"Go on Harry, it's not harmful in any way"

"It just needs the final objective testing, product satisfaction and all"

Harry looked at the twins and could not believe he was considering agreeing.  Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Product Tester was just not a safe job, one-time or not.  However, they had cornered him here at Grimmauld Place and had been nagging all day.  Sirius had been the only other person here and he had said at breakfast that he had some stuff to work on and then hidden himself in the library.  He hadn't been seen since and the twins, who had been staying for a couple of days while their flat was being refurbished, had kept up the aggravating nagging.  Harry considered that the promised side-effects would, if they worked, be pretty cool. 

This latest product, which was an extension of their Patented Daydream Charm, promised to fill the room with the imbiber's own play-world.  There were several scenarios in the works but the only one ready to test was where the ‘client' (or twins' victim, thought Harry) believed they were on a pirate's ship at sea, rescuing a fair maiden or finding treasure as wished by the client/victim.  That was the innovative thing about the product:  it catered to the individual so that no two play-worlds would be the same despite identical potions being taken.  Anyone else in the room would be able to see the moving images as well but they wouldn't feel as though it were real, like the drinker would.

Harry let out a sigh, "Tell me again that it's safe".

Both Fred and George smiled widely, "‘Course it is mate, we've run through every standard safety test,"

"And a few non-standard ones as well.  You know we always test on ourselves first -"

" - And there weren't a single problem.  You of all people need to relax and this is the perfect way!"  So saying, the twin (Fred, judging by the big ‘F' on his jumper) thrust out the potion vial with a flourish.  Harry gave them one more look before nodding and taking hold of the vial. 

"Where would be best to try it?"

"We recommend somewhere with plenty of space and not too much furniture." 

"So we think that the old ballroom should work pretty well."

"Right, then.  Let's do it now then before the others come round and I'll only miss the beginning of the meeting later."

"Now Harry mate, you know that as good and proper members of aforementioned Order, we cannot condone any eavesdropping on your, or others, parts."  However, as Fred was saying this George was dangling a pair of extendable ears.

"Supposing however, that these were clumsily left behind, and someone were to find them."

"Well, that would be one lucky fella, now wouldn't it George?"  A couple of over-zealous winks and a grateful smile by Harry later and the ears had vanished into a pocket of the shorter wizard's jeans.

With a sincere "thanks, guys!" Harry led them all to the ballroom at the back of the townhouse.

Having the twins round for a bit had been brilliant and Harry felt grateful that they had stopped by for a while.  He knew that Ron and Hermione would have loved to have been here but their parents still wanted a bit of the summer with them first.  Sirius had been great company but he did wish for someone his own age every now and again.  He still felt incredibly lucky that Remus had been able to come and retrieve him from the Dursleys' house after only three weeks.

Stepping into the ballroom he assessed its size and lack of furniture.  It had some rather miffed-looking portraits and heavy drapes lining some of the walls, but it was a good space and he could imagine that the balls that must have once been held here would have been quite the spectacle, despite the grim feel of the place now. 

With one last check at the twins, who gave him a thumbs up, he tipped back the potion and waited.  It wasn't a long wait at all.  Soon he was standing at the helm of a large wooden pirate ship.  Looking up, Harry could see the skull and crossbones flying high at the top of the mast and down on the deck there were a variety of rough-looking sailors working the ropes, scrubbing the deck and lazing around.  Realising that it was not real, he tried to focus on the ballroom and the twins; with a bit of concentration he could see through the illusions and found the twins coo-ing at some of the people on the ship.  More relaxed now, Harry settled into the Daydream. 

After an action filled twenty-minutes he was inordinately grateful to the twins.  This had been just what he needed.  They would probably go on later about his heroic and saving-people tendencies, but it felt good to just rescue the damsel, dodge the villain, and live it up without having any of the terror of real life and death situations.  The Daydream was winding up now and just as Harry gave the grateful damsel another smile he found himself clutching at his forehead.  The pain was extraordinary, flashing straight through his brain as if a bullet were ricocheting around his skull at the speed of light.

Fred and George looked on in horror as Harry crumpled before them; his eyes were squeezed tightly together, his mouth was in a rictus of pain and both his hands were being flattened into his forehead, as if he could lessen the pain by pushing his scar deep into his head.  They had never heard anything like the gasping scream he let out.  They rushed to his side and helped him to the floor.  They looked at one another to confirm what they knew:  Voldemort.  Fred nodded to George and left him with Harry while he went to get one of the newly arrived members, hoping that the Headmaster had been one of the first this evening.

While George waited he watched in morbid fascination as the illusions around him changed but did not disappear.  Instead of the pirate's ship, there was now a richly furnished room in which He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named stood looking down on a cowering Death Eater.  You-Know-Who looked awful but the worst thing was the clear anger that he felt with the poor sod in front of him.  It radiated around the ballroom as surely as it did in that unknown receiving room; it was ferocious and almost tangible.  As he looked on, George heard the high and sibilant voice cast Cruciatus on the dark-robed man.  George, against his will and knowing full well that the Death Eater was probably responsible for many evil crimes, nevertheless felt pity towards him.  The curse seemed to be lasting for an eternity and George could not help but watch.  Under his hands Harry squirmed and kept clutching at his scar. 

Finally, the curse was lifted and George breathed again; though his calm was suddenly broken when he realised that Harry had fainted with the lifting of the curse.  He looked down in horror and started shouting Harry's name.  Someone dragged him back and he saw Sirius Black crouching down over Harry and doing the same thing.  Most of the Order was now in the ballroom and Harry had very little space, though since he was unconscious it didn't appear to disturb him. 

"Move back Sirius" said Dumbledore, kneeling next to the prone boy.  Sirius looked up at the Headmaster but did not let go of Harry.  Dumbledore moved his non-injured hand over the boy and appeared to be deep in concentration.  Soon he sighed and looked at the twins with a steady gaze.  "Perhaps, my boys, you could tell me what happened and how exactly we are witnessing Voldemort's atrocities here?"

Fred and George explained as well as they could what had happened with George detailing what had happened after Fred had left to get help.  "I suppose he wasn't under the Cruciatus for long, but it seemed like ages."  George's paled complexion served to underline the awfulness of what he had just witnessed.  Looking again at Harry, he asked, "Is he going to be okay?"

"He is unconscious and fitful, but appears well.  I understand that Harry normally stays conscious during these ‘dreams' and that they stay in his head.  However, it would seem that your clever potion has both sent Harry to sleep and drawn out his vision.  I would guess that he is still aware of the vision however, as his movements show his disgust with the scene."  Indeed, Harry was twitching every now and again. 

No one had been paying a great deal of attention to the other characters in the room but with a sudden high shout of ‘Avada Kedavra' and a flash of green light everyone was forcefully refocused on the unmoving Death Eater.  Voldemort looked down on the corpse for several moments.

"Albus, is Harry truly alright?"  Remus was still perturbed about the whole episode and it was evident he was echoing the thoughts of the rest of the Order in the room, including Sirius, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bill and Arthur Weasley.  The meeting had only been meant to be a brief update on extremely secretive topics. 

"Yes, Remus.  He will be fine.  I actually think this is better than being conscious; at least there is no pain for him.  I don't believe the vision of Voldemort and his associates will fall until Harry regains consciousness."

There was a moment while everyone thought of the consequences.  This could be a unique opportunity to gain information directly from the source.  Though no one dared say anything in the Headmaster's presence, the Order's spy was deeply mistrusted.  As Voldemort shouted for Wormtail and moved to sit in a comfortable chair in the corner of the room, Dumbledore continued, "To that end I believe it prudent to wake Harry up."  Several people in the room seemed uncertain about this, but Remus and Sirius nodded in agreement.  The Headmaster muttered something under his breath and flicked his wand; Harry's body spasmed and a weak cry was heard, the vision flickered but remained, as did Harry in his unconscious state. 

"Well, perhaps it would be best to let Harry wake up naturally," said Dumbledore, frowning.  He rechecked the boy and assured everyone that he was still fine.  That was all that was needed to allow all eyes to return to the monster that had appeared in the old ballroom.   

Wormtail had scurried in and appeared to have already received instructions to remove the body.  Remus looked sadly at his former friend while Sirius was scowling and flexing his fingers.  Pettigrew left the room while hovering the body and returned a short while later to pour his master a drink. 

"Good, Wormtail.  I don't like to unnecessarily remove my servants so abruptly but Timbley's failure was rather greater than average."  Voldemort sipped thoughtfully at his drink before turning to the stubby man again. 

"Your arm Wormtail.  I find I have a need to call Severus."  Peter mumbled something but looked ashamed at a glance from the pale figure and held out his arm.  The Order looked on with a mixture of curiosity and horror.  Realisation had Dumbledore ordering everyone out of the room, not wanting anyone to see any humiliation that Severus Snape might receive at the hands of his one-time master.  No one moved.

It was clear that neither Sirius nor Remus would be parted from Harry, both crying that he needed familiar faces around when he awoke.  Alastor said that if Snape really were on their side then there was no need to fear his performance being seen.  Kingsley and Arthur held their ground though likely would have gone if so ordered again.  In the end, only the Weasley offspring left, rather reluctantly. 

Dumbledore looked worn and surveyed those in the room, "You will all keep what you see here secret.  I do not want Severus' position compromised in any way.  Is that understood?"  The silent nods by Moody, Kingsley, Arthur, Sirius and Remus greeted Severus' arrival into Voldemort's presence.

Severus Snape stepped into the plush room, eyes scanning left and right to take in every detail.  Scowling at Peter Pettigrew, Snape strode to kneel at Voldemort’s side.  After a reverent kiss to the hem of the dark robe, Snape rose gracefully and withdrew a couple of steps. 

“Severus.  How prompt of you.” 

Snape’s face bore little expression as he inclined his head in acknowledgement of the Dark Lord’s praise.  He looked in Peter’s direction and sneered, “Don’t you have some cupboards to clean, you odious little rat?”

Back at Grimmauld Place the spectators from the Order appeared shocked that Snape had the authority to dismiss one of the Dark Lord’s servants from his presence.  Sirius looked torn between applauding his long time enemy and punching all three spectres in the face.  Albus’ smile nearly erased the frown he had worn since Snape’s summoning.

“Leave us, Wormtail, I shall call you later.”  Pettigrew turned a hate-filled look upon Snape and fled the room.  Once the animagus had left the room, Snape returned his focus to the Dark Lord, whose attention had never left Severus’ face. 

“As charming as ever, Severus.”  The smile that appeared on the snake-like features was repulsive, though Snape seemed unaffected by it.  Instead, he returned the expression with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m sure, my lord, that if you had desired charm, you would have broken Lucius out of Azkabhan by now.”  At this, a short high laugh erupted from Voldemort which made the previous smile positively charismatic in comparison. 

“Indeed.  Sit Severus, I need your opinion on a matter.”  Snape sat in the comfortable armchair next to Voldemort’s, elbows resting on the arms and long fingers entwined over his stomach. 

“There has been a failure on the part of one of my devoted servants.”  Voldemort tipped his head and propped his arm up to fondle his chin.  His pause was long enough that Albus and Kingsley shared an anxious glance.  Perhaps there was a more sinister aspect to this meeting than they had realised.  Snape, however, remained impassive.  “One of the Ministry’s rabid Aurors has been rather enthusiastic in his pursuit of my Death Eaters and the information they hold.” 

“Was this an Order Auror as well, my lord?” questioned Snape.

“I am not aware of him being a member.  His name was Miles Meddlehurst.”

Snape looked away in thought, “No I don’t believe he is –” a glance at the red eyes across of him and Snape corrected himself, “– was a member.  I shall find out what I can about him and his activities from those who are.  May I enquire as to what actually occurred?”

“Meddlehurst appears to have been one of those fanatics from before.  He suspected Timbley of his associations with me and used the Imperious curse to find out all he could, fortunately not a great amount due to Timbley’s rather obvious intellectual and magical deficiencies and my own distrust of his abilities.  However, the deficient fool did lead the meddler to two of my younger recruits; he was efficient in his self-appointed role as judge and executioner.”

“Ah.  May I ask if knew them?”

“They would have been your students, I’m sure; Gerald Morgan and Timothy Fletcher.”

Snape looked contemplative at this, “An undeniable loss, not only for us but to Slytherin and Ravenclaw as well.”  He paused before adding, “I must say, I did not realise they had taken the Mark.  Recruitment would appear to be going well.”

“Very well.  I have taken your concerns about marking students into account.  You are quite right about Dumbledore’s interfering nature and most would be useless in any case.  Graduation is soon enough.  There is, of course, the single exception.”  Voldemort waved his hand imperiously at the cabinet along a far wall.  Snape, understanding the silent command, stood to pour his own drink and his master another.

Having received his whisky and taken a delicate sip, Voldemort continued, “Though Meddlehurst was acting alone I have no doubt that there are other Aurors who believe themselves above their own laws.  You will notify Dumbledore of this misadventure.  Get him to put an end to it.”

Snape stood and started pacing, his creased forehead lowered, deep in thought.  “You are right, my lord.  Dumbledore, the old fool, would never allow this brand of ignoble and unsportsmanlike behaviour,” the words were spat out in contempt, “though whether he is able to put pressure on the new Minister has also yet to be seen.  They do not appear to see eye to eye on many issues.” 

He stopped his pacing in front of Voldemort and spoke directly.  “Either the Minister has sanctioned the use of Unforgivables, in which case even the mighty Dumbledore will find it rather difficult to change his course of action; or the minister is as much a nincompoop as his predecessor was and is, as yet, unaware of the measures some of those cretins will go to.  In this case, there is the chance that Dumbledore will be able to affect some change.”  Snape sneered, “In either event, the chances of him not Apparating straight into the Minister’s ridiculous mane as soon as he is aware are as slim as Potter passing Potions this year.”

The Dark Lord was nodding his agreement at this assessment.  “Good.  Do make sure that he discourages the Order’s Aurors from such actions at the least.”  Snape nodded his understanding.  “And you have brought up another matter that I have been considering.”  Snape moved back to his armchair seemingly unperturbed by the contemplative looking he was being given by Voldemort.  “Our dear Harry has shown that the unique link which joins us is no longer a constructive avenue to explore.  I have been blocking the boy but, as I was rarely able to detect his presence in the first place, I cannot be sure that this is wholly effective.  In any case, it would seem rather inequitable that I be the one to do all the work.  He should be dissuaded from attempting to enter my mind.”  Voldemort took a sip of his drink.  “You will tutor him in Occlumency.” 

Snape leapt up with a yelp, “No!”  He began his pacing again and started numbering his reasons on his fingers, “He would be an inept student; he has no control; he is barely able to contain his hatred of me without having me delving into his thoughts; he would make no effort; he cannot …”

“Severus,” it was a sibilant hiss and his spy stopped to face his master and took a deep breath, “I have faith in your teaching abilities.”  The briefest of smirks accompanied this statement, before Voldemort became commanding, “You will do this, Severus.  I have no doubt that Dumbledore will come to you before summer’s end to ask the exact same thing, he cannot be pleased with what happened a month ago.  Indeed, I am surprised he has not thought of it before, the boy would surely have confided in him about his unexpected dreams.  For us, it is also an opportunity to learn more about the boy.  It would be wise of you to try to befriend him,” Snape’s flabbergasted expression did not halt Voldemort in his speech.  “I do understand your difficulties with his looking so similar to his father.  But he is not a clone of James Potter.  He is his own person and we will not win this war with inaccurate character assessments.”

Snape looked disgusted when he next spoke, “How poor a spy I am not to have noticed your secret conclave with Dumbledore.”  At Voldemort’s raised eyebrow, Snape continued sourly, “You have stolen his script.”  Voldemort chuckled, a disturbingly high and weak sound. 

“I do not care how you do this Severus.  Wait for Dumbledore to approach you or suggest it yourself.  That boy must Occlude as well or this link will forever be a weak spot in my defence.  Without Occlusion he is able to see what I see though I only have the ability to send him visions, which will now be ineffectual, and true possession of his body is untenable.”

Snape bowed his acquiescence.  “I shall try, my lord.”

“You will succeed.”  Voldemort sipped again at his glass of Scottish nectar and motioned for Snape to retake his chair.  “On to other matters; how is your position with Dumbledore and his Order?”

Snape visibly gathered himself as he retook his seat.  “The Order members vary between outright distrust and hatred to mild uncertainty and dislike.  The old fool, however, trusts me completely.  That is enough.”

“Even after last month’s,” Voldemort looked grim, “fiasco?” 

“Dumbledore feels I should have investigated further but accepts that I believed the squatty pink toad had the situation in hand and would hold the boy and his friends in detention the entire evening.  The others are not so certain but have no choice but to accept Dumbledore’s judgement.”  Snape gave a smirk at this final pronouncement.

“It is curious how fast the Order arrived at the scene, especially since they should not have been there at all.”  Voldemort was gazing intently at Snape who immediately rid himself of his smirk and held the eye contact.

“I have found out nothing more since, my lord.  I am inclined to believe Shacklebolt when he says it was an extremely lucky coincidence that he had to return to his office that evening.  He obviously noticed the lack of guard and soon had the Order on alert.”  Snape paused before adding, “The Order is mainly composed of bleeding heart Gryffindor fools; I am confident I would have detected a leak or spy by now if there were one.  If I had known…”

“Yes, yes, Severus, no doubt it would have been useful to have you aware of the trap but you are too close to Dumbledore and I cannot allow all my plans to be dangling in front of him like apples ripe for picking.”  Another sip of the whiskey and Voldemort continued, “You should, however, have used that formidable intellect of yours and realised something was amiss.  However, you have already been punished for this and we shall not re-visit old ground.”  Snape turned slightly ashen as he mutely nodded.  Voldemort continued, “The lesson on keeping great plans from you has also been learnt, has it not?”

