fortunately, he had other, far more pleasant things that required his attention.

“Only one week ‘til our rematch against Hufflepuff,” Katie said brightly as Harry and Ron sat down in the Great Hall for breakfast.

“We know how to count, Katie,” Ron said irritably as he reached for the sausage. “Yesterday, it was eight days and tomorrow it’ll be six days, so could you just leave off announcing it every morning?”

Katie scowled at him and continued down the table.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he told Harry, “I like Katie, I really do, but I’m glad it’s her last year.”

“That depends on who makes Captain next year,” Harry said.

“Oh, come on, Harry. Neither of us would be as bad as Katie.”

“Who says one of us will get it? Ginny might make Captain.”

Ron choked on his eggs. “She’d never make Captain before us!” he said and Harry grinned at the worried look on his friend’s face.

“Speaking of Ginny, who’s that she’s talking to?” Harry asked.

Hermione, who was sitting next to Ron, reading her Ancient Runes text, glanced up. “Jeremy Banks and Walter Sutton.”

“Who?” Ron asked as he and Harry both craned to see the two boys Ginny was talking to at the other end of the Hall.

“They’re part of her team in Ryan’s class,” Hermione answered.

Harry didn’t know the boys, but he did recognize them. He remembered seeing them at Fred and George’s shop when he’d visited during summer; they’d seemed very keen on the twins’ wares. Ginny and the boys nodded agreement about something and Ginny headed towards the Gryffindor table while the boys made their way to the Slytherin one.

“They’re Slytherins?” Ron asked, horrified.

“Fifth years are doing mixed teams right now,” Hermione confirmed.

“Good morning,” Ginny said as she sat down across from Ron and Harry.

“What were you doing talking to those Slytherins?” Ron demanded.

“We were talking about strategy for Defense,” Ginny said.

“Can’t you talk about that in class?”

Ginny frowned at her brother. “I suppose, but Jeremy and Walter had an idea they wanted to run by me.”

“It couldn’t have waited?” Ron asked suspiciously.

“Ron, what is wrong with you?” Ginny asked in exasperation.

“They’re Slytherins. You shouldn’t be hanging around with them.”

“So much for inter-house harmony,” Hermione muttered.

“I’m not hanging around with them,” Ginny said, “and even if I were, what business is it of yours?”

“I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t even know them!”

“Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters, Ron,” Hermione added in annoyance.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Ron replied. “We’re at war, don’t forget.”

“I’ve also got my OWLs coming up, too, don’t forget,” Ginny reminded him. “And I’d like to pass them.”

Seamus interrupted the bickering. “Well, that’s another Auror gone missing.” He sighed as he laid aside the Daily Prophet.

“It’s a wonder there are any left,” Dean said. “You sure you want to be an Auror, Harry?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, more so than ever,” Harry said as he finished the last of his breakfast. “Someone’s got to stand up to Voldemort.”

Most of the nearby students winced.

“Harry!” Seamus said. “Do you have to say his name?”

“Yes,” Harry said as he stood up. “I’m not afraid of a name.”

The pain that shot through Harry’s scar was the worst he’d ever felt. He clutched his head, reeling. The pain was so intense he couldn’t see and couldn’t hear his friends calling his name. He tried to fight, but the fury coming from Voldemort was too overwhelming.

---

Harry awoke in the hospital wing to find Dumbledore, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey standing over him.

“Harry,” Dumbledore asked. “How are you feeling?”

“All right, sir,” Harry said, sitting up in bed. “What happened?”

“You fainted at breakfast,” McGonagall told him.

“Can you tell us why, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“It was my scar,” Harry said, putting a hand gingerly to his forehead. “Voldemort was angrier than I’ve ever felt him.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

Harry thought back. As he’d lost consciousness, his mind had opened and he’d felt Voldemort’s fury and hatred as his own, but he could remember nothing else.

“No, sir,” he told Dumbledore. “Nothing at all.”

At that moment Snape arrived with a goblet of some steaming concoction. Harry looked up at the Potions Master and a bolt of agony shot through his scar. Harry gasped and fought to block his mind. Slowly the pain receded until it was gone. He looked warily at Snape again, half expecting his scar to explode once more, but there was no pain this time. Snape was watching him with obvious consternation and Dumbledore looked uncommonly serious as he glanced between his Potions Master and student. Snape stepped forward and held out the cup.

“Drink this,” he told Harry. “It should help.”

Harry took the cup, drained it and immediately felt the lingering ache in his scar vanish.

“Thanks, Professor,” he said, then looked at Dumbledore. “Can I go now?” he asked, uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny of the adults around him.

His professors exchanged glances then Dumbledore spoke.

“You may go if you promise to let me know should you experience any further pain in your scar, no matter how slight.”

“I promise,” Harry agreed as he stood up. He left the hospital wing quickly, very aware of the worried gazes that followed him out, and found Ron and Hermione waiting for him in the hall.

“Harry, are you all right?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said truthfully. “It was just my scar.”

“It hasn’t affected you that badly in ages,” Ron said.

Harry frowned. “Voldemort’s really upset about something.”

“Well, hopefully that’s a good thing,” Ron said encouragingly.

“Yeah, maybe,” Harry agreed, but somehow he felt it wasn’t.

---

By the time Harry arrived for his lesson with Snape that evening, he had long since forgotten about his scar. He was now making steady progress in his study of Legilimency and was finally gaining the control Snape had so often told him he needed. He no longer felt overwhelmed by the memories and emotions he encountered, and was learning to recognize the clues and associations that would allow him to search Snape’s memories effectively. Best of all, he was at long last starting to have some control over his visions. At least he was able to wake himself up at will, which was something. For the first time, Harry had real hope that he might be able to master Legilimency and put an end to his visions altogether.

For the time being though, Harry was enjoying his lessons far more than he would have dared admit. Snape’s mind was so familiar, that he found it almost comforting to sense his professor’s presence in his own mind. And now that he was no longer floundering, the mental sparring with Snape was actually fun.

“All right, Potter,” Snape said. “Tell me what I did this afternoon after lunch.”

Harry nodded once and concentrated, fixing his teacher with a penetrating stare. While there were far more interesting challenges in Snape’s mind, Harry took pride in having made tremendous progress at deciphering Snape’s tedious daily routines. Harry saw the memory of lunch clearly and was able to follow it to the memories of Snape’s movements afterward. He frowned slightly.

“You spent the afternoon in your office marking homework,” he said.

“Correct,” Snape said smoothly as though Harry had just answered a basic Potions question.

“But it’s not,” Harry said, frowning more deeply. “That’s not true.”

Snape stared at Harry in astonishment. “What?”

“Those memories weren’t true,” Harry said as understanding began to dawn. “They’re from another time, but you somehow made me think they happened this afternoon.”

“You couldn’t possibly have been able to tell that!” Snape insisted angrily.

Harry smirked. “Obviously, I could,” he said. He was miffed that Snape would deceive him and more than happy to see his usually self-assured professor bewildered.

Snape glared at Harry a moment longer before conceding the point.

“How did you know?”

Harry grinned. “I cheated.”

“Cheated?” Snape asked. “What do you mean?”

“This afternoon after lunch, Hermione came down to see you about her Potions essay. You weren’t here, but she ran into Millicent Bulstrode who told her you were in a meeting with your prefects.”

Snape stared at Harry incredulously for a moment then shook his head in disgust.

“Well, let that be your object lesson of the day, Potter. No matter how skilled one may be at Occlumency, facts and sure knowledge will still win the day.”

“So, how many of the memories I’ve seen weren’t true?” Harry asked. He tried to make the question sound nonchalant, although he was still chafing at the deception.

“They’re all true, Potter, I’ve just altered the associations to change the context of some of them,” Snape said. He made it sound simple, but Harry knew it wasn’t. Still, he wondered how often Snape had done this.

“I haven’t deceived you in anything important,” Snape said, answering Harry’s unspoken question as he so often seemed to do lately.

Harry nodded, satisfied. He didn’t for a moment believe that Snape would lie to him, outright. He considered what Snape had told him and the memories he’d seen. The connection between them had been perfect. If he hadn’t known better, he never would have guessed they didn’t lead directly from one to another.

“So, is there any way to know when someone’s memories have been manipulated?” Harry asked.

Snape didn’t answer. He was frowning in concentration.

“Professor?”

Snape glanced up at Harry. “That’s a discussion for another day, Mr. Potter,” he said brusquely. “We’re finished for this evening. Please return to your dormitory.”

“But we’ve barely started,” Harry protested in surprise. “What’s…?” He broke off as he noticed that Snape was rubbing his left forearm as though it pained him. Harry swallowed hard feeling a sharp stab of fear.

“Sir, are you… Is everything all right?”

Snape followed Harry’s gaze and scowled. “Everything is fine. Now do as you’re told and return to your dormitory.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, but he still remained rooted in place. He knew perfectly well what Snape was going to do and had the insane urge to beg him not to go.

Snape’s severe expression softened. “It’s all right, Potter,” he said more gently. “This is hardly the first time, you know. Now go.”

Harry nodded, not at all reassured, but he did manage to back towards the door. With one last glance at his professor, Harry slipped out into the hall and headed back towards Gryffindor Tower. As he walked he tried to shake the apprehension he felt. Facing Voldemort wasn’t something he’d want to do, but Snape had obviously done it many times before. He was supposed to be one of Voldemort’s loyal Death Eaters, so it only made sense that he’d be summoned from time to time. Harry knew this; Dumbledore had told him so. Thoughts of the headmaster helped calm Harry’s nerves a little. Between them, Snape and Dumbledore surely knew what they were doing. But even Harry’s trust in Dumbledore couldn’t banish his worry entirely.

Harry slowed to a halt as he realized just how frightened he really was. He nearly turned back, but Snape was probably already gone and even if he weren’t, he’d never listen to Harry’s vague misgivings. Harry considered going to Dumbledore, but even the headmaster couldn’t act without any information. Harry had to find out what Voldemort was up to.

Harry broke into a run for Gryffindor Tower. When he arrived, he headed straight for his dormitory, shrugged off his robes and climbed into bed. It was still fairly early and he wasn’t the least bit sleepy, but he knew how to solve that problem. Harry reached into his bedside drawer and found the Dreamless Sleep potion Snape had given him months before. He took one experimental swallow and immediately felt himself relax and his eyelids droop. He replaced the cork in the bottle and lay down. He closed his eyes and was almost instantly asleep.

---

There were two dozen Death Eaters arrayed in a circle in the clearing. Torches illuminated the surrounding woods. Harry stood in the center of the circle and at his feet lay a man who was clearly dead.

“As none of you have forgotten,” Harry told his assembled followers, “three weeks ago six of our number were killed at Ottery St. Catchpole. This is one of the Aurors who was reported to have been involved by our informant. As you can see, he has paid well for his part in that affront.”

A murmur of approval rippled through those present.

‘We have Elias Crawley to thank for leading us to this Auror,” Harry continued in a gracious tone. “It was his informant, I believe, who indicated this man was one of those involved.”

The indicated Death Eater swelled with pride. “Yes, my Lord, it was, and a very valuable and reliable contact he is.”

“So you’ve said,” Harry continued mildly. “You may imagine my surprise then, when I discovered that this man, in fact, had absolutely nothing to do with the deaths at Ottery St. Catchpole.”

Harry smiled at the look of confused panic that crossed Crawley’s face.

“What? But… My Lord, I… That’s not possible! I was told –”

“You were misinformed,” Harry hissed.

Crawley stared at Harry helplessly. “Forgive me, My Lord,” he pleaded desperately. “My contact was certain that he was one of the ones responsible.”

Harry sneered at the cringing man. “There is no need to ask forgiveness, this time,” Harry said testily. “This man was one of the ones who was supposed to be responsible. He confessed to the murders; bragged about them, in fact; told me exactly how he and his fellows had taken my servants unawares. But I could see into his mind and knew his words to be lies. He was never in Ottery St. Catchpole and his confession was a ruse.”

“My Lord, forgive me,” Lucius Malfoy said, bowing deeply, “but why would he confess to murders he never committed?”

“To protect the true culprit, Lucius. This whole deception has Dumbledore’s scent to it.” Harry’s nostrils flared in anger and he began to prowl around the circle. “He was always too clever by half and if the Aurors were not responsible for my servants’ deaths, then Dumbledore has to have been. He and his presumptuously named Order of the Phoenix have an annoying habit of showing up at the most inconvenient moments.”

All around the clearing, people nodded. Dumbledore and his followers were the only serious threat to Voldemort and the Death Eaters could well imagine the Order having thwarted their latest attempt to secure Potter.

“There is one curiosity in all this, however,” Harry added casually as he made his way around the circle, scrutinizing each of his Death Eaters. “I have to ask myself, whose identity Dumbledore would need to go to such lengths to guard? Surely, none of the ragtag band of misfits who follow him would require such protection. Perhaps it is the same person who has been tutoring Harry Potter to close his mind against me?” Harry stopped in front of Snape and spoke in a deceptively pleasant voice. “Do you think so, Severus?”

There was a frozen silence in the clearing. Harry and Snape held each other’s gaze without blinking while the rest of the Death Eaters stared at them in shock, hardly daring to breathe.

“You are very, very good, Severus,” Harry whispered bitterly. “Even now, I cannot sense the lie in your mind. But make no mistake, I will not be deceived any longer. I know you have betrayed me.”

Snape held Harry’s eyes a moment longer, then exhaled slowly. “How?” he asked with quiet acceptance.

Harry felt a flash of anger at Snape’s composure, but held it in check and smiled with grim satisfaction.

“Hogwarts is not as impenetrable as you and that fool, Dumbledore, believe,” Harry scoffed. “Not for those who can negotiate its smallest crevices.” He glanced to his left at a figure who stood fidgeting nearby.

“Pettigrew,” Snape spat, then laughed bitterly. “How appropriate.” He glared at the little man who shifted nervously, but stood his ground.

“I’ve been spying on all of you for months,” Pettigrew said. “There’s a hole right behind the Gryffindor fireplace that’s ideal. You’d be astonished what the students will say in their common room when they think they can’t be heard.”

“Well, Severus?” Harry purred.

“Well, what?”

Harry’s anger flared up and he lashed out. “Crucio!”

Snape gasped and fell to his knees. He screamed in pain until finally Harry released him. He didn’t bother to rise, but looked up at Harry with pure loathing.

“I meant, what do you want me to say?” Snape snarled through gritted teeth. “Shall I waste both our time denying it?” he sneered in contempt. “You wouldn’t believe me, and surely you know I won’t beg.”

Harry’s smile was thin and cruel as he looked down at Snape. He reached out one bony hand and ran a finger along Snape’s jaw. He felt the man flinch at his touch and his smile widened into something predatory.

“Oh, you’ll beg, Severus,” he murmured. “You’ll beg for mercy and for death. You’ll be ready to give your soul for even a moment’s respite from the agony. But there will be no relief and no end. You will forget there was ever a time when you did not suffer and still the pain will go on. And you will regret betraying me.”

Snape was horribly pale and Harry could see fear and resignation in his eyes, but, his voice was steady.

“Betraying you,” Snape said, “is the one thing in my life I will never regret.”

“We shall see,” the cold voice hissed. Harry pointed his wand at Snape again.

“Crucio!”

---

Harry raced down the hall, shouted the password at the gargoyle at the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, then slipped through the door and bolted up the stairs. He found Fawkes sleeping on his perch, but there was no sign of Dumbledore.

“Professor!” Harry called urgently. “Professor Dumbledore!”

Dumbledore appeared at the top of the stairway that led to the sitting area above his office.

“Harry, what is it?” the headmaster asked, coming quickly downstairs.

“It’s Professor Snape!” Harry answered. “Voldemort knows.”

Dumbledore seemed to age before Harry’s eyes. He leaned against his desk for support and bowed his head.

“Is he dead?” the old man asked quietly.

“No, but he will be if we don’t do something!” Harry said. “We need to contact the Order and the Aurors at the Ministry…”

Dumbledore held up a hand to silence Harry.

“Neither the Order, nor the Ministry can do anything to help Professor Snape, Harry.”

“Of course they can! There are a couple of dozen Death Eaters there, but if you go too and take them by surprise –”

“Harry,” Dumbledore interrupted in a pained voice. “Do you know where Professor Snape is?”

Harry blinked. “No, where?”

“I have no idea. No one does. We cannot help him, because we cannot find him.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, not wanting to believe what the man had said. “But there has to be some way,” Harry insisted.

“You saw where they were, Harry. Was there anything whatsoever that might indicate their location?”

Harry swallowed. “No. They were in a clearing in some woods.”

“And there are literally hundreds of such clearings in Britain.”

Harry turned away from Dumbledore. This couldn’t be happening, he thought furiously. He wanted to scream or to hit something. It was bad enough that he couldn’t keep these visions out of his head. Why did he have to be completely helpless to do anything about them?

“It’s not fair!” he choked.

“No. It’s not,” Dumbledore agreed. “And I know it doesn’t help that it isn’t your fault. But there is nothing we can do. Voldemort never reveals the location of his meetings.”

Harry whirled to face Dumbledore again. A desperate thought had just occurred to him. “Voldemort knows where they are!”

“Naturally. He summons the Death Eaters to him.”

“Then I can find out!”

Dumbledore regarded him speculatively. “Harry, I’m not sure that your skills…”

“I’ve searched Professor Snape’s mind, I ought to be able to search Voldemort’s as well.”

“Harry, this is a very different situation from your lessons,” Dumbledore warned.

“I know that, but I have to try!” Harry pleaded. “I know what Voldemort’s doing to him! I can’t just sit by and do nothing!”

Dumbledore regarded the distraught young man in front of him and nodded in understanding. “Harry,” he said carefully. “You do realize that if you enter Voldemort’s thoughts again, the situation is bound to be much worse than when you left.”

Harry nodded.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “Let us go rouse Madam Pomfrey for one of her sleeping draughts.”

It didn’t take long to reach the hospital wing and explain to Poppy Pomfrey what they needed, but it seemed interminable to Harry. He was acutely aware of every second that passed and paced the ward while waiting for Madam Pomfrey to bring the sleeping draught.

“Here it is,” she said returning with a cup. “This is a quarter of a dose so you shouldn’t have any trouble waking up.”

Harry nodded, jumping up on the nearest bed and reaching for the potion.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, placing a hand on his arm. “If this doesn’t work…”

“I know, it’s not my fault,” Harry finished impatiently. “Just let me do this.” He downed the potion in one gulp and lay back on the bed. Sleep overtook him at once.

---

The scream that rang through the clearing sounded as if it had been made by some wounded animal, but clearly it had come from the man lying at his feet. Snape made an inarticulate groan and vomited blood. For one terrible moment, Harry was so overwhelmed by the scene before him that he was afraid he might wake up.

I have a job to do, he told himself, trying to focus all his concentration on calming his mind. Ironically, the cold laugh that seemed to come from him in the next moment helped.

That’s it! Focus on Voldemort, not Snape.

“I must admit, Severus, you’ve done well. Most men under Cruciatus would have been pleading for death by now.”

Snape was too deep in shock to respond, even assuming he had understood Voldemort’s words.

“Perhaps,” Harry continued, “we need to add some variety. Oblido!” Harry heard the sound of something being crushed. It took him a moment to realize that it was bone. Snape’s right leg had been pulverized from the knee down. He gave a strangled cry and fainted.

“No, no, Severus,” Harry said. “It won’t be that easy. Ennervate!”

An agonized sob told him that Snape was conscious again.

Enough! Harry scolded himself. Focus! Where are we? He narrowed his awareness to include only the body he was inhabiting. He concentrated on Voldemort’s breathing, his movements, his feelings and thoughts. Please, Harry thought. Please, let this work.

Miraculously, something did seem to be happening. The clearing, the Death Eaters, even Snape faded and Harry felt Voldemort’s mind opening up to him. He was aware of a jumble of memories and thoughts, each seemingly darker than the ones before. Bitterness, hate and vengefulness were constants everywhere Harry turned and he nearly recoiled. Voldemort was truly evil, even uglier inside than he was outside.

Harry forced himself to concentrate. Where are we? All at once, Harry saw it, the clearing where they were, but it was empty. Clearly this was a memory from earlier that night.

Harry turned and walked through the trees until he came to a road that turned sharply away from him and meandered down a steep hill to a town in the narrow valley below. At the bend in the road was a worn sign that read, “East Bending, 2 miles.”

---

“That’s it!” Harry bolted up in bed, ignoring Madam Pomfrey’s startled scream. Dumbledore was at his side and fixed Harry with a piercing gaze.

“You’ve found them?”

“Yes! They’re two miles outside of East Bending, up on a ridge overlooking the town, where the road turns.”

Dumbledore searched Harry’s eyes a moment longer as if trying to memorize them. Then he smiled. It wasn’t his usual benevolent smile, though. This one was determined, and dangerous. He clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Well done, Harry!” he said. “I promise you we’ll find them.” He turned and swept out of the hospital wing without another word.

Harry sagged back against his pillows and let out a long sigh. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, from searching Voldemort’s mind. He felt himself drifting back to sleep and jerked awake. He didn’t want to experience that vision again.

Then don’t! he told himself. He’d mastered it once. He could do it again. He knew he could. Harry relaxed and was soon asleep, undisturbed by visions.

Harry awoke to the sound of conversation. Still half asleep, he couldn’t quite make out what was being said. Then the voices died away and a familiar face came into view.

“Remus?” Harry said, coming fully awake. “What are you doing here?”

Remus Lupin smiled down at Harry. “I was one of those who crashed Voldemort’s little party tonight. Best raid we’ve had in a year, Harry. I hear we have you to thank for it.”

“I suppose, but what about Professor Snape?” Harry asked anxiously.

“We found him. Dumbledore brought him back and they’re with Madam Pomfrey now.”

“Then he’s alive?”

Remus hesitated fractionally. “Yes, Harry, he’s alive.”

“But?” Harry asked, sensing the unspoken thought.

Remus let out a slow breath. “He’s in awfully bad shape. I’ve never seen anyone...” Remus seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. He smiled again. “Well, I’m no mediwizard, so what do I know? I’m sure Dumbledore will come and see you as soon as he knows something.”

“Lupin, we can’t hang about here all night!” growled Mad-Eye Moody as he came stumping into the ward. “We still have work to do.” He spotted Harry and grinned lopsidedly. “Potter, well done! We took down eight Death Eaters tonight. Best raid since the Ministry last year. Keep giving us information like that and we’ll turn the tables on those scum.”

“I don’t think Harry’s going to be giving us any more information any time soon, Moody,” Lupin said sternly. “He needs to concentrate on his studies.”

“I think Potter here knows exactly what he needs to concentrate on, Lupin. We all have to do what we can in this war if we plan to win it.” He turned to Harry. “There are plenty of people who’d be grateful for any help you can give, Potter. Just remember that.” He turned and walked away. “You coming, Lupin?” he called over his shoulder.

Remus glared after the old Auror. “Harry, listen to me,” he said. “Ignore Moody. Your job is to keep up with your studies here at Hogwarts, not to play mental chess with Voldemort. Promise me you’ll stay out of his mind unless absolutely necessary.”

Harry was reluctant to give his word despite the concerned frown Remus wore. If he could help fight Voldemort –

“Lupin!” Moody called from the doorway, impatiently tapping his wooden leg against the floor.

“I’m coming!” Remus called back. “Promise me, Harry!” he said urgently.

“All right,” Harry relented, nodding. “I promise.”

Remus clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder and smiled, obviously relieved. “Good. Take care of yourself. I’ll talk to you soon.” He turned and walked away, following Moody from the ward.

Harry watched them go, lost in thought. Could he use Legilimency to find out about Voldemort’s plans? All the time he’d been studying Occlumency and Legilimency it had been strictly for self-defense, but if he could use it to fight Voldemort, so much the better. Of course, there was the danger of Voldemort reading his mind, too, or even planting false images as a trap. Harry still didn’t know how to tell the difference between a true vision and a false one. He’d have to ask Snape if there was a way. Snape!

Harry’s stomach dropped as he remembered the ordeal his professor had endured that night. No one had bothered to come and tell him what was going on.

Naturally, Harry thought irritably.

Well, he wasn’t going to wait any longer. He got up and walked determinedly past the rows of beds to the smaller ward at the rear of the hospital wing usually reserved for staff or the gravely ill. As he reached the door, he could hear quiet voices and snatches of conversation.

“…St. Mungo’s?”

“…nothing they can do…”

“Is there any family?”

“No.”

“Harry? Please come in.” This last was from Dumbledore, who had spotted him hanging around outside the door.

Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey were standing with the headmaster. All three looked unusually grim.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Dumbledore said, seeing him hesitate.

“I just wanted to find out how Professor Snape is doing,” Harry said, coming into the room.

Madam Pomfrey looked away and Dumbledore exchanged a quick glance with McGonagall, none of which helped to dispel the lead weight that seemed to have lodged in Harry’s stomach.

“Is he going to be all right?” Harry asked.

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “I’m sorry, but he’s not.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore, trying to digest what the man had just said. “You mean… he’s… Is he…?”

“Yes, Harry. He’s dying. Madam Pomfrey has healed all of his injuries that can be healed. The rest require time and he has neither the stamina nor the will to endure it. He will not live the night.”

Harry inhaled sharply as the weight in his stomach suddenly transformed into a knife. Dumbledore was at his side in a moment and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, you did everything you could and more,” Dumbledore said kindly. “And it was not in vain. You spared him considerable suffering. He will die in peace among those who care for him, rather than in agony surrounded by his enemies.”

Harry nodded numbly. “Can I see him?”

“Of course.”

“Headmaster,” McGonagall began to protest.

“He has earned the right, Minerva.” Dumbledore said.

He led Harry forward and pulled back the curtains on the nearest bed. Snape didn’t look nearly as bad as Harry had expected; Madam Pomfrey had clearly done a heroic job of healing his injuries. He was terribly pale, but mostly he looked as if he were simply asleep and might open his eyes at any moment. His brow, usually furrowed in a scowl, was smooth. His whole face, in fact, was relaxed. He looked younger and more at peace than Harry had ever known him.

Harry swallowed and found himself blinking rapidly. Even Dumbledore’s presence beside him did nothing to stop the ache that was building in his chest.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said gently. “There is nothing more you can do here.” She took his arm. “Please. Madam Pomfrey has a dreamless sleep potion for you.”

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“You need to rest. You’ve been through a great deal tonight,” McGonagall insisted.

“I know what I’ve been through tonight. And I don’t need to be patted on the head and sent to bed like a child. Just leave me alone, all right?”

“Mr. Potter, you can’t stay here,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“Why not? He’s dying, so what possible harm could I do?”

“It’s against the rules and even if it weren’t, keeping vigil here is not going to help,” McGonagall said.

“So you want me to just go to bed and not worry about it? I can’t do that! I don’t care about the rules. You can expel me tomorrow, if you like, but I’m not leaving!”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Minerva, Poppy, perhaps it would be best to allow Harry to stay. I don’t imagine a few more hours without sleep will make a difference, under the circumstances.”

“Albus!” McGonagall was clearly horrified.

“He has seen far worse. I believe that Harry knows what he needs at the moment better than we do. We can make an exception, this once.”

McGonagall pressed her lips firmly together, clearly displeased. But she looked from the angry determination in Harry’s eyes to the quiet decisiveness in Dumbledore’s and sighed, obviously knowing she’d been beaten. “Very well.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded as well.

“If you need anything at all, Harry, please don’t hesitate to call any of us.” Dumbledore said, then he ushered McGonagall and Pomfrey out of the room and Harry was left alone in the empty ward. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down, running a hand across his eyes. McGonagall was right, of course; he was exhausted. Sitting here in the quiet semi-darkness he could feel the weariness settle over him.

Why was he here? Why had he insisted on staying? Did he feel responsible, somehow? No, he thought. He didn’t feel guilty. Then why does this hurt so much? Don’t I have enough people to grieve for already?

Harry rested his elbows on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands as he tried to sort out his confusing feelings. He felt someone drape a blanket around his shoulders and looked up in surprise to find Dumbledore standing beside him.

“Our emotions can be quite confounding at times like this,” the headmaster said. “Sometimes feelings surface that we never realized we had.”

“He always told me that I’d learn to control my visions the way I did tonight. He gave me his word that he’d see to it.”

“Severus has always been a man of his word. There is no shame in caring for him, you know.”

“I know,” Harry said. “I just don’t know why I do. I shouldn’t care this much.”

“Shouldn’t? Harry, there is never a time when we shouldn’t feel compassion for those who have sacrificed everything in the fight against evil.”

“Is that all I’m feeling then, just sorry for him?”

“You tell me. Only you can answer that question.”

Harry looked away.

“You don’t need a right to grieve, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

Harry glanced sharply back at Dumbledore, who smiled sadly. “Yes,” the headmaster said. “Even Severus knows that. It is grief, then, is it not?”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I will miss him too, Harry,” the old man said gently.

Harry bit his lip hard, but it was no use. He couldn’t hold back the tears. Dumbledore gathered the young man into his arms.

“It’s not fair!” Harry cried. “Why couldn’t he have died when I didn’t care? Why did he have to wait until now?”

“Harry, would you truly prefer not to care? Would it be better to hear the news at breakfast and feel nothing but surprise?”

Harry could imagine the scene in the Great Hall, Dumbledore announcing solemnly and cryptically that their Potions Master was dead. He could almost hear the shocked speculation, How had he died? Who would take over his classes? All discussed breathlessly over eggs and sausage.

“No,” Harry choked out. “I wouldn’t want that.”

“Then I’m afraid your only alternative is grief. That is why you stayed.” Dumbledore pulled back and looked Harry in the eyes. “Allow yourself to grieve, Harry.” He gripped the young man’s shoulder comfortingly. “I will see you in the morning.”

The headmaster left quietly and Harry was once again alone. He looked at Snape and tentatively reached out and touched the man’s arm. His scar erupted in pain and Harry snatched his hand away. He rubbed his forehead as the pain faded then reached out once more, cautiously, and pulled up the sleeve of Snape’s nightshirt. The Dark Mark was clearly visible, burning almost black against Snape’s pallor.

Harry felt a sudden, intense hatred for Voldemort. He had no idea if Snape could feel the Dark Mark burning, but it was an abomination for him to bear the mark of the monster who had tortured him so mercilessly.

Harry reached out instinctively and grasped Snape’s bare arm where the Dark Mark burned. He could feel the unnatural heat from the mark, but it was nothing compared to the searing pain in his scar. Still, Harry refused to let go. He clutched Snape’s arm as if to protect his professor from the evil that had overshadowed both their lives for so long. He closed his eyes and used all the skills he’d learnt to fight the connection to Voldemort. He’d done this before, but never had Voldemort’s presence been so strong and deeply rooted. Harry’s breathing was ragged, but he refused to give up. He was more determined than ever before to drive Voldemort out.

I won’t leave you, Professor, Harry thought. I won’t let him touch you again. At the thought, Harry felt the pain diminish. It shrank away until it was completely gone. Harry opened his eyes. Snape’s arm no longer felt fevered and the Dark Mark had faded to a grayish outline. Harry sighed in relief and looked at his teacher who hadn’t stirred once.

“I hope that helped a little,” he told the unconscious man. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. And I’m sorry that I never thanked you for everything you’ve done for me. I don’t think I could have made it through this year without your help and I don’t just mean with my lessons. My visions have been so bad and between them and the prophecy, there’s just so much that I can’t talk about with anyone. But I’ve never had to explain any of that to you. You always understand what I’m feeling, sometimes better than I do myself.” Harry swallowed hard.

“I’m scared, Professor. I feel trapped and I can’t see any way out. I don’t know how to defeat Voldemort and I know I’m probably going to die. But at least when I’m with you I feel like I won’t have to face him alone.” Harry’s voice broke on a sob. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

---

Severus Snape was floating in perfect blackness, in perfect peace. He had never known such peace and he longed to give himself over to it, completely. He’d be able to very soon, he knew.

Except that it wasn’t entirely perfect, he realized. Someone was crying. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would be crying here in such a tranquil place. He tried to ignore the sobs, but they only became more insistent and took on a beseeching quality. Someone was in terrible pain and they were calling to him. Snape sighed. He could feel his peace shattering and the blackness slipping away.

---

Snape opened his eyes and squinted in the early morning light that filtered into the hospital ward. He slowly registered where he was and frowned. What was he doing in the infirmary? He tried to lift his head and immediately gave up. Whatever had happened, it must have been bad. He felt as if he’d been run over by a herd of rampaging Hippogriffs.

He lay still, trying to muster the energy to lift his head again when he heard it. There was a strange sound coming from near his left elbow. Curiosity succeeded where willpower alone had failed. He raised his head and looked down. At first glance, there appeared to be a blanket draped across a chair and onto the side of his bed. He blinked and realized that the blanket seemed to have a shock of unruly black hair attached to it. And it was snoring.

Snape let his head fall back on the pillow again and considered. He recognized Potter’s hair and it had to be attached to the rest of him. Snape reached out with an arm that felt like lead and poked the blanket. Definitely a body under there, he decided.

“Potter,” he croaked.

He was rewarded with some barely comprehensible mumbling. “I’m up, Ron. Go ‘way.”

Snape poked harder. “Potter! Wake up!”

Potter opened his eyes and looked blearily at him, then frowned in confusion. The boy clearly had no idea where he was or why he ought to be staring up at his professor, but a moment later realization seemed to dawn. Potter’s eyes widened in shock and he bolted out of his chair so fast he nearly knocked it over.

“Professor! You’re… you’re… you’re…”

“Potter, stop stammering at me!” Snape commanded.

Potter swallowed visibly. “I… I think I’d better go and get Madam Pomfrey,” he said weakly. He stumbled through the curtains surrounding the bed and Snape could hear him take off at a dead run towards Madam Pomfrey’s quarters at the back of the ward.

Snape was furious. It was bad enough to wake up in the hospital wing with no memory of how he’d got there, but to find Potter asleep by his bed wasn’t only a violation of school rules; it was an invasion of his privacy. He was going to have some choice words for whoever had allowed it! Though perhaps no one had. It would be just like Potter to sneak into the ward. And that would also explain why the boy had looked so shocked when he’d been caught.

That had to be it, Snape decided, more relieved than he would have admitted. Potter’s behavior had disconcerted him considerably and it was good to have a reasonable explanation for it. Snape’s relief was short lived, however. He heard footsteps approaching and the curtains around his bed were drawn back to admit Madam Pomfrey and Potter. Though the matron was far more adept than the boy at masking her feelings, her shocked gasp was unmistakable.

Snape’s heart sank. Do I look that bad? he wondered.

It didn’t help that Pomfrey turned to Potter and said, “Get the headmaster. Use the floo in my office.”

Potter nodded once and was off at a run again. Then Madam Pomfrey fixed Snape with her best professional smile and began to examine him.

“Well, Professor,” she said too cheerfully. “It’s good to see you awake.”

“What happened to me?” Snape asked. “Why am I here?”

