The morning dawned earlier than it had any right to do, sunlight streaming in through the Hospital Wing windows. It was joined by the faint sound of chirping birds.

Harry hadn’t slept. Oh, he had dozed on and off, but his mind was too full, too on guard against the nightmares he knew would be coming, that it never lasted for long. Consequently, he’d had plenty of time to think through everything that had happened. And he honestly didn’t know which was the bigger revelation: that he might soon be powerful enough to take on Voldemort, or that Snape had loved his mum and inadvertently betrayed his parents.

They were both pretty earth-shattering revelations.

He had felt overwhelmed by it all at first, which had morphed into anger partway through the night. What was up with Voldemort, always going after Harry and giving him strange powers he never asked for? And how dare Snape cut ties and run just when Harry had finally warmed up to him, finally started to feel a little less alone? He wanted to rail at them both. Well…maybe from a distance. That seemed safer. But he definitely wanted an opportunity to yell and maybe throw a few things at the both of them, even if he was too far away to hit his mark. He had risen from his spot on the floor next to the bed, and he had angrily paced until he realized he was still too weak to keep it up for longer than a few seconds, and then settled into the bed to punch his pillow a few times.

The anger didn’t last. Around midnight, it had turned into nervousness, tinged with fear, at what new powers might mean for him.

If he had new powers. He tried to pull up the sparks of magic but couldn’t. He even cautiously tried a few spells with his wand, but his magic worked the same as it always had. Could his dream self have been mistaken? Maybe he wasn’t growing more powerful. Maybe whatever happened back there with Voldemort and his Death Eaters was a fluke. It confused him too much to dwell on for long.

So he thought of Snape again, and that’s when his mood shifted to resigned. He felt quite a few things at Snape’s apparent intention to extricate himself from Harry’s life after all they’d been through: sadness, disappointment, annoyance, anger. But one thing he couldn’t claim was surprise. He had known Snape would do this, had expected it. Had even witnessed him try to distance himself from Harry earlier in the summer. Snape didn’t do closeness. Compound that with his having confessed to Harry some of his most closely held secrets, and it was no wonder the guarded man didn’t want to be in the same room as Harry.

And in a way, it helped to know that Snape was the type to avoid him out of discomfort. It meant that the professor didn’t necessarily have to be angry at Harry in order to turn his back on him. It meant that Harry could believe that he had been forgiven for the Wall Watchers incident and that Snape had meant the confession that he cared what happened to Harry now. Snape distancing himself didn’t negate any of that. It was simply Snape being Snape.

And anyway, what did he expect? For Snape to drop everything and be Harry’s full-time tutor? Their arrangement had only been for the summer. He knew that. Snape had never promised him anything beyond that, so he had no right to be disappointed or hurt, really.

He lifted his chin. He’d be fine. He would. He hadn’t needed Snape before this summer, and he would be perfectly fine without him now.

“Ah, Mr. Potter.” He was so startled by Madame Pomfrey’s voice as she whipped the curtains aside that he nearly fell out of bed. “You’re awake, I see. Good, good. And how are you feeling this morning?”

“Um, better?” He wasn’t sure what was the right answer, but he knew complaining that he was still sore all over and dog-tired and had a splitting headache wouldn’t get him out of the Hospital Wing and into Gryffindor Tower any faster. On second thought…he could do without the headache. So he admitted to that and only that.

“Well, we’ll see to that headache, why don’t we?” she smiled and waved her wand over him, then frowned. “A bit of a fever, dear. We’ll take care of that too, get you right as rain, but I think you’d best rest up here for another day at least.”

He groaned. “Can’t I go to the Tower? I want to see my friends-”

“And how much rest will your friends be letting you have in the Tower, hmm?” she asked pointedly, and he hemmed and hawed until they both knew she’d won. She smiled gently. “You can have some visitors today, so long as they don’t rile you up too much.”

He sank back into his bed and gave her a resigned nod.

As it turned out, it was probably a good thing that she hadn’t allowed him to leave. Between the schedule Snape had given him and Hermione’s insistence on following it, he had to study almost all day in order to even begin to catch up to his classmates. By lunchtime, he was tempted to drop out of school even though he hadn’t attended a single class. How could there be so much homework after only one week?

“It’s sixth year, Harry,” Hermione said without pity. “Next year are our NEWTs. If we don’t study hard now, we’ll be behind where we need to be for the most important exams of our lives!”

“I know, ‘Mione.” Harry tried to keep a straight face when he caught Ron rolling his eyes behind her back. “Um. It’s just…I’d like a bit of fun too, you know.”

“And no, studying isn’t fun,” Ron piped up before she could say anything. “How about a break?”

