In Harry's dream, he was running. His wings were paralyzed, refusing to work, tightly melded to his side. His lungs burned as air escaped and his breath caught in his throat, coming out in short wheezes.

Something was behind him, following him, tracking. Harry could hear it's high, raspy laugh as it stomped after him. Whispers danced around in the shadows, sending goosebumps down his arms.

He tripped, the hard stone scraping his knees and the palms of his hands. He ignored the sting of the rough floor as it dug into his skin. He quickly jumped up, running, pumping his legs as fast as he could.

A dark, large wall blocked his path, and he skid to a sudden stop, terror flooding him. He spun around, but his assailant was hidden in the darkness. His heart beat rapidly, pounding hard in his chest.

"Come out!" something hissed from the dark. "I won't hurt you!"

Harry breathed faster, near hyperventilating. He scrabbled at the walls, his fingertips bleeding and cracking from the hard stone.

"Harry, come out and play..." The voice was high and cold.

"No, no," he muttered, continuing to scratch and claw at the tall obstacle in front of him. "No, never..." He had to get out. He had to get away...

"Harry..."

A cold hand found its way onto his shoulder. Harry jerked and spun around. Quirrell was standing behind him, his grin wide and menacing. His eyes were red. Crazed, like a snake's. His wings, which were usually covered in bandages, were out in the open. There were hardly any feathers on them. They looked raw, pink, and diseased, almost rotten. Blood and pus oozed from sores splattered across the bony wings. His turban was unwinding, showing a bald head. Something was wriggling behind him, something oddly human, something dark, evil...

"Harry, I need you...come to me..." he said in the high voice, his stutter completely gone. Searing pain flew across his forehead, and Harry grasped at his scar, gasping out in pain. A trickle of blood ran down his head, through his fingers. He screamed, his sounds echoing all around him, making his throat go raw.

He screamed and screamed, the pain never going away. His throat closed up, his breath going with it, and not even the whimpers could escape. His sounds were muffled. Nobody could hear him...Nobody could save him...Nobody could find him...He was alone...

"Harry...Harry..."

Harry sat up in his bed, a cold sweat drenching his nightgown and blankets. He scrambled out from underneath the covers, groping on the bedside table for his glasses. He shoved them on and blinked.

He was still in his dormitory. The green curtains on his four poster were drawn around him, blocking him from the view of the other Slytherins. He peekd out of a gap in the curtain. Nobody was there. They must have all gone to breakfast.

His whole body shook as he tried to put on his clothes. As he gazed in the mirror in the bathroom, he realized his scar was scabbed over, as if it had bled sometime earlier. Tentatively, he touched it. A sharp pain echoed through his skull, and he jerked his hand back. The memory of the dream came rushing back to him, and he wanted to puke. He held back, panting, and made his way to the Great Hall slowly. Multiple times, he leaned against the wall, catching his breath. He just couldn't breathe, and he gulped in multiple breaths of air. It was like he had felt back in Quirrell's class, but only worse. The final time he stopped, a painting had shooed him away, and he scurried down the hall as quickly as he could.

He didn't want to eat, but he knew Severus would force him to if he spotted him ignoring his meals. He pushed his eggs around on his plate, only taking small bites every few seconds. It tasted bland. Even his pumpkin juice tasted like sawdust. His eyes travelled to the teacher's table. Quirrell's eyes met his and Harry flinched back.

"Guess who I am?" he could hear Malfoy say across the table. Harry grit his teeth. Hard. The headache that had been barely pounding behind his eyes began to throb painfully and forcefully.

"No, no please. Never! Gotta get away! Please, leave me alone!" His voice took on a higher mocking tone as he talked, and heat flooded up Harry's neck, understanding the jaunts for what they were. A handful of Slytherins laughed. Most just looked bored and tired, not caring about the charades that early in the morning.

Harry tried his best to ignore Malfoy for the rest of the meal. He caught Severus glancing in his direction on a few occasions, a concerned look flickering on his features for a second before being smothered down and being replaced by his persona's uncaring look.