“Don’t worry, you’re going to be fine,” she said, ignoring his questions. “You just need a great deal of rest.”

Snape was irritated but didn’t have the energy to repeat himself. After a few moments, the curtains were pulled aside once more. Potter was back, this time with Dumbledore. Mercifully, the headmaster didn’t jump at the sight of him.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, “It’s good to see that you’ve decided to rejoin the waking world.”

He turned to Pomfrey. “How is he, Poppy?”

“He still has a good deal of healing to do, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Excellent!” Dumbledore said then turned to Potter. “Harry, the rest of the school will be stirring soon, so I suggest you return to Gryffindor Tower.”

Potter looked as though he were going to protest, but Dumbledore continued.

“I’m certain Mr. Weasley will be beside himself if he wakes to find you missing, and I’m sure you’re anxious to see your friends.”

Potter nodded and with one last glance at Snape, he left.

“Poppy, would it be possible to have a few words alone with Severus?” Dumbledore enquired.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated, but then nodded. “He does need rest, Professor, so do make it as short as possible.” She slipped out through the curtains and Snape and Dumbledore were alone.

“What happened?” Snape asked immediately.

“You don’t remember? Well, I suppose that’s hardly surprising.” Dumbledore sat down in the chair that Potter had vacated and laid a hand gently on Snape’s arm. He looked at his Potions Master gravely and said, “You were summoned last night.”

Summoned? Yes, Snape remembered the Dark Mark burning. He’d left the castle and Apparated and then…

“Oh my god!” Snape gasped as the full memory returned. Dumbledore’s grip tightened on his arm.

“It’s all right, Severus. You’re safe here.”

Snape was shaking his head. “It’s not possible. I couldn’t have survived that.”

“You very nearly didn’t. If we hadn’t found you when we did, you would have died.”

“You found me?” Snape asked incredulously. “How?”

Dumbledore smiled slightly and his eyes lit with their usual twinkle.

“Harry.”

Oh no. “Potter saw that?”

“Actually, I believe he saw very little, though of course it was more than enough. However, it would seem that he has made considerable progress in his study of Legilimency. Not only was he able to break free from the vision, he was able to search Voldemort’s thoughts to find your location.”

Snape was stunned. “How?”

“I would assume that desperate need pushed him to exceed his previous limitations.”

Snape groaned. “Wonderful. Is there ever going to be a time when I’m not indebted to a Potter?”

“I doubt seriously that Harry is keeping score on that account.”

“Why was he here this morning?”

Dumbledore looked keenly at Snape. “I will answer that if you will answer me a question.”

“Of course, if I can,” Snape said, not sure how many useful details he could remember from the evening. But Dumbledore’s question took him completely off guard.

“Why are you alive?” Dumbledore asked simply.

“I beg your pardon?”

“When we brought you back to Hogwarts, you were in terrible condition. We didn’t think you would live the night. You shouldn’t have lived the night. Have you any idea how you managed it?”

So that’s why Potter and Poppy Pomfrey were so shocked to see me awake, Snape realized.

“I don’t know, Headmaster. I’m afraid I have no explanation for my survival.”

Dumbledore looked at him appraisingly. “Did you dream last night?”

Snape was once again startled by the unexpected question. Not just because it was odd, but because he had indeed dreamt and his dream had been… unusual.

“Yes,” he answered.

“May I ask what it was that you dreamt?” Dumbledore continued.

Snape looked away, unaccountably ill at ease. “I dreamt that someone was calling me, that’s all.”

“Did you recognize who it was?”

“No, of course not, Albus,” Snape said irritably. “It was a dream.”

“A dream, even though Poppy gave you a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion last night?” Dumbledore retorted mildly.

Snape regarded the headmaster a moment then asked cautiously, “Are you telling me it wasn’t a dream?”

“I don’t believe it was, no. Tell me, Severus. Who was calling you?”

Snape felt an inexplicable sense of dread as he thought back to the voice he’d heard. It had been grief stricken and choked with tears, but even so, he knew he recognized it.

“It was Potter,” he said wearily.

Dumbledore nodded. “I suspected as much. It is the only thing that makes sense.”

“How so?”

“Severus, you are an accomplished Legilimens. Nevertheless, you have always ignored the more benign aspects of the discipline. While that may be understandable, you need to remember that Legilimency, like most magic, can be used for good or ill, to pillage or to comfort, to harm or to heal. Last night, Harry must have instinctively used it to prevent you from slipping into death, though how he managed it, even I can only speculate.”

“Instinctively? Then it wasn’t intentional?”

“No, I’m certain he has no idea of what he did.”

Snape sighed in relief. “Good.”

Dumbledore’s expression became strangely guarded. “Severus, I do hope you’ll think carefully about how you intend to respond to these events.”

Snape frowned. “Albus, I really do feel dreadful. If you’re trying to tell me something, just say it.”

“Don’t punish Harry for caring about you.”

“I’m not going to berate the boy for saving my life.”

“Perhaps not, but you have a tremendous talent for pushing people away. Don’t do it. Not this time.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order. Dumbledore’s words were hard and there was none of the kindly old man in his expression.

Snape was taken aback. Dumbledore had chided him in the past about his enmity with Potter, but the headmaster had never spoken to him like this and Snape felt a chill of foreboding.

“What exactly are you asking of me, Albus?”

“Just don’t push him away. For now, that will be sufficient.”

There was the sound of footsteps approaching and Madam Pomfrey appeared through the curtains. “Headmaster, I have to ask you to leave,” she said. “Professor Snape really must rest now.”

“Of course, Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll come by to see you later, Severus. Get some sleep.”

Madam Pomfrey followed the headmaster out and Snape was left alone. The memories of the night before vied for his attention with all that Dumbledore had told him. It was too much. He shoved all thought out of his mind and by the time Madam Pomfrey returned to check on him, he was fast asleep.

---

Harry wandered back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze. Ron and the other boys didn’t question him as he came into their dormitory. They were just beginning to stir and Harry had no trouble slipping into the usual morning routine. He said nothing as they dressed and headed down to breakfast, uncertain how to tell his friends of the night’s events. Fortunately, Dumbledore gave him the opening he needed.

“I have an announcement to make,” the headmaster said when most of the students were assembled in the Great Hall. “Professor Snape has taken ill and, therefore, Potions lessons are suspended until further notice.”

A cheer went up throughout the hall, which was only slightly muted when Dumbledore added, “You will, however, be receiving homework assignments to ensure that you don’t fall behind in your work.”

The delighted murmurs running through the hall only made Harry cringe.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Ron asked. “You ought to be jumping for joy.”

“I need to talk to you and Hermione,” Harry said.

Ron frowned, instantly concerned. “Is everything all right?”

Harry nodded. “We just need to talk.”

Harry got up and headed for the door, as Ron whispered urgently to Hermione. They followed Harry from the hall and the three headed back to Gryffindor Tower and the boys’ dormitory where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked once they’d arrived.

Harry took a deep breath. “Voldemort found out that Snape has been spying on him. That’s why Snape’s in hospital. Voldemort nearly killed him last night.”

Hermione gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth as Harry went on to explain how he’d gone to Dumbledore and about all that had happened afterward. Harry didn’t go into detail about what he’d seen in his visions, nevertheless by the time he had finished, Hermione was pale and even Ron looked shaken.

“Are you sure that Professor Snape is going to be all right?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“Madam Pomfrey said so.”

“Yeah, but she’s also the one who said he was going to die,” Ron pointed out, “so I’m not sure I’d put much stock in her diagnosis.”

“He was awake when I left, so I really think he’s going to be okay.”

“Well, that just goes to prove it then,” Ron said. “Snape’s too mean to die.”

“Ron!” Hermione said, scandalized. “How can you say such a thing after what he went through?”

“Well, I can’t imagine anyone else surviving that. Besides, I’m more concerned about what Harry went through.” Ron turned to Harry. “Poking around in Voldemort’s thoughts can’t be a good thing, mate.”

“I had no choice. I couldn’t just let Snape die,” Harry said.

“Yeah, and I’m sure he’s going to be really grateful,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Ron! What is wrong with you?” Hermione demanded.

“I just think Snape would probably rather have died than have Harry here save his life, that’s all,” Ron said. “Harry, you said the one thing Snape never forgave your dad for was saving his life. I doubt he’s going to be thrilled with you.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s something Harry needs to worry about just now, Ron,” Hermione said angrily. “Harry, you ought to try to get some rest. We’ll see you later.” She gave Ron a stern glare and headed for the door. “Come on!”

Ron grimaced and with a nod to Harry, followed her out.

Harry shrugged out of his school robes and threw himself dejectedly onto his bed. He was glad that Snape had survived; more than glad, he was immensely relieved and thankful. But nothing involving Snape was ever easy and this was no exception. Ron might be tactless, but he was right. Snape surely wouldn’t be happy that Harry had saved his life. The fact that he’d found Harry asleep by his bed wasn’t going to improve matters, either. Harry was certain he’d be hearing about that!

But it wasn’t the impending row with Snape that bothered Harry most. The truth was he didn’t know how he felt about his professor anymore. Harry stared at the ceiling and tried to unravel his conflicting emotions. He didn’t like Snape; he was certain of that. But there was also no denying the overwhelming sense of loss he’d felt the night before. It had been as bad as when Sirius had died and that was the problem.

Harry felt like a traitor. How could he possibly feel for Snape what he’d felt for Sirius? He had loved Sirius, still loved him, and he knew that Sirius would have done anything for him. He had died for him. Didn’t that demand his highest loyalty? It might have been different if Sirius and Snape hadn’t hated each other, but as it was he couldn’t care for both of them, could he?

On the other hand, Snape had saved his life too, not to mention his sanity. Harry had no doubt that he’d have been a raving lunatic by now if it hadn’t been for Snape’s endless efforts this year. Didn’t that demand gratitude and loyalty as well?

But Sirius had been Harry’s godfather as well as his father’s best friend, even if he hadn’t been particularly well suited to the role of guardian. Harry frowned. Where had that thought come from? Sirius was a wonderful guardian!

But even as he thought it, Harry knew it wasn’t true. Harry had spent as much time worrying about Sirius as Sirius had spent worrying about him. Besides, in many ways Sirius had still been like a kid himself. Actually, Harry realized, Sirius was more like an older brother whom he’d adored and idolized. The sort who was fun-loving and a little reckless and who sent you the best Quidditch broom in the world for your birthday. Harry grinned affectionately at the memories, then sighed.

Unfortunately, reminiscing about Sirius didn’t solve Harry’s problem with Snape, a man who certainly wasn’t fun-loving or reckless, who had never given him anything but grief for every little mistake, who was demanding and critical, who hated him yet had somehow been there to protect him when he needed it most, who had spent night after night teaching him when Harry’s own frustration made him want to give up, and who had helped him find the strength to endure some of the worst experiences of his life.

Harry sat up in bed. Had he really depended on Snape that much in the last year? I don’t want to need him that much! Harry thought desperately. More to the point, Snape wouldn’t want him to. At least Snape didn’t know how he felt. While Harry had sat crying by his teacher’s bedside, the man had thankfully been unconscious. Harry didn’t think he could face the mortification if Snape had known about that.

There was a knock at the door which made Harry jump. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Come in.”

Dumbledore opened the door and smiled at Harry. “Ah, Harry, I thought I’d find you here. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Of course not, sir,” Harry said as he jumped off the bed and began to pick up his robes off the floor. “I’m sorry, it’s a bit of a mess at the moment.”

“Leave it, Harry. It’s not important. I’m far more interested in your condition.”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“I do want to make sure, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You had a rather eventful night. Is there anything at all you’d like to talk about?”

“How’s Professor Snape?”

“Sleeping at the moment, but have no fear he will make a full recovery.”

Harry sat back down on his bed and considered. “So what’s going to happen now? He obviously can’t be a spy anymore and Voldemort is going to want him dead.”

“Professor Snape is safer here than he would be anywhere else,” Dumbledore answered. “And he is certainly not the only person Voldemort wants dead.” Harry smiled slightly at Dumbledore’s pointed look.

“How badly is it going to hurt the Order to lose him as a spy?”

“Not as badly as you might think. It is a blow, certainly, to lose that access to Voldemort’s inner council, but there are less direct alternatives. Voldemort’s supporters are arrayed like a spider’s web, far flung, and with many interconnections. For one who knows that network well and how to interpret its movements there are many possibilities for gleaning information. It would have been a far greater blow had we lost Professor Snape. That we did not is thanks entirely to you.”

Harry blushed. “I think you and the others had a lot to do with it.”

“We played our part, certainly,” Dumbledore acknowledged. “But we could have done nothing without you. You have made astonishing progress at Legilimency. Professor Snape was quite impressed.”

“You told him?” Harry asked, horrified.

“Harry, he is well aware that we had no way of finding him. He asked, of course.”

“Did he ask why I was there this morning?”

“Yes.”

Harry swallowed. “What did you tell him?”

“I do believe he managed to deduce your purpose himself.”

Harry closed his eyes.

“Harry, it’s not as bad as all that and surely you didn’t imagine he wouldn’t realize.”

“I had hoped he wouldn’t,” Harry said miserably.

Dumbledore smiled. “It will work itself out, I promise you.”

For once, Harry had no faith in Dumbledore’s optimism. Clearly, the headmaster didn’t know Snape the way he did. But there was no point in contradicting Dumbledore. Harry smiled as convincingly as he could and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Get some rest, Harry.” Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder, gave him one last encouraging wink and left

Harry flopped back onto his pillow again. He was furious with Snape and furious with himself and most of all furious that life never seemed to give him a break. He had no idea how he was going to face Snape and he could think of any number of humiliating comments the man was likely to make to him. Then again, Harry realized, Snape might say nothing at all. As tempted as Snape might be to ridicule him, that would mean acknowledging what Harry had done and Harry was certain his professor wouldn’t want to do that.

Harry sat up, opened his window and gazed out at the broad, unbroken, blue sky above him. It was a lovely day; the scents of spring wafted in the window and Harry inhaled deeply, then let out a melancholy sigh. He didn’t know which was worse, having his feelings mocked or ignored, but either way, he was sure that his next meeting with Snape was not going to be pleasant.

---

Harry was grateful when it was finally time to head down to the Great Hall for lunch. At least it would take his mind off Snape for a while. But no sooner had he joined the rest of his classmates at the Gryffindor table than Dumbledore rose to address the Hall.

“May I have your attention, please?” the headmaster said. “Since Professor Snape is likely to remain in the hospital wing for a number of days and given the uncertain times in which we find ourselves, I have decided to appoint an interim Head of House for Slytherin to ensure that any needs the Slytherin students may have can be addressed in a timely fashion. Professor Ryan has gamely consented to serve as acting Head of House while Professor Snape is indisposed.”

An almost universal cheer went up in the hall accompanied by applause, whistles and shouts of approval. Ryan, himself, was grinning delightedly and looked thoroughly self-satisfied.

You’d think the man had just been named Minister of Magic, Harry thought sourly. He felt indignant on Snape’s behalf. It wasn’t even noon and Dumbledore had already assigned a new Head of House!

Dumbledore raised his hands to quiet the students and smiled. “I was also going to ask that you give Professor Ryan your full cooperation, but clearly that request is unnecessary.” Dumbledore resumed his seat and there was a clatter of cutlery as everyone tucked into lunch.

“It’s good to see that Dumbledore has finally done the right thing and appointed Ryan as Head of Slytherin,” Seamus said happily.

“Maybe if Ryan does well, Dumbledore will keep him on,” Ron added. “We can hope, anyway.”

Harry gritted his teeth and turned his attention to his lunch, stabbing viciously at a potato.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd, though?” Parvati asked. “I mean, it seems strange that Professor Snape should be ill that long.”

“I wonder what’s wrong with him, anyway,” Lavender said.

“Probably drank one of his own potions,” Dean said and was rewarded with general laughter from his fellow Gryffindors.

Harry didn’t join in, and Parvati, sitting opposite him, asked, “Harry, are you all right? You don’t look too well, yourself.”

“Yeah,” Neville said. “You’d better be careful. You don’t want to end up getting the same thing Snape’s got.”

Harry stared at his classmates, then gave a wry smile. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t want that.”

“Potter, don’t even think of getting ill!” Katie commanded, looking utterly horrified. “It’s less than a week until our match against Hufflepuff.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Katie, can’t you give it a rest?”

“Don’t worry,” Harry assured Katie dryly. “I’ll try to live long enough to win the match.”

Harry went back to poking at his lunch and Ron leaned over to talk to him. “Harry, what is it you’ve got against Ryan? You scowl every time anyone mentions him.”

Harry glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them and spoke quietly. “You know what Snape went through. I just think it’s a bit soon to be appointing a new Head of House, that’s all.”

“And you don’t like Ryan.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Look, if any house needs watching, Slytherin does. Who do you expect Dumbledore to appoint? Binns?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then give Ryan a break.”

Harry knew Ron was right; there was no one else for the job. Maybe he was being unfair to Ryan.

“Okay, you’re right,” Harry agreed. “Somebody’s got to keep an eye on Malfoy and his gang. I suppose nobody could do a better job than Ryan.”

Ron grinned in satisfaction then turned the conversation to the Chudley Cannons who had managed to win their latest match. Ron’s enthusiasm was infectious and Harry was happy to let his friend’s detailed descriptions of the Cannons’s plays dispel his resentment towards Ryan as well as his lingering worries about Snape.

It had been three days since Snape had been nearly killed by Voldemort and life had been perfectly calm at Hogwarts. Nevertheless, Harry couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease. Although his visions had ceased, not a night had passed that he hadn’t woken in a cold sweat. His old fears stalked him in his nightmares, which seemed to be getting progressively worse, and his growing anxiety preyed upon his mind during the day.

Even Potions lessons being cancelled hadn’t cheered him up. That only served to remind him of the ordeal Snape had endured and the fact that he still didn’t know what he was going to say to his teacher once Snape was out of hospital, much less what Snape might say to him. Maybe it would be best if they just ignored the part he’d played in saving Snape’s life.

Seamus interrupted Harry’s dreary reverie with his usual announcement of the headlines from the Daily Prophet.

“A family of four was murdered in Bristol last night,” he reported matter-of-factly.

“Can I see?” Harry asked.

Seamus shrugged agreement and handed Harry the paper. Harry perused the article, feeling oddly detached. According to the Daily Prophet, this latest attack had been particularly vicious, but what struck Harry most was that it came as a complete surprise. This was the first Death Eater attack since summer that he hadn’t witnessed in a vision and it felt strange to have no personal knowledge of the murders. Not that this was a bad thing, of course.

“You didn’t know about this one?” Ron asked, nodding at the paper.

“No,” Harry said. “I had a nightmare last night, but it was nothing like this.”

“Harry, that’s wonderful!” Hermione said excitedly. “Then you really have learnt to control your visions!”

“I suppose so,” Harry said with considerably less enthusiasm.

“What’s the matter?” Ron asked in exasperation, reaching for another helping of black pudding. “This is what you’ve been hoping for all year. It’s why you’ve spent so much time studying with Snape. You ought to be thrilled.”

“I guess I’m just not convinced yet,” Harry said. “It’s only one attack, after all.”

“Well, whether it’s one or twenty, I think you should be celebrating!”

Harry smiled at Ron, but didn’t feel nearly as elated as he knew he should. In fact, he felt rather let down. Even if it were true that he’d learnt to completely block his visions, somehow that didn’t seem terribly important at the moment. The family in Bristol was still dead.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and handed the paper back to Seamus.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, of course I am,” Harry replied, but deep down, he wasn’t sure if it was true.

---

Harry was still distracted as he arrived at the lake for Defense, but he made a conscious effort not to scowl at Ryan as the man greeted the Gryffindors and Slytherins with his usual effusive energy. After his conversation with Ron a few days before, Harry was determined to treat the Defense professor fairly and although he didn’t like Ryan, he had to admit the man was an excellent teacher. All of the students had made tremendous progress from the clumsy, uncertain duelists they had been at the beginning of the year and Harry reckoned that nearly everyone in class would be able to hold their own in a serious duel.

Harry was still the best duelist in class, however, and invariably beat his opponents easily. Today was no exception. Ryan paired them up for individual duels and as the morning progressed, Harry defeated one opponent after another, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike.

“Malfoy, Potter, it’s your turn,” Ryan called as he assigned the next pairs.

“Yes, Professor.” Malfoy smiled at Ryan and nodded politely as he came over to join Harry. Given that Malfoy usually seemed incapable looking at Ryan without sneering, his response was surprising and Harry’s eyebrows rose questioningly as he and Malfoy took their places.

“Since when did you decide to start being nice to Ryan?” Harry asked, raising his wand. “I thought you hated him. Spicula!” Silver arrows shot from Harry’s wand.

“Protego!” Malfoy called, forcing Harry to dodge the rebounding curse. “I’m not all that fond of Ryan, but it doesn’t hurt to be cooperative with our new Head of House. Reducto!”

“Muras!” Harry’s shield charm easily deflected Malfoy’s spell. “Don’t you mean temporary Head of House? What happens when Snape gets back and finds out you’ve been cozying up to his rival? Onis!”

“Turbo!” A strong wind scattered the approaching hailstones and knocked Harry back. Malfoy smirked. “Who says he’s coming back?”

“Inflictum!” Harry cried and Malfoy was thrown back and slammed into the ground. “Dumbledore does.”

Malfoy rolled to his feet and his smirk turned nasty. “Dumbledore’s a fool. Spicula!”

“Declino!” Harry replied with a flick of his wand and the silver arrows passed harmlessly on either side of him. “He’s the one who appoints the Heads of House.”

“You think you’re so clever, Potter, but you don’t know everything.” Malfoy glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them, then dropped his voice conspiratorially. “Dumbledore doesn’t want anyone to find out the truth, but I know all about Snape’s illness and he wasn’t suddenly struck down with the flu.”

Harry felt his stomach drop but he managed to keep his face impassive. “What are you talking about?” he asked, hoping that his tone conveyed the right mixture of impatience and mild curiosity.

“Let’s just say it’s a fair bet that Snape won’t be returning as Head of House,” Malfoy told him with smug self-importance. “Relashio!”

“Protego!” Harry replied distractedly. “What makes you so sure of that?”

Malfoy ducked the rebounding spell easily and his smile sent a chill through Harry. “You’ll find out. Inflictum!”

“Muras!” Harry barely got the blocking charm off in time and the force of Malfoy’s spell sent him stumbling backwards.

Malfoy advanced towards Harry. “But I’m sure you won’t mind having a new Potions Master next term, eh Potter? Turbo!”

The whirlwind sent Harry tumbling across the ground before he’d even been able to form the blocking charm on his lips.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand went flying and Malfoy smirked at him in satisfaction.

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy!” Ryan said, coming up to them.

Malfoy puffed up with pride. “Thank you, sir.”

“That will be all for today, gentlemen,” Ryan continued. “Lesson’s over. You’re dismissed.”

Malfoy threw Harry a condescending sneer and walked away. Harry got to his feet, brushing dirt from his robes as he went to retrieve his wand.

“Potter, I need a word with you,” Ryan said, beckoning Harry over as the rest of the class dispersed. “You were distracted with Malfoy just now. Is something bothering you?”

“No, sir,” Harry lied. “I guess I just wasn’t concentrating.”

Ryan regarded Harry shrewdly. “Mr. Malfoy is fairly adept at breaking his opponents’ concentration. I thought you had learnt not to let yourself be so easily manipulated.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry isn’t going to keep you alive. When you allow your opponent to manipulate your emotions, you give him a powerful weapon, so if you want to be an Auror you’re going to need thicker skin. An Auror can’t afford to let his emotions distract him. Lose your head with a Death Eater and you’ll be dead before you can think better of your mistake.”

“How would you know?” Harry asked indignantly, unable to resist challenging Ryan’s smooth self-assurance. Harry had fought Death Eaters; he’d also spent the better part of a year watching their attacks in his visions. He felt confident that he knew at least as much about fighting them as Ryan who had spent most of Voldemort’s previous reign of terror wandering the continent.

“I know a fair bit about a lot of things you wouldn’t suspect, Potter,” Ryan answered pleasantly, not at all angered by Harry’s disrespect. “For instance, I know that if you spent more time worrying about your own problems instead of other people’s you’d be better off.”

Ryan fixed Harry with a knowing look. “Professor Dumbledore has, of course, informed the staff of the true reason for Professor Snape’s convalescence. I understand your impulse to be concerned, but admirable as that instinct might be, there’s nothing you can do for him. Snape made his choice and he knew the risks. Now he’s got to weather the consequences.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you need to stop worrying about him and start looking after yourself.”

“Of course, that’s the Slytherin way, isn’t it?” Harry said, bristling. “Look out for yourself and don’t worry about anyone else.”

“You’re almost right, Potter,” Ryan said, still unruffled by Harry’s insolence. “We look out for our own interests and we don’t worry about things we can’t change.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a Slytherin!”

“No, you’re a Gryffindor through and through,” Ryan said, shaking his head in mild disappointment. “But in case it’s slipped your mind, Professor Snape is a Slytherin. Do you imagine for a moment that he would appreciate that you care?”

Harry looked away and answered quietly. “No, I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

“Then why bother? Don’t you have one or two more pressing problems of your own?”

“None that I can do anything about,” Harry replied sourly.

“No, I suppose you’re right about that,” Ryan conceded. “Just don’t forget that Snape’s not the only person Voldemort wants dead.”

“I couldn’t very well forget that,” Harry grumbled.

“I hope not. There’s a place for your Gryffindor principles and a place for Slytherin pragmatism and you need to know the difference.”

Ryan strode away. Harry watched him go then set off across the grounds in the opposite direction from the one Ryan had taken. He didn’t bother going up to the castle for lunch, but headed for the Quidditch pitch to meet the rest of his teammates for practice.

As he walked, Harry considered what both Malfoy and Ryan had told him. The Defense teacher was right, of course; he’d been stupid to let himself be distracted and he’d have to make sure that didn’t happen again. However, no matter what Ryan said, Malfoy’s threat still worried Harry. If only he’d had the presence of mind to use Legilimency on the Slytherin, he’d at least know if Malfoy had been serious or not, but of course that hadn’t occurred to him until it was too late. Harry rolled his eyes, disgusted with himself and quickened his pace.

He arrived at the Quidditch pitch to find Katie already there. The rest of the Gryffindors arrived shortly thereafter and soon Harry was soaring high in the air, dodging Bludgers and chasing the Snitch. The demanding maneuvers took all of his concentration, pushing aside thoughts of Malfoy. As soon as practice was over, though, his concern resurfaced.

Hermione had come out to the pitch to watch the Quidditch practice and Harry took the opportunity to tell Ron and her about Malfoy’s threat as they headed back to the castle together. To Harry’s consternation, however, his friends didn’t seem terribly troubled by the Slytherin’s taunts.

“Malfoy’s all talk, Harry,” Ron said nonchalantly. “I’m sure Ryan was right. The git was only trying to rattle you.”

“What if it was more than that?”

Hermione answered. “Even if he was serious, there’s no way that Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters could harm Professor Snape here at Hogwarts. If they could, they’d have come after you, Harry, long before now.”

Hermione had a point, but Harry still wasn’t ready to drop the matter. “But how did Malfoy know about Snape?”

“Ryan said that Dumbledore had told the teachers what happened,” Ron said. “Maybe Malfoy overheard some of them talking about it.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, unconvinced.

“Did Professor Ryan hear what Malfoy said?” Hermione asked.

Harry considered. “I’m sure he heard some of it. He got the idea, anyway.”

“Well then, there’s nothing to worry about,” Ron said. “Ryan is the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He can certainly handle anything Malfoy might be cooking up.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not sure that I trust Ryan to work very hard to protect Snape. I don’t get the impression that he’d be all that broken up if he had to remain Head of Slytherin permanently.”

“Just because he and Snape don’t get on doesn’t mean he’d ignore a real threat, Harry,” Hermione insisted.

“And it’s not as if Ryan’s the only one who wouldn’t be sorry if something happened to Snape,” Ron said irritably.

“Ron!” Hermione admonished him.

“It’s true, Hermione. What’s the point in pretending it’s not? Most people hate him.” Ron glared at Harry. “You used to hate him, too, if you remember. So it’s a bit rich to distrust Ryan just because he doesn’t like Snape. Frankly, I’d be more inclined to distrust Ryan if he did.”

Harry stared stonily at Ron, but fortunately they had arrived at Binns’s classroom and Hermione hurried them into their seats so Harry didn’t have the chance to tell Ron exactly what he thought of Ryan. Harry was still angry through Herbology and he didn’t talk to Ron at all. Ron seemed equally annoyed, but once they were finally back in the common room, Hermione produced a large plate of homemade butterscotch-pumpkin biscuits that Ron’s Aunt Rose had sent and this seemed to dispel the hurt feelings on both sides. The three of them settled down to do their homework and soon their usual camaraderie had been restored. Harry was on his fifth biscuit when the portrait hole opened to admit Neville. Professor Sprout had asked him to stay after class and he looked slightly dazed.

“Neville, are you all right?” Hermione asked as the boy flopped down in a chair next to them.

“What? Oh, yeah.”

“Why did Professor Sprout keep you after class?” Ron asked around a mouthful of biscuit.

“She just wanted to talk to me about the research I’d done on my Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Neville answered, blushing slightly.

Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick glance. “Was it all right?” Hermione asked.

Neville nodded solemnly. “She said it was some of the best she’s ever seen. She said if I keep going like this, I should get an ‘Outstanding’ on my NEWT for sure.”

“Neville, that’s wonderful!” Hermione exclaimed with genuine excitement.

The rest of the Gryffindors in the common room gathered around to congratulate Neville as well. Neville seemed astonished at his classmates’ reactions and grinned shyly. Harry grinned too. He was happy for Neville’s success, especially after all the effort his classmate had put into the work, and Neville’s self-confidence could certainly use the boost. Hermione was already peppering Neville with questions too arcane for Harry to understand, so he turned his attention back to his Charms homework and reached for another biscuit.

---

Afternoon gave way to evening; homework to games of chess and exploding snap, and one by one, Harry’s friends went up to bed. Finally, Harry, too, went up to his dormitory. The other boys were already asleep and Harry quietly undressed and climbed into bed. He ran through the mental routines that would close his mind to invasion; these had become second nature to him. Next, he focused his mind as he had done in the hospital wing and took a deep, calming breath, confident that he had blocked any visions for the night. He wished that there were some way to block his nightmares as well.

Despite the progress he’d made in studying Occlumency and Legilimency, Harry still lay awake in bed, dreading sleep. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay awake all night. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping for pleasant dreams.

---

Harry was chasing Bellatrix Lestrange through the Ministry of Magic. In the atrium, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Crucio!” Harry cried, but the spell had no effect. “Avada Kedavra!” he screamed desperately, but Bellatrix only laughed.

“Poor little Harry. You don’t have what it takes to fight me.”

“Leave Harry alone!” Neville yelled as he came racing to help, but before he could cast a spell, Bellatrix raised her wand.

“Crucio!”

Neville collapsed, screaming in agony and Bellatrix laughed cruelly. The laughter changed to Voldemort’s high pitched cackle and Harry was suddenly face to face with the evil wizard. Voldemort raised his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of green light shot from Voldemort’s wand, but the golden wizard statue from the fountain leaped in front of Harry. The spell shattered the statue. Cracked and broken, it fell at Harry’s feet. Only it wasn’t a statue any more; it was Snape.

“Harry, come on, this way!” Remus shouted, beckoning Harry through an archway. Harry ran and found himself alone in the corridor deep in the Department of Mysteries. He ran faster, but Voldemort’s cruel laughter followed him, echoing off the walls.

“You can’t escape me, Harry.”

Abruptly, the corridor ended in a familiar circle of doors. Harry tried to open the doors one after another, but they were all locked.

“Harry, you have to find a way through,” Hermione told him urgently, but no matter what he tried, Harry couldn’t get any of the doors to open. He didn’t know how.

“Did you really think you could beat me, Harry?” Voldemort asked contemptuously.

Harry whirled around to face Voldemort.

“Avada Kedavra!” Voldemort cried.

Before Harry could react, Ron jumped in front of him. The spell hit Ron and he dropped to the floor. Hermione screamed and ran towards Ron, but Voldemort made a slashing motion with his wand and Hermione was thrown back with tremendous force. She hit the wall with a sickening crack and slumped into a heap.

Harry had his wand pointed at Voldemort now and he poured all of his hatred and fury into his spell. “Avada Kedavra!”

Green light burst from the tip of Harry’s wand, but Voldemort raised his hand and the light ricocheted away. It hit Ginny who fell to the floor with a look of mild surprise in her vacant eyes.

“NO!” Harry screamed.

“There’s no one left to die for you, Harry,” Voldemort said, smiling triumphantly as he raised his wand once more. Harry was overwhelmed by grief and hopelessness and he didn’t even try to run or fight.

Voldemort laughed. “Avada Kedavra!”

---

Harry gasped and sprang up in bed, Voldemort’s high pitched laughter still ringing in his mind. Slowly, he took in his surroundings – his bed curtains and the soft snores of his classmates sleeping nearby – and realized that he’d only been dreaming. He lay back on his pillow willing his racing heartbeat to slow. That had been his worst nightmare yet.

Harry rolled over and clutched his pillow tightly, trying to summon the mental discipline to calm his mind, but it was useless. He couldn’t dispel the helpless dread he felt and he wondered bitterly why it was that his nightmares should become so intense just as his visions had finally become manageable. Surely there had to be some reason for this and some way to stave off the terrible dreams.

Without meaning to, Harry found himself wishing he could talk to Snape, and frowned. He had caught himself wishing this with disturbing frequency over the last few days. He shook his head as if the thought were an annoying insect that could be shooed away. But it persisted and as Harry lay alone in the silent, darkness, there was nothing to distract him from it or from the truth that had been slowly dawning on him. He missed his teacher. Not that he could ever tell Snape that, of course, or anyone else for that matter. But in the dark, in the privacy of his own thoughts, he could finally admit it to himself. It wasn’t just that he needed Snape’s help; he wanted the man’s advice.

Harry sighed and wondered why it had taken him so long to realize that. He supposed that being forced to spend so much time with Snape in his lessons had simply obscured the fact that he had come to genuinely appreciate that time he spent with his professor. Snape never minced words and always knew how to cut straight to the heart of an issue, even to the point of being cruelly blunt. But he was always honest and he always seemed to know what to say to calm Harry’s fevered emotions. Harry was certain that the Potions Master would know exactly how to reassure him now and he desperately needed reassurance, though of what Harry wasn’t quite sure. All he really knew was that his general sense of anxiety was growing daily. Beyond that, he didn’t really want to delve into the dark sea of emotions churning within him. Not alone.

Harry sat up in bed and looked at the clock. It was almost five o’clock, not too early to get up, and in any case, Harry was unable to lie in bed with his thoughts any longer. He got out of bed, dressed quickly, then grabbed his broom and headed for the Quidditch pitch.