Snape did not seem to regain his colour but answered, “Indeed, my lord.  Though I am unsure of how...”

“I understand your doubts, Severus.  However, he will do fine with you and Bella,” Snape’s faint sneer at the name was ignored, “to guide him.  And if he fails, why, that is why you have been informed; because you will not fail, will you?”

And to this Snape simply looked deep into his lord’s eyes and said, “I will not, my lord.”

Voldemort drained his glass and nodded at his servant to do the same.  Snape did so with a grimace for the burning liquid.  Voldemort laughed again, “You need to learn how to drink the good stuff, Severus.  In any case, we are finished here.  Go back and report to Dumbledore on Meddlehurst.  Start working on giving our dear Harry Occlumency lessons.  And, Severus, it would not be remiss of you to begin making ‘friends’ in the Order; the more sources of information available to us in the time we have left, the better.”

Snape looked aghast at this last order but, nonetheless, nodded, bowed and made his exit. 

The Order were looking at each other with mixed reactions.  Sirius had been checking on Harry continuously throughout the conversation but there had been no signs of consciousness so far.  Harry remained motionless on the floor and the ghost of Voldemort still sat on his plush chair not twenty paces away from him in Grimmauld Place’s Great Ballroom.  Wormtail had returned to the scene briefly to refill the whiskey glass and had then been dismissed as Voldemort picked up an old tome.

“Albus, he still hasn’t woken up.”

Dumbledore knelt next to Harry and again swept him with his wand.  “There is no change Sirius.  He is fine, just in a vision-sleep which is not particularly restful.  Waking him forcefully would, I believe, cause him injury.”

“So we just leave him then?” asked Sirius, incredulous.

“For the meantime, yes.  Either the potion will go through his system or, more likely, Voldemort will simply go to sleep and so Harry will wake.  He is fine Sirius, I assure you, there is no need to alert Poppy.  Harry is in no danger.” 

Dumbledore conjured a bed with a thick mattress, warm pillows and a cosy duvet covered in swirling green patterns, “Although, it was remiss of me not to have ensured his comfort before.  Stay with him and Floo me if anything changes.  I am returning to the castle to meet Severus.  The meeting is postponed until tomorrow evening.”  Remus nodded in understanding for both himself and Sirius and saw Dumbledore to the door.

Moody had moved behind the spectre of Voldemort and suddenly exclaimed, “Merlin strike him!  He’s only reading about sacrificial magic; and not the nice protective kind either!”  Both his good and magical eyes were focused on the spectral grimoire in Voldemort’s hands, “You should see these drawings.  I haven’t seen many more gruesome sights than this, I tell yeh.” 

Arthur frowned at Moody’s fascinated tone while Kingsley advised him to step away, “That kind of knowledge is best left in dusty books, my friend.”  Moody kept hovering however while Sirius and Remus stayed with Harry.  Arthur invited Kingsley to a whiskey in the kitchen and left the ballroom together to confer more privately on the event they had witnessed. 

A few minutes passed in silence while Moody read avidly and Remus checked Harry again.  “I suppose you’ll both have to admit that Albus has been right all along, now, won’t you?”  Remus was smiling rather widely at this fact. 

While Sirius snarled, Moody grunted and responded, “He could still be playing both sides off each other or he knew ’bout that potion Potter took and its likely effects.  More likely still, he’s You-Know-Who’s loyal servant but just didn’t tell him ’bout the Occlumency ’cause he didn’t want them lessons to go on any longer than necessary; we all know how much he hates being in the same room as Potter.”

Remus looked appalled at this logic and was about to protest when Sirius put forward his opinion, “Yeah, he’s a sly bastard, that’s for sure.  He’s probably got some great scam going where he gets the best of both worlds – tea and sympathy from Albus; dark spells and sacrificial virgins from Voldemort.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous!  I can’t believe you won’t admit you’re wrong in the face of what we’ve just seen!”

“Oh, come on Moony, he’s always been a sneaky Slytherin –”

“He lied to Voldemort’s face twice!  About the Occlumency and that evening.  You know he fire-called!”  Remus huffed in exasperation.

“As I’ve said all along, he was just covering his skinny arse!  I’m with Moody, he’s playing both sides until he knows which side is going to win.”

Any more discussion was halted by the sounds of the front door opening.  They exchanged puzzled looks, as no one else was expected that evening, before hearing Arthur saying, “…he’s in the ballroom, Severus.  Something bizarre has happened which you’ll want to know about, it’ll be easier to explain in a moment.” 

Snape’s scathing reply thanking the senior Weasley for not issuing an invitation to a Black’s Ball was cut short as the pair reached the open doorway.  Moments later Snape stood on the threshold speechless, his lower jaw slack if not actually open, with his attention focused entirely on the image of Voldemort sitting on a comfortable chair in the corner of Sirius Black’s ballroom. 

The only difference in Snape’s appearance was that he was no longer wearing his distinctive Death Eater outer robe.

No one said a word.  Once Snape had gathered himself he took in the rest of the Order and Harry Potter laying prone on a comfy bed.  He raised an eyebrow and sneered in Harry’s direction, “I take it that this projection of the Dark Lord can be blamed on Mr Potter?” 

“Watch your tone, Snape!” spat Sirius.  “It’s not Harry’s fault.  He’s been out of it for a couple of hours now, so excuse us for being a bit worried about him!”

Snape, who had hardly been jumping around the place beforehand, now stilled completely, his eyes boring into Black’s.  “I see.”  And he clearly did, as he visibly seemed to be remembering the last couple of hours until, at last, he looked back at the gathered Order members to find the confirmation he needed on everyone’s face.  “I do hope this clears up any further questions about allegiances?” There was an arrogant slant to his eyebrows.

“Hardly, Snape!” exclaimed Sirius which was echoed by a grunt from Moody as he moved to take a more confrontational stance in front of Snape.  Remus offered a timid smile while Arthur and Kingsley nodded solemnly. 

Snape was scowling again at this mixed response.  Arthur was about to say something but Snape spoke over him, “Regardless, I came here expecting Albus, as his orders would be carried out without question.  However, Shacklebolt, the message is actually for you –”

“We know about Meddlehurst, Snape.  We watched that pretty play, remember?”  Moody’s rudeness at interrupting him caused Snape’s scowl to deepen. 

“That was not the message.”  He paused significantly, “There is a raid planned for the early hours at a Muggle village called Stockhill in Devon.  As this is not so far from Ottery St. Catchpole it is possible that this raid is a cover for an attack on either the Weasleys or the Lovegoods.  Although, as I understand it, the number of attackers should not exceed six or so under Selwyn.”  Arthur looked concerned and was about to speak when he was beaten to it.

“How do you know this, Snape?” questioned Moody roughly.  “You weren’t told any such thing by that monster in the corner there.”

Snape looked at him as if he were an OWL student asking a first-year question.  “Indeed.  The Dark Lord is, I believe, ignorant of the plan but has given his blessing to such tactics and diversions.  And you hardly need to know how I obtain my information.  I know nothing of specifics but activity of some sort will occur in that area early in the morning.”  He paused before scowling and speaking deliberately slowly, “Although I have taken precautions, do make sure that you have a reasonable explanation for a team of Aurors, or whatever protection you provide, being there.”

“I want to know how you got this information, Snape.  And what ‘precautions’ you’ve taken,” growled the old Auror. 

“No, Alastor,” said Arthur, “that is not important.  Thank you, Severus, for warning us.  I’ll go home now with the boys and we’ll invite the Lovegoods over for the night.  And I wouldn’t mind having a couple of Aurors around if they’re available Kingsley.”

Snape spoke up again, “As I said, this could just be a raid on another Muggle village.  I do not know of any actual plans to take either The Burrow or the Lovegood home.”

Arthur nodded his understanding and left to collect his sons.  Kingsley also moved to the door, saying that he would monitor the situation by stationing himself personally in the area with a couple of reliable Aurors.  He left with a final word of assurance to Snape, “And don’t worry about any leaks, I’ll make the trail look believable.”

Snape moved over to Harry, appearing not to notice the silent belligerence of Moody and Sirius.  Frowning over the still form he directed his question to Remus who looked most likely to satisfy his curiosity.

“Lupin, what happened here?  I was not aware of Mr Potter creating outward projections of his visions.”

“No, as Albus said earlier they normally stay in his head.”  He sighed as he laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “He drank a potion devised by Fred and George to create daydreams in one’s surroundings.  As far as we can tell he was struck by the vision while still within the Daydream and the two became one until the intended dream ended naturally.”

Snape did not look overly happy at this tale and had soured at the mention of the Weasley twins.  “If there is any potion left, I shall take a sample to analyse.  You said Albus was here?”

“He left for Hogwarts as soon as you’d finished your business over there with your lord,” answered Sirius.  “No doubt he wanted to check your story against the real facts.”

Before Snape could sneer back a reply, Remus rushed in with further details, “He checked Harry and said he would be fine.  He believes Harry will wake up when Voldemort goes to sleep.”

Snape had flinched at the name but said nothing; instead, he, like the others, turned to regard the pale and snake-like figure still reading his ancient tome.  At length Snape responded, “Alas, the Dark Lord does not require much sleep.  He frequently uses the night hours to read and plan his strategies privately.  It may be some time before he rests.”

With a final cursory look in Harry’s direction, whose breathing was now regular and calm, Snape looked expectantly at Lupin and received a vial containing only traces of the original potion in return.  Giving the room a final sweeping look, and bestowing a practiced sneer in Sirius and Moody’s direction (and being gifted in kind), he left the room.  Soon after it became evident that he had made no effort to leave quietly and Sirius had to run out to quieten the enraged portrait of his harridan of a mother.

Harry woke with a slight headache and feeling sluggish.  Opening his eyes he saw his godfather sleeping in a comfortable armchair.  Harry thought it must have been conjured as he had never seen it before, on the back of that thought he realised how spacious his bedroom had become.  It took a minute for him to place his current location as the old ballroom but then the memory of the previous night followed all too soon.  He felt even weaker with the new knowledge. 

For a moment he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block every thought and memory.  It did not work.  Biting his lip, he swung himself into a sitting position and dangled his short legs over the edge of the bed.  He idly traced a particularly bright green swirl on the duvet which was entangling itself endlessly.  The vision had been vivid and it was still so now.  He could recall with the utmost clarity his lips forming the hard syllables of the killing curse; he could remember his amusement at Severus’ gall in chasing off Wormtail; his anger at the loss of two promising new recruits; and he could still taste the strongly-flavoured whisky.  And it was not just his actions but the thoughts and memories which had accompanied them.

Harry felt sick.  He slouched forward and groaned feebly into his hands.  Sirius was soon awake and sitting beside him rubbing his back. 

“How do you feel Harry?” he asked.

“Terrible.”

Sirius retrieved a glass by his armchair and poured water into it from a murmured Aguamenti spell.  He gave it to Harry and resumed his soothing hand motions.  At last, Harry sat a little straighter. 

“It was horrible Sirius.  It was so much longer than normal; so much more vivid.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah… it started when I’d nearly finished a Daydream potion.  He was so angry.  I mean, really angry, Sirius.”  He paused a moment.  “It wasn’t even mainly at the guy he killed.  It was more aimed at this Auror bloke, um… his name was Meddlehurst.”

“That’s okay Harry, you don’t have to remember all the details.”

“Yeah, I suppose Snape told you.”  Sirius made to interrupt but Harry was lost in a stream of words.  “That’s the first time I’ve seen him in a vision.  Voldemort actually likes him, thinks he’s funny, though he gets disappointed and … angry… with him too.  It was so strange, so much more real, ‘cause I can normally sense his emotions but this was like I knew exactly what was going on.  And it lasted forever, usually it’s only a short snippet when he’s really emotional, angry or annoyed or something.  But this time I saw him for ages and ages, or it seemed like it anyway, and he wasn’t feeling anything very strongly… just reading some really horrible books…”  Harry trailed off.

“I know Harry, I know,” said Sirius standing up and getting Harry to his feet as well.  “Here why don’t we get some breakfast and I’ll tell you about my evening?”  His grin, as ever, was infectious and Harry felt his spirits lighten slightly as he followed his godfather to the kitchen. 

“Wow, that’s totally bonkers, mate!” 

“I know.”  Harry was sitting on his bed in his and Ron’s room.  It was two days later and though there had not been any ill effects as such, Harry still felt, if not physically wobbly, then at least mentally shaken.  The whole Weasley family had once more decamped to Grimauld Place for the rest of the summer, finally bringing the last of Mrs Weasley’s essential culinary equipment through the Floo earlier in the morning.  Hermione had just arrived and she had been dragged in to the boys’ room to hear Harry’s story without even having had a chance to unpack. 

“How different was it to a normal vision?” she asked.

“Normally I just get the highlights, you know?  Where he’s all emotional and blitzing everyone with curses left, right and centre.  But last night, it was odd, there was some of that at the beginning, probably what triggered it like normal Dumbledore said, but it was more intense.  I… I felt I was him… more than I ever have before, for that time I knew his mind, his memories… When he was concentrating on something that was what I was concentrating on.  It was disturbing and awful but also there was so much there, so much information I mean.  If I’d been more aware of myself I’d have taken more care to remember.  But I wasn’t me at all.  But… well, I can still remember a few things…”

Harry’s hesitant trailing off caused Ron and Hermione to exchange worried looks.

“Like what, Harry?”  Ron glared briefly at Hermione.

“Only if you’re happy about remembering it, mate.  Don’t give yourself nightmares.”

“Nah, I’ve got enough for nightmares already.  Hey, don’t look like that!  I just mean that it wasn’t too bad, mostly.  But, I do remem… I mean, I did see someone getting tortured.  That wasn’t too much of a laugh.  And, well, I probably shouldn’t tell you, but, we know him.”

His friends looked at Harry with round eyes, both clearly trying to think of who had been captured recently and why Harry was not clamouring to rescue them.  Harry’s grim expression was turned towards Hermione as she suddenly gasped, “You saw Professor Snape!”

“Yeah.  It wasn’t pretty.”

“Blimey.  I want to say he probably got what he deserves but then…,” two pillows had been chucked accurately in Ron’s direction, “… oi!  Yeah, kind of saw that coming.”

“Have you seen him since?” asked Hermione, looking concerned.  Harry wondered if it was concern for their teacher or for him.  He was not sure which he would prefer.

“No, but I suppose he’ll be around sooner or later.  Dumbledore said that Snape was still the best person to teach me Occlumency.”

“I don’t get it,” said Ron, puzzled, “why can’t you just have lessons with Dumbledore?  If Snape’s so great at fooling You-Know-Who then can’t he show old mouldy-guts those memories from last year?  He’d be in the clear then and you could have lessons with Dumbledore.”

“Apparently Snape’s the best.  Dumbledore says he can’t teach me because he organises his mind differently or something; the good thing is he’s looking me in the eye now, he’s not so afraid of triggering a full-blown possession.  He’s right in thinking that Voldemort won’t want to try that again.”  Harry paused to grimace, “S’pose I doomed!” 

“You’ve got to think positively, Harry.  It was all so close at the Ministry, anything could have happened.  If you can stop those fake visions then it’ll be one thing less to worry about.”  Hermione said.

“Yeah, I know you’re right.  Just, well, it’s Snape, isn’t it?  Anyway, how have your summers been so far?”

Hermione launched straight into stories of her parents and the holiday they had had in the south of France, while Harry and Ron picked out chocolates from a box she had bought them to share.  Harry mentioned his trip with Dumbledore a couple of weeks before to meet a new professor.  The three teenagers speculated for a while on how his abilities as a teacher would compare to those of their previous Defence teachers.  Though he had seemed pleasant enough, Harry aired his doubts as Slughorn’s impressive bulk would argue against a man who was regularly fighting the Dark Arts.  He also mentioned his private lessons with the Headmaster, which led to a fruitless twenty-minute speculation on their content.  Then Ron told his friends about squabbling siblings, quidditch games and having to clean up Percy’s room for visiting aunts. 

“Don’t see why he couldn’t do it himself!  And then we were all packed off to the Lovegoods for a night this week.  Apparently they thought we might have been targeted or something but nothing happened and our house was still there.”

“That’s awful Ron!  Were you scared?”  Hermione asked.

“Nah, there were some extra Aurors around so we felt safe enough.  Thing was, Dad didn’t tell us about the warning till we got to Luna’s.  I would’ve liked to have been given the chance to pick up a few things, you know?  What if the house had been a goner?  All my posters and stuff?”

“And your textbooks!” said Hermione, though she did have a teasing twinkle in her eye. 

Later that evening Harry was sitting on his bed flicking through the newest edition of The Quiddity of Quidditch.  He had not actually read any of the articles yet, he was barely even glancing at the players riding in and out of shot.  The vision a couple of days ago had left a deep impression on him.  He had told the Weasley twins in no uncertain terms that he would not be taking another one of their Daydream products; he understood that it was hardly a glitch to hold up full-scale production (after all, how many of the twins’ customers frequently popped into other wizards’ minds?) but they were obviously not suitable for him. 

It was not just the unusual length of the vision that was disturbing him; it was the connectedness he had felt with Voldemort.  There had only been the one mind; Harry Potter had ceased to exist.  The implications were terrifying, if Voldemort found out about the potion.  Dumbledore had assured him that everyone was aware of the importance of the secret so that aspect was not really what concerned him most.  What most concerned him were some of the thoughts that he, no, Voldemort, had had while Harry had been visiting. 