“We’ve already taken a break,” Hermione said pertly, but her eyes softened when Harry held up his hands in a silent please. “Fine. A break. But not too long!” she insisted with a grin at Ron’s hoop of victory. “I promised McGonagall personally that I would help you to stay on track.”

Unfortunately for Hermione’s plans, Pomfrey kicked her and Ron out of the Hospital Wing soon after so that Harry could rest. As soon as the door closed behind them, she drew his curtains closed and ordered him to nap.

He didn’t want to nap. His friends had been a good distraction, but now that he was alone, he feared what nightmares would invade his mind if he allowed himself to sleep. Still, he was exhausted, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from staying closed a second too long, and before he knew it, he was bolting awake with a scream on his lips. As soon as he registered the curtains around his hospital bed, he was actually grateful to be there and not in the Tower. It meant that no one was there to witness his panicked eyes as they scanned the small space for any sign of Voldemort or his Death Eaters. It’s not as if his dorm mates weren’t used to his occasional nightmare, but he still burned with embarrassment every time it happened. And he had a feeling it would be happening more frequently for a while. He was relieved at the thought of the small stockpile of Dreamless Sleep he still had in his trunk. It should get him through a few nights, and then maybe school would be a sufficient enough distraction to ward off the nightmares for a while. But thinking of past years, he doubted it.

That night, he asked Pomfrey for some more doses of the potion to take with him. Just in case.

Monday morning, he had breakfast in the Great Hall. Madame Pomfrey hadn’t wanted to let him - “You still look quite peaky, young man” - but he had won the argument that if he was well enough to try to attend classes, then he was well enough to eat breakfast with his classmates. Truthfully, he was exhausted and didn’t know if he was well enough to do either yet, but he was itching to see his friends and to get back to some semblance of normalcy. And anyway, what was the alternative? Sitting alone, staring at walls, trying desperately not to sleep? No, thank you.

Snape was there. He was seated with the other teachers and he didn’t talk to anyone and he didn’t look at Harry even once. Harry knew, because he spent nearly as much time watching Snape out of the corner of his eye as he did fielding questions from his classmates. No one except for Hermione and the Weasleys had been told where he’d been, and he learned that there were countless rumors. One person asked if it were true that he’d been in a terrible accident in Spain and only just been released from hospital. Another person asked if he had gone into hiding from Death Eaters in Russia. Some of the theories were extreme - no, he assured Lavender, he had not been bitten by a werewolf - and others quite ordinary - “No, Seamus, I didn’t have my tonsils out” - and he wished he’d thought to rehearse a story to tell them. He really didn’t want to admit that he’d been kidnapped by Voldemort for the simple reason that he didn’t want to be peppered with questions about it. So he dodged one question after another until Hermione and Ron (proving themselves to be the best friends in the entire universe) ran interference for him.

Finally, they got the hint and moved on to other topics. Which weren’t much better, as it turned out. “You heard why Crabbe was out, didn’t you?” Dean leaned over Ron so he wouldn’t have to yell to be heard.

Harry shook his head, trying not to think of Crabbe Sr., because that led to thoughts of Voldemort, and of Snape, and- No. Too much thinking to be had there. He closed the door on his thoughts and paid attention to the conversation around him.

“His dad went missing,” filled in Seamus from across the table. “Poof, vanished, no sign of him. Probably dead.”

Harry felt a pit in his stomach. He automatically scanned the Slytherin table, locating a wan-looking Crabbe. He didn’t like the boy, but he felt a surge of sympathy despite himself. And foreboding. Did Snape kill Crabbe? He wouldn’t, would he? He was an ex-Death Eater, but…murder? And if he did, how much responsibility for the younger Crabbe’s loss fell on Harry’s shoulders? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to any of those questions, so he pushed them to the back of his mind.

“No loss there,” Ron added in between bites of potatoes. “One less Death Eater to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, “but…well, it’s probably not easy to lose a dad, no matter how bad he might have been.”

His friends didn’t answer except for an understanding hand on his arm from Hermione, and soon enough they had moved on to a new topic. But Harry couldn’t be bothered to follow along. His eyes were on Snape again, wondering just what else the man had had to do to save him. By now certain that the professor was intentionally ignoring him, he scanned his eyes across the rest of the head table. He frowned. “Why’s a student sitting up there with the professors?” The wiry boy with freckles and curly brown hair didn’t look familiar, so he couldn’t be in Gryffindor, but he looked old enough that he was probably in seventh year. He was smiling widely, his eyes dancing at something Hagrid said from next to him.

“Oh, that’s Professor Brooks,” supplied Ginny. “Our new Defense instructor.”

