Satisfied with what he had learned, Severus exited Potter's mind. The boy was almost prostrate on the floor, gasping for breath, and glaring up at Severus at the same time. When Severus arched an eyebrow, however, Potter swallowed hard and blanked his face, but, to his credit, he did not look away.

Crossing his arms over his chest, with his best I am very disappointed look, Severus sighed. "Explain."

"I can't," Harry said. He struggled to his feet, not wanting to have to crane his neck to see his professor. It was bad enough he had to look up at him at all, when he was looming like that, and looking so bloody disappointed. Harry felt sick.

"Excuse me?"

"I . . . I don't know why that happened."

Snape glowered some more.

Suddenly annoyed, since the whole mess was the bloody Bloody Baron's doing anyway, Harry scowled right back. "Honest! I don't know why I could suddenly do that spell. The Bloody Baron said it was because of us sharing my body for a little bit, like fantastic memory or something."

"Phantasmal Memory?"

"Yeah. Er, I mean, yes, sir. That's what he said." Harry rubbed his forehead; his scar ached from Snape messing about in his head. He looked up at the professor. "How come I couldn't get you out that time, like I could the first time you looked at my memories?"

Snape sneered, looking oh so cool and collected, when Harry was covered in sweat. "Because I was ready for you to try and push me out. Last time I Legilimized you, I underestimated your abilities. I did not make the same mistake twice."

"You mean, like I did," Harry said, figuring he should have known the professor would be better able to hold on inside his mind this time. Yet he hadn't worked harder to push him out till Snape had started watching the hidden memory of the troll fight.

"Indeed." Snape gestured at the chair in front of his desk, and Harry sank into it gratefully. "Why did you not tell me about the Phantasmal Memory effect, when you fought that troll? One might think you didn't want me to know."

Harry flushed. He had lied to Snape after the fight; he knew it, and knew he had no excuse. But he'd been weirded out by the whole scene, to be honest, and had not wanted the professor to ask more questions about him being possessed by the Bloody Baron, when he didn't really remember it very well. Not to mention, he'd like to put that whole possession incident behind him: the cold sensation, the headaches, and the odd recollection of spells his body knew, but his memory didn't.

"Look at me, Potter."

With a guilty flinch, Harry met the man's gaze. He hated being called 'Potter,' and he knew the professor only did it when he was being extra strict outside of class. But that name -- and the tone which accompanied it -- reminded him too much of the way the Dursleys had treated him. Yet he knew he owed Snape the truth. "I didn't want you to know," he said in a low voice.

"That much is obvious."

Coloring a bit more, Harry nodded. "My body remembers doing those spells, when we fought, when the Baron and I fought Pro--" He cut himself off. "Whoever-it-was we fought my first week here."

"You were going to say Professor Quirrell."

Harry shrugged, looked away.

"Why didn't you?"

"Because it doesn't matter, does it? It's not like anyone's doing anything to keep him from trying again, or to keep Him out of my dreams or--"

Snape stepped toward him, his eyebrows drawn down low. "The Dark Lord is still invading your dreams?"

Harry nodded, still refusing to look at Snape.

Snape blew out a breath, sounding annoyed. "Why did you not tell me?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters, Potter, because if I know, then I can help you keep him out. And it matters because if you do not keep him out, he will know everything that is in your mind." He paused dramatically. "Everything."

And, of course, Harry's mind went immediately to the whatever-it-was that was being guarded by a three headed cerberus, that he knew Voldemort wanted to get his hands on. Harry bit his lip and stared at his hands. "He already knows about what Fluffy's guarding, doesn't he?"

"I imagine so." Snape loomed closer, and Harry did his best not to flinch back, and thought he might have been successful, until Snape crossed his arms over his chest and swayed back on his feet. "But if he knows you know about it, he might attempt to make you help him get it."

"He could do that?" Harry asked, aghast at the very idea.

Snape lifted one eyebrow. "You do recall being in the possession of the Bloody Baron, do you not?"

Harry nodded, and then, "Oh."

"Yes. 'Oh' pretty much covers it."

"How do I keep him out then?"

With the tiniest lift to the corner of his lip, Snape said, "I will teach you. But you must do your utmost to learn everything I show you. It is very important you keep the Dark Lord out of your thoughts and your dreams. These next few weeks, we will focus your Occlumency training on forming a barrier for your dreaming mind. You'll need to lie down for this, I'm afraid."

Wrinkling his nose at the state of Snape's office floor, Harry just sighed and stood, pushing back his chair. With a quick hand on his shoulder, Snape stopped him from lying down, and instead, waved his wand in two smooth movements, conjuring a low cot, complete with pillow and blanket.

"Brilliant!"