At the end of breakfast, Harry felt a tap on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Severus stood behind him, his dark robes making him look menacing.

"Potter," he drawled, and Harry could feel his skin crawl at his last name. "Detention with me tonight after classes. Don't be late." With that, Severus swept away, slinking out of the Great Hall, the sparse shadows clinging around him like a blanket as he passed.

An older Slytherin boy whistled. "Wow," he said, sounding almost impressed. "Professor Snape never gives detentions to his snakes. This is your second one in just two days. He must really hate you."

Harry knew for a fact that wasn't true, but he didn't voice this. Instead, he stared at the path his guardian had gone, confusion muddling his brain. What on earth was that about?

He barely paid attention in any of his classes. In Charms, Harry was one of the first to make his feather float, but he didn't feel the satisfaction he knew he normally would otherwise. Malfoy sneered in his direction, and flicked his wand. A puff of smoke surrounded him as his feather caught on fire. Harry hid his smirk behind his hand.

When Harry walked into Transfiguration, he was just as shocked as the other students to see a cat sitting on the teacher's desk, McGonagall nowhere to be found. His shock quadrupled when it turned out that the cat was her the whole time. So that's why she had been amused the first time she had visited. His shock quickly ebbed away however, and the hollow feeling that was beginning to form in his stomach came back.

Herbology had Harry at least somewhat excited. He had heard great things about the class from Neville, who was the biggest Herbology nerd Harry had ever seen. That didn't necessarily mean anything, since Neville was the only Herbology nerd he knew.

To Harry's great relief, the Gryffindors were not paired with the Slytherins this class. Instead, the Hufflepuffs were waiting when the Slytherins tromped in. Harry instantly rushed to Neville's side. Harry got some awkward glances from the other Hufflepuffs, but he ignored them.

"How've you been?" he asked Neville as he grabbed the pot.

"I've been good. I heard about your detention with Professor Snape and the Remembrall," the other boy said. Harry made a low noise in the back of his throat. He speared his garden spade into the pot.

"What's the matter?"

He glared at his potted soil and refused to talk the rest of the class.  

When it finally came time to serve his detention, Harry was sweating, his attitude from earlier gone. It still wasn't about the Remembrall thing, was it? He had already served his detention for that.

He knocked tentatively on the door. It swung open on his third knock, making his fist hover for a second.

"Come in," Severus said, not looking up from his papers.

Harry uncertainly stepped forward, and the door shut behind him, making him jump.

"Um, you wanted to see me?" Harry asked, peering under his bangs. His wings twitched nervously.

"Mmhmm," Severus hummed in reply, turning the page.

"Did I uh, do something wrong?"

Severus twitched his hand, and the papers put themselves in his drawer.

"No," came the deep reply.

Confusion blanketed Harry, making his eyebrows rise. "Then why, uh, am I here?"

Severus crossed his legs, folding his hands underneath his chin. He stared at Harry, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering light.

"I'm worried about you." 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't know why. There's nothing wrong."

An inky eyebrow raised. "Really?"

Harry quickly nodded. "Really."

"I think you're not telling me the truth." Severus peered at him over his clasped hands. "I think you're withholding something. Is it the Weasley boy? Or perhaps the Malfoy child?"

Harry gulped. He fidgeted with his fingers, not meeting his guardian's eye. The action spoke volumes. 

"I see." Severus got up from his chair and made his way over to Harry. Harry could just see the tips of his shiny black boots as he stopped in front of him.

He bent down, bringing two fingers underneath his chin and raised Harry's head.

"Harry," he said.

Harry pursed his mouth together, making a tight line, refusing to speak. Severus had enough on his plate. He didn't need to worry about him....

"Please."

The simple word opened a floodgate. His lips quivered, and his eyes held themselves to the floor. He told Severus about the collar, the Remembrall, and the headaches. Severus' eyes never strayed from his the entire time he was talking.

"How bad are your headaches?" he asked when Harry was done.

"Bad enough that I had to go to the Hospital wing," Harry replied.

"And it only happens when you are in Quirrell's classroom?"