---

The sun was already peeking over the horizon when Harry returned to the castle. He deposited his broom in his dormitory, then headed back down to breakfast without waiting for his friends, who were only just beginning to stir. He was hungry and not particularly in the mood to chat. However, in the entrance hall, Harry spotted Malfoy coming up from the dungeons. He looked unusually smug and Harry was suddenly reminded of the cryptic threat the Slytherin had made the day before. Harry had missed his chance in Defense to discover whether or not Malfoy had been telling the truth, but he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity now. Harry stepped forward to intercept Malfoy.

“You look happy this morning, Draco. Did someone die?” Harry asked pleasantly.

Malfoy scowled at Harry, then smirked. “Not yet.” He tried to step past Harry, but Harry moved to block the Slytherin’s path.

“I know all about Professor Snape’s illness too,” Harry said, fixing Malfoy with a penetrating glare. “And if you think anyone’s getting past Dumbledore, you’re mad.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, then he smiled and Harry felt a thrill of horror.

“There are ways to deal with traitors, Potter, and if you think Dumbledore can protect him, you’re the one who’s mad. I promise you, that coward will get what’s coming to him.”

Harry felt a white hot rage course through him. Before he even realized what he was doing, he’d shoved Malfoy up against the wall and had his wand at the Slytherin’s throat.

“Don’t you ever call him a coward again!” Harry snarled, shoving the point of his wand deeper into the shocked Slytherin’s neck. “You have no idea what courage is, but he’s got more of it than all those scum who bow at Voldemort’s feet put together.”

“You’re defending him, Potter?” Malfoy asked with an incredulous and rather nervous laugh. “That’s really pathetic, given how much he hates you.”

“He hates Voldemort even more, which is all that matters to me,” Harry said.

“Go ahead then, defend him all you like,” Malfoy snarled, his fury bolstering his nerve. “But you won’t win, because the Dark Lord never gives up. Snape can’t hide forever. Believe me, Potter, he’s as good as dead. It’s only a matter of time.”

Harry felt his rage crystallize into a pure, calm fury. He gripped his wand tightly, but at that moment a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter!” Ryan snapped. “And put that wand away before I give you detention as well!” He glanced at Malfoy. “Get to breakfast, now!”

Malfoy straightened his robes, threw one last glare at Harry, then stalked off towards the Great Hall.

Ryan turned back to Harry. “I said, put your wand away, Potter.”

Harry, who was still gripping his wand tightly at his side, shoved it into his pocket.

“Come with me,” Ryan said, turning to lead the way out of the entrance hall. Harry scowled, but followed the Defense teacher. They walked in silence down several long corridors until they arrived at Ryan’s office, a spare, efficient space that at first glance gave the impression of being unused. On closer inspection, however, Harry discovered that the office, though nearly bare, nevertheless contained some evidence of being occupied.

Most of the bookshelves were empty, but several contained a few objects. In particular, Harry noticed a Sneakoscope, not much larger than the one Ron had given him in third year. But unlike Harry’s, Ryan’s Sneakoscope was well made and obviously expensive. It sat on a shelf next to an intricately carved wooden box, with fading Cyrillic lettering running along the sides. Another shelf contained a small, worn, leather satchel with what appeared to be small vials of potions ingredients. There was a neat stack of homework on the desk waiting to be marked along with a small stack of books. Harry glanced automatically at the top volume, a dog-eared copy of something with a French title Harry couldn’t read.

There were other items lying about which Harry couldn’t identify, but although everything appeared to be of the finest quality, there was nothing purely decorative. Everything seemed to serve some practical purpose and most of the items were well-worn from use.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” Ryan said, settling into his chair and propping his feet up on the desk. “Would you care to explain yourself?”

Harry shrugged. “Malfoy and I had an argument.”

Ryan’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “That doesn’t give you the right to curse him.”

“I didn’t curse him,” Harry protested.

“You were about to.” Ryan held Harry’s gaze, daring his student to contradict him. Harry looked away.

Ryan sighed. “What are we going to do with you, Potter?”

“Give me detention,” Harry said unconcernedly, but Ryan shook his head.

“I’m not talking about punishment. Didn’t anything I said to you yesterday make an impression? You have to get control of your emotions, of whatever it is that’s eating away at you inside. You’re not going to survive if you don’t.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Harry said stiffly.

Ryan sighed once more. “All right, Potter, you’re dismissed, for now. But I will be assigning you detention once I’ve decided on an appropriate punishment. In the meantime, stay away from Malfoy.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry turned towards the door, then stopped and looked back at Ryan. “Malfoy meant those threats he made against Professor Snape. It wasn’t just talk.”

Ryan met Harry’s concerned gaze with an appraising one and Harry saw something like amusement flicker in the man’s eyes.

“Making threats is easy, Mr. Potter. It’s even easier to believe them. But making them a reality?” Ryan smiled slyly. “That’s something else again. Now get to breakfast.”

Harry left Ryan’s office, thoroughly perplexed. He had no idea what to make of the Defense teacher. Maybe Hermione and Ron were right; maybe Ryan would protect Snape. But Harry still didn’t trust the man and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Ryan was hiding something.

---

All of Harry’s classmates were already at breakfast when he arrived and Seamus was in the middle of sharing the gory details of the previous night’s Death Eater attack. Harry couldn’t bear the news in the Daily Prophet on top of his nightmare, so he grabbed a piece of toast and left quickly.

The rest of the day passed calmly enough, though Harry could muster little enthusiasm for his classes. He kept wondering how much longer Snape was going to be in hospital and by the time dinner was over, his impatience finally got the better of him. When the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors left to return to Gryffindor Tower, Harry headed for the hospital wing to check on Snape’s condition.

The main ward was deserted when Harry arrived. There were currently no patients and Madam Pomfrey wasn’t there. Harry made his way towards the private ward in search of the matron, but as he approached the door, he heard familiar voices.

“You’re sure he’s not dead?” a rather nervous-sounding Crabbe asked.

“Of course he’s not dead, you idiot,” Malfoy said impatiently. “He’s breathing.”

“He doesn’t look too good.” That was Goyle.

Harry leaned closer to the door to listen and heard Malfoy sigh.

“You wouldn’t look particularly good either if you’d been tortured within an inch of your life. Come on, I’ve seen enough, let’s get out of here.”

Harry heard footsteps approaching and quickly hid behind the curtains of the nearest bed.

“I still can’t believe that Snape turned traitor,” Goyle said as they passed by Harry’s hiding place.

“Don’t worry, he’ll pay for his treachery,” Malfoy assured his companions and then they were gone.

Harry pushed aside the curtains and looked out at the deserted ward. That was the second time today he’d heard Malfoy threaten Snape and Ryan’s easy assurances from that morning did nothing to ease his mind. There was no security in the hospital wing. Anyone in the castle could wander in and Snape was certainly in no condition to defend himself. Unfortunately, although he was sure that Malfoy was planning something, Harry had no idea what it might be and he couldn’t go to his teachers with vague misgivings; Ryan had already dismissed his concerns earlier. He’d simply have to keep an eye on Malfoy until Snape was out of the hospital wing or the Slytherin tipped his hand.

---

It was nearly midnight and most of the Gryffindors were long since in bed. The lights in the common room were low. Hermione sat on the couch, reading by wand-light and Ron sat next to her, staring sleepily at the parchment open on the table in front of him. Harry sat in a chair by the cold fireplace with his elbows on his knees and his chin propped in one hand.

“Well?” he asked for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

Ron looked up glumly from the Marauders Map. “It’s been almost an hour and all Malfoy’s done is pace around his dormitory.”

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up to pace himself. After overhearing Malfoy in the hospital wing that afternoon, Harry had sought out Ron and Hermione to help him keep watch on the Slytherin and they had all agreed that using the Marauders Map would be the easiest way. But they hadn’t expected Malfoy to suffer from insomnia.

“Harry, we can’t sit up all night,” Ron said plaintively.

“I still can’t believe that Malfoy could be a danger to Professor Snape,” Hermione said, looking up from her book. “I mean I can’t believe he’d actually try to kill Snape. It’s not that easy to do. Even if he knows how to cast Avada Kedavra, if he used his own wand, it would be too easy to trace and I’m certain he couldn’t manage it with someone else’s. That’s very advanced magic. More likely, he’d have to use some sort of poison, but that would probably mean breaking into Professor Snape’s private stores.”

“Who’s breaking into Snape’s private stores?” Ginny asked with a yawn as she came down the stairs.

“What are you doing up?” Ron asked his sister as she curled up in the chair Harry had vacated.

“I got up to go to the loo and I heard you talking. What are you three doing?”

“Harry thinks Malfoy is going to try to kill Snape,” Ron said matter-of-factly.

Ginny blinked and came fully awake. “What?”

“I didn’t say that exactly, but I’m sure he’s up to no good,” Harry said.

Ginny was still staring at them incredulously, so Harry, Ron and Hermione spent the next few minutes telling Ginny all about how Voldemort had tortured Snape and about Malfoy’s subsequent veiled threats.

“How awful!” Ginny exclaimed with unmistakable sympathy for their Potions Master. “And to think we’ve been making fun of him! But you don’t really think Malfoy would try to kill him, do you Harry?”

Harry looked at the skeptical expressions on his friends’ faces. “No, probably not,” he conceded, “but I’d still like to know what he’s doing.”

Harry scowled at the map and the others joined him in watching the tiny dot labeled ‘Draco Malfoy’ circling around its dormitory.

Ron spoke up. “Obviously, he’s trying to wear a hole in the carpet. If you ask me, we ought to go to bed and leave him to it.”

Ginny was still watching the map thoughtfully. “It’s as if he’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Hermione added and they all looked at one another with a renewed sense of concern.

Ron shifted uneasily. “You don’t suppose that Malfoy is waiting to let someone into the castle?”

Hermione chewed her lower lip, frowning in concentration, then shook her head. “It’d be too risky. Even with Polyjuice, it’d be too easy to be caught wandering around the castle at night; the potion only lasts an hour. I don’t think any of Voldemort’s Death Eaters would try to sneak into Hogwarts even with Malfoy’s help. They can’t Apparate anywhere on the grounds and the castle has all sorts of wards. It’s not as if anyone can just walk in the front door.”

“Sirius did,” Ginny said and the others looked at her. “Not that he was dangerous,” she added quickly. “But he did manage to get into the castle, even with the Dementors on guard.”

“That’s only because he was an Animagus,” Hermione said dismissively.

Harry started and looked at Hermione in sudden realization. “An Animagus!” He snatched up the Marauders Map and ignoring the dungeons, found the hospital wing. There, moving slowly just outside, was the name he had dreaded: Peter Pettigrew.

Harry cursed and bolted for the portrait hole with Ron and Hermione close behind. He raced through the halls with only one thought in mind; they were never going to make it in time. Harry burst into the main ward and sprinted towards the back, but the sound of glass shattering brought him up short and Ron and Hermione ran into him. An angry howl and the sound of something else clattering to the floor assaulted them. The three Gryffindors exchanged wary glances, then crept forward.

Harry pushed open the door to the private ward and they gaped at the scene before them. Broken glass and numerous small objects littered the floor; several of the bed curtains hung in tatters and a furious ball of spitting orange fur was darting around the room after a much smaller gray blur.

The gray blur headed towards the door, then seemed to spot the three students blocking its path. The rat squealed in terror, changed directions and scurried up onto a nearby bed. With an angry hiss, the cat leapt after it, knocking a metal tray off the bedside table. The tray hit the floor with a crash as the rat jumped for the window. The cat’s snapping jaws were a moment too late. Pettigrew was gone and Crookshanks sat on the window sill, growling deep in his throat and swishing his tail in frustration.

Harry and Hermione reacted at the same time. Harry hurried over to Snape’s bed where he was relieved to find the Potions Master in a deep sleep and clearly unharmed.

Meanwhile, Hermione went and gathered her cat into her arms, hugging him tightly. “Oh, good boy, Crookshanks! You chased that awful rat away, didn’t you? You were wonderful!”

“He was bloody brilliant, is what he was!” Ron said, coming to stand next to Hermione. “Well done, Crookshanks!”

The cat regarded Ron imperiously, then jumped out of Hermione’s arms onto the bed. He sauntered up to Ron and butted his head against the astonished Gryffindor’s hand. Ron obediently patted the cat, then grinned at Hermione. “He likes me!”

“Crookshanks is a very discerning animal,” Dumbledore said from the doorway. He looked calm and alert as he surveyed the wreckage in the ward and Harry suddenly wondered if the man ever slept.

“It wasn’t us, Professor!” Ron said hastily, indicating the destruction around them. “It was the rat. He was after Professor Snape.”

“It was Peter Pettigrew,” Harry clarified as Dumbledore came to join him at Snape’s bed. “Crookshanks stopped him, but he got away out the window.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said, unperturbed by this news. “And how is it that you three happen to be here?”

“I’d like to know that, myself.”

Professor McGonagall had arrived with Ginny. She wore her tartan dressing gown and had her long hair braided down her back, but she still managed to look as regal and imposing as ever as she regarded the students sternly. “What on earth happened here?”

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

“Twice today, I heard Malfoy making threats against Professor Snape,” Harry answered. “I told Professor Ryan, the first time. But he didn’t seem to take it very seriously, so the second time I didn’t bother. Instead, we just decided to keep an eye on Malfoy.”

“Yeah, only he spent the whole evening in his dormitory,” Ron said.

“We thought Malfoy might be waiting for someone,” Hermione said. “But the only way anyone could get into Hogwarts would be if they were an Animagus. That’s when we thought of Pettigrew and came here.”

“Only Crookshanks got here first,” Ron continued. “And it was a good thing, too. If it hadn’t been for him…”

Ron’s unfinished thought was left hanging in the air for a moment, then McGonagall spoke, her nostrils flaring angrily.

“Thankfully, Miss Granger’s cat has more sense than the rest of you! Mr. Potter, you need to report every threat made against a student or staff member of this school, particularly ones made by Lucius Malfoy’s son! I am astounded that none of you had the presence of mind to come to me about something this serious!”

“It’s my fault,” Harry said bitterly. “I should have realized it would be Pettigrew in the first place.”

“Harry, you couldn’t have known that!” Ginny said.

Harry sighed. “Yes, I could. The night Voldemort summoned Professor Snape, Pettigrew confessed that he’s been sneaking into Hogwarts to spy on us. That’s how he knew Snape had betrayed Voldemort.”

“What?”

Harry winced at Hermione’s horrified exclamation and looked around apologetically at the stunned, disbelieving faces watching him. Only Dumbledore seemed unaffected by this news.

“That explains a great deal,” he said thoughtfully.

“Potter, if you knew that Pettigrew was able to get into the castle, why in the world didn’t you tell us?” McGonagall asked.

Harry looked away, ashamed. “I forgot.”

Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged a glance that made Harry cringe, then Dumbledore spoke again.

“That is hardly surprising, Harry,” he said kindly. “It was a rather eventful night, as I recall. But have no fear, there is no harm done. After his run in with Crookshanks tonight, I am certain that Pettigrew will not return and, in any event, our esteemed feline sentry is more than capable of handling him.” Dumbledore winked at Crookshanks who puffed up proudly.

“Sentry?” Hermione asked.

“Who better to catch a rat, Miss Granger?”

“Wait a minute,” Ron said. “You mean that Crookshanks was here on purpose? You knew that Pettigrew was going to try to sneak into the castle?”

“I knew nothing with certainty,” Dumbledore answered. “It was merely an eventuality to be guarded against. Peter Pettigrew is not the first Animagus to find his way into Hogwarts, after all. Surely, you do not imagine that I would fail to take every precaution to ensure Professor Snape’s welfare?” Dumbledore looked pointedly at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably.

“While your concern is admirable,” Dumbledore continued, addressing all of the students with an indulgent smile. “I promise you that I have personally seen to the security of this ward and there is no need for Gryffindor heroics. Now, it is quite late and you have classes in the morning. Therefore, I suggest that all of you get to bed.”

The students nodded and left the hospital ward to head back to their common room. They were all quiet, but Harry felt particularly chagrinned over the night’s fiasco. How could he have forgotten about Pettigrew? However, Dumbledore’s assurance was an enormous relief to Harry who knew that with the headmaster watching over Snape, nothing could harm his teacher.

Harry and his friends arrived at Gryffindor Tower and climbed through the portrait hole. Harry retrieved the Marauders Map from the table where they’d left it. He glanced once more at the dungeons where Malfoy now appeared to be in bed. Harry wondered how much the Slytherin really knew and how he was getting his information as he slowly made his way up to his dormitory. Ron was already in bed with his curtains drawn and Harry stripped off his robes, climbed into bed and was soon asleep.

---

Harry yawned and listlessly stirred his porridge.

“Buck up, Potter!” Katie said, making her morning inspection of the Quidditch team. “Our match against Hufflepuff is tomorrow, let’s see some enthusiasm.”

“Don’t worry, Katie, we’ll fly circles around them!” Ron said heartily.

“That’s the spirit, Weasley,” Katie said approvingly. She moved off down the table and Ron gave a huge yawn, himself.

“No more midnight adventures, Harry, I think we’re getting too old for it.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, but before he could answer, Seamus let out a low whistle.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed, staring in shock at the front page of the Daily Prophet which had just been delivered.

Harry grimaced; he really didn’t need to hear about another Death Eater attack, but Seamus’s next words stunned him.

“According to this,” Seamus said incredulously, “Snape was nearly killed by Death Eaters last Saturday night.”

“What?” Harry got up and went to crowd around Seamus with the rest of his classmates, all of whom were staring slack-jawed at the front page of the paper. In bold letters, the headline read, “Attack on Hogwarts Professor Raises Question of School Safety!” and under the headline was a picture of Snape.

“Do you think it’s true?” Lavender asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Seamus asked. “I don’t think they’ve lied about any other attack they’ve reported. And it’s not as if there aren’t enough and they need to invent more.”

Parvati frowned. “Then why didn’t Dumbledore tell us?”

“Didn’t want to frighten everyone, I imagine,” Dean said. “It would certainly explain why Snape’s been in hospital all this time, though.”

Neville shuddered visibly. “But why would Death Eaters want to kill Snape?”

“Pembroke doesn’t say,” Seamus answered.

“Who?” Harry asked sharply.

Seamus glanced up. “Averill Pembroke. He’s the one who wrote the article.”

Harry grabbed the paper out of Seamus’s hands and skimmed the article. It was a brief, straightforward account of the attack on Snape.

“Saturday last, Professor Severus Snape of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was attacked by Death Eaters and left for dead. Although he survived, Snape remains in critical condition.

“Anonymous threats have promised further attacks on the man who has been marked for death by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and rumor has it that Death Eaters may have already attempted to gain access to Hogwarts itself in an effort to finish what they started. Yet, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore refuses to acknowledge the risk to the students.

“It is the height of irresponsibility to allow Snape to remain at Hogwarts, and it is to be hoped that the Board of Governors of the school will take steps to have Snape removed before tragedy strikes the children.”

Harry grunted in disgust. Pembroke made it sound as if an army of Death Eaters was likely to attack the school at any moment. The article had obviously been written to cause panic and Harry’s heart sank as he realized that it would most likely succeed.

“May I have your attention, please?” Dumbledore called from the head table. “Now that you have all had the opportunity to read this morning’s paper, I must ask you not to believe everything you have read. The article in the Daily Prophet is by no means the full story of the events surrounding Professor Snape’s hospitalization and I can assure you that Professor Snape’s presence at Hogwarts poses no danger to any student in this school. Now, as it is nearly time for classes to begin, I suggest you all finish breakfast so that you can be on your way.”

Dumbledore’s assurances didn’t seem to mollify many of the students, who exchanged wary glances as they grudgingly laid aside their papers, wolfed down the last of their food and gathered their things for class.

“I don’t know how Dumbledore can say that Death Eaters are no danger,” Lavender said worriedly.

“Well, I’m sure they couldn’t really come after Snape here at Hogwarts,” Neville said, not looking entirely convinced.

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Ron said. “Before the day’s out, there are going to be a few hundred owls descending on the school from parents demanding to know what’s going on and somebody had better have some answers.”

---

As it turned out, Ron badly underestimated the number of owls that arrived. On the way to lunch Harry saw a harried seventh year prefect rush up to McGonagall to say that the owlery was being overrun.

“They’re starting to roost in the Astronomy and Divination towers,” the girl told McGonagall. “Professor Trelawney says they’re distracting her inner eye.”

McGonagall muttered something Harry didn’t catch, but knew wasn’t polite, as she hurried away with the prefect, though how she was going to find a place for so many owls, let alone the time to answer their inquires, Harry couldn’t imagine. Surely the prefect had to be exaggerating. Yet every time he glanced out a window, Harry saw more owls arriving. He wasn’t the only one who noticed either. The other students kept stopping to look incredulously out the windows and Harry wondered just how many people could possibly be writing to the school. However, the full extent of the owl invasion only became clear to Harry as he left the castle with the other sixth year Gryffindors for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson.

There were owls perched on every stone outcropping and in every alcove. They ruffled their feathers on benches and hooted in the trees. Harry and his friends exchanged uneasy glances and hurried to Hagrid’s hut, where happily there were no owls in attendance.

Harry set about feeding his Knarl with more enthusiasm than usual and all went well until a scream drew everyone’s attention. Neville stood clutching his hand as his Knarl scurried off in a huff into Hagrid’s garden. He looked up forlornly as the half-giant appeared at his side.

“I didn’t mean to offend him,” Neville said miserably.

“Never you mind about that,” Hagrid said reassuringly as he examined Neville’s hand. “Nasty bite, that one is. Best get you up to Madam Pomfrey.”

“But what about my Knarl?” Neville asked. They could all hear the creature rummaging through the garden.

“Don’t worry about him,” Hagrid said lightly, sending Neville on his way. “We’ll round ’im up.”

There was an angry snarl from the garden and Harry suspected that rounding up the Knarl might not be as simple as Hagrid made it sound.

“Harry, Ron!” Hagrid called, smiling. “Give us a hand?”

Harry and Ron exchanged pained looks, but went to join Hagrid in the garden. It took the remainder of the lesson to corner the hedgehog-like animal and the garden was much the worse for wear, but Hagrid was undaunted.

“Feisty li’l fella,” he said happily as he deposited the snarling creature back in its pen and dismissed the class.

Ron shook his head in disgust as they headed back up to the castle. “I can think of a few more names for the thing!” he muttered darkly.

Harry grinned, but before he could say anything, he heard a shocked gasp. He stopped and turned towards Hermione who was standing on the path staring up at the castle in shock. The rest of the students had come to a halt and were staring as well. Harry followed their gazes and his jaw dropped.

“That’s a lot of owls,” Dean whispered in awe.

They were everywhere. There were even more owls now than there had been when the Gryffindors had left. Every window ledge, turret and battlement seemed to have sprouted feathers and Harry was filled with an awful sense of dread.

“Come on,” he said grimly. “Let’s get inside.”

---

“Near as we can tell, there have been well over a thousand owls show up,” Ron said as he sank into the corner of the sofa in the common room that evening after dinner. The prefects had met with McGonagall who had assured them that the owls would be dealt with, though she hadn’t said how.

“And not just from students’ families obviously,” Ron continued. “It seems there are all sorts of people who are concerned about security here at school.” Ron shook his head. “You wouldn’t think people would be so skittish.”

“I believe it,” Ginny said, sitting down next to her brother. “Everyone’s terrified of Voldemort.”

“Whatever else we might think of Pembroke, he’s very good at what he does,” Hermione commented, looking up from the Daily Prophet. Harry was certain she’d read the article about Snape at least ten times and wondered that she hadn’t memorized it. She also seemed genuinely concerned by what Pembroke had written and that worried Harry.

“But what’s he up to?” Harry asked. “What’s the point of that article?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s trying to bury us in owl droppings,” Ron said.

“Maybe he’s trying to scare everyone like the Death Eaters did with that attack on Gringotts,” Neville said.

Ginny snorted. “Then I’d say he was successful.”

Harry listened to his friends then glanced at Hermione who had surprisingly offered no opinion. She was frowning in thought and chewing her lower lip.

“What do you think, Hermione?” Harry asked, startling her out of her reverie.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that must be it,” she said distractedly.

She was lying; Harry knew it. He could sense the worry in her mind, but she looked away before he could identify what was troubling her. Harry looked at the others to see if anyone else noticed Hermione’s odd behavior, but they all seemed preoccupied with their own thoughts.

---

By the next morning, life at Hogwarts had returned to normal. All of the owls that had arrived the day before were gone and there didn’t appear to be any more than usual swooping into the Great Hall. Pembroke’s article seemed to have been forgotten and the day’s Quidditch match was the topic of every conversation. Then the Daily Prophet arrived.

“Blimey! Here’s another one,” Seamus said.

“Another what?” Ron asked, but Hermione was already up and leaning over Seamus’s shoulder to read the paper.

“Motive for Attack Still in Question,” Hermione quoted. She looked at her classmates. “It’s about Snape.”

Something in the way she said it made the hairs stand up on the back of Harry’s neck. “Can I see it?” he asked.

Seamus nodded and passed him the paper which Harry scanned rapidly. It was a short article in the middle of the front page. One bit in particular caught Harry’s attention.

All that is known for certain is that Snape has long consorted with known or suspected Death Eaters, including the notorious Lucius Malfoy who has been at large since last summer following his daring escape from Azkaban. It is possible that Snape’s association with these dangerous criminals precipitated the attack.

Harry scowled and passed the paper to Ron. Pembroke was clearly insinuating that Snape was working with the Death Eaters and might well be one himself. Harry glanced around the hall, but unlike the previous morning, none of the other students showed much interest in the article. Harry was relieved until it occurred to him that the reason for this was that most students already believed Snape to be a Death Eater and considered Pembroke’s revelation to be old news.

Harry turned back to his classmates and noticed that Hermione wore the same worried expression she had the previous evening.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked pointedly.

Hermione sighed. “I think Pembroke’s an excellent propagandist. You know, what’s maddening is that everything he says is actually true.”

“It’s not the whole truth.”

“No, he picks and chooses the bits he wants and twists everything to make his case.”

“His case?” Ron asked, looking up from the paper. “What’s he trying to do, ruin Snape’s good name? I can’t think of anyone who’s a less likely candidate for that.”

“Ron, don’t be ridiculous!” Hermione snapped, taking the paper from him. “He’s trying to get Snape sacked! Can’t you see that?”

“Sacked? Why?” Neville asked.

“Because he’s a Death Eater,” Harry said. “Pembroke, not Snape,” Harry added at Neville’s confused look.

“Pembroke’s a Death Eater?” Dean asked disbelievingly.

“He has to be,” Hermione answered, brandishing the paper. “It’s the only way these attacks on Snape make sense.”

“I still don’t see why anyone would waste their time trying to get Snape fired,” Seamus said.

“Because Voldemort wants Snape dead and he knows that he’ll never be able to touch him as long as he’s here at Hogwarts,” Hermione explained as her classmates flinched. “On the other hand, if Snape were forced to leave, he’d be vulnerable.”

Hermione tossed the paper onto the table and the other students all stared at it soberly as they considered her words.

“You know,” Ron said finally, “I’m no fan of Snape’s, but I have to admit I wouldn’t want to be him right now. Can you imagine what it would be like to have Death Eaters stalking you, just waiting for the chance to catch you off guard and kill you?”

“Yeah, imagine that,” Harry said dryly.

Ron winced and gave Harry an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“But Dumbledore would never sack Snape,” Ginny said.

“Dumbledore isn’t the only one responsible for that decision,” Hermione said. “The Board of Governors can override him and if we get another thousand owls showing up at school, they might. I don’t know what Pembroke’s plan is, but I doubt we’ve heard the last from him.”

Harry glanced back down at the innocuous looking article. Words could be as dangerous as curses and Pembroke was a master at wielding them. Harry knew all too well just how hard it was to defend against this sort of attack and he felt a knot of fear lodge in his stomach. Reflexively, Harry looked towards the head table, but as was so often the case this year, Dumbledore was away in London for the day. Harry let his gaze wander across the Hall and froze. Malfoy was staring at him and as their eyes met, the Slytherin smirked at him in triumph.

“Get ready, you lot,” Katie said, making her way down the table and diverting Harry’s attention from Malfoy. “We’ve got practice in fifteen minutes. This is the day we’ve been waiting for. I want you all at your best. Potter, you ready?”

Harry glanced back at Malfoy then down at the paper once more. There was nothing they could do about Pembroke at the moment. His jaw set in determination and he nodded at Katie. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Quidditch was the one thing that could always make Harry forget his troubles. The joy of flying and the thrill of the game banished every concern as he soared over the stadium to the roar of the crowd in the stands.

From the outset, Gryffindor dominated the match, but the Snitch seemed particularly temperamental, making only two brief appearances in nearly four hours of play. Both times, Harry and Kevin Whitby had managed to prevent one another from catching it. Now, both teams were exhausted and Hufflepuff trailed Gryffindor by 130 points. Flying high over the action, Harry spotted the Snitch for the first time in over an hour. Kevin hadn’t seen it yet and this time Harry was determined to get to the little ball before it vanished again. Harry lay flat on his broom and sped towards the glittering gold ball which dove towards the ground as it darted in and out among the other players.

Harry followed it, gaining steadily on the elusive little ball. He was aware that Kevin, at last, was racing towards the Snitch from the other end of the pitch, but he was close now and knew the other Seeker wouldn’t make it in time. It was only a matter of moments. Harry was so intent on the Snitch fluttering just out of reach that he didn’t see the Bludger and didn’t hear the warning shouts from his teammates. He grabbed for the Snitch on his right just as the Bludger connected with his left shoulder. His entire left arm instantly went numb and with the force of the Bludger added to the momentum of his lunge he had no hope of staying on his broom.

Harry had been flying as fast as he could to catch the Snitch and suddenly found himself tumbling through the air at the same breakneck speed. As the ground rushed at him at a terrifying rate, he had just enough time to think how ironic it was that for all the times Voldemort had tried to kill him, he was going to wind up dying in a Quidditch match. Then he hit the ground.

---

Harry opened his eyes and recognized the hospital wing at once. It was evening and the lights had been dimmed. He sat up and reached for his glasses on the bedside table.

“So, the Quidditch hero awakens at last,” said a familiar, sarcastic drawl from across the room. Harry looked over to find Snape sitting up in the bed across from him regarding him with a sneer.

“The daring Harry Potter once again gives his all to win the match. What’s the matter, Potter? Life’s not exciting enough for you, so you have to try to kill yourself at Quidditch?”

Harry had only a vague memory of the Quidditch match and of falling.

“What happened?” he asked.

“During your game against Hufflepuff, you were unseated from your broom by a Bludger immediately after catching the Snitch. Do you have any idea how fast you were going when you hit the ground?”

It was coming back to Harry. He remembered approaching the ground at an unbelievable speed. He swallowed. “Fast. I thought I was dead.”

“So did everyone else in the stadium. Apparently they could hear your legs shatter in the upper stands.”

Harry winced. “How did I survive?”

“Although you broke most of the bones in your body, miraculously your neck wasn’t among them. Madam Pomfrey was able to mend the fractures that afternoon. Of course, the internal injuries took longer.”

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“More than two days. It’s Monday evening.”

Harry lay back on his pillow. He was sore and stiff, but generally felt okay considering the circumstances.

He heard papers being shuffled and looked back at Snape whose bed, he now noticed, was littered with parchment.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Marking homework,” Snape answered, without looking up from what he was reading.

“When’s Madam Pomfrey going to discharge you?”

“Before I go mad, I hope.”

“How are you feeling?”

Snape sighed and looked up at him. “I’d be better if I hadn’t had to endure your endless array of admirers coming to pay homage,” Snape said testily, nodding to Harry’s right.

Harry followed Snape’s glance and saw that the bed next to his was covered with cards, sweets and other tokens. It looked like half the school had sent him something and Harry flushed in embarrassment. All he’d done was fall off his broom!

Harry lay down and stared at the ceiling. “I wish people wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t send me all that stuff,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t, but celebrity has its advantages.”

It has its disadvantages too, Harry knew. But Snape wouldn’t believe that. The man had nearly lost his life in the fight against Voldemort, but Harry was willing to bet that no one had bothered to send Snape a card. Harry glanced at the Potions Master who was immersed in another essay. His head was bowed and his hair hung forward obscuring his face except for the frown of concentration he wore.

Harry was vividly reminded of the last time he’d spent the night in this ward. Had it really been little more than a week ago? He wondered how much Snape knew or would admit to knowing about that night as all of Harry’s confused and conflicting thoughts about his teacher came rushing back. Harry fidgeted. He wanted to talk to Snape, to at least find out where he stood with the man, but there wasn’t a less approachable soul in the world.

Harry fidgeted some more and finally sat up, wincing slightly in pain. Snape paid no attention to him. Harry swung his legs out of bed and stood up, gingerly. He cast an irritated glance at Snape which went entirely unnoticed, then went to take a closer look at what his well-wishers had sent him.

There were all sorts of sweets and a mountain of cards. There was a huge card from his fellow Gryffindor teammates as well as cards from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams. Everyone in Gryffindor seemed to have sent him something. So had many of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, especially those in his year. Of course, not a single Slytherin had sent him anything.

Harry looked over at Snape once more and scowled; the man was still oblivious to him. Harry took a deep breath, then scooped up an armful of sweets and crossed the room to Snape’s bed, ignoring the dull ache in his legs.

“Want a chocolate frog?”

Snape glanced up, startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Would you like a chocolate frog, or maybe some Bertie Bott’s beans? I’ve got just about anything you could imagine, actually.” To prove the point, Harry dumped his load on Snape’s bedside table.

Snape tilted his head to one side and regarded Harry as though he wasn’t sure whether the young man was mad or playing some sort of strange prank on him.

“No, thank you,” Snape said coldly, returning his attention to the essay before him. “Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Potter, I’m busy.”

“Does Madam Pomfrey know you’re sitting up marking those?”

Snape’s head came up and his eyes flashed dangerously. “Potter, what do you want?”

“I want to know if you’re angry with me.”

Snape sneered. “For being a hindrance, or an insufferable annoyance?”

“For saving your life.”

Snape stared at Harry in surprise. “Why on earth would I be angry with you for that?”

Harry shrugged. “You hated my dad for saving your life.”

“That was different! It was his fault in the first place and he certainly wasn’t acting altruistically in saving me. Do you honestly think I’d be angry with you after what you endured on my behalf?”

“I don’t always understand why you act the way you do, Professor,” Harry said. “I wasn’t really sure what to expect.”

“Rest assured Mr. Potter, I am not quite that unreasonable,” Snape said. He pushed aside the essays in front of him.

“Sit.”

Harry hesitated a moment, then sat down on the edge of Snape’s bed.

“How did you manage it?” Snape asked.

“You mean how did I find you?”

Snape nodded and Harry frowned, considering.

“I just had to block out… what was happening and concentrate on his thoughts and feelings.” Harry looked up at Snape. “Have you ever performed Legilimency on him?”

