Harry leaned back casually at his seat with a smirk as the Gryffindor table burst out in laughter. He folded his arms in front of him and waited patiently, grin in place, as his housemates slowly composed themselves.

“That was brilliant!” said an excited first year whose name Harry couldn’t quite remember.

“You really do get yourself into some awesome adventures,” commented Dean, who was sitting a couple seats down from him.

“Oy, tell us another one, Harry!” said Seamus, seated across from Dean.

Harry laughed lightly, bringing his crossed arms forward to rest on the table. “Another one? You lot really are hard to please...” He paused, frowning, and everyone looked at him, waiting with bated breath. “...But who am I to turn down a wanting audience?” His frown morphed into his characteristic crooked grin and a few people actually cheered in their excitement.

He really did have them wrapped around his little finger, he’d thought he wanted that once, but now the reality brought him no real pleasure. “Well, let's see, you probably don’t want to hear me drone on about the time I was nearly eaten by a manticore...” he said furrowing his brow, though it was clear by the way everyone leaned in that yes, they surely did. He tried not to let show how tired he suddenly felt, all he could think about was getting back to the dorm where he could have some semblance of privacy.

Ron came to his rescue.

“Hey, he hasn’t even had a chance to touch his food yet, there will be plenty of time for stories later, yeah?” Ron said diplomatically. The others murmured in disappointment but quickly enough conceded and the conversation finally moved away from the exploits of the famous Harry Potter.

Smiling at his friend with a small nod, Harry let out a small relieved breath as he turned his own attention to his still full plate. He was nowhere near hungry but he was thankful for the excuse to fade from the center of attention. In truth, he was utterly exhausted. Plagued with horrendous visions of Voldemort's sadistic activities almost nightly now, a proper night’s sleep was nothing but a distant pleasant memory.

Still he couldn't bring himself to resent the visions, no matter the toll they took on him. They were giving him terrible insight into Voldemort's plans, and he had to believe that knowing what Voldemort got up to couldn't possibly be a bad thing. Eventually, they may prove to be to his advantage. He had made a ritual of casting silencing charms around his four-poster each night so he was the only one awakened by his screams, and applying a subtle glamour each morning to hide the persistent dark smudges that had appeared under his eyes.

When the visions had first started, he'd gone to the headmaster, the only person he believed had the power to help him. Indeed Dumbledore had been greatly disquieted by the matter, but he'd only given Harry a journal of sorts to record his visions. He'd explained that he had one to match and anything Harry wrote in his, Dumbledore would be alerted and able to see immediately. If ever Harry found himself unable to reach the headmaster directly, he would be able to use the journal. Harry had been grateful for the connection, it had given him a subtle sense of security.

But after a few days, he'd noticed the headmaster had begun to act oddly towards him, cold even. Gone was the man he'd often secretly regarded as something of a grandfather, replaced by a man who saw him as nothing more than another student among many. He'd tried not to let it show just how much the change had bothered him.

He hardly liked to admit to himself just how much the headmaster’s attention meant to him. It made him feel weak to need someone so after a lifetime of essentially being on his own. So he didn’t complain, he wasn't one to brandish his weaknesses for all to see. Especially not after he'd spent the last several years cultivating the perfect persona of the Boy Who Lived. They needed a hero, and they’d chosen to believe he was the one for them. As a first-year, so eager to please everybody, he'd learned quickly enough how people had expected him to behave and had desperately tried to morph himself to fit their expectations.

Somewhere along the way, he'd become the Boy Who Lived everyone wanted. Confident and easygoing, with just a hint of swaggering arrogance to top it all off. Just like his father, Snape had always said, not knowing the words were never the insult he intended. Because Harry no longer had a problem with pretending to be the person everyone expected him to be, the problem was he couldn't seem to forget it wasn’t real. It was nothing more than a mask and no one was allowed to see the broken, exhausted mess beneath the facade.

Somehow Ron and Hermione had seen more of the real him than he'd ever intended anyone to, and they hadn’t abandoned him or sought to hurt him with what they knew. He counted himself extremely lucky for that. Even they hadn’t seen everything though, there were some things he desperately didn’t want them to know. Those things he kept hidden from even himself sometimes.

“-about you, Harry?”

Harry looked up from his plate, he'd actually managed to shove down a decent amount of food, Hermione would have been proud. Of course, he'd been so preoccupied in his thoughts he'd completely lost track of the conversation around him.

“Wha?” he asked around a mouthful of food; Hermione would have been a bit less proud of that moment. He shrugged inwardly at the thought, she was off with Ginny somewhere and Ron sure wasn’t going to scold him about it.

“I was just saying, you must be excited to go home this year.” It was Neville who spoke this time from right across from him. “What's your family doing for the holiday?” he asked earnestly.

Harry felt his stomach drop as a wave of dread washed over him. No, excited was not even on the spectrum of emotions he felt regarding any trip to the Dursley's. He really didn’t want to think about the holiday's right now, he'd been doing a fantastic job of pretending he would never have to go back.

He'd wanted to enjoy these last couple days before heading back to that hellhole, because this year, he didn’t have a choice. The ministry was forcing Dumbledore to shut down Hogwarts for the break so they could safely strengthen the wards. Though Harry was certain they were plenty strong already. No doubt it was another ministry ploy to undermine the headmaster or some such nonsense.

He didn’t see why he should have to suffer for it though. He'd begged Dumbledore to let him stay, but Dumbledore, true to his behavior all year had barely stopped walking to say: “Have a happy Christmas with your family Harry, I'm sure they'll be glad to have you in their company this year.” He hadn’t even given Harry a proper chance to convince him otherwise.

“Yeah, I’d bet your Christmas is amazing, you probably get hundreds of presents, from people all over!” Colin Creevy chimed in from a seat quite nearby that Harry was sure had been occupied by someone else just minutes ago.

Harry took a steadying breath as he put his fork down somewhat more carefully than necessary. He pushed his emotions down fiercely, donning an easy smile as he formulated a lie.

Harry let out his best good-natured laugh, “I wouldn’t say hundreds, exactly,” he said, but he was hardly going to explain that he was grateful to get the few presents he did each year.

“But yeah, my family really likes to go all out when I’m home. I'll let you in on a secret though,” he said lowering his voice just barely and leaning in, “Honestly, I’d much rather stay here, where the action is. Nothing too exciting ever happens in the muggle world, not like I’m used to anyway. And it's not like muggles can really understand just how important I am.” He received several sympathetic nods as he spoke.

Looking around, everyone looked eager to get a chance to talk to him, especially some of the first years he was slowly becoming familiar with. He could tell it was only the beginning of a long line of questions he desperately didn’t want to answer, and they'd already dredged up some emotions he wasn’t prepared to deal with yet. He suppressed a sigh and focused on making sure his smile didn't waver.

***

Severus glowered over the Great Hall, his black eyes sweeping over the student body, studiously avoiding focus on the Gryffindor table. He didn’t need to look to know what he would find there, it would be the same display he saw every meal Potter bothered to show up to. His scowl deepened as he heard the swell of laughter emanating from the table in question, and he could not help but to look at the scene before him.

His eyes passed right over the multitude of guffawing Gryffindors going straight to the source. Potter was in his usual seat, an arrogant smirk on his face as he surveyed his handiwork. It was obvious Potter knew just how much influence he had on his peers, and seemed to delight in taking advantage of it.

Severus looked away again. He had no desire to watch Potter basking in his unearned renown. How was it that only he could see the boy for the arrogant prat he was? He didn’t deserve to be admired so, and not just by his peers, but even the other professors. Potter was near the top of his class though from what Severus had seen, the boy never put the slightest effort into his assignments. Obviously he had everyone else neatly under his thumb. Everyone but him.

Only he knew the real Potter.

Unlike his colleagues, he could see right through the boy's celebrity. He could see how Potter manipulated others to get what he wanted out of them, it would be impressive were it not undercut by his complete lack of subtlety about it. Luckily for him everyone else was too blind to notice the way the boy naively calculated his every move and clumsily snatched at every passing opportunity to exploit his fame.

Severus knew better than to think Potter's past deeds were mere acts of impulsiveness. They had been premeditated ways to bring even more attention to himself, to brand him as a hero and bring him back to the spotlight just as attention would start to drift elsewhere. The boy was another Lockhart in the making, a true Potter legacy.

Which had made his earlier chat with the headmaster all that much harder to swallow.

Why did it have to be his responsibility to come to Potter's aid every time something went wrong? And there was always something; this time it was the boy's visions from what the headmaster speculated to be a magical connection to the Dark Lord. Albus had requested- in his infuriating way that left no room for refusal- that he teach the boy to shield his mind through Occlumency. A task he was less than thrilled with to say the least.

His eyes moved unconsciously back to the Potter boy and he watched for a moment with increasing irritation. The students around Potter were all hanging on his every word, it was sickening. Unable to watch any longer Severus stood, stalking in their direction with the intent to ruin a Potter's day. While the news had been unfortunate for him, he knew for Potter it would undoubtedly be devastating. Imagining the boy’s reaction was enough to alleviate his foul mood slightly.

He slowed as he reached the table, his approach had gone unnoticed.

“...my family really likes to go all out when I go home. I'll let you in on a secret though,” Potter was saying, “Honestly, I’d much rather stay here, where the action is. Nothing exciting ever happens in the muggle world, not like I’m used to anyway. And it's not like muggles can really understand just how important I am.”

Severus scowled at the boy's ungrateful words, but was unsurprised by them. He had never known Potter to show appreciation for any of the many sacrifices that had been made for him. He had no concept of how lucky he was and of course the brat wouldn’t appreciate even his own family's efforts.

Inexplicably enraptured by Potter’s magnificent presence, the other students paid him no mind as he hovered over Potter’s shoulder for a moment. He lost his patience very quickly. “Potter!” he barked, causing half the table to jump. All eyes were on him now, slight fear tinged with curiosity written all over their faces. Except for Potter. Potter looked at him unfazed but expectant, as if his professor's sudden appearance was nothing out of the norm. The boy opened his mouth to speak, but Severus refused him the opportunity.

“Come to my office, Potter. Now,” he said curtly. He turned and walked away, knowing the boy would follow.

He made his way down the hall, quickening his pace gradually until he could hear Potter half jogging to keep up.

“Sir?” he panted after a minute. “What is this all about? I haven’t done anything wrong... have I?” he asked, perhaps a bit too innocently.

Perhaps nothing that I know of yet, Severus scoffed mentally, no doubt there was something and the boy was unsubtly gauging whether or not he'd been caught out. Severus chose not to reply, instead letting Potter stew in the silence. If the boy was feeling guilty about something, he might be able to drag it out of him eventually, but that wasn’t the point of this particular meeting.

“In,” he commanded, opening the door as he watched the teen scurry inside. He waited for Potter to take a seat before strolling over to his own chair, eying his student carefully as he sat. To his disappointment, the boy showed no signs of nervousness, having donned a vaguely disinterested expression.

“Your wish has been granted,” he said suddenly, clearly catching the teen off guard.

“What are you... I mean, er- what wish?” he managed, confusion quickly overtaking the obviously feigned boredom.

“You will not be going back to your family for the holiday,” he stated simply, choosing this once to ignore the boy's ineloquence. He grimaced as he watched the emotions flicker across the boy's open face; surprise, excitement, and then curiously, fear showing distinctly before he composed himself.

“But why, sir?” Potter asked guardedly.

“It has become obvious that allowing you to go back to your relatives care would be far more harmful than we originally thought.”

The boy tensed at that, eyes widening slightly. “What? Why now? I thought that was the safest place for me?” he asked nervously. Severus nodded, “In theory, yes, however every vision you have puts you at greater risk. The wards surrounding your relative's will offer you no protection against that.” To his irritation, Potter relaxed visibly as he spoke, he needed the boy to take him seriously.

He pressed on, hardening his tone. “With their increasing frequency, it seems the situation has become most urgent. These are not merely visions you’ve been having. You seem to be connected with the Dark Lord; somehow you are able to see into his mind. As of yet he is unaware of the connection but that could easily change even before the day is out. Should he become aware of the connection he will readily use it to control your thoughts, learn your secrets, even drive you to madness.” He paused to let the words sink in.

“We need to use this time to ensure you are able to shield your feeble mind from these visions. That is why you will be learning the art of Occlumency.”

Potter shook his head. “I don't understand... what if I don’t want to stop the visions? I'm willing to take the risk, I'm the only one who can see what Voldemort is getting up to!”

Somehow he managed not to roll his eyes. “Leave it to Prince Potter to be more concerned about being the center of attention than the safety of everyone around him. It is not always about you, Potter, if the Dark Lord has access to your mind, your memories, it will put us all in danger,” he sneered. “Perhaps you should consider there are other methods to gather information, strategies that have been in use since long before you came around.”

Potter squared his shoulders. “I won't get rid of it. I’ll make sure Voldemort doesn't find out about the connection, it gives us an advantage and I can protect myself from the consequences.”

Severus raised a skeptical brow. “Merlin knows you'll need every advantage you can get, but pray tell, just how do you plan to protect yourself?”

“I don't know yet, but I've done it before, I'll think of something this time too,” the boy said with all the confidence of someone who had absolutely no idea what they were getting themselves into.

Severus sneered at the child's arrogance. “You overestimate yourself, boy.”

“You have no idea what I'm capable of, I can help!” Potter said, fists curling with frustration on his lap.

Severus felt his ire rising.“This is not a game Potter! I have a very clear picture of the kind of damage you are capable of inflicting in the name of 'helping' others; perhaps it is you who is in need of a reminder? It was you who, unable to protect yourself, allowed yourself to be captured at the end of last year's tournament. You who negligently stood by while the Dark Lord's plan came to fruition, and he was given new life as could only have been attained with your coveted help,” Severus paused, taking perverse pleasure in watching the boy's self-assurance drain from him as the words hit home, and then carried on without mercy.

“It seems the great Boy Who Lived couldn’t do a thing to protect his comrade when it mattered. It was because of your incompetence that the Diggory child had to die. So forgive me if I'm less than willing to allow your messiah complex to endanger my own life.”

Potter just stared at him, eyes wide as he finished his diatribe, before quickly looking away. Severus felt no sympathy for the boy, it was long past time he learned to take responsibility for his recklessness. Severus decided to leave the boy to his thoughts.

Over a minute passed in silence, before Potter finally met his eye. Instead of the pouting resignation Severus had expected, it seemed the boy had come to a decision. Somehow, he had gotten through to the stubborn teenager.

“Okay, I'm listening,” Potter broke the silence. “What do I have to do?”

Severus nodded his approval. “You will be taught Occlumency, the magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one. It is a rare skill, one that of the faculty, only the Headmaster and myself possess. We will soon see if you too are capable of learning it, though I’ll admit to some doubts.” Severus reached down and pulled a large book from a concealed drawer and slid it across his desk so it lay in front of Potter.