Harry nodded. "And after I had that dream last night. But I didn't go to the Hospital wing then."

Severus cocked his head to the side in confusion. "What dream?"

Harry looked at his guardian. "I didn't tell you about the dream?"

Severus shook his head.

He told Severus about his dream, shivering with recollection of the way his Defense professor had looked. "And afterward, my scar hurt badly and it was scabbed over, like it had bled or something," he added when he was finished.

A curious look flashed across Severus' face. "Your scar hurt?"

He nodded.

Severus hissed in a breath, quickly getting up. "And how did Quirrell look in your dream?" An odd look was present; thinking, calculating.

Perplexed, Harry replied. "Well, his wings were a lot like they are now. Um, you know, bandaged and stuff, but there was a lot more dark splotches like blood on the bandages."

Severus nodded, urging him to continue.

"His turban was beginning to fall off, and I could see his head. He didn't have any hair, and there was something on the back of it, kind of like a face. I couldn't really see it, but it fell almost...dark. Like, evil. And his eyes were a glowing red, almost like a snake's."

Severus' expression fell, and a look of pure shock replaced it.

"Are you sure it was like a snake's? It wasn't something else?" He asked frantically.

"Um, yeah I'm pretty sure it was like a snake's," Harry replied.

Severus began to pace around the office, clasping his hands behind his back. His wings quivered, twitching with concentration. He looked worried, and his lips moved silently as he talked to himself.

"No, no, too dangerous...but the risks are too high...Albus would be livid...he'll have to get over it..."

Harry stood awkwardly off to the side as he continued to mumble. He sat down in a chair next to the desk, folding his wings against the back.

"Sir?" Harry asked, breaking the man's train of thought. He looked up, staring directly at Harry, but Harry could tell by the foggy look in his eyes that his mind was still elsewhere.

"What's going on?"

Severus swallowed, his eyes flicking up to Harry's scabbed-over scar.

"What do you know about Occlumency?" came the man's voice.

Harry furrowed his brows. "Nothing. It doesn't sound familiar."

"I figured you wouldn't," Severus said quietly. He stood up straighter and unclasped his hands.

"Occlumency is a very ancient skill. It's been around since the medieval times, and is a very powerful skill that can protect your mind and close it off from Legilimency."

"What's Legilimency?" Harry asked.

Severus gave a small sigh. "I forget that you haven't had the means of access to particular knowledge like the rest. Legilimency is the act of magically entering one's mind and navigating through the many layers of a person's head. You can see memories, thoughts, and even emotions. If one concentrated and is practised in the skill, like I am, you can hear people's thoughts clear as day."

Harry blanched. "So you could hear my thoughts when we were back in Spinner's End?"

"Yes," Severus said with a little smirk.

Harry awkwardly shuffled his feet. "So Legilimency is basically like reading minds?"

Severus' lips came together in a tight, white line. "A mind is not like a book. It cannot be opened and read at will. The power is very complex, and can take years to master."

"Sir, why are you telling me this?"

"Because I believe that someone is trying to enter your mind using Legilimency. You need to be prepared and learn how to block against it."

"But who can be trying to enter my mind? What do they want?"

Severus leaned against the desk. "I don't know. But you need to learn. The only problem is, Occlumency and Legilimency is almost an abandoned art. There are hardly anyone left in the world that have mastery over one of the arts, let alone both of them. I am luckily one of those very few, but it is a dangerous practise that is not allowed to be used in school. I would have to get permission from the Headmaster, and there is no telling how long that will take."

"So," Harry began, "you want me to learn how to block my mind?"

Severus nodded. "Yes, but since we cannot begin your training directly, the most you can do for now is read on the practise. I can loan you some books from my personal library. I expect you to read at least three chapters tonight on Occlumency and Legilimency. Think of it as homework," he said.

"Am I going to be graded on it?" Harry sighed.

Severus gave a wink. "Maybe. I might just give you a quiz as well, to make sure you actually read it."

Harry gasped. "You wouldn't!"

"I might. You'll never know unless you read."

