It was nearly noon the next day when Harry finished reading the second chapter of Mind Magic and put the book down on the table. He'd slept late, rolling out of bed with difficulty after 9 o'clock. He dressed quickly, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his trainers. He had one on his left foot and one in his hand when he remembered his realization from the night before. He put his right shoe on and tied it slowly, thinking of what he knew about pregnancy and gestation. It had been covered in Wizarding Health, the once-a-month class taught since first year by an exceedingly clinical Madam Pomfrey to an exceedingly embarrassed group of students. Boys and girls were taught together, and all had been introduced, without regard to gender, to exciting topics such as personal hygiene, puberty, the reproductive system, menstruation, nocturnal emissions, contagious diseases (which were different in the wizarding world than the Muggle—who in the Muggle world had ever had Dragon Pox?), contraception, (he was pleased at the time to learn there were spells for that) and of course pregnancy and foetal development.

He clearly remembered the images Madam Pomfrey had shown them of a developing foetus. They played in 3D in the air and showed a baby in various stages of development, snug in its fluid-filled amniotic sac. He really thought he might be on to something but didn't quite know how to broach it with Snape. Perhaps, "Oh, Professor, I've decided to try to retreat into the womb as my Occlumency barrier." Or better yet, "Professor Snape, what do you know about amniotic fluid?"

He chuckled to himself, thinking about it again now that his reading assignment was over. The chapter he had just finished had actually been a primer on using the selected barrier and diversion to block out initial Legilimency attempts by the Occlumency instructor. The example in the book had been of a stone wall enclosing a spiral stairway leading to the turret of a tower. He imagined that he and Snape would get to that practical instruction part soon, and frankly, he wasn't much looking forward to it.

Snape had been scarce today. There had been a note on the kitchen table instructing him to eat whatever breakfast foods he could find in the kitchen while Snape made a quick visit to Hogwarts. And don't leave the cottage was appended to the end of the note, after Snape's double S signature. Harry had been halfway through a second bowl of cold cereal, some sort of rolled oats mix that was fairly edible when loaded with blueberries and cream, when Snape flooed back in. He heard Snape scooting something across the table in the sitting room, perhaps stacking up books he had brought back with him, and then the professor stuck his head in the kitchen to instruct Harry to be on the porch reading Chapter 2 by 10 o'clock. He didn't comment on the fact that it was already nearly 10 and Harry was not yet through breakfast. And Harry did not comment that the schedule he had given him yesterday had set reading time at 2 p.m.

"Good morning to you too," mumbled Harry as he heard Snape climbing the stairs to the bedrooms.

He'd heard the professor moving about in the kitchen as he read but had paid him little attention. The day was particularly warm, as Snape had promised yesterday, yet Harry was still surprised when Snape brought out two glasses of lemonade and sat across from Harry at the table, pushing a glass toward him.

"Thanks," said Harry, downing half the liquid in one go while Snape sipped more leisurely at his own. Harry put the glass back down. "I've finished the chapter."

"Do you have questions?" asked Snape, reaching across the table and pulling the book over to him. He flipped it open to Chapter 2.

"Um…not about this chapter particularly," answered Harry. "It was all practical stuff." He made himself continue. "But I do wonder about something in the preface—that part Professor Dumbledore wrote."

Snape's mouth tightened slightly but he was either indifferent or feigning it well. "Go on then," he invited, as he flipped the pages of the book again, apparently going back to the preface.

"Dumbledore…I mean Professor Dumbledore…well, he seems to be justifying the use of certain questionable magics, in certain situations."

Snape closed the book and placed it on the table in front of him, straightening it out carefully. "Do you recall which situations?" he asked, in what was clearly his 'teacher' voice.

"When the benefit of using it does more good than the result of not using it," recited Harry. He'd read that part several times. "One example he gave was modifying the memories of Muggles who learn about the magical world. Or using the Imperius curse—perhaps to force a guard to unlock a prison door if the prisoners inside were actually innocent. I understand the examples—but who decides if the potential results do more good? What if a young Adolph Hitler was in that room of prisoners? Wouldn't keeping him locked up have better served the greater good in the long run?"

"You are beginning a discussion on ethics that could occupy the rest of the summer, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged. "I just found it odd," he said. "I'm not totally naïve. I know the world isn't all black and white but to justify an unforgiveable…"

Snape fixed his eyes on Harry. "You are young still, Mr. Potter. And the headmaster was not a lot older than you are now when he wrote that introduction. He did not have the life experiences he has now. My advice to you is to form an opinion but leave room on either side of it to change your mind in the future. Now go get into that magnificent swimwear the headmaster created for you. We are going to begin your immersion therapy."