“This book should provide you with sufficient background to prepare you for the start of your lessons tomorrow.” Potter looked at the book curiously, some excitement returning to him no doubt at the idea of learning something important that none of his peers knew. Severus couldn’t help but be amused: the teen's excitement was only because he didn’t yet know the details of the arrangement, as was clear by the next words out of Potter's mouth.

“So I don’t have to go back to the Dursley's? I can stay here at Hogwarts? What about the wards? Shouldn't I be speaking to Dumbledore to find out more about these lessons?” he asked, hardly pausing for breath.

Severus' lips twisted into a cold smile. “I will be supervising your lessons, Potter. You will be staying with me at my home for the duration of the break.”

He watched as Potter's face fell immediately.

“You? Can't Dumbledore teach me?” Potter did nothing to hide his disgust.

It was the exact reaction he'd been expecting, but somehow seeing it rubbed him the wrong way. It was he after all who was sacrificing his time and his safety to help the boy, Potter should be immensely grateful.

“With everything going on with the ministry, this is a trying time indeed for all of us, the headmaster must focus his efforts on what is important,” Severus went on matter-of-factly.

Potter shook his head. “I thought I was important,” he said with a hint of dejection which was quickly converted into frustration. “He can't possibly expect me to learn anything if you’re the one who's teaching me.”

Severus' eyes narrowed, a furious heat rising in him at the barefaced insult. “Just what are you saying, Potter?” he growled.

Potter had the nerve to let out a short laugh. “Isn't it obvious? I'm sure you're a fine teacher for all the other students here,” he began, though his tone indicated very different thoughts on the matter, “but you'll have to admit you hate me too much to really teach me properly.”

Severus stood slowly, leaning forward on his hands to close in the gap between himself and the self righteous teen before him. “Clearly you have forgotten who you are speaking to,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I suggest you end this disrespectful streak here and now because if I should catch even the barest hint of obstinance from you once you enter my home, you can be certain that I will not be holding back as I do here. The headmaster will not be around to save you.” He paused, glaring at the boy, daring him to protest.

To both his satisfaction and disappointment, the boy stayed silent, though he glared back in defiance.

Severus reseated himself, and waved a hand towards the door. “We are done here,” he said simply, not taking his eyes off of the boy.

Potter, who had hunched himself back slightly into his chair as he'd spoken, straightened himself out and stood to leave. While he said nothing as he left, Severus only needed one look at the hardened expression on the boy's face and the tense set of his shoulders to know Potter had absolutely no intention of making this holiday easy for either of them.

Harry made his way back to Gryffindor tower very slowly, keeping to corridors he knew would be mostly abandoned by now. He had not been coping well with Cedric’s death and Snape had mercilessly ripped open a wound that had barely had a chance to heal. Now the pain of it was far too close to the surface and he needed a little time to pull himself together before he could face the invasive questions that would no doubt be waiting for him when he returned.

All too soon, Harry found himself staring at the portrait of the Fat Lady as she stared back at him with pursed lips waiting for him to either speak the password or leave. Unable to justify stalling any longer, he took a deep breath to steady himself and then gave the password. As the portrait swung aside, he indulged in a momentary fantasy that just this once he’d be able to slip by unnoticed.

He stepped through the entryway squaring his shoulders and holding his head high, he thought he even managed a pretty convincing grin. So he was utterly shocked when no one even glanced in his direction as he sauntered by. His smile became a touch more genuine in his relief and he picked up his pace, eager to reach the dorm.

“Oh, hey Harry! Thought you’d have been chopped into bits of potion ingredients by now,” Neville called over jovially.

Was it believable to pretend he hadn’t heard? Probably not, he decided, judging by the sudden lull in the murmurs of common room conversation. He could all but feel dozens of eyes landing on him as he slowed to a reluctant stop. Where was his invisibility cloak when he really needed it? He quickly scanned the small crowd, locating Ron and Hermione by the fireplace straightaway. That, at least, gave him some comfort.

“What did Snape want?” someone called out shamelessly, and like a dam had burst, the room instantly flooded with voices as everyone tried to make their comments heard. “Probably detention, right?” “He seemed pretty peeved.” “When is the git not peeved?” “I’ll bet it was about the itching jinx you put on Malfoy’s robes, that was-” Harry used the sudden chaos to take a moment to think. He’d known to expect this after being pulled out of dinner so conspicuously, but he'd been too distracted to come up with a plausible story.

Harry shook his head, deciding to cut in as speculations became increasingly imaginative. “You don’t have to worry about me, Snape’s a git but he really can’t do much this close to–”

Harry stopped suddenly, clapping a hand over his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut. He stumbled forward, his face contorting in a grimace of pain as he sunk to one knee.

Ron and Hermione were at his side in an instant.

“Harry? Are you okay?” Hermione asked quietly.

“I-I'm all right,” Harry responded, cracking an eye open and weakly attempting to wave them off.

Ron eyed the gawking Gryffindors with annoyance. “Let's get you upstairs,” he said, helping Harry up. Hermione took the other side and together they half-carried Harry towards the boy's dormitory, heading up the stairs as loud whispers broke out behind them.

“Was it You-Know-Who?” Ron asked urgently, as they approached his bed. Harry straightened so he wasn’t leaning on his friends anymore and plopped down on his four-poster.

“False alarm,” he shrugged, grinning in an attempt to lighten the tense mood he’d created. They gaped at him, neither taking the bait.

Hermione was the first to react.“You shouldn’t joke about that Harry! I was really worried!”

Ron shifted on his feet, “Yeah mate, next time maybe let us in on it okay?” he said with a grimace of a smile that showed he was still every bit as worried about him.

Harry looked away from them, the grin sliding from his face as though it were never there.

“Right, sorry, I hadn't meant to scare you. I just needed to get out of there,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. He felt the bed lower on either side of him as his friends joined him.

“What happened? Did Snape do something?” Ron asked.

Harry laughed humorlessly. “Not exactly, he just wanted to talk. Dumbledore’s gone ahead and made some arrangements for us, though I can’t imagine what he was thinking when he did. Anyway, I’m being forced to have lessons over the holiday to learn something that ought to help me with the visions. But at least I won't have to go back to the Dursley's tomorrow.”

“Harry, that's great news!” Hermione said brightly, before taking in his still sober expression. “Oh, but where does Snape come into this?” She looked at him, eyes widening. “Oh! And where will you be staying instead if the castle is closed?”

Harry smiled minutely, leave it to Hermione to piece it all together in one go. Ron, however, was not so quick catching on. “That's right, maybe you can come stay with us at the Burrow! It would be brilliant and you know my mum would be thrilled to have you... What?” Ron looked from Harry to Hermione's pitying face, and his shoulders sagged. “I've missed something haven’t I?”

“I wish I could stay with you Ron, but Dumbledore has other plans.” Harry sighed. “He wants me to learn some rare type of magic. I don't know much about it, but it's called Occlumency.”

Hermione lit up at this new piece of information. “I've never heard of that. I'll have to do some research, but maybe I can help you a little.” She spoke with the kind of giddy excitement that often overtook her in the face of a particularly challenging assignment.

“Thanks Hermione, I'll need all the help I can get with Snape for a teacher.”

Ron froze in horror. “Did you say Snape is teaching you?!”

Harry nodded. “That's not the worst bit, I'll be staying at his place until next term for the lessons.”

“Alone? Why would Dumbledore agree to that? Snape could easily turn you over to You-Know-Who!”

“Calm down Ron,” Hermione cut in. “I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would not have put Harry in this position if it were unsafe. We have to trust the headmaster’s decision, and that means we have to trust Snape.”

Ron conceded. “Fine, but even if he doesn’t try to have Harry killed, that doesn’t mean he won't make his life miserable. Doesn't he have enough to worry about?”

“I'll be fine Ron, really. I’m not looking forward to it, but if it's the only way to get rid of the visions, I have to give it a go.”

Ron frowned. “It's your funeral,” he mumbled, earning himself an exasperated look from Hermione.

Hermione turned and beamed at him. “I'm so proud of you Harry, you’re actually doing something to keep yourself out of harm's way. With that attitude I just know you'll be able to do it.”

Harry gave her a small smile which immediately morphed into a wide-mouthed yawn. He loved his friends, but he was absolutely knackered.

Hermione took the hint. “Right, you must be tired. We should probably let you rest,” she said, standing and motioning for Ron to do the same.

“Huh? It's still early why would we–”

“Just come on,” she interrupted him, taking his arm and pulling him off the bed.

Harry watched them go, feeling a tad guilty for lying to them. In truth, he had no intention of using Occlumency to block out the visions. Snape had made it abundantly clear: he was weak, and he always had been no matter the lengths he went to try to hide it. He had been lucky so far, but now he had something of an advantage and he wasn't just going to give it up.

He closed the curtains around his bed and cast his usual silencing spell to ensure his privacy as he lay down. Now that he was alone again, memories of the cemetery plagued him and he had no way to escape the guilt. He stared blankly at the fabric of the curtains, knowing that the instant he closed his eyes, Cedric's lifeless gaze would find him. It was a long time before he was able to fall into a restless sleep.


His morning hadn’t gone much better. When someone woke him hours later, he felt as though he hadn’t slept at all. He rolled over groggily waving Ron away several times so he could continue sleeping.

But Ron was persistent, “Harry, I think you'd better wake up now.” The nervousness in his voice roused Harry more than his friend's words and he opened an eye. Ron looked a little relieved, “Finally! You've already slept straight through breakfast and now Snape's come looking for you. He says you’ve thirty minutes before he comes to drag you out himself.” Harry groaned and proceeded, very reluctantly, to prepare himself for the exciting start of his new waking nightmare.

After bidding his friends farewell, Harry levitated his trunk over to the main entrance where Snape was waiting for him. He approached the dour man cautiously.

“You should know I do not enjoy being kept waiting, Potter.” Snape said.

“I’m ten minutes early, sir.” Harry replied crossly.

Snape did not acknowledge his response; instead he turned and walked through the impressive entryway doors out into the brisk December air. Harry followed, restraining himself from asking where they were heading since Snape would very probably tear him to shreds for the even the most reasonable question. With neither of them speaking, tension grew in the air as they walked towards the edge of the grounds. Snape fumed in his silence, his movements fast and sharp, and Harry, feeling no need to try to endear himself to the man, left him to his dark thoughts.

Harry wondered idly what kind of house Snape lived in, the only image that came to mind was a replica of the dungeons at Hogwarts: cold and uninviting. Three whole weeks at Snape's mercy, Harry thought bitterly. It was a sobering thought, one he’d been trying to push away in fact, that Snape could now do anything he wanted with him. While he was fairly sure Snape wasn't in fact a Death Eater out to kill him, the man certainly made no effort to conceal his animosity towards Harry.

Snape halted so suddenly that Harry nearly crashed into him, causing him to stumble clumsily around the man to avoid contact. Choosing to ignore the contemptuous look pointed in his direction, Harry straightened and smoothed his robes coolly before looking to the professor. Snape stepped forward grabbing Harry’s trunk and placing himself uncomfortably close to Harry, and it took a tremendous amount of willpower for Harry to stop himself from moving away.

“We are going to Apparate using Side-Along Apparition. Take hold of my arm, Potter, and do not, under any circumstances, let go. Can you do that?” he asked with mocking slowness.

Harry gritted his teeth. “Yes...sir.” he added at the professor's sharp look. Failing to suppress a grimace, Harry reached out and gripped the man's arm loosely.

Snape's face darkened immediately, “Hold on tightly you imbecile, you do not want to lose your grip mid-apparition!”

Harry grudgingly tightened his hold and almost immediately he was overtaken by a decidedly disagreeable sensation. All at once it was like he was being tugged away while his body was being simultaneously flattened out like putty and shoved through an extraordinarily tight rubber tube. And then it was over. He slammed down onto his feet, knees buckling immediately under the pressure and he found himself dry heaving on the ground before he could even process what was happening.

“We have arrived.” The professor's dry voice brought Harry back to his senses. Trying to distract from the embarrassment of his rather violent and undignified reaction Harry looked up to see where exactly they had landed.

It was... underwhelming. It was a relatively large house, somewhat larger than the Dursley's certainly, but where they had valued perfection in outward appearance, this building had a general feel of neglect. The black paint on the side of the house was peeling off in places, while untidy green vines crept up the building in others, some continuing onto the moss and lichen covered roof. The lawn was equally uncared for, with a myriad of weeds and grasses growing between patches of bare soil where rubbish littered the property.

“You can’t possibly live here,” Harry breathed, unable to keep the horror from his voice.

Snape sneered at him. “This may come as a shock to you, but most people do not live their lives being pampered and coddled as you have.” He paused, and Harry rather didn’t like the look of the smile that crept across his face, “As you will be... staying here for a time, I will ensure that you gain ample understanding of how we lowly commoners live.”

Any guilt over his tactless comment evaporated from Harry's mind with that last sentence. “Don't pretend you know anything about me, professor. I know too well how 'commoners' live but this place looks more like the neighborhood rubbish pile than a home.” It was true, the rest of the area while not exactly posh, didn’t show nearly the same level of dilapidation.

Harry watched as Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment, but then his anger seemed to subside. The Potions master looked toward the house with something like loathing. “While I cannot disagree, this is my home, Potter, and you have hardly earned the right to insult it.”

Harry floundered uncertainly for a moment, he’d been ready to go on the defensive but now was feeling the need to apologise. Snape, however, was already moving on towards the house.

Harry lagged a bit grabbing his trunk, still somehow half sure that Snape could only have lured him to this unsavory place for some kind of Death Eater ambush. He dragged his stuff along with an air of reluctance, which only served to annoy Snape further.

“Quickly Potter, I would rather we not be seen outside for too long.”

Quickening his pace only slightly, Harry trudged along the overgrown path to the door, and cautiously entered the dwelling. The first thing he noticed was the oppressive feeling of the inner atmosphere. There was an unpleasant energy to it, an almost physical presence he could feel pressing in on him.

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Harry stopped in his tracks. Who in their right mind would choose to live in a place like this? Of course, Harry thought, anyone who would become a Death Eater was clearly more than a little off. He wisely kept his rising complaints to himself, having no desire to engage with Snape any more than required.

Snape was watching him closely as he walked through the door, and closed it just a bit too hard as Harry cleared the doorway.

“There will, of course, be some ground rules, and you will follow them or face punishment,” Snape began without preamble. “Do not for one instant think that I will be coddling you or catering to your every whim as your relatives have done,” he added, his features twisting with distaste.

“I will keep this so simple even you can follow it. As you are in my care for the duration of the holiday, I will be ensuring that you keep busy doing appropriate activities. That means you will be expected to complete all of your assignments, which must be approved by me, as well as study the Occlumency book I have lent to you. If I find you still feel you have time enough to laze about, I will be obliged to assign you various tasks and chores to complete around my home.”

Harry groaned inwardly, There was no way he could study for three solid weeks without stopping at some point to 'laze about'. If Snape was anything like the Dursley's that would probably mean a fair amount of cleaning on his part. It would take a very long time indeed to get any one room to an acceptable state, he judged, looking around with a slight frown. Snape, leapt on his minute reaction.