Harry pouted. "But I have so much work to do already."

Severus began to trace his lips with a finger. "And did you do it?"

Harry's eyes fund their way to the corner of the wooden desk. "Not yet."

Severus pushed himself away from the desk. "Then I suggest you head back to the common room and do some before dinner. I'll bring you the books afterwards."

Harry nodded. "Okay, sir." He got up from the chair and began his way to the door.

"Oh, and Harry?" he heard Severus call behind him.

Harry turned around. 

"Yes, sir?"

"I want you to tell me if something is bothering you again. Please come to me and don't keep it in like you've been doing. It's not healthy for someone your age. My door is always open."

Harry could feel heat begin to rise to his cheeks and he looked down. "Yes, sir," he said.

The older man nodded. "Good. Goodbye, Harry. I'll see you later."

"Goodbye, sir."

.'.

Not very long after Harry left, closing the door behind him, a knock sounded at his door. Thinking it was Harry returning, he made the door swing open with a flick of his wrist.

"I told you to head to the common room. I'll see you later--Oh, Mr. Flint. Do you need something?"

The fifth year boy stood in his doorway, hands clasped tightly behind his back, his wings halfway spread. He looked determined, a spark of determination in his eyes that Severus was used to. It usually meant he had a plan hatching, and Severus prepared himself for what was about to be said.

"Sir, I heard about Potter's flying yesterday, and-"

Severus groaned, rubbing his temples. "Mr. Flint, he's only a first year. You know the rules. I know what you're going to ask, and the answer is no."

Flint's jaw dropped. "But sir! He's the best flyer in Slytherin. Hell, probably in the whole school! He needs to be on the team!"

"Flint, he doesn't need to be anyth-"

"Please, sir!" he interrupted. He gulped at the glare Severus sent him, but continued, albeit a little more respectfully.

"You know I never beg, but this time I would do just about anything to persuade you. He can be a reserve for all I care. As long as he is on the team, we can have a chance of winning the cup again this year!" His eyes were wide, pleading.

"We win the cup every year anyway. You can wait for him to be in second year like the rest of them. It would seem unfair for the other students as well. Did you not think of that? If you let one first year break the rules, then every one of them will want something as well," he said.

Flint's shoulders drooped, defeated. His long, violet wings brushed the floor. ‘Sir-" he gave one last weak ty, but broke off, knowing it was futile. His eyes widened, reminding Severus of when he was a first-year. They were pleading.

Severus sighed. "Fine. Okay. I'll think about it. Is that better? Tryouts are this Saturday, yes? I'll let you know before then. But only as a reserve. I don't want him on the field full time."

Flint's eyes shone and a rare smile graced the older student's face. "Thank you, sir! I owe you."

Severus looked at the boy. "Yes, you do. Now run along. Dinner is soon, and you should not miss it."

"Thanks. Again. See you later, sir." He seemed to bounce in place, looking like a child who had gotten the best Christmas present, then he spun around and raced out the door. Severus could hear excited whoops trail behind him.

Severus put his head in his hands. He ruffled his hair, giving a low groan. He didn't know what he just agreed to, but he knew it wasn't good.

He glanced at the clock, seeing the time. He stood up, the chair legs squeaking against the stone. The torches lit his way as he passe down the long, winding dungeons. He passed the Bloody Baron, giving a small wave to the old ghost. The deceased man waved back, and floated through the wall, no doubt in pursuit of the troublemaking Peeves.

The sound of student laughter and chatter reached his ears as he walked into the Great Hall. He spotted Harry sitting by himself at the Slytherin table, away from the others. Flint was glancing in the boy's direction, obviously wanting to confront the young Slytherin, but held back.

He sat down at his usual spot at the High Table, and instantly a pork roast appeared in front of him, mashed potatoes and cheese on the side along with string beans. A cup of pumpkin juice winked into existence, courtesy of the elves. He quickly grabbed it and took a sip.

"I heard your youngest is joining the Quidditch team," said Minerva's voice beside him as she took her seat.

He swallowed his pumpkin juice quickly, choking on the liquid as it went down the wrong pipe.