The Dark Lord’s thought processes about the Timbley matter had been surprisingly logical and Harry was finding it hard to find a flaw in Voldemort’s reactions, despite loathing the fact that the end result was a man dead by his, no damn it, Voldemort’s, hand.  Did that make Harry as evil or crazed as him?  The emotions that he had felt had been powerful but also very real.  It was no comfort at all to have had his image of the man he was prophesised to kill (or be killed by, but Harry’s mind skidded away from that thought) change so much for the worse.  Before, he had simply thought of Voldemort as powerful, dangerous and quite mad.  Now though it was all together too hard to escape the fact that Voldemort was an intelligent, though cynical, mad and vicious, human being despite his snake-like appearance. 

Moreover, of the thousands of brief images from Voldemort’s memory he had seen during the evening there had been a few which were now permanently carved into his own memory.  And so it was that Harry did not see quidditch players performing death-defying stunts or posing languidly for the camera, but instead he saw Snape with eyes jammed shut, fists clenched, writhing under the Cruciatus on a polished wooden floor letting only a few deep growls out; Snape smirking as a confused Muggle woman received the same treatment, though she was in a foul basement cell; Snape looking content and competent brewing multiple potions in a well-stocked laboratory Harry had never seen before; Snape talking at ease with his master in many different settings. 

Harry had known for over a year now that his professor had been spying on Voldemort for the Order but he had never really considered what that actually entailed.  It was clearly more than a quick round-up of the gossip from Lucius Malfoy.  And although Harry could clearly remember the actual vision from two days ago and that Voldemort was in the dark in regards to Harry’s Occlumency training and exactly how the Order had been so quick in getting to the Ministry, he could not help the fact that those logical expressions of Snape’s loyalty to the Order were not nearly enough to overcome dozens of small snippets of Snape’s interactions with Voldemort. 

All of which seemed to suggest that Snape was, and always had been, the most loyal of Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

The following afternoon found the trio of friends playing Gobstones in the parlour.  Not normally a game Harry particularly enjoyed but one on which Ron had insisted on finding an old set in the bottom of his school trunk.  After rather a lot of nagging by the boys, Hermione had joined in with the game.  Harry and Ron had been surprised with her eventual acquiescence but had grinned, almost maliciously, with her huffed “Very well, then.”

They now had cause to regret the invitation as they were both covered in enough slimy goo to indicate repeated losses at the game.  Hermione was dry and goo-free.  And ready for another round.

“Oh Harry, go on.  I really didn’t expect to like it at all, but, well, it’s quite fun really, isn’t it?”

An exasperated expression was just about visible through the thick gloop covering Harry’s face.  Ron, who was faring equally badly, seemed to be thoroughly bemused by their best friend’s long run of luck in the game.

“They’re just Percy’s old, bog standard set.  I know no one has mucked around with them, Merlin knows how long they’ve been sitting in mildewed pants in my trunk!  And anyway, no one could, each set is always produced with a ton of spells to prevent bewitching or cursing or anything!”

“Really, Ron.  Are you actually accusing me of cheating?”

“‘Course not ‘Mione.  But, well, come on, five games in a row?  It’s just not right that you’re squeaky clean.”  That thought seemed to presage action as it was closely followed by a gooey hand reaching across the table to smear its discoloured juices along Hermione’s shirt sleeve.  With no more than a glance between Harry and Ron, Operation Get Hermione began in earnest as the boys crossed the table to make a grab at her.  The boys’ laughter was punctuated by Hermione’s struggles and shrieks which were being ignored in favour of coating her face, hair and clothes in the foul gunk.

In retrospect, Harry thought, there could not have been a more embarrassing time for Snape to walk in.  No doubt the professor had some kind of sensor to alert him to these situations.  As it was, with Harry and Ron each holding one of Hermione’s arms and daubing her face with their free hands, the three were far too busy to notice his dark presence in the doorway until he spoke.

“Gratifying as it is to see your maturity manifesting itself, I should like to speak to Mr Potter in the library.”  He sneered at Harry, who had quickly let go of Hermione’s arm.  “I shall give you five minutes to make yourself presentable.”  The black presence swung away to the left and down the corridor. 

“Bugger!” Harry’s exclamation and Ron’s flushed cheeks and murderous look were countered by Hermione’s tittering.

“Oh, god!  I can’t believe… of all the people…” Harry’s own anger was tempered by concern at Hermione’s seeming hysteria.  Seeing his expression, Hermione attempted to pull herself together, taking a breath.

“No, no, I’m fine, really” she said, wiping away the tears but only making the mess worse.  Finally, she had visibly gathered herself together and had her wand in front of her.  With another steadying breath (through her mouth) she incanted a cleaning spell at Harry.

A rather mournful “Thanks” was accompanied by a large sigh.

“Well, suppose I’d better face the music then.”  Grateful for the optimistic support in Hermione’s eyes and Ron’s wavering smile, Harry left the parlour straightening out his clothing.  Reaching the library door, he sighed deeply again, knocked and went in after hearing the curt “Come in”.

The library was not a small room but its bulging bookshelves and dark panelling give it a cramped and oppressive feeling.  In the corner nearest the door there was a reading table of polished oak and several sturdy chairs.  The remainder of the walls, along with three half-walls, were covered in bookshelves upon which there was little free space.  Snape was standing against the far wall, facing the door as Harry entered.  He was expressionless as he nodded at Harry to take a seat at the table.  Not liking the way Snape made him feel small and powerless, Harry nevertheless sat down.

“The Headmaster has spoken to you.”  It was not quite a question.

“Yes, sir.  He said that we had to start Occlumency again.”  Harry managed to keep his voice steady but could not help but feel a sliver of real fear.  He had never felt truly afraid of the professor before but the images from the other night would not stop playing through his mind.  It was almost as if he could see the darkness rolling off the man. 

“Indeed.  Do you understand why?”  Snape’s expression indicated his doubts.

“Yeah.  It’s important for me to protect my mind,” Harry did not react to the sneer that said ‘what mind?’ all too clearly, “and that I would learn better from you because he uses a different kind of magic which wouldn’t help me in this situation.”

“Hmph.  If you bother to learn at all,” Snape folded his arms.  “Tell me about your vision earlier this week.”

Harry did not know how to react to that demand.  Snape knew what had happened!  He was not going to describe how he had seen the man kneel before Voldemort.  He was certainly not going to mention the little detail that it actually felt as if Snape had knelt before him!  Harry settled for telling Snape exactly what he had told Sirius and Dumbledore, leaving out any mention of Voldemort’s memories and feelings.  Snape did not react to anything he said until Harry had finished.

“I don’t believe you are telling me everything, Potter,” said Snape taking two long strides to lean menacingly on the chair on the other side of the table, glaring at Harry.  “However,” he started again, but in a softer tone, “that is the beauty of our lessons, hmm, would you not agree, Mr Potter?” 

Harry’s mouth went dry.  The implication was clear.  Snape would find out everything, not just about the latest vision but about every aspect of Harry’s life.  He already knew more than most about his private thoughts and now he was threatening to go further.  Nothing in his mind would be sacred; Snape would tear through, sneering with disgust at everything he held dear and then mocking him for his mistakes and embarrassments. 

Harry’s temper exploded.  He jumped up, his body taut from rage. 

“No!  You can’t just use them as an excuse to go through my mind.  I won’t let you.  Dumbledore won’t let you.”  Snape’s anger was instant.  The man stepped forward, his face jutting over the table separating them and into Harry’s personal space.  Although the man’s temper had not yet snapped like last year in his office, Harry, through his own furious haze, could see that it was close.   

“You will not speak to me like that.  And you will sit down.”  Snape’s raised voice and finger jabbing at the chair punctuated Harry’s stream of anger. 

“Now.”  He added quietly but firmly when Harry made no sign of moving. 

Even knowing it was ridiculous, that Snape could never hurt Harry inside this old house and get away with it, Harry’s subconscious was already deciding for him that the professor’s thunderous expression and dark robes looked more suited to a fanatical Death Eater than a school teacher.  He sat down.

Harry’s unexpected compliance appeared to dissipate Snape’s anger, though his bad mood was still apparent. 

“So.  I am here to tell you –”

Snape’s lecture was interrupted by Sirius flinging open the library door. 

“What’s going on in here, Snape?” he demanded.

“A private discussion, Black,” said Snape, looking at Sirius with derision.  “You may leave now.”

“It’s not a discussion when there’s shouting involved,” said Sirius.  Turning away from Snape, his expression softened to ask, “Are you alright, Harry?”

Before the falsely reassuring words were out of Harry’s mouth, Snape was answering for him.  He had also, Harry realised, discreetly slipped his wand down his sleeve into his hand.

“He is perfectly well, as you can plainly see.  This is a discussion between a Hogwarts professor and his student.  There is no place for you here.” Snape had not shifted his gaze from Sirius at all.

“I think not, Snivellus,” said Sirius, causing Harry to wince and shrink further into his chair.  Snape’s glower did not abate in the slightest.  “As I understand it this is meant to be about Harry’s Occlumency lessons.  So that makes it between a supposed Order member and my godson.”  Sirius folded his arms, “I’m staying.”

“I’m fine Sirius, really,” said Harry, trying to defuse the situation.

“No.  I’m your godfather and I’m not going to stand for Snape over there shouting at you when you’ve done nothing wrong.” 

Harry felt out of his depth.  Sirius did not have his wand in hand yet but he was standing in a stance that radiated aggression.  It was hardly his place to mediate between the two grown men, who were each trying to repel the other with their own sheer physicality.  He was pretty sure that he could saunter out the room with neither of them noticing.  Just as the tension was reaching the point where a curse was inevitable, relief came in the form of Remus.

“Knock, knock,” he said, matching action to the words on the open door, “everything alright in here?”  Remus moved up behind Harry and put his arm on Harry’s shoulder, smiling as if he could not sense the strained atmosphere. 

Snape emitted a small growl before saying, “I was about to explain, before this mongrel blighted us with his presence, the details of resuming Potter’s Occlumency lessons.”

Remus’ hand had given a friendly squeeze to Harry’s shoulder before making a timely appearance on Sirius’ back, forestalling whatever impolitic thing he was going to say.

“Well, that’s constructive.  I think it would be good for us all to know what is expected of him, yes, Harry?” asked Remus.

“Umm, yeah, I suppose so.”

Snape seemed to have decided to ignore his boyhood nemeses in favour of glaring darkly at Harry.

“Firstly, and most importantly, you will treat me and my possessions with respect.”  Harry just nodded.  That was a blindingly obvious given, for simple self-preservation if not out of actual respect.  The ‘Pensieve Incident’, as Harry taken to calling it, was not something he was keen to repeat.

“You will come prepared to every lesson.  That means,” Snape snidely clarified, “doing all the assignments I give you, no matter if that means missing out on superfluous activities, such as quidditch, or less time to bask in the glow of your celebrity.”  Harry wondered if Remus was squeezing Sirius’ arm as hard as he was Harry’s and if he was as riled up as both he and his godfather were.

“You will come to my office at eight o’clock on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.  You will be punctual.”  Harry was aghast.  Three times a week!  The sessions once a week last year had been strenuous enough, leaving him with pounding headaches and in a terrible mood, how ever was he going to manage it every other day of the week? 

“You will not be surprised to learn that I am not greatly looking forward to these meetings either.  However, since everyone,” and that word was filled with bitterness, “appears to believe them necessary you will make the effort to actually learn something this time. 

“Finally, you will once again say that you are taking remedial lessons in my subject.”  A small smirk graced Snape’s final pronouncement. 

“But sir, surely no one will believe that,” exclaimed Harry, “I won’t even be taking Potions this year, so why would I need remedial lessons?”  His OWL grade was still a sore point for Harry as he had done rather better than he had expected.  On the one hand it meant he no longer had classes with Snape, on the other if Snape had been as reasonable as the other professors he would be in the class and still in with a hope of becoming an Auror.

“You need not worry about that Mr Potter.  I can guarantee you that I will still have the misfortune of having you in my classes.”  The glimmer in Snape’s eye was bordering on evil so Harry was unsure of how to take his words. 

“Right, well, that’s good news, isn’t it Harry?” cajoled Remus. 

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” said Harry bemusedly.

“So now you’ve said your piece, feel free to go back to whatever rat-hole you call home,” said Sirius.

“Only the one rat in residence but perhaps that is preferable to a canine infestation,” declared Snape glaring at both Remus and Sirius as he left, robes billowing predictably.

“Sirius, don’t,” Remus pleaded, grabbing Sirius’ arm, as his friend made to follow, “he’s just not worth –”

A tirade of filth was heard from the hallway along with the front door slamming.  Remus sighed as Sirius ran to calm his agitated mother.  Harry was still trying to work out how he could have got into NEWT Potions. 

“So, you’ll all keep together tomorrow.  I won’t have you running around Diagon Alley at a time like this.  Do you understand me?” asked Mrs Weasley, frowning severely at her two youngest and including Harry and Hermione for good measure.  All of them gave their assurances of their best behaviour, though the fact that his mother had been punctuating her warning with her serving spoon rather than dishing up the carrots was perhaps the reason for Ron’s enthusiastic nodding.

“Damn shame I can’t go with you, but you’ll be good and tell an old convict like me all about the twins’ shop, won’t you?” asked Sirius, his eyes bright with excitement.  Harry was not sure what had been said, or when, but he was glad that Remus had talked to Sirius.  His godfather seemed calmer than he ever had in the last couple of years.  He had also gained weight and lost the dead look in his eyes.  There was still a lingering note of disappointment and loss but Harry had never seen him look so good.  Perhaps the battle at the Ministry, with its many close calls, had had the effect of a wake-up call.

“Of course, Sirius,” Harry replied.  “I can’t wait to see it, they made it sound fantastic the last time they came round.  Is there anything you guys want me to pick up for you?”

“Do you think you could fit half their shop into your pockets?”

“Sirius!” exclaimed Remus, grinning and elbowing his friend.  “No, Harry, we’re fine.  You’ve got your lists, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, we got them weeks ago but I don’t know what to do about Potions.  I didn’t get the OWL grade for it but then Snape said what he did about me being in his class.  It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe he’s lowering the grades this year?” said Hermione.

“Can you see that bas…,” Ron coughed as he caught the looks from both his parents, “ugh, man, doing anything to help Harry?”

“Yeah.  It just seems a waste of money to buy the textbook when I might not even be in the class.”  Everyone around the table was aware of Harry’s frustration that he could no longer take all the subjects he required to enter the Auror Department.  There were a few sympathetic looks as Harry stabbed a roast potato. 

“Sensible thinking there, Harry,” said Mr Weasley.  “If you find you need it after all, then you can just drop us a line and I’ll pop into Flourish and Botts and send it on to you.”

“Thanks, Mr Weasley, that’d be good.”

For a while there were only the companionable sounds of scraping cutlery, extra gravy being poured over vegetables and of crackling being chewed while everyone enjoyed the roast pork that Mrs Weasley had cooked.  With the unseasonable chill permeating the noble house of Black with ease, the hearty meal went some way to warming everyone up.

“That was lovely, Molly, thank you,” said Remus.  He straightened his knife and fork and leaned back in his chair.  “I understand from Sirius that you went on a little trip with Professor Dumbledore last week, Harry.  Did you go anywhere exciting?”

“Oh, that.  It was a bit strange.  We went to persuade this guy to come and teach.  It turned out we weren’t even in his house!  He’s trying to lie low as he thinks he’s a target for Death Eaters.”

“So Dumbledore wants a prime Death Eater target for the next Defence teacher?” said Ron, aghast all over again.  “Does he actually choose them for their likelihood of lasting less than a year?  No offence, prof…, I mean, Remus.”

“None taken,” said Remus, chuckling.  “I agree he doesn’t have much luck.  He didn’t in our day either.  I’m almost certain there’s something to that curse rumour.”

“What was he like, Harry?” asked Ginny.

“Well, I was telling Ron and Hermione the other day that he didn’t seem, well, that agile really.  I don’t want it all to be theory again; we had enough of that with Umbridge.”

“What’s the fellow’s name, then?  Maybe I’ve heard of him,” asked Sirius.

Harry grimaced.  “Well, Professor Dumbledore said I should just keep it to myself for the moment.  Added security for the bloke, I suppose, though he said something about a surprise and a shake-up.”

“That sounds intriguing!” said Remus.

“I’ve half a mind to get Filch’s thumbscrews but I’m sure Albus has his reasons.  Do let us know as soon as you’re allowed to, then,” said Sirius.  “And I’ll be expecting regular letters in any case,” he added, with a mock stern face and a wagging finger. 

Smiling, Harry was pleased that a simple meal with people he loved was enough to lift his mood from the ugly place Snape had lowered it earlier that day.

The following evening, after having seen Hagrid off through the Floo, Harry settled back into a comfy settee in the main sitting room.  The day had thoroughly wiped him out.  On the one hand it felt good to know that Voldemort’s return was being taken seriously by the general wizarding populace; on the other, it had felt awfully grim to walk down Diagon Alley and see the effects of his warning being heeded. 

Only in Fred and George’s shop had their group, and other Hogwarts pupils, felt able to relax a little from their hurried shopping trip.  Harry was still impressed with what they had achieved.  The joke shop had been doing a roaring trade and would no doubt be popular with pupils for a long time to come.  He had especially appreciated their audacious U-NO-POO joke which had been in stark contrast to the sombre atmosphere of the street in general. 