“Oh yes, you heard correctly, the great Harry Potter reduced to doing something as menial as household chores,” he sneered,“Unlike those indulgent muggles of yours, I expect you to earn your keep. I was forced to take you in and I do not want you here any more than you want to be here, but know I will not waste this opportunity to make you more than just a useless burden to the Wizarding World.”

Harry tried not to focus too much on Snape's words, to not let the troubling idea that wherever he went he was still nothing but a burden, sink in too deep. Instead he focused on Snape's condescending tone, and let himself become angry. Unfortunately, Snape didn’t pause long enough for him to formulate an adequately spiteful response.

“Meals will be served at 7am, noon, and 6pm, if you are not on time consider the meal forfeited. Do not expect me to take pity on you if you are late, rest assured I have no qualms about letting you go hungry for a few hours. Perhaps that will help to cure your persistent tardiness.” Snape arched an eyebrow at Harry, as if expecting him to protest, but took Harry’s silent, baleful glare as his cue to continue.

“As of now you are only allowed into your room and any open areas. Do not open any other doors without my express consent. Your room and my own are on opposite ends of the house, and as you are not to enter any of the surrounding rooms I do not expect to see you within the vicinity of my quarters unless there is a dire emergency. You are not to leave the premises for any reason and if you must go outside, it will be under my supervision.

“That said, since you may wish to contact your little friends in the near future, I am warning you now that all letters will be read and approved by me first. As this is still a delicate situation, a slip of the wrong information can and likely will lead to both of our deaths. Do you understand, Potter, or must I repeat myself?” While Snape kept his tone was civil, his hard eyes told Harry he was ready to pounce if he was forced to repeat anything.

He understood perfectly, he just wasn't sure whether to feel upset or resign himself to it. Who was Snape after all to read any of Harry's private letters? He wasn't stupid, he knew what kind of information to leave out. He didn't think he’d be able to get through this holiday without some support from his friends; he decided he might try to find some way around that particular rule.

He wouldn't protest having to do some chores as long as they were reasonable, that had been expected. And all he had to do was show up and he’d have regular meals, that was already a step up from the Dursley's. He felt his indignation fade with that thought; if they could generally avoid one another, this didn’t have to be so bad.

“I understand, sir,” he said, finally.

Snape examined him suspiciously for a moment, before inclining his head slightly. “Very well. Come,” he said, swiveling on his feet.

Just to the right of the entryway was a long creaky looking staircase which Snape began to ascend. Harry followed behind with his belongings. Snape turned left on the upstairs landing leading Harry down a spacious hallway until they reached the door at very end.

“This is the room you will be staying in,” Snape said, as he opened the door to reveal a small bedroom. Harry peered inside; it looked about the same size as Dudley's second bedroom.

“I will leave you to unpack your things. Bear in mind lunch will be served in one hour, whether you are present or not is up to you.” Not one to linger unnecessarily, Snape promptly turned and started back down the hall, leaving Harry to himself. Harry didn’t move until the sound of Snape's footfalls faded completely. Only then able to relax, he took a moment to assess his accommodations.

A muted light struggled in through the dust covered window panes, just barely illuminating the space. The floor was covered by a trodden grey carpet, and there were two closed doors along the far wall. He looked inside of those first, discovering a small closet and a toilet. The rest of the room was conservatively furnished with a bed, made with green and silver linens, with a bedside table next to it; there was also a simple desk and chair, alongside a thin dresser.

It figured Snape would make him stay in a room decorated with Slytherin colors, Harry groused, as he looked at the Slytherin emblem emblazoned on the emerald curtains that adorned the window. He decided to make the best of things: once he cleaned up a bit, it might even look nice. He started to empty out his trunk, placing his school materials and books on his desk and transferring a few items of clothing into the dresser. He didn't need to do any more than that, if he needed anything else, he could easily grab it from his trunk.

Harry took a moment to bask in the wonderfully freeing sensation of having access to his magical belongings away from Hogwarts, a privilege he'd never had at his relative's home. He smiled a wide, genuine smile as it hit him: he wouldn’t have to worry about the Dursley's for a while yet.

He finished with his trunk and moved it to the corner, but the rest of the room still needed some work. There was nothing he could do about the sorry state of the actual furniture, but he figured since he had time, he may as well start clearing away the dust and grime. He grabbed a torn piece of an old shirt from his trunk and began wiping down the window. The dust was thick but it came off fairly easily, letting the sunlight shine through the way it was intended. With proper light flowing in, the room didn’t seem so depressing.

He worked quickly and when he’d finished, he realized it was nearly time for lunch. Deciding it was better to be early than late, and already hungry from missing breakfast, he went to find the kitchen.

He peeked into several rooms, careful to avoid any closed doors, before he found the right one. He spotted Snape and stopped. The man had his back turned to him as he prepared something on the worktop and didn’t seem to notice Harry’s arrival. Harry hovered in the doorway, unsure whether he wanted to stay since lunch perhaps wasn’t ready yet.

He watched the man silently working, finding the whole scene a bit odd. Here he was trapped with his hated professor and now the man was forced to serve him lunch. It even smelled okay.

“Kindly stop gawking at me and take a seat, Potter,” he said, with mild annoyance. Harry very nearly jumped out of his skin and was grateful the man’s back was still turned.

“I didn’t think you’d seen me.” Harry said, moving towards the small rectangular table near the center of the room.

“Seeing you was hardly necessary, I was perfectly able to hear you stomping all throughout the house before finally making it here, only to have to endure your insufferable mouth-breathing in the doorway,” Snape said, still not bothering to turn towards him.

Harry rolled his eyes, choosing to otherwise ignore the man's dramatics.

“Right. Well, what's for lunch?”

“I'm preparing Shepard's Pie,”

Harry perked up, it was one of his favorite meals. “Oh, that actually sounds good!” he said.

Snape finally turned around to inflict a scowl upon him. “Do. Not. Interrupt.” He picked up a plate of steaming goodness and placed it at the setting across from Harry.

“As I was saying, I have prepared Shepard's Pie for myself. Unfortunately, I did not have the ingredients in stock for two portions,”

Harry looked at him in disbelief, “Then what am I supposed to eat? Can’t you share or did you plan to just have me starve?” He hadn't thought Snape would go back on his word so soon.

Snape looked positively irate now. “If you continue to interrupt me, you will be eating nothing at all!” He swirled around, grabbing a second plate from the worktop and all but throwing it at Harry.

“Enjoy,” he said coldly, taking his seat.

Harry looked down at the simple ham and cheese sandwich with a handful of plain crisps on the side. “Oh, brilliant, did you pluck this out of the dustbin or something? I hope you weren't too bothered,” he grumbled, lifting the bread and eyeing the contents with distaste.

Snape scowled at him. “I believe this situation calls for a measure of gratitude on your part.”

“Right, I’m supposed to be thankful for these scraps, while you sit right in front of me feasting?” Harry scoffed.

“This hardly constitutes a feast, and were you not so spoiled you would realize your meal is perfectly adequate,” Snape said.

“Then maybe we can switch,” Harry mumbled.

Snape's face darkened. “Your relatives may have tolerated and even encouraged this disrespectful attitude, but I will not. You will eat the food I have provided for you and you will be grateful that I took the time to prepare it!”

Harry didn’t respond, instead taking a huge spiteful bite of the sandwich. He was honestly grateful for the sandwich, even though Hogwarts had spoiled him a bit, it was still better than anything the Dursley's would have provided for him. Of course, Snape didn't need to know that. Harry rather preferred Snape think of him as spoiled than have him knowing the truth.

The rest of the meal passed in silence; Harry, glaring at Snape as he ate and Snape, ignoring him entirely. Snape did not say anything as Harry excused himself, did his washing up and went to leave, but he stopped Harry at the doorway.

“Your first lesson will begin tonight at 7 o'clock sharp in the living room. I expect you to be prepared,” he added with a pointed look.

Harry simply nodded his acknowledgment and was out of the room before Snape could demand a verbal response.

He quickly went up to his room and grabbed the Occlumency book he'd completely forgotten to read the night before. He opened the book at his desk and began to read intently. He had no idea what Snape's lessons would entail and suddenly he was feeling a tad nervous. He didn’t think it would be possible to learn more than the basics within the next several hours, but he figured he could at least get through the first few chapters.

His confidence began to wane considerably as he slogged through the first few paragraphs unable to make sense of any of it. The text was filled with needlessly complex archaic wording and far more Latin than he was comfortable with. He found himself looking up every other word, only to find it did nothing to add to his understanding. Finally, he had to give up after struggling valiantly for what must have been hours.

He slammed the accursed book closed and put his head down on its detestable cover. There was no possible way Snape hadn’t given him that dreadful book without expecting him to fail. The man clearly wanted an opportunity to ridicule him for his incompetence.

Harry sighed, getting up and flopping onto his bed instead. Exhausted from the mental workout in combination with his general lack of proper sleep, he decided he could just rest his eyes for a little while. He'd never been much for textbooks anyway, he excelled in practical magic. It didn't matter that Snape had tried to sabotage him, he had to show the man that he was capable of succeeding on his own.

“POTTER!”

Snape's thunderous voice slammed Harry back to consciousness and he scrambled to get himself upright. “Wha’s happened?” he blurted, alarmed and disoriented as his brain frantically tried to piece together how he’d come to be in this unfamiliar place with Snape yelling at him. He’d been having a blessedly sound sleep, the first in ages, and he found himself rather annoyed by its forced conclusion.

“Did I not make it clear that you are expected to be using your time productively? Or have I overestimated your familiarity with the concept?” Snape jeered.

Harry wondered how much time had actually passed, hoping Snape had taken pity on him and come to get him for tea. But one look at Snape’s sour, twisted expression told him the man was not in what could be called a compassionate mood.

Harry glowered back at him. “I’m familiar. I was just tired, I haven’t had much sleep these last few nights,” he said. Snape's brow quirked with faint interest. “Late night escapades keeping you up, Potter?”

Harry shook his head, the remembrance of his dream bringing back a sense of guilt. He had to look away although he was sure Snape took the reaction as confirmation for his suspicions. He decided he didn't care what Snape thought so long as it wasn’t close to the truth. Bad enough Snape knew about his visions, he didn’t need to know about the nightmares too, especially not when it was Snape’s fault he’d had such a rough go last night anyway. The man would probably like nothing more than to hear how painfully effective his tirade had been.

Harry wasn't going to give Snape the satisfaction, instead he adopted a more sullen demeanor, hoping to stop his professor from inquiring further. “It’s really none of your business,” Harry grumbled, falling back on the bed and turning to face the wall instead. “How about you just let me sleep?”

“You have already managed to sleep the day away, it is time to get up,” Snape said shortly, though Harry could hear the professor actively trying to suppress his irritation.

“I think I’ll be the one judging when I’ve slept enough,” Harry replied crossly, trying but mostly failing to ignore how horribly exposed he suddenly felt with his back to Snape. He hardened his resolve, knowing Snape was likely to be thoroughly horrid to him whether he obeyed or not.

Snape let out an exasperated breath.“Must you be so aggravatingly childish? I was not making a request and this senseless obstinance will get you nowhere.”

Harry offered no indication he’d noticed Snape had spoken.

“Consider this your final warning: if you carry on in this pattern of disrespect, you will only be making things more difficult for yourself. Now, will you cooperate or must we continue with this puerile display?”

Harry considered cooperating, he thought it was probably wise to let Snape win this particular battle, pointless as it was, but still he hesitated and in that moment Snape seemed to lose his patience entirely.

“Get up now or I will drag you from this bed myself!” Snape snapped, very nearly shouting. Harry quickly sat himself back up, fearing Snape could well be on the verge of doing just that. The man was looking down on him murderously and Harry felt a twinge of panic in his chest. He made an effort to cover his alarm, hurrying to get his feet under him and glaring hard at his professor.

“Maybe I’ll go on and tell Dumbledore you’ve already been threatening me!” he said, drawing himself up in warning.

Snape scowled. “You can save your act for someone who cares, Potter. Clearly you are finding it too difficult to grasp that we are no longer in Hogwarts. Take a good look around you, neither the headmaster nor your pathetic band of followers will be coming to your rescue here.”

Harry was in fact acutely aware of his circumstances, but he forced himself to hold his ground. “It doesn’t matter, you're still my professor and if you so much as touch me, I'll make sure you never set foot in Hogwarts again! Do you think anyone would believe you over the Boy-Who-Lived?” he said with as much confidence as he could manage; hopefully Snape would remember that the world was watching even if there were no eyes on them right now. Maybe for once his fame would do him some good.

Snape looked at him, unaffected. “We do not have time for your little tantrum, Potter,” he said, “Because of this delay, it is now well past 7 o'clock, it is time for your Occlumency lesson. Do not make this more difficult than it has to be.”

Harry wavered for a moment, unhappily realizing he'd slept straight through dinner and yet he was still undeniably tired. Couldn't Snape have woken him a bit sooner anyway? He sighed inwardly, letting the complaint slip away: it was his own doing really, he just wished it’d been worth it.

“Fine,” he relented, following as Snape turned to leave the bedroom.

They entered the sitting room, a small room devoid of the usual coziness one would expect of such a place. Three chairs sat arranged in a semicircle around a roaring fireplace, which did nothing to give the uninviting room the slightest sense of warmth.

Snape turned to him. “The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency,” Harry opened his mouth but Snape held up a hand to forestall the obvious question. “Legilimency is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person’s mind.”

“He can read my thoughts?” Harry asked, fear blooming at the possibility that such a thing existed.

Snape let out a breath.“An inelegant and largely inaccurate way of interpreting it. Legilimency is more... nuanced: with the right conditions, those who have mastered the art are able to access the memories and emotions of their victims and interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. It requires one who is skilled at Occlumency to shut down any feelings and memories that contradict the lie and thus evade his detection.”

“You said Vol...The Dark Lord and I are connected, could he know what I'm feeling right now?” Harry asked uneasily.

“In short, it is possible. The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance from us as of now. Often the use of Legilimency requires eye contact. In your case however, I believe he could enter you mind as easily as if he were standing in this very room. It is fortunate for both of us he has not yet discovered the connection.”

Harry nodded.

“This brings us back to your Occlumency lesson. Take out your wand.” Snape instructed, bringing out his own ebony wand.

Harry did so, getting into a ready stance. “What are we going to do?” he asked.

“I will be using Legilimency to break into your mind, and you will attempt to resist me by any means you can.” Snape told him simply, raising his wand.

Harry froze, looking at the professor with wide eyes, his heart suddenly pounding. He wasn't prepared for that at all.

“Y-you're going to enter my mind?” Snape would have access to all of his memories, suddenly he was living out one of his worst fears. If Snape found out any of what he'd been hiding, the man would mock him mercilessly. He had no doubt that Snape would gleefully reveal to the whole school how their beloved “hero” was nothing but a fraud. He would lose the image he'd worked so hard to build and he couldn't stand the thought of losing his friends, seeing the hurt and disappointment on their faces as they realized they’d been lied to.

“Indeed,” Snape replied, interrupting his thought spiral.“Ready yourself, Potter.”