Harry groaned at the deliberate pun. He stood up and pushed his chair back under the table and returned to his room, holding on to the stair railing for support as he climbed. Before the accident, he'd managed to navigate Hogwarts' 142 staircases with practiced ease, running up entire flights two or three stairs at a time. He remembered one particular day when he and the other Gryffindor third years had managed to go down a narrow stairway in the north tower in only two jumps, swinging with both hands on the railings for leverage. The thought of doing that now and the remembered jarring landing made him shiver with phantom pain.

In his room, he replaced his jeans with the blue swimming shorts and left his t-shirt on. His legs looked bony sticking out of the wide leg holes but he shrugged and made his way back to the porch. At least he'd gotten a bit of sun on them while he was at Hogwarts. Professor Snape was sitting at the table but in a different chair than when he'd left him, now facing the kitchen door. Harry's attention, though, was drawn not to the professor but to the stone basin on the table in front of him. Dumbledore's Pensieve. Now he knew why Snape had returned to Hogwarts.

"You didn't ask why I went to Hogwarts this morning," said Snape by way of greeting.

"Looks like you went for Dumbledore's Pensieve," responded Harry, walking over to the table and standing behind the chair facing Snape. Pensieves weren't exactly neutral territory for Harry and Snape, not since the incident last year where Harry had taken an unplanned side trip into this very Pensieve in Snape's office and had ended up seeing his father and his friends humiliate a young Severus Snape.

"Indeed," answered Snape, nodding to the chair. Harry pulled it out and sat down, his eyes moving from Snape to the Pensieve.

"The Pensieve has nothing to do with your Occlumency training," said Snape. "The Headmaster contacted me early this morning. He is in need of a memory from you—specifically, a memory of your detentions with Professor Umbridge. I flooed to Hogwarts to collect his Pensieve."

"What's happening with Umbridge?" asked Harry, happy to get the conversation moving away from the Pensieve. "I mean, has he told anyone? About the blood quill, I mean?"

Snape leveled his gaze on Harry and eyed him speculatively. "The Headmaster has presented a complaint on your behalf to the Wizengamot. He is personally representing you as you are still considered a minor in the wizarding world. The council has requested a Pensieve memory from you of the event."

"OK," said Harry slowly, reaching into his pocket for his wand and realizing he had left it upstairs in his jeans pocket on the bed. "I need to go back up for my wand, I suppose," he said.

"No need," said Snape, lifting his wand and incanting "Accio Harry's wand." They heard a strange thumping on the stairs and a moment later Harry's jeans flew into the room and landed on the table, his boxers falling out and sliding across the table to land in front of Snape. Snape regarded them cooly and rolled his eyes.

"Oops," said Harry, quickly reaching across to grab the garments and extract the wand from his pocket. He shoved the boxes in the front pocket of the jeans and hung them over an empty chair. He couldn't help but think of telling Ron about this particular event when they were back at Hogwarts. Ron would probably want him to frame that particular pair of boxers—unfortunately an old pair gifted to Dudley during his Superhero days that had not fit him properly and had been passed down to Harry.

Snape raised an eyebrow as Harry's face reddened. "Pocket your wand as you may need it later. I will use my own wand to extract the memory. Your job is to bring the memory to the front of your mind. Hold it there and nod when you are ready."

Harry hesitated. He looked over at Snape. "I'm sorry, you know," he said, dropping his eyes back to the Pensieve. Still, he could feel Snape's eyes on him. "For looking at your memories that day. It was wrong and I shouldn't have."

Snape said nothing for a long moment, not until Harry chanced a glance up at him.

"Apology accepted," he said then. If anything, he looked slightly surprised.

Remembering why Snape had removed those particular memories, Harry asked. "Will I still be able to remember what happened during detention after you remove the memory?"

Snape actually smiled. It was a bitter smile, but a smile nonetheless. Harry didn't know how he felt about the look on Snape, and doubted it was one he'd ever have to get used to.

"If only it were that easy to rid oneself of nightmares," he murmured. "Yes, you will still have the memory, though it will not be connected to other relevant memories and thus not easy to call up, and therefore much more difficult for a Legilimens to extract," he answered. He paused a moment. "Are you ready?"

When Harry nodded, he gave him further instructions. "Again, bring the memory to the front of your mind. Close your eyes to avoid other distractions. Hold the memory there and nod when you are ready. I will then touch my wand to your temple to extract it."

Harry closed his eyes and thought back to that first detention. Though it had been months ago—nearly a year, in fact—the details were still sharp. The searing pain, the satisfied, triumphant smile on Umbridge's face, the words cutting and healing and cutting and healing and finally cutting and not quite healing. I must not tell lies. He nodded.

He felt Snape's wand at his temple and as it drew out the gossamer strand with a gentle tug and it hung onto the end of Snape's wand before dropping lightly into the stone basin, Harry realized suddenly, and very keenly, that he had just allowed Professor Snape to put his wand at his temple. He trusted the man. He trusted Severus Snape. He didn't quite know what to think about that.