Harry found, at breakfast, that he was uncommonly anxious. Though of course, he had been worried about the war in general for quite a while now, what annoyed him about this comparatively mild unease was its banality. It took him a moment or two, as he cleared the haze of sleep from his thoughts, to recognize it -- he was thinking about girls. Specifically, taking a girl to Slughorn's Christmas party, which he didn't see any way out of attending. It would have been funny, the triviality of it, were it not for the constant reminder that Hermione, too, would be attending, and -- barring some miracle of the universe -- without Ron.

He took a sip of his pumpkin juice, put a forkful of eggs in his mouth, and glanced around the table. There were quite a few girls who would be happy to accompany him (Romilda Vane, in particular, was still disturbingly obsessed with him), but he didn't find the notion particularly appealing. One awkward Yule Ball had been enough. His eye alighted on Ginny, for a moment; he was sure that she would go with him, if he asked -- they were friends enough -- and he would have fun, at least, but he wasn't keen on facing whatever Ron might have to say about that. He looked away before she could notice his eyes on her, and he wondered, briefly, that he cared if she did.

He turned back to the History of Magic homework next to his plate. He was almost done with it, and it wasn't due until the afternoon, but it was slow going. Harry found himself idly wishing that someone like the Half-Blood Prince had made notes in his History of Magic textbook as well -- but then again, he thought, the Prince's expertise lay mostly in practical magic, rather than academic minutiae.

His thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of owls descending upon the Gryffindor table. Harry glanced up, but returned to his breakfast when he did not see Hedwig among them. He had gotten half-way through a paragraph on some witch trial or other when Ron elbowed him lightly and said, "Oy, my mum wants you to come over for Christmas again. I mean, figures, but she told me to let you know."

"Sounds good. Tell her thanks for me, will you?" said Harry, the prospect of spending the holidays at the Burrow cheering him considerably. He turned to Hermione and asked, "What about you? Plans for the hols?"

"Spending time with my parents. I'm not sure what we're doing yet, but my mum says it'll be interesting. We might be going somewhere on the Continent -- I'll see." Hermione sounded pleased -- Harry thought, for a moment, that having a Muggle family to go home to, away from the war and everything, sounded very nice. It occurred to him that that was what his mother's situation must have been, during the first war. Well, excepting Aunt Petunia -- he imagined she wasn't nice at all, even then -- but he tried not to think about her.

"Have fun," he told Hermione. "Take some pictures."

"I will," she said, still smiling, though there was something brittle in her happiness. Harry couldn't quite place what it was -- but then she met his eyes, and he found that he understood, after all. Given the uncertainties of war, given how close she was to Harry and how determined she was to see it through, she knew that each time she saw her parents could well be her last. She had known this for quite some time now, and was resigned to it, but that didn't mean she liked it. And there was, of course, the matter of their safety from Voldemort, especially given her increasing involvement in the war.

"Good to be getting away from it all, I'll bet," said Harry. "The war, and stuff. I can't imagine what it must be like for your parents."

"Well, we're never really away from it..." Hermione began. "Wait, are you...?" she trailed off, aware that they were surrounded by more than just Ron.

"Reading your mind?" Harry said lightly, in a way such that anyone other than she and Ron would think he was joking. "No. Or at least," he lowered his voice, "I don't try to. But if you're concentrating really hard on something, or thinking about something a lot, sometimes I can pick it up without even meaning to. Sorry -- I'm learning how to not do it, but..." He cut himself off, aware that he was rambling.

"Oh, right. I do remember reading about that once," said Hermione.

"You're not bothered by it?" Harry asked.

Ron slung an arm around his shoulder, his hand nearly dipping into the plate of eggs. Harry started; he didn't think Ron had been listening. "Don't worry about it, mate," said Ron. "I mean, it's not like I'm keeping any secrets from you."

"Just get it under control before you start really getting into all sorts of ethics violations," said Hermione, suddenly grave. "The laws are vague about it -- I imagine they're nearly impossible to enforce -- but it's important all the same."

"I know. We're working on it," said Harry.

Hermione nodded, a vaguely satisfied expression crossing her face. "How far are you on your History of Magic short answers?"

Harry groaned. "Last two. Stuck on the witch trials question. I can never remember any of the American ones."

"I just put down a bunch of English towns and added 'New' in front," said Ron, in what was possibly an attempt to be helpful. That earned him a smack from Hermione. "Ow!" he said, "What was that for? It's true!"

"Well, what about Salem? It wasn't New Salem, now, was it?"

Harry sighed and turned back to his homework, scooting a bit closer to the table. He made a mental note to never sit between Ron and Hermione again.

 

---

 

Harry entered Snape's office feeling considerably less at ease than he usually did. "Sir, can I ask you a question?" he asked. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, and tried quite hard not to shuffle his feet, too.

"You may," said Snape, eyeing him critically.

Harry stilled his hands, with effort. "I've started picking up on other people's thoughts, like you said I would. Hermione's and Ron's, mostly, but still. Is there a way I can stop it?"