Of course, spying Malfoy up to no good had hardly improved his opinion of the day.  It was a shame that they had not been able to get any more than snatches of the little blond git’s conversation with the creepy Mr Borgin.  There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Malfoy was up to trouble this year and from what he had seen in Madame Malkin’s it was not some mildly humiliating school prank.  No, whatever he was up to, it had to be tied in with his family’s Death Eater connections.  As neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to believe Malfoy could have taken the Dark Mark yet they did not approve of his plan to keep a sharper eye on the Slytherin this year.

Harry sighed.  He felt that this summer had marked a turning point for him.  It was not just that the war was now in the open, it was more personal than that.  It had always been about Voldemort’s strange obsession with him but now he understood that obsession.  The prophecy, which Dumbledore had decided Harry was old enough to hear, put some of Voldemort’s actions in perspective.  Harry had spent a great deal of time contemplating the consequences of Trelawny’s fateful words.  At first, there had been a lot ‘why me?’ thinking and, in truth, he still felt unfairly picked on by the fates.  However, recently he had made a conscious decision to accept the situation and deal with it as best he could. 

This morose line of thinking was interrupted by Sirius walking into the room with a fancy glass bottle in one hand and two short glasses cradled in the other.  He sat down next to Harry on the settee and with a faux elaborate gesture placed the glasses in Harry’s upturned palms.  Harry accepted them with willing fingers though with an askance look at his godfather. 

“A toast,” proclaimed Sirius, unscrewing the cap and holding the bottle aloft, “to my favourite godson’s final year of minority,” a liquid almost too deep in colour to be called golden fell into one of the tumblers with a delicate splash, “let his innocence be tarnished,” Harry groaned at the leer Sirius sent his way, “let his professors never catch him at it,” Sirius’s suggestive wink brought some colour to Harry’s cheeks, “and!” in a theatrical tone of voice Sirius continued, “let it never be forgotten that his godfather,” the second tumbler received its splash, “who has such knowledge of Hogwarts, girls and, yes!, academia, can be easily contacted for wisdom, wit, warmth and whatever else through the use of a most extraordinary mirror.”  Sirius placed the bottle of Firewhisky on the end table and lifted his glass and eyebrow.

“Um, right, to me then!” said Harry clinking his glass with Sirius’s.  With Sirius watching him in some amusement, Harry took a tentative sip of his first glass of Firewhiskey.  The aroma was as deep as the colour and the small mouthful was enough to cause his eyes to tear up.  Yet the taste was sublime, the burn down his throat comforting and dissipating slowly.

“There you go.  Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s not bad.”  Harry took another sip.  “I always got the impression from Seamus that it was rather rank.”

“Anything a kid can buy would definitely be cheap, easy-to-buy and poorly-brewed.  Anyway,” Sirius pointed his glass in Harry’s direction, “you do understand that you may contact me at any time, yes?  I will be happy to speak to you about anything, don’t let’s lose touch, hmm?”

“Of course, Sirius.  You know, this is probably the first time I’ve had mixed feelings about going back to Hogwarts.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m looking forward to the new year and everything but this is the first time I’ll be leaving something, rather someone, important behind.”  Harry looked into his glass, not wanting to be seen as too needy or emotional as he said, “I will miss you, Sirius.”

“Ah, come here, you,” said Sirius, plucking Harry’s glass out of his hand and placing them both on the table with the bottle.  He grabbed his godson in a clumsy but firm bear hug.  “I’ll miss you too and there’s no shame in saying so.  Write, use the mirror and I’ll see you at Christmas.”

Harry nodded into Sirius’s shoulder feeling safe and loved. 

Pounding footsteps on the staircase followed by heavy thumping on his and Ron’s door had Harry awake earlier than he would have liked.  Sirius and he had stayed up till late and though Harry had only had one more glass of Firewhisky he had become quite loquacious, telling Sirius about his feelings on every topic under the sun, including his suspicions about Malfoy.  He did not feel any the worse for wear now, presumably thanks to Sirius’s insistence on him glugging down a large glass of water, but he would have welcomed another hour or two in bed.

Harry knew that Ron would still be asleep.  No doubt his siblings’ antics at home had inured him to loud noises.  Harry started getting dressed, throwing clothes from Ron’s open trunk at his sleeping form while doing so.  Ron’s bed was covered in balls of dirty socks, several pairs of pants and a growing pile of robes before his belt hit him on the shoulder and woke him up.

“Hey, watch it!  Can’t you let a guy get some sleep?”

“Come on, Ron.  You’d better get dressed and finish your packing.  Your mum will go spare if we’re late for the train.”

Ron flopped on to his back, exhaled deeply, sprung up suddenly and stretched his gangly form.  “Bloody hell, mate,” he said looking at the mess around his bed, “I put all that in last night, you didn’t have to chuck it all out again.”

Harry gave him a grin and continued stuffing his clothes, textbooks and personal possessions into his own trunk.  Before long a loud, “Breakfast is ready!” reverberated through the old walls and had the two boys adding their own elephant steps to the creaky staircases.

Breakfast was a muddle of clanging cutlery, arms intruding through personal space to reach various items weighing down the table and the excited hubbub of teenagers eager either to escape suffocating parents or simply to board the Hogwarts Express to start a new academic year. 

Soon enough Harry was on the platform saying his goodbyes to Remus and Mr and Mrs Weasley.  Sirius had been dissuaded from coming as Snuffles and so had made Harry promise once again to keep in touch before letting him leave the house.  Harry was glad he had told his godfather about Malfoy.  Sirius had promised to mention his suspicions at the next Order meeting and also to keep Harry more informed on what was discussed at those meetings. 

The train’s whistle had them all hurrying into the nearest carriage.

“I saw Neville head up that way,” said Hermione.

They soon found Neville with a strange-looking plant in a free compartment.  Ginny said “Hi!” and then left to sit with her year friends.  Before too long the train was moving away from the platform and the new sixth years were catching up on all the gossip.

Harry let out a groan.  Tonks gave Harry a weak, sympathetic smile as she recognised the figure walking towards them.  After blithely insulting Tonks in some way that went over Harry’s head, Snape motioned for Harry to follow him. 

Plodding moodily along the upwardly sloping path leading to the great doors of Hogwarts, Harry tried to ignore the almost visible hate emanating from the professor at his side.  Insulting Tonks was simply mean and unnecessary.  And the loss of points! He had never lost points before he had even stepped into the Great Hall.  Harry was still cursing Malfoy's great stomping foot when Snape opened the front door and roughly ushered him in to the feast, too late realising that, though his nose had healed, his face and shirt were still blood-splattered. 

He headed to the Gryffindor table very conscious of the stares he was garnering from every quarter. 

“Hey, guys,” he said, sitting himself down.  Hermione started to harangue him as soon as he sat.  He listened to her with half an ear while he nibbled at a roll stuffed with cold meat which Ron had saved for him.  He was just able to get a bite of dessert before the dishes vanished and the Headmaster stood to give his speech.

After a hearty welcome to the new and returning students and a repetition of the same old warnings that every year went unheeded by most of the castle's denizens Professor Dumbledore moved his attention to the large man sitting two places to his left. 

“And I am delighted to welcome back an old colleague, Professor Slughorn,” there was a smattering of applause as the students looked dubiously at the bulky teacher, “who will be resuming his former duties as Hogwarts' Potions Master.”   There was a shocked silence.  As one, the black-capped pupils looked agog at Snape who had a thin-lipped smirk gracing his sallow features.  As there were no other new faces it was easy to deduce the Headmaster's next statement.

“Professor Snape will be taking over the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts.”   Whatever else was said was lost on Harry as the loud thumping of blood, fear and anger blocked all other sounds. 

When he had regained his senses Hermione and Ron were talking about the new staffing arrangements and Harry rejoined their conversation.  They could all see how both Dumbledore and Snape's strange comments at Headquarters now made sense.  Harry would be writing to Sirius that evening, wanting his opinion.  Presumably he and Remus had known the new professor when they were at school, thus Dumbledore's request for secrecy.

Harry was comforted, for once, by the fact that none of their previous Defence teachers had managed to complete a full academic year.

He said fiercely, “Well, I for one will be hoping for a death this year.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other, groaned and heavily sat down on one of the free settees in the common room, their bags making a heavy dent in the cushions beside them.  It had been a long day and there was no doubt that the teachers were going to ensure that there would be no slacking this year.  In his naivety Harry had assumed that as there would be no formal examinations this year he could perhaps ease off and relax a little.  If there was one thing he had learnt today it was that every professor was hell-bent on persuading them otherwise.  The homework they had amassed today would keep them bogged down for a week.  And it was only Wednesday, the first day of term!

On top of the disdainful lectures and the mountains of homework, Harry had also been carrying around the additional weight of his first meeting with Snape regarding Occlumency that night.  He had not yet had the pleasure of sitting through Defence, 'Great,' he thought, sarcastically, 'I'll be able to rile him up more than usual just before DADA tomorrow.'  The first Potions lesson would also be tomorrow so he would get to judge first hand what all the others had been saying.  He had been surprised, but very pleased, that he and Ron had been accepted into Professor Slughorn's class.  According to the Gryffindor fourth years, who had had him that morning, he was not half bad. 

“Come on, you two.  Let's get down to dinner so that Harry can have a proper meal before seeing Professor Snape.”  Hermione was nudging Ron's foot with hers, encouraging them both to get up. 

Harry was not able to eat much at dinner.  He had remembered Snape in the Black library and he felt his palms become clammy at the memory of the man's anger waving over him.  He could not understand how Snape had started to affect him so much where he never had before.

It did not take nearly as long as Harry would have liked to make his way down to the dungeons.  He took a breath, wiped his hands on his robe and gave a hard, decisive knock on the professor's office door.  At the sharp 'Come in', Harry stepped into the dank and gloomy room.

Snape was staring at Harry with little expression, his quill hand hovering in the air at Harry's interruption.  Harry stood stiffly and did not let his gaze wander to the assorted jars and bottles on the shelves nor, especially, did he meet Snape's eyes.  Instead, he kept his own eyes on the desk and far wall, using only his peripheral vision to keep track of Snape's movements.  The professor indicated the chair in front of his desk with his quill and Harry sat.

Deliberately replacing his quill into its pot, Snape brought his attention to the student in front of him while leaning back with equal slowness and clasping his hands in his lap.  Harry would not be drawn into a staring contest, however.  'It's all just power games with Snape,' he thought.  He maintained his study of the far wall. 

Abruptly, Snape reached down to open a drawer in his desk.  He plucked out a fluted glass potions vial which, though it had no distinguishing features, Harry knew had once contained the twins' Daydream potion. 

“You will be pleased to know, Mr Potter,” said Snape in his clipped way, “that this potion causes no damage to healthy individuals at all.”  He sniffed as though the fact offended him.  “Your unconsciousness and mild headache on waking were direct effects of your intrusion into the Dark Lord's mind.  The potion itself is designed to maintain and project a vision outwards.”  Looking dubiously at the boy in front of him, he added, “Visions are generally defined as dreams which are gained from an external source.  In this case, firstly from the original charm added to the potion's base and subsequently from your intrusion into the Dark Lord's mind.  Thus the potion allows outside viewers to see that vision at the same time.  I imagine it would put many fraudulent seers out of business,” the last was said sneeringly.

“Oh, so it's not just me that it would do that to?” he asked, looking directly at the professor. 

“Quite.  You simply have appalling timing.” 

There was little Harry could say to that.  It was a relief of sorts that the potion had not affected him personally, so he was not a complete freak.  Apart, he thought dryly, from the whole able to get into a megalomaniac’s mind bit.

“Now, to the reason you are here.  You will first reiterate the rules I laid out for you concerning these lessons.”

Harry's initial wariness had waned and the ridiculous request irritated him.  He was here, so obviously he had remembered the when and where!

“Be respectful, be punctual and make an effort.”  He said shortly.

Snape's lips thinned, “You are not succeeding in the former, Mr Potter.”

Harry took a breath, “Sorry, sir, I do remember your rules.” 

“You forgot to mention that you will refer to these sessions as Remedial Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.”

“But no one will believe that!  Defence is my best subject.  Sir,” he added hastily.

“No one is required to believe it.  Both the Dark Lord and the Headmaster are aware of the true purpose of these meetings and no one else is important.”

“Except all the students.  You just want to humiliate me,” said Harry, angrily, gripping the chair's arm rests.

“You will remember respect, Potter!”

Harry tried to calm himself down.  There was no point in getting himself worked up in Snape's office, it could only lead to another jar of cockroaches flying his way and actually hitting him. 

“I apologise, professor.”  It came out stonily but it was the capitulation that Snape wanted.

“Hmph, very well.  Let's move on.  Today I will see if you have retained any knowledge from last year.”

Snape stood up, came round his desk and motioned to Harry to stand.  With a flick of his wand the chair was pushed to a corner and the two were facing each other.  Harry automatically took a defensive posture, wand held tightly by his side, trying to prepare himself for whatever Snape would throw at him.

“None of that, Potter, you will prepare your mind for my attack.  You will employ only your mental defences.  If you possess any,” he added disparagingly. 

Harry did not loosen his grip on his wand but he did move to stand head on, a concession to a less aggressive pose.  He took a deep breath in to ready himself and –

“Legilimens!”

'I'm not ready, you bastard!' But the thought was hardly finished before memories were flashing before his internal eyes.  Incapacitated, feeling helpless rage as he lay painfully on the carriage floor, not able to even spit at Malfoy's face as he sneeringly covered him with his invisibility cloak; standing awkwardly to one side at Kings Cross as Uncle Vernon paled at Moody's warning, hoping that his uncle would actually understand the threat and take heed of it.  Harry struggled to control the flow, slow it down, stop it, but the parade was relentless.  The chaotic fight clearing for a moment as he saw the green of Bellatrix's curse hurtling towards Sirius, too fast; Sirius stumbling and so managing to dodge that one but moving far too close to the veiled archway; a Death Eater aiming a wordless, purple curse at his godfather, Sirius being saved by Remus's hastily thrown shield charm; Bellatrix-- No! Harry was struggling all he could, he did not want to go where these memories were leading him.  Running after Bellatrix; failing to cast the cruciatus; Voldemort appearing in the Ministry's atrium.  Harry had barely survived the agony of Voldemort's possession at the time, he could not live through it again.  But Snape was relentless.  The malevolent, red eyes, always red; the searing, blinding pain, curling him up; No! NO! Without conscious thought, Harry brought up his wand and protected himself with all the strength he could bring to bear, as though the dark-robed figure across from him were Voldemort himself.

“Protego!”

Harry knew he had caught Snape unawares, the tips of memories which were not his own were flashing past and in his anger he made no move to stop them.  A greasy black-haired boy being cuffed round the head by a stout man; the boy with a red-haired companion playing pooh-sticks on a bridge over a murky river; the boy, younger, out of breath, running through littered alley-ways; the teenager--

Snape had dammed the flood before it had even begun, the memories being no more than snatches, barely pinpricks before his eyes. 

With his vision clear again, Harry saw Snape's face.  His rage was unmistakable.  The thin lips were drawn back in a snarl, his arms stiff with restraint.  Harry recognised this as a 'cockroach moment' and stepped back hastily.

“Stay where you are!”

They were both breathing heavily.  Abruptly, Snape turned and moved to his desk chair behind his desk.  He took hold of the back with his left hand, gripping tightly; his fingers on his right hand were equally bloodless from the pressure he had on his wand.  Harry could see the effort the man was making to control his impulses and he was grateful for it.  'Just dismiss me before you blow the room apart,' he thought savagely. 

After a moment Snape seemed to have gained some control over himself.  “You were told not to use your wand to protect your mind,” he said, ominously, quietly. 

“I couldn't help--”

“Silence!”  Another deep breath and Snape continued, “You have no mental defences to speak of whatsoever.  Shall I fetch parchment and quill so that you may owl a list of everything you know about the Order, your friends, your habits, your favourite food direct to the Dark Lord?  Believe me, it will save us both this farcical waste of time.”  Snape's piercing stare was as hard as ever but Harry was back on familiar territory and was equally livid.

“But I'm supposed to learn Occlumency to stop me entering his mind – not the other way round!  After the Ministry, Volde--” the bared teeth were enough to change Harry's words, “he probably won't ever try to get into mine again!”

“And you are willing to rest the outcome of this war on a 'probably'?”  The quiet question made Harry's shoulders slump as nothing in that office ever had before.  Because he was not willing to do that, was he?

Seeing the effect of his words, Snape continued more harshly, “Occlumency and Legilimancy go hand in hand, you are a fool if you have not managed to pick up even that small piece of knowledge.”

“But I--”

“Do not interrupt me, Potter!  Resume your seat,” the wooden chair with the armrests skittered across the floor again.  Harry did not feel comfortable sitting while Snape was still standing, even if he was behind his desk.  At the warning sign of Snape's brow beginning to knit, Harry quickly decided obedience was the safest course.  He sat down heavily, his anger waning to sulkiness. 

“You will listen and attempt to use those two brain cells of yours for more than the basic functioning of your body.”  His glare dared Harry to say something.  Harry, instead, resumed his earlier inspection of the far wall.  Snape's disposition did not improve but he did not make a point of it. 

“You and the Dark Lord share a unique link which is not fully understood.  What is clear to those who have a modicum of intellect, however, is that you are both able to use Legilimancy, consciously and unconsciously, to penetrate each other's minds at a distance.  The only defence against Legilimancy is Occlumency.  A trained Occlumens can create a barrier against unwanted intrusion.  This barrier, in addition, will keep the Occlumens' mind to himself – that is, his mind can be trained to stay behind that barrier.  You will notice that I am using short sentences to aid your comprehension.” 