Harry scrunched up his face in confusion. “Dumbledore hired a student?”

“He’s twenty-three,” said Lavender conspiratorially. “I know because Becky Newsome - you know, the Hufflepuff seventh year? - she remembers him from when she was a first year. He was in Hufflepuff too.”

Harry looked doubtfully at the new professor, wondering if he had enough experience to teach them much of anything. Dumbledore didn’t usually hire professors young enough to be able to pass for students. Or - did he? He sneaked another peak at the other side of the head table, and it occurred to him that Snape had been near that age when Dumbledore had hired him, and his Potions skills were undeniable. Harry himself had taught plenty to his classmates at only fifteen. So maybe age didn’t matter so much? It might even be fun to have a young teacher.

“He does look young,” Hermione piped up, “But he’s decent so far. He’s really nice, and he doesn’t mind questions, and he seems genuinely excited to be teaching.”

Ron snorted. “Yeah, like a puppy with a new chew toy.”

“Well what would you know?” defended Hermione. “You’ve only been to one Defense class so far!”

“He got over the moon excited to talk to me about make-up work! It was like he couldn’t wait to teach the first week all over again.” He turned to Harry, brows raised. “Don’t let him rope you into private lessons. The man’s mad about tutoring, you’ll never get away.”

Hermione playfully swatted at Ron, missing when he dodged away with a grin. “Oh, don’t listen to him, Harry. Professor Brooks might offer, but he won’t push.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “Not that it would hurt you to take him up on it. You don’t want to fall further behind.”

Harry gave a noncommittal hum, his attention wandering back to Snape. Even a new teacher couldn’t distract him for long. The Potions professor still hadn’t looked at Harry, not even once.

It was a battle to stay awake in History of Magic, but he managed with Hermione’s prodding. It helped to have a free period afterward, except that watching Hermione head for her class in the dungeons served as another reminder that he wouldn’t be taking Potions this year. He sighed miserably and walked outside with Ron, eager at least to spend some time outdoors.

The moment he stepped foot on the grass and looked up to see the bright blue sky and felt a breeze that heralded the beginning of autumn, he halted in his tracks, causing Ron to run into him with an oomph. He should probably apologize but he couldn’t speak. It was just…the world was so beautiful. He felt connected to it in a way he’d never noticed before. It was subtle, so subtle that the awareness would probably fade to the background after a while, but it was real, that feeling that the trees and grass and sky were somehow connected to him. He felt as if he only had to reach out with his magic and they would respond.

It was then that he realized he felt different. He hadn’t realized it before, but some part of him had been different ever since he’d woken up at that cottage with Snape. It was…it was… There was something new inside his soul that felt alive.

“Alright, Harry?” asked Ron behind him, and Harry nodded dumbly and made his way to the lake, ignoring Ron’s worried looks.

He had told his friends about the capture in between studying on Sunday, but he had left out a lot of details, like the extent of the torture and everything personal that he and Snape had talked about. He had also left out what had happened between his mind and Voldemort’s, and about the possibility that he had more access to magic. Oh, he had told them about how Voldemort tried to Legilimize him, and that he had somehow managed to break the connection, but he left it at that. He knew he would fill them in sooner or later, but he needed to understand it first himself.

He was glad that after a few minutes of conversation, Ron was content to laze about in silence. It gave Harry time to think, time to get used to the heightened awareness he felt by merely touching the blades of grass under his fingertips. In this moment, he knew intuitively that he could wield magic in ways he hadn’t been able to before, even if he had no rational understanding of how. He felt powerful. And oddly enough, it felt nice, like he was covered by a warm blanket, and not at all scary like he’d imagined.

It was Wednesday. Harry was making progress on his schoolwork but felt discouraged each time his professors gave out a new assignment that he knew he’d have to add to his growing list. It would probably help if he weren’t so distracted all the time. It’s not as if he could help himself. He’d even managed to put recent events out of his mind, mostly. Well…except for when Neville had accidentally knocked over a book in Charms and Harry had jumped so suddenly that he’d toppled his chair. His classmates had loved that. Or when he’d thought he heard Bellatrix Lestrange’s laughter in the hallway and his heart about burst from the adrenaline as he looked every which way to spot her. He didn’t think most people had noticed how jumpy he was lately, but Hermione and Ron definitely had. It was embarrassing. It’s not like Harry hadn’t gone through bad stuff before. He wasn’t a wilting flower.

Snape still didn’t look his way at mealtimes, which he tried to pretend didn’t hurt. He had even toyed with the idea of confronting Snape in his office after his last class, forcing him to look at Harry, to talk to him. But what would that accomplish? If Snape didn’t want to be near him when he was minding his own business, how much more would he want to run if Harry turned into a needy pest?