Snape’s eyes widened. “I would never have dared.”

Harry grimaced. “Trust me, you’re not missing anything. He’s so evil it’s beyond describing. There’s nothing but hatred and vengefulness. I don’t think there’s any compassion in him at all.”

“There’s not,” Snape said darkly, shaking his head. “I don’t have to look into his mind to know that. His actions speak for themselves.” Snape looked back at Harry. “Have you had any further visions?”

“No.”

Snape nodded and frowned in thought a moment longer, then his expression cleared. “Well, Mr. Potter, I would say you have earned an ‘Outstanding’ in Legilimency. I’m sure you’ll be happy to have your evenings to yourself once more.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Your lessons are over, Potter. You seem to have mastered everything I could possibly teach you.”

That was high praise indeed, Harry knew, and it was true that he had managed to master his mental connection to Voldemort, yet somehow all he felt was disappointment. It had never occurred to him that his lessons with Snape might end. Harry stared at his teacher and the only response he could manage was a weak, “Oh.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say.

Snape scowled, clearly annoyed. “Oh? Is that all you have to say? I’d have thought you’d be delighted!”

“I am,” Harry said, not sounding at all delighted. “I’m just, er, surprised, that’s all.”

Harry tried to sound cheerful, but knew that he wasn’t the least bit convincing. Worse, Snape was looking at him with a peculiar, almost alarmed, expression. Harry looked away.

“I will, of course, be available,” Snape said, picking his words carefully, “should you have any difficulties or questions, but the need for formal lessons has passed.”

Harry nodded and gave his teacher a small, but genuine smile. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

“You’re welcome, Potter. It was obviously well worth the effort. Now, I suggest we both get some sleep before Madam Pomfrey discovers us and threatens to keep us here another week.”

Harry grinned at that. “Yes, sir. Goodnight.” He went back to his own bed feeling relieved; that hadn’t gone nearly as badly as he’d feared. Of course, they hadn’t talked much, but at least Snape hadn’t belittled him or ignored him, and in truth, Harry didn’t feel much like talking himself. He ached all over and was exhausted from the little time he’d spent out of bed. He’d have time to talk to Snape later when they were both up to it. Harry took a deep breath and relaxed, feeling more content than he had in over a week. He closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.

---

Snape lay awake listening to the faint, rhythmic breathing coming from across the room and cursed himself for the tenth time. How could he have been so careless? He had thought nothing of the rapport that had been growing between himself and Potter over the last several months, attributing it to the boy’s natural impertinence and the unavoidable familiarity that was the result of their lessons. Even the knowledge that Potter had sat by his bed grieving the night he’d nearly died had somehow not quite impressed itself upon him. The memory of a dream was something he could explain away or at least ignore. But the crestfallen expression on Potter’s face when he had announced that the boy’s lessons were over had been unmistakable. Snape sighed. Potter still hadn’t learnt to hide his feelings.

It was well known, of course, that teachers and students of the mental arts often formed an emotional bond as a byproduct of their lessons, but Snape had never imagined that could be a risk with Potter. Their mutual animosity was too well entrenched, or so he’d thought. Clearly he’d overestimated the resoluteness of the boy’s hatred towards him. The question was what to do about it now.

Unfortunately, Snape was entirely out of his depth. He had always remained aloof from his students; even with his own Slytherins he maintained an entirely professional demeanor. He might favor them on principle over the other students, but this had never extended to any sort of affection or empathy. Certainly, in all his years teaching none of his students had ever looked at him the way Potter had.

Snape knew he should have simply rebuffed the boy, but for some reason he hadn’t been able to muster the cutting remarks that would have warned Potter off. Probably it had been the shock of realizing that Potter didn’t want their lessons to end. Still, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. What troubled him was that, for an instant, as Potter had tensed and looked away, already braced for rejection, Snape had actually felt sympathy for the boy. That was an impulse he didn’t dare indulge.

Snape shook his head, disgusted with himself. These aberrant feelings had to simply be the result of the physical and emotional traumas he and Potter had both suffered in the last week. His own uncharacteristic weakness was most likely due to the shock of seeing Potter when he’d been brought into the hospital wing after the Quidditch match.

---

Snape had done little but sleep during his stay in the hospital ward and with the castle nearly deserted due to the Quidditch match underway, Saturday had presented an ideal opportunity to rest, undisturbed. He’d been sound asleep with his bed curtains drawn, only to be startled awake by what sounded like half the school rushing into the ward. He could tell from the angle of the sun that it was late afternoon as he tried to make sense of the barely controlled chaos just outside his curtains.

“Mr. Weasley, get everyone out of here,” McGonagall commanded over the din.

“But Professor –”

“Wait in the hallway. I’ll come and tell you as soon as we know what his condition is, I promise you.”

“You heard the deputy headmistress,” Professor Sprout said. “Come with me, all of you.”

There was a great shuffling of feet as Sprout apparently ushered the crowd out of the ward. Snape heard the door shut and silence descended once more, broken only by the tinkling of potions bottles and a stream of hurriedly cast spells coming from the other side of the room. Snape listened intently to the activity, becoming more and more alarmed. Madam Pomfrey’s patient had clearly sustained massive injuries.

“Poppy?” McGonagall asked anxiously.

“I don’t know yet, Minerva,” Pomfrey said tensely. “It’s a miracle he’s not already dead.”

Snape sat up in bed. He suddenly knew without doubt who it was his colleagues were hovering over. Whenever there was trouble, Potter was usually in the middle of it and the worse the trouble the more certain it was to be centered on him.

Snape stood up and braced himself as a wave of pain and dizziness washed over him. He was weaker than he had realized, but decided that he probably wasn’t going to collapse, so he pulled aside his bed curtains and looked around. Poppy Pomfrey was standing over a bed directly across the ward from his, working feverishly on her patient. McGonagall stood at the foot of the bed watching worriedly; otherwise, the ward was empty.

Snape took a deep breath, steadied himself and padded silently over to stand behind McGonagall. He peered past her at the figure on the bed and his knees nearly buckled. Potter was hardly recognizable. His face was so badly bruised that his eyes were swollen shut. His nose was obviously broken and his hair was matted from the blood that had flowed from numerous cuts on his face and scalp. But these were by no means his worst injuries. The boy’s robes and skin alike hung in shreds and he was covered with blood. The skin that hadn’t been torn from his body was black and blue and shards of bone protruded from his arms and legs which lay at unnatural angles.

“My god,” Snape gasped.

McGonagall jumped at the sound of his voice and spun around. “Severus!” she cried in a strangled, high pitched voice nothing like her usual calm, authoritative tones. “Are you mad? What on earth are you doing up?”

Madam Pomfrey was too busy with Potter to do more than glare. “Professor Snape, get back in bed this instant!” she admonished him, but Snape ignored both women.

“What happened?” Snape asked, swaying slightly on his feet as he stared, horrified, at Potter.

“Never mind that.” McGonagall grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him away from Potter’s bed and back towards his own. “You need to rest, Severus. Honestly! Between you and Potter I’m going to have a nervous breakdown!”

“Is he going to live?” Snape asked doubtfully as he got back in bed.

McGonagall took hold of Snape’s blankets and pulled them up with a crisp snap. “I don’t know.” She began straightening the covers without looking at him. “He was diving for the Snitch and didn’t see the Bludger. He was flying too fast and was too close to the ground. None of us could react in time.”

McGonagall folded Snape’s top blanket neatly into place, and started on the second.

“Minerva, stop fussing!” Snape said, snatching the covers away from her and scowling. He certainly didn’t need to be tucked into bed like a child!

McGonagall looked at him and the dread in her eyes sent a chill through him. “Poppy’s doing everything she can. We’ll know soon enough.” McGonagall turned away without another word, pulling the curtains tightly around Snape’s bed as she left.

Snape lay stiffly in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was exhausted and knew he should let himself sleep, but he couldn’t; he was too angry. Leave it to Potter to get himself killed in a Quidditch match! Snape thought bitterly. The arrogant boy had no doubt been pulling some reckless stunt as usual. He was just like his father! James had never given a thought or care to anything beyond showing off. Still, one would have thought that Potter might have a little regard for all of the people depending on him and trying to protect him instead of being such a careless, selfish, spoiled –

Without warning Snape’s bed curtains were drawn aside.

“What?” he snarled at McGonagall, who, haggard as she was, nevertheless managed to raise a reproachful eyebrow at him.

“I just thought you’d want to know that Potter is going to live,” McGonagall said dryly. She held Snape’s angry glare until he backed down.

“Naturally,” Snape sneered.

McGonagall gave the barest hint of a smile. “Get some sleep, Severus,” she ordered sternly, then she was gone once more and Snape at last allowed himself a sigh of relief. The next moment he scowled at his own foolishness. He should have known better than to think Potter could die in a simple accident and he really shouldn’t have let it rattle him so. Obviously, his own recent brush with death had made him unusually anxious.

---

With that settled in his mind, Snape had relaxed and gone to sleep once more. But now, thinking back to that afternoon, he was no longer so sure that the fear he’d felt hadn’t been caused by something more troubling than his own near-fatal experience. Could it be that Potter wasn’t the only one whose emotions had been affected by the intensive study of Occlumency and Legilimency?

No! he thought angrily. He refused to even consider that possibility. Potter might be a weak, sentimental fool, but he was not. His concern for the boy was strictly professional. Potter was supposedly destined to play a crucial role in the war against the Dark Lord and it was his job to see to it that the boy lived long enough to do so. Beyond that he cared nothing for Potter. Snape turned over in bed and forced himself to relax. He was drifting towards sleep when a sudden cry from across the room jolted him awake once more.

“No!” Potter called. “Don’t go!”

Snape sat up and looked across the darkened room.

“No! Please!” Potter moaned, clearly in the throes of a nightmare.

Snape grimaced. How was he supposed to get any sleep with Potter going on like that? The boy cried out again and Snape sighed. He threw back his covers, got out of bed and went to the potions stores, muttering under his breath. He retrieved a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion and headed back across the ward. Why isn’t anyone else ever available to look after Potter? Snape thought, feeling thoroughly put out. Why does it always fall to me? He reached Potter’s bedside and glared resentfully at the boy who was tossing restlessly in his sleep.

“Please don’t die, Professor,” Potter murmured. “Please don’t.”

Snape froze. It was the same anguished plea he’d heard in his dream the night he’d almost died, but hearing it spoken aloud sent a shock through him. Then the full realization of what Potter had to be dreaming of hit him. He bent over the boy and shook him hard.

“Potter, wake up!”

Potter’s eyes flew open and he stared up at Snape with an awareness caught somewhere between dream and reality. He seized Snape’s arm in fear and concern.

“Professor, are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” Snape snapped. “You were having a nightmare, that’s all. Now drink this.” Snape helped the boy to drink the potion and at once Potter sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Snape straightened up and regarded the boy. He was so young, hardly more than a child, really. He slept peacefully now; the only sign of his nightmare was the hair plastered to his forehead by sweat. Without thinking, Snape reached out to brush the fringe aside, but stopped. His fingertips hovered an inch from the sleeping boy’s face, then he drew back.

“Severus?”

Snape started and turned to find Dumbledore standing behind him.

“I was going down to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk,” the headmaster said, “and I thought I’d stop in to check on you. Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Snape answered quickly. “Mr. Potter was having a nightmare so I gave him a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion.” He held up the empty potion vial as if to prove he was telling the truth.

“Ah yes,” Dumbledore said sadly, coming to stand next to Snape and gaze down at his sleeping student. “I imagine there are few nights when Harry isn’t haunted by the horrors he has witnessed. It is terrible that one so young should be burdened by so much.”

Dumbledore reached out without hesitation and gently brushed the hair off of the boy’s forehead, then he turned to Snape.

“I’m glad you are here to watch over him, Severus, but you’d best get some sleep yourself.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape said.

Dumbledore turned away and quietly padded out of the hospital ward. Snape took one last long look at Potter then retreated to his own bed.

---

Harry awoke the next morning to the sounds of an argument.

“You can’t keep me here against my will!” Snape yelled.

“Yes, I can,” Madam Pomfrey retorted, sounding thoroughly exasperated.

Harry reached for his glasses then peered over his blankets. Snape and Madam Pomfrey were standing toe to toe, glaring at one another in the middle of the ward.

“You’re welcome to take it up with the headmaster if you have a complaint,” Madam Pomfrey said. “In the meantime, get back in bed!”

Snape folded his arms and stood his ground. He clearly had no intention of obeying the matron’s order.

“Professor Snape, don’t make me restrain you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Snape scoffed.

Pomfrey drew her wand and leveled it at her patient. From the look on her face, Harry knew she wasn’t bluffing. Snape clearly knew it too because his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Will you at least tell the headmaster I wish to see him?” Snape asked through clenched teeth.

“I’ll pass it along immediately,” Pomfrey assured him with a smile, however her wand didn’t waver and Snape reluctantly returned to his bed.

When Madam Pomfrey was satisfied that her patient was going to stay put, she turned and bustled out of the ward. Once she was gone Snape let out an exasperated sigh.

“Insufferable woman!”

Harry couldn’t help himself. He snickered.

“Potter! That will be five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry pushed his covers aside and sat up. “For what?” he demanded.

“Eavesdropping,” Snape answered

“How can I be eavesdropping when you know I’m here?” Harry asked.

“You were pretending to be asleep.”

“I could hardly sleep with you and Madam Pomfrey shouting at one another,” Harry complained.

Snape snorted in disgust then lay down and pulled up his blankets having clearly said all he intended to on the subject. That was a good thing, Harry knew. As miserable a mood as Snape was in, Harry was lucky to have only lost five points. He slipped quietly out of bed so as not to disturb the Potions Master and went to peruse the cards he’d been sent and which he’d only had the chance to glance at the night before. He was halfway through them when Madam Pomfrey returned.

“Mr. Potter, you’re up,” she said cheerfully.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Let’s have a look at you,” the matron said, coming over to examine Harry. “You’re a very lucky young man, you know. You took quite a fall. The new brooms these days are entirely too fast. I swear it’s only a matter of time before someone breaks his neck!” She shook her head disapprovingly then stepped back and smiled at Harry.

“Well, you at least seem to be in fine shape. Your clothes are at the foot of your bed and I’ll have the rest of your things sent up to Gryffindor Tower. You may go, Mr. Potter.”

“You’re letting him go?” Snape demanded as he sat up in bed, clearly outraged.

“Yes Professor, and you will be delighted to know that I am discharging you as well,” Madam Pomfrey replied before Snape could begin ranting at her again. “Your clothes should be here shortly.”

Snape scowled, but was obviously relieved. “It’s about time!”

---

Harry changed quickly and hurried up to Gryffindor Tower. Along the way, he was greeted by nearly everyone he passed and was in high spirits when he arrived in the common room. It was nearly lunchtime and the room was full of students having just returned from classes. Hermione spotted him first.

“Harry!” she cried and raced to hug him as all the other Gryffindors crowded around. “It’s so good to have you back! We thought you were dead!”

“That’s the truth,” Ron said. “When I saw you hit the ground I nearly fell off my own broom!”

Neville, Seamus and Dean pushed their way forward to pound Harry on the back.

“You’ve got more lives than a cat, Harry,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Seamus agreed. “You’ve given the nickname ‘The Boy Who Lived’ a whole new meaning.”

Harry grinned, then Ginny pushed her way through the crowd and threw her arms around him, hugging him fiercely. “Don’t ever scare us like that again, Harry,” she scolded.

“I’ll try not to,” Harry promised, blushing slightly.

Finally, when everyone was finished welcoming him back, Harry retreated to a corner with Ron, Hermione and Ginny.

“So have I missed anything?” he asked casually.

His three friends exchanged a quick glance and Harry’s good mood vanished.

“What now?”

Ginny spoke up. “The Daily Prophet reported this morning that the school’s Board of Governors is going to vote on whether or not to dismiss Professor Snape.”

“What?”Harry asked incredulously. “You’re joking!”

“I wish we were,” Hermione said. “You remember the articles Pembroke wrote about Snape? Well, he hasn’t let up. Every day there’s been another one claiming that Snape is a threat to the school.”

“And then there’s all the background investigation insinuating that Snape is mixed up with the Death Eaters somehow,” Ginny added.

“You can imagine the reaction to that,” Ron said. “We’ve had a steady stream of owls, all from people demanding that Snape be sacked.”

Hermione sighed. “The board is set to vote by the end of the week and at this point there’s not much question as to what the outcome will be. Pembroke has drummed up a near hysteria over this and the Board of Governors just wants to stem the public outcry.”

Harry sat in silence for a moment, trying to take in what his friends had told him. “Snape doesn’t know, does he?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Ginny said. “The staff have been trying to keep it from him until things settled down. That’s why Madam Pomfrey has kept him in hospital so long.”

“Now that it’s pretty much a done thing, I suppose Dumbledore will break the news to him,” Ron said.

Harry nodded once, then stood up and headed for the portrait hole.

“Harry, where are you going?” Ron asked, but Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t even glance at his friends as he hurried out of the common room, leaving them to stare curiously after him.

---

Harry exited Dumbledore’s moving staircase and knocked at the office door which stood open.

Dumbledore looked up from the papers in front of him and smiled warmly. He didn’t look at all surprised to see his visitor.

“Ah, Harry, do come in. I’m glad to see that Madam Pomfrey was able to release you at last. What can I do for you?”

“You can’t let the Board of Governors sack Professor Snape!” Harry blurted out. “He doesn’t deserve that! You know he doesn’t. And it’s exactly what Voldemort wants!”

“That decision, I’m afraid, is out of my hands,” Dumbledore said regretfully.

“But you’re Headmaster!” Harry protested.

“Yes, and I have spoken with the board at length in an attempt to convince them of the injustice of giving in to this hysteria, however I fear they have not listened.”

“But there has to be something you can do,” Harry insisted. “You’re the most powerful wizard in the world!”

“That may be, Harry, but I am not all powerful. If I were, do you suppose I would have allowed you to suffer all that you have?” Dumbledore looked at Harry with deep sorrow. “Fear, Harry, above any other emotion, will drive men to perform unspeakable acts. It is more dangerous than hatred or even vengeance because it can turn on anyone. Ignorance feeds it and it is running rampant in our world right now. I have no power to stop it, or to change the hearts and minds of those who have been blinded and deafened by it.”

Harry felt a crushing disappointment. “So that’s it, then?” he asked bitterly. “He’s just going to be turned out on the street so Voldemort can kill him?”

“Harry, I would hope that you know me well enough to realize that I would not allow that to occur. The board’s decision is by no means certain; however, even if Professor Snape is forced to leave Hogwarts, there are other safe places for him to go. Rest assured that I have already seen to that.”

Harry nodded, somewhat relieved, but he still felt a deep frustration. “It’s just so unfair!”

“Yes, it is,” Dumbledore agreed, “And not only to our Potions Master.” He smiled sadly then raised his voice. “Professor Snape, do come in. You needn’t wait outside.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Snape was standing in the doorway looking as dour as Harry had ever seen him. Harry didn’t know how much of the conversation Snape had overheard, but it had probably been enough.

“Professor McGonagall said you wished to see me, Headmaster,” Snape said coming into the office. He frowned disapprovingly at Harry. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, Harry was just leaving,” Dumbledore said easily, smiling his dismissal at Harry who nodded and left quickly without looking at Snape.

---

Snape scowled after Potter as the boy practically fled the office, then he turned to glare at Dumbledore and wordlessly tossed a copy of the latest Daily Prophet on the desk. The headline, Board of Governors to Decide Professor’s Fate, stood out boldly.

“I see Minerva has apprised you of the situation,” Dumbledore said simply.

“Yes,” Snape replied testily. “Though you might have told me about this in the first place, you know.”

“And put you in a worse mood than you were already in? I wouldn’t have done that to Poppy Pomfrey. Besides, there was nothing you could have done about it from your hospital bed except worry.”

“I’m obviously to be dismissed?” Snape said.

“That has yet to be decided and I will fight it with every means at my disposal.”

Snape shook his head disgustedly and turned away to pace the office. “Don’t waste your time. Pembroke is an adept propagandist. I doubt that even your efforts would prove sufficient to undo the damage he has done. Besides, there are certainly more important battles to be fought.”

“On the contrary,” Dumbledore said. “I consider this of the utmost importance. The students need you here at Hogwarts.”

Snape stopped his pacing and looked skeptically at the headmaster. “I doubt any of them would agree with you. I should think that every student in this school would be delighted to see me go.”

“I wouldn’t say every student.” Dumbledore smiled slightly. “Harry seemed quite distressed at the prospect just now.”

Snape’s lip curled disdainfully. “As always, Mr. Potter is the exception to every rule. Nevertheless, I’m certain you can find a competent replacement to teach my classes. It hardly requires a master potion brewer to instruct these students. Nearly anyone with rudimentary knowledge would prove adequate.”

“It is not Potions which concerns me,” Dumbledore said. “You are needed here in a more important capacity.”

Snape’s expression darkened and he spoke in a cold, clipped tone. “Mr. Potter’s lessons are complete and I have already endured far more than my share of time with that boy since you manipulated me into teaching him Occlumency and Legilimency. I should think that I’d be entitled to a respite.”

“Manipulation is a harsh word, Severus. I assure you that I had no sinister motive in asking you to instruct Harry. You were simply the most logical choice. And you were eminently successful.”

“Oh yes, eminently,” Snape sneered. “And now what am I supposed to do with him?”

Dumbledore regarded Snape with mild curiosity. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean!” Snape said accusingly, meeting Dumbledore’s serene blue eyes with an angry glare. “I am not the mentoring type! I have no sage advice or words of comfort to offer anyone, least of all Potter!”

“Ah.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You knew this was going to happen.”

“Severus, I do believe you’re allowing paranoia to get the better of you.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Of what?” Dumbledore asked, fixing Snape with a keen look. “That Harry had come to respect and to trust you? That was obvious to all and sundry months ago.”

“Wonderful,” Snape drawled. “So I was the only one too thick to notice?”

“Actually, I believe Harry only realized it himself last week.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Well, we certainly make a perfect pair then.”

“Severus, why are you fighting your own best nature?” Dumbledore asked with gentle concern. “Harry needs very little beyond your respect and understanding. You have been giving him both for months whether you realized it or not.”

“I already have more than enough to concern myself with, Albus. I have no sympathy or patience for anyone else’s problems.

“I think you underestimate yourself. I hope you do, because Harry is not the only student who needs you, nor even the one who needs you most at present.”

Snape frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked warily.

“I believe you owe the Slytherins a full explanation of why you were unable to fulfill your duties as Head of House this last week.”

Snape regarded Dumbledore in silence for a moment. “A full explanation, Headmaster? Exactly what do you intend for me to tell them?”

“The truth.” Dumbledore stood up and came around his desk to face Snape.

“My greatest regret as headmaster of this school has been my inability to prevent one after another of my students from being seduced by Lord Voldemort. You know as well as I do that there is considerable pressure on the Slytherin students to align themselves with him. Without some counter to that we will lose too many of them needlessly.

“Those most susceptible to his lies will not listen to the likes of me, but you are Head of Slytherin. Your students respect you and they know that you understand them and share many of their views. They will listen to you and they desperately need your guidance. Now that you are free to speak openly with them, you must make them see the true consequences of following Voldemort.”

“Albus, you can’t be serious!” Snape said, appalled at what Dumbledore was suggesting.

Dumbledore smiled. “This is hardly the worst thing I have ever asked you to do.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Snape said. “I don’t recall our Head of House bothering to warn us about the Dark Lord’s true nature when I was at school.”

“That was a different time,” Dumbledore said. “Far less was known of Voldemort then and your Head of House had no personal knowledge of him. You do and you have the opportunity to use that to the advantage of your students.”

“The students are capable of making their own decisions and I doubt they would have any use for my opinion. Their families and friends have far more influence on them than I do.”

“I disagree. I believe that many of them would be more open to an overture from you than you realize,” Dumbledore insisted. “You are the only one who can speak to them from personal experience. The truth may be harsh. It may be more than many would wish children to be told. But if there is a chance that even one soul can be spared that dark path then it must be done and it must be done soon. If the Board of Governors does vote to dismiss you, we have very little time.”

Snape sighed. “Very well. If you insist, I will speak to them,” he said grudgingly.

“Thank you, Severus. The truth is our greatest ally.”

Harry headed down to lunch feeling thoroughly discouraged. That the Board of Governors would fire Snape based solely on scare tactics and innuendo was simply wrong and the fact that no one could do anything to stop them was infuriating.

Harry slid into his seat at the table and reached for a sandwich. He took a few unenthusiastic bites while listening distractedly to the conversations around him, none of which, he noted irritably, concerned their Potions Master’s impending dismissal.

McGonagall entered the Hall and stepped up to the head table. “May I have your attention, please?” she said, addressing the students who grew quiet. “Professor Snape was released from hospital this morning. He will resume his position as Head of Slytherin, effective immediately and Potions lessons will recommence tomorrow morning.”

This news was greeted by a collective groan from the assembled students. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at them but said nothing more.

“I can’t believe Dumbledore’s having Snape teach,” Lavender said. “I mean, under the circumstances…” She trailed off and Ron spoke up.

“Well, I suppose it’s teach or sit around and wait for the ax to fall.”

“At least we shouldn’t have more than one lesson with him,” Dean said. “There’s no way he’ll last the weekend.”

Harry poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, deciding that he really didn’t want to listen to his classmates discuss Snape after all, then noticed Snape, himself, slip into the Hall through the staff entrance. Snape looked even grimmer than when Harry had seen him in Dumbledore’s office and he was clearly distracted, paying no attention to any of his colleagues or to the frank stares of the students.

Harry nursed his pumpkin juice and watched the Potions Master out of the corner of his eye, but Snape never looked at him which made Harry even more irritable. The man was probably going to be gone in a few days and Harry wondered if he’d even have the chance to say goodbye to his teacher, let alone discuss all of the worries that had been haunting him.

Snape finished his lunch and slipped out of the Hall as inconspicuously as he’d arrived. Harry left too and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. His gloomy mood was not improved when he climbed through the portrait hole to discover a large box piled high with all of the cards and sweets he’d received in the hospital ward. Harry glared at the evidence of the excessive outpouring of admiration and concern he’d received.

“Wow, Harry, what’s all this?” Neville asked as he climbed through the portrait hole along with the other Gryffindors returning from lunch.

“Is this what everyone sent you in hospital?” Dean asked, surveying the box with a grin. “You really cleaned up, didn’t you?”

“You are going to share, aren’t you, Harry?” Seamus asked hopefully, his eyes on the pile of chocolate under the cards.

“Sure,” Harry said. “Go ahead, you can have it all.” He turned his back on his surprised classmates and went up to his dormitory. He grabbed his broom and headed out to the Quidditch pitch.

It was the first time he’d been on a broom since his Quidditch accident, but Harry felt no apprehension. Flying was as natural as breathing to him. He kicked off and soared into the air, letting the freedom of flight lift his spirits as he felt the familiar rush of joy. He raced around the stadium, dodging in and out of the goal posts. He flew faster and faster, letting the exhilaration banish his worries.

Harry pulled a sharp turn and raced down the pitch once more to dodge in and out of the goal posts. The first post flashed by on his left. He immediately twisted to the left as the second post grazed his right arm. The third post was directly in front of him. He threw his whole body to the right and pulled on his broom with all his might. He missed the post by inches and let his broom coast to a hover in the middle of the field. He’d pushed himself to his limit that time; he was sweating and his heart was pounding, but he felt great.

“Harry!”

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Ginny flying towards him.

“Are you mad?” Ginny yelled at him as she pulled up next to him. “You only just got out of hospital this morning and you’re already out here trying to kill yourself!”

Harry was surprised by Ginny’s angry concern. “I was only practicing.”

Ginny pressed her lips together, not at all mollified and headed to the ground. Harry followed her down.

“Honestly, Harry!” Ginny said once they’d both dismounted their brooms. “Can’t you be a little less reckless?”

Harry shrugged unconcernedly. “I just needed to get out.”

Ginny snorted and glared at him. “You’re worried about Professor Snape, aren’t you?”

Harry looked at Ginny in surprise, wondering, not for the first time, how it was that she always seemed to know what was bothering him. “Don’t you think I ought to be?”

Ginny sighed. “I know you’re concerned, Harry, but Dumbledore’s not going to let Snape get killed; you know that. He must have some sort of plan.”

“That’s not the point,” Harry said as he and Ginny started back towards the castle.

“Then what is?”

Harry considered. “It just seems that I wind up losing so many of the people in my life one way or another,” he said in frustration.

They walked on in silence for a few moments, then Ginny spoke quietly.

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

Harry looked sharply at Ginny. If it had been almost anyone else, he would have denied it automatically. But Ginny’s expression was frank, without even a hint of disapproval and it inspired an honest answer.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I guess seeing what Voldemort put him through really affected me.”

“Well, of course it did! Seeing someone almost die –” Ginny looked away and bit her lip. “The problem is we don’t always realize how much we care about someone until we nearly lose them.”

“I suppose,” Harry said gloomily. “But I’m sure he doesn’t care about me, so why should I care about him?”

“We can’t really pick the people we care about, Harry,” Ginny said, still chewing her lip. “Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we can’t stop caring about someone even when we know that the other person will never feel the same way about us.”

“That doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Harry said, disgusted with his own sentimentality.

“Feelings don’t have to make a lot of sense, Harry.”

Harry smiled at Ginny. “I guess you’re right. Look, thanks for coming out after me. It helps to have someone to talk to.”

“You can always talk to me, Harry, anytime.”

Harry smiled again, then frowned slightly. Behind her smile, there was something almost sad in Ginny’s expression that Harry couldn’t quite identify.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Of course, I’m fine,” Ginny said, glancing away towards the castle. “But, er, I really need to get ready for class, so I’ll see you later, all right, Harry?”

“All right,” Harry replied as Ginny took off at a run for the castle. He frowned after her, wondering momentarily if he’d said something to upset her, but he couldn’t think of what it might have been.

He headed back to the castle himself, feeling much better than he had earlier. The entrance hall was bustling as the last of the lunch crowd poured out of the Great Hall headed for classes. Harry spotted Draco Malfoy swaggering across the hall flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Unfortunately, Malfoy saw him as well.

“You still alive, Potter?” Malfoy asked with feigned surprise. “Pity.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I heard that Professor Snape is Head of House again too, so I guess it’s just not your day.”

“I can’t believe even Dumbledore bothered to reinstate Snape,” Malfoy sneered. “What was the point when he’ll be gone in a few days?”

“The Board of Governors hasn’t voted yet.”

Malfoy laughed and Crabbe and Goyle grinned as if on cue.

“Hoping for a miracle, Potter?” Malfoy said.

“Potter’s right, Mr. Malfoy,” Ryan said, coming up to them. “Until the board votes, we can’t be certain of the outcome. So if you’ve got a strong opinion, it wouldn’t go amiss to share it.” He nodded at the three Slytherins. “Given that student safety is the board’s primary concern, I’m sure that heartfelt testimonials from concerned young men such as yourselves would help the Board of Governors make the right decision.”

Ryan winked at Malfoy and his friends, then continued out of the castle with barely a glance in Harry’s direction.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Malfoy said, grinning broadly and nudging Crabbe. “We could write to the Board of Governors and tell them how worried we are, lying awake at night, terrified that Death Eaters may break into the castle and kill us in our sleep.”

“You’re a filthy, lying son of a Death Eater, Malfoy,” Harry said furiously. “The Board of Governors would never listen to you!”

Malfoy feigned a hurt look. “But I’m just a pitiful victim whose father besmirched our great and ancient family name by tragically succumbing to You-Know-Who’s inducements.” Malfoy’s earnest expression was replaced by a smirk. “Those fools on the board love that sort of thing.” He laughed nastily once more, then the three Slytherins pushed past Harry and were gone.

Harry glared after them for a moment, then headed back to Gryffindor Tower, fuming. The Board of Governors had to know better than to listen to the likes of Malfoy. On the other hand, they were listening to Pembroke, which didn’t bode well at all. Harry scowled as he climbed through the portrait hole. It was all Ryan’s fault! He was obviously trying to put Malfoy and the others up to writing to the board in order to ensure that Snape was sacked and he was made Head of House permanently.

He won’t get away with it! Harry thought determinedly. Malfoy wasn’t the only one who could write to the board. Harry raced up to his dormitory rummaged in his trunk for a quill and parchment, and began to write. His thoughts flowed with surprising ease as he tried to impress upon the board members the injustice of dismissing Snape based on hysterical rumors. He insisted that no place was safer than Hogwarts and defended Snape as one of the few people with the courage to stand up to Voldemort. How could they punish him for that?

Harry felt much better when he had finished. If nothing else, the act of writing had proven cathartic. He gave the letter to Hedwig to deliver, then set about working on the homework assignments he’d missed while in the hospital wing. Harry managed to finish the last of his assignments just about the time that the rest of his housemates were due back from classes. He went down to the common room to meet his friends only to find them in the midst of an excited discussion.

“What’s going on?” he asked as he joined the group.

“Snape has called a meeting of all the Slytherins,” Neville said. “The entire house is supposed to gather in their common room before dinner.”

“What for?” Harry asked.

“That’s just it,” Dean replied. “No one knows. It’s a complete mystery.”

---

Snape strode through the dungeons in a black mood. Since McGonagall had appeared at his bedside that morning and handed him copies of the previous week’s editions of the Daily Prophet, the day had gone steadily downhill, which was something of an achievement, to say the least. It seemed that he couldn’t walk through the castle without everyone he passed staring at him and whispering behind his back. He had tried to sequester himself in his quarters, but when he was alone the bitter truth of his situation was even more palpable than the stares that followed him through the halls.

Now he had the singularly unappealing task of attempting to persuade the Slytherins to foreswear the Dark Lord. It seemed a dubious endeavor at best, but Dumbledore had insisted that he give his students a first-hand account of the Dark Lord’s true nature and Snape had reluctantly agreed. Never one to share personal information, however, he found the prospect of doing so with his students extremely distasteful. At least it would be quick, though; what he had to say wouldn’t take long.

Snape swept into the Slytherin common room in his usual imposing fashion. “I trust everyone is here?” he asked, barely glancing at his prefects.

“Yes,” Malfoy answered sullenly, forgoing his usual obsequiousness. Snape ignored him and looked around at the students packed into the common room, all of whom fell silent as they watched their Head of House expectantly.

Snape unbuttoned his left sleeve and pulled it up then raised his arm so that all could see the Dark Mark emblazoned on his forearm.

“You all know what this is, of course.”

Some of the students looked excited; many others exchanged nervous glances. No one looked surprised.

“I will tell you, however, that none of you understands what it means.

“As all of you surely know by now, I no longer serve the Dark Lord. In fact, for quite some time, I have done all in my power to oppose him. But that was not always the case. There was a time when I was eager to follow him, as eager as some of you may be now.