Harry was about to ask just how he was supposed to do that, but Snape never gave him the chance.

“Legilimens!”

The effect was immediate, bright images began flickering through his mind, blinding him to his surroundings.

He was eleven and he'd just gotten his Hogwarts letter, he felt hope for the first time since he could remember … He'd just met Ron on the train, was this what it felt like to have a friend? … He was pulling the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat, a foreign sensation of power coursing through him … He was on a broom for the first time, it was the most free he'd ever felt … He'd just found out that Sirius was his Godfather and didn’t feel so alone anymore … He was standing in front of a mirror, his parents were waving back at him …

Get out, get out, get out! Harry thought as hard as he could. Suddenly he was back in the sitting room on his hands and knees panting wildly. Had he actually managed to drive Snape out? He stumbled back up to his feet looking over to his professor as he caught his breath. The man was rubbing a large red weal on his forearm, his face twisted into an ugly grimace.

“A poor effort indeed, Potter. A simple stinging hex will have no effect on the Dark Lord, even if he should happen to be in the vicinity of it. You must repel me with your mind not your wand! I was far too easily able to access memories of things you care about, things that have evoked emotions in you which can be exploited as weaknesses!”

“You haven’t even told me how!” Harry snapped, frustration already taking over.

“Mind your cheek,” Snape said, his voice lowering dangerously for a moment, but he continued calmly, “Now, you have an idea of what to expect. Close your eyes and focus on clearing your mind. Empty yourself of all thought and emotion.”

Harry relaxed a little, was that all it was? If there was one thing he was good at it was suppressing his emotions when he needed to. He was the boy-who-lived after all, and there was no room in that persona for doubt and uncertainty. Harry closed his eyes, focused on scraping up some confidence and gathered it in his mind like a wall. He took a deep breath, filing away all his negative thoughts behind a barrier of determination and not letting any emotion break through. Once he felt stable he looked steadily at Snape.

The Potions master raised a dubious brow, “You are ready?”

Harry nodded. “Very well, I will not be holding back this time... Legilimens!”

Despite his best efforts, Harry felt a small tentacle of dread snake its way through just as Snape uttered the spell: if the man had been holding back before, what would a full on attack feel like?

Snape swept past his shaky resistance as though it weren’t there, plunging back into Harry's memories.

He was five, staring down at a broken vase on the floor, terror beginning to overwhelm him … He was nine as Ripper chased him up a tree, the Dursley's laughing as they watched … Quirrell unwrapped his turban, the horrifying visage of Voldemort coming into view, he didn't know what to do … He was packing frantically, he'd just blown up his Aunt Marge, he had to leave now … A fourth name appeared from the Goblet, and Harry's heart sank … Cedric was lying on the ground, eyes empty and lifeless …

“NO!” The flashes stopped and Harry found himself back on the floor. His head felt as though it might split open.

“You are not trying! You are letting me see your fear, handing me weapons! You must discipline your mind, let go of all emotion!”

“I am trying! I cleared my mind and it didn't help!”

Snape didn’t appear to believe him. “We will go again,” Snape pointed his wand at him and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, turning away.

“No! I mean, can't we try again tomorrow? My head is starting to hurt,” he said, desperate to get away; he wasn't in control and Snape had seen too much already.

“We have hardly even begun. The Dark Lord is not going to wait until you are comfortable to attack your mind, you must be prepared to face him under all conditions. This is an exercise in mental discipline, I will not accept any excuses.” Snape paused, and Harry could feel the man eying him. “I said before that eye contact was ideal for Legilimency, however it is not always necessary, especially once an initial connection has already been made,” he said coolly.

Harry looked up, horrified. Snape could read his mind anytime he wanted? He could feel himself starting to panic in earnest. His eyes locked with Snape's but he realized his mistake too late. Snape smirked, raising his wand and incanting the spell in an instant and Harry's world became a swirling mess once again.

He'd been caught completely off guard and Snape tore effortlessly through his memories while Harry found himself completely unable to put up even the slightest resistance. Eventually Snape pulled none too gently out of his mind, leaving Harry with a fiercely throbbing head and a painfully prickling scar.

“You are too weak, Potter! You will not stand a chance if you cannot master your emotions! The Dark Lord will have no trouble penetrating your feeble mind!” he said savagely.

“I am not weak, you tricked me, I had no time to prepare,” Harry responded, bitterness flavoring every word.

Snape looked down at him contemptuously. “Your simple mindedness is hardly my fault, Potter. I did not expect you to master Occlumency in one try, however your performance so far has been pitiful even for you. I could expect better results from an intoxicated flobberworm.”

Harry's hands curled into fists as he tried to control the fury threatening to overtake him. “You're being completely unfair!”

“The Dark Lord –”

“I don’t care about Voldemort right now! You're just using him as an excuse for being a rubbish teacher!”

Snape closed the distance between them in one stride and Harry took a shaky step back before he could stop himself. Obsidian eyes bore through him but Harry held his ground, refusing to directly meet the man's gaze. He watched apprehensively as the seething Potions master gritted his teeth and seemed to force himself to calm down before he finally spoke.

“We are finished for tonight,” he ground out slowly, “Practice clearing your mind before bed, I will not know if you do not.”

“Great,” Harry said, relieved by the dismissal but still fuming. He quickly made his way to his room. If he was honest he was more angry with himself than Snape, he hadn’t been able to do anything to stop Snape from invading his memories. He’d been lucky Snape hadn’t seen anything overly revealing.

Harry collapsed onto his bed, massaging his head to try to make the ache go away. The lesson had been nothing short of a disaster, but it had also taken away his doubts about learning Occlumency. Voldemort was not the only one who could access his mind thanks to Legilimency. Even if he didn't want to block out the visions, he needed a way to protect himself from hostile people like Snape.

Thinking back, he was sure he had missed something; there had to be more to Occlumency than just clearing his mind or it would be a much more common skill. He considered Snape's words at the beginning of the lesson, something about hiding emotions and memories that contradict a lie. What if real skill in Occlumency was not just in keeping someone out, but instead presenting a facade so good that nothing seemed to be hidden at all?

If he couldn’t keep Snape out completely, maybe he could manage to hide certain feelings and memories that he didn’t want the professor to see. Maybe it wasn’t just about suppressing his emotions, but projecting emotions and memories that were safe to expose.

Harry took a moment to think of what sort of memories Snape would expect to find in his mind, something that would make him not feel the need to look deeper. The man could hardly take a breath around him without using it to tell him he was an arrogant, spoiled, disrespectful rule-breaker. He could work with that.

He closed his eyes, trying to gather up all the memories that supported Snape's view of him.

Tomorrow, he would be ready.

Severus had just finished preparing breakfast when Potter entered the kitchen. The teen’s early arrival did not surprise him, having not bothered to show up for dinner the previous night he was now probably quite hungry. Severus had intended to send some food up to the boy, he couldn't leave him to starve after all, but it had slipped his mind in the wake of the boy's insolence. To ease his conscience he had prepared a larger breakfast than usual.

“Good morning, Professor,” Potter said passively as he took a seat, Severus hummed a return greeting. He had made a decision last night that for there to be any chance of surviving this holiday intact, he would have to keep their interactions to a minimum; they were far too easily provoked by one another.

Severus transferred the food into serving dishes and brought them to the table.

“How did you manage all this?” Potter asked, looking over the bounty of food before him, “Yesterday you could hardly scrape together a sandwich for me,” he remarked as he eagerly began to serve himself.

“Yes, as I recall you interrupted me before I could finish speaking. Had I been allowed to finish, you would know that a member of the Order graciously offered to supply the necessary provisions to see us through the next few weeks. They stopped by this morning,” Severus explained.

“Really? Who was it?” Potter asked, his eyes glinting with unwelcome curiosity.

“That is none of your concern, Potter,” Severus replied curtly. Albus had come by early that morning for the supply drop as well as a much needed conversation, after which he'd specifically requested the boy not be informed of his visit.

“It's just, that's an odd thing to be secretive about, I already know all about the Order,” Potter said, his brow furrowing.

Severus did not respond, indulging in a small bite of his food and keeping his face expressionless; the boy would get no hints from him.

Potter, self absorbed as always, did not seem to notice Severus' utter disinterest in continuing the conversation.

“But it can’t have been Sirius, no chance he’d agree to that without getting a proper visit out of it,” he went on without prompting, “In fact probably most of the others would at least want to say hello…” He paused, considering, and then his shoulders slumped slightly. “Oh, it was Dumbledore, wasn't it?”

Potter was watching him carefully for confirmation but Severus once again made no outward acknowledgement of the boy's words. More irritated than impressed with the boy's persistence, he picked up his copy of The Daily Prophet, and pretended to be thoroughly enthralled by its uninspired contents.

Potter sighed, looking away and focusing on his food. Severus could see that the boy was pouting over his unsubstantiated revelation. He had seen the way Albus had been avoiding Potter throughout the term, he also knew there was good reason behind the change. Potter was so used to being fawned over and given extra privileges by the headmaster, he must have been quite disappointed to learn the elder wizard was no longer under his thumb.

Behind the paper, Severus smiled minutely. It was all too satisfying to see the boy learning that he would not always be the recipient of special treatment. Severus intended to reinforce that lesson himself.

Potter did not ask any more questions, and Severus was content to leave him to his thoughts. The boy finished his meal and distractedly excused himself without so much as a thank you. Though it wasn’t as if Severus had actually expected the ever ungrateful Potter to understand the efforts being made to accommodate him.

Once the boy was gone, he did a quick clean up of the kitchen and made his way to the basement where he had once frequented a small potions lab. In recent years, as his visits to the house had dwindled to almost none at all, the lab had been heavily neglected and he had let his supplies run low.

He had quite a bit of work to do if he was going to get the lab ready for his use over the holiday, but he was content enough for the task as he needed to take his mind off of the problem residing upstairs. He set to work noting what he would need for the various potions necessary to replenish the stock at Hogwarts, as well as his own personal projects. He would need to head into London today if he was to have his work completed by the start of the next term.


It was nearly noon when he reluctantly made his way to the kitchen to prepare a quick lunch. He decided another sandwich and a simple salad would suffice for the boy, but he wasn’t hungry himself. Normally he enjoyed the process of cooking, but having to cook for a Potter made the task seem onerous and unpleasant.

Potter showed up with seconds to spare and Severus was mildly disappointed that he couldn’t berate the boy as usual for his tardiness. Potter entered the room, stopping cold when he saw there was only one place setting.

“I'm not late am I?” he asked, checking his watch.

“Miraculously you are on time. It is I who will not be staying.”

“Oh good, you had me worried,” Potter said, relaxing and seating himself. Severus waited, expecting Potter to ask the obvious question. The boy took a large bite out of the sandwich, completely oblivious to Severus as he looked on with increasing disgust.

Severus cleared his throat. “You may be wondering why I have chosen not to join you,” he began, Potter looked over to him impassively, still chewing. “There are numerous items which I have need of for my potions work. Therefore a trip to Diagon Alley is necessary, though it may take the remainder of the day.”

“Oh! That sounds brilliant, when are we going?” Potter asked presumptuously.

“We will not be going anywhere. I will be making this trip alone,” Severus said.

Potter's eyes widened. “You're leaving me here by myself?” he asked with barely concealed excitement.

“Before you get any ideas, I will not have you wandering aimlessly about my house.” Severus pulled a small bit of parchment from his robes. “I have compiled several tasks I expect to be completed by the time I return, they should keep you properly engaged while I am gone.” He placed the list down next to the teen.

Potter picked it up, skimmed it, and set it back down on the table with a puzzled frown. “Can't I just work on my assignments? Isn’t that what you wanted anyway?”

“Perhaps, if I felt I could trust you to do so. As of now I believe it would be best to keep you more physically occupied.” Potter looked with open displeasure at the paper as he resumed eating with significantly less enthusiasm.

“I will be heading out shortly. I suggest you get started on your tasks as soon as you’re through eating if you are to finish on time.” Severus turned to leave, already tiring of the boy's presence.

“And if I don’t?”

Severus slowly turned back around to face the sullen teen, eyes narrowed into slits. “Excuse me?” Surely he hadn’t heard that correctly.

Potter stood, crossing his arms in front of him in a display of defiance. “What if I decide not to? What will you actually do?”

“Trust me, you do not want to find out,” Severus snarled.

Potter smirked. “So you’ve said, but I think if you actually had any power over me, you wouldn’t have tolerated me even this long. You may be my professor, but you can't take so much as a point from me here. So I think I won't be lowered to doing any of these menial chores, and you obviously can't make me. Either you let me come with you, or you'll just have to trust me staying here,” he finished, grinning triumphantly.

Severus was at the boy's side in an instant. He took Potter by his upper arm, easily tuning out the boy's protests as he guided him upstairs.

“In fact, there is a third option. Perhaps I have been taking the wrong approach thus far, but I can no longer pretend anything approaching a mature or even civil relationship is possible at this time.”

Potter barked a laugh, momentarily pausing his attempts to pull away. “When have you tried to be civil?” he scoffed.

Severus ignored the comment entirely. “Obviously I overestimated you by attempting to treat you as a young adult when clearly you are nothing more than an arrogant child.”

“I'm not a child... Why have we come here?” he asked as they stopped in front of his bedroom door.

Severus opened the door, releasing his grip on the boy and motioning for him to go inside. Potter moved past him, shooting him an indignant look. Severus stopped in the doorway.

“I don’t understand,” Potter said, eyeing him warily.

“I am a reasonable man, so as per your request, you can work on your assignments. However, since I will not be here to supervise you, I need assurance that you will stay in this room.”

Surprise flickered across Potter's face. “You’ve decided to trust me.”

“Perhaps you misheard me,” Severus said, taking a step backwards.

“Colloportus,” Severus intoned as he waved his wand, closing and locking the door between them.

Predictably, Potter went for the handle, jiggling it ineffectually before giving up and beginning to pound on the door. “Let me out! You can't just lock me away in here!”

“It is already done,” he said dismissively, starting back down the hallway. “I will endeavour to return shortly.”

Potter continued to yell and beat melodramatically on the door as he walked away, much to Severus' amusement. He held no sympathy for the boy, he would only be gone a few hours. If Potter actually did his work, the time would pass quickly enough.

Severus passed by the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the half eaten meal left on the table, he hesitated for a moment and then with a swish of his wand, sent it up to Potter's room. The boy would have enough to complain about come dinner time, no reason to add being 'starved' to the list of topics. With that, Severus went to the sitting room to Floo to Diagon Alley.

~~
It had taken longer than he'd anticipated to locate the various  ingredients he required. By the time Severus returned it was well past five. He would have to start preparing dinner right away, though he was eager to organise and put away his purchases. He placed the materials in an out of the way place and headed for the kitchen, once again begrudging the burden of having Potter in his home.

He concocted a simple chowder and sliced some bread before heading upstairs to set the Golden Gryffindor free. To his surprise, Potter did not speak to him on the way back to the kitchen. He had expected the teen to be outraged and embarrassed, and for Potter that meant endless mewling complaints and ridiculous threats. Severus was instead graced only with the boy's baleful glare.