And anyway, Snape was proving himself as unapproachable as ever. Perhaps more so. Everyone had noticed.

“A right git,” Dean was saying, as one of the few Gryffindor sixth years to have made it into Advanced Potions. “It was only one less pinch than was called for, barely even changed the color of the potion, and you’d have thought I’d blown up his classroom!”

“He was rather temperamental this morning,” Hermione said distractedly as she flipped through the pages of her Herbology textbook. Along with Ron and Seamus, they were spread out with their books next to the Gryffindor common room fire.

Dean made a face. “Temperamental? Try homicidal!”

“At least he wasn’t singling you out,” Hermione pointed out, briefly glancing up. “He even snapped at Malfoy and Zabini.”

“Snape came down on Malfoy?” Ron asked with undisguised glee. “Tell me all about it! Don’t leave anything out.”

Hemione shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell, really. Nobody made any big mistakes, but there were some mistakes. I think Professor Snape was just in a mood. It can’t be easy catching an entire school up on a missed week of learning.”

That was another thing Harry had learned after talking with his classmates: the entire first week of Potions classes had been canceled. Harry knew it was because of him, even if most of the other students didn’t, and he felt bad about it. He’d caused so much disruption to Snape’s schedule, not to mention to all of the students who now had to deal with having to catch up. Logically, he knew it was Voldemort’s fault, but that didn’t erase the niggling feeling of guilt.

“Hermione,” Ron said patronizingly. “It’s Snape. He’s always in a mood.”

“Maybe,” Hermione conceded with a thoughtful expression, “but this is different. It’s not like his usual impatience, more like he’s on edge about something.”

“Yeah, on edge about life,” muttered Ron. “I don’t envy you having to spend so much time with him this summer, Harry. I bet you didn’t think you’d make it out alive half the time.”

Harry thought about responding sarcastically - and truthfully - that no, he really hadn’t thought he’d make it out alive at the end there. But he wasn’t in the mood to bring up Voldemort or dodge around the topic of Snape. He’d been dodging it every time Ron brought him up, not quite ready to tell his best friend that he’d changed his mind about Snape. He wasn’t ready to defend himself, and it’s not like he needed to, with how Snape wasn’t even acknowledging his existence these days. Instead, he shrugged and pretended to focus on a chapter in his Transfiguration textbook.

He didn’t miss the curious looks of Dean and Seamus, but they were kind enough not to push. They and Neville knew a little more about his summer than the rest of the school, but their knowledge was limited to the fact that Harry had had to spend some time with Snape and that he had been captured by Voldemort and managed to escape. Harry was glad he’d decided to tell them that much. It would make it easier to explain away the nightmares. Not that he’d had any since that first day. He hadn’t worked up the courage to go to sleep without Dreamless Sleep yet. He would. Just…not yet.

It was nice. Without nightmares to remind him, and with school to distract him, he had forced the bulk of what had happened at Voldemort’s lair to the back of his mind and left it there. And if he was a bit jumpy sometimes, well, he couldn’t help that.

He did wonder what was up with Snape. He’d been watching the professor closely at mealtimes in the Great Hall, and the man had seemed to grow more irritable each day. He didn’t even bother to hide his disdain for Hagrid’s loud tales or his annoyance at Dumbledore’s attempts to engage him in conversation. At dinner that night, he’d only stared at his food with a pinched expression until he’d eaten a few bites and abruptly excused himself from the table.

Harry agreed with Hermione. It wasn’t Snape’s usual temper that was at play. Something was bothering the man, and he was overcome with curiosity to know what it was.

But until he figured out how to get Snape to so much as look at him, he’d have no way of finding out.

It was Friday. It had been nearly a full week since Harry’s return to school, and the gossip surrounding his strange absence was already being replaced by talk of new Quidditch team rosters and upcoming Hogsmeade weekends. Even Snape’s mood swings were old news, though they hadn’t improved. The man had glowered at his meal all through breakfast that morning, and his chair had been empty at lunch. Harry had taken to guessing when students in the hallway were about to head to the dungeons for Potions, not by the direction they were walking, but by the dread on their faces.

Otherwise, things were nearly back to normal. He’d even been able to attend Quidditch tryouts, albeit as a spectator. Pomfrey hadn’t given Harry permission to fly until after tryouts were over, but Hermione had kept him company on the stands to watch. It was amazing, he thought, how quickly the routine of school overshadowed the stress of a summer hiding from and being a “guest” of Voldemort. He hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying around a weight in his chest until it began to ease. It helped that his teachers were all giving him time and help to catch up. He had a lot of work still to do, but with Hermione’s help and the peace of being at Hogwarts, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

He was ready for the weekend, even if he would be required to study more than everybody else, and he grinned as he opened a note Ron had passed him under the desks.