“I received the Mark when I was seventeen years old and still a student in this school. I was not the only one of my classmates to do so. I know that some of you may follow that path as well. It is a seductive one. The Dark Lord offers much to his followers: power, wealth, prestige; and he promises death and worse to those who oppose him. That’s a powerful inducement. But be warned, a Death Eater’s life does not appeal to all.

“If you seek to join the Dark Lord because you believe it will bring you power, because you consider it an honor, or simply because your family wishes it, think again. As with most things in life, the reality of being a Death Eater is not the same as the promise. This I discovered to my great regret not long after receiving the Mark.

“As the Dark Lord’s servant you will know more cruelty than you can imagine. You will witness unspeakable acts. I have seen grown men scream in agony and beg for death that could not come soon enough. I have inflicted such agony on others and I have endured it myself. I would not wish either experience on any of you. Yet you are assured to suffer both in his service, for he is a harsh master.

“You may think that Death Eaters wield great power. Some do, but most do not and in any case, the power is illusory. You may lord it over the entire world, but you will always prostrate yourself before him. He will tolerate nothing short of abject servitude, so if you aren’t willing to crawl on your knees before him, reconsider. In fact, if you have even the slightest doubt of your decision, if you are not consumed with the desire to serve him, then do not under any circumstances join him!

“This is not a question of beliefs. It has nothing to do with your stance on blood purity or Muggle relations. The Dark Lord does not only wish to purify our world, he intends to subjugate it and he will begin with you. This Mark is not only a symbol of allegiance. It is the brand of slavery and it can never be expunged. Once you give yourself to him, you are his for life. The only escape is through death.”

Snape was interrupted by a small strangled cry. Annoyed, he glanced over at a group of students huddled around a fifth-year girl who didn’t look at all well. Faye Morgan was pale and Lucy Worster was clutching her shoulder in concern.

“But sir,” Lucy said, looking from her friend to Snape. “You just said that you no longer serve You-Know-Who and you’ve survived.”

“That I survived his tender mercies once was a miracle. I have no expectation that I shall do so again.”

“Again?”

“Do you imagine that the Dark Lord allows his followers to stray? He allows no betrayal, however slight, to go unpunished and mine was enormous. You may well imagine the extent of my punishment to require as prolonged a convalescence as I have endured, but I assure you it was not sufficient in his eyes. He neither forgives nor forgets.

“I have no illusions as to what my fate will be, but I also have no regrets. Few people would choose as I have done. Fewer still would be capable of it. But I would rather die a free man than be slave to another.”

Without warning and to Snape’s utter dismay, Faye burst into tears.

“Faye, get hold of yourself,” Lucy admonished her friend. “It’s all right.”

“But Thomas, you know he –”

“I don’t know anything and neither do you,” Lucy interrupted fiercely, casting a terrified glance in Malfoy’s direction.

“But he doesn’t want –”

“Faye, shut up!”

The urgency in her friend’s voice finally seemed to register and Faye looked around at the crowd of students who were staring at her. She spotted Malfoy and turned so pale that Snape was afraid she might faint.

“Mr. Malfoy, take your friends and leave,” Snape commanded without taking his eyes off the stricken girl.

Malfoy didn’t move. “Actually, I think we’d just as soon stay.”

Snape turned to regard Malfoy with an unreadable expression and his lip twitched in the slightest smirk. “Mr. Malfoy,” he said in a low, velvet drawl, not at all ruffled by Malfoy’s insolence. “My days at Hogwarts are likely coming to an end, so perhaps you are under the naïve impression that I will tolerate disrespect from my students. I assure you that is not the case. Keep in mind that when I am no longer a professor of this school, my duty to protect its students will be void. Defy me, and I shall take great pleasure in ensuring that you regret it. Now take your friends and get out of my sight.”

Malfoy’s bravado was no match for the genuine menace Snape managed to convey. No one doubted that Snape was serious. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably and glanced towards his friends. With a final glare at Snape, he jerked his head towards the door and he and his gang trooped out of the common room

Snape turned back to Faye Morgan.

“Please, Professor,” she blurted out. “It’s my brother, Thomas. You remember him, he left Hogwarts just last year. He met some people and he wound up joining You-Know-Who, only now I think it might have been a mistake.”

Snape considered. Yes, he remembered Thomas Morgan: over-confident, eager to be someone, and utterly inexperienced in the harsh realities of life. He could well imagine that the boy was out of his depth in the Dark Lord’s service. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done for the young man now and his sister’s blubbering could only make matters worse.

“Miss Morgan,” Snape admonished the girl sternly. “You cannot possibly know your brother’s situation and you may well be misjudging him. I myself would not expect him to voice any disenchantment with his position and it is not your place to do so. Ever. Do you understand me?”

Faye Morgan looked at him in horror, but the girl was no fool; she understood. With effort, she regained her composure and wiped her eyes.

“Yes, Professor,” she said. “You’re right, of course.”

Snape looked around at the rest of the students. It was amazing how quickly the veneer of arrogant self confidence had fallen away and Snape would have sneered at them in contempt if they hadn’t looked quite so lost and frightened. Worst of all, Snape realized with a sickening dread that they were all staring at him with the same look of anticipation Potter had given him the night before in the hospital ward. Snape frowned slightly. He’d done his part by telling them the truth. What more did they want?

“Is it really true that you’re leaving, Professor?” Jeremy Banks asked.

“Very likely, yes.”

Walter Sutton, who was standing next to Banks, spoke up. “Then what are we supposed to do?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My dad will disown me if I don’t become a Death Eater,” one of the seventh year boys blurted out hopelessly. “He says he owes a debt and the only way to repay it is for me to join up.”

Another boy nodded. “My folks stayed out of it last time and were shunned by a lot of the old families. They don’t want to make any enemies this time.”

“My dad’s one of ‘em. So’s my uncle. How can I tell them no?” demanded a third.

Snape had no answers. His gaze raked over his students once more. Some looked frightened, others grimly resigned, but they all suddenly looked terribly young. These were children. They had no idea how to manage on their own and no one to turn to for support. Most of their families were no help, the rest of the school ostracized them and they couldn’t even trust each other, not with Malfoy and his gang intimidating everyone.

Dumbledore had been right; they desperately needed guidance and for the first time, Snape genuinely resented that he was being driven out of Hogwarts. No one knew these students and their families as well as he did. He knew that he could advise them better than anyone else, but now that he could finally speak to them honestly, there was no time.

Snape felt a vicious fury and his mouth drew into a thin determined line. “I will not stand for any of you to be drawn into the Dark Lord’s service against your will. So long as you are at Hogwarts, you are safe.”

“What about when we leave?” a student called out.

“And what about our families?” asked another.

“There is considerable help to be had both within this school and without for those who know how to ask,” Snape told them. “I will make certain that you have every resource you need at your disposal whether I am here or not, you have my word for it. Now pay attention and I will tell you what to do.”

---

Dinner was very late. The tables in the Great Hall, normally laden with food by now, stood bare. Surprisingly, this was not the greatest concern of the students who had assembled. Conversation centered on just one topic: the conspicuously empty Slytherin table. Word of the Slytherin house meeting had spread quickly throughout the school; however, no reason had been given for the gathering which was obviously going on longer than expected, and speculation was running rampant.

Ron sighed. “They’ve been down there for an hour. What’s Snape doing?”

“Saying his farewells, do you suppose?” Seamus asked.

“That would make sense,” Dean said. “I can’t think of any other reason why he’d call the entire house together.”

Ron frowned. “How long’s it take to say ‘goodbye’?”

“Maybe he’s talking to them about Voldemort,” Ginny said thoughtfully.

“Well, if he is, I hope it doesn’t take all night,” Ron said. “I’m starved.”

Hermione scowled at Ron. “How can you think of eating with all that Professor Snape is going through?”

“If I thought missing dinner would help him, I’d consider it, but I really don’t think it will.”

“Well, it looks as if something’s happening,” Neville said hopefully.

The others followed his gaze to the staff entrance next to the head table. The teachers were arriving, though Snape wasn’t among them. Dumbledore entered the Hall last of all and stepped forward to address the students who immediately grew quiet.

“I wish to offer my apologies for the delay in dinner. As all of you know by now, Professor Snape is meeting with the Slytherin students. They should be joining us shortly.” Dumbledore paused and looked around the Hall, sadly.

“Dark times are upon us. But Lord Voldemort is not the only enemy among us, nor dare I say it, the most dangerous. The greatest enemy is the one that lies within each of us. It is fear, hopelessness, indifference. It is every prejudice that divides us. It is taking the easy path instead of the right one.”

Dumbledore looked towards Harry. “It is a sad truth that those who bear the heaviest burden often do so alone and in secret. But it is not only the task of the few to rid our world of evil, it is the duty of all. We must all lay aside our fears and stand together against injustice or we shall never be free of the evil that threatens our world.”

At that moment, the doors from the entrance hall opened and Draco Malfoy and his entourage entered the Great Hall. They didn’t look at anyone as they stormed up to the Slytherin table, barely contained fury evident in every step. They took their seats and a few moments later the rest of the Slytherins arrived, looking haggard and grim. The younger students all looked worried and frightened, but not nearly as much as some of the older students who looked practically sick. A few of the girls had clearly been crying.

There was silence in the Hall as everyone watched the Slytherins, though the new arrivals didn’t seem to notice. Their attention was focused on their own table where Malfoy and his friends were ensconced at one end, glaring at their housemates. The other Slytherins hesitated, glancing warily at one another. No one seemed to want to sit down.

Finally, Millicent Bulstrode pushed her way past the rest of the milling students. She met Malfoy’s glare with one of her own before stomping down to the opposite end of the table. She sat down, staring defiantly at no one in particular. The rest of the Slytherins looked from one end of the table to the other and made up their minds. A few of the students joined Malfoy, but the majority joined Millicent. Each group ignored the other and none of the Slytherins spoke. Neither did anyone else.

This unnatural quiet was broken by the door opening once more. It was Snape and everyone in the Hall turned to stare at him. He looked more tired than Harry had ever seen him, but there was quiet determination in his rigid posture and firm step. Snape didn’t look at any of the students as he started towards the front of the Hall, his footsteps echoing evenly in the silence. Everyone watched him, some with concern, most with frank curiosity. Harry was gratified to see Malfoy and his cronies shrink down in their seats as Snape passed them, even though they threw malicious looks at him behind his back. The other Slytherins, in contrast, gazed at Snape with respect bordering on reverence. Whatever Snape had told them, it had clearly had an effect.

Snape took his seat at the head table, still somehow managing to ignore the relentless scrutiny from the students. He glanced at Dumbledore who smiled slightly in return.

“Now that we are all present,” Dumbledore said, “I believe it is time to eat.” Dinner appeared on the tables and slowly the oppressive silence began to lift. Even the tension at the Slytherin table subsided as the students began to talk quietly among themselves. However, Malfoy and his gang continued to glare resentfully at their housemates. They ate quickly and left.

---

Wednesday morning, the rift between the Slytherins was still obvious. Not only were the two groups not speaking to each other at breakfast, but by the time Harry arrived for Ryan’s Defense lesson, the two factions of the sixth year Slytherins were standing as far apart as possible and doing their best to ignore one another.

“Should be an interesting lesson,” Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione.

Ryan arrived, his usual ebullient self, and didn’t seem the least bit troubled by the tension in the Slytherin ranks. If anything, Harry thought he looked amused.

“We’ll be dueling in pairs today. Everyone select a partner.”

Ron immediately turned to Hermione, but she was already heading towards the Slytherins. She marched up to Millicent Bulstrode.

“Do you want to be partners?” Hermione asked the startled girl and all the other students paused to look at them. While Ryan periodically instructed the students to pair up with someone from the other house, given the choice, they always partnered with members of their own, so Hermione’s action was shocking.

Millicent glanced uncertainly at the surprised faces watching them, but Hermione wasn’t deterred.

“We always win,” she said, smiling conspiratorially.

Millicent slowly returned the smile. “Yeah, we do. Okay, why not?”

With that decided, the rest of the students began pairing off. Malfoy and his group stayed strictly amongst themselves, not even deigning to work with other members of their own house, which threw yet another wrinkle into selecting partners. The process took twice as long as usual, but Ryan seemed perfectly content to wait.

Eventually, the teams were formed, including four inter-house pairs which eventually wound up faring better in the duels than the single-house teams. Hermione was proven right; she and Millicent won all of their duels, though the one against Ron and Harry was a near thing and Harry complained that the only reason he and Ron lost was because Ron couldn’t bring himself to curse Hermione, whereas Hermione had no compunction against cursing him.

“I can’t help it, Harry,” Ron apologized as they mounted the steps to the entrance hall after their lesson. “It’s Hermione.”

Harry shook his head in disgust as they went in to lunch, but said nothing else on the subject. Unfortunately for Ron, Hermione wasn’t nearly as circumspect and took great pleasure in describing the highlights of their duel to Ginny who grinned at her brother.

“Wait until I tell Fred and George.”

Ron grimaced and sank lower in his seat, but just then the students who had had Potions that morning arrived and the conversation turned to Snape. Everyone was relieved to hear that the Potions Master had been no worse than usual, despite the fact that he was likely to be sacked any day. That wasn’t saying a lot, of course, but it was something and it was enough to convince Harry that the time was right to approach Snape with his worries.

Snape hadn’t been at breakfast and, hadn’t come up to lunch either, so Harry wolfed down his food and headed for the dungeons. However, when Harry arrived at Snape’s office, the door was closed and he could hear the murmur of voices inside. Harry hesitated, unsure what to do. It had never occurred to him that Snape might be occupied with another student, but as he stood in momentary indecision, the door opened and a burly seventh-year Slytherin emerged. The boy scowled suspiciously at Harry, but said nothing as he lumbered off down the hall.

“Potter, what are you doing here?” Snape asked, frowning at Harry from the doorway.

“I need to talk to you, Professor,” Harry answered.

“I’m busy, Mr. Potter, it will have to wait,” Snape said, turning away.

“But sir –”

“I said it will have to wait,” Snape snapped in a cold, imperious voice. “Get back upstairs where you belong.” Snape slammed the door leaving Harry alone once more.

Harry had no choice but to retrace his steps back upstairs. He was annoyed with Snape and spent the entire period during History of Magic sulking and rehearsing in his mind what he was going to say to the man the next time they met. It wasn’t until the students arrived at Herbology that Harry’s mind was finally distracted from the taciturn Potions Master. Waiting for them on a table in the center of the greenhouse was Neville’s plant.

“I’ve asked Mr. Longbottom to read out the excellent essay he wrote about his Mimbulus mimbletonia,” Professor Sprout told the class.

She smiled encouragingly at Neville who looked terrified. He was visibly shaking when he rose to address his classmates and his voice was barely audible at first. However, after a few minutes, he began to relax. He clearly enjoyed talking about his plant and became quite animated, especially when a few of the students actually asked questions. It turned out to be a surprisingly good lesson and everyone congratulated Neville as they headed back to the castle.

“You know, Neville, you really ought to consider being a teacher,” Hermione said.

“Me? A teacher?” Neville asked incredulously.

“Why not,” Ron said. “You only have to be good at one thing and you’re brilliant at Herbology.”

Neville frowned slightly as they trooped across the entrance hall towards the stairs, obviously trying to decide if Ron’s comment had been a compliment or an insult.

“Harry, where are you going?” Ron asked as Harry broke away from the rest of his classmates and headed for the dungeons.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” Harry said, then disappeared down the stairs before anyone could question him further. He headed for Snape’s office once more, determined not to let the man brush him off again, and knocked at the door.

“Come in,” Snape answered at once, but when Harry poked his head into the room, Snape scowled at him. “Potter, don’t you have anything better to do than pester me?”

“I really need to talk to you, Professor,” Harry said firmly, coming into the room and shutting the door.

Snape shook his head impatiently. “I have no time for you now.”

“That’s what you told me at lunch.”

“That’s right, Mr. Potter, and I still have no time for you.”

“It’s important,” Harry insisted.

Snape pursed his lips, clearly displeased. “Are you having difficulties with your visions?”

“No, it’s not that,” Harry began, but Snape interrupted him at once.

“Then there’s no reason for you to be here.”

Before Harry could protest, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Snape called and Faye Morgan opened the door. She hesitated, looking askance at Harry.

“It’s all right, Miss Morgan,” Snape said, giving Harry a stern look. “Mr. Potter was just leaving.”

There was obviously no point in arguing, so Harry left Snape’s office and returned to Gryffindor Tower, more frustrated than ever.

“Harry, what were the results of the Vampire Congress in 1723?” Ron asked as Harry entered the common room.

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Hermione won’t tell me,” Ron added.

“It’s in the text!” Hermione said in exasperation. “Can’t you just look it up?”

Ron looked at Hermione as if he’d never heard a more ridiculous suggestion, then turned back to Harry. “Come on, Harry, help me out will you?”

Harry flopped down on the sofa. “I don’t know what the results of the Vampire congress were and I don’t care.”

“What’s wrong?” Ron asked.

“I need to talk to Snape, but every time I try he’s busy with someone else.”

“You’ll need to take a number if you want to talk to Snape,” Ginny said.

“Since when is Snape so popular?” Ron asked.

“Since yesterday evening when he met with the Slytherins. He scared them all half to death from what I’ve heard and a lot of them are looking for advice on how to avoid joining Voldemort without actually coming out against him. A bit tricky, that.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Great,” he said as he stood up and began to pace.

“Why do you need to talk to Snape?” Ron asked in a tone that clearly indicated that he found the idea distasteful.

“I just need to,” Harry said impatiently.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked and Harry whirled around to glare at her.

“Yes, I’m all right!” Harry yelled. “Will you stop asking me that all the time?”

“There’s no call to shout at Hermione!” Ron said indignantly.

Harry looked from Ron’s angry expression to Hermione’s stricken one and felt a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably. He sat back down on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, then looked up as Hermione came to sit next to him.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” she asked seriously. “We’re your friends. Whatever it is, you can tell us.”

Ron had come to stand next to him as well and Ginny was watching him intently. They were all looking at him with sympathy and concern and Harry felt a rush of gratitude for having such good friends. He hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

“It’s just that every time I read about another Death Eater attack, I feel guilty, as if it were my fault.”

“Harry, that’s ridiculous!” Hermione said. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it feels as if it were. Voldemort has to be stopped and I’m the one who needs to stop him.”

“What?” Ginny asked, clearly horrified. “Harry, why on earth would you think that?”

“It’s the Daily Prophet, that’s what it is,” Ron said in disgust. “Not a week goes by that there’s not some editorial about how you’re the ‘Boy Who Lived’ and you’re going to defeat Voldemort and save us all. But that’s rubbish, Harry! You know it is.”

“Just because Voldemort has tried to kill you, that doesn’t mean it’s your job to defeat him,” Ginny insisted. “You of all people need to stay away from him, Harry!”

Hermione agreed in her most sensible tone. “Ginny’s right, you’ve got to stop playing the hero. Voldemort is the most powerful evil wizard that’s ever lived. Even Dumbledore hasn’t been able to stop him and if he can’t, there’s no way that you can expect to do it. That’s just madness.”

Harry swallowed hard and looked away. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, then he stood up and headed for the portrait hole.

“Where are you going now?” Ron asked.

“I just need to go for a walk.”

Harry left Gryffindor Tower and made his way to the third floor. It had been weeks since he’d felt the need to retreat to his private hideaway, but at the moment there was nowhere else he could bear to be. He sank down on the window seat in the tower room and drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around them, but the cramping in his stomach refused to go away. Instead it spread until his chest ached as well. But the physical discomfort was nothing compared to the profound hopelessness he felt.

His friends were right; it was ridiculous to think that he could defeat the most powerful evil wizard who had ever lived when even Dumbledore was unable to do so. How could he have ever believed that he could stand against Voldemort? Harry’s lip curled in a sneer at his own stupidity. Even his studies of Occlumency and Legilimency seemed pointless now.

He’d worked so hard, devoted so much time and effort to learning to defend his mind against Voldemort and he’d succeeded. But so what? His hard-won personal victory in gaining control of his visions seemed increasingly unimportant, as each day the horrific headlines in the Daily Prophet mocked him with reports of another Death Eater attack, more innocent lives destroyed. Harry felt his stomach twist again, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to face the truth. He was no closer to finding a way to stop Voldemort than he’d ever been. All he’d really accomplished was to spend six months distracting himself from the inevitable. Now there was nothing to obscure the cold fact: Voldemort was going to kill him and there was nothing he could do about it.

But if that was true, if there was no hope, then why had the prophecy pointed to him as the one who could defeat the evil wizard? Surely that wasn’t just a cruel joke; Snape had told him that his death couldn’t be a foregone conclusion. Harry seized that assurance, but had no idea how it might help him. It made no sense; he knew that he could never beat Voldemort in a duel.

Harry’s head was starting to pound, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and called upon his mental disciplines to ease the tension in his mind and relieve the pain. Harry’s eyes snapped open. His mind. Could it be that his efforts to learn Occlumency and Legilimency hadn’t been futile after all? He’d reached into Voldemort’s mind to find information. Might he also use that connection to attack Voldemort directly? Harry remembered the murderous fury he’d felt the night he’d attacked Snape. He recoiled from the memory, but still he knew that he was capable of hatred that could kill. Could it kill Voldemort? Harry shuddered at the thought of giving in to that kind of hatred, but he could see no other hope of defeating his foe.

Harry leaned back and stared out the window at the golden afternoon sunlight drenching the grounds below and at the students coming and going, laughing together or calling out to their friends. He longed for a carefree life where the worst thing he’d have to face would be a Potions exam, but he was never going to have that. He was either going to die or become a murderer as filled with hatred as the enemy he hoped to kill.

Harry took a deep breath and tried once more to calm his mind. He was only partially successful; he simply had too much to think about and felt the familiar frustration that there was no one he could talk to. He didn’t dare broach the subject with his friends again and Snape had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want to see Harry. That was no surprise, Harry thought bitterly. He should have realized that Snape would want to avoid him. What better way to ignore the fact that Harry had saved his life? Harry shook his head, disgusted as much with his own naivety as he was with the Potions Master. He should have known better than to think that he could talk to Snape and he hated to admit how much his teacher’s rejection hurt.

Being angry with Snape at least calmed Harry’s anxiety. He left the third floor and went back to his common room where the bustle of activity and conversation helped to further push his worries out of his mind. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough, but that night Harry had another horrific nightmare which still haunted him the next morning at breakfast.

---

“You all right, Harry?” Neville asked as he spread jam on his toast.

Harry gritted his teeth, but managed to answer in an even tone. “Yeah, I’m fine, just tired.”

“I don’t believe it!” Seamus exclaimed staring at the morning paper. “The Board of Governors has voted to keep Snape on.”

“What?” Ron said, incredulously. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was,” Seamus said with feeling.

Dean leaned over to peer at the headline and shook his head in disgust. “And here we thought we were going to get rid of him.”

“Why’d they keep him on?” Ron asked, obviously annoyed. “I thought it was a sure thing they were going to sack him.”

Seamus didn’t answer. He was reading the front page with a rather perplexed expression.

“Seamus?” Dean prompted.

“Er… It says that Harry’s the one who talked them in to keeping him on.”

“What?” Harry blurted out, still trying to absorb the news that Snape wasn’t going to be fired. “Of course I didn’t!”

Hermione took the paper from Seamus and skimmed the article. She looked up at Harry. “It says that you wrote to the Board of Governors.”

Harry blinked. He’d forgotten about the letter he’d written, but surely that couldn’t have made a difference. Then again, if the Daily Prophet had mentioned it –

“Let me see that.” Harry took the paper and read it as his classmates huddled around to peer over his shoulder.

“In a unanimous decision, the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry voted yesterday to retain Professor Severus Snape as Potions Master at the school despite the recent attack on Snape’s life by Death Eaters. The board was swayed by an impassioned plea made in a letter from Harry Potter, who is a sixth year student at the school. Potter praised Snape’s courage in facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and emphasized the support Snape has provided him in time and again thwarting You-Know-Who’s plans…”

Harry closed his eyes. He felt slightly queasy and couldn’t bear to read any more.

“Wow, Harry,” Dean said, sounding more disgusted than impressed. “Did you really say all that?”

“I suppose so,” Harry said, passing the paper back to Seamus. “I was trying to convince the board not to sack him.”

“Why?”

Harry looked up at his classmates. Dean had asked the question but it was obvious that most of the others were wondering the same thing. Why would Harry, of all people, want Snape to remain at Hogwarts? Harry had no idea how to answer; his emotions were a complete jumble. Fortunately, Hermione spoke up.

“How do you suppose it would feel to be tortured by Voldemort, to barely survive and then be told that you were being kicked out of Hogwarts because you’re a danger to the school? No matter how awful Snape is, he doesn’t deserve that.” She turned to Harry. “I think what you did was brilliant! No one else could have convinced the board not to dismiss Professor Snape.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry said modestly.

“You don’t read the paper enough,” Seamus said. “Hermione’s right. With all the uproar against Snape there’s no way anyone else’s opinion would have mattered. But you’re Harry Potter. If you say Snape’s all right and should stay at Hogwarts, then he stays.”

“I haven’t got that much influence,” Harry protested.

“Sure you do, mate, it’s all right here,” Seamus insisted, flipping through the paper. “Yesterday, every editorial said that Snape ought to be fired for the safety of the school. Today, they can’t say enough good things about him.”

“What’s Pembroke have to say?” Hermione asked.

Seamus flipped a few more pages. “Nothing. He didn’t write an article today.”

Hermione smiled in satisfaction, but Harry was feeling decidedly uncomfortable at the idea that he could single-handedly sway policy and public opinion.

“Well, maybe Snape will at least be in a good mood for Potions this morning,” Dean said.

Harry looked up at the head table, but once again Snape wasn’t there. Dean was right, though; surely Snape would be pleased by the board’s vote. But even as he tried to convince himself of that, Harry couldn’t shake a nagging doubt at the back of his mind. Somehow he suspected that Snape wasn’t going to be entirely happy.

---

Snape hadn’t gone up to breakfast. He didn’t care to read whatever Pembroke might have written about him in the paper that morning, much less endure the furtive glances and whispers of the students. Besides, he was far too busy. Snape shared the common assumption that he would be dismissed by the weekend and although he lived an ascetic lifestyle, he still had fifteen years’ worth of papers and books to sort and pack. At the moment, most of these were stacked in piles in his living room.

Snape’s quarters were sparsely furnished in the purely functional style of a man who pays no attention to decor. A long, black, leather sofa sat in the middle of the room facing a workbench which stood against the wall opposite the fireplace. Snape had spent many long nights dozing here while waiting for some complicated potion to brew. A matching armchair huddled near the fireplace in front of the hearth rug, the only floor covering that dared encroach upon the cold, gray, stone. The walls were bare of pictures or other decoration. Most were lined with bookshelves and a few cupboards used to store the rarest and most dangerous potions ingredients. The ceiling was surprisingly high, though shrouded in darkness. In fact, the whole room was dark, requiring the lamps to be lit; this was owing to the fact that there were no windows in evidence. Dark blue, velvet curtains hung from ceiling to floor along the entire wall opposite the entryway. But these were drawn tightly closed and gave no hint of what might lay beyond them. In front of these curtains stood a five-foot-long mahogany table and a single chair.

Snape sat at the table which was currently covered with numerous large stacks of papers. With a wave of his hand he sent his notes on the Wolfsbane potion floating across the room to land in an open box. Another larger pile of papers was sent floating towards the rubbish bin, however, this was overflowing and the papers fluttered uncertainly for a moment before dropping to the floor next to it. Snape scowled and picked up his wand.

“Evanesco,” he said, emptying the bin for the second time that morning.

There was a knock at the door. “What?” Snape called tiredly.

The door opened and Dumbledore entered, smiling benignly.

“Good morning, Severus,” he said picking his way through stacks of boxes and books to reach Snape who rose to greet the headmaster. “I see you’ve been quite industrious.”

“What do you need, Albus?” Snape asked, unable to muster the patience for pleasantries.

“Nothing,” Dumbledore answered. “However, I thought you ought to see this.” Dumbledore pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his pocket and handed it to Snape, who hesitated only a moment before accepting it.

Snape grimly opened the paper and looked at the front page then back at Dumbledore in astonishment. “They voted to retain me?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “They voted unanimously to retain you.”

“And you thought your entreaties hadn’t impressed them,” Snape said with a smirk.

“Mine didn’t.”

Snape frowned in confusion, but Dumbledore only smiled and nodded at the paper. Snape scanned the article under the headline and felt his stomach drop. He looked back at Dumbledore’s impassive expression.

“He wrote to the Board of Governors?” Snape demanded in a genuinely scandalized tone.

“Apparently so,” Dumbledore replied, clearly amused. “And it seems as though his letter was quite effective.”

“This is humiliating!”

“Do you think so, Severus? I have never found the respect and loyalty of my students to be humiliating; quite the opposite, actually. However, if you believe that the Board of Governors has erred in their decision, you are, of course, welcome to resign.”

Snape scowled at Dumbledore, but bit back his sarcastic comment.

“In lieu of that however,” Dumbledore continued, “I suggest you unpack.” The old man turned to leave, but stopped. “And Severus, you really shouldn’t keep the curtains drawn all the time. I find that letting a little light in does wonders to help us see.” Dumbledore waved his hand and the heavy velvet curtains obediently parted and drew back to reveal a wall of windows stretching from floor to ceiling.

To find such an expanse of windows in the dungeons was startling, but the view itself was arresting. This side of the castle was built upon a bluff and the windows opened out onto a sheer drop to the valley far below and provided a panoramic view. Morning sunlight flooded the room causing the now unneeded lamps to wink out.

Dumbledore smiled. “That’s much better.” Then he was gone.

Snape stared after Dumbledore for a moment, then sank down into his chair once more. He didn’t even glance out the windows behind him, but stared sourly at the Daily Prophet. He read the article through once more, slowly and sighed. He had to do something about Potter.

In the last several days, he’d been too busy arranging his affairs and meeting with the Slytherins to think about the boy. Or rather, he’d been busy enough that he’d been able to avoid thinking about him. Now that he was going to be staying at Hogwarts, however, he could no longer simply ignore Potter in the hope that he would go away. It was clear that the boy had taken it upon himself to act as Snape’s personal guardian and advocate and Snape found this deeply disturbing.

It was his own fault, of course. He had indulged his sympathy for the boy – Snape didn’t dare think of it as affection – and this had allowed Potter to overstep the line between teacher and student. However, this couldn’t continue. Regardless of what Dumbledore had told him about not pushing Potter away, the boy was far too close and the appropriate boundaries had to be reestablished between them.

The clock over the mantelpiece chimed; it was time for his sixth-year Potions class. Snape laid aside the paper and waved his hand at the curtains behind him. They closed smoothly, plunging the room into darkness once more and the lamps flickered on as Snape rose and left his quarters.

---

“So Potter, going for teacher’s pet?” Harry had just taken his seat in the Potions classroom and looked up at Malfoy’s snide remark. The Slytherin was glaring at him with a mixture of malice and disgust.

“Oh, Professor Snape is my hero,” Malfoy drawled melodramatically. He looked beseechingly at Harry. “You can’t dismiss him! I don’t know what I’d do without him!”

There were several snickers from the other students and Malfoy laughed derisively. Harry could feel himself blushing, but Hermione touched him arm. “Ignore him!” she said firmly, giving Malfoy an angry glare.

Harry was spared further taunts as the door was wrenched open and Snape stalked into the classroom.

“Your homework last week was abysmal,” he snarled. “Assuming that any of you intend to sit your NEWT and are not simply here for entertainment, you will need to do far better. Put your books away and prepare an essay on six common Potions in which wormwood is used. Describe its role in each potion and how its effects are altered by the other potion ingredients as well as the method of preparation.”

No one moved. The students simply stared at Snape, stunned. Snape sneered at them in return.

“Unless, of course, you would all prefer detention as well as a zero for the day,” he drawled.

Everyone immediately scrambled to find a quill and parchment and began scribbling furiously. Snape prowled around, grunting in disgust, shaking his head and thoroughly unnerving the students. He arrived at Harry’s workbench and favored Harry’s rather minimal effort with a look of perfect disdain.

“It’s a pity that your knowledge of potions doesn’t equal your powers of persuasion. Unfortunately, fame doesn’t make up for incompetence. If this is the best work you can do, I guarantee you will not be in my class next year.”

Snape turned away, leaving Harry hunched over his essay, his face burning in humiliation as he tried to ignore the stares of the other students.

At long last the bell rang signaling the end of the lesson. Harry reluctantly passed in his essay. Snape had been right, of course; it was dreadful. Then Harry grabbed his books and joined the rest of the students filing out of the classroom.

“I guess fame doesn’t make up for stupidity, either,” Malfoy snapped, stopping Harry in the hallway. “I told you that Snape hated you, Potter! Did you really think some fawning letter to the Board of Governors would change that? Do us all a favor and don’t do him any more favors.”

Malfoy stormed off and the rest of the students favored Harry with grim looks as they dispersed.

“Harry, it’s not your fault that Professor Snape was horrid to everyone,” Hermione said sympathetically as they walked upstairs.

Harry rolled his eyes. “What difference does it make? They all blame me anyway.”

“They’ll get over it. You did the right thing in defending Snape to the board. You know that.”

“Snape doesn’t seem to think so,” Harry said bitterly. “He obviously isn’t terribly happy with me.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s just the way he is.”

“Yeah, well, I’m tired of it!” Harry only just managed not to shout as he came to a halt in the entrance hall. “I’m tired of him biting my head off for no reason. He won’t talk to me. He’d probably have been happy to be sacked just to get away from me! Malfoy’s right, he hates me and nothing’s ever going to change that.”

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry turned around to find Ryan standing behind him and forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. “Yes, sir?”

“Now that you’ve recovered from your Quidditch mishap, it occurs to me that I still owe you detention from last week,” Ryan said, looking much too pleased.

Harry sighed and gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re to report to the Potions classroom this evening after dinner.”

Harry frowned. “The Potions classroom? Why?”

“Professor Snape has been extremely busy with the Slytherin students the last two days and will likely continue to be for the foreseeable future. Unfortunately, that means he has very little time to devote to preparing potions ingredients for his lessons. Since you’ve ensured that this situation won’t be changing any time soon, it seems only fair that you assist him.”

A day earlier, Harry would have been delighted with this detention, but now it only filled him with dread. “Couldn’t I just polish the trophies or clean the lavatories instead?”

Ryan’s teeth flashed in his most wolfish grin. “Not a chance, Potter.”

---

The door to the Potions classroom was ajar that evening when Harry arrived and he pushed it open without bothering to knock. Snape stood at one of the workbenches grinding something in a mortar. There was a bin sitting on the workbench as well as a number of small, empty jars. Other workbenches held similar bins and jars; obviously potions ingredients waiting to be prepared for upcoming lessons.

“Professor?”

Snape looked up and grimaced. “Potter, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for detention,” Harry said sullenly as he came forward.

