"He can no longer offer help from a distance."

Harry stood outside Snape's door for three minutes, thirty-three seconds before he finally plucked up the courage to knock. He knew, because he counted. This Occlumency lesson seemed far worse now, more than any other, even the ones where he knew he hadn't practised.

Because now Snape Knew.

He'd spent the week avoiding his potions master like the plague. He'd skulked at the back of Potions classes, praying that Snape wouldn't call on him.

He hadn't.

And that was what had Harry the most anxious. Now that Snape Knew what Uncle Vernon did, Harry would have expected the news to have gone round the Slytherin common room, and then round the school in record time. Something else for them to laugh about. Boy who lived, delusional and abused. But he'd not even heard a whisper of anything of the sort.

And in class, Snape had seemed rather...off. Distracted.

So, after much worrying as to why Snape hadn't disclosed the details of Harry's childhood, Harry had come to the conclusion that Snape wanted to be the one to taunt him with it first. In private. In Occlumency, where he could do anything he liked to Harry, and Harry couldn't complain because no one knew he was having these lessons.

Which was why it took so long to summon the bravery to knock.

(You're not in Gryffindor for nothing)

"Enter."

Harry actually jumped at the cool voice, despite expecting it. He opened the door just enough to let him through, and slid into the office, closing the door behind him. He took his time doing so, ostensibly so as not to let the heavy oak door slam, but really because he was putting off turning around and facing his tormentor.

"Potter."

Harry jumped again and cursed his own twitchiness. He did turn around and try to look up to Snape's face, but lost courage halfway up, and ended up examining the man's left elbow instead.

"Sit down, Potter."

Harry sat.

Is it me, or is this chair not as uncomfortable as usual? Harry had long been of the opinion that Snape charmed the chairs in front of his desk to be as hard as possible, to increase the discomfort of whichever miscreant happened to be sitting in them.

Harry dared to glance up at Snape from under his fringe. The professor was sitting opposite him with his fingers steepled, resting his chin lightly on them. Harry looked down again.

"Potter."

Harry peeked up again.

"Yes, sir?"

Snape cleared his throat. He looked almost...uncomfortable.

There was a drawn-out silence, then Snape reached into his desk drawer, and produced a thick book. He slid across the desk to Harry, who looked down to read the title.

"A Guide To The Art Of Occlumency."

"Read that, Potter, and practise the meditation techniques described."

For the first time, Harry brought his eyes up completely to stare at his professor.

"Yes, sir," he said. What was going on? Why was Snape being so nice? Well, nice for Snape, at any rate.

Snape looked away. He looked awkward again.

"Dismissed, Potter. I expect you to have made good headway into that book by next week's lesson."

Harry gaped, then, realising he'd just been released from Occlumency lessons for another week, grabbed the book, and lurched to his feet.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

It was a peace offering, an olive branch, the beginning of the end.

When the Occlumency resumed the next week, it was not as...invasive. Harry no longer felt like his most intimate self was being raped.

And Snape made sure Harry had gotten the hang of the meditation techniques before Legilimising him again.

They even started to have conversations. Admittedly, they were strained, but Harry enjoyed having an adult he could talk to about the war.

It didn't happen with his knowledge. It didn't happen with his permission. But Harry started to trust Snape.

"Without either of them realising it, they begin to like each other."