They ate in silence, Potter apparently fuming and Severus waiting for the outburst that was sure to come.

“Is there something you wish to say?” Severus said, finally giving in to his curiosity. Surely he hadn’t cowed the boy that much just by giving him a time out.

“No.”

“It is evident that you are angry, speak your thoughts now and we may have a productive lesson later,” Severus pressed, the teen's uncharacteristic silence was putting him on edge.

“Obviously you're happy enough to ignore me outside of lessons, can't we just keep that going?” Potter said sourly, not looking up from his soup.

“If that is what you want,” Severus replied cautiously.

“As if it really matters what I want,” Potter mumbled bitterly.

“Enough of this brooding self pity, whatever it is just spit it out,” Severus said, becoming exasperated.

Potter put down his spoon forcefully, “Isn't it obvious? I wanted to go to Diagon Alley and instead you decided to imprison me! I have every right to be angry!”

Severus scoffed. “Do not be so dramatic. I was never going to take you to Diagon Alley and had you not been so belligerent, I would not have been forced to ground you.”

“Ground me?” Potter's anger morphed into confusion.

“Yes, ground you, it is a common practice used to discipline children. Though I don't suppose discipline is a concept you can very well grasp, having so rarely experienced it,” Severus added a touch disdainfully.

“Actually, I understand perfectly–” Potter began with an indignant huff.

“Excellent, then you realize that any additional complaints will only further cement my very well founded impression of your immaturity,” Severus cut in smoothly.

Potter's mouth snapped shut, and he returned to glaring, eyes sparking with hate. Potter finished the rest of his meal as quickly as possible and excused himself, presumably heading back up to his room before the lesson began.

Severus watched Potter go, feeling a pronounced lack of enthusiasm for the hours to come. He decided the time remaining before the boy returned would be best used steeling himself for what was likely to be another trying lesson.

Once again the boy arrived exactly, irritatingly on time.

“It's about time, Potter,” Severus sneered anyway.

Potter rolled his eyes. “I think we both know that I'm on time, sir.” He didn’t hesitate, he pulled out his wand, assuming a ready stance and Severus did the same.

“Then let us begin. We shall see if you have been practising,” Severus said, knowing the boy had most likely not bothered.

“Legilimens!”

Severus strolled into Potter's mind without any opposition. He was immediately accosted by a stunning array of memories and emotions; obviously the boy had failed to clear his mind. Severus lazily flicked through the memories, not at all interested in seeing snippets of the boy's privileged life.

Potter looked to be about eight or nine, he was at a birthday party looking at a veritable mountain of presents. A very round looking boy of about the same age walked over with a beady-eyed grin and clapped Potter on the back. “Happy birthday, Potter!” he said before walking away sniggering. Potter rolled his eyes and looked back over the presents with a sigh. The memory was saturated in disappointment and longing, which Severus could only assume was because the boy was somehow unsatisfied with his numerous gifts.

Severus had seen enough, he flipped to the next scene.

A school playground, Potter was sitting on a swing, twirling from side to side. The rotund boy from the previous memory walked over.
“Sod off, Dudley,” Potter said. Severus recognized the name, it was Potter's cousin.
“What's your problem, Potter? Can't I just say hi?” Dudley said, his expression both hurt and amused.
“Get away from me Dudley, what if they find out I was near you!” Potter spat, getting off the swing and walking away.
Dudley grinned and followed. “Maybe I won’t tell.”
Potter whirled around. “I said get away from me you fat idiot!” Potter shoved the larger boy forcefully, and Dudley fell on his arse. Potter stood over him for a moment, wide eyed and then smiled triumphantly.

Severus pulled away from the memory in disgust; he had no desire to see Potter bullying his cousin any further. The boy was a replica of his father in all the worst ways. Obviously he didn’t want to be publicly seen with his 'lowly' muggle relations.

He traipsed through several more disturbingly similar memories, with still not even a hint of resistance. He pulled out, perhaps a bit more roughly than necessary, unwilling to subject himself to any more of the boy's childhood. It was clear Potter would not push him out any time soon and what he'd seen so far had left him with a bad taste in his mouth and an increasingly sour mood.

“Pitiful as usual. You have made not even a modicum of progress,” he stated to the teen now gasping pathetically on the floor.

“I'm doing everything you said, it's not working!” Potter said once he had composed himself.

“If it is not working, it is only because you have failed in some aspect! Or perhaps you believe yourself incapable of failure?” Severus sneered, the images of the boy degrading his cousin still fresh in his mind. “Such arrogance. You truly are the spawn of your loathsome father, yet even he at least possessed some small talent to justify it.”

“I have plenty of talent, all of my other professors say as much. If you weren’t so set against me you'd realise that too,” Potter retorted.

“I believe only what I see, and thus far I have borne witness to one mediocre display after another. It is unfathomable to me that my colleagues have been so blinded by your celebrity that they cannot see as I do.”

Potter scowled. “You're the only one who's blind, I’m capable of more than you’d ever guess!”

“Then master yourself, prove me wrong!” Severus raised his wand, giving the boy but a moment to calm down. “Legilimens!”

For just a second Severus found himself enveloped in a swirl of overwhelming hostility and resentment, but it was gone in an instant, and once again he was surrounded by memories. He tore through them, trying to force the teen to try to stop him.

Potter was shouting goodbye as Buckbeak carried Sirius away … Potter and Weasley were in a flying car panicking as they headed straight for the Whomping Willow … The sorting hat shouted out Gryffindor and the room exploded with applause …

He could feel Potter's thoughts, he was trying to will Severus to leave, but it was far from enough. He went deeper. He pushed right through the memories at the forefront of the boy's mind, he wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but a random humiliating incident would not have been displeasing.

Potter was on the roof of his primary school, laughing rebelliously as teachers yelled for him to come down … Potter was in a small dark room, drawing a picture by torchlight… A blinding flash of green light, he can hear a woman screaming, begging …

Severus ripped himself from Potter's mind, shaken to the core by what he thought he'd just heard. Potter was still on his feet, though he was swaying dangerously. The boy was deathly pale and shaking violently, looking at Severus with unfocused eyes.

“What was that, Potter? Explain!” he commanded, not caring that he sounded manic.

Of course he already knew. That had been Lily's voice, he would have known that voice anywhere. He'd had no idea Potter was even conscious during the events from that night, the night of her death, and it had nearly undone him to witness it.

Potter reached up to clutch at his head, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

Severus reached out and grabbed Potter by his shoulders, giving him a shake. “Get a hold of yourself! Answer me!”

The effect was immediate. Startled green eyes focused on him at the contact, anger igniting beneath their surface.

“Don't touch me!” Potter jerked himself away, stumbling backwards.

Severus tried again. “What was that memory?” he asked in a farce of calmness.

“As if I'm telling the head of Slytherin anything. It was none of your business, just leave off it,” Potter murmured.

“My patience is wearing thin, boy, tell me now or I will simply have to go back and find out for myself.”

“No!” the teen shouted.

Severus pointed his wand, not willing to give up. He didn’t really want to see the memory again, not if it was what he knew it was, but something in him desperately needed to.

“Legili–” he began, but the boy turned and bounded out of the room before he could finish the incantation. His hand fell to his side, a deep sigh escaping him. He slumped down into a nearby armchair, his thoughts now consumed with the contents of the boy's memory.

He would not be getting any rest tonight.

~~~
Harry stumbled back towards his room, he was sure his head was splitting in two along his scar. The doubling of his vision seemed to confirm that and he had to grope along the wall to keep himself upright. It felt like an eternity before he finally collapsed into his bed, resting his head against the blessed coolness of his pillow and shutting his eyes.

It didn't help though, the floor rocked and bucked beneath him and a moment later he was rushing to the toilet to empty his stomach. He just sat on the floor for a minute, feeling fractionally better. Physically at least.

He slammed his fist weakly into the floor, feeling a sudden burst of frustration. He needed more practice, Snape had pushed right past the edited memories he'd wanted the man to see. Somehow Snape had pushed right into one of his most painful memories, a memory he thought he had buried deep. Wasn't it bad enough that he'd been forced to remember every time a dementor was near? And now Snape knew about it and worse, had taken undue interest in it. He had revealed a weakness and the man was sure to take advantage of it.

He stood shakily, deciding he was too drained to do anything now, he just wanted to go to bed. But the thought of sleep brought him no comfort, he knew what would be waiting for him when he had no distractions. His mind was a terrifying jumble of emotion, his scar a prickling centre of pain. Thanks to Snape, all the memories and thoughts he had worked to suppress were now swirling at the forefront of his mind.

Despite his best efforts, he drifted away on the current of his exhaustion, with only a dim hope that just maybe, tonight he would get a break.

~~~
He was walking down a corridor, he'd never seen it before but something told him there was something at the end, something he wanted desperately. The need drove him forward through the darkness, he was nearly there, he could feel it …

“Where do you think you’re going, Potter?” Harry whipped his head around, the voice was horribly out of place.

“Go away, Dudley, you shouldn't be here.” Harry said into the shadows, continuing his forward tread.

“I think it's you who doesn't belong here, freak.” Harry ignored him, not much further now.

“How would you know?” Harry questioned absently.

“I think it's time we reminded you of your place.”

“We?” Harry turned, squinting into the darkness, and he could make out the forms of two other boys beside his cousin.

“Up for some Harry Hunting?” Dudley smiled maliciously.

Harry bolted, hopefully catching the gang off guard. But they were right on his tail even at full speed and he had nowhere to go but forward. There was a door just ahead and he prayed it had a lock on it as he threw it open and went inside without hesitation. The inside of the room was bathed in total darkness and Harry stood by the door, heart pounding as he listened. But there was no sound from the other side, it was as though they had disappeared.

Relieved, Harry turned to explore the new room, his hands outstretched before him. Another step and suddenly he came in contact with a cold vertical surface. A wall. The room came to an end and he reached out to each side only to find the same.

That wasn't right, he hadn’t found what he was looking for yet. He turned back, feeling for the door he'd just come through, but he found it locked. Panic leapt to the surface, and he banged on the door, only to be met with a thunderous noise from just above him. Why did this seem so familiar?

There were footsteps outside the door now, but something told him they weren't there to help.
Light blinded him as the door in front of him was wrenched open and he recoiled, he understood what was coming now.

His uncle grabbed him by the front of his shirt, dragging him out of the cupboard and letting him fall to the floor. The man towered over Harry, his blotchy purple face far above him. He looked up into the man's murderous expression, watching the spittle fly as he yelled but Harry couldn't comprehend the words. He didn’t need to. His uncle was angry and Harry was already curling in on himself as the first blow fell.

But it never landed, instead he heard an all too familiar voice crying out.

“Not Harry! Please!”

Harry looked up sharply to be greeted by the sight of his mother standing before him, arms outstretched protectively. But it didn’t stop Vernon and Harry scrambled up wanting to prevent the enraged man from hurting his mother.

He lunged towards his uncle, but no, something was pulling him back. Something was wrapping around his torso even as he struggled against it and without a tingle for warning his scar exploded with pain.

He wasn’t on Privet Drive any more, Wormtail's repulsive face loomed over him, contorted into a hideous smile.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. No, not again, please no… he chanted silently, hopelessly. Soft footsteps approached and Harry opened his eyes, apprehensively taking in the new hooded figure before him.

“You had to play the noble hero didn’t you, Harry?” The figure lowered his hood, resting lifeless grey eyes on Harry.

Harry looked at him in horror. How could Cedric be standing there?

“What makes you so special? Why did I have to be the one to die?” Cedric shouted, anger twisting his bloodless features.

“I will make you pay for all the misery you’ve caused.” He raised his wand, pointing it at Harry.

“Crucio!”

Pain tore through his every nerve, lava flooded his veins, seeped into his bones; it was as though every molecule of his existence was being shredded and he couldn’t escape it.

He screamed, helplessly thrashing against the agony. His eyes shot open, the panic from his dream seamlessly transferring to reality as he found himself unable to properly move. Distantly he knew it was over, that it had just been a bad dream like all the others, but even now he could feel the phantom pains of the cruciatus curse throughout his body and his scar was still throbbing horribly.

He fell off the bed landing in a loose tangle of linen and limbs until at last he managed to kick himself free. He scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily and trying in vain to sort out where he was through the fog of panic that was still threatening to overtake him. The room suddenly seemed far too small, as though the walls were trying to close in on him and he knew he had to get out before they did.

He hesitated only a moment at the door, half fearing it would be locked but it opened without incident and he hurried down the hall. He didn’t know where he was going, he just felt like he needed to escape. He had to find some place away from all the chaos in his head, where he wouldn’t have to face the haunting pain of his failures.

He found himself staring at the front door a minute later and in a sudden fit of rashness, stepped outside into the night.

A frigid December wind whipped against his uncovered skin, but the sudden exposure was just the jolt he'd needed to ground himself. For a few minutes he just stood there, breathing deeply, his mind finally starting to clear as he took in the peaceful neighbourhood.

“Running away are we, Potter?” Snape growled from behind him. The man's voice was a low rumble but he may as well have shouted for the shattering effect it had on Harry. He whipped around, any semblance of calm leaving him completely as his just buried panic clawed its way to the surface once again.

A very awake and very agitated Snape stood in the doorway, and Harry barely found it in himself to form a coherent response.

“I..I just wanted some fresh air,” he managed.

Snape waved the excuse away. “Do not bother lying to me, I am all too familiar with your penchant for night time wandering. Now, what were you doing?”

Harry shook his head slowly, his anxiety increasing as he realized nothing he could say would make his professor believe him.

“I cannot understand why you insist on proving yourself untrustworthy. Each time I afford you the slightest bit of freedom, you choose to make me look the fool for doing so.”

“I didn't mean–”

“I am uninterested in your excuses, Potter. You are going back to your room and once again, I will make sure you remain there. Come.” Snape turned, assuming Harry would follow, but he didn't. He knew Snape meant to lock him in again, and he just couldn't handle that right now. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen it coming. He'd known it would happen again, of course Snape would prefer to lock him up again rather than listen or give him a second chance. That's how it always seemed to turn out.

“Are you going to force me to drag you there again?” Snape asked irritably. Harry shook his head, he didn’t want to provoke the man into physical violence. He knew it was only a step away, the Dursley's after all had started by keeping him out of the way, as Snape was now, but things always escalated quickly.

Yet, still something in him hesitated. For a split second his stress addled mind considered just running out into the darkness and letting whatever fate befall him. He looked longingly into the distance for a moment, but Snape didn’t allow him the opportunity to act.

“Why must it always be difficult with you?” This time at least, Harry was expecting it when Snape began pulling him inside as he continued to rant. “If you believe you're behaviour is making my life more difficult you are sorely mistaken. You've accomplished nothing except diminishing my already infinitesimal respect for you. You are every bit as entitled and immature as your overrated father. And your mother...”