Snape’s frown deepened. “Detention? From whom?”

“Ryan. He said you needed help preparing potions ingredients.”

“Ryan has no business assigning his students detention with me,” Snape said irritably as he poured the contents of his mortar into one of the jars in front of him and scooped up another batch of beetles from the bin. “And I certainly don’t need your help.”

Harry bristled. “I may not be your best student, but I think I can grind up beetles.”

Snape regarded Harry as though he weren’t entirely certain of that.

“Or you could just let me off detention, if you prefer,” Harry added.

“Hardly,” Snape sneered. “Very well, Mr. Potter, be my guest.” He set down the mortar and pestle and waved at the workbench. “I need forty jars of beetles, coarsely ground.”

Snape stepped across to the next workbench, picked up a chunk of Bicorn horn and began grating it into a fine powder. Harry glanced between Snape and the beetles.

“A bit more alacrity, Potter, unless you wish to be up all night,” Snape said.

Harry rolled his eyes, but stepped forward, picked up the mortar and pestle and began to grind away at the beetles. He and Snape worked in silence. Snape appeared to be thoroughly engrossed in producing an ever growing mound of powdered Bicorn horn and paid no attention to Harry. Harry, on the other hand, kept glancing at his teacher and could feel his frustration growing as the man continued to ignore him.

Harry filled his fifth jar with ground beetles and sighed for the tenth time.

“Is preparing ground beetles too taxing for you, Potter?” Snape asked in obvious annoyance.

Harry shrugged as he scooped more beetles into his mortar. “It’s better than trying to sleep.”

Snape frowned slightly and looked over at Harry. “You said that you were no longer having visions.”

“I’m not, but I’ve had nightmares every night for two weeks and each one is worse than the last. Just about anything is better than going to bed, even preparing potions ingredients with you.”

Snape stared at Harry a moment longer, then went back to grating Bicorn horn. Harry sighed deeply once more.

“Potter, if you have something to say, say it!” Snape snapped in irritation.

“Would it kill you to talk to me?” Harry snapped back.

“I don’t believe in frivolous conversation, Potter, and I have nothing to say to you.”

“Really?” Harry drawled with perfect sarcasm. “Well, I can think of a few things. Like maybe you could explain why you’ve been avoiding me, or why you were so furious with me in class this morning?”

“What did you expect, gratitude?”

“No, Professor, I know better than that,” Harry said bitterly.

“Good.”

They glared at one another, then lapsed into a sullen silence once more, but after a few moments Harry spoke again.

“Professor, can I ask you something?” Harry’s voice was tightly controlled, but the anger and resentment were unmistakable.

It was Snape’s turn to sigh. “You can ask anything you like. Whether or not I answer is another matter.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you. I simply refuse to waste my time. I told you, Potter, you’ve learnt all that I can teach you.”

“You also told me that I could come to you if I needed your help,” Harry reminded his teacher indignantly.

“What do you need?” Snape demanded, thoroughly exasperated.

“I need to be able to talk to you.”

“Why? Can’t you talk to anyone else? You have enough friends!”

“I tried talking to them. It didn’t work.”

“Then go and see the headmaster.”

“Why can’t I just talk to you?” Harry asked, his voice rising in frustration.

“Because I can’t help you!” Snape yelled as his own frustration got the better of him. “What do you want, Potter? Comfort? Sympathy? I can’t give you that! Go to someone who can!”

Snape returned to grating the Bicorn horn with far more force than necessary, Harry noted. Harry half-heartedly ground his beetles, but his attention was on Snape, whom he watched out of the corner of his eye. The man was clearly furious and Harry suddenly understood that Snape’s anger wasn’t actually directed at him, at least not entirely.

“Last night I dreamt that I murdered all of my friends,” Harry said quietly without preamble. Snape froze and glanced sharply at him as he continued. “They begged me not to, pleaded with me, but I just laughed and killed them one by one. I enjoyed it, enjoyed the power, just like I enjoyed it in my visions.” Harry met Snape’s eyes. “Who do you suggest I try to explain that to?”

There was a long moment of silence in which Harry and Snape stared at one another.

“Do you have any idea why you dreamt that?” Snape asked softly.

Harry looked away and nodded. “Do you remember the night that I attacked you when we were first starting my lessons and you told me that I was able to do it because our minds were so closely attuned?”

“Of course.”

“My mind and his are even more closely linked, so I’ve been thinking – I wondered if maybe I could attack him the same way?”

“What?” Snape asked, taken aback.

Harry looked at his teacher. “I can’t beat him in a fight, Professor, he’s too strong and I’ll never be good enough. Besides, if defeating him in a duel was all that it was going to take, then anyone could do that. But if I’m the only one who can defeat him then there’s got to be something different about me, something I can do that no one else can.”

Snape picked up on Harry’s line of reasoning. “Such as being able to reach into his mind.”

“Exactly!” Harry said. “It’s the only place that he’s vulnerable to me.”

“Potter, just because you were able to enter his mind once, doesn’t mean that he’s vulnerable. You caught him when his concentration was… elsewhere, so you were able to slip by undetected. Were you to attack him that would not be the case. He would fight you and he has far more experience than you do at Legilimency.”

Harry nodded wearily. “I know, but it’s the only chance I’ve got. Believe me, if I thought there was another way, I wouldn’t even consider it. I know how much I’m going to have to hate, how much I’m going to have to want to kill, in order to breach his mind’s defenses.” Harry bit his lip and looked away. “That’s why I dreamt what I did last night. I’m scared of what I’m going to have to become in order to beat him.”

There was a long moment of silence that Snape finally broke with a thoughtful, almost comforting tone. “The hardest enemy to face is the enemy within,” he said quietly. “But you’ve no reason for despair, Potter. Believe me, I have walked far darker roads than the one before you.”

Harry looked back at Snape. “I know. That’s why I need your help. I don’t need sympathy or comfort and I don’t expect you to solve all of my problems, Professor. I know you can’t do that. But I need your advice because there are some things you understand that no one else can.”

Snape regarded Harry gravely for a moment, then sighed in resignation. “Very well, Mr. Potter. If that is truly what you require, then I will make myself available whenever you need to discuss what’s on your mind.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said with genuine relief.

“There is, however, one condition,” Snape added. “Stop defending me from every threat, insult or injustice, real or perceived that comes to your attention. I have been taking care of myself since before you born. I don’t need you to do it for me.

“I don’t mean that as a reproach, Potter,” Snape added at the look on Harry’s face. “It’s simply a fact and you have enough on your mind already.”

Harry hesitated, but he knew Snape was right and he felt a weight lift from him. He really didn’t need to be worrying about Snape on top of everything else. “All right, Professor, it’s a deal.”

“Now Mr. Potter, I think we’ve both endured enough of your detention for one evening. You may go.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry laid aside his mortar and pestle and turned away, but Snape stopped him.

“Do you need a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion?”

Harry considered, but the desperate dread that had weighed on him steadily for the last two weeks, was gone. In its place he felt a calm determination. “I think I’ll be all right tonight, sir. Thank you.”

“Goodnight then, Mr. Potter.”

“Goodnight, Professor.”

The next several weeks proved to be the best Harry had had all year. Although Voldemort was never far from his thoughts, the hopeless fear that had gripped his heart retreated and with it, the worst of his nightmares. Harry knew that this was a direct result of his improved relationship with Snape. The man wasn’t friendly towards him, but Snape seemed to have finally accepted the fact that Harry still needed his guidance and appeared determined to do his duty in offering it. There was a comfortable familiarity between them of which Harry took full advantage. He often stopped by Snape’s office in the evenings after dinner to talk.

The first couple of times he went to see his professor, Harry made certain to think of something meaningful to discuss, so that Snape wouldn’t accuse him of wasting his time. However, it quickly became apparent that this was unnecessary. Having promised to be there for Harry when he needed someone to talk to, Snape didn’t seem to care what Harry actually talked about, or even whether he talked at all.

Snape wasn’t indifferent to what Harry had to say and he was always attentive, but he was content to let Harry ramble, offering observations or opinions when needed, but otherwise allowing Harry to talk through his long-suppressed thoughts and feelings or lapse into a companionable silence. Snape never seemed displeased at Harry’s presence, or impatient for him to leave. Once or twice Harry even suspected that Snape was glad to see him. That was probably due to the fact that Harry’s problems were the least of Snape’s worries at the moment.

It hadn’t taken long for the gist of Snape’s house meeting to become common knowledge. Many of the Slytherins clearly wanted nothing to do with Voldemort now, and they were also clearly looking to Snape for help. There was a steady stream of traffic in and out of the Potions Master’s office as the Slytherins turned to him for ‘career counseling’, as everyone had taken to euphemistically calling it.

Snape, himself, appeared to be on a mission. He had always favored his own students, but now he was fiercely protective of them, stalking about like a mother bear defending her cubs and growling at anyone who appeared to threaten them. Any altercations between the Slytherins and the other students brought immediate reprisals, but even off-hand comments muttered in the hallways could incur Snape’s wrath.

One morning after Seamus had been defeated in Defense due to a particularly sneaky tactic by his Slytherin opponent, Dean made the mistake of soothing his friend’s wounded pride by commenting that Slytherins never play fair. Unfortunately, Snape overheard him. He lost five house points and earned a caustic lecture from the incensed Potions Master.

The only thing that made Snape bearable was the fact that his protectiveness did not extend to Malfoy and his friends. Harry was delighted to note that Snape turned a blind eye towards any insults directed towards this group. Malfoy and his gang, in turn, seemed to be avoiding Snape as much as possible.

Harry had spent no more time brooding alone on the third floor, instead devoting most of his free time to being with his friends. Actually, he spent most of this time with Ginny, either flying or taking walks. Ron had given them a curious look one afternoon as they left the common room together, but Hermione had kicked him under the table and he’d returned his attention to their chess game. Harry hadn’t given it another thought.

---

It was the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year and a beautiful spring day. Ron was in the middle of an animatedly detailed description of the latest Cannons match he’d heard on the wireless as he, Harry, Hermione and Ginny sat outside Honeydukes, sucking on sugar quills.

“Then after Gudgeon collided with the Tornados Seeker he managed to grab the Snitch as he was falling. Fortunately they were near the ground and he only broke his right leg and hip,” Ron finished proudly.

“You’re sure he didn’t just accidentally catch it as he fell?” Hermione asked innocently. “That’s what Dean thought.”

“Of course not!” Ron declared, clearly outraged at the suggestion. “It was a brilliant move! Dean doesn’t have the faintest idea of what he’s talking about!”

Hermione grinned and Harry and Ginny laughed. Ron scowled, then grinned sheepishly, realizing that he was being teased.

Harry’s attention was suddenly distracted by a figure across the street who was dressed all in black with his hood pulled low over his face, but as Harry watched, the figure disappeared down a side street. Harry didn’t know why the anonymous individual had drawn his attention. Perhaps it was his severe dress which stood out among the sea of Hogwarts students taking advantage of the spring day away from school to wear their casual clothes. Still, there had seemed to be something familiar about him.

“Come on, let’s go to Zonko’s,” Ron suggested.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. “I thought you were only buying Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes these days.”

“I’m allowed to check out the competition, aren’t I?” Ron said as they strolled up the street to the joke shop.

The shop was crowded with students. Ron perused the latest wares with a connoisseur’s eye, commenting on why comparable Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products were better or more dangerous, though usually both.

“Here’s a new one,” Ginny said, picking up a multicolored ball about two inches in diameter and hefting it expertly. “It’s a Percussion Bomb,” she said, reading the attached label. It says, ‘Do not use indoors. May cause deafness or shatter glass within fifteen feet of detonation.’”

“Cool!” Ron said, his eyes lighting up for the first time since they’d enter the shop. “We’ll have to tell Fred and George about that.”

Harry moved away to look at the fireworks display. He happened to glance out the window and froze. Across the street, half-hidden in a doorway, was the figure dressed in black that he’d seen earlier. Harry couldn’t see his face, but nevertheless, he could have sworn the person was looking straight at him.

“Harry, what are you looking at?” Hermione asked, coming up to him.

Harry turned towards her and spoke quietly. “There’s someone in the doorway across the street. I think he’s watching us.”

“Where?” Hermione asked, moving to look out the window.

“Right over –”

Harry stopped. The doorway across the street was empty; the figure in black had vanished. Hermione was looking at him curiously and Harry frowned at his own jumpiness.

“Never mind.”

Ginny came up to them. “If you two are ready, Ron’s finished spying on the competition and I could use a butterbeer.”

Neither Harry nor Hermione had any purchases to make, so they all set off once more, heading back down the street the way they’d come. As they approached the Three Broomsticks, however, Harry saw the figure in black, standing across the street from the pub. The figure seemed to spot them too, because it started towards them, apparently intent upon intercepting them.

“Come on,” Harry said, quickening his pace.

“What’s the hurry?” Ron asked as he and the girls hurried to keep up with Harry. The black-robed figure quickened his pace as well and cut Harry and his friends off just in front of the pub. He threw back his hood and addressed Harry.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter.” Lucius Malfoy said, smiling pleasantly.

The four Gryffindors gaped at the Death Eater standing unconcernedly before them. Harry recovered first, whipping out his wand.

“Manners, Potter,” Malfoy said, rebuking Harry gently, but otherwise unfazed. “You might wish to take a moment to consider your actions.” Malfoy looked meaningfully past Harry and Harry followed his gaze.

There were two dozen or more figures hovering inconspicuously in doorways or peering around the corners of alleys. Harry recognized them because they were all dressed like Lucius Malfoy in what Harry could now see were Death Eater’s robes. Worse, Harry could see the tips of wands protruding from the folds of those robes.

Lucius Malfoy languidly drew his own wand, still smiling. “Now Mr. Potter, it’s time for us to have a little chat.”

Ron, Hermione and Ginny had their wands out now and moved to stand protectively next to Harry.

“Your friends are welcome to come, too, of course,” Malfoy said easily.

Harry looked around, judging their odds. Ron, Hermione and Ginny were obviously doing the same mental calculation and they were all coming to the same grim conclusion: They were hopelessly outnumbered. Even if they did fight, Harry shuddered to think how many bystanders in the street might get caught in the crossfire.

Just then, the door to the Three Broomsticks opened and Neville appeared in the doorway. He started to greet Harry, then spotted Lucius Malfoy and froze in horror. Malfoy glared over his shoulder at Neville and Harry reacted automatically.

He lunged forward and seized Malfoy’s arm. “Get inside!” he yelled.

Ron, Hermione and Ginny ran towards the pub, shoving a still stunned Neville back inside, as Malfoy, surprised by the physical assault, struggled to throw Harry off. Harry hung on, hoping that none of the other Death Eaters would attack when he was in such close proximity to Malfoy.

“Harry, come on!” Hermione screamed from the doorway.

Harry broke away from Malfoy who instantly leveled his wand at Harry.

“Inflictum!” Hermione yelled and Lucius Malfoy was thrown back.

Harry bolted for the comparative safety of the Three Broomsticks, but silver arrows shot past him, barely missing his head. He whirled around and saw another Death Eater taking aim at him.

“Protego!” Harry yelled, but the force of the spell still knocked him back.

Lucius Malfoy had his wand trained on Harry once more, but most of the other Death Eaters were being distracted by the crowds of students in the street, who were now beginning to panic.

“Relashio!” Ron yelled, as Hermione called, “Turbo!”

Malfoy managed to block one spell, but the other sent him sprawling on the street. Harry raced for the door and ducked inside the Three Broomsticks. Hermione slammed and warded the door behind him just as a rain of hailstones battered it.

Harry looked around to find a dozen students staring at him in alarm.

“What’s going on?” Ernie Macmillan demanded.

“There are Death Eaters out there!” Eleanor Branstone said, looking in horror out the window at the chaos in the street.

“What are Death Eaters doing in Hogsmeade in broad daylight?” Michael Corner asked.

“That’s not important right now!” Hermione said, joining Eleanor at the window. “There are dozens of students out there. We have to get help.”

“I’ve just tried,” Madam Rosmerta said grimly as she came forward from the back of the pub. “I can’t get through to anyone, not Hogwarts, not the Ministry. Something’s blocking the Floo network.”

The front window shattered, and Eleanor screamed as glass sprayed everyone.

Madam Rosmerta waved her wand. “Reparo!” The window immediately repaired itself and she hastily muttered several other spells then turned back to the students. “Those won’t hold for long. We’re going to need to get out of here.”

“Where else is there to go?” Neville asked.

“Honeydukes!” Harry answered. “There’s a secret passage in the basement that will take us back to Hogwarts. I’ve used it myself.”

“But how are we going to get there?” Ernie asked, peering cautiously out the window. “There are Death Eaters everywhere.”

“We need a diversion,” Ginny said. “Something to distract them while we make a run for it.”

Ron waved at the pub around them. “What do you suggest we do, throw kegs of butterbeer at them?”

“Actually, I think we can help with that.” Walter Sutton and Jeremy Banks stepped forward. “Fortunately, we’ve already made our rounds at Zonko’s,” Walter continued as both boys emptied their pockets to produce an impressive array of fireworks, stink bombs and other Zonko products.

“This is terrific!” Ginny said excitedly. “It’s exactly what we need.”

“I don’t know,” Ron said, looking suspiciously at the two boys. “Are you sure about this?”

Ginny flushed angrily. “Do you have a better idea?”

“Look, Weasley,” Jeremy told Ron. “It’s our necks here, too. I don’t think that lot out there are going to stop to ask what house we’re in.”

“He’s right,” Hermione said. “We’ve all got to work together and we don’t have much time.”

---

Out in the street, the Death Eaters had cornered two scores of terrified students who had realized too late that they were under attack. But before the Death Eaters could do more than herd them into groups, the door to the Three Broomsticks unexpectedly flew open and half a dozen dungbombs came hurtling out. The resulting coughing and gagging made for a very satisfactory diversion. Madam Rosmerta, Harry and the rest of the students poured out of the pub.

“Onis!” Hermione cried to dispel the stench as the others began cursing the surprised Death Eaters, several of whom fell. Ginny, Walter and Jeremy ran forward to urge the students in the street towards Honeydukes.

“Follow us!” Ginny yelled and the frightened students obeyed at once. In a moment, they were all rushing after Ginny and the two Slytherins. Neville and Ernie helped the stragglers, while Harry, Ron and Hermione brought up the rear along with Madam Rosmerta, ducking behind whatever cover they could find as they retreated up the street. They continued to fire curses in their effort to hold off the Death Eaters who had by now regrouped and were advancing purposefully up the street, laying down a fierce battery of curses.

Madam Rosmerta was hit with a stunning spell and collapsed. Harry almost rushed forward to help her, but Hermione held him back. “There’s nothing you can do. Keep going!”

Reluctantly, Harry continued up the street and was relieved to see that the Death Eaters ignored the unconscious woman as they continued to methodically stalk the students.

Just a little longer, Harry thought, jumping into a doorway. We just need to give Ginny enough time to get the other students into Honeydukes. A curse blasted chunks of brick out of the wall next to him and Harry ran for cover behind a delivery wagon parked further up the street. He found Ron and Hermione already huddled together, firing curses at the approaching Death Eaters.

Harry glanced around for another hiding place, but at that moment a bolt of agony shot through his scar. He screamed and doubled over, clutching his head as he tried to fight off the mental assault. Worse than the pain, though, was the terrifying knowledge that went with it.

“Harry! Are you all right?” That was Hermione’s voice, sounding frightened.

“He’s here!” Harry grunted through clenched teeth. “Voldemort’s here!”

“What?” Ron asked, but before Harry could repeat the warning, he heard Hermione gasp.

The pain in Harry’s scar was beginning to recede and he was aware that the street had grown deathly quiet around him. He straightened up and looked around. The Death Eaters had stopped hurling curses. They stood still, waiting like silent sentries, blocking any retreat back down the street. Ron and Hermione seemed to have forgotten the Death Eaters entirely. They were gazing in horror in the opposite direction and Harry slowly turned to follow their stares.

The scene was frozen in tableau, with students strung out in small, unmoving groups all along the street. Ginny was farthest away and stood only a few yards short of Honeydukes. Like everyone else, she was staring in shock at the lone figure standing in the middle of the street, blocking the path to safety.

“Hello, Harry!” Voldemort called in the silence.

Harry swallowed and stepped forward, but Hermione snatched at his sleeve.

“Harry, no!” she whispered desperately.

Harry shrugged out of her grasp without taking his eyes off Voldemort.

“Stay here,” he said quietly.

With his wand grasped firmly in his hand, Harry walked determinedly up the street, past the silent clumps of students until he’d drawn even with Ginny. He stood as far away from her as possible and didn’t dare glance her way. He didn’t want to do anything that might draw Voldemort’s attention to her or any of the other students. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on his enemy.

Voldemort regarded Harry coldly and Harry suddenly felt a horrible presence in his mind. Instantly, he threw up his mental barriers to block the invasion. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and his brow creased in the slightest frown.

“Severus taught you well,” he hissed softly.

“Thanks,” Harry replied. “I’ll tell him you said so.”

Voldemort laughed; a chilling sound that echoed up and down the narrow street.

“Ah, Harry! Defiant to the end! But I’m afraid the game is over. Throw down your wand.”

Harry made no move to comply, but Voldemort only smiled and flicked his wand at a nearby student.

“Crucio!”

A fourth-year girl screamed and collapsed on the ground, writhing in agony. Harry knew what that pain was like. He raised his wand and brandished it at Voldemort.

“Expelliarmus!” he called, however his spell had no effect. Voldemort didn’t even bother to glance at Harry, but kept his cold gaze fixed on his victim who continued to shriek.

“Spicula!” Harry cried, putting all of his concentration and force of will into the spell.

Silver arrows erupted from his wand, but dissipated almost at once. Voldemort continued to ignore Harry. He twitched the tip of his wand at the girl lying on the ground and her screams became even more tortured.

“Stop it!” Harry yelled, desperately.

Voldemort obliged with another casual flick of his wand. The girl stopped screaming and instead lay sobbing hysterically.

“As you wish, Harry.” Voldemort waved his hand in a grandiose gesture that encompassed the entire street. “Their fate is in your hands. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be responsible for any deaths, so why don’t you throw down your wand?”

Harry glanced around at the dozens of students on the street and hadn’t the slightest doubt that Voldemort was ready to kill every one of them. He knew he had no choice.

“Give me your word that you’ll let them all go free!” Harry demanded.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows in obvious amusement, then shrugged.

“All right, Harry,” he said magnanimously. “They mean nothing to me. Drop your wand and your classmates may all return to Hogwarts, unharmed. You have my word.”

Harry had no idea if Voldemort was telling the truth or not, but it was the best he was going to get. He tossed his wand to the ground and braced himself to die.

Voldemort smiled triumphantly and leveled his wand at Harry.

“Avada Ke –”

The explosion that shook the street was deafening and shattered nearby shop windows. The students who had stood transfixed by Voldemort’s presence were startled into terrified flight once more. Harry dove for his wand, seized it, then bolted for the nearest alley as complete pandemonium erupted.

“Don’t let him get away!” Voldemort screamed at his Death Eaters.

Two curses whizzed by Harry as he darted into the narrow alley and sprinted for all he was worth towards the other end. He burst out of the alley into an unfamiliar street and raced down it without slowing his pace. He could hear the sound of feet pounding the cobblestones in pursuit, but he didn’t dare take the time to look behind him.

Ahead of him, three Death Eaters appeared out of a side street. There was no place to go or to hide, so Harry did the only thing he could. He put on more speed and ploughed into the unprepared Death Eaters, sending two of them sprawling on the ground. He rounded another corner, but could hear the shouts of more Death Eaters up ahead.

Harry knew he couldn’t keep up his current pace; his breathing was ragged and his side was cramping. He stumbled down another alley as the shouts of the Death Eaters grew closer. At the other end of the alley, Harry emerged into a small courtyard with only one other exit: a narrow alley opposite the one he’d just entered from. He crossed to the other alley as quickly as he could, but stopped when he heard the sounds of Death Eaters approaching from that direction as well.

Harry looked around frantically, realizing that he was trapped, then he spotted a gap between two of the ancient buildings lining the courtyard and hurried over to peer into it. It was a small crevice that extended only a few feet before the walls of the adjoining buildings came together. Harry pressed himself into the crack between the crumbling stone walls and tried to blend into the shadows just as the first Death Eaters arrived.

Harry’s heart felt as if it was going to burst from his chest. He longed to gulp down deep breaths of fresh air to ease his aching lungs, but he didn’t dare. He pressed himself as far back into the crevice as possible and waited. He could hear the Death Eaters milling about close by, then heard Lucius Malfoy address them from only a few feet away, almost directly outside Harry’s hiding place. Harry closed his eyes. If they found him now, he was dead.

“Well?” Malfoy demanded.

“We’ve lost him,” one of the Death Eaters said.

“He didn’t come our way,” said another.

“Maybe he Apparated away,” a third suggested.

“If he could Apparate, don’t you suppose he’d have done it before now?” another testy voice protested.

“Enough!” Malfoy rebuked the others. “The Dark Lord will be very displeased if Potter slips through our fingers yet again.” The other Death Eaters fell silent at the mention of Voldemort. “The boy has to be here somewhere. Find him.”

The Death Eaters murmured consent and hurried away. Harry waited until the sound of their footsteps died away, then at last, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. His heartbeat had slowed to something approaching normal and his breathing was no longer ragged. He wriggled out of his hiding place and looked around.

“Stupefy!”

After a year of dueling in Ryan’s class, Harry reacted automatically. He dove for the ground, then rolled into a crouch. “Inflictum!” he yelled, hurling a curse in the direction of his attacker.

His quick reaction caught Bellatrix Lestrange off guard. She was thrown backward, but immediately recovered. “Relashio!”

“Protego!” Harry cried, throwing the curse back at the Death Eater as he got to his feet.

Bellatrix smiled. “Well, well, Harry, you’ve learnt a thing or two since we last met.”

Harry didn’t answer. He remembered Ryan’s warning, Lose your head with a Death Eater and you’ll be dead before you can think better of your mistake. He wasn’t about to start bantering with this woman while they were dueling; that had cost Sirius his life. “Spicula!”

“Protego,” Bellatrix said, almost casually as she sent the silver arrows hurtling back at Harry. Harry dodged the spell easily and glanced around for an escape route, but both exits from the courtyard were behind Bellatrix.

“Have you nothing to say to me, Harry?” Bellatrix taunted. “Or are you already over my dear cousin’s death?”

Harry felt a surge of hatred and anger towards the woman, but forced himself to remain calm. Control your emotions! Harry remembered. “Reducto!” he cried.

“Murus!” Bellatrix called, but the force of Harry’s curse still sent her stumbling backward and her eyes narrowed angrily. “Relashio!” Fiery sparks flew from her wand.

“Declino! Onis!” Harry called in quick succession.

Bellatrix dodged the hailstones as Harry tried to maneuver towards one of the alleys.

“Turbo!” The whirlwind blew Harry back and Bellatrix smiled nastily, waiting for his next move.

“Protego!” Harry called.

Bellatrix opened her mouth, then hesitated in confusion. It was exactly what Harry had been hoping for.

“Inflictum!” he cried and an invisible knot of force slammed into Bellatrix, knocking her to the ground before she could react. “Expelliarmus!” The Death Eater’s wand was torn from her grasp and went skittering across the courtyard to come to rest a few feet in front of Harry.

Bellatrix’s eyes widened in surprise and outrage and Harry smiled as he kept his wand pointed steadily at his opponent. “That’s a little trick Professor Snape taught me.”

“Did he?” The woman’s eyes narrowed as she sat on the ground watching Harry appraisingly. “It would seem that Severus taught you quite a lot. It’s a pity, though, that you aren’t as clever at choosing your friends as you are at dueling, but then that always was a Potter weakness.” She paused, then looked at Harry out of the corner of her heavily-lidded eyes. “You do realize, of course, that Sirius and your late father would be rolling over in their graves if they knew that Severus had usurped their place as your protector.”

Harry clenched his jaw in anger, but his wand remained steady. “They’re not here, thanks to you and Voldemort.”

Bellatrix smirked. “Actually, there’s someone else who is even more responsible for leaving you orphaned. Would you like to know who that is, Harry, so that you can vent your righteous anger upon him?”

“Not really,” Harry answered dryly, taking a step closer to her wand while keeping his own trained on her.

“What’s the matter, Harry, afraid to hear the truth?”

“I wouldn’t expect to hear it from you and I’m really getting tired of this conversation. “Stu– ”

“Don’t you want to hear about Peter?”

Harry hesitated and Bellatrix smiled.

“Our Lord was very displeased with him after Severus escaped us. He felt certain that poor Pettigrew must have given himself away somehow.” Bellatrix smiled conspiratorially. “But I’m betting that you had something to do with Severus’s rescue, didn’t you, Harry?”

“Yeah, I did.”

Bellatrix chuckled appreciatively. “I knew it. You’re not one to leave a friend in need and I suppose you thought you owed Severus a debt after all the time he spent teaching you to shut your mind to the Dark Lord. You’re wrong though, Harry. If anything, he’s the one who owes you.”

“How do you reckon that?” Harry asked, curious despite himself.

Bellatrix shrugged. “He was responsible for your parents’ deaths, though I suppose that’s not really a debt that can be repaid.”

Harry stared at the woman before him in astonishment, then laughed. “You don’t know as much as you think. Snape betrayed your Dark Lord a year before my parents died. He was spying for Dumbledore the whole time.”

“Yes, so we discovered,” Bellatrix sneered in disgust. “We never guessed it at the time, though, because Severus did more than anyone to hand you over to our Lord. He betrayed your parents.”

“No he didn’t!” Harry snapped indignantly. “Pettigrew betrayed them.”

It was Bellatrix’s turn to laugh. “Yes, poor little Peter, he did betray his friends. He gave up everything to serve our Lord and what did he get for his trouble? Twelve years as a rat.” She laughed again, clearly amused by this. “We were all sure that the Dark Lord’s disappearance was somehow his fault. We would have killed him if we’d got our hands on him.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t.”

“Perhaps. Don’t you think it’s a bit odd, though, that Severus never mentioned Peter’s betrayal to your parents or anyone else, not even afterwards when your dear godfather was rotting in Azkaban?”

Harry frowned slightly. “He didn’t know.”

“Oh, he knew,” Bellatrix said with a sly smile. “Tell me, Harry, has it never occurred to you to wonder how Pettigrew became a Death Eater? Peter’s hardly the type to come knocking on our door, after all. But Severus knew your father and his friends better than any of us. He knew who the weak link was and how to exploit Peter’s cowardice to draw him into our circle. He was the one who sought out Peter and seduced him into joining our cause.”

“That’s a lie!” Harry snarled angrily. “He would never have betrayed my parents, not while he was working for Dumbledore.”

Bellatrix smiled bitterly. “That’s what we thought, too. But just like you, we underestimated how much he hated your father.” Bellatrix stood up to confront Harry. “Don’t you see, Harry? He deceived us all! It wasn’t about loyalty and which side he was serving in the war. It was personal. He used our Lord to murder your parents because he hated your father.”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!”

“Isn’t it?” Bellatrix sneered. She took a step closer to Harry. “I hear that you’re quite an accomplished Legilimens now, Harry. Well, then look me in the eyes and tell me if I’m lying.”

Harry hesitated, wary of some trick, but the woman stood her ground, glaring at him defiantly and Harry couldn’t resist the temptation. He had to know. Harry reached out mentally. The woman’s mind was easy to penetrate and Harry knew that she wasn’t using Occlumency against him. Her memories and emotions lay bare before him and as he surveyed them, he could see with horrible certainty one undeniable fact: Everything she had told him was true.

Harry stared at Bellatrix Lestrange in shock as a terrible numbness spread through him. He couldn’t move or speak or think and all he could feel was an unbearable pain in his chest, so intense that he could hardly breathe. The arm holding his wand slowly fell to his side and Bellatrix smiled triumphantly.

In one smooth, rapid movement, she reached out towards her wand, now lying only a few feet away, and cried “Accio!” The wand leapt to her hand and she whipped it around to point at Harry. She needn’t have hurried. Harry hadn’t moved and was only dully aware of the wand pointed at him.

“Does it hurt to know that Severus lied to you all this time, Harry?” Bellatrix asked cruelly. “I’ll take your mind off of it, shall I? Cruci –”

“Stupefy!”

Bellatrix froze, then crumpled, unconscious, to the ground. Neville lowered his wand and hurried over to Harry, along with Ron and Hermione.

“Harry, are you all right?” Neville asked.

Harry didn’t answer; he just stood staring at the unconscious woman on the ground.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Hermione assured him. “Everyone’s safe. Dumbledore showed up right after Walter and Jeremy set off their Percussion Bomb.”

Ron chimed in. “Voldemort didn’t even put up a fight, he just Apparated away. Then Ryan, McGonagall and Snape showed up along with a bunch of Aurors. They’re trying to round up as many Death Eaters as they can.”

“Professor Snape sent us ahead to find you,” Hermione continued. “But he should be here any minute.”

Harry had only distantly heard what his friends were saying, but his head snapped up at this last bit of information and he stared at them, aghast. “Snape’s on his way here?”

“Yeah, he shouldn’t be far behind us,” Neville said.

Harry threw a panicked look in the direction his friends had come from. “I’ve got to go!” He turned and ran towards the alley on the opposite side of the square.

“Harry, where are you going?” Hermione asked. “You can’t take off all alone!”

Harry paused at the entrance to the alley and waved at Bellatrix Lestrange. “Just watch her!” He disappeared into the alley leaving his friends to stare after him in bewilderment.

---

“What do you suppose has got into Harry?” Neville asked.

“I don’t know,” Ron said, shaking his head. He looked down at Bellatrix. “What do you reckon we ought to do about her?”

“We need to restrain her, of course,” Hermione said, pointing her wand at the unconscious Death Eater. Thin, strong cords shot from her wand and wound themselves around Bellatrix’s hands and feet, binding her securely.

“When did you learn to do that?” Ron asked, impressed.

Before Hermione could reply Snape came running into the square, glanced at the unconscious Bellatrix then scowled at the students.

“Where’s Potter?” he snapped.

“He’s gone,” Ron said, waving in the direction Harry had fled.

“What? Where did he go?”

“He didn’t say, Professor,” Hermione answered.

“Poor little Harry,” Bellatrix Lestrange purred from where she lay bound on the ground, having regained consciousness. “Has he gone missing?”

Snape scowled and strode over to the Death Eater.

“Where is he?” Snape demanded.

“Are you worried about him, Severus?” Bella asked, her voice dripping sarcasm. “Do you care?” She laughed as though this were hilarious.

“What did you do to him?” Snape asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

“Do? Why, nothing, Severus, nothing at all.” She laughed as though this, too, were hysterically funny.

Snape bent down, roughly pulled her up into a sitting position and pressed his wand to her throat.

“Just because I no longer serve the Dark Lord doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how. Tell me where Potter’s gone or I promise you’ll regret it.”