Flying after class?

They were more than ready for a break from studying, and flying sounded like the perfect distraction. Harry gave a subtle nod and ignored Hermione’s narrowed eyes from his other side. She couldn’t have seen what the note said, but she wouldn’t appreciate their not paying attention. She’d placed herself in the role of taskmaster, keeping both Harry and Ron on track with their schoolwork until they were caught up. But she couldn’t keep at it all the time, especially as she had Potions after DADA on Fridays.

“Can anyone tell me the primary purpose of nonverbal spells in noncombat situations?” asked Professor Brooks.

Hermione’s hand shot up.

Brooks smiled kindly at her but looked around. “Anyone else?” He seemed to deflate a little bit when no one else raised their hand, then gestured to Hermione, who was all too eager to answer.

Ron wasn’t the only one half paying attention to the class. Malfoy and Goyle were talking in hushed tones in the corner, and Harry saw somebody toss a note across the aisle.

Professor Brooks pretended not to see or hear anything, though it was obvious by his faltering grin that he was anything but oblivious.

Hermione had been right about the professor. He was kind and enthusiastic about teaching. He even knew a decent amount about Defense, which was a vast improvement over some of their previous DADA professors. He might turn out to be as good a teacher as Remus with a bit of time and practice. But the poor fellow didn’t have a prayer when it came to commanding respect. It wasn’t only that he looked so young, though that didn’t help. It was that he wanted so badly to be liked that he didn’t know how to be in charge.

Snape could certainly give him a few pointers, Harry thought. The Potions professor may not be a kind or particularly likable teacher, but he had more control over his classroom than any other teacher at Hogwarts, with the possible exception of McGonagall. All he had to do was whisper or twitch a finger, and his entire class would be on their best behavior.

And there he went, thinking about Snape again. He sighed. It’s like the man was always only a thought away from the front of his mind. He chided himself and tried to pay attention to the lesson. Only by now, half of the class wasn’t even pretending to listen, and Brooks looked so dejected that Harry predicted the man would give up soon and let them out early. Again.

Sure enough, Brooks ended class ten minutes early and Harry packed up his books, eager to go flying with Ron. Before he could head out, Brooks stopped him with a “Mr. Potter, please stay a moment?”

Harry gestured to Ron and Hermione to head out without him, then dutifully made his way to the professor’s desk.

“The headmaster wishes to see you after class,” Brooks held out a small piece of paper.

“Thanks,” he murmured, unfolding the note. It read simply, Frosted Sugarberries.

“How is your makeup work coming along?” the young professor asked with a smile.

“Um…all right.” He scratched his neck and hoped he wasn’t going to be quizzed, because he hadn’t made it very far in his DADA readings yet.

Thankfully, Brooks didn’t push. “You know, you’re a natural dueler,” he said instead.

“Oh. Thanks,” Harry shrugged. “But, I mean, I only got out one jinx…”

“But the blocking!” the man’s eyes lit up. “Your reflexes are top notch!”

Harry grinned at the praise. He’d been relieved when Brooks had led the class outside on Tuesday to practice dueling. He didn’t think he could stand another year without practical lessons.

“Perhaps you would be willing to demonstrate a proper Shield Charm for the class next week?” Brooks asked, bouncing on his feet slightly, as if his excitement couldn’t be contained behind a pair of black teacher robes.

“Er…” He didn’t really want to, but looking at the professor’s hopeful face, he couldn’t say no. “Yeah, okay.”

Brooks beamed. “Excellent!”

It was a good thing, Harry reflected on his way to the headmaster’s office, that the new Defense professor was overflowing with energy and positivity. He’d need both in spades if he couldn’t figure out the teaching part of teaching.

“Frosted Sugarberries,” he said to the gargoyle, which immediately moved aside. He clutched Dumbledore’s note in his hand and took the moving staircase to the office door.

Other than a brief visit in the Hospital Wing, the headmaster had given him a wide berth since his return. Harry hadn’t minded, to be honest. It was nice to be able to get back to school and his friends without worrying about recounting his horrid experience for the headmaster. But he’d known the man would want to speak with him sooner or later, and it appeared that the time had arrived.