Snape favored him with a long, measured look. "There is. It requires more discipline than you currently possess -- mental discipline, that is -- but you may gain some measure of control, should you truly apply yourself to the task. It is in the realm of Legilimency, which is not strictly necessary to you."

"Yeah, I know. But it's related, right? I read about that. I want -- I need to not do this to my friends. To anyone, really. It's not right."

"I assure you, it is an unnecessary effort. It is commonly accepted that Legilimens read people at will. It is part of the reason we are somewhat... feared. Rather like Parselmouths, in fact," said Snape, with a slight nod to Harry. "Surface thoughts are not usually particularly incriminating, regardless."

"Well, sure. Believe me, I remember how the rest of the school reacted when everyone found out I spoke Parseltongue. I don't want people to think that of me." He stopped short of saying, "I'm not like you." It wasn't an accusation -- he was pretty sure that at least part of Snape's reputation was deliberately cultivated -- but he could not be sure how Snape would react. He found that he did not want to offend the man.

"There is one crucial distinction that you seem to have neglected," Snape said coolly. "The school, and likely the rest of the wizarding world, knows that you are a Parselmouth -- no thanks to The Prophet. Few enough people know about this; those who do and cannot defend themselves are not likely to begrudge you the occasional lapse."

Harry sighed. "You're talking about Ron and Hermione, right? I know that -- Ron told me he doesn't mind -- but that doesn't make it right. Look, maybe -- maybe it's a Gryffindor thing, maybe you think I'm being stupid or something, but it's really important to me. Would it be that hard for me to learn? Err... for you to teach me?" Harry added at the last moment, as he abruptly realized that, just as with Occlumency, Snape would have to instruct him in this, as well.

"You misunderstand me," said Snape. "I am not... unwilling... to teach you Legilimency. It is merely that Occlumency is vastly more important at this juncture, and we have very little time. As was demonstrated very recently, you are still not fully capable of controlling your mind when asleep."

"Oh," said Harry, suddenly feeling rather stupid, and also rather relieved. "I -- of course. Umm... thanks. I'll do the work, I promise."

Snape nodded, his expression vaguely satisfied. "Very well. See to it that your Occlumency does not suffer, and I shall lend you a few books on the subject. I expect you to read them thoroughly. I would," he added, his lips quirking in a manner Harry could not quite interpret, "also advise that you keep this particular ability to yourself, or at least to as small a group as you can manage. It is, as I have mentioned, not quite accepted in polite society."

"Thanks, sir. I understand, so... thanks for looking out for me," said Harry, feeling his cheeks redden.

"Cease your infernal thanking," Snape said, with more exasperation than any real ire. "It is unnecessary, I assure you. 'Looking out for you,' however, as you so crudely put it, is -- Merlin knows the sorts of trouble you invite."

"Not my fault," Harry mumbled, or something to that effect.

"One would think that anyone in your position would have the sense to stay out of trouble, but you, of course, have to go chasing after it -- daft Gryffindor that you are."

Daft? Harry found himself thinking. It was rather weak, as far as insults went; Snape, of all people, could do better.

Daft, quite so, said Snape's voice, in the front of Harry's mind. Harry gleaned a vague sense of amusement, almost like a mental smirk, as his Devil's Snares shot out to trap Snape in its vines. Snape slipped away like a serpent, going up in smoke and reappearing just out of reach. If it weren't Snape, Harry would have said that the man was teasing him. As it was, Harry blinked and went after him with one of the giant flytraps he'd embedded in his hedges.

Snape drew his wand and fired off a hex at the plant's jaws; a coil of thin black cord wound itself around the flytrap, snapping its jaws shut. "This is your mind, remember," he said to Harry, "The plant need not conform to normal strictures of herbology and physics. Also," he added, taking out another flytrap, "these things are too slow. They should not be so easily incapacitated."

"I know -- I've been working on the buffer," said Harry, as one of the flytraps swung around and snapped at the man's head.

"I see a distinct lack of a buffer," said Snape, dodging the plant. Harry cheered a bit -- he'd made the man duck, which was more than he usually managed.

"I'm working on it, I promise. It's hard -- I have no idea which memories are convincing. I mean, I don't think Voldemort will be fooled if all he sees is a hundred variations of me having breakfast or something."

Snape snorted. "Hardly. Surely you can piece together enough ordinary schooldays and Hogsmeade weekends. You might even include a few near-death experiences for accuracy's sake."

Snape had mentioned this when they first began working on Harry's buffer. The idea, as Harry understood it, was to create a layer of memories, thoughts, and emotions just outside of his main barrier, so that anyone who did not probe too deeply wouldn't even suspect that Harry was an Occlumens. The most successful buffers, like Snape's, were indistinguishable from the real surface layers of the mind; the object was to deceive an intruder into thinking that there were no barriers, that the artificially constructed buffer was actually Harry's unprotected mind. Harry, however, didn't think that Voldemort would be so easily misled. "He knows there's more than that, though," said Harry. "He knows that there are things I know -- things Dumbledore told me, for example -- that most people don't, and he's going to try to find them."