Harry, who had been trying to tune Snape out, looked up at the mention of his mother. As far as he could remember, there hadn’t been a time when Snape had ever spoken of her. Snape looked right back at him, his lip curling in immense disgust as he carried on.

“It sickens me to see how you continue to waste her sacrifice. To think she had to die only to leave behind the likes of you. If she could have known what a disappointment you would become...” Snape shook his head and trailed off, his scowl deepening.

Harry tried to stop walking, but Snape would not let him. The world was being drowned out by the sudden roaring in his ears. His breath was coming in quiet gasps as he struggled to let air in. His hands were shaking and his legs too felt wobbly as he struggled to keep the pace the man was setting. Snape either didn’t notice or more likely didn’t care and when they got to Harry's room, the Potions master was all too happy to close the door between them.

Harry sagged against the door as soon as the professor's footsteps faded. He was vaguely grateful that Snape had gone, but it didn’t relieve the sting of the man's words. It didn’t save him from having to recognize the truth in what he'd said.

He curled in on himself, trying to remember how it was he'd managed breathing before all this. Trying not to think of how he had failed in every important aspect of his life. He tried to ignore the crushing knowledge that he wasn't good enough now and he never could be. Tried to push away the crippling fear that was overtaking him as he realised how many people had died and were still dying because he simply couldn’t do anything.

Tears leaked from his eyes as his throat constricted, some part of him was terrifyingly sure he was going to die right there. A smaller part of him welcomed the idea. Harry curled up further, wrapping his arms around himself as if that could keep him together as his world crumbled apart.

It was almost a relief when the first colourful hints of daybreak streaked across the sky outside his window. Harry had not moved from his spot on the floor in hours, his every muscle tense and stiff in the wake of his breakdown. He didn’t like the idea of calling it that, but he couldn’t describe it as anything else. Something inside him had broken, as though something at his very foundation had shifted and given way under a wave of emotion leaving him with only a profound feeling of loss.

Something made him stand now, drew him over to peer out the window and witness the birth of a new day. The soft morning sun made its way into his room, pushing away the darkness that had gathered inside of him. It was the subtlest reminder that nothing had changed and as he'd fought with his inner demons, the rest of the world had calmly carried on without him. It felt rather suddenly as though he could go back, as if he could just pretend everything was okay; pretending was all he was good at.

Mentally he groped for it, searching to recover the strength that had kept him going throughout the worst at the Dursley's. Some trace of the will that had allowed him to hide his fragile self behind one mask or another over the years. But there was nothing left of it just now, and even in discovering that, he felt no surprise. He had spent the better part of these last hours trying to no avail to find some flaw in the truth Snape had exposed him to.

The memory of his parents had always been a source of strength for him. He'd possessed a deep almost instinctual knowledge of their love for him, and had always believed that they would have accepted him. He had never been at home among the relatives who detested him for being like his parents, but the very reason for their dislike had been a hope he'd clung to. He always knew he would have made his real parents proud, even if they were the only ones. He'd never wanted to be like the cold uncaring people he was surrounded by anyway.

When he'd learned the truth of his origins, he'd done his best to continue his parent's legacy. Hiding behind his fame so no one would remember the runty, quiet, disappointing first year that had walked into Hogwarts years ago. He could still recall the sceptical looks he'd received, the whispers that had swelled the moment his back was turned. He could still see the question in everyone's eyes: where was the hero they'd been waiting for?

It had been painful, but he'd learned to smile, to speak out, to pretend he belonged. And then the comments had started. His professors wouldn’t stop gushing about how like his parents he was becoming. They thought him talented and charming and for the first time he felt proud of who they saw in him, even if it wasn’t real.

And he'd wanted so badly for it to be real. He'd worked towards creating that illusion for years. He had hoped it would become easier with time, but it had become increasingly difficult to keep up the lie. It had become so hard to cover the gaps between the person everyone thought he was and his real self. But he always kept it going because he desperately needed to keep that tenuous link he still had to the lives of his parents.

It was as though he had been teetering on the precipice of despair and with the barest touch, Snape had sent him tumbling down into some dark abyss. With one snide comment delivered in a moment of vulnerability, Snape had taken from him the farce on which he'd built his entire reality. Now with nothing to hide behind, he was forced to face the truth.

He wasn’t a legacy, he was a mess.

Harry sighed deeply, turning away from the window and setting himself to get ready for another wretched day.

He made his way down for breakfast at the appointed time. He put on a weak show of derision towards Snape's unsatisfactory efforts to feed him, wondering if he would get a rise out of the man. It was a minimal effort to keep up the usual act, but he hardly felt like going all out. Even so, Snape was content as usual to sip his coffee and ignore his presence altogether.

Relieved that Snape was paying him no mind, he quieted then, but kept a sullen expression on his face should Snape deign to look over at him.

Harry had no doubt that Snape was still curious about the memory he'd seen during last night's lesson, and was perhaps still angry about his attempt to run off. But if so, Snape showed no sign of interest in discussing any of it now, and Harry was not intent on reminding him. He ate as quickly as he could without drawing his professor's attention, wanting to remove himself from the man's company before he could decide to bring up any of yesterday's events.

His throat tightened with some combination of anxiety and anger at himself at the remembrance, and he swallowed his last mouthful of food with some difficulty and hastily excused himself.

***

Severus watched Potter all but run from the room, putting his own unfinished meal aside. It had not escaped his notice that the boy was acting curiously subdued this morning, and Severus was certain it could only be due to the unexpected turn of last night's events. Thinking back, he may have been a bit rougher than necessary with the boy, possibly that was the reason he'd thought he could disappear into the night while Severus slept.

Potter could not have known that Severus had been wide awake when the wards went off, and that he would reach front door in moments to investigate the breach. Perhaps the boy had not slept much after that. Sleep had not claimed Severus ultimately either. Long repressed visions of Lily had plagued him all throughout the night. He could not help but regret having pushed so far back into Potter's memories. Having reawakened painful recollections in his own mind was proving to be acutely torturous.

Even so, Severus wanted nothing more than to revisit the boy's mind. It was all too easy to forget the more favourable side of the boy's parentage, but now that he knew there was still a vestige of Lily's life left in the boy. No matter how painful it would be, he felt compelled to gain access to any early memories the boy possessed. Did he not owe her that much? It was the least he could do to share in the pain he himself had played an integral role in causing her.

However, Severus recognized wallowing in self-pity was hardly a productive usage of his time. He stood, vanishing the remnants of breakfast with a flick of his wand and removing the dirty dishes to the sink to be dealt with later. He left the kitchen behind, heading downstairs. He sought to immerse himself in a more productive task, anything to stop him from indulging in sombre reminiscence of what was past.

He entered the basement potions lab with some reluctance. He was not overly fond of the small cluttered space, especially when compared to the spacious accommodations of his Hogwarts facilities. Although he had purchased the ingredients and equipment he needed to bring the lab up to date, there was still much work to be done in organising and putting away the new materials. Regrettably, he would not be able to brew comfortably for several days hence.

When the house had passed into his possession years ago, the first thing Severus had done was to renovate to create a suitable space for his potions work. The room was located on the middle floor and was significantly larger and better furnished. Unfortunately, there had been an incident that had rendered the room unusable for a time. He had been forced to set up a temporary lab in the basement. But his thrown together lab had stopped being temporary as time passed without signs of improvement in the original. He had eventually moved away without giving it further thought, an act he now lamented.

However, the task of organising the sorry room was not what had brought him to the lab at that moment. He spotted the item he was looking for just where he had left it. Of late he had begun tampering with the recipes for several outdated potions and yesterday he had been very lucky indeed to find an out of print volume of Ancient Potions of the Most Obscure Order. He planned on perusing its contents before lunch, it was certain to be illuminating. He took the precious tome back upstairs into the sitting room, setting light to the fireplace and settling down beside it.

Within minutes he was utterly absorbed in his reading. He was unaware of the passing of time until a violent burst of light and sound stole his attention. Severus was on his feet with his wand at the ready by the time Albus Dumbledore stepped out from the fireplace. A curse died on his lips as Severus recognized the figure beneath the mantel.

He lowered his wand instantly, cautiousness replaced by a moderate curiosity. “What brings you here so suddenly, Albus? Has something happened?” he queried.

“My apologies, Severus. My intention was not to startle you,” the old wizard said with a twinkle in his eye that belied his words. “I merely wished to check in.”

Severus grimaced. “Is that so. Well in that case, there has been little change in the situation on my end. The boy continues to frustrate and annoy, and I remain convinced these lessons are a wasted endeavour.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I see. So he has not progressed, that is indeed disappointing. However it is early and Harry is a gifted child to be sure, you must give him more time before making any final judgements.”

Severus's lip curled with unchecked loathing. The headmaster may believe the boy was special, but Severus had encountered nothing but evidence to the contrary. “I fear you may be wrong in that regard, Albus,” he said blandly. “But surely hearing my trite observations cannot be the only reason for your visit.”

“Indeed it is not,” he said gravely. “As you are well aware, Voldemort is on the move once more and, no doubt emboldened by the inaction of the ministry, he is growing more dangerous by the day.”

“What has happened, Albus?” Severus prodded.

“A second attempt has been made to retrieve the prophecy. Broderick Bode has been admitted to St. Mungo's for his efforts, however we cannot know the circumstances in their entirety until he is well again. Although I do believe we can confidently assert that this will not be the last attempt.” The headmaster paused to let the information sink in. “Tell me, has Harry had any visions since last we spoke?”

Severus shook his head slightly. “Not to my knowledge, I would have informed you if he had,” he answered, deciding not to take offence from the question.

Dumbledore looked slightly relieved. “That is good news. It appears Voldemort has not targeted Harry's mind as of yet, perhaps your instruction is helping more than you credit.”

“Perhaps,” Severus replied non-committally. “I do wish you would reconsider your stance on informing the boy of the prophecy. Even if he cannot know its contents, at the very least he should be apprised of its existence.”

The headmaster eyed him carefully. “I am sorry, Severus, however I strongly believe that is information best left unknown. What we have discussed here must remain between you and I alone, it is far too dangerous otherwise.”

“I understand your hesitation, however we must think through the consequences of leaving him so utterly in the dark. You have not seen him in his lessons as I have, the boy simply does not care. If I could be allowed to explain even in part–”

“I must insist that you do not,” Dumbledore cut in sharply. “We cannot have him attempting to seek it out. Should Harry find out about the prophecy we could very well be giving up the one advantage that could ensure our victory. Indeed I have put him in your capable hands because you have proven your ability to overcome great odds. If Harry refuses to learn, I expect you will find a way to persuade him without divulging more than he is required to know.”

Severus knew there would be no talking the old man out of his carefully plotted machinations. “As you say, Albus,” he conceded with a sigh. “But what about the unfortunate matter of–” He stopped short, certain he had just seen a movement in the periphery of his vision. “Show yourself, Potter. I know you are there,” he commanded.

Guilty green eyes looked in from the doorway as the boy stepped into the light. “Hello, Professor...Oh, I didn’t realise you were here too, Professor Dumbledore. Am I interrupting?”

“How much did you hear?” Severus asked.

Potter cocked his head, and furrowed his brow. “I didn’t hear anything, I'd only just got here when you called to me.” The boy lied rather unconvincingly, how he had managed to so completely fool so many of his colleagues Severus would never understand.

“This is no time to lie, Potter,” he said, a threat lurking just beneath the surface.

“Come now, Severus,” Dumbledore chided, “there is no reason to assume he is lying.”

“I do not need to assume anything, it is written all over the boy's face.”

“I'm sorry, really. You’re clearly in the middle of something, I’ll just come round later,” Potter said, the picture of innocence.

“No need to worry, Mr. Potter. I was just on my way out.” The elder wizard turned back to Severus. “Do have a think on what we discussed,” he said, turning towards the fireplace.

“Wait!” Potter blurted, “if you have a moment, I...er...can't we talk for a bit?” Severus noted a touch of desperation in the boy's voice, and the judging by the blotches of colour that appeared on his cheeks, Potter must have realised it as well.

The headmaster shook his head, suddenly appearing preoccupied. “Perhaps another time. I must see to several matters which still await my attention.”

Potter nodded slowly, regaining his composure. “Right, of course.”

With a wave and an explosion of green, the headmaster was gone and Severus immediately rounded on the younger wizard.

“Well, what did you want then?” he demanded sharply, annoyed that their meeting had been cut short because of the boy.

“Sir?”

Severus pursed his lips, attempting to find some hidden vestige of patience within himself. “I believed it to be a simple enough question, and yet here you are gawping at me like a fish. Obviously some triviality has brought you from the comfort of your room before mealtime. So I will say it slowly this time: what is it you want?”

Potter struggled for a moment, likely trying to bring forth what he believed to be a persuasive and articulate speech, one he'd likely been rehearsing just before he'd begun eavesdropping, Severus thought dubiously.

Then suddenly he squared his shoulders and spoke boldly. “I'd like permission to go outside. You can't keep me inside forever and I need a break from this horrid, bleak excuse for a house.”

Already tiring of Potter's presence, Severus pushed aside his irritation at the boy's blatant disrespect. “And what of your assignments?”

“They're nearly finished. But like I said, I just need a little break.”

“Then I am afraid I will not consider it,” Severus replied coolly. “I have seen the quality of work you produce when left to your own devices. Your assignments take priority and until they are completed your recreation time will continue to be severely limited.”

Potter's expression darkened and Severus braced himself for a tantrum. “My work isn’t going to improve if I have to be miserable the whole time I'm working on it. I still have weeks after all, a couple of hours isn’t going to hurt anything.”

“I have already given you my answer, Potter. I suggest you return to your room or–”

“Or you'll drag me there and lock me in, right?” Potter spat. “I'm not your prisoner and I won't let you treat me like one!”

In a fluid motion Severus's hand whipped out pointing one slender finger into Harry's chest and pushing him with ease back towards the wall. Eyes wide, Potter stumbled backward, keenly aware of how effortlessly he was overpowered. Severus did not fall back and too quickly for the boy to think of a countermeasure, he had Potter pinned against the wall with nowhere to run.

Severus leaned forward menacingly until they were nearly nose to nose and Potter recoiled as far as he was able.

“You liken your accommodations here to imprisonment? That is a gross exaggeration, but hardly a surprise coming from one who has never experienced any actual hardship. If you think you are suffering now, believe me when I say it could be much worse. I know spells that would have you chained to your desk writing until your hands cramped and your fingers bled while your eyes shrivelled and dried in their sockets. I could easily ensure that you never experienced another moment of contentment in this house. With a snap of my fingers I could have you begging for the luxury of simply being left alone in your room. You should consider yourself fortunate for the ample patience I have shown you thus far.”

“You...you wouldn’t actually...Dumbledore wouldn’t let you...” The teen was flustered and there was nothing approaching conviction behind his words.

A mirthless smile spread his thin lips. “Whatever the privileges you had in the past, I am under no obligation to provide the same level of comfort and freedom as you have received from your family or even at Hogwarts. I am here to ensure that you learn, and it doesn’t matter if you find my methods unfair because no one will come and “save” you no matter how loudly you complain. The headmaster has given me a goal and I can assure you he hasn’t the faintest concern for how I go about achieving it.”