In spite of the sarcasm, Snape seemed to have calmed down while giving his pedantic explanation.  He retook his seat and asked, “Have I made myself clear so far?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Harry, glancing at the professor's face to avoid a rebuke for disrespect. 

And, in truth, he had.  Dumbledore thought Occlumency training was vital.  So did Voldemort.  And Snape had cleared up why.  Perhaps he would even be able to initiate contact with Voldemort's mind without any pain or danger to himself?  The sudden thought struck him powerfully.  Last year he had wanted to know what was going on and he had not cared if the information came directly from the madman himself, 'Which was just stupid,' he acknowledged.  He had not thought of actually learning Occlumency properly and using it against Voldemort.  Not that Snape had been any good at teaching him in any case.  Rather, he thought, backtracking slightly, it would have to be Legilimancy he learnt.  And this time he would learn.  How much better would their – his – chances be if they knew exactly what Voldemort was thinking?

“So I am already using Legilimancy then, sir?”

“Yes, unconsciously.”

“Perhaps we should start with that and then move on to Occlumency, sir?”  Harry tried to make the request in a reasonable tone.

“No, Potter.  Occlumency should always precede Legilimancy.  The latter is a dangerous exercise and cannot be accomplished safely without the protection that Occlumency provides.  If you had not gathered already, it is the main reason for your lessons.  The Headmaster feels, for some reason, that the safety of your mind is important.”  Snape seemed to be regaining his humour and said sneeringly “I, of course, know how little of value there is there.” 

Harry ignored the jibe.  What Snape was saying made sense. 

“Are there any books I could read to help me, sir?”

Snape seem surprised at the request but answered evenly, “Very few.  The mental arts are rarely practised and even more rarely written about.  Most texts make obscure references and the only real book to attempt instruction is over a hundred and fifty years old, the techniques in use now make it quite out of date.”

Harry's heart sank.  He would have to rely on Snape for all his information.

“If you commit to dedicating yourself to learning these arts, I see no reason for you to fail.”

Harry looked up, surprised.  That had sounded disturbingly close to encouragement. 

“I understand you are able to resist the Imperious Curse, without Occlumency.  That requires mental strength.  You mastered and performed the Patronus Charm at a moment of extreme stress and at a very young age.  That required manipulating your emotions.  You forced the Dark Lord out from his possession of your body.  That required both those skills as well as tenacity and fortitude.”  The man's face, shadowed by the greasy curtains of his hair, bore little expression; his tone of voice, likewise, was neutral.  Harry could not believe what he was hearing.

“You will return here at eight o'clock on Friday.  You will have considered in depth the importance of these lessons and you will be prepared to explain why they are so.”  He took up his quill, “You are dismissed.”

Harry was speechless.  He said nothing, simply leaving the gloomy office in a daze.

“He was frothing at that point,” explained Harry to his friends. He had joined Ron and Hermione a short while earlier in a corner of the common room that his friends had managed to grab for themselves.

Like most evenings, the cosy haven for Gryffindors had become less and less crowded as the younger years trooped up to their dorms throughout the evening. The remaining older students were clustered in groups chatting idly. Harry, Ron and Hermione were able to talk about 'Remedial Defence' in low voices without anyone overhearing them.

“Surely, though, he realised that you didn't mean to break into his memories?”

“Hermione,” said Ron, disbelievingly, “do you really think he cares whether Harry meant to or not? He's just a git who'll take any opportunity to have a go.” Ron became curious then, “What did you see, anyway?”

“I'm not going to tell you that, Ron,” said Harry. He continued before Ron could say anything, “Listen, if it was important, I might; you understand? But these memories were mostly from when he was just a kid.” Both Ron and Hermione looked quite taken aback, as if the thought of Snape ever being a child had never occurred to them.  “Besides, it wasn’t much, they were more like photos than the films which memories normally resemble.”

“Still, he had no right getting angry,” said Hermione, ignoring Ron’s baffled expression at Harry’s Muggle reference.  “As if you would deliberately try to do something like that!” she exclaimed, getting heated on Harry's behalf.

'Oh, God,' thought Harry. He had promised to be truthful with his friends which was all very well up to a point but, 'Hermione's going to crucify me.'

“Well, actually,” said Harry, sheepishly, “he has kind of got a reason to be suspicious.”

“What do you mean?”

So Harry told them about sneaking into Snape's pensieve the previous year. He left out the details of the memory but did mention that he had not seen his father in the best of lights.

“Harry!”

“Blimey, you're lucky you're still alive!”

He allowed Hermione to go on for a while about his impetuousness and how curiosity killed the cat, and nearly him in this case. He then brought her back to the original topic under discussion.

“So, as I was saying, he was livid at that point but by the end he was actually complimenting me!” Harry thought about this for a moment, rechecking his memory, “Yeah, he was saying, like, how I must be pretty capable to be able to resist Imperio and cast a Patronus.”

Ron looked rather dubious. “You sure you didn't just get confused with insults? I mean, I sometimes lose track of what part of me he's having a go at.”

“Don't be silly, Ron. You're clever enough to understand everything, you just don't concentrate on your homework – that's your problem.”

Harry smiled at his best friend's blush from the unexpected praise.

“So,” coughed Ron, “did he give you any practical help? Actually explain how you're meant to 'clear your mind'?”

“No, and he said there were no useful books.” Harry noticed the aghast look on Hermione's face.  He answered the rest of their questions and also told them about Snape's analysis of the twins' potion.

As Ron and he were making their way up to their dormitory, Ron's pride in his brothers was evident.

“Sounds like they're onto something there, doesn't it?”

Harry did usually enjoy the morning delivery of post but today he was anxiously looking out for one owl in particular. He had sent his godfather a letter yesterday lunchtime and was dearly hoping for a reply today. As the owls came swooping in he was not disappointed; Hedwig's clean white feathers were easily distinguishable amongst the regular grey and tawny postal owls.

He slit open the envelope with the butter knife, eager to check it was from Sirius. Though he could still not declare either the whereabouts of, or his relationship with, his godfather, Harry, on seeing the flourish with which 'Snuffles' had signed his name, could not help but feel that progress was being made. It was not so long ago that Sirius had first made direct contact with him through the gift of his magnificent broomstick; a convicted murderer who dared not even attach a note. It gave Harry hope that one day soon his godfather would be formally acquitted of Pettigrew's murders. There would be a public apology from the Ministry and compensation for the twelve years that had been stolen from his godfather, Harry would make sure of it.

The note was gloriously long, bearing in my mind that they had only parted a few days previously. However, it was not overly reassuring:

Dear Harry,

I do hope you are settling in well and have not got up to any trouble in your first week back (Remus is looking over my shoulder as I write this – he's now pulling such a face, you wouldn't believe! There, he's gone away now). In any case, as any true Marauder knows, reconnoitring the location and its inhabitants before engaging in any truly extravagant acts is always worth the effort!

I am very pleased that you are able to continue with Potions (and without a certain slimy Slytherin breathing down your back). Old Sluggy was a good sort, if a bit partial to crystallised pineapple and favouritism. I'd saying joining his club could be worthwhile, your mother was one of his favourites and used to quite enjoy the meetings.

So that means you now have the evil git taking you for Defence. Can't understand Dumbledore's reasoning myself, I don't trust Snape as far as I could hex him. Every year, he knew more about the Dark Arts than any one of our Defence teachers – used to enjoy showing them up in class. I suppose that there is no one better if you look at it from that angle.

But do not trust him! Make sure that everything he teaches you is above board. Harry, I am not joking in this; I wouldn't put it past him to sneak the Dark Arts onto the curriculum or to make an attempt at injuring you under the guise of 'teaching'. Also, I know Dumbledore thinks that your 'special potions training' is important, and I do agree, but I feel extremely uncomfortable at you being alone with Snape so much.

Contact me tonight, you know how, and I'll tell you something I found out recently from our wider circle of friends concerning him. Just know that you cannot trust him, so please, for my sake, keep your guard up and your friends aware of where you are.

Onto lighter news: Remus and I have taken to duelling, for the exercise as well as to sharpen me up a tad, and I have been soundly beaten far too much for my poor bruised ego; I hope to have better news on that front soon. Buckbeak is well, though he could also do with some exercise, Remus has written to an acquaintance on the Continent to see if they would be willing to take him. It is cruel leaving him locked up in this old house, though he has been a comfort to me in the past.

And that is all I have to say for now. Let me know how your first session with Snape went, how all your lessons are going (if you think the teachers are being harsh now, just wait until your seventh year, that really is Hell) and what you and your friends get up to.

Your devoted,

Snuffles

Harry had mixed emotions about the letter's contents. He was certainly pleased to have learnt something new about his mother. It was strange, but he often felt like he almost knew his father personally while, at the same time, knowing so little about his mum. It was understandable, he supposed, as he knew who his father's friends were and was lucky enough to still be able to talk to them but Sirius himself had said that Lilly had never been that close with the rest of the Marauders.

When Harry had asked about who his mother's friends had been, Sirius had grimaced and simply said, “No one worth mentioning.” Only when Harry had pushed further all his godfather could say was, “I don't know about any Muggle friends but by the time she finished school there was only one girl she was really close to, Mary MacDonald, but she was killed about a year before your parents.” And that was the end of that topic.

Also positive was the news about Slughorn. It reassured Harry somewhat about their newest teacher, surely his mother would not have joined his club if he was a Pureblood supremacist like most Slytherins Harry had met? Harry's first impressions of the professor on the train had been rather mixed and so he would reserve judgement until after his first class with the man.

“Ready, mate?” asked Ron, getting up from the breakfast table.

The trio started to make their way to the dungeons for their first Potions lesson of the year. On the way Harry told Ron and Hermione what Sirius had said in his letter.

“Well, that sounds good. Certainly can't be any worse than Snape, can he?” asked Ron, rhetorically.

“Yeah,” said Harry. “He also had quite a bit to say about Snape. He doesn't think we should trust him in the slightest.”

“I know he's not the nicest man in the world but really, Harry, you know how much those two hate each other. I'm not sure how seriously we should take Sirius' advice.”

“That's the thing, though. He wants me to contact him with the mirror later because there's something he wants me to know, about why we can't trust Snape.”

Hermione still looked dubious but they were at the Potions classroom so their discussion was put on hold.

Ron shrugged at Harry while sneaking a look at Hermione further down the dinner table. She was sitting conspicuously apart from the two boys and was still holding them in sulky disapproval.

“She'll get over it, you know how she is. Just has to be the top in every class,” said Ron quietly. “You won that potion fair and square.”

“Yeah, I did.”  But Harry still felt guilty for some reason and, yet, he could not regret it either.  The Felix Felicis seemed the most magical thing he had yet encountered in the Wizarding world.  It was exactly the sort of potion he was bound to require at some point. 

To say that Hermione was unhappy with his good fortune in being handed a miraculous book which explained his most troublesome subject in easy to understand language and with humour was quite an understatement.  She was convinced that no good would come of it and that it was, for all practical purposes, cheating.  Ron, on the other hand, was in full agreement with Harry about its usefulness and had shown only disappointment in the fact that it was Harry who had had all the luck.

Harry had been able to glance through the borrowed copy of ‘Advanced Potion-Making’ at lunchtime and he had seen that nearly all the potions in the book had been similarly annotated.  There was also a great deal more scrawled writing devoted to spellwork in general.

“What time did Snuffles say he’d contact you?” asked Ron, trying to get Harry’s mind off Hermione’s disapproval.

“Actually, I think he meant for me to contact him.”

“Right.  Probably best not to do it in the dorm or common room, yeah?  Want to go out by the lake while there’s still light?” suggested Ron.

“Yeah, good idea.  Let me just check if Hermione wants to come too, then we can nip up to the dorm to get the mirror.”

Harry swung his legs over the bench and walked over to Hermione.  Leaning over her shoulder he explained what he and Ron were going to do.

“I have work to do because I’m not a fraud,” she whispered furiously, “and you can’t expect Snuffles to tell the truth regarding Snape anyway.”  So saying she turned back to her shepherd’s pie and conversation with a fourth year girl.

Though disappointed, Harry was not surprised.  He exchanged a hopeless shrug with Ron and they both went off in the direction of their dormitory.

Having retrieved the mirror the two boys sat down by a tree not far from the lake.  They had a good view of the surrounding area and so were sure they would not be interrupted in their conversation with a convicted murderer.

Activating the mirror with a whispered, “Sirius”, Harry waited for a response.

It was hardly a minute later that the boys could hear a tentative, “Harry?  That you?”

Harry smiled and leaned forward over the mirror more so that he could make out his godfather’s face more clearly. 

“Alright there, champ?”

“Hi Sirius,” said Harry in a more normal tone of voice, “I’m fine.  How are you?  Won a duel yet?”

“Hah, no such luck, I’m afraid.  Remus is surprisingly sprite with not a few mean curses up his sleeve.  Brought me out in a rash all over this morning!  He only performed the counter when I agreed to cook tonight.”

Sirius’ tone was so rueful that Harry and Ron could not help but laugh.  With a shake of his head Sirius continued, “So, tell me all about Hogwarts.  Is it good to be back?”

Harry described, in detail, the cruelty of the teachers so far in inflicting them all with mountains of homework.  He went on to explain how he had had the good fortune to get a cool, old, annotated textbook in potions and been able to win a potion using its superior directions.

“Brilliant luck there, Harry,” said Sirius.  “I suppose that would never have happened when Snape had you for Potions.”

“Yeah, speaking of which, you were going to tell me something?”

“Yes.”  Sirius paused and looked around himself, “Listen, I know how you hate being left out of the loop.”

“Yeah, I do.  I think Dumbledore is planning on telling me more in his lessons but I reckon I have a right to know what the Order knows.”

“Well, perhaps not everything but I do know how you feel.  In any case, this will interest you too, Ron.”  The ginger-haired boy looked surprised.

“Me?”

Sirius nodded. “Firstly, I want you both to remember that this is Order business and I’m not supposed to be passing on such information to you,” seeing their nods of agreement, he continued, “The thing is, the evening you had your external vision, Harry, Snape appeared soon after he had been dismissed by his master.  He was looking for an auror because he had found out about a raid which he claimed would be taking place that night, somewhere near the Weasley residence.”

He paused, allowing the boys to put the information they had together.

“I remember that night!  Blimey, Harry,” said Ron, turning to his friend, “I didn’t know that was the evening you had your funny turn.  But,” he said, confused, “our house wasn’t attacked, nor was the Lovegood’s.”

“I know,” said Sirius.  “In actual fact there was no raid anywhere near that area.  And Snape did cover his back by saying the raid was quite a last minute plan.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” asked Harry, realising that Snape could just have been being cautious. 

“There was a raid in Upper Loughton, a village in Yorkshire.  Seven Muggles were killed.”

There was silence while the boys digested this.

“You’re saying that Snape deliberately had the Order send reinforcements to the southwest of England when he knew there was an attack planned for the northeast?”

“Exactly.”

'Double Snape!’ was the unfortunate thought that first crossed Harry’s conscious mind upon waking on Friday morning.  Not only did they have him for their first Defence lesson of the year that afternoon but Harry also had his second Occlumency session with the man that evening.  After talking to Ron and Hermione the other day, Harry had realised the importance they attached to the lessons for his own mental wellbeing.  Having had the chance to think over his tentative thoughts during the first meeting with Snape this year, he had also decided that the lessons were worth pursuing for other reasons.

The opportunities that learning Occlumency and Legilimency would afford him in the war, in which he had recently learnt he had a starring role, could not be underestimated.  As far as Harry could see, the only advantages that he currently had over Voldemort (and which no one else had) were his mother’s protection, owning the twinned wand and the strange link that existed between the two of them.  The first two had saved him at times of complete defencelessness but the latter had been used against him just a few months previously. 

He was under no illusions as to who, between himself and Voldemort, was the more powerful, the more well-versed in spellwork, the more (frankly) intelligent of them.  And yet, Harry was the one destined to end the war; either by success or failure.  If this third advantage could be used offensively then that was what had to be done. 

Could he use Legilimency to gain access to Voldemort’s mind consciously and thence to his plans?  Without detection?  Could he manipulate the monster’s thoughts?  Plant memories as had been done to him?  The possibilities had excited Harry more than he cared to admit.  Harry had been caught between fear and worry ever since Dumbledore had revealed the prophecy.  Perhaps this was what the prophecy meant by the ‘power the Dark Lord knows not’?  Obviously, Voldemort was aware of the link and he had directed Snape to teach him Occlumency, but if Harry became a skilled Legilimens then that would be a power about which Voldemort knew not. 

Unless Snape told him. 

And only if Harry could learn the skill.  From Snape. 

Two simple considerations which stopped the excitement dead.  Although Harry had been reassured by Snape’s unexpected belief in him, he could not easily forget the horrors of last year’s ‘lessons’. 

Hermione had been cool towards the two boys for the whole of the previous evening but had condescended to talk to them again at breakfast.  Mostly for the sake of information, it seemed.

“I don’t approve of you using that book, Harry.  The sooner you get your own copy, the better.  Still,” she said, awash with moral superiority, “we can agree to disagree.  Tell me what Snuffles said.”

So breakfast had been a mumbled conversation about the intelligence they had received from Sirius.  No headway was gained in examining its meaning however and further discussion was deferred till lunch.  Harry did learn, though, that the first of his special lessons with Dumbledore would begin the next morning.

The three friends, immediately on leaving the Charms classroom, picked up sandwiches and fruit from the Grand Hall to take outside.  They found a secluded spot in the courtyard where they were protected from the roaring wind and any potential eavesdroppers.  Harry was not a little concerned about how paranoid he was becoming.