He knocked, heard an “Enter,” and pushed open the door. The headmaster was sitting at his desk but rose to his feet at the sight of Harry. “Come in, Harry, please,” he gestured to a chair in front of his desk and moved to take a seat in one next to it. Harry noticed as he sat that though Dumbledore was smiling politely, he was missing his customary eye twinkle. He looked old and worn, as if he had a great weight on his shoulders.

“Is everything all right, sir?” he asked tentatively.

The headmaster smiled gently. “Quite all right, Harry. I’ve a few difficult things requiring my attention, that is all. Thank you for asking. More importantly, how are you faring? Professor McGonagall tells me that you have made adequate strides in catching up to your peers.”

Harry nodded. “Yes, sir.” He added, “I’m not all caught up, but the professors have all been decent about giving me extra time.”

“Very good, very good,” nodded Dumbledore. “And you are getting on well with Professor Brooks?”

“Yeah. He’s cool,” he said sincerely. He thought about telling Dumbledore that he might want to help out his newest professor with some class management tips, but he didn’t want to get the man in trouble.

“I am glad to hear that,” said Dumbledore, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “And I trust that you are feeling recovered. You look well rested.”

“Yes, sir,” he nodded again. He did feel better. He hadn’t had to deal with nightmares since the first day, his bruises had completely faded, and he felt happy to be back with his friends.

“May I offer a refreshment?” Dumbledore offered. “Water? Pumpkin juice?”

“Um, pumpkin juice, please,” Harry said and then asked, “I suppose you want to talk about what happened with Voldemort?”

Dumbledore leisurely conjured two glasses of pumpkin juice. As he handed one to Harry, he said gently, “As much as I dislike bringing up unpleasant memories, Harry, we do need to discuss it. I only wished to allow you time to acclimate to school first.”

Harry took a slow sip of his juice. He really didn’t want to talk about what had happened, but he knew that it was unavoidable. He took a deep, even breath and let it out. “What do you want to know about it?”

Dumbledore gave him a long measuring look. “Professor Snape has given me a full account of what he witnessed and what he gathered occurred in his absence. He was very thorough. I think you and I perhaps ought to discuss what happened between your mind and Voldemort’s.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I…well, he tried to Legilimize me, I guess? And I fought back, and it eventually worked.”

After several seconds of silence, Dumbledore prodded, “And how did it work, Harry?”

Harry shifted in his seat. He’d thought about Other Harry’s words to him, but he hadn’t said them out loud to anybody yet, not even his friends. Especially not his friends. He didn’t want them to start treating him differently. But Dumbledore really ought to know. What’s more, he would help Harry, or at least would try.

He sat up straight. “See, it’s like this. Remember my dreams? Of the future? How you thought it could maybe be my Inner Eye or something?”

Dumbledore nodded, his full attention on Harry.

He took a deep breath. “He was. Is. My Inner Eye, I mean. He came to me again, and he told me what he meant before.” He leaned forward so Dumbledore would know how important this was. “He told me why Voldemort’s plan is flawed.” He paused, trying to think of the best way to relay what Other Harry had said.

Before he’d decided where to begin, Dumbledore interjected, “Perhaps I could hazard a guess. Does the flaw have to do with the flow of power between your minds?”

Harry nodded, wide-eyed. “How’d you know?”

Dumbledore smiled and Harry was glad to see a slight twinkle enter his eyes. “With over a century of magical experience, one does learn a thing or two about putting together Seer puzzles.”

“Oh.”

“And,” Dumbledore went on, “it makes sense, after what Professor Snape described. Voldemort had gained power through magical use of the physical properties of your blood. How that served to make him more powerful is still somewhat of a mystery, but I would hazard a guess that due to your unique mental connection, the traces of magic within your physical bodies - your blood, specifically - recognized each other. You share a connection so deep that when Voldemort used your blood in a potion to restore him to full physical life, it interacted in an unpredictable way. You are not merely enemies, after all, which is all that his potion had called for. You are something more, a fact that somehow added to the potion’s effects.”

“And then…then he didn’t figure on the mental connection getting in his way,” Harry prodded, eager to hear what Dumbledore may have pieced together about that.

“No, I don’t imagine he did,” the headmaster said with a smile. “And I imagine that your Inner Eye informed you that you have been taking Voldemort’s newfound power away from him and into yourself each time that you overpowered his attempts on your mind.”

He nodded. “So I’m…” he hesitated, not sure he wanted to say it out loud, but he did. “I’m more…powerful now.”

“So it would seem,” Dumbledore said calmly. Too calmly. Way more calmly than Harry thought that pronouncement deserved.

“I don’t feel more powerful,” he said and then quickly corrected himself, “Well, no… No, I mean, I do, but I don’t. See, it’s like I’m more aware of the magic in the world around me now. It’s kind of trippy, actually,” he confided. “I do feel more powerful, more, um…connected to magic? But when I go to use my magic, nothing’s different.”