"Indeed." Snape jutted his chin at the cot. "Go on and lie down; it won't bite." Grinning, Harry laid down on the cot, and when he was comfortable, Snape continued to instruct him. "Close your eyes and listen to the sound of my voice. Listen only to my voice; nothing else can penetrate your consciousness. Clear your mind of all things, and hear only my voice. Hear each word as I say it, and understand all that I say. Your mind is a blank slate, a field of white, and I will write upon it all I want you to hear, and to know. . . ."

Snape continued speaking, using a low, soothing tone he usually reserved for calming Harry from his nightmares, as far as Harry could tell. But this was nice, being able to listen without being caught up in images and scenes -- like his nightmares -- that scared the bejeezus out of him. He rarely told Snape what his bad dreams were about, feeling they were far too personal to share, but Snape came and soothed him back to sleep anyway, and had done so, ever since that time he'd found Harry in the washroom with Gaius Avery.

With a jolt, Harry realized he was not keeping a white, clear field, but was starting to think about bad things he never wanted to think about. Hoping Snape had not caught him faltering, Harry cut off his thoughts. He listened to the professor's cool, relaxing tones again and forced himself to obey each of Snape's commands: tense or relax this or that muscle; clear this or that thought.

They went through several more exercises, but Snape did not try to access his mind again. Eventually, the lesson was over, and Harry was allowed to get up from the cot.

"Return tomorrow evening at the same time, Mr. Potter," Snape instructed. "Tonight, at bedtime, I want you to practice the exercise I just put you through. Can you do that?"

Harry nodded, recalling the specific orders. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Let me know tomorrow if you had any problems getting to sleep."

He didn't have to say he would know if Harry suffered any nightmares; they both already knew that he probably would, and if he did, Snape would know, and he would be there to help Harry through it.

If Harry wasn't so embarrassed about the situation, he would have been inclined to feel very fondly of Snape for being there for him when he was afraid in the middle of the night, when no one else had ever been, at least not in his memory.

"I will, sir. Thank you."

"Have you finished your essays yet?"

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "For when schools starts again? That's almost two whole weeks away!"

"I am aware of the school calendar, Mr. Potter. But I take it you have not yet begun your holiday work."

"Um, no, sir. Not yet." It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Snape that he'd been reading the book on Occlumency like mad, and hadn't had extra time for regular school work, but Snape already knew that, and the only thing a reminder would do is make the professor more snappish. "I'll start my essays tomorrow," he promised instead.

"Good." Snape nodded. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, sir." Harry hesitated before leaving, however, biting his lip.

Snape had gone back around his desk and sat in his chair where he shuffled some papers for what appeared to be a grading session. He peered over at Harry from under his heavy brows. "Is there something else?"

"I, er, well . . . well . . ."

"Deep subject?"

Harry cracked a smile. "Er, no, sir, but I thought, well, maybe if you weren't too busy . . . er, we could, um . . ."

"Spit it out, Harry, I haven't all day."

The use of his first name relaxed him, as he supposed Snape knew it would, and he smiled a bit more. "I thought, we haven't looked at pictures for a while . . ."

"And you would like to, this evening? Don't you have some chess matches to--" Snape cut himself off, and actually seemed to blush, even as Harry himself colored with embarrassment.

"Um, I don't really know how to play, sir," he said quietly.

Staring at his desk top, Snape nodded slowly, then lifted his head till his gaze met Harry's. "Harry, I . . . I apologize, for bringing that up. It was needlessly cruel."

Harry shrugged. They were past lessons, now, and into more casual waters, but he was still nervous around the professor, for reasons he couldn't really describe, and had more to do with memories of his uncle and aunt's treatment of him -- despite being their nephew -- than anything else. "It's okay."

"It isn't," Snape said. "But it is kind of you to say so." He rose abruptly. "Come with me."

Harry followed the professor into his private rooms, where he had been just yesterday, and given him the picture he'd drawn. In a quick glance around, he couldn't see the drawing out anywhere obvious; maybe Snape had thrown it away. Harry wouldn't have blamed him.

"I want to show you something," the professor was saying, and waved at the brown sofa where Harry had sat yesterday morning. "Have a seat."

"Thank you, sir."

Snape made a non-committal noise and disappeared through another door for a minute, and when he returned, he had a drawing in his hand of about the same size as the one Harry had done, but this one was in pencil. Snape sat next to him on the sofa and held the picture so they could both look at it. Sure enough, this was a sketch of Snape, but much younger, Harry thought, looking at him. Whoever had done it had done a great job with shading and proportion, he thought.

"It's good," Harry said, wondering why they were looking at it. A sudden thought occurred to him. "I can take mine back, if you don't need it," he said quickly. "I didn't know you had one already."