They exchanged various theories as to what the Headmaster would be teaching Harry, until Ron raised the issue of Snape.

“Well, as I see it,” said Hermione, “there are several reasons the information he gave might have been wrong.  Firstly--,”

“He’s a bloody traitor,” interjected Ron.

“Of course, that has to be considered,” puffed out Hermione, seemingly more annoyed at the interruption itself rather than its content, “but, if we trust Professor Dumbledore, then it’s possible that Professor Snape was ill-informed or that he misheard.  Perhaps the plan changed later, perhaps it was a test of loyalty, perhaps--,”

“Perhaps he’s a man of peace who likes to adopt orphaned kittens!” exclaimed Ron.

Harry grinned, “Yeah, or he’s renounced being a git and is taking up the cause of Muggle rights.”  At Hermione’s tight face, he added, “Look, we know there are a thousand different possibilities.  Maybe those seven Muggles dying somehow saved the entire population of London.  The point is, Hermione, we don’t know.  Until we do, we ought to think in terms of worst case scenarios.”

“You do realise, Harry, that Snape truly being loyal to Voldemort – oh for goodness sake, Ron! – really is the worst of the worst case scenarios?” 

There was nothing that either Ron or Harry could say to that.  It was true, they could all see how important the man was to the war, whichever side he was on.

Leaving the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Harry was livid and anything but reassured about Snape’s loyalty.  His opening speech had been as passionate as Harry remembered his introductory Potions speech being; although this time he had been sure not to copy a single word down, even though that had not stopped him receiving a detention.  The man had essentially been advocating learning the Dark Arts themselves.  Malfoy had been lapping it up, Harry had noticed.  ‘He’s definitely looking shiftier these days, anyway,’ but Harry had not yet been able to convince his friends that the Malfoy heir was up to anything other than his usual tricks. 

Hermione gave Harry an exasperated look.  He knew he ought to have held his tongue but the rest of the class had appreciated his humour.  ‘Not sure it was worth a detention, though,’ he thought to himself.

“See you two later, then” said Hermione, as she took a different turning towards the Arithmancy classroom.

Ron and Harry trudged up to the common room to spend the rest of the afternoon playing chess.  Hermione was not pleased when she returned and found they had not even started on any of the homework they had been given.  She soon had them settled down with books open and parchment being scrawled upon.  Ten minutes before the time they normally started down to dinner she put down her quill.

“Harry?” she asked, tentatively.

“Hmm?” said Harry.

“About Occlumency,” she hesitated. 

Harry looked up questioningly, “Yeah?”

“You are going to try, aren’t you?” 

Harry noticed that she seemed worried and rushed to reassure her.

“’Course.”  At her disbelieving look, he continued, “I don’t know what I think about Snape but I do know that it’s important for me to learn Occlumency.  Very important.”  ‘And Legilimency,’ he added to himself.  But his promise to be completely truthful with his best friends was already faltering.  He did not think that Hermione would appreciate his thoughts on using the mental arts as a weapon against Voldemort.  ‘I’ll tell them when I can use them confidently,’ he promised himself.

Hermione nodded and Ron broke the sombre atmosphere by wondering aloud what dinner would be.

“Come in.”

Stealing himself for whatever might be in store for him, Harry entered Snape’s office.  Seated behind his desk, Snape gestured to the same wooden chair from last time placed in front of his desk.  He did not waste any time in putting Harry on the spot.

“As the Headmaster has informed me of your meeting with him tomorrow, I shall expect you in the Defence classroom at nine o’clock on Sunday morning,” Snape paused to make sure Harry acknowledged the information.  “You will maintain respect in both my classroom and office.  Now, do explain why these lessons are important, Mr Potter.”

Harry was glad that he had half-prepared an answer.  The man’s ‘homework’ had sounded almost rhetorical but, as every student had learnt the hard way, Snape was a bloody git. 

“Because I need to be able to protect my mind from Vol--,” the glare stopped him short, “You-Know--,” this time he stopped himself; it was a stupid sobriquet, “Ugh, him.”

“And?”

“And I need to stop myself from invading his mind unconsciously.  So,” Harry took a breath, “I plan to learn everything you can teach me and I will try my hardest to succeed, sir.”  Harry noticed that Snape seemed slightly taken aback and was pleased with the effect.

“Very well, Potter, we shall see how that pans out, shan’t we?” 

Harry tried to put on an expression of studious keenness but, from Snape’s dubious look, doubted he succeeded.

“Before we begin, let me emphasise that the Headmaster is aware of, and has approved, my actions in these lessons.  Since you were not able to learn through traditional methods, I have decided to take a different approach.” 

That did not comfort Harry in the slightest but before he could question the statement he was being told to stand up.  Snape came in front of his desk and made the chair tuck itself into the corner.

“As I said on Wednesday, casting the Patronus charm requires a wizard to manipulate his emotions.  We shall use this as a starting point.  Cast your Patronus, if you will, Mr Potter.”

Surprised at this turn of events, Harry was nonetheless pleased that the lesson would start on a good note at the very least.  He easily conjured the Patronus, barely having to think of Sirius or Ron or Hermione.  He smiled when he saw the stag rise up on his hind legs and paw the air.

“How wonderfully self-important!” said Snape, but it was not enough to rid Harry of his feeling of happiness.  At an abrupt gesture from Snape he allowed the stag to fade away.

“As you are no doubt aware, it is one thing to produce a Patronus in a room empty of threats,” Harry did not feel like disputing that this was such a room, “therefore, I shall cast Legilimens at you.  I will look for one terrible memory and keep it at the front of your mind.  You will not protect yourself at all.  Is that clear?”

Harry was aghast.  Which memory would Snape use?  There were far too many to choose from.  “Sir--,”

“Is it clear, Potter?”  Harry could only nod dumbly.  “When I am assured that you are firmly in the memory, I will add a Dementor to the scene.  As soon as you are aware of it you are to cast your Patronus.  Do you understand?”

“Umm, yeah.  Cast my Patronus when I see a Dementor.”

“Exactly,” sneered Snape.  “Legilimens!”

Again, there was no time to prepare and a memory was plucked from within his mind.  Harry could tell that Snape had not had to search for more than a fraction of a second to locate it.  The graveyard was dark and the headstone to which he was tied was cold.  Wormtail had finished the potion because where before there had been a small, ugly, hunchbacked creature, there was now the figure of man.  The man was holding up his arms, examining his new body.  Harry could not help but feel the terror he had felt then.  Wormtail on the ground, his tears mixing with his blood, begging his master for what he had been promised.  Harry tried to stop the memory, change it somehow but it was obvious that Snape was in full control.  He was powerless.

Suddenly, a new figure entered the scene.  A tall being, robed in black, made his way to Harry.  The very air was turning to ice and the all too familiar, panicked voices of his parents were becoming clearer and clearer.  The image wavered but then became stronger again.  The Dementor was within reach now.  No!  Harry knew this had not happened at the time but he was firmly in the memory now and could not remember Snape’s instructions.  He acted on instinct; the Dementor, bending his neck for the kiss, was a greater threat than Voldemort.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The silver stag erupted triumphantly from the tip of his wand.  Immediately, the memory dissolved and a glow of relief and happiness overtook Harry.  He stumbled over to the chair in the corner.  After some moments of unsteady breathing he realised that Snape had said nothing about his performance.  Glancing up, he was surprised to see the man looking almost... shaken.  That was the only way Harry could describe it.  Soon enough it was gone, replaced by a blank expression.

“What was that, Mr Potter?”

“Huh?”

“What happens,” bit out Snape, “when a Dementor approaches you?”

“Oh, I get cold and I can hear my parents’ voices when, you know, they,” Harry cleared his throat, “when he killed them.”

Snape said nothing but turned away slightly.  There was a moment’s stillness and Harry was surprised at the respectfulness of it, ‘I suppose that even Snape can’t sneer at an orphan’s worst memory’.  The silence did not last long.

“Did you remember my instructions or did you act on instinct?”

“Umm, well, instinct, I suppose.  Sir,” said Harry, standing up once more. 

The tirade about his ineptitude did not come, instead Snape simply said, “Again.”  Harry was instantly prepared but was almost caught off guard by Snape unexpectedly taking a deep breath.

“Legilimens!”

The graveyard, the dark and the cold; Wormtail cowering, nursing the stub where his arm used to be; Voldemort with red eyes, triumphant, gloating; a Dementor reaching out his greyish hand—

“Expecto Patronum!”  The glorious stag reared, his pelt shimmering with pearly pureness.  The memory and the graveyard disappeared.

“Instinct again?”  Snape did not even acknowledge the nod.  “Very well, this time I will use a different memory.  I will not use a Dementor either; instead, you will conjure your proud stag at the point where the memory diverges from what happened in reality.”

Harry nodded again and stood, flushed with his success, in the centre of the office.

“Legilimens!”

Once more Snape seemed to take the barest fraction of second to find the memory he was looking for, everything else passing by so fast that Harry was not even able to take note of the memories that were dismissed.  Harry was eleven and pushing his broomstick to the limit.  The Hufflepuff seeker had not even see the telltale glimmer of the snitch and Harry knew, just knew, that they were going to win.  He stretched out his arm, clawing the air.  Suddenly, the opposing seeker was by his side, Harry was aware of the boy’s presence but did not bother to glance at him. “Hey, Harry!”  And Harry realised that it was not a boy but an adult man, with shaggy hair – Sirius!  Harry smiled.  What was he—oh!  Harry tried to bring up his usual thoughts for casting his Patronus but Sirius’s smile was too distracting.  Realising that that would never work, he instead used the feeling from the memory itself – the real exhilaration of the flight and the happiness that Sirius always brought him even into a memory he had no place in.

“Expecto Patronum!”  The stag made his reappearance in Snape’s office and the memory dissolved immediately.

“How touching,” sneered Snape, but nothing the professor said could destroy Harry’s current elation.  He did not know how conjuring Patronus after Patronus was going to help him with Occlumency but he was doing everything right so far.

“You took longer that time,” said Snape.  Well, nearly right.  “Again.” 

And so they continued.  Harry relived memories from the last five years that were terrifying, amusing, boring (Binns’ lessons), depressing, humiliating (Snape’s lessons) and uninteresting.  Snape would insert Dementors and vampires, Muggle cars and aeroplanes, Filch and Mrs Norris, McGonagall in her animagus form.  Once he added Fudge to a scene where Harry was eating a huge fudge ice-cream outside Florean Fortescue’s.  Harry could not but help laugh at that one.  He sobered up as soon as he remembered where he was and that Snape most certainly did not have a sense of humour.

With what must have been his twentieth Patronus of the evening, Harry was well and truly exhausted.  Snape brought the chair out of its corner and allowed Harry to rest.  He sat down, elbows on knees and with his head drooping over his clasped hands.  It was a moment before he realised how defenceless the posture left him.

Regaining his breath somewhat, Harry looked up through his fringe.  Snape was watching him.

“As you tired your reaction time slowed.  However,” the man looked as if he was sucking a lemon, “at your most alert you reacted adequately.” 

Harry was relieved.  He was also intrigued by the lesson.

“How did you add things to my memory, sir?”

“Unlike you, I am a capable Occlumens.”

“You mean, you can change people’s memories, not just add them, like V--, he did?” asked Harry, rather shocked at the implication.

Snape sighed, as if Harry were too dense to realise what he was asking.  “The Dark Lord created memories, yes, and used your link to send them to you.  I believe you are not unaware of his skill?  And, obviously, I changed yours.  But you do not believe those changes now, do you?”

Harry shook his head.

“A talented Occlumens can manipulate their own memories.  With Legilimency they can also alter other people’s, though fixing them as reality requires rather more skill and power.”

“Is that how the Obliviators do it?”

“Most certainly not,” grimaced Snape.  “Those Ministry fools have less mental discipline than you.”  And Harry was not stupid enough to take that as a compliment.  “No, they deal with Muggles by using the Memory Charm and the power of suggestion.  Since Muggles are predisposed to rationalising away the Wizarding world anyway, there is little real skill required.”

“But what about all of Lockhart’s victims?”

“When a witch or wizard is Obliviated they do not gain memories, they simply lose the ones associated with a trigger.  In other words, there is a gap and the victim is aware of the loss.  Really, Potter, do you not pay attention in any of your subjects?”

Harry ignored that and wondered how to phrase the request that had occurred to him.

“Umm,” hesitated Harry.

“Yes, Potter?”  Harry could see the man was nearing the end of his patience but decided to press on with his request nonetheless.  It was an important piece of magic.

“Since we’ve been doing lots on the Patronus Charm, would you,” he coughed, “show me how to send a message using one?” he blurted out.

Snape blinked, surprised.  “Not tonight.  If you do as well on Monday, then I shall after that lesson.”  Harry nodded.  Truthfully, he did not think he could take any more work that evening. 

“Is there any homework, sir?”  The surprise on Snape’s face was actually quite gratifying, Harry thought.

“You will think over today’s lesson and attempt to define to yourself how you manipulated your emotions from one particular set, for example, fear or boredom, to another.  That is, those associated with casting a Patronus.”

Harry nodded and bit down on a yawn.  The office door flung wide and Harry nodded to the professor before leaving for the Gryffindor common room.

Harry rolled over onto his back, carrying his copy of Advanced Potion Making, which he had been reading, with him.  After trying to hold it up above his head, against the sun, he decided it was too heavy and let it fan out over his chest instead.  The late afternoon was pleasantly warm and Harry noticed that Ron was in exactly the same position, though, in addition, he had his eyes closed and was softly snoring.  Hermione was still scribbling away on a piece of parchment with various Arithmancy books open.

The soft breeze encouraged his thoughts of that morning.  Dumbledore’s lesson had been a surprise.  None of their theories had come close to what the Headmaster had actually shown him that morning.  He was still disappointed that Dumbledore was not going to be teaching him advanced Defence or even Offence.  However, he did trust Dumbledore and the information had been interesting; even if it was creepy thinking about Voldemort’s family.  It meant he had been human once, which Harry was intellectually aware of but found very difficult to comprehend when he saw (or was in the mind of!) the monster.

Having shared the details of the memories with Ron and Hermione, he was now content basking in the calm excitement of a new year at Hogwarts with his closest friends in the world.  He was aware of his responsibilities, of the faith that Dumbledore had in him, but this Saturday afternoon was theirs.  No doubt all hell would break out sooner or later.

Suddenly, he gasped and let out an involuntary screech.  He was curling up on himself, his hands trying to reach every part of his body.

“What the...!” got out Ron, as he too struggled to control the spasms of his body as he writhed on the ground.

Just as abruptly as it had begun, the tickling stopped.  Harry looked around him, there was no one near their group and Hermione was still bent over one of her books.  She was biting her lip terribly hard, however.

“Hermione!” they both squealed before trying again in more manly tones. 

“What the sodding hell was that for?” questioned Ron, shocked. 

“Oh, you know,” Harry noticed that she was having a hard time keeping a straight face, “constant vigilance and all that.  Also,” her eyes were watering so much that there were tears on her cheeks, “it’s time for dinner and,” she frowned, “one of you was snoring very loudly.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks of aggrieved bemusement.

“You know, I think we’ve had a bad influence on her, mate.”  Harry could not help but agree.

The weekend flew by, even the two hours he spent in Snape’s Sunday detention.  Monday’s lessons also managed to pass quickly.  Before he knew it, he was staring at Snape’s wooden door again and pondering how it was that he seemed to be seeing more of his most hated teacher than any other adult at the moment.  Stifling a sigh, because the last lesson had been surprisingly good, he knocked, waited and entered at the brittle command.

“Good evening, sir,” said Harry, thinking a little respect might start the evening off on a good note.

“Mr Potter,” nodded Snape, gesturing at the chair again.  “Perhaps you would could start by explaining any thoughts you had concerning our last lesson?”  The cordiality made Snape grimace, almost as if it were actually painful to be that polite.  Harry had to wonder what Dumbledore had done to make the man make an effort. 

“Umm, yeah,” Snape’s scowl encouraged Harry to speak more clearly.  “Well, I noticed that the more I cast my Patronus, the less I needed to focus on one particular happy memory.  I mean that towards the end I was just imagining happiness as an emotion and that was enough.”  Harry looked up to see if this was making any sense to the professor.

Snape nodded so Harry continued, “Also, I think that with the happier memories you chose, I was able to use, to draw out, the emotions contained within them.  But when you picked memories where I was scared or sad, then it took me slightly longer because I had to use, I don’t know, my emotions or memories from somewhere else.  Does that make sense, sir?”

“It does.  Being able to pick and choose the emotions you wish to feel is a necessary skill for an Occlumens.”

Harry opened his mouth but was interrupted before he even began.

“I do not mean, you stupid boy,” the man could not even manage five minutes, thought Harry, “that you ought to determine your emotions to daily situations through intellectual means.  However, an accomplished Occlumens should be able to temper strong, unhelpful emotions; to imbue memories with more or less of a particular feeling; and to generally use their emotions as a defence mechanism.”

“Then why, all last year, did you tell me to ‘clear my mind’?” asked Harry, outraged that Snape appeared to be admitting his faulty teaching.

“Because, you imbecile, though they may provide your defence, emotions are often the surest way to attack another mind.  Your emotions lead directly to your memories, to your thoughts; if they are left freely for an enemy Legilimens to sift through, they will lead directly to your soul.”