Dumbledore took a measured sip of his pumpkin juice. “I imagine that it will be, once your body has acclimated itself to the changes in your magical core. And once you have practice drawing upon additional reserves of power.”

Harry thought about that a minute, then asked, “Aren’t you worried about what that means, professor? What if…what if it takes over, or I can’t control it?”

“You have not had any incidents thus far, I assume?” Dumbledore asked as unconcerned as if he were inquiring about the weather.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Only the feeling different, like I said. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like…when I was in that meadow with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and then again with the ceremony, I could see magic. I really could - I could see it!” he emphasized, pretty sure he sounded nutters, but Dumbledore seemed to be taking him seriously. “And I haven’t seen it since I’ve been back, but I…I dunno, it’s like I feel it, like it’s all around me, waiting for me to tell it what to do, but I don’t know how to reach it or even if I should.”

“You have tried?” Dumbledore asked just as calmly.

Harry shrugged. “Well, yeah…sorta. I tried a little bit, the other day. But…but I’m afraid to try too hard,” he admitted and looked away. “What if I manage it, and I hurt somebody?”

“From what I understand, you need not worry that it is your first time wielding a great amount of power,” Dumbledore said matter of factly. “You did so while in Voldermort’s domain, and you seem to have managed to direct it quite well for a novice.”

Harry looked at the headmaster doubtfully. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue.

“Nonetheless, you need not worry quite yet,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “Your magic is stronger than it was, yes, but I’d wager that it will become stronger still. Now is the ideal time for you to begin to learn how to access it and then to control it.”

Harry drank some more pumpkin juice and set it on the table. Then, before he quite knew what he was going to say, he blurted out, “I want Professor Snape to teach me.”

He watched Dumbledore carefully, but the man only blinked.

“Nothing against you, sir,” he rushed on, “or whoever else you have pegged for the job, but I think it has to be him, don’t you? I know he probably doesn’t want to teach me anymore, but he’s good at it. Better than I thought he’d be, even if he was pants at it last year. Not that I was perfect either,” he rambled at Dumbledore’s silence. “It’s…I only mean that he turned out to be good at teaching me Occlumency, and he really understands Voldemort, you know? And the second prophecy!” he added quickly. “He’s supposed to guide me, right? And maybe he didn’t sign up for tutoring a special case for the rest of the year, but...well, you could talk to him, couldn’t you? Try to convince him to give it a shot?”

Dumbledore didn’t try to interrupt him, but his eyes were sad. It was making Harry nervous. “Couldn’t you..?” he trailed off. He knew Snape was quite willing to wash his hands of Harry, but if anyone could convince the stubborn professor to change his mind, it would be Dumbledore.

The headmaster heaved a great sigh and looked Harry in the eyes, and he was certain he wasn’t going to like what the man was going to say. “Harry…” he began, then paused as if to gather his thoughts. “I would like nothing more than for you and Professor Snape to continue the lessons you began. I believe that you have been good for each other, and you have made great progress in so short a time.”

“But?” Harry asked, already dejected.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid that now is not a good time. Professor Snape’s energies are currently being devoted to another matter of great importance.”

He slumped into his chair. “Is it for the Order?” he asked, even though he didn’t expect to be told. “Is he working on a new potion or spy stuff or something? Is that why he’s in a bad mood lately?”

The headmaster gave a small smile. “It is not specifically Order related, but as with a great many things, if successful, Professor Snape’s project will only benefit our side. That is all you need know,” he added kindly but with an air of finality when Harry made to ask another question. “I will ask you to consider this matter settled for the time being.”

Harry sighed and nodded. “How- how’s Remus?” he asked to distract them both from his obvious disappointment about Snape. “I thought maybe he’d stop by to see me by now, but I haven’t even had a letter.” He could tell by Dumbledore’s expression that it had been the wrong question to ask. The headmaster was positively oozing reluctance at having to let Harry down again. Before the man could do so, he answered his question himself. “He doesn’t want to see me either,” he concluded, feeling irritation bubble up inside him. Both Snape and Remus had in one way or another started to be there for Harry, and now neither one wanted anything to do with him. Great. Just great.

“It is not that Remus does not wish to see you, Harry,” said Dumbledore gently, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. “You must understand that he cares for you a great deal. His betrayal of you, however unintentional, has been difficult for him to come to terms with. I believe that he is trying to avoid causing you pain-”

“Bullshit,” interrupted Harry. He shrugged off Dumbledore’s hand and rose to his feet. He balled his hands into fists, determined not to lose his temper like he’d done a few months ago in this office. As it is, he’d lucky to not be in trouble for cursing at the headmaster. “Sorry,” he said through clenched teeth, “but it is. He’s not looking out for me. He’s avoiding me because it’ll be uncomfortable for him.”