Bellatrix’s eyes glinted with pure loathing and she glared at Snape defiantly.

“I didn’t touch your precious Harry and I’ve no idea where he went,” she snarled, then collected herself and smiled sweetly. “Actually, we had a lovely chat about old times, his parents and their old friends.”

Her smile twisted into a malicious smirk as Snape’s eyes widened in understanding.

In one fierce motion, Snape shoved her back to the ground, stood up and raised his wand.

“Stupefy!” he said angrily. The spell hit Bellatrix with the force of a physical blow. Her head snapped back and she lay unconscious once more.

“Professor, what’s wrong?” Hermione asked worriedly.

Snape ignored the question. “Watch her!” he said grimly then hurried away in the direction Harry had taken without a backward glance.

Ron, Hermione and Neville looked at the unconscious woman, then at one another.

“Do you think Harry’s in trouble?” Neville asked.

“I don’t know, but she certainly seems to have an effect on people,” Ron said, nodding at Bellatrix.

“We have to find Harry,” Hermione said.

“We can’t leave her here,” Neville said, also referring to the unconscious Death Eater. “She might wake up again.”

“I don’t know,” Ron said. “I think that spell of Snape’s probably knocked her out for a week.”

At that moment Dumbledore arrived and calmly surveyed the scene.

“Ah, you’ve subdued Mrs. Lestrange,” he said, coming over to the students. “Excellent! But where are Harry and Professor Snape?”

The three Gryffindors looked at one another and this time Neville spoke up.

“Harry took off in a state right after we got here and Professor Snape went after him.” Neville gestured at Bellatrix. “We think it’s something to do with her.”

Dumbledore frowned slightly and peered intently into Neville’s eyes for a moment. Satisfied, he nodded and gave them a reassuring smile. “Stay with Mrs. Lestrange. I’ll find Harry and Professor Snape.” He strode purposefully across the square and disappeared into the same alley that Harry and Snape had taken.

---

Harry ran through the outskirts of Hogsmeade as though being pursued, as though if only he ran fast enough and far enough he might outrun Bellatrix Lestrange’s taunting words. He ran aimlessly, avoiding contact with anyone, but without meaning to he found himself back on the road to school. The main gate came into sight and Harry sprinted towards the sanctuary of Hogwarts.

“Potter!”

Harry skidded to a halt as Snape stepped out of the woods like an apparition in front him. For an interminable moment neither of them spoke. They simply stared at one another. Then Snape stepped forward.

“Potter –”

“Stay away from me.” Harry said, backing away.

“What she told you wasn’t true,” Snape insisted.

“Yes it was. I saw it in her mind. You betrayed my parents to Voldemort!”

“No I didn’t!” Snape said, taking a step towards Harry. “Pettigrew betrayed them.”

“You were the one who arranged for Pettigrew to join Voldemort,” Harry said, his shock giving way to fury. “You knew he was spying on my parents and you never told them!”

“I never intended for them to die!”

“I don’t believe you!” Harry yelled, clenching his fists in rage. “You hated my dad! I bet you thought it was clever getting Voldemort to kill him for you! Only killing him wasn’t enough, was it? You had to kill my mum and me too!”

“No! That’s not true!” Snape sounded genuinely horrified and he reached out imploringly to Harry. “I never meant for it to happen.”

Harry ignored Snape’s appeal as he drew his wand and leveled it at his teacher. His anger had coalesced into a pure, perfect hatred. “It was your fault,” he snarled. “You know it was! You can’t deny that!”

Snape stared at Harry, stricken. “No,” he said quietly. “I don’t deny that.”

Harry could feel blood pounding in his ears. He had never felt anger so intense or hatred so complete. They wiped away every other feeling, every other thought.

“I should have let Voldemort kill you,” he said. “You deserved everything he did to you! You deserve to die!”

Harry was trembling with emotion but his wand was perfectly steady as he regarded Snape with cold detachment. He knew this feeling, the rush of power, the lust for vengeance. He had felt this night after night in his visions. Harry knew without doubt that he could kill and if Snape had made a move to defend himself, he would have.

But Snape didn’t even try to draw his wand. He simply stared at Harry with a look of profound regret.

“Go ahead,” he said wearily.

Harry gripped his wand tightly, but he couldn’t speak the words, couldn’t kill, not in cold blood, not a man who so clearly was ready to die. Harry’s anger broke and his eyes filled with tears.

“I trusted you!” he cried in anguish. “Why did you have to make me trust you?”

Snape winced as if in pain and stepped towards Harry again, but Harry backed away.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” he screamed. “JUST STAY AWAY FROM ME! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!”

Harry pushed past his teacher and ran blindly up the road towards Hogwarts.

---

Snape watched numbly as Potter disappeared around the bend in the road. For fifteen years he had dreaded the moment when this secret might be revealed. He had feared it more than torture or death. Time and again he had dreamt of crowds jeering him in hatred and disgust as he was dragged off to prison for his crime. But even in his worst nightmare he had never imagined such excruciating pain as he felt now. What cruel fate could have allowed him to betray the boy, not once, but twice? And what more bitter punishment could there be than that he cared?

“Severus?”

Snape looked behind him. Dumbledore stood among the trees watching him with a look of infinite sadness. He’d obviously heard everything and Snape felt another stab of guilt. Here was yet another betrayal.

Dumbledore came towards him and laid a hand on his arm. It was a kind, almost comforting gesture that made Snape cringe. He deserved neither kindness nor comfort.

“I think we need to have a long talk,” Dumbledore said.

---

Harry was nearly at Gryffindor Tower, when he hesitated. That was the first place his friends would look for him. He couldn’t bear to see them; not now, not yet. He veered away and let habit take him to his old hideaway on the third floor. He ran down the musty corridor, shoved open the door to the tower room and sank down on the window seat where he had so often found refuge. He wanted to stay here forever. He didn’t want to have to face his friends and tell them of this worst betrayal, or admit how wrong he’d been to trust Snape. The merest thought of the man felt like a knife twisting deep inside him and Harry buried his head in his arms, sobbing.

He didn’t know how long he sat crying. He hardly registered the sound of the door opening and closing gently or the soft pad of footsteps coming towards him. A hand rested comfortingly on his shoulder, but Harry didn’t look up. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“Harry, I thought I might find you here.”

Dumbledore, of course. He would know how to find me, Harry thought. The headmaster’s voice was gentle and compassionate.

“I have just finished talking with Professor Snape. He told me what happened.”

“Did he tell you he betrayed my parents to Voldemort?” Harry asked through his tears.

“He told me the truth. And you need to hear it as well.”

“I don’t want to hear anything he has to say. I never want to see him again.”

“I understand how you feel, Harry. But you cannot condemn him without knowing the truth.”

“I know the truth! Bellatrix Lestrange told me what he did and he even admitted it!”

“What Bellatrix told you was absolutely true, Harry, yes, but it was also absolutely false.”

“It can’t have been both,” Harry said, finally looking up to meet Dumbledore’s eyes.

“Facts alone tell us very little if we are ignorant of the context and intent behind them.”

“You can’t tell me that you forgive him!” Harry said in disbelief.

A look of sorrow flashed in Dumbledore’s eyes. “It is not in my power to forgive him, Harry. Only you can do that.”

“Never! I’ll never forgive him!”

“That may be”, Dumbledore said calmly. “But you must at least hear the full story before passing final judgment. You owe it to yourself.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “I’ll listen. But after that, I never want to see him again.”

Harry followed Dumbledore back to the headmaster’s office. Snape was already there. He sat hugging himself tightly and staring at the fire. His eyes were red.

Harry was suddenly reminded of a young boy curled up in a corner, crying while his parents fought. Stop it! he told himself. This was no time to feel sympathy for Snape!

“Severus,” Dumbledore said slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Harry is here.”

Snape’s eyes flickered towards Harry then away as if he couldn’t bring himself to look at the boy.

“He has agreed to hear you out,” Dumbledore continued. “I will leave the two of you alone. Tell him everything. Do you understand?”

Snape didn’t speak or look at the headmaster. He simply bowed his head and nodded obediently.

Dumbledore gave Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder and left. There was a horrible strained silence in the room as Harry waited for Snape to say something. But the Potions Master might as well have been a statue. He didn’t move or speak and his thoughts seemed very far away.

“Well?” Harry said impatiently.

“We were all so young.” Even in the deathly silence Harry had to practically read Snape’s lips, the man spoke so softly. “So young and so sure of ourselves.

“You have to understand what it was like in those days when the Dark Lord first came to power. There were so few pureblood wizards left. Most intermarried with Muggles and there was real fear among the old families that the power as well as the blood would be diluted, that our entire world and our way of life were being threatened. He spoke to that fear.

“By the time I was at Hogwarts, it was an open secret that most of the pureblood families supported him. Within that circle it was an honor to become a Death Eater. It was expected. Even when the violence began to escalate many people were loath to admit just how evil he truly was. By the time the truth could no longer be ignored, it was too late. He had become virtually immortal and had amassed tremendous power. No one could stand against him.

“Those of us being groomed as his elite followers at Hogwarts were just as blind. Some, such as Bellatrix Black, were fanatically devoted to the pureblood cause. Others were after power, wealth or recognition. But few of us understood what we were committing to before we took the Dark Mark. Afterward, there was no way out. One simply didn’t leave the Dark Lord’s service. Those who tried were killed.”

Snape’s voice was almost hypnotic and Harry found himself hanging on every word. No one had ever told him about the first rise of Voldemort or what life had been like then and Snape wasn’t just talking about the past; he was living the memories as he spoke. Harry could see it in the man’s far-away stare. It was as if Snape were looking back through time and seeing life as it had been and Harry was completely transfixed.

“And so I became a Death Eater,” Snape continued in the same quiet voice, “and the crimes that I committed can never be expunged. I hated him and I hated myself. There were days when I truly wished for death.

“Then one night, one of his spies heard the prophecy that one would come who could destroy him. It was kept secret from nearly everyone, naturally, but a few of us knew. Someone had to hunt down this threat, after all. I had proven myself to be discreet and reliable on numerous occasions and so was one of those entrusted with the task.

“But to me, the prophecy was a miracle I had never dared hope for. When I realized how seriously the Dark Lord had taken it – that there might actually be a way to defeat him; that he was afraid – I knew that I had to take a stand against him even if it meant dying in the effort. I couldn’t go on serving him.

“So I went to Dumbledore and confessed everything I’d done as a Death Eater. I told him what I knew of the prophecy and swore that I would do anything in my power to help bring about the Dark Lord’s downfall. The headmaster, of course, was quick to see the possibilities and so I began my life as a spy.

“In the meantime, you and Neville Longbottom had been born at the end of July and the Dark Lord became obsessed with killing you. Of course, your parents and the Longbottoms were well aware of the danger and with the information I was able to provide to Dumbledore they managed to stay a step ahead of the Death Eaters.

“However, as the months wore on, I began to fear that my disloyalty to the Dark Lord would be discovered. A spy’s life is not an easy one and I knew all too well what sort of fate awaited me were I to be exposed. I was becoming increasingly desperate to find a way to avert suspicion from myself.”

Snape laughed, a bitter, mirthless bark. “That’s how it started, as a rash plan to save my own life.” Snape stood up and began to pace slowly.

“I chanced to meet Peter Pettigrew one day in London where I was studying Advanced Potions. He nearly ran into me in the street and strangely enough stopped to talk. In hindsight it probably wasn’t an accident. Pettigrew must have come looking for me, but at the time it seemed providential. It was instantly obvious that he was disenchanted with his old friends and the dangerous life they were leading as members of the Order of the Phoenix. He wanted another option and clearly believed that I could give him one.

“I could have rebuffed him, of course. I should have. But as he nattered on inanely an audacious plan was forming in my mind. I knew that the Dark Lord was anxious for any advantage he could get in hunting you down and to hand over one of your father’s closest friends as an informant would be an achievement indeed. It would certainly put my loyalty beyond question. Besides, I reasoned that if Pettigrew really wanted to join the Death Eaters, he’d find someone to assist him. Why shouldn’t it be me? At least that way I’d be able to keep an eye on him to make sure he couldn’t do any harm. It would be best for everyone, or so I told myself. It was a convenient deceit, but it salved my conscience.

“So I invited Pettigrew to meet some associates of mine who might be able to assist him professionally. I half expected him to lose his nerve, but he showed up and there was no turning back. By the time he really understood what he was committing to, it was far too late for second thoughts. The Dark Lord was ecstatic and I was credited with achieving a tremendous coup just as I had known I would be.”

Snape stopped and turned to Harry who had no doubt that the anguish in the man’s eyes was real. “But I never meant to betray you and your parents! I would have sooner died!”

“How could you have led one of their best friends to spy on them and not intend to betray them?” Harry demanded harshly, annoyed at his own fascination with Snape’s tale.

“Because he was useless!” Snape spat in disgust. “Don’t you see? That was the whole point! That’s what made the plan so brilliant! Pettigrew had been incompetent in school. The only reason he managed to pass at all was that he had his friends to help him. I knew what it took to be a spy and I knew he didn’t come close to having it! He couldn’t spot crucial information if his life depended on it. Besides, I’d recruited him, so he was supposed to report directly to me. It would have been simple for me to warn Dumbledore of anything important he uncovered. But in six months, I never once had to.”

“Then why didn’t you tell Dumbledore about this brilliant plan?” Harry asked, his voice rising in outrage.

“Because I knew he’d tell your parents and Black.”

“Why not tell them?” Harry persisted savagely. “If your purpose was so innocent, why hide it?”

“Do you know what Black would have done to Pettigrew if he’d known the truth?” Snape sneered. “He’d have killed him! He certainly couldn’t have kept the secret to himself. Pettigrew’s betrayal would have been revealed and my work would have been for nothing.”

“You don’t know that!” Harry yelled angrily. “You hid the truth on purpose even though you knew they had a right to know!”

“They had no right!” Snape shouted, his calm control shattering. “For seven years your father did nothing but torment me. I was already risking my life to protect him and his family, I owed him nothing else! I warned Dumbledore that there was a spy among them. If your father was so brilliant he should have realized who it was! But he didn’t.”

“I bet you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Harry’s voice was dripping with venom.

“Yes, I enjoyed it!” Snape snarled, matching Harry’s malice. “For once, I’d finally managed to beat the insufferable James Potter and I’d used one of his own dear friends to do it. Oh yes, that was sweet. Everything was perfect. The Dark Lord held me up as a model of loyalty and dedication. Dumbledore thanked me for warning him of the spy in their midst. And your father spent all his time wondering which of his friends had betrayed him!”

Harry stared at Snape, horrified by the depth of the man’s hatred. He was too stunned even to be angry. Snape seemed to realize this and glanced away, for once ashamed of his own vindictiveness. He collected himself and continued in a chastened tone.

“My only worry was that Pettigrew’s incompetence would become so obvious it would start to reflect on me. But I’d learnt of the Fidelus Charm from Dumbledore and I reasoned that your parents would have it in effect long before Pettigrew became a liability. Once the Secret Keeper was in place, Pettigrew’s betrayal wouldn’t matter. You’d be beyond the Dark Lord’s reach.”

Snape’s lip curled in a bitter sneer. “Or so I thought.”

Snape turned away and began to pace restlessly, lost once more in his memories.

“I received the summons just as the Halloween Feast was ending. By the time I was able to get away and Apparate, most of the other Death Eaters had already gathered. When everyone was there, the Dark Lord announced that this was a momentous occasion, for it was ‘the night that the Potters would at last meet their doom’. Then he called Pettigrew forward who was looking ridiculously pleased with himself. Still, I wasn’t overly worried. The Dark Lord was given to extravagant predictions of success and I didn’t think that anything Pettigrew was involved in could be that important. But then he began to explain.”

Snape looked at Harry in helpless appeal.

“I didn’t believe it at first. I couldn’t believe that even Black would be so reckless. How could they have used Pettigrew, of all people? Even if he hadn’t been a spy, the man was utterly unreliable. He would have given them away at the first sight of a Death Eater! I knew that! Why didn’t they? What man in his right mind would trust his life to that miserable excuse for a friend? Let alone his wife and child’s? But your father did. He and Black just had to be clever as usual, had to out guess everyone else. Only this time they guessed wrong.”

Snape turned away to stare into the fire once more.

“There was nothing I could do. I had no way to warn your parents. I had no idea where you were and there was no hope of getting to Dumbledore in time. So, I sat there among all my happily chattering companions and tried not to look as sick as I felt. More than anything, I wished that I could get my hands on Black just one last time and kill us both.

“The Dark Lord told everyone to wait, that he’d return soon for the victory celebration, then he Disapparated. The next half hour was the worst of my life. But for all his craftiness, the Dark Lord’s plans went awry.”

A bitter smile of triumph touch Snape’s lips and he continued. “Word soon reached headquarters that something had gone terribly wrong. In Godrics Hollow, the Dark Mark had appeared over a house that had subsequently been blown to bits. Your parents were dead. But although the Dark Lord had been there, he had vanished and the Ministry was on their way to the scene. Beyond this, no one knew what was happening.” Snape sneered. “So, naturally, everyone panicked.”

Snape began prowling the office once more. “The Death Eaters began Apparating away to go into hiding or to erect suitable alibis. I returned to Hogwarts with every intention of telling Dumbledore exactly what had happened. But when I arrived, the castle was in an uproar and Dumbledore was gone. He’d already left for the Ministry. The entire staff was up and everyone seemed to be trying to tell me what had happened, though truthfully I wasn’t paying any attention. In hindsight, I should have listened, but I was only interested in finding the headmaster. Someone told me to go to the hospital wing. Professor McGonagall was supposedly there and she’d know how to contact him. But by the time I got there, she was gone, too. Instead, I found you.”

“Me?” Harry blurted in surprise.

Snape looked at Harry and nodded. “Hagrid had pulled you from the remains of your home and brought you to Hogwarts. It made sense, of course. There was no place safer. But I hadn’t even realized until that moment that you were alive. Madam Pomfrey had set up a makeshift nursery for you and I knew at once why Minerva had been there.” Snape looked away and smiled slightly at the memory. “She must have transfigured half the items in the infirmary into toys.

“I’d never seen you before, but I knew immediately who you were. There aren’t that many fifteen-month-olds at Hogwarts and even then you were unmistakably James’s son. There wasn’t a mark on you except for your scar. But what astonished me was that you were so… happy.”

Snape’s voice broke and his eyes filled with tears.

“You had no idea that you’d just lost your parents. No idea what I’d done to you. And you… you looked up at me with the most… trusting smile. And I… I turned away and threw up.”

Snape turned back towards the fire and pressed a hand against his eyes. “I have no idea what Madam Pomfrey must have thought of me. I didn’t stay to find out and I’ve never asked. I fled back to the dungeons and locked myself in my rooms. I spent the whole night pacing the floor, waiting for Albus to return, but by morning he still wasn’t back. The Daily Prophet arrived, which gave me the first full account of what had happened. The Dark Lord really was gone, it seemed. People were celebrating in the streets and Death Eaters were being rounded up everywhere, so at least some good had come out of the previous night’s disaster.

“Then at mid-afternoon the next shock arrived. Sirius Black had apparently killed Peter Pettigrew and a dozen Muggles in broad daylight on a public street. Of course, by then everyone else thought that he was the one who had betrayed your parents, but I knew exactly why he’d gone after Pettigrew. As guilty as I felt, I knew it had to be far worse for him. He’d killed his best friend and I had no trouble believing that he was mad enough to kill anyone who stood between himself and Pettigrew.

“Finally, that night, Albus and Minerva returned and the headmaster came to see me almost immediately. I hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. I’d hardly eaten. But I’d had a great deal of time to think and I was terrified of what he would do to me if I told him how I had deceived him. I thought he’d probably turn me over to the Aurors to be sent to Azkaban. I certainly deserved it. But even if he only dismissed me, I knew I’d end up dead or in prison anyway. I had no friends or family and absolutely nowhere to go.”

Snape shook his head. “I couldn’t tell him. And I rationalized my cowardice by telling myself that there was no reason to anyway. Pettigrew was dead and beyond justice. Black was already condemned to Azkaban for the rest of his life for the murders he’d committed that afternoon. What was the point in ruining my own life, too?”

Snape stared into the fire and his eyes burned with self-loathing. “And so, being the gifted Occlumens that I am, I looked into the eyes of the best, most honest man I’d ever known, the only man who had ever trusted me, and lied to him.

“I told him that I didn’t know who had betrayed you to Voldemort, that the Dark Lord had merely summoned us and told us the news. Albus accepted my word without question and that was the end of it.”

“If you knew that Sirius didn’t betray my parents, why did you try to have him Kissed by a Dementor in my third year?” Harry asked in a subdued voice.

“Because I thought he deserved it,” Snape said tiredly. “I still believed that he had killed Pettigrew and all those Muggles and I wasn’t inclined to listen to excuses. Even after twelve years I still hated him. It was so much easier to blame Black for the disaster, especially since he bore his own share of the guilt. And I had no idea why he was at Hogwarts.

“At first I thought that he must have discovered what I’d done and had come to kill me, but after his attack on Ron Weasley, I was convinced that it really was you he was after. I thought that after all those years in prison he’d become so twisted that he believed he really did need to kill you. Then again, it was possible that he actually had been working for Voldemort all along and I hadn’t known. I certainly couldn’t imagine how he’d escaped Azkaban without the use of some very powerful dark magic. For all the spying I did on your father and him at school, I never suspected they were Animagi.

“It didn’t exactly make sense, but then I thought Black had to be mad after all those years in Azkaban and I didn’t want to chance having my secret revealed. Little did I realize that Pettigrew was still alive and could have told you everything, not that it would have helped him in any way, of course.” Snape sighed.

“I couldn’t bear all the old ghosts. It was bad enough having to see you everyday without having Lupin and Black haunting me as well.”

“Why me?” Harry asked and Snape turned to look at him.

“For ten years I believed that I could put the memories behind me, right up until the night that you came to Hogwarts. You look so much like your father. That night at the sorting feast I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. It was like seeing James reincarnated, as if all the intervening years had never happened.”

“Is that why you’ve always hated me so much?” Harry asked quietly.

Snape looked away again. “I suppose it is. In any case, you can add six years of torment to my list of crimes against you.” Snape sighed deeply. “I think that’s everything I need to tell you.”

Snape stopped talking, staring once more into the fire. Harry turned to stare at the fire as well and the silence lengthened between them as they both stood lost in thought.

The fury Harry had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a deep weariness. It had been a mistake, and not just one mistake, but a whole interlocking series of mistakes that would have been laughable if it hadn’t been so tragic. How could so much have gone so wrong? How could they have all been so stupid?

Harry felt his anger rising again, but this time it wasn’t directed at Snape alone. He was furious with all of them: with his father’s arrogance in not accepting Dumbledore’s offer to be Secret Keeper in the first place, with Sirius’s reckless scheme to make Pettigrew the Secret Keeper without even telling Dumbledore the truth, with Pettigrew’s craven betrayal of his friends, and with Snape’s arrogance in believing he could handle that betrayal alone. Most of all, he was furious that they’d let their old rivalry and mutual hatred blind them to their common purpose.

How many lives had been ruined that night all because they wouldn’t stop hating each other? Harry wondered bitterly. His parents had lost their lives, Sirius had lost his freedom, Remus had lost all of his friends and Snape... in a way Snape had been as much a prisoner as Sirius. Suddenly, Harry remembered Remus’ words from summer. You need to think long and hard about how many more lives you’re willing to sacrifice to this hatred. Harry clenched his fists and felt a calm determination settle over him. No more. It stops here and now.

Snape interrupted Harry’s thoughts. “Potter, say something. There’s no point in prolonging this.”

Harry looked at the man who was still staring into the fire. The grief, shame and hopeless resignation on Snape’s face were painful to witness.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you out by the gate,” Harry said.

Snape turned slowly to look at Harry with a slight frown of confusion. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was furious and hurt because I thought you’d betrayed my parents.”

Snape stared at Harry in disbelief. “Haven’t you heard a single word I’ve said? I did betray your parents! I as good as killed them! Which part of that entitles me to an apology from you?”

Harry held Snape’s eyes and spoke calmly. “None of it, except that you didn’t do either of those things.”

Snape opened his mouth to reply but Harry didn’t give him a chance.

“Did you mean to betray my parents?”

“No, but…”

“Did you mean to kill them?”

“Of course not…”

“Then you’re neither a traitor nor a murderer. You made a mistake, that’s all. I even understand why it seemed like a good idea at the time. Just like switching Secret Keepers seemed like a good idea to Sirius. And not using Dumbledore in the first place seemed like a good idea to my dad. None of you meant for it to go wrong. It just did. What am I supposed to do, hate all of you?”

“Potter…”

“If so, then I might as well hate myself too, because I know what it’s like to make that kind of mistake,” Harry continued, not letting Snape get a word in. “It was my fault that Sirius died last year. I blamed you at first because it was easier than blaming myself, but it wasn’t your fault. Even if you hadn’t kicked me out of Occlumency lessons, I never would have blocked those visions because I didn’t want to! It didn’t matter that everyone told me I should. Even Hermione nagged me about it, but I thought I knew better. I was wrong and it cost Sirius his life. Does that make me a murderer?”

“Of course not!”

“Then stop blaming yourself for what happened fifteen years ago.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not! Do you think Bellatrix Lestrange told me what you did because she cares about me, or wants to see justice done? She only wanted to hurt both of us and make us hate each other. Well, I’m not going to do it! I was wrong, Professor. I thought I needed to hate him in order to defeat him, but that’s not it. Don’t you see? It’s love he can’t bear. It’s friendship and compassion and forgiveness. Hate only gives him power and I’m not going to give him any more! This stupid feud has already cost too much. It has to end.”

Harry took a step towards Snape and fixed the man with an earnest stare. “I forgive you, Professor.”

Snape paled and his eyes widened in panic. “You can’t,” he said desperately.

“Yes, I can,” Harry said calmly. “Fifteen years is long enough to punish yourself for a mistake. We’re in the middle of a war and we need to win it. I can forgive you for what you did, but I won’t forgive you if you let your guilt get in the way of fighting now.

“If you want to make amends for my parents’ deaths then stop hating them! Stop hating my dad and Sirius and most of all stop hating yourself! Don’t give Voldemort the satisfaction. If we stick together and don’t give into hate, we can beat him. I know we can! I’m going to beat him, Professor. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to do it. I can feel it.”

Snape was staring at Harry in wonder. “I believe you will,” he said softly.

Harry blinked. “You do?”

“Yes, you’re like your father,” Snape said. “I mean that as a compliment this time,” he added at the look on Harry’s face, then admitted grudgingly, “He did have one or two redeeming qualities. One was that he always managed to achieve anything he set his mind to. You’ve demonstrated that same uncanny ability on more than one occasion and I’m certain that you can defeat the Dark Lord.”

Snape meant that, Harry knew, and somehow that meant more to him than even the support of his friends.

“I can’t do it alone, though, Professor. I need your help.”

Snape waved his hand dismissively. “I would give my life to see him destroyed, Potter.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but I’ve had enough people die on me already. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you stayed alive.”

Snape’s lip curled in a wry smile. “I’ll do my best to oblige you.”

Harry smiled slightly and held out his hand. “Thank you, Professor.”

Snape hesitated, then reached out and took Harry’s hand firmly. “No, Mr. Potter, thank you.”

It was late afternoon as Harry walked slowly through the halls on his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He passed a knot of students discussing the attack on Hogsmeade which startled him, at first. The battle seemed as if it had taken place a lifetime ago. He felt like a different person than the one he’d been a few hours earlier. He had felt the perfect hatred he’d been dreading to find within himself which would give him the power to kill. But he had found something else as well that was far more powerful.

In hindsight, it made sense. He will have power the Dark Lord knows not… Harry had always despaired at that line of the prophecy; Voldemort was the most powerful evil wizard that had ever lived. But he knew nothing of compassion or forgiveness and Harry was somehow certain that this would be the key to his defeat. Standing in Dumbledore’s office, confronted by the pain and tragedy hate had wrought, Harry had suddenly known it beyond reason or doubt. He felt at peace now in a way that he never had before. Whether he lived or died, at least he wouldn’t have to become a monster in order to beat Voldemort. Knowing that, he could face whatever lay ahead.

Harry arrived at Gryffindor Tower and headed straight for his dormitory. He opened the door and was surprised to find Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny there.

“Harry!” Neville exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Ron demanded, jumping off his bed as well. “We looked everywhere for you.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked. “The way you rushed off…”

Neville chimed in. “It had something to do with Mrs. Lestrange, didn’t it?”

“Did Professor Snape find you?” Ginny asked. “Or Professor Dumbledore? They both went looking for you.”

Harry looked at the expectant faces watching him and hesitated. He’d just seen what fifteen years of secrecy had done to Snape and he wanted to be honest with his friends, but this wasn’t his secret to share. Perhaps one day it might be, but not now; the wound needed time to heal. Harry took a deep breath and chose his words carefully.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just upset, that’s all. Bellatrix Lestrange said some things to me that I should have known better than to listen to. I let her get to me, which was stupid. If you hadn’t stunned her when you did, Neville, I don’t want to think about what would have happened.”

Neville flushed at Harry’s praise and Harry was relieved to see sympathy and understanding replace the worry in his friends’ eyes.

“Well, the Aurors have her in custody, now,” Hermione said with satisfaction. “The Ministry is supposed to have new security measures in place at Azkaban, so hopefully we won’t be seeing her again.”

“What happened in town?” Harry asked, anxious to change the subject, but also genuinely curious.

Ginny answered. “Well, first off it was Jeremy and Walter who created the diversion in the street. They set off one of those Percussion Bombs from Zonko’s. Very clever,” she added, with a pointed look at her brother.

Ron grimaced. “I’ve already said they did all right. Why do you have to keep rubbing it in?”

Hermione continued the story before Ron and Ginny could say any more in what was obviously a running argument. “It was complete chaos, of course. Everyone was screaming and running. Half of the Death Eaters went after you, but there were still quite a lot left behind and Voldemort was still there. There’s no telling what would have happened if Dumbledore hadn’t shown up.”

“I’ve never seen him that angry,” Ron said in awe. “Voldemort didn’t stay around, either, let me tell you. He took one look at Dumbledore and scarpered.”

“Of course, that left his Death Eaters in a rather sticky situation.” Ginny grinned happily.

Hermione picked up the narrative once more. “By then, the teachers and Aurors had arrived and there was a huge fight, but Professor McGonagall made the students take cover in the shops, so we missed a lot of it.”

“I did get to see Ryan in action, though,” Ron said enthusiastically. “He’s an amazing duelist! He wound up taking on three Death Eaters at once all by himself.”

Hermione continued. “Once things quieted down, we went back outside and that’s when Professor Snape stopped us and asked where you were. He sent us to find you and you know the rest.”

“And no one was hurt?” Harry asked, not quite believing their good fortune.

“A few of the students got hurt by some stray curses,” Neville said. “But no one died.”

“I don’t understand why Voldemort attacked Hogsmeade, though,” Hermione said, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully.

“He was just trying to terrorize everyone again,” Ginny said, but Hermione shook her head.

“It’s one thing to burgle Gringotts in the middle of the night, or to have Draco Malfoy cast Morsmordre at school. Those posed no danger to Voldemort. But to bring that many of his Death Eaters to Hogsmeade in broad daylight when he had to know that Dumbledore and the Aurors would show up – that was a huge risk and it accomplished nothing.”

“All he really seemed interested in was killing you, Harry,” Neville said.

“But why?” Ginny asked.

Four pairs of eyes stared at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably.

“In the past, he’s always had a reason for coming after you, Harry,” Hermione said. “Have you any idea what he wanted this time?”

Harry swallowed. Here was his darkest secret which he’d kept carefully hidden for a year. He could feel his heartbeat quicken, but he knew the time had come to tell the truth.

“Yeah, I know why he came after me,” Harry said. “There’s something I need to tell all of you, but I think you’d better sit down.”

His friends exchanged apprehensive glances, but sat down as Harry began to talk.

“Do you remember the prophecy that Voldemort was after last year, the one you smashed, Neville?”

“We couldn’t very well forget that,” Ron said as the others nodded.

“Dumbledore knows what the prophecy said,” Harry continued. “He told it to me right after Sirius died.”

“You mean you’ve known it all this time?” Hermione asked in surprise.

Harry nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ginny asked.

Harry shrugged. “It never seemed to be the right time.”

“So, what does it say?” Neville asked.

“It says, The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”

There was a moment’s silence while the others digested this.

At last, Neville spoke up hesitantly. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Harry is the only one who can defeat Voldemort,” Hermione answered in a very small voice. She looked at Harry. “It means that you have to kill him or else he’s going to kill you. Is that right, Harry?”

Harry nodded. “Yes. That’s what it means.”

There was another prolonged silence during which Harry’s friends simply stared at him in shock.

“And you didn’t bother to mention this?” Ron finally asked in a strangled voice.

Harry sighed. “I couldn’t tell you because I couldn’t bear to have you all staring at me the way you are now, as if I’ve got some sort of terminal disease and am likely to drop dead at any moment.”

Ron, Hermione and Neville glanced away, uncomfortably, but Ginny continued to gaze at Harry with an unreadable expression. “So why are you telling us now?”

“Because now I know that I can beat him,” Harry said.

“Beat Voldemort?” Ron asked incredulously. How?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted. “But I know that I can do it.”

This didn’t seem to reassure Harry’s friends at all. If anything, they were looking more worried than ever.

“Look, I know it sounds mad, but it’s hard to explain. The mental connection I share with Voldemort is the key. I just don’t know how to use it yet.”

“How can that help?” Neville asked.

Harry was unsure how to explain that, but Hermione’s expression had cleared, the worry having been replaced by dawning understanding.

“Legilimency isn’t just a means of reading another person’s mind,” she said excitedly. “It can also be used as a form of attack. A very skilled Legilimens can actually kill using the mind alone.”

“So then, because your link to Voldemort is so strong, you may be able to attack him through his mind, is that it?” Ginny asked Harry.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Let me get this straight,” Ron said slowly. “You have to fight the most powerful evil wizard of all time in some sort of mental duel, and even though you don’t know how to do that, you’re certain that you’re going to win.”

It sounded ludicrous, of course, but Harry mustered more confidence than he actually felt and met Ron’s doubtful gaze calmly. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” He held Ron’s eyes steadily until at last Ron nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“Well, as long as you’re convinced. As many times as you’ve outsmarted him, I reckon you’ll manage it somehow.”

“However it’s managed, what’s most important is that we know that Voldemort can be defeated,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “He’s not invincible.”

“That’s true!” Neville agreed, brightening considerably. “We’ve never been sure of that before. At least now we have real hope.”

The others all nodded agreement and Harry was amazed that his friends could find hope in the prophecy when, for so long, he had found nothing in it but despair. He was relieved that they didn’t feel the weight of the burden he carried.

“How about some dinner, then?” Ron asked. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished. Fighting Death Eaters works up an appetite.”