Harry thought of the hundreds of times Snape had broken into his mind.  It did seem that when Harry was angry or scared, Snape had an easier time of it, though that was basically every time.  Likewise, on the two occasions that Harry had successfully broken into Snape’s mind, Harry was sure it was only because of the man’s shock that he had been able to see anything at all.  And the intrusions had been broken off quickly.

“So why am I am now trying to inundate myself with emotion?” asked Harry.  “Sir.”

“I believe we have already established that traditional methods do not work with you.  So saying, today we will be attempting something else.”

Snape stopped speaking and seemed to change without moving.  Harry could not really describe what had happened.  It was like he had gathered a darker aura around himself.

“Explain your knowledge of the Imperious Curse,” Snape asked suddenly.

Harry blinked, “Well,” he started, “it’s one of the three Unforgivables.  The incantation is Imperio but the wand movement is less important since it is completely Dark and so intent is what matters.  Umm, it allows a wizard to control someone’s mind and so their actions too.  Barty Crouch cast it on all of us in fourth year; and You-Know-Who in the graveyard.  I was able to shake it off each time.”

“Do you remember,” asked Snape, darkly, pensively, “how you did so?”

Harry thought about it.  It was a couple of years ago but, “I think I just resisted it, sir.  I can’t really explain any more than that.  I just knew it wasn’t right and fought it.”

“How heroic of you,” Snape said, with more of a sneer than usual.  He stood up and motioned for Harry to do so as well.

“This evening we are going to practice your defence to the Imperious Curse.”

Harry was almost nodding before he realised what Snape had said.  “No!  No, you can’t.”  Harry saw Snape’s wand rising, “Dumbledore wouldn’t, Dumbledore can’t have said--”

“Professor Dumbledore,” and Harry was only tracking Snape’s wand, because surely the Headmaster wouldn’t allow this, “is very much aware of what is happening in these lessons.  As I believe I have told you.”

“N-no!  He wouldn’t let you--” Harry broke off as Snape strode to the fireplace.  A handful of Floo powder was thrown in with force causing the flames to flare green.

“Headmaster Dumbledore’s Office.”

“Ah, Severus, how can I help you?” came Dumbledore’s voice a moment later.

“Mr Potter needs some reassurance,” Snape flashed a look of disgust at Harry.

“Harry, come closer so we can talk,” asked Dumbledore.  Harry knelt before the fire.

“Sn--, Professor Snape says you agreed it’s okay for him to use the Imperious on me?”  Harry could hardly help the plaintive voice the question came out in.  Surely Dumbledore would not have betrayed him like this.  But, said a small voice in his head, he let Crouch do it and he trusts Snape as much as he trusts Moody...

“Harry, I would never wish you to be subjected to Dark magic unnecessarily.  Unfortunately, my boy,” and the sorrow was clear in Dumbledore’s tone, “we have little choice.  It is a shame, but being able to resist the Imperious is a useful skill to perfect in these times, as well as it helping you in your Occlumency studies.  I trust Professor Snape not to abuse his position.”

Harry said nothing.  Dumbledore, the man he looked up to as the greatest wizard ever, was allowing the greasy bastard to take control of his mind. 

“I agree with Professor Snape’s ideas.  If you still have concerns tomorrow, you may visit me for tea at any time.”  The flames returned to their natural colour and Harry remained kneeling in front of the fireplace.

“Stop moping, Potter,” snapped the professor.  “Place your wand on my desk and stand in the centre of floor.” 

“Wandless!”  That was going too far.

“Have you ever needed your wand to resist the Curse before?” asked Snape snidely.  “You will be less tempted to attack me without it.  Safer for the both of us, hmm?”

So Harry, red-faced, did as he was directed.  He could not control his anger; there was a torrent of rage flowing through his veins, his eyes ablaze with fury.  There was not a little fear too but he squashed it with the burning fire.  Arms shaking with the emotion’s force, he stood in the middle of the office like a lamb for the slaughter, abandoned by Dumbledore and facing the ominous presence of Snape.

“Imperio,” whispered Snape.  And the anger was gone.  Harry was surrounded by calm and felt more at peace than he ever had before, this non-thinking was perfection.  And there was a simple command, ‘straighten your tie’.  It was a bit wonky, Harry noticed absently, as his hands moved towards his neck.  Why were teachers always so concerned about their students’ attire?  And now there was another instruction ‘sit down’.  Teachers were always telling their students what to do!  But the office chair was before him, his body ached a little as if he had exerted himself too much, and he could rest in the chair.  Yes, the calm, perfect state, the tiredness of his muscles and the chair.  It all made sense.

Harry sat down.

But now there was a new command, ‘Tell Professor Snape about how you stole the Boomslang skin’.  He had hardly sat down at all, the tiredness had not gone, the calm was still washing over him but he did not want to tell Professor Snape about the Boomslang skin.  Telling Snape would be a bad idea.  ‘Tell Professor Snape about the Boomslang skin’.  Harry opened his mouth, but he did not want to talk about that, he did not want to get Hermione in trouble; he stood mute for a moment.

“I--,” No!  Harry did not want to tell Snape, he did not want this unthinking calm in his head, this was wrong.

“No!”  And the calm disappeared.  His anger was fainter than before, swamped by relief.  He had broken the curse again.

“You did not break free of the Curse immediately.”  There was, strangely, no inflection to the observation.  “Do you know why you followed my first command but not the second?”  Snape’s expression was blank, the man himself a pocket of cold. 

Harry thought about it.  Why had he not resisted more at the beginning?  He tried to remember how he had felt and what had happened.

“I suppose because I couldn’t see anything wrong with sitting down.  I was tired and it made sense.  But I didn’t want to tell you about the Boomslang skin.”  He added hastily, “Which I didn’t steal anyway.”

“I know,” said Snape, smiling evilly.  “You may not have succumbed to the Imperious but your mind was like an open book.  It is a pity that Miss Granger’s resourcefulness tends to the criminal.”

He had used Legilimency too!  Harry wanted to object that that was hardly fair but, then, what else did he expect from the Head of Slytherin?  And now, dear God, he knew about Hermione in second year!

“No need for those pathetic drama queen faces, Potter,” said Snape.  “We will be trying again.  And again.  Until you are able to throw off the curse as soon as it has landed, regardless of the reasonableness of the commands.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” sighed Harry.

The whispered “Imperio” sounded so much more sinister than the shouted Legilimens incantation ever had.

Once more calm descended and his thoughts stopped.  But, that wasn’t right!  ‘Explain the House system at Hogwarts to Professor Snape.’  Well, that was a strange thing to want to do.  Surely the professor knew about the Houses.  The calm wavered and Harry was almost inclined to dispute the request; however, soon enough the joyful calm was re-imposed.

“Hogwarts has four Houses,” said Harry, without thinking.  “They are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin...” he continued by explaining about the founders and the attributes associated with each House.  “And then Salazar Slytherin left--,”

“Stop.  Sit down on that chair.”

His teacher was telling him to sit down.  Oh well, no harm in doing that.  He sat down.  ‘Tell Professor Snape how it feels when you catch the snitch.’  The snitch!  That was the most wonderful feeling in the world! 

“It’s the most amazing thing ever!  It’s like the most perfect moment, where everything fits.  It’s exhilarating and...”  Harry would never know how long Snape allowed him to wax lyrical about catching the snitch, though he was sure it was at least a good five minutes.  When he looked back on it later he would be surprised that Snape had never even smirked at his enthusiasm.  Snape retained a blank look throughout.

“Enough.”  The calm that had wavered a little through his enthusiasm for Quidditch was again restored.  “Do a handstand.”  His calm faltered.  Why?  Doing a handstand in Professor Snape’s office was a bit-- ‘Do a handstand.’  Harry stood up and then paused.  Why did he want to do a handstand?  That was silly, he could not do them anyway.  He would look like a fool in front of his worst teacher.  The command came again and an attempt at calming him but this time Harry recognised it for what it was: Snape imposing his will on Harry.  Nevertheless, he took a tentative step forward.

No!  This is ridiculous.  I can’t do handstands; I certainly don’t want to try doing one in front of Snape. 

Harry blinked.  His mind cleared and there was Snape with an arched eyebrow.  Harry took a step back.  He shook his head and then went over to Snape’s desk to pick up his wand.  With it in his hand he felt a lot safer. 

“Pathetic, Potter.  You need to resist as soon as that calm starts descending.  You make it harder for yourself by allowing the Curse to take effect.”

Harry swallowed.  As soon as the Curse was lifted, he had begun to feel embarrassment at the silly things Snape had asked him to do.  He had done nothing humiliating in and of itself, but just knowing he had rattled on for ages about the House system and Quidditch was enough to make him flushed.

“Shall we try again, sir?”

“Eager to be exposed to more Dark magic, Potter?” asked Snape, snidely.  “Very well, Imperio,” and there was more menace in those three syllables than Harry had ever heard from Snape before. 

As the mist descended, Harry thought it was strange that such menace felt almost like a seduction of the senses.  Yes, the internal peace was seductive and could very well be addictive.  Now he was aware that he was under the Curse but he was still enjoying the serenity that it gave him. 

“Kneel before me,” came Snape’s sharp command. 

Harry’s response was instant.  He violently rejected the idea.  However, though his mind was repelling the repulsive order, his body was jerking in indecision.  Harry concentrated on breaking through the calming mist, wanting to be angry.  He felt the professor try and re-impose the peace but he had already regained his mind.

“No!” he shouted.

He was free again.  His mind was his own.  Harry looked down at his wand, speculatively.  Could he get Snape off-guard?  How dare he order that?!  What if Harry had not been able to resist?

“That will be all for today,” said Snape, breaking through Harry’s thoughts and looking at him fiercely, as if he had recognised the train of thought Harry was on.  “We shall be practising this skill until you are able to throw the Imperious off before it sets in.  Now, cast your Patronus.”

Taken aback by the unexpected command, Harry raised his wand.  ‘Hang on,’ he thought, ‘am I still under the Imperious?’  He did not think so but he cast Lumos in any case.  Snape arched his eyebrow at the wandlight but said nothing.  Relieved, Harry conjured his Patronus.

He revelled in the stag’s simple purity.  Snape also seemed to relax a little, the darker aura which Harry had noticed before seeming to dissipate a tad.  After a moment the man signalled for him to dismiss it and Harry did so.

“I believe I said that I would teach you how to send a message with your Patronus.” 

Harry had not forgotten that Snape had only promised to do so if he managed to do well during his lesson.  He decided against mentioning it since it was just as likely that Snape believed it to simply be a useful ability to have. 

 “Sending a message via your Patronus is a simple matter if you are capable of non-verbal spells,” said Snape dryly, indicating his doubts about Harry’s abilities.  “Before casting you must be sure of your message and its destination.  The longer the message, the more difficult it is to direct.  Therefore brevity is key.  Your ‘happy thought’ should ideally include the recipient, otherwise a great deal more effort is required.  The wand movement is slightly different,” Snape demonstrated it, over-exaggerating it for emphasis, “however, more important still is the strong intention with which you imbue your incantation.”

“So, I just think of who I’m sending it to and what I want to say, then cast it?”

“Indeed,” said Snape, dryly.  “Practice by attempting to send a message to me now.”

Harry looked dubious.  How was he supposed to think of a ‘happy thought’ with Snape in it?  The man’s smirk showed he knew what Harry was thinking.  Harry finally decided on the memory from third year when he had knocked his professor out.  Concentrating on that decidedly glorious image, he then thought about his message.  ‘Good evening, Professor,’ should do it he thought.  Respectful and short.  He cast his Patronus as Snape had directed.

A small patch of mist appeared from the end of his wand.  It faded away quickly.  Annoyed at himself he started to try again.

“That is enough, Mr Potter,” said Snape.  “You may practise at the end of our lessons.  Casting a full Patronus is as good as chocolate in relieving the affects of Dark magic.  You are dismissed.”

Harry was surprised that he was being let out after barely half an hour but left the office gladly.  Snape was right; the full stag had helped restore his balance after the Imperious Curses.  Still, he felt even better once he had left the man’s office.

Walking back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry could not decide how he felt.  Snape had not only used the Dark Arts but had actually placed him under one of the three Unforgiveables.  He had, moreover, done so with Dumbledore’s blessing.  Harry briefly considered whether the man Snape had Floo-called might have been someone impersonating the Headmaster but had conceded, by the time he had reached the first floor, that it was quite unlikely.  The following flights of stairs gave him time to consider whether he was more outraged at Snape’s tactics, Dumbledore’s compliance or Snape actually having the gall to command him to kneel.  On the other hand, he was rather pleased that he had been able to break the Curse each time, even if it had taken longer than it should have on the first two occasions. 

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the common room, surprised at his early return.  Harry could tell from Hermione’s expression that she suspected he had somehow managed to enrage Snape again.  Wanting to head off any such accusations, he decided to take advantage of the short lesson by saying they should go to the Room of Requirement until curfew.

Walking back and forth in front of the blank wall, Harry concentrated on his need for a comfortable and private place to talk.  When he opened the door that appeared on his third pass he saw a room not that dissimilar from their House common room. 

“Oh, this is nice,” exclaimed Hermione as she chose the end of the comfy settee closest to the fireplace to sit down.  She snuggled into the deep cushions a little as Ron joined her while Harry sat across from them on the matching red and gold armchair. 

They sat a while, simply watching the low flames in the fire grate.  Harry appreciated his friends not jumping on him immediately.  They seemed to have sensed that he needed time to sort out his thoughts.  For his part, he was not sure how to explain what Snape had done that evening; simply blurting out ‘The greasy git stuck me under Imperious’ hardly seemed like a good idea.

“You know,” he started tentatively, staring at the fire, “that Snape’s got this new plan, for teaching me Occlumency?”

“Yeah, casting your Patronus over and over,” said Ron, “not sure how much good that will do though, are you?”

“Didn’t he say that it was similar in a sense, because you had to manipulate your emotions?” asked Hermione.

“Yes, well, he says that emotions provide the easiest path for a Legilimens to crack open a mind and so they should be hidden away, making it easier to block an attack.”

“So how does your stag help?” asked Ron.

“Well, it’s obvious,” said Hermione, “if you can control your emotions then you can hide them, right, Harry?”

“Yep, something like,” Harry smiled faintly at her. 

“So, what has you so shaken tonight then, mate?  Did the git get you casting too many?”

“No, he’s kind of... um... extended that reasoning,” said Harry, shrinking a little under their sharp gazes.

“And...?” encouraged Hermione.

“And he thinks that being able to resist the Imperious Curse is also a mental defence using emotions and so,” Harry was speaking rapidly now, getting the words out, “he put me under the Curse and I had to break it.”

Their reactions were instant and predictable.  Harry could only be glad he had had the foresight to bring them to the Room where no one could overhear their outrage.  Ron was on his feet, arms taut with tension, unconsciously echoing the pose Harry had taken earlier in front of Snape.  Hermione was pale and had a hand over her mouth, her eyes showing her dismay.  She did not seem to know what to say and did not rebuke Ron as he swore loudly and fiercely.

Harry sighed and Hermione pulled herself together, straightening her skirt and putting her hands in her lap.

“Stop it Ron, that’s not helping.”

“Bloody git... You alright, mate?” asked Ron, solicitously

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You need to speak to Dumbledore; that’s not on, what Snape did.”

Harry sighed, “I already have.”  At their blank looks he continued, “Snape must have known that I wouldn’t just let him do that, Dumbledore was waiting for the Floo-call.  I spoke to him and,” he spoke over Ron’s imminent interruption, “I’m sure it was him.”

His friends were still in shock and Harry let them take the time they needed to absorb it.  It was, unsurprisingly, Hermione who sat up first and dealt with the practicalities.

“So, did you manage to break it?  No, don’t answer that, we know you did,” she gave a small smile, “but he didn’t order you to do anything, well, not right, did he?”

“He mostly just went for embarrassment really.  I broke it each time,” Harry realised from their faces that he had not mentioned before that Snape had cast Imperio more than once, “yeah,” he rushed on, “and it was easiest when what he wanted me to do was ridiculous or, or abhorrent.”

Hermione looked at him dubiously at that.  Harry shrugged, “Not evil but, well, the last time he told me to kneel.”  He could not help but display his disgust at the thought, nor could Ron.

“Actually,” Harry said, speaking over Ron’s spluttering, “that was the easiest one to break.  It’s harder, much harder, when what he’s telling you to do is reasonable.  Like straightening your tie or sitting down.”

Harry could see that Hermione was considering and analysing that.  She slowly nodded her head, “I see, so the more in keeping the order is with your morals or daily actions the more insidious it is?”

“Yeah, but I think it also depends on who’s doing the commanding.  I mean, if Voldemort had told me to straighten my tie that time in the graveyard, I think I would have broken the curse just as easily.  Snape is a teacher and I do know, at least theoretically,” he said, smirking at Hermione, “that I should do what he says, especially things like that.”

They continued talking about how Harry had responded to the curse and by the time that they needed to leave the Room of Requirement to get back before curfew he felt much better about the evening.  The Dark magic truly had affected him; casting his Patronus and getting out of Snape’s office had helped with the after-effects but simply being with his friends made Harry feel completely himself.  They resolved to meet in the comfortable room after each of Harry’s lessons. 

Harry had, predictably enough, been mocked by Malfoy for his needing ‘remedial Defence’ lessons.  Most of his classmates, however, were more of the mind that he might be receiving advanced Defence lessons, considering that it was his best subject.  He had to repeatedly deny those suggestions, as well as to explain why he would not be continuing with the DA this year.

“I’m sorry, Neville, I just don’t have the time.  In any case, Snape’s nearly as good as Lupin was,” he could not bring himself to praise the man any more than that, “nowhere near as bad as Umbridge was, anyway.”