Severus took in Potter's rapidly paling features with satisfaction and straightened himself. He let his hand fall away to clasp the other behind his back as he stepped away. Potter, for once correctly assessing his disadvantageous position, kept his silence. Perhaps he was getting through to the boy after all.

Still, Severus let the boy squirm for a moment before continuing. “However, if you are truly so miserable, I am in this instance willing to compromise.”

Potter blinked, bewilderment succeeding his earlier fear. Naturally, those were not the next words he'd expected to hear. He smiled eagerly, but a moment later his face clouded with unease.

“What did you have in mind?” Potter asked suspiciously, as though Severus would change his mind at any moment and chain him to his desk after all. But Severus had said it and he meant it. He knew just what he'd have the boy do.

“I believe it could be beneficial for both of us if I allowed you to burn off a little of your excess energy. Therefore, you will be putting aside your holiday assignments this afternoon in favour of a few chores.”

The boy deflated, and Severus could practically see his excitement dissolving back into an intangible wisp of longing.

Potter crossed his arms and scowled. “Chores again? Forget it. I'll just go back to my room,” he said, manoeuvring around his professor to get at the door.

Severus swiftly side-stepped to block his way. “I was not giving you a choice in the matter, you will begin your task after lunch and that is final, is that understood?”

“Of course, sir.” The boy’s tone was sullen but since he wasn’t actively protesting, Severus was willing to ignore it for now.

“Good.” Severus said by way of dismissal.

Potter glared at him hatefully, his hands clenched into fists but he proceeded wordlessly out of the room as soon as the way was clear.

The boy ate his lunch with exaggerated slowness, as though it could affect what was to come when he at last finished. Severus, however, was unimpressed.

“Potter, cease this stalling at once or I shall be forced to relieve you of your meal,” he snapped after watching for a time with growing impatience.

The instant Potter swallowed his last bite, Severus stood and bid the boy to follow.

Severus led the way down a hall and opened a large door, gesturing his charge inside and following after the boy passed warily into the unfamiliar room.

He cast a shrewd eye on Potter. The boy truly was an open book, unable to keep his simple thoughts from parading all over his face. Potter wrinkled his nose in distaste. Severus was well aware the room had a powerful smell, one which was strange if not entirely unpleasant. Potter glanced around, as though expecting to find the source of the uncomfortable odour, but in finding nothing obvious, he quickly took in the other elements of the room.

The room was lined with cabinets and empty shelves, and in the centre was a labyrinth of counters and worktables. A row of clerestory windows along one wall illuminated the room and allowed a good look at the state of it. Severus could see the growing dismay in the boy's features as he noticed one very important detail.

It was filthy. Everything from the coffered ceiling to the worn laminate floor was covered in dust and grime. Severus watched with a glimmer of amusement as the boy turned back to him.

“What would you have me do?” Potter asked with resignation, already knowing what the answer would be.

“As you can undoubtedly see, this room has not been in use for quite some time. However, since I am to be taking up residence here for the duration of the holidays, I intend to utilize it once more as a potions lab as it is larger and the trappings are superior to the lab located in the basement.”

“If it's so much better, how did you let it get to this state?” the teen asked with an air of petulance.

“It happened years ago when one of my less stable potions exploded. The room was filled with a noxious gas too dangerous to let out or expel by magical means. I was forced to remove everything and furnish a temporary workspace in the basement. I've not had the desire nor the opportunity to tend to it since then,” he finished candidly.

“You managed to explode a potion?” The brat actually sniggered, a sound all too reminiscent of his father and Severus found his ire returning.

Severus scowled. “Yes, Potter. Naturally that was the only detail your infantile mind took away from that narrative. It was an experiment that went wrong, and a far more complex and intricate potion than you could ever hope to comprehend.”

The teen sobered, finally realising the implications of the rest of the story and looked at him with alarm. “You mentioned a poison gas. Is that what this smell is? Is it even safe to breathe in here?” He didn't wait for an answer before covering his nose and stepping outside of the doorway coughing.

Severus all but rolled his eyes at the boy's dramatics. “I'm sure I could find a more inventive way of ensuring your demise, Potter. It has been years since that incident, the gas is no longer present, though it seems to have left a thin film over all the surfaces of the room. That is where you come in: I will provide the tools necessary and you will see to removing it. I am advising you now that magical interaction with the residue is potentially catastrophic, so I suggest you do not try anything “clever”.”

With that, he slipped his wand down into his hand and Accio'd a bucket and scrub brush as well as some gloves and a face mask. He gave the bucket a single tap with his wand and Potter watched unhappily as it filled with warm soapy water.

The Golden Boy looked at the cleaning equipment, disgust and indignation overtaking his features. “So you expect me to get down on my hands and knees and scrub the floor like a common house-elf?”

“Hardly,” Severus replied with a raised brow, “the posture you affect will be left entirely up to you. I will leave you to it, I expect it will take quite some time,” he said, sweeping out of the room and leaving the disgruntled teenager behind.

Severus walked away contented with the dual outcomes of the task he had assigned. If he set the boy to it everyday, it was possible to have his original lab functioning again long before the end of the holiday. And of course it was immensely gratifying to imagine the boy-who-lived engaged in hard labour for what was likely the first time in his pampered life.

However his satisfaction died away once he was no longer in proximity to the boy, and he was quickly overcome once again with the melancholy he'd sought to escape. Being in that room had only exacerbated the intensity of the emotion. It had after all been Lily who had given him the idea to improve the potion in the first place.

It had been a take on one of the first potions they had made together as children outside of Hogwarts. Even though by then it had been years since they'd spoken properly, some part of him had wanted to be able to tell her one day that he'd finally done it. He'd almost believed she would laugh with him again when he told her of his disastrous first attempt. But then she had been killed later that year, long before he had perfected the recipe.

It was then that the painful memories this property held for him began to outweigh the good. It was not long afterwards that he had left the house behind.

He closed his eyes, packing away the memories and emotions securely behind his Occlumency shields. But it left only emptiness behind and in some ways, that was worse.

Once again in desperate need of occupation, Severus returned to the sitting room to carry on with his study. With some effort, reading and annotating the book provided an adequate distraction and it was an hour or so later when he managed to tear himself away from its novel content to check on the boy's progress.

He approached silently, wanting to take Potter by surprise if he was indeed slacking off. He peered into the room, disappointed when he saw that Potter was not lazing about as he had anticipated. In fact he seemed to be engaged in an intense battle with a particularly stubborn patch of filth. After observing for a minute, Severus decided to leave without informing the boy of his inspection.

Severus whipped up a curry and rice for dinner, plating the meal just as the sixth chime of a distant clock rang out. He served himself a generous portion, feeling surprisingly hungry for the first time in a few days. He waited expectantly for Potter to show himself. The boy had been generally punctual when he decided to show up for meals, and he would no doubt be starving and irritable after a proper day's work. The minutes passed and still the boy did not come and with more annoyance than concern, Severus made his way back to that accursed room.

He was met with the rather sorry sight of a weary looking Potter still scrubbing diligently at the walls. It cheered him slightly to see the boy was indeed feeling the effects of his work.

“That is enough for today.” Severus's sharp voice sliced through his concentration and the boy looked up curiously. “Dinner is served and if you wish to partake, now would be the time.”

Potter quickly checked his watch,“I didn’t realise how late it’d got,” he said, climbing unsteadily off of a ladder.

“Clearly. See that you pay attention next time. I will not extend you this courtesy in future.” Severus stepped in and looked around the room. “You have made little progress,” he commented mildly. He left out that the boy had made respectable headway considering the short time allotted.

Potter bristled.“Well I didn't see you jumping in to help.”

Severus ignored the retort. “No matter, there will be plenty of time in the days to come,” he said re-entering the hallway with Potter at his heels.

“I thought you said my assignments were the priority,” he said, struggling to keep up with his professor's long strides.

“Then you will recall I also said I was willing to compromise. I am trusting that you will find a way to balance your time between the two activities.”

Potter seated himself eagerly when they reached the dining area, no doubt welcoming the delightful aroma of food after being shut in that stagnant room for hours on end. He dove right into his meal and Severus watched for a moment with mounting disgust as the teen shovelled forkfuls of food into his gaping mouth. He ate his own meal with considerably less enthusiasm after that.

“Can I ask you a question, sir?” Potter surprised him by breaking the silence and he raised a curious brow in an indication that he could continue.

“I have a couple of guesses already, but...this was obviously a nice house once, what made you stop living here?” he asked.

Severus's neutral countenance twisted and soured, anger creasing his brow. To hear that question posed so flippantly, and by the spawn of the man who's callousness had helped put such a taint on this place no less; it was a mockery he could not abide.

“That is none of your concern.” He spoke so sharply the boy flinched.

Potter back-pedalled frantically. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean–” He was cut short as the professor abruptly stood, ignoring his words.

“Finish your meal, your lesson will begin shortly, do not be late.” The Potions master left in an agitated swirl of robes.

The dam had broken and Severus was positively seething, he wanted nothing more to do with the impudent brat for a time. He knew that his response had been largely irrational. That the boy's question had in all likelihood been innocent. He also realised that by reacting so violently to the inquiry, he had almost certainly aroused the boy's curiosity considerably more than a simple lie would have done.

Even so, he needed every last minute before the lesson began to regain a semblance of calm.

***

Harry stood as soon as Snape entered the sitting room, eyeing the moody professor with apprehension. He had been racking his mind trying to figure out just why the question had affected the man so. But he had not said anything offensive, he had even kept his tone in check in hopes of getting an actual answer. In fact he was almost sure he hadn’t done anything wrong, Snape had simply overreacted to some imagined offence.

Snape didn’t appear to be angry any more, but Harry knew the man was capable of concealing his emotions when he wanted to and he didn’t want to take any chances. He didn’t want a repeat of the aftermath of last night's lesson.

“Professor, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you earlier,” he said as contritely as he could manage.

“You can save your insincere apologies for someone else, Potter. You did not upset me,” the man said. Harry awaited further explanation but none came and he certainly wasn’t going to argue the point if the man didn’t want to speak of it.

“Oh...er, all right. If you say so,” he shrugged, earning himself a narrow-eyed look from Snape.

Without further prevarication, the professor took out his wand, aiming it at his student. “Prepare yourself, we are about to begin.”

“Give me a moment.” Harry quickly took out his own wand, closing his eyes and clearing away all raw thought and emotion and leaving accessible only the most benign memories. It proved more difficult than it had been on the previous day; he was more fatigued than he'd imagined.

Snape of course grew impatient. “Are you ready?”

Harry opened his eyes trying to look more determined than he felt. He was sure Snape was going to try to find the memory he'd stumbled upon yesterday and as much as Harry had tried to prepare for that, there was no guarantee he could keep the man at bay.

“Legilimens!”

He was back in the kitchen watching Snape storm out of the room, utterly baffled by what he'd just witnessed...He was scrubbing the walls, frustration mounting when the grime refused to budge...

Harry felt a distant thrill of surprise. The memories were not the ones he'd anticipated, Snape was only looking at what had happened today. His mind raced, and suddenly he knew what the professor sought after. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to edit a memory when Snape was already in his mind, but he knew he had to try. He located the incriminating memory before Snape did.

He was eating lunch so slowly, his food had long since gone cold....Harry pulled the memory apart, removing a portion from the centre. He was in his room, angry and dreading whatever task Snape had in store....He took the bulk of the memory, packing it away with all of his more unpleasant memories. Dumbledore disappeared into the flames, if only he knew what he'd done wrong....He pieced the remains of the memory back together. He hears a faint voice from the sitting room and walks over as Snape calls him inside...

Snape pulled out of his mind frowning slightly. “It seems you were telling the truth after all,” he said more to himself than to Harry. Harry had found himself as usual on the ground panting, but this time it was with both exhaustion and exhilaration that he'd somehow managed to fool the man. In reality, Snape's suspicions had been entirely correct. Harry had heard almost everything that had passed between the two older wizards in this room earlier.

The knowledge that they were hiding something that could be so important to him had infuriated him. Who were they to say how much he should know about his own life? When would they finally learn that he could handle the whole truth? He wasn’t a child any more and he fully intended to find out what they were hiding from him the moment the opportunity arose.

He stood as he got his breath back, and Snape went on his usual tirade.

“That was miserable as usual, Potter. I encountered no resistance whatsoever from you and I was able to navigate through your alarmingly simplistic mind with ease. We will go again.”

Harry prepared himself for a second round, feeling rather more confident this time.

“Legilimens!”

Cho Chang was drawing nearer to him under the mistletoe...A hundred dementors were closing in on him beside the dark lake... Hermione was lying in the hospital wing, her face covered with thick black hair...He was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin...

No, no, no, no...Harry fought to push the man away, he was going in too deep. But Snape hardly seemed to notice his efforts. The images continued to flash by, the memories getting older.

He was ten, watching Uncle Vernon hammering the letter box shut... He was seven and Piers was shoving his face into a toilet, his cousin laughing behind him...He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy...

“Stop!” He lunged forward blindly going for Snape and the man’s presence left his mind on contact. They both fell to the floor but Harry immediately scrambled back to his feet, certain the now enraged man would throttle him if he stayed too close.

“What the bloody hell are you thinking, Potter?” he snarled, rising swiftly. “How many times must I repeat myself before it penetrates that exceptionally dense skull of yours: You must resist me with your mind. Occlumency requires masterful self-control and a refined psyche, your barbaric methods will get you nowhere!”

Harry almost by habit went on the defensive. “I'm trying! I've done everything you said and it hasn’t made a bit of difference! Besides, it worked didn’t it?”

“It did no such thing,” the professor snapped. “I retreated from your mind of my own volition. The Dark Lord will tear your underdeveloped mind to shreds if this is the apex of your ability!”

“I don’t think there will be much left after you’re done with it,” Harry grumbled, massaging his throbbing temples.

Snape sneered down at him, eyes hard and devoid of sympathy. “You will become accustomed to the sensation over time. I will not be going easy on you, it is imperative that you improve quickly. Now, prepare yourself.”

His wand was pointing at Harry again and he had to suppress a groan. He was still panting slightly and he was so knackered he could hardly keep himself upright, but he resolved that even if he had to tackle the man again, he would not let Snape see any more.

Harry took a shaky breath and braced himself, focusing on a particular memory as the professor cried “Legilimens!”.

A hundred dementors were swooping towards him across the lake in the grounds...They were coming closer...He could see the dark holes beneath their hoods...yet this time, he could also see Snape standing in front of him, his eyes fixed upon Harry’s face, muttering under his breath... Somehow, Snape was growing clearer, and the dementors were growing fainter...

Harry raised his own wand.

“Protego!”

Snape staggered, his wand flying away from Harry and suddenly the scenes flashing through his mind were entirely unfamiliar.

A hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner...A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies...A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick...

“ENOUGH!” Snape roared and Harry felt as though he had been pushed hard in the chest. He lurched backward, nearly losing his footing. Snape was shaking slightly, his face drained of blood.