---

The Great Hall was bustling with people when Harry and his friends arrived. The aromas from the platters lining the Gryffindor table made Harry’s stomach growl demandingly and he quickly shoveled food onto his plate. As he tucked into his meal, Harry saw Dumbledore and Snape arrive. The Potions Master seemed lost in thought. He didn’t even glance towards the Gryffindor table, yet Harry hardly noticed. It was Dumbledore who had caught his attention.

The headmaster seemed transformed: the weariness that had hung on him like a shroud all year was gone and he looked years younger than he had only a few hours earlier. His face was alight with a sort of serious delight and he flashed Harry a triumphant smile which made Harry realize how seldom he’d seen the man look genuinely happy since Voldemort’s return. Dumbledore winked at Harry and Harry smiled back at him, then returned his attention to his dinner.

As they were finishing dessert, Ginny leaned over to Harry. “Would you like to go for a walk?” she asked.

“That would be great,” Harry readily agreed. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for sitting around the common room playing Exploding Snap or talking about Quidditch.

He and Ginny left the Great Hall and headed outside where the sun hung low in the sky. They walked in silence for a few moments, then stopped to look out towards the lake. Ginny was unusually quiet and wore a pensive expression.

“What’s on your mind?” Harry asked.

Ginny looked at Harry. “How long have you known that you could defeat Voldemort?”

Harry hesitated and momentarily considered evading the question, but Ginny always seemed to inspire him to tell the truth. He gave her a wry smile. “About two hours.”

Ginny nodded as if Harry had just confirmed something she’d already known.

“That doesn’t surprise you?” Harry asked.

“No,” Ginny said. “You’ve been so distracted all year. Even after learning to control your visions, you still seemed worried and distant. But this afternoon when you came back to the dormitory, there was something different about you. You seemed at peace in a way that you haven’t been in ages.”

Harry stared at Ginny, amazed. “How do you do that?”

Ginny frowned slightly in confusion. “Do what?”

“I spent most of the year studying Occlumency, yet you always seem to know what I’m thinking and feeling.”

Ginny smiled impishly. “I can’t read your mind, Harry, but I know you and I know what’s in here.” She laid her hand over Harry’s heart and her warm brown eyes seemed to look straight into his soul. “I’ve always known that you were the one who was going to defeat Voldemort.”

Ginny spoke with calm certainty and Harry felt a tingle run up his spine. Maybe it was just Ginny’s hand on his chest drawing his attention to it, but he could feel his heart pounding and he stared at Ginny as if seeing her for the very first time. There was strength and determination in her eyes as well as compassion and understanding. After all that he’d been through that afternoon, Harry was drawn to her and without meaning to, he mentally reached out. In the next instant, he blinked and severed the connection, blushing in embarrassment both at what he’d done and at what he’d glimpsed in Ginny’s mind.

How could he have failed to realize? She had always been there for him this year, to cheer him up, to take his mind off his worries. She’d always known what to say and, more importantly, what not say; which questions not to pursue. Harry had been grateful for her constant support and friendship, but had been too lost in his own fears to notice the depth of Ginny’s feelings. He wondered how she could have continued to care for him for so long when he had been so blind.

Harry swallowed. A gold and red sunset colored the sky and a stiff breeze whipped their robes around them. Harry knew that they should be getting back to the common room instead of standing here staring into each other’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Instead, he reached up, laid his hand over Ginny’s and clasped it tightly. Ginny squeezed his hand in return and he moved closer to her.

“Ginny, listen to me,” Harry said urgently. “I have to face Voldemort. I have to kill him or he’s going to kill me. I think I know a way to beat him, but there’s no guarantee that I’m right and let’s face it, the odds aren’t exactly in my favor. There’s a good chance I’m going to die and you need to know that.”

Ginny frowned slightly, taken aback by Harry’s sudden earnestness. Harry squeezed her hand and gazed into her eyes, willing her to understand what he was asking her. It seemed to work. Ginny’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, then she bit her lip and squeezed Harry’s hand tightly once more.

“There’s never a guarantee, Harry,” Ginny said somberly. “Any of us could die. I learnt that the night Mum was killed. I’m not going to stop living my life because of it and you can’t either. We just have to make the best of whatever comes.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked.

The mischievous glint was back in Ginny’s eyes. “Of course I am. I’ve always been sure about you, Harry.”

Harry wasn’t certain which of them made the first move, but the kiss was like nothing he’d ever felt before, certainly nothing like the awkward, tense kiss Cho had given him the year before. That had been terrifying. This was just… right.

They broke apart, then Ginny flashed Harry a radiant smile and suddenly, Harry felt like the luckiest person in the world.

---

“Where have you two been?” Ron asked, looking up from his homework as Harry and Ginny climbed through the portrait hole into the common room.

“We just went for a walk,” Ginny said with an astonishingly straight face. Harry couldn’t even bring himself to meet Ron’s eyes and was certain that he must look guilty.

“Hermione, do you have time to help me study for Potions,” Ginny asked. “I really want to get an ‘Outstanding’ on that OWL.”

“You’re not planning to take Snape’s class next year, are you?” Ron asked, sounding horrified.

“I might,” Ginny replied, smirking at her brother. “I, at least, want to have the option.”

“Of course I’ll help you study,” Hermione said. “Come on, we can go up to my dormitory.” She closed the Ancient Runes text she’d been reading and the two girls disappeared up the stairs.

Harry watched them go, feeling slightly queasy. He was sure that Ginny was going to tell Hermione about their walk.

“How about a game of chess?” Ron suggested, taking advantage of Hermione’s absence to shove aside the History of Magic notes lying on the table in front of him.

“Er, sure,” Harry agreed. He sat down at the table while Ron readied the chess board. Harry’s mind was racing. How would Hermione react to the news that he and Ginny had kissed? Would she tell Ron? Or maybe Ginny expected him to tell Ron while she and Hermione were out of the way?

“Your move,” Ron said.

Harry looked at Ron, then down at the board and saw that Ron had already moved a pawn. Harry moved one as well and glanced back at the girls’ staircase.

“So what do you suppose they’re going to do about the attack on Hogsmeade?” Ron asked, making his next move. “McGonagall told us that Dumbledore already had wards and warning spells in place, but obviously they didn’t do any good. Do you reckon they’ll have Aurors patrolling the place?”

“I don’t know.” Harry absentmindedly moved another pawn and considered trying to intercept the girls, or at least Ginny, if and when they reappeared in order to find out what they’d talked about. He wondered if that might seem too suspicious.

Ron nudged his queen diagonally forward. “I just hope Dumbledore doesn’t decide to cancel our visits to Hogsmeade next year. That would be tragic!”

Harry automatically moved another pawn. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Ron frowned at the board, then up at Harry. He moved his queen across the board.

“Checkmate.”

Harry started and looked down at the board, realizing too late, that he’d let his king become trapped.

“Harry, are you all right?” Ron asked, looking at his friend in obvious concern. “You’re not the sort to fall for a ‘fool’s mate’.”

Harry shifted guiltily in his seat. He could keep some things from Ron, but not his feelings for Ginny. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening to them, then leaned closer to Ron and dropped his voice.

“I’m fine. It’s just…” Harry didn’t quite know how to phrase it.

Ron’s frown deepened and he looked genuinely worried. He leaned forward and dropped his voice as well. “Harry, whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Harry met his best friend’s eyes, took a deep breath and screwed up his courage. “I fancy Ginny.”

Ron blinked. “What?” This clearly wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“I fancy Ginny and she fancies me and, well, we’re going to be seeing each other.”

For an interminable moment Ron just stared at him.

“Oh.” Ron said at last. “Well. All right, then.”

“It’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, I’ll manage.” Ron’s expression was a peculiar blend of discomfort and satisfaction. “Just don’t kiss her in front of me or anything, all right.”

Harry was horrified. “Ron, are you mad? Of course I wouldn’t! Now, let’s have another go at chess.”

---

The final Quidditch match of the year was fast approaching. Ravenclaw were no pushovers, as Katie continually reminded her teammates, so despite the attack at Hogsmeade, Monday lunchtime saw the Gryffindors out at the pitch practicing hard. Harry had never been more focused and was in top form, which amazed most of his teammates who seemed to think that nearly being killed by Voldemort should have had rather the opposite effect. Even Ron looked astonished, but Ginny only grinned at Harry and winked.

When practice was over, Harry was in high spirits. He was laughing with his teammates as they landed and didn’t notice the lone figure waiting by the stands. It was Ginny who spotted him first.

“Professor Lupin!” she exclaimed, hurrying up to Remus. The other students followed, delighted to see their former teacher.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asked.

“I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by to see how our Quidditch team was faring,” Remus answered lightly. “You’re set to beat Ravenclaw for sure!”

Everyone grinned.

“Harry,” Remus said casually. “While I’m here, I was wondering if I might I have a word?”

“All right,” Harry answered, curious as to what Remus might need to talk to him about.

Remus was already saying his goodbyes to the other students. “Good luck on Saturday, though as well as you were flying today, you shouldn’t need it.” With one last smile and a wave, he headed off across the lawn together with Harry. Remus continued to talk amiably about Quidditch until they reached the lake.

“It’s always so beautiful here in the spring,” he said as they stopped to take in the scenery. “It brings back so many memories.”

There was a melancholy look in Remus’s eyes and Harry finally couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “Remus, why did you want to see me?”

Remus turned to face Harry. “I’ve just been to see Professor Snape,” he said and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. “He contacted me yesterday and asked me to come up. He said there was something urgent he needed to talk to me about.”

Harry stared at Remus in disbelief. “He told you,” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” Remus said sadly.

Harry turned away, unable to bear the pain that was so evident in Remus’s eyes.

“He knew that if he didn’t tell me, you eventually would,” Remus continued. “I think he wanted to spare you that. In any case, he thought it would be better to get it over with now. And he told me –” Remus’s voice caught and he swallowed hard before continuing. “He told me you forgave him. Is that true?”

Harry nodded and turned back to face his father’s old friend, desperately hoping the man would understand. “I had to, Remus. He didn’t mean for it to happen and he’s already suffered so much. I can’t hate him. I can’t –”

“Harry, you don’t need to explain,” Remus interrupted reassuringly. “The choice is yours. They were your parents.”

“They were your friends,” Harry countered.

Remus stepped forward and grasped Harry’s shoulders. “Harry, you did the right thing. You’re right, Severus has suffered enough. We all have. It’s long past time to heal these wounds.” He smiled once more and although his eyes were moist, they also shone with happiness. “I have never been more proud of you.”

Harry sighed in relief. “That means a lot, Remus. Thank you.”

Remus flushed slightly with pleasure, then changed the subject. “While I’m here, I also wanted to ask about your plans for summer.”

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Harry admitted. “Is it safe for me to stay with my aunt and uncle?”

“Not particularly, no.”

Harry shrugged. “I’d rather not stay with them, anyway. In fact, I’d rather go just about anywhere else, actually.”

“Well, I’m sure that Ron would invite you to stay with him, but Arthur’s rarely home and establishing adequate security at the Burrow would take some doing. The best option, if you’re amenable to it, would be for you to stay at Grimmauld Place. Voldemort can’t possibly touch you there and there’s always someone dropping by, so I’m sure you wouldn’t be too bored. And Ron, Ginny and Hermione will be coming to stay at some point.”

Remus fixed Harry with a look of polite nonchalance, but Harry had no trouble seeing the nervous hopefulness behind the placid expression. He smiled. “Remus, I’d love to come and stay with you.”

Remus flushed once more and his face lit up with obvious delight. “Well, that’s settled then. I won’t keep you any longer. I don’t want you to be late for class.”

Harry grinned happily as the realization that he wouldn’t be going to the Dursleys’s began to sink in. “Bye, Remus. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

Harry raced back to Gryffindor Tower where he enthusiastically told his friends that he was going to be staying with Remus for the summer. They were equally thrilled that he wouldn’t have to endure the dreaded Dursleys again and immediately began making plans for the holidays. Harry grinned as Ron, Hermione and Ginny discussed where they might go and what they might do. A whole summer in London without the Dursleys was like a dream come true. He could sleep late, be with his friends, and spend his days wandering the city. It was going to be the best summer of his life.

Once afternoon classes were over, however, Harry began to think more about the other matter he and Remus had discussed. Harry hadn’t seen Snape since Saturday afternoon. The Potions Master had been secluded in his quarters all weekend and Harry hadn’t sought him out. But in light of his conversation with Remus, Harry decided that it was time to pay a visit to the dungeons. Unfortunately, before he reached Snape’s office, Harry met Draco Malfoy.

“Potter, what are you doing here?” Malfoy sneered.

“None of your business, Malfoy,” Harry said without checking his pace.

Malfoy stepped in front of Harry, forcing him to stop. “Go back to your Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, Potter. You don’t belong here.”

“Get out of my way,” Harry said.

“I’m a prefect, Potter. You’re not and I’m telling you to get out.”

“And if I don’t, what are you going to do about it, report me to Professor Snape?” Harry asked with a smirk. “I’m on my way to see him right now and you’re more than welcome to tag along.”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed with hatred and he bared his teeth in a snarl. “Of course, I should have known you were here to see him. Mark my words, Potter, he will regret betraying the Dark Lord.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in anger, but before he could respond, Snape’s annoyed voice interjected.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, surely you have better things to do than to stand in the hallway glaring at one another. If not, I’m certain that I can find something to keep you both occupied.”

Snape came up to them, folded his arms and fixed the students with his most condescending sneer. “Well?”

“Yes, sir,” the boys mumbled in unison.

“Mr. Malfoy, I suggest that you return to your dormitory until dinner,” Snape said in a tone that indicated his comment was definitely not a suggestion.

Malfoy scowled at Snape, but didn’t dare argue with him. With a final glare at Harry he turned to go.

“And Mr. Malfoy,” Snape’s velvet drawl stopped Malfoy in his tracks. The boy looked back at Snape with equal parts defiance and wariness as Snape continued.

“There is one thing which I deeply regret in being discovered a traitor to the Dark Lord. It is that I will not have the opportunity to see you receive the Dark Mark. That is something I would dearly love to witness.”

Malfoy clearly had no idea what to make of this statement, but he managed to plaster a cocky smirk on his face that, nevertheless, did nothing to hide the utter bewilderment in his eyes. It didn’t last long, either. The knowing and thoroughly nasty smile Snape favored him with wiped it away in an instant. Completely rattled, Malfoy turned and hurried away towards the Slytherin common room.

Under different circumstances, Harry would have been delighted at Malfoy’s discomfort. But thanks to his lessons with Snape, Harry had a very clear recollection of what receiving the Dark Mark was like and felt nothing but horror as he watched Malfoy go. The Slytherin had no idea what lay ahead of him, Harry was sure. Even Draco doesn’t deserve that, Harry realized, seeing his enemy in a new light.

Without thinking, Harry rubbed his left forearm and looked away only to find Snape watching him with a keen, thoughtful expression.

“Potter, why are you here?”

“Remus came to see me,” Harry said, dragging his thoughts back to his original purpose.

“Indeed,” Snape said without a trace of emotion. He turned and started back up the corridor towards his office and Harry fell into step beside him.

“Why did you tell him?” Harry asked and Snape answered in the same careful voice.

“I’ve never been one to put off unpleasant tasks. I needed to know what Lupin’s reaction was going to be.”

They had reached Snape’s office. Snape pushed open the door and Harry followed him in.

“I wouldn’t have thought you cared that much about his opinion,” Harry said, shutting the door.

Snape turned to face him. “I don’t, but you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked in confusion.

Snape studied Harry with an inscrutable look. “I wanted to know if he would try to change your mind.”

Harry started. “Remus wouldn’t do that and even if he had tried, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“That’s a noble sentiment, Potter, but do you honestly believe that the entreaties of your father’s last, best friend would have no effect on your feelings?”

“Yes,” Harry said without hesitation.

Snape’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the resoluteness of Harry’s reply. Harry let out a slow breath and continued in a quiet voice. “You’d know that if you’d ever looked into his mind the way I have.”

Harry looked away, remembering the awful cold presence he’d encountered in Voldemort’s mind the night Snape had nearly died. “He holds onto every grudge, every past injustice and he won’t forgive anything. He’s consumed with vindictiveness and hate. But do you know what the worst part is?”

Harry looked back at Snape. “He doesn’t think of himself as evil. He thinks he’s a victim, righting the wrongs that were done to him and making things right in the world. In his mind, everything he does, no matter how horrible, is justified in the pursuit of revenge. That’s what hatred and blame do to you. They twist the way you think.”

Snape gazed at Harry with a troubled expression, then looked away. “I suppose they do,” he said softly.

Harry winced, suddenly realizing that everything he’d just said about Voldemort was also true of Snape. How long had Snape allowed hatred and vengeance to control his life?

“Professor…” Harry said, unsure if he ought to try to apologize to the man, but Snape looked up and glared at Harry’s worried expression.

“Potter, spare me the concern,” Snape snapped impatiently. “My sensibilities aren’t that easily offended. I don’t tiptoe around other people’s feelings and I won’t tolerate such maudlin behavior from you.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, relieved.

Snape regarded Harry with a hard, penetrating gaze. “Are you still convinced that the means to defeat the Dark Lord lie in your mental connection to him?”

“Yes, I’m certain of it.”

Snape nodded. “I’ve already mentioned the idea to the headmaster and he seemed taken with it as well. I am hoping that he will have some insight as to how you may employ your rather provocative theory in practice. I personally have no experience at killing anyone with kindness. Now Mr. Potter, it is almost dinnertime, so I suggest you get back upstairs.”

Harry nodded and left the office without another word.

---

The next two weeks were a blur of activity as the end of the year approached. Harry spent most of his time with Ginny, either flying or helping her study for her OWLs, though they did manage to escape Ron’s watchful eye to be alone a few times.

The Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match proved refreshingly disaster-free and ended in a decisive victory for Gryffindor, who also won the Quidditch Cup. However, the exhilaration of victory was quickly overtaken by exams. Harry managed well enough in most of his classes, but Potions was hopeless. He should have expected that, of course. There was simply no way to catch up on all of the material he had skimmed or skipped entirely during the year, in a matter of weeks and the moment Harry set eyes on the Potions exam, he knew that he was in trouble. The written portion was fiendishly detailed, requiring exact knowledge of the subject which Harry simply didn’t possess. The practical portion was even worse.

Harry wasn’t sure if his timing was off or if he hadn’t roasted his Shrivelfig and Asphodel mixture properly, but he just couldn’t get his Babel Potion right. While other students, after a swig of their potions, were able to converse in various languages from French to Russian to Chinese, Harry’s potion did nothing but leave a sour taste in his mouth. It was also unmistakably lavender instead of blue.

Harry stared in consternation at the mixture bubbling in his cauldron, then cringed as he saw Snape approaching his workbench. Snape barely glanced into Harry’s cauldron before looking up at him in evident disgust. But the man said nothing. Instead, Snape heaved a discouraged sigh, shook his head and walked away. Harry stared after him. All of the insults Snape had ever heaped on him had never left Harry feeling more humiliated and angry with himself than that sigh had done and he left the exam feeling thoroughly miserable.

He listlessly made his way to the Great Hall and slumped down at the Gryffindor table for lunch. Dean sat down next to him.

“That was the worst exam ever,” Dean said, sounding slightly stunned. “Do you reckon the NEWT will be that bad?”

“No, I think Snape just likes to torture us,” Harry said wearily.

“It was challenging, but it wasn’t that bad,” Hermione commented, sitting down opposite them and helping herself to shepherd’s pie.

The boys stared at her wordlessly, then exchanged dark glances. Ron arrived and sagged down at the table next to Hermione. He looked even more dejected than Harry felt and Harry wondered what could possibly be worse than one of Snape’s exams to make Ron so morose.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Ryan’s leaving,” Ron said. “Ginny told me that she heard it from Walter Sutton, so I asked Professor McGonagall and she said it was true. He’s given notice.”

All of the Gryffindors present expressed regret at the news, even Harry.

“That’s rotten luck,” Dean said. “Do you have any idea why he’s leaving?”

“It’s all Snape’s fault,” Ron groused, without hesitation.

“No it’s not,” Harry said irritably.

Ron scowled at Harry. “Snape’s had it in for Ryan since the moment he arrived.”

“Funny, I thought it was the other way around,” Harry countered.

“Yeah well, we all know whose side you’re on,” Ron said, rolling his eyes in disgust.

“It’s the truth, Ron! Ryan started it.”

“Maybe he did, but what’s that to us? Ryan has taught us more about Defense this year than all the other Defense teachers we’ve had put together. The only reason you don’t like him is because he treats Snape like the git he is.”

The two friends sat glaring at one another, waiting to see who would back down first. After a few moments, Harry stood up and tossed down his napkin. “I’ve got some things to do,” he said, then walked away from the table.

Harry wandered through the halls, wondering if Ron was right. Did he just dislike Ryan because the man had chosen to pick on Snape? Other than that, what did Harry have against the man? It was true that Ryan was the best Defense teacher they’d ever had, even better than Remus, which was saying a lot, and he always treated the students well. Harry stopped in his tracks, hating to admit that he’d been unfair to the man, but realizing that it was the truth. He had distrusted Ryan out of personal dislike, just as he had so often distrusted Snape for the same reason. Harry grimaced and started walking down the corridor once more, this time with a purposeful stride.

As Harry approached Ryan’s office he could hear faint music. He paused and peered in through the half-open door. A lively tune was playing on the wireless and Ryan was humming along as he filled a trunk with personal items. For a man who had just resigned from his job, he seemed to be in excellent spirits. Ryan glanced up and spotted Harry.

“Potter! Come in, don’t hang out in the hallway,” Ryan called jovially, beckoning Harry to enter.

Harry entered the office hesitantly and looked around. “You’re packing.”

Ryan’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Astute observation, Potter. I can see I’ve taught you a lot this year.”

Harry flushed, both embarrassed and annoyed by Ryan’s teasing. “I heard that you’d resigned. Why?”

Ryan shrugged. “It’s time to move on.”

“Is it because Dumbledore didn’t make you Head of Slytherin?” Harry asked, wanting some confirmation of his opinion of Ryan.

“Merlin, no!” Ryan laughed affably. “I wouldn’t want to be Head of House. Far too much responsibility. Besides, I wouldn’t want to be that tied down.”

Harry frowned in confusion. “But everyone said… I mean, you acted like…”

Ryan fixed Harry with a shrewd look. “The Slytherins already have the best Head of House they could hope for in these troubled times. It just took a bit of a push for him to realize it.”

Harry blinked, momentarily wondering whom Ryan could be referring to, before the inescapable answer hit him. “You mean Professor Snape? But you’ve been horrible to him all year!” Harry said, with a mixture of bewilderment and outrage.

Ryan shrugged. “I reckoned he could use all the help he could get.”

Harry stared at Ryan, completely lost. “What?”

Ryan stopped packing and regarded Harry with mild disappointment.

“You’re a fine lad, Potter, but you’d be better off if you had a few more Slytherin traits. Can you honestly not see why it might have been to Snape’s benefit to have me accusing him of being a Death Eater at every opportunity and for all to hear?”

Harry’s eyes widened in understanding. “You knew that he was spying on Voldemort?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Right in one, Potter.”

“But how?”

“How do you think?” Ryan asked.

Harry’s eyes narrowed doubtfully. “Dumbledore told you?”

“Right again.”

“I don’t believe it,” Harry said skeptically. “Dumbledore never would have told you that!”

“I’ve worked for Dumbledore for twenty years, Mr. Potter. I should hope he’d trust me by now.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Twenty years? Doing what?”

“This and that.” Ryan grinned, clearly amused by Harry’s astonishment. But in a moment, he grew serious.

“I never held with Voldemort,” Ryan said. “I’ve always been too much my own man to bow down to another. I was an Auror back when he first came to power. Don’t look so shocked. No one ever thinks of a Slytherin being an Auror, but what’s an Auror if not cunning? A healthy sense of self-preservation doesn’t hurt either. I was a good one too, took down quite a few Death Eaters those first few years.

“Then one day my supervisor called me into his office and asked if I might be interested in a special assignment, very hush, hush. It would mean going abroad and I wouldn’t be working directly for the Ministry anymore. Instead I’d be part of an unofficial group working to oppose Voldemort.

“Well, I was intrigued to say the least and I’d always enjoyed clandestine assignments, so I said yes. That’s when I discovered that Dumbledore was more than just the benevolent headmaster I remembered from Hogwarts.

“I met with him and he explained that Voldemort’s reach had extended to the continent. He needed someone to gather intelligence for his group, recruit allies and help organize local opposition – all very discreetly, of course. He told me that it wouldn’t be an easy job. I’d be living abroad for years with very little support from home, so I’d have to rely on my own wits and whatever allegiances I could forge in order to survive and succeed. He asked if I thought I was the man for the job, but I think he already knew the answer to that even better than I did. I left for Paris that night and aside from a few days here and there, I haven’t been back. This year at Hogwarts was the first time I’ve lived in Britain in twenty years.”

“But after Voldemort disappeared, why didn’t you come home?” Harry asked.

“Dumbledore was certain that Voldemort wasn’t gone for good. He asked me if I’d stay on to maintain our hard-won alliances and keep an ear open. I’d grown quite content with life abroad. I’d made some very good friends as well as staunch allies, so I agreed.

“The next seven or eight years were good ones. I taught at Beauxbatons for several years, wrote a number of articles about some of the more exotic experiences I’d had in my travels. I also worked extensively as a free-lance Auror, traveling as far south as Ankara and east to the Balkans. That’s where I first started hearing the rumors of a dark shadow, an unnamed presence skulking in the depths of the forests.

“At first I thought they were only tall tales told to frighten or impress strangers, but the rumors persisted and grew more worrisome. There were reports of people who had been found wandering dazed in remote areas and who told terrifying stories of having been possessed by something evil. I reported this to Dumbledore, of course, and we both feared that his suspicion had at last been proven right and that Voldemort was somehow still alive and hiding in the Balkans.

“I set aside all my other commitments to pursue these rumors in earnest and soon became convinced that we were right. The information coming in from my various sources was alarming and Dumbledore began to take steps to prepare for a resurgence by Voldemort and his supporters. Then in early 1991, a name finally reached me, not of the evil itself, but a name that would become increasingly associated with it: Nicholas Flamel.

“The danger was obvious and by early summer, Dumbledore, had contacted Flamel and arranged to take custody of the fabled Philosopher’s Stone. Shortly afterwards, the rumors of what I’d come to think of as Voldemort stopped only to start up again in Britain. Of course, you know what happened after that.”

“So if you’ve been managing Dumbledore’s network abroad all this time, why are you at Hogwarts?”

Ryan shrugged. “Dumbledore needed a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I gather he’s been having a hard time finding a competent one the last few years and decided that you couldn’t afford another year of mediocrity.

“He also needed someone to watch Snape’s back. With Draco Malfoy and his gang snooping about, Dumbledore felt that an extra pair of eyes and ears here at Hogwarts couldn’t hurt. Plus, I was able to insinuate certain things that helped to maintain Snape’s cover. That became critical once your loyalties started shifting so obviously in his favor.”

“I wasn’t that obvious,” Harry said defensively.

Ryan chuckled. “You looked ready to curse your own housemates once or twice for insulting the man, Potter. I wouldn’t call that subtle. Fortunately, Mr. Malfoy and his friends aren’t as observant as I am.”

“So then, it was all just an act?” Harry asked incredulously.

Ryan flashed his most wolfish grin. “Put on a grand show, didn’t I?”

“And Professor Snape was in on it?”

“Merlin, no!” Ryan looked horrified at the suggestion. “That would have taken all the fun out of it!”

“Fun?” Harry asked in disbelief. “He was practically ready to kill you!”

“I know,” Ryan said happily. “Baiting Severus Snape isn’t difficult, but it is satisfying.”

Harry was at a loss for words, but Ryan didn’t seem to notice.

“Which brings us to the second reason I’ve been so merciless to your Potions Master all year,” Ryan continued as he shut and locked his trunk. “A man can become complacent. He stops trying because he thinks he doesn’t need to any more. It doesn’t hurt to give him a kick in the pants. A sense of entitlement is a dangerous thing, Potter. That’s what I’ve always liked about you. You don’t have one. You could sit back and rest on your fame, but you don’t. You never take anything for granted.”

Harry was taken aback by the praise, all the more so because he’d clearly misjudged Ryan.

“Professor, listen, I…”

“Don’t apologize, Potter. I was trying to antagonize Snape. It’s only right that you took offense.” Ryan grinned and winked at Harry. “In fact, I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t.”

“So, why are you leaving?”

“Snape has his hands full. He doesn’t need me hanging about. Besides, I’ve accomplished what I set out to do here and I’m needed back on the continent. It’s been good to be home, but I’m used to life abroad and I like the mystery of not knowing where I may wake up next week. It keeps me on my toes.”

Harry nodded solemnly then held out his hand. “Good luck, Professor. I’ve learnt a lot from you.”

Ryan took Harry’s hand in a firm grip and smiled the warm, jovial smile that had endeared him to students and teachers alike. “I hope it’ll be enough.”

“It will be,” Harry assured him.

Harry left Ryan’s office and headed for Gryffindor Tower. He found Ron in their dormitory, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling with a melancholy expression.

“I went to see Ryan,” Harry said without preamble.

“You did? Why?” Ron asked, glancing at Harry in surprise.

“I wanted to know if you were right, if I’d judged him unfairly.”

Ron sat up and regarded Harry defensively. “And?”

“You were right.” Harry admitted. “He’s an Auror plus he’s been a member of the Order for twenty years.”

“What?” Ron asked, his eyes widening in shock.

Harry sat down on his own bed and proceeded to repeat everything Ryan had told him.

“So you mean he was actually trying to help Snape?” Ron asked in disbelief.

“Yes. Look Ron, I’m sorry I acted like a prat.”

“Forget about it, Harry, I was a bit of a prat too. Besides, I suppose in a way we were both right about Ryan. He certainly wasn’t what he seemed. I only hope that we get someone decent for Defense next year.”

---

The last day of the school year finally arrived. Trunks were packed and the students gathered in the entrance hall and out on the lawn to await the Thestral-drawn carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ginny and Hermione came downstairs together and spotted Ron talking with Walter Sutton and Jeremy Banks. Ron handed them a package and the two Slytherins grinned delightedly then disappeared into the throng of students.

“What was that?” Ginny asked as she, Harry and Hermione walked up to Ron.

“What was what?”

“That parcel you just gave to Jeremy and Walter.”

“Oh that.” Ron shook his head dismissively. “It was nothing.”

Ginny folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow at her brother.

Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation. “It was just some of Fred and George’s latest inventions. You know how they’re always looking for someone to test their new products.” He jerked his head in the direction Jeremy and Walter had gone. “Those two are mad enough to do it.”

“You mean you’re actually associating with Slytherins?” Ginny asked in mock surprise.

“Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters,” Ron said.

Ginny opened her mouth but didn’t get the chance to reply.

“Potter!”

Harry turned to see Snape striding towards him.

“Yes, Professor?”

“Here,” Snape said thrusting a sheet of parchment at him. “Since your performance in my class has been less than stellar this year, you’ll need to catch up over the summer if you plan to be in Potions next term.”

Harry took the parchment and glanced at it. It appeared to be a lengthy syllabus of work to be completed over the summer.

“I have to do all of this?” Harry asked, dismayed.

“Yes, Potter, in addition to the regular course work that I expect you to actually complete this summer. And I suggest you give it more diligence than you usually accord your studies if you seriously plan to sit your NEWT.”

“Professor, I’ll never be able to finish all of this!” Harry said, hopelessly as he scanned down the page.

“If you can’t manage the work, then I suggest you consider a different career.”

Harry scowled at Snape. “You can’t honestly expect me to brew all these potions! They’re too advanced. I’d wind up blowing up the house.”

“It would probably be an improvement, if you did,” Snape said sourly. “However, since we’ll be sharing the same domicile for the summer, I’ll make certain that you don’t.”

Snape started to turn away, but Harry grabbed his arm.

“What?”

Snape smirked at the horrified look on Harry’s face. “Didn’t anyone tell you? Since every Death Eater in Britain is out for my blood, my usual summer plans have had to be cancelled. And with virtually everyone else away from school, the headmaster felt it wouldn’t be prudent for me to stay at Hogwarts alone all summer, either. Therefore, I will be joining you at Lupin’s. It seems to be the place for lost souls. Study your first lesson this weekend and we’ll begin on Monday.”

Snape turned and stalked away across the entrance hall, the sea of students parting before him. Harry watched him disappear into the dungeons taking Harry’s hopes for a perfect summer with him.

“Are you sure you can’t go stay with your aunt and uncle?” Ron asked.

---

The train ride to London was subdued. Ron, Hermione and Ginny tried to cheer Harry up, with only partial success. Harry kept glumly reviewing the syllabus Snape had given him and no matter how he looked at it, he was certain it was going to take the whole summer to complete.

At last the Hogwarts Express pulled into Kings Cross station and the students poured out. Remus and Arthur Weasley were waiting for them.

“Harry, how are you doing?” Remus asked heartily, smiling as Harry and the others approached.

Harry stared back sullenly. “Snape’s spending the summer,” he said accusingly and Remus’s smile faltered.

“Ah, yes, so he told you, did he?”

“Remus, why?” Harry lamented. “There’s got to be somewhere else he could go!”

Remus frowned. “I thought you two were getting on better these days.”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean that I want him breathing down my neck all summer.”

“Harry it’s not going to be that bad,” Remus said soothingly.

“You haven’t seen the list of homework he gave me. I’ll be lucky to have a free moment before school starts. Not that I’d be likely to have any fun if I did. Snape doesn’t even know how to have fun and I know he doesn’t think anyone else should have any. With him prowling about, the whole summer’s going to be miserable!”

Remus’s expression was sympathetic, but his voice was firm. “Harry, which would you prefer, having Snape spend the summer at Grimmauld Place, or having Voldemort catch up with him?”

That stopped Harry. “Well, it’s not as though I’ve never had a miserable summer before,” he said resignedly.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Hermione said, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be coming to stay before too long.

“Ginny and I will be along too, Harry,” Ron said, clapping Harry on the shoulder in commiseration. “We wouldn’t leave you alone to suffer with Snape all summer.”

“I’m sure we can sneak away and have a little fun,” Ginny said, her brown eyes dancing mischievously. She gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, which nevertheless left Harry blushing.

Ron rolled his eyes, “Come on,” he told Ginny. “Harry, we’ll see you soon, mate.”

Harry waved goodbye to his friends and let his gaze linger on Ginny as she, Ron and Hermione headed out of the station with Mr. Weasley. Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was a big house, Harry knew, and surely Snape would have better things to do than watch him every minute. He and his friends would find a way to slip away from the Potions Master’s prying eyes at least some of the time. Harry smiled to himself. Maybe summer wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Remus clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Ready, Harry?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Harry smiled and picked up his trunk, then he and Remus left the station side by side and headed home.