Both of these reasons were true.  He did indeed lack time to continue the DA.  His three sessions a week with Snape took up a great deal of time, the teachers were giving out homework left, right and centre, and there was also Quidditch to think about too.  He had almost declined the captainship, as Hermione had prudently advised, but he had to have something to look forward to.  As he had told Snape, in embarrassing detail, there was nothing better than flying and catching the snitch. 

He had not been lying when he told Neville that Snape was almost as good as Lupin.  Though Snape certainly did not imbue his classroom with Remus’s welcoming and nurturing environment and he was as full of snide remarks about Gryffindor foolishness as ever, the DADA classes were quite good.  Perhaps it was down to the sixth-year material which was more in-depth and revealed more about the Dark Arts and its practitioners than ever before.  Harry was keeping an eye out for blatant Dark magic teaching, as Sirius had warned, but he could not accuse Snape of crossing that line in classes.  Yet. 

However, his private lessons were a different matter.  Snape had continued to focus on his mastering resistance to the Imperious Curse.  The lessons were comparatively short.  He never seemed to spend more than three-quarters of an hour in the man’s office and Harry had calculated that he never seemed to be under the Unforgivable for more than fifteen minutes a session.  Which was, Harry considered, still too long; being subjected to fifteen minutes of Dark magic three times a week was no good for anyone.  He found he was becoming very dependent on his meetings afterwards in the Room of Requirement to make him feel normal.  The comfortable sofas, the cosy fire and his friends’ company were the best antidote to such Dark magic.

If feeling off-balance was the result of being a victim to such magic, Harry did not like to think what it was doing to the caster.  Snape, when using the Dark Arts, had a truly terrifying presence.  Harry was aware of the man keeping a tight rein on himself but even Snape’s blankest expression exuded malicious power; he was sure that he never wanted to see the man lose control while wielding Dark magic. 

Harry knew that the Dark Arts carried a heavy toll on the caster’s soul and he was beginning to think that such damage could almost be seen in a wizard.  He wondered what Snape did after their sessions.  He always made Harry cast his full Patronus and allowed him to bask in its silvery glow for a minute or so.  After that, Harry would try to send a message to Snape although, in that Harry was progressing rather slowly.  Harry could see that his stag benefited Snape as well but wondered if Snape was able to cast his own Patronus and whether he did so after Harry had left.  Did he have stash of chocolate hidden in cauldron somewhere?  Was there anything else the man could do to negate the effects? 

They had experimented with using the fireplace in the Room of Requirement to Floo-call Sirius.  However, it seemed that though the Room could conjure the fireplace, flames and Floo powder it was not able to create the external connection.  The mirror was fine as a communication device really, just a bit small.  And it did show each party in full colour, as opposed to the otherworldly green of the Floo. 

Harry decided to call Sirius on Sunday evening and he went up to the Room of Requirement for privacy after dinner.  He had a great deal to tell his godfather:  all about the Quidditch trials the day before, Hagrid’s distress with Aragog’s poor health, the Slug Club dinner which he had been unable to get out of (boring as hell but at least Hermione had kept him company) not to mention schoolwork.  He also wanted Sirius’s opinion on the crackdown the Ministry were taking, especially Stan Shunpike’s arrest.  What he was not certain of, however, was how much to tell Sirius about his private lessons with Dumbledore and Snape.

|

Dumbledore’s exemption to his telling other people about their meetings only extended to Ron and Hermione.  Harry was not keen to deceive Sirius but decided that it was essentially Order business and thus Sirius would understand the secrecy if he knew of it.  Sirius did, however, know about his private lessons with Snape.  And Harry knew that his godfather would not take his long-time enemy casting Dark magic on him well. 

“So, how is Snivellus treating you, Harry?”

Harry sighed.  Both of his friends had agreed that telling Sirius the whole story was not wise but had not offered any practical advice when he said he did not want to lie.

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that, Sirius,” said Harry, trying to avoid the question.  Although, the name did rankle too, it was just so childish.

“Fine,” said Sirius, his reflection showing his put-upon expression, “how’s the most perfect specimen of Slytherin ideals since Salazar Slytherin himself treating you?”  And that was not a compliment, given Sirius’s opinion of Slytherins.

Harry let it go and shrugged, “Not bad.”

Sirius, Harry noticed, was able to infuse his raised eyebrow with just as much meaning as his arch-rival could.  Not that either would appreciate the passing thought. 

“He’s fine.  He’s actually worse in classes,” as he said it, Harry realised it was true.  It was probably, he decided, to do with Snape’s firm control over himself while practising the Dark Arts rather than anything so shocking as Snape changing his opinion of him or his abilities.  “He’s decided to tackle it from a different angle and, umm, well, I’m learning some useful skills so I don’t mind.”

“Such as?”  Sirius sounded sceptical.

“Well, I’m learning to send a message with my Patronus.  Can’t do it very well at the moment, though I’m getting better.”

Harry had to laugh at Sirius’s flabbergasted expression.  His godfather had clearly not been expecting his epitome of the ‘Dark Wizard’ to be teaching something so pure to his godson.

Harry took advantage of Sirius being blindsided by asking what he had been up to.

“Oh, this and that.  Still haven’t won a duel with Moony yet.  Though I did get him jigging like an old sailor for a good twenty minutes; unfortunately, the fact that he had already blinded me with the old Conjunctivitis Curse and fused my trouser legs together made it rather easy for him to disarm me.”

The description had Harry laughing again.  Talking to Sirius really was a great way to end a week.  Although Harry had extra pressures and worries this year, he knew that with Sirius around he would manage everything a lot more easily. 

“Apart from that, I’m doing well.  In fact, if Dumbledore can influence the Minister in a small matter, then things will be really looking up.”

“Influence him about what?” asked Harry.

“Ah, ah.  It will be a great surprise but I don’t want to get your hopes up yet!”

Harry let him keep his secret, feeling a little less guilty for keeping his own.  They moved on to other topics and chatted and laughed happily until it was time for Harry to get back to his dorm.

Snape had let him out with plenty of time before curfew after a session dedicated more to sending messages by Patronus than to resisting the Imperius Curse, so Harry walked the corridors of Hogwarts openly towards the Room where Ron and Hermione would be waiting for him.

As he approached the more reliable of the staircases to the seventh floor, however, he found his friends sitting in a window alcove.  Harry slowed his steps as he approached, noticing the setting sun casting a reddish silhouette around their facing cross-legged forms, heads bent together.  Just as he was wondering whether he should actually leave the pair with their almost tangible budding relationship, Ron looked up, noticed and then beckoned to Harry.

“Hey, you're out early,” he said, questioningly.

“Yeah, he's almost admitted that I’m improving,” grinned Harry.  He stepped closer and noticed that it was not surprising Ron had noticed him before Hermione; between them sat a few heavy textbooks and quite a mountain of parchment and paper.

Hermione made a space on the alcove's bench for Harry to perch, while both she and Ron expressed their congratulations.  Harry smiled and looked out onto the grounds which were bathed in the autumnal reds of dying leaves and the setting sun.

“Great view,” he commented.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look before Ron replied, “Yes, it is.  Although that's not why we came here. The Room's locked.”

“What?”

“We can't get in, mate, no matter how many times we walked up and down.  We both had a go, didn't work.”

“Dumbledore wouldn't have shut it off,” said Harry with confidence, “it must be someone from the DA, they're the only ones... or...”

“I reckon it’s Carmichael and his Hufflepuff girl,” Ron said knowingly, “do you know how many times they’ve been burst in on this last week?”

“Yeah, perhaps.”

“So, tell us about today’s lesson then, Harry,” said Hermione, “and then we can get down to that Charms essay.”

Two weeks later and Snape had deemed Harry “Acceptable” at resisting the Imperious.  Harry was feeling rather more pleased than he probably should at such a low-grade compliment.  The sessions had been mentally gruelling but he was now able to block an Imperious with his mind alone, regardless of whether he was holding a wand or not.  As he walked to Dumbledore's office he also reflected on the fact that he now approached the lessons with Snape with much less nervousness than he had.  Perhaps it was down to the declining frequency of humiliating experiences as Harry progressed or simply because their lessons had become rather routine.  Although not boring. 

The gargoyle let him in while confirming the Headmaster's continuing obsession with confectionery.  Travelling up the staircase, he turned his thoughts to their upcoming meeting.  Harry realised now that Dumbledore was unlikely to further his Defence education in any practical respect, though the man did seem sure that these memories he was showing Harry would prove invaluable.

Harry knocked on the office door at the same time as the Headmaster called for him to enter.

“Hello, Harry,” said the grandfatherly-looking man.  He had risen to meet Harry and gestured to the chair on the other side of his desk.  “Tea, my boy?” he asked as he poured them a healthy cup each.  Harry noticed that there was also a plate with a wonderfully wide selection of biscuits. 

“Before we start with the main business, so to speak, I would just like to confirm that all is well with you.  How are your studies going?  Not getting too distracted by the likes of Quidditch and girls and other such important subjects, I hope?”

“No, sir,” said Harry, trying to suppress a blush at the thought of discussing girls with his Headmaster, “we’ve been getting tons of homework, but Hermione is keeping Ron and me on top of it all.”

“Good, good.  I have no doubts about your academic abilities, you’ll do very well in your exams, I’m sure.  And how are your other lessons, with Professor Snape, going?”  Harry had been expecting this mild interrogation, thus his reflections on them on his way to the Headmaster.

“Professor Snape says that I’m improving and that I should be able to overcome any Imperious thrown at me.  I haven’t given in to it since last week.”  Harry considered his next words and allowed some of his anxiety to show through, “He says that we’re ready to move on.”

“Excellent!”  Dumbledore seemed genuinely pleased.  “I’m confident that you’ll do me proud.  Now, today we’re going to take a look at a puzzling memory I acquired some time ago...”

Harry was only half-listening to Dumbledore’s introduction to the next set of memories they would be viewing.  His fears of Snape and his lessons had simply been brushed aside by the kind-faced man opposite him.  Yes, he had been doing well in Snape’s lessons but now they were going to be moving on to a different kind of torture.  What dark magic would Snape throw at him next? 

Attempting to push his growing frustration to a corner of his mind to contemplate later, Harry made an effort to listen and then to view the mysterious memory dispassionately. 

An hour later and Harry was giving full vent to his anger.  Ron and Hermione sat back on Ron’s bed, taking in all he was saying but not paying a great deal of attention to his mood.  They had asked Neville if he could finish his reading in the common room, while they used the sixth year boys’ bedroom for a private discussion.  As had happened on two or three previous occasions, the Room of Requirement had been locked when they tried it. 

“Harry, stop,” said Hermione, getting her words in between another rant could start up.  “Sit down.”  Harry looked at her with the beginnings of disappointment but seemed to reassess the look in her eye.  He flopped on to his own bed.

“Good.  Now, I understand you’re angry.  Professor Dumbledore didn’t acknowledge your fears,” Harry’s sound of outrage did not stop her, “about Professor Snape and your lessons and then he went on to give you a task which he seems to have failed at himself.”

“Nice summary, Hermione,” said Ron, “although it doesn’t help Harry here with how to get old Sluggy to give up a memory that he doesn’t want to.”

“Sometimes just stating the facts and the problem can help you move forward, Ron, it’s—”

“Okay, okay guys!  Don’t get started, please,” pleaded Harry.

Hermione harrumphed but acquiesced, “Have you come up with any ideas?”

“Umm... asking him for it?” suggested Harry.

“I hardly think he’s going to just hand over a memory which he’s denied the Headmaster, do you?”

“Well, I’m special, aren’t I?” asked Harry, with a surprisingly good ‘poor, innocent me’ look.  Ron’s sniggers had him, quite conveniently, collapsing onto Hermione next to him.

“Are you able to explain why I have been relentlessly casting the Imperious Curse at you?”

Harry had to wonder why Snape always seemed so dubious of his intelligence.  He may not have been the brightest pupil at Hogwarts, but he was hardly lagging at the bottom of the pile.  No matter what he said now, Snape would still believe he was a complete ignoramus. 

“Because if I can protect my mind from the Imperious, then the logic is that I should be able to protect it from a Legilimency attack, sir.  And it’s not a bad idea to be able to defend yourself from an Unforgivable.”

Snape gave a small sniff and looked down his nose at Harry, telling him all he needed about the correctness of his answer.

“Let’s see if the theory holds true.”

Harry was far too used to Snape’s technique not to have expected the raised wand and the loud hiss of ‘Legilimens’.  Nonetheless, the spell still managed to let Snape straight in while Harry floundered in his mind as images and snatches of memory flew across his internal vision.

He was running away from the local shops, looking over his shoulder at Dudley and his friends; he was storming down Dumbledore’s spiral staircase; he was carving letters onto the back of his hand with a blood quill; he was in a graffiti-covered tunnel trying to summon up a Patronus; he was struggling for breath in the lake as he raced to...

The tumult stopped.  Harry saw Snape’s wand lower and kept his eyes on it.  He was annoyed, but not surprised, that he was no better at protecting his mind from a mental attack.  Snape seemed equally annoyed and unsurprised.  He stood with his eyelids lowered, forehead creased and his fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose.  After a moment, he took a breath and looked at Harry intensely.

“Very well, Mr Potter.  Your mind clearly requires more training.”  He raised his wand again.

“Wait!” said Harry.  “Sir!  Perhaps you could explain what I should do?”

Harry did not expect Snape to stop and explain but he needed something, even if it was just a short reprieve from the awful invasion.  To his surprise Snape took up a stance in front of his desk, using the edge as a misericord. 

“Perhaps you could use those two brain cells lurking between your ears?  How do you stop me from penetrating your mind with the Imperious?”

Snape’s deep gaze urged Harry to think seriously about the question.  He did.  It was now instinctual but how did he actually do it?  Harry was not sure he knew.  It had always been instinct even that first time Moody had done it.  Snape’s lessons had simply honed this ability.  Harry sighed and asked a question which he had never dreamt asking anyone, let alone his professor who so revelled in the bleaker side of nature and dark magic.

“Would you mind casting it again, sir?”

The smirk which graced Snape’s face was predatory in the extreme.  His satisfaction at having his most detested student essentially begging for Snape to cast an Unforgivable at him was far too evident for Harry’s tastes.  So he flicked his eyes away to the side and missed the slight wand movement and almost did not hear the whisper of ‘Imperio’ as Snape cast the curse with as much power as he could bring to bear.  Not an insignificant amount at all.

Harry struggled.  He kept the curse from penetrating his mind with pure force of will, focusing only on the outer boundaries of his mind.  The power of the curse was immense and it took long seconds to strengthen those boundaries, to keep the curse from encroaching into the naturally occurring gaps.  Only when he was sure of their impenetrability did he use the magic inherent in his mind’s boundaries to turn the curse away, deflecting it from the protective barriers.  When he felt sure that all the power of the curse had been deflected, he relaxed and opened his eyes where a new understanding shone.

There was silence in the office.  Not the previous silences of humiliation, failure or vented anger which Harry had endured, nor even the silence of the small successes he had had in this room.  This was a quiet which seemed to glow with his own self-awareness and Snape’s approval.  The man nodded.

“You did not repel it as quickly as on previous occasions but I trust the lesson was learnt?”

Harry was breathless, he nodded, slack-jawed. 

“Very well.  I will not keep you.  You may return to your dormitory.  Before the next lesson you will go over exactly what you did.  You will repeat that memory as many times as you are able, by this I mean before sleeping, upon waking, while showering, dressing, eating and walking down corridors, though not, obviously during Defence Against the Dark Arts.  Do you understand?”

Harry did.  There was a protective boundary around his mind of which he had been completely unaware before.  Had it always been there?  Had it suddenly sprouted fully formed today?  Could he make it stronger?  Could simply repeating that memory, reflecting and analysing what he had done today, make it stronger?  Harry was willing to bet that it would.

“Yes.  Thank you, sir.  See you on Wednesday.”  And Harry was grateful, the insight was staggering.  And he was looking forward to Wednesday.  What would he be able to accomplish then? 

With the moment of the epiphany over, Snape returned to his normal self and nodded brusquely as Harry left.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had a small party that night.  Hermione let them off studying for a couple of hours, Ron nicked some treats from the kitchen and Harry regaled them with the tale.  Endlessly it seemed, as Hermione was of the mind that if Snape’s advice and Harry’s conviction of repeating the memory was good, then speaking of the experience had to be even better. 

Harry kept his word.  There was not a moment the next day when he was not thinking about the barrier he had touched, which he had finally noticed.  In all, Harry managed to lose fifteen points for his inattention by the end of the day but he counted that as a small price for a mental barrier whose presence could perhaps save more than his own life.

Upon waking on Wednesday he went over his newfound routine of analysing and remembering exactly the sequence of events in those special eight or ten seconds from his lesson with Snape.   He had also decided to use his positive mood and confidence to good effect after their Potions lesson by asking, as persuasively as he could, for a particular memory from Slughorn.

The lesson had not gone quite according to plan.  Having not understood a word of Golpalott’s Third Law and finding no tightly slanted, handwritten letters to help him do so, Harry resorted to desperate measures.  Using the Prince’s mention of a bezoar was audacious but Harry hoped it would help him maintain his place as Slughorn’s favourite. 

Mercifully, Slughorn had been impressed with his offering to the problem, though his friends had been less pleased and left without wishing him luck.  Unfortunately, his professor’s good mood did not last the conversation and Harry left the classroom with the echoes of Slughorn’s bellowed denials ringing in his ears.