Snape gave him a puzzled look, as if he had no idea what Harry meant, and then something seemed to click and he shook his head, hard enough to send the greasy strands of his hair whipping about his face. "No! I want the one you drew, too, Harry." His lips twisted in a smirking smile. "You drew me very well. I have it on the desk in my study."

"Oh!" Snape's words warmed something inside him, but Harry still didn't understand. "Then why . . ."

"Am I showing you this picture?" At Harry's nod, Snape actually smiled, for like the second time ever. "Your mother drew this one for me."

Harry's "Oh," this time was not much more than a soft expulsion of breath.

"Lily enjoyed drawing, too, Harry. I believe we were about ten years old when she did this one, and I've kept it all these years."

Harry was staring at the drawing, memorizing the lines and shading and the shape of the professor's eyes, the cant of his head . . . everything about the drawing that he could. His Mum had done this. She'd touched this paper, and brought the face of her friend to life, in pencil. She liked the same things he did, and had similar skills, too. It was nothing short of amazing.

"I thought you might like seeing this."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They talked together a bit longer, about other sketches Harry's Mum had done, and the mediums she'd used as she got older, and then it was nearly curfew and time for Harry to go back to the dorm. For some reason, he didn't want to leave, however, and he had to force himself to stand and put his trainers back on. When he realized he was dragging his heels, he almost laughed at himself. Stupid Harry, do you think you're his real family, that you get to stay with him like you're his son? He hurried to the door, then.

Snape calling his name brought him up short.

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you . . ." The professor hesitated uncharacteristically, then continued, "Would you like for me to teach you wizard chess some time?"

Though he wasn't sure what he'd expected Snape to say, that was not it. Still, it was a kind offer. He smiled. "Yeah, that'd be great, sir."

"Perhaps after your lesson tomorrow."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Professor."

Outside in the corridor, the Bloody Baron was waiting to escort him back to his dormitory, as patiently as if he had just arrived. Harry walked, and the Baron floated in silence, and after he reached his room, Harry performed his ablutions, flopped onto his four-poster, and ran through the exercise that he hoped would help keep dreams of Voldemort out of his head.

At least this once, it worked.

--HPSSHPSSHPSS--

The next day was filled with reading and writing essays until mid afternoon when Harry could not take the dull quiet anymore. He grabbed the Invisibility Cloak out of his trunk, flung it over his head and escaped his dormitory to walk in entire anonymity through the halls of Hogwarts.

It was glorious.

The first thing he noted was that even the Bloody Baron could not sense him, not even with Phantasma-whatever, and so, once Harry crept past him, he was really and truly alone in the halls of Hogwarts for the first time in months. The portraits on the first floor didn't notice him either, and Harry liked that very much. He'd caught them talking about him lately, especially since he was in the company of the Bloody Baron so often, and no one could hear the Baron except him -- and Snape. The portraits all thought he was a bit touched, but now he could glide right past them and they kept quiet.

For the rest of the afternoon, Harry explored Hogwarts, finding staircases he had never seen before, and passageways that took him to rooms that were new to him, too. He had a great time, and almost hated to end his "adventure" and go to dinner. Afterwards, he had another lesson with Snape, and this one was much less difficult to deal with, as Snape kept doing the dream-barrier exercises, and did not enter his mind again.

Over the next week, in fact, Snape only entered his mind a couple of times during lessons, and each time with the express purpose of showing him how to erect specific barriers, which he could do better from within, the professor explained. Afterwards, they played chess for an hour or two, or looked at pictures of Harry's Mum, and once, Harry asked if it would be all right to bring his sketch book and pencils, as he had an idea for a drawing. After giving him a funny look, Snape allowed it, and Harry happily drew the man's office again, although this time with the actual bottles and jars of wriggly, weird-looking potion ingredients, and this time with his Mum in front of a cauldron. He gave the picture to Snape at the end of Christmas break, and Snape appeared so overcome with emotion that Harry had to actually turn away so as to give him some privacy.

During the days, after working on his essays, and studying both his Occlumency book as well as the one on Elemental protection that Teddy had given him before the holidays, Harry continued exploring the castle. He stayed well clear of the room with Fluffy in it -- though he had yet to see the cerberus for himself, and wondered briefly if it were as horrible a beast as everyone said -- but explored the library a bit more fully than he'd been able to before. Under his Invisibility Cloak, after all, he could go into the Restricted Section, and no one would know . . . so long as he didn't try to open a book that screamed.

The most interesting thing he found was on the day after New Year's, when he spied Ron Weasley coming out of a room on the fourth floor, a few corridors away from the library. Weasley glanced all around before actually stepping out into the hallway, and he eased the door closed behind him, really quietly, as if he didn't want anyone to hear him going.