"Where on earth did you hear that?" He asked, his voice watery. His eyes began to water as he gave another painful swallow.

"Marcus Flint. I saw him in the hall on the way up here. He seemed rather excited. He boasted about winning this year. He said he had a secret weapon, apparently." Instead of sounding angry, she sounded almost amused.

Severus groaned, placing his cup down. That boy really needed to learn how to keep his mouth shut.

"Nothing has been decided yet," he said. "He has no right to go around saying he will definitely be on the team." If Flint kept it up, the whole school would hear by breakfast tomorrow.

Her eyes shone behind her glasses. "So you are thinking about it."

Severus gave a sidelong glare. "Only as a reserve. He isn't nearly experienced enough to take full time."

"What happens if he gets on the team as a reserve?" She took a bite of her roast.

He sighed. "Well, that's up to Flint, isn't it? And why do you care? He's going to be working to defeat your team."

"It's Harry. Of course I'm going to care."

Severus gave a soft scoff. "Of course."

He turned to Albus, who was trying, but failing very much, to pile as many lemon tarts as he could onto his plate.

"Albus, I'll need to speak with you after dinner."

"Whatever for, Severus?" He placed a tart precariously on the top of the pile, and they all toppled over. Albus gave a mall chuckle and began again.

"It concerns..." His eyes trailed to the turbaned man, who was deep in conversation with Hooch. "A student."

"You know you can visit me at any time, Severus. You don't have to ask," he said. His pile of tarts stayed this time, and he plucked the topmost off and popped it in his mouth.

"Asking Albus if Harry can try out?" Minerva guessed.

"Hardly. I'm his head of house. It's my responsibility, not his. No, the matter concerns more...other things." He pushed his plate away, and it disappeared with a pop.

"Other things"? My, my, Severus, your vocabulary is slipping."

He scowled into his cup and refused to comment back.

~.~  

When he made his way to the Headmaster's office an hour later, the gargoyle statue guarding the door automatically sprung aside.

He gave three precise knocks on the oak wood door. It swung open directly after the third, allowing him to enter.

"Headmaster," he began as he stepped over the threshold, "a problem has arose."

Albus was seated behind his desk, Fawkes perched on his shoulder. The phoenix keened as he walked in and bowed his head.

"Yes, you said it was a matter of importance," he replied. 

"Quirrell-" was all he got out before the headmaster interrupted.

"And how has that been going, by the way? You have been keeping tabs on him?"

Severus nodded. "Of course, sir. But I found out something earlier. Something that I think you should hear."

"Is it about Harry joining the Quidditch team? By all means, Severus you don't have to ask me. You're the boy's head of house. I do believe that responsibility is up to you."

"It's not about Quidditch!" he yelled. Damn it, why was everyone so interested in the damn game?

"It's about Quirrell. Quirrell and Harry. Harry told me he had gotten a severe headache during his class, one that made him sick enough to go to the hospital wing. And then later last night, he had a dream. About Quirrell, and I believe the Dark Lord. When he woke, his scar hurt, and it was scabbed."

The headmaster looked thoughtful. "Do you think-?"

"Yes."

"And what do you propose we do to fix this? I can't fire him so early in the year. We don't have a replacement, after all, and the students would wonder."

"Let me teach him Occlumency. If he can block out these dreams, it can stop whomever is trying to enter his mind. He can't continue with this."

Headmaster nodded. "Of course. He's your ward. Do what you see fit."

Severus sighed. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Of course, my boy. Lemon drop?" 

Severus rolled his eyes, declining.

.'.

Harry shut his Occlumency book, his mind spinning. That was a lot of information to take in. He didn't know how he was going to master something that looked so difficult.

He set his book in his trunk, making sure nobody could spot it. He went to close it, aiming on snapping it tightly shut. He spotted his leather bound prophecy book.

Out of curiosity, he picked it up. He flipped to the last page.

Instead of the writing that he had become accustomed to, there was something written there instead. He gulped, and his hands shook.

In black writing, the word Danger flashed at him over and over.