"Does he, though?" Snape sidestepped away from a Whomping Willow, which flailed its branches uselessly in his direction. "Recall that the Headmaster has deliberately kept you out of Order meetings. Recall that he sends you back to your aunt and uncle's house over the summer, where you are for the most part isolated from the Wizarding world. Recall that the Dark Lord does not know of your lessons with the Headmaster. As far as he knows, the Headmaster has deliberately shielded you from the brunt of the war -- the Dark Lord believes it is out of misguided affection, which is not wholly untrue. If he were looking for information specific to the Order of the Phoenix, he has a better source -- or rather, he believes he has a better source -- namely, myself. He seeks access to your mind to manipulate you," said Snape, coolly arching an eyebrow, "as you have good reason to remember."

Harry swallowed -- he could feel his throat working, in his physical body. Snape had not spoken with any ill intention, he knew, or even reproach, but within his own mind, Harry could not escape the sensation of guilt and grief that followed. It had gotten easier these past months, he thought; he had managed, to bury it where nobody -- not Dumbledore, not Voldemort, not even himself -- could reach it. Even when Ron and Hermione mentioned Sirius, in passing sometimes as they were wont to do, he no longer reacted. But Snape, speaking of it here in Harry's mind, prodded at a wound only half healed over, the Grim-shaped hole in Harry's heart. The hurt spilled forth like a thick vapor, like some sort of fog pouring through the forest of his barriers and throttling him, filling his lungs so that he could hardly breath with the pressure of it.

Dimly, somewhere in the forefront of his mind, Harry could make out Snape slipping past one of the Whomping Willows. Had it been a ploy, Harry thought suddenly, to distract me enough to slip through the barrier? Never mind that Snape probably didn't need any such trick, master Legilimens that he was -- Harry felt irrationally hurt, betrayed, and lashed out with his Devil's Snares. The vines shot out from behind the trees, four or five of them at once, and managed to bind Snape's hands at his sides. The man jerked backwards, pulling all at once against his restraints -- Harry felt it as though he were holding Snape with his own fingers -- and slipped out of Harry's mind. Harry clung stubbornly to him, and all of a sudden found himself in Snape's mind, standing in Snape's own parlor.

Snape, much to Harry's surprise, looked completely unruffled. "I suppose it worked," he said, smoothing down the front of his robes.

"What?" Harry's hands were clenched in his sleeves, his heart still hammering in his ears, for all that he was in another wizard's head.

"You are in my mind. Granted, I had a hand in bringing you here, and there isn't much you can glean from my parlor, but it is still a form of Legilimency."

"You -- you did that just to teach me Legilimency?" Harry all but shouted.

Snape took a step towards him, and he wrenched himself backwards, out of Snape's mind. He landed back in his own, and found Snape standing across from him, arms folded and a somewhat satisfied expression on his lips.

"It was successful, was it not?" said Snape.

"That's not the point! You didn't have to -- you bastard!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "It appeared that I did. Legilimency, like Occlumency, is best learned through practical experience. The surest way to induce unintentional Legilimency is to provoke a mental attack."

"Still! It was -- it was just cruel! Of all things --"

"Potter."

"-- you could have picked --"

"Potter!"

"-- you had to choose --"

"Harry Potter!"

Harry stopped shouting, then, and closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth. "I... sorry, sir," he muttered, looking away, unwilling to face the censure he would surely find in Snape's eyes.

"Look at me," said the man. Harry swallowed, and slowly lifted his head. Snape seemed to loom over him, even with the desk between them. More quietly, he continued, "As difficult as it may first seem, you must learn to live with loss. We are at war, and death is unfortunate but inevitable. Dwelling, as it were, is a weakness, one that the enemy will not hesitate to exploit. If you allow it to incapacitate you, the Dark Lord will defeat you. You must master it, use it -- and Black will not have died in vain."

Harry swallowed. His mind was a wild tangle of hurt and bitterness, but he managed to dredge up some semblance of his usual defiance; he thought, recklessly, What would you know about it?

"More than you would imagine," said Snape, his tone turning suddenly frigid. Staring fixedly at some point above Harry's eyes -- his scar, perhaps, or James's messy hair, or nothing at all -- Snape said, only, "Think upon it."

Harry understood it for the dismissal it was. "I'm sorry, sir," he tried again, as he gathered up his bag. "I -- I didn't mean it like that. I do trust you, really, and I get what you were trying to do. I just... panicked, I guess."

"Yes," said Snape, who had turned away from him. "I shall see you next week."

"Okay. Uh, good night, then, sir."

As Harry closed the door, he fancied he could see a glimmer of silver in the office. Probably just tired, he thought, shoulders slumping as a sudden wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He shook his head and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. He did not dream at all that night, or if he did, he did not remember a thing.