“Harry-”

“I’m right and you know I’m right!” Harry said darkly, working really, really hard not to yell. “Same with Professor Snape. He doesn’t like getting close with people, fine. I get it. Whatever. And Remus feels all guilty. Yeah, I know. But them not talking to me isn’t helping me. It’s only more comfortable for them. They’re both taking the coward’s way out, and you know it!”

Dumbledore didn’t insult his intelligence by denying it, only gave him a look filled with understanding and sympathy. Even though it didn’t fix the situation, it helped to know he’d been heard, and that Dumbledore wasn’t going to try to placate him like a child. He fell into his seat again, losing steam at the prospect of no one to fight with.

“I am truly sorry for the pain you have been through this past year, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “You have borne it with grace and courage. Not everyone would be so capable.”

Like Remus and Snape? he wanted to ask sarcastically, but he didn’t. Still, his own thoughts made him even more depressed, because as angry as he wanted to be with both men, he could still understand their actions and forgive them. Neither man had had an easy life, after all, and neither one had signed up to have a teenager underfoot. They had no obligation to him, really, so what right did Harry have to be upset with either one? He ran a hand tiredly over his eyes and hoped that Ron hadn’t gone flying without him. He was in sore need of a distraction.

“Could you tell at least Remus that I don’t blame him?” he mumbled without looking up. “It was Voldemort, not him. It’s not like I don’t know that.”

“You might consider writing him a letter,” Dumbledore gently prodded. “I’m sure it would mean more coming directly from you.”

He jerked a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he agreed, then he looked Dumbledore in the eyes and asked what he really wanted to know. “What about the prophecy, sir? The one that said Snape was going to guide me to defeat Voldemort? Doesn’t that mean he has to teach me? I know you said he’s working on something important, but surely that’s important too.”

The headmaster looked sad as he said, “Perhaps the prophecy has already been fulfilled. He did, after all, offer you his guidance this summer.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You don’t believe that. You think there’s more to it.”

“I did,” Dumbledore agreed, “but we all of us must reconsider our beliefs from time to time.”

Harry didn’t answer. He couldn’t think what to say. It wasn’t like Dumbledore to give up. Oh, he would let others come to their own decisions, even if it wasn’t what he thought best, but he would be there the entire time, dropping hints and “encouraging” them to choose differently. That’s what he should be doing with Snape. He should be talking him into teaching Harry! Convincing him to take the prophecy seriously! Instead, he was letting him off the hook and making his excuses to Harry.

“Can I go now, sir?” he asked woodenly, ready to fly and forget all about school and adults in general.

Dumbledore breathed a deep sigh. “I am truly sorry, Harry.”

“I know, sir,” Harry nodded politely and asked again, “Can I go?”

“Of course,” the man murmured, and Harry left without a backward glance.

Flying was a good distraction, but it didn’t last, and neither did the diversion of good friends gathered around the common room fire. It had been nice to feel the wind rush past his ears, then to laugh and joke with his friends, but come nighttime, he was again alone in the darkness with his thoughts. He didn’t try to talk himself out of a dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion like he had the previous two nights. He knew he needed to do without the potion occasionally, that Snape had said it could be addictive, but taking it all week had only served to increase his dread of the inevitable nightmares when he had to stop.

He would try to go without tomorrow, he promised himself as he drifted into a dreamless slumber.

Only, it didn’t work like it was supposed to. He didn’t scream when he woke up partway through the night, his chest heaving and the memory of Cruciatus trembling through his body. He was proud of himself for that. No screaming was good. But he shouldn’t have had a nightmare at all. He stared blankly at the faint outline of the curtains, nervous to close his eyes again. Usually the potion lasted through the night. Is this what happened if someone took too much of it - it stopped working? That was worrisome, he decided. He didn’t even know if he could fall asleep on his own. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt a cold sweat break out at the memory of going under Voldemort’s potion. He’d already had to close his eyes once with the knowledge that he might never wake up. He didn’t want to do it again.

He forced himself to close his eyes and to keep them closed. He was safe, he repeated to himself. Safe at Hogwarts. And he was strong. He was a Gryffindor. He was sixteen, almost a man, and a Gryffindor. He wouldn’t let a little thing like fear and nightmares defeat him.

Ten minutes later, he downed another dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion and burrowed under the covers.

Tomorrow. He’d go without tomorrow.