Odd, Harry thought. Ron had never struck him as the sneaky type. He peered at the door to the room Ron had exited, and wondered what was hidden inside. Two ways to find out, and one of them might lessen the gap between him and the boy he had once thought would be his friend. Thus, after letting the redhead move past him and go a few steps towards the main staircase, Harry removed the Cloak and rolled it up under his arm. He called out, "Hey, Weasley. Find anything interesting in there?"

Weasley levitated about three feet, and spun to face Harry. "What's it to you?"

"Nothin'," Harry replied. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the door Ron had exited from. "I've been exploring the castle some, and just wondered what was in that room."

"Nothing."

"Really? You were in there kind of a long time." Harry had no idea at all how long Ron had been in the room, but he made an educated guess, based on not having seen much of the other boy since Christmas.

Weasley's face reddened, almost as bright as his hair. "It's none of your business what I do, Slytherin Sneak!"

Harry held up his hands, thinking of mentioning something about kettles and pots, but refrained. "Sorry, I was just asking. Thought you might like to share adventures."

The other boy's eyes narrowed, as if Harry were taking the piss, but then he shrugged in turn. "I guess. Have you found anything?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "I found a moaning ghost on the second floor called Myrtle, and the door to the kitchens, too." Draco had showed him that, of course, but he figured, from the way Weasley put away food, he might enjoy a bit of information like that.

As he'd thought, Weasley perked right up, grinning back at him. "Yeah? Where is it?"

"When you're facing the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall, take the right hand stairs, like you're going to the Puffies' common room, and then when you come to a picture of a big bowl of fruit, you tickle the pear and the door opens. The Hogwarts House Elves are really great -- they'll give you all kinds of food." He'd gone to see them a few times this week, in fact -- exploring made him extra hungry -- and they always loaded him down with treats.

"Brilliant!"

Harry grinned. "Yeah." Then he gestured again at the door behind him, and asked hesitantly, "So, what's in there?"

"You'll never believe it," Weasley said. "I'm not sure I do, myself."

"Yeah? Show me."

"All right, come on. It's brilliant, really," he said easily as he led Harry to the door. "I wanted to show someone, actually, but Fred'n George don't give a toss about the future, so they don't even care about what I found."

"What is it?" Harry asked again, getting excited. Something that showed the future? Could he see himself defeating Voldemort?

"It's a big mirror, but it doesn't just show your reflection." They entered the room, a dusty and gloomy affair, which looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket -- but propped against the wall facing the two of them was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way. It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

What the heck? Harry went closer to the mirror, but dared not look into the face, not yet. "It shows you the future?" he asked quietly.

"It must do," Weasley answered. "I saw myself in it, when I looked, but I was Quidditch Captain, and Head Boy, too. I had the House Cup in my hands."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

Drawing up his courage, Harry went to stand in front of the mirror. At once, he gasped and spun around to see behind him, but only Ron was there, still. But in the mirror . . . he slowly turned around to see a whole crowd standing behind him just like before. At least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder -- but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, under cloaks like his? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror's trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?

"What do you see?" Weasley asked.

"I'm, uh, I'm not sure," Harry said. He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air -- she and the others existed only in the mirror.

Though she was a bit older than in Snape's photos, there was no mistaking Lily Potter. His mother. She had dark red hair and green eyes just like Harry's. He edged a little closer to the glass, and then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time, and she knew Harry was there. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did. His father!

Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching

that of his reflection. "Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"

They looked at him, smiling. Really looked at him, not just pretend, like in the photos. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees -- Harry was looking at his whole family, for the first time in his life.

The Potters and maybe some Evanses, too, smiled and waved at Harry, and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

"What is it, Harry?" Ron asked again, but very softly. Even so, Harry flinched at the unexpected sound. "You said 'Mum and Dad'. You can see them in there, can't you. But aren't they. . . ?"

"Yeah," Harry said, feeling choked. "They're dead."

"So . . ."

"The mirror can't be showing the future, Ron."

"No," Ron agreed after a long moment. "What do you think . . .?"

Harry could not drag his gaze away from his parents, from the rest of his family. He swallowed hard and made himself answer anyway, knowing he had to, knowing that once he left this mirror, he would never return. "Maybe it just shows what you really, really want, more than anything. Even if you can never have it."

A moment later, another person joined the crowd near Harry, and he could never mistake Severus Snape for anyone else. His Mum and Dad greeted Snape, and shook his hand, and as his Mum and Dad both put a hand on Harry's shoulder, the Potions Professor gazed down at him with a smile, then ruffled the hair on his head, and it was so real he almost felt it. It was as if they were all there with him, as if they were all his family, even Snape, and he felt so warm and sad and happy all at once he thought he might burst.

"Yeah," Ron said, sounding sad. "I guess you're right."