He was so disoriented it took Harry a moment to realise what he'd done. Somehow he had broken into Snape's own memories! He grinned at the rattled man before him, revelling in the shock of his victory, that is, until a moment later the room tilted on its side and everything went dark.

Harry meandered unhurriedly back to consciousness, thoughts rambling along a confused, bleary path. He opened his eyes, wincing against a stab of sunlight that threatened to blind him. It was already morning then. He wasn't sure why he found that vaguely surprising, though now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember going to bed at all.

Dismissing the thought, he stretched languidly; somehow he felt more rested than he’d done in weeks. He sat up with a reluctant slowness, wanting to linger in this relaxed state, but his stomach gurgled its discontent at the possibility of missing breakfast. Besides, he didn't want to give Snape any more reason to be cross with him.

He stiffened. In a sudden rush, the tranquil fog that shrouded his mind was whisked away as a whirlwind of memories filled in the events from the previous night. He’d managed to successfully get Snape out of his head and more stunningly yet, had somehow forced his way through Snape’s defences. He was sure he’d been witnessing the man’s memories. And he had to admit it felt good knowing that for once it had been Snape and not himself left feeling exposed.

Harry smiled inwardly at this undeniable evidence of progress. Of course he wasn’t so delusional as to think he’d find Snape eager to offer him congratulations. The man had been rather upset by the invasion and likely still was considering Harry had gone and passed out before he could be properly chastised.

But then Harry also had hazy memories of drifting in and out of sleep and finding Snape beside him mumbling various oaths and giving him potions. He remembered his head had been in terrible agony but there was no trace of the pain now, and not so much as a tingle in his scar. He rubbed at it anyway, as though afraid the sensation might return at the suggestion. He couldn’t help but wonder why Snape hadn’t just left him to suffer as he'd done previously; the man had made it abundantly clear that no one would’ve cared had he not bothered.

Harry shrugged away his incredulity. Whatever Snape’s motivations, it had benefited Harry well enough in the end. Feeling light on his feet, Harry was showered and groomed within twenty minutes and made his way to the kitchen with time to spare before breakfast. Still, Snape had already set everything out on the table and he himself was seated in his usual place.

“Good morning, Professor,” Harry said amicably as he sat; his enduring good mood even in the presence of Snape was a testament to the wondrous effects a restful night could have.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter. I trust you are recovered?” Snape asked, eyeing him critically.

“Yes, sir. I think so. Whatever you gave me seemed to do the trick,” he said, quickly growing uncomfortable under the man's scrutiny.

“I am surprised you remember.”

“Yeah, well, my memory’s a bit muddled actually, so I’m not entirely sure what happened,” Harry said.

“You attempted to expel me from your mind through the usage of a Shield Charm.” Snape didn’t mention the breach of his own memories and while his tone remained neutral, Harry imagined he could detect a hint of displeasure in the man’s expression. “I suspect that after a laborious day, that final endeavour pushed you beyond your limit causing you to pass out from the cumulative exhaustion.”

Harry cringed, feeling slightly embarrassed though he wasn’t sure why. “Right. Erm, well for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what happened. It wasn’t intentional.”

Snape waved a dismissive hand. “I take full responsibility. I should have recognized that your body, similar to your mind, is undisciplined; your muscles weak and neglected. That much is plain to see simply by looking at you. Naturally, I should have accounted for that before I assigned to you such a demanding task.”

Harry scowled, he thought himself to be in pretty decent physical condition considering everything his body had been put through. But this time he chose not to rise to the bait. “What I meant was, I'm sorry I broke into your memories,” he ground out.

Snape shook his greasy head. “Again, your apology is unnecessary.” Harry crossed his arms, preparing himself for another passive insult. “What you achieved last night was the very first indication that you possess some potential to advance in your Occlumency studies. You demonstrated a level of focus which I, based on your previous performance, was beginning to believe was hopelessly beyond your capabilities.”

Harry hesitated, swallowing a defensive retort as he processed what the professor meant. “Did you just compliment me?” he asked, unable to hide a baffled grin. It was a minimal compliment, mildly disparaging in light of his efforts actually, but coming from Snape it felt huge. For once it seemed Snape was maintaining a rather decent mood too.

“It was not so much a compliment as it was merely a statement of fact. I will not deny that it was a slight improvement, however there is still a tremendous amount of work to be done on your part. A Shield Charm is hardly the most effective way to accomplish your final goal; and I will warn you now that such a tactic will fail miserably against the Dark Lord.”

Harry nodded, his grin fading only when Snape returned to his custom of reading the paper and pretending Harry didn’t exist. Harry ate his breakfast thoughtfully, trying to remember what exactly had been different about that last time. But even as he finished eating he had still failed to pinpoint any useful variation from his other attempts.

He excused himself, heading back upstairs, but not before Snape graciously reminded him that he would still be spending the afternoon scrubbing, albeit for a shorter duration.

Harry's good mood disappeared rather quickly with no one to share it with. He found himself working halfheartedly on his assignments for a little while. He was much closer to finishing them than he had let on, and he didn’t want to be left with nothing to do. He shuddered to think how Snape would help him occupy any more free time.

He put his quill down when he realised he was spending more time staring distractedly out of the window than actually working. He wished it was the Hogwarts grounds he was looking down on instead of the unattractive housing across the street. Then at least he would still be connected to the wizarding world, and more importantly, be near his friends. He missed them sorely. So much had happened in the last few days, and he was itching to tell them about everything.

He shoved his books to the side, and took out a fresh piece of parchment. He may not be able to see anyone but he could at least write to them, it had only been a few days since he'd seen them but they felt so distant from him now. Receiving any correspondence would be a huge relief.

He wrote down everything from how he was settling in, to his Occlumency progress that even Snape had to compliment him on (regardless of what the man called it), to all the things he'd overheard about Voldemort and a prophecy that seemed to involve him in some way.

He finished the letter and looked it over, wondering if he could add anything, and how his friends would react to all of it. It was only then that he remembered how he wouldn’t be allowed to send out any letters without Snape reading them over first. Snape had said as much on the very first day. There was no way he could allow the man, who was already distrustful to the point of paranoia when it came to Harry, to see what he had just written.

Harry groaned, crumpling up the parchment and chucking it in the bin with more force than probably necessary. A moment later, he thought better of it, and dug into his trunk until he found an old match book he'd used for transfiguration practice. He didn’t want to risk Snape finding the letter and he wasn’t sure he could use incendiary magic in his room without Snape being alerted. He struck one and dropped it in the bin, watching grimly as the letter burned away to nothing.

He flopped onto his bed with a sigh, feeling unbearably frustrated and restless. Just writing the letter had been a somewhat cathartic exercise but he still hated feeling so isolated and so powerless to do anything about it. Even if Snape was a wizard, the man was so closed off it was nearly as bad as being stuck with the Dursley's.

He just wanted someone who didn’t hate him to talk to, he would have even settled for a house elf. Of course, with his luck he'd probably end up stuck with another Kreacher. He sat up, an idea striking him suddenly. Would Snape let him spend Christmas at Grimmauld place? It only had to be one day, he’d even settle for just half the day, and it would make for a much more enjoyable holiday. It would be just what he needed, and the more he thought about it, the more Harry convinced himself that if he presented his case properly, he could get Snape to agree to it.

When lunchtime rolled around, Harry just about ran down the stairs, hoping Snape's mood had held up better than his own. He greeted the man and received a slight nod in return, then sat down trying to discreetly judge if the professor would be as neutral as he'd been earlier. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Harry decided it would be all right to broach the subject.

“So, erm, Christmas is the day after tomorrow,” Harry began, then hesitated, not losing his nerve, but feeling the need to be cautious with his wording.

Snape stared at him impatiently. “You have a stunning gift for stating the obvious, Potter. What is your point?”

Harry sighed, was it even possible to have an accommodating conversation with the man? “Okay, I'll just get on with it then. I was wondering if you’d let me go to Grimmauld Place for the day? You know, to see my godfather, and maybe my friends too if they can come round for a bit.” Snape arched a brow in a way that didn’t look promising and Harry continued in a rush, “It doesn’t even have to be the whole day, I could still be back in time for Occlumency of course, if that's what you want.”

Snape gave an irritated sigh. “It is not what I want, it’s what you should want, Potter. These lessons are chiefly for your benefit if you recall. However, my answer is no.” The terse reply left Harry momentarily stunned; in all the possibilities he imagined, he hadn’t considered such an outright dismissal.

“No?”

“That is correct.” Snape returned his attention to his meal.

“What? There must be some reason, how can you just say no? What about a compromise?”

The professor's mouth twisted with annoyance. “You requested my permission and I have denied it. You should have been prepared for this outcome; or did you think I would simply bow to your every whim on command?”

“You didn’t even consider it!” Harry shot back testily, wondering why he was even surprised that the man would be so ridiculously inflexible.

“My answer is final and petulantly arguing the point is certainly not going to do you any favours,” Snape hissed.

Harry leapt up from his chair with enough force to send it tottering back, surprising himself with his own vehemence, but he was too exasperated now to care. “I won't accept that if you can't even tell me why! Can't you see this is important to me? Or do you hate me so much you just can't stomach even the thought of me being happy?”

Snape rose from his own chair, eyes blazing. “Control yourself, Potter! It is this kind of childish behavior that only serves to further my abhorrence for such a superfluous celebration.”

“Superfluous celebration...?” Harry gaped at the man in disbelief. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Harry let out a wry bark of a laugh. “Why am I surprised? Someone like you who has nobody who cares for or even likes him? Of course you'd hate a holiday that brings people together!” Harry spat.

“Enough! You will cease your insolence this instant!” Snape thundered, but Harry didn’t intend to hold back now, not after he’d already gone this far.

“Look, you might be hated by everyone who’s ever crossed your path but I'm not! I have friends and family out there who would happily see me home; so if you won't let me go, I’ll find my own way there and you can just rot here alone in this dank hole where you belong!” Harry was breathless by the end, he'd rarely been so genuinely enraged.

They both fell silent. The fiery rage in the older wizard had been extinguished and Snape looked down on him with black eyes cold and hard as coal. Harry met his gaze steadily, but he felt his own temper quail under the man’s stare. At last the professor spoke.

“Get. Out.”

Harry marched from the room without another word.

The first thing Harry did when he reached his bedroom was sick up in a fit of anxiety. He knew he’d acted like a right idiot, and in doing so, surely obliterated any chance there had been of getting to see anyone who cared about him anytime soon. He'd stupidly gone off on Snape, giving in to his already deeply entrenched dislike for the man and his growing frustration over his isolation. It had felt good for that moment to vent, but now that it was over he was absolutely terrified of what Snape was going to do to him.

He made his way over to his bed and sat himself in its center drawing his knees up to his chest. He stayed there watching the door, half certain that at any moment Snape was going to burst through and Crucio him to the brink of insanity.

Of course no such thing happened, but it took Harry a long while before he was able to convince himself enough time had passed for Snape to calm down some. Harry got up, opened his door and leaned out just enough to listen for any indication that Snape was lurking nearby. After a minute, when he was sure there was nothing to be heard, he cautiously advanced into the hallway and crept down the stairs.

He was determined to make his way unseen to the absurdly grimy potions lab he’d been introduced to yesterday. Harry doubted Snape would be willing to hear an apology from him just yet, so he’d decided that if there was any way to mollify the man it would be by giving a show of obedience. He was willing to try at least, especially since he hadn’t resented the chore the way Snape probably imagined he would. He wouldn’t say he found it enjoyable, but the mindless physical task had helped to ease some of his agitation. He hoped continuing today would again provide a welcome distraction from the building stress of his existence here.

Harry donned his cleaning gear, taking up the scrub brush in one hand and the bucket in the other, steeling himself to start in on this gruelling task once again. He worked as diligently as he’d done yesterday, if not a bit more so, using the time to practice clearing away his muddled thoughts and emotions and simply focus on the task at hand. He found his anxieties began to fall away and soon, he was only distantly troubled by his imminent punishment.

It was nearly six when he stopped, he’d kept track of the time today, knowing that if there remained any possibility of getting dinner, it would be lost if he was late again. He made his way through the halls and over to the dining area, taking all the time he could without being late. He wished he could avoid the inevitability of what was coming, but he knew he couldn’t just do nothing. He took a deep breath and entered the kitchen, ready at least to attempt an apology–

Only to find the room quite dark and empty with no sign of Snape having been recently inside. So no dinner then. Harry's shoulders drooped; he wasn't exactly shocked, but it was still disappointing especially since he hadn't kept his lunch down.

It occurred to him that Snape hadn’t made anything for himself either. In fact, Harry hadn’t heard or sensed the man at all since his outburst, only now he had the presence of mind to wonder where the professor could have gone. He hated having to actively seek the man out when clearly Snape wanted nothing to do with him, but Harry still wanted to try and set things between them to rights if it were possible. He went about warily searching the house for any sign that he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t long before he reached the sitting room, the only room that showed any trace of use.

Snape had definitely been there, just perhaps not within the last hour or so. While the fireplace had been lit, the flames were so low it was clear it hadn’t been tended for some time. But something else seized Harry’s attention, because in the dim glow of the dying fire, yet another light was visible. A pulsing silvery light shone from atop the mantelpiece, drawing Harry towards it. He recognized the source of the enchanting light to be a Pensieve and he peered inside watching as its pearlescent contents ebbed and swirled.

Harry felt a rush of excitement, his eyes widening with the realisation that in front of him could be a stash of Snape’s memories. No doubt the professor was taking precautions just in case Harry found a way to break into his mind again. That meant there was a good chance that whatever Snape had secreted away, it had something to do with Harry. He just couldn’t afford to pass over this chance, especially if he could find out any more information about the prophecy everyone was hiding from him.

Harry hesitated, glancing quickly around the room to reassure himself that he was still alone, and found the house as still and silent as it had been moments ago. Harry took out his wand, his heart was pounding in his chest but he felt confident enough that Snape would not likely return to this room in the next few minutes. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand. The matter flowing within began to swirl more rapidly, becoming transparent as he watched. With a burst of conviction, Harry took in a gulp of air and plunged his face into the depths until suddenly he was tipping right into the Pensieve.

He was tumbling through icy blackness, flailing wildly, but without warning he found himself abruptly standing with two feet firmly planted on the ground. He stared, confused and trying to mentally orient himself. He’d been expecting closed doors and paths to hidden secrets but instead he was standing in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds on a bright Summer day.

He looked around and nearly started when he saw, sitting in the shade of some bushes, a clearly recognizable, but decidedly much younger, Snape. He’d barely had time to contemplate how the teen-aged Snape could lead him to the prophecy when Snape hastily stood and began striding away briskly. Harry jumped to follow close behind.

“All right, Snivellus?”

A voice shouted out but before Harry could even think to react, Snape was already spinning on his heel and whipping out his wand. Harry halted, alarmed by Snape’s lightning fast reaction, though it wasn’t quite fast enough because a quickly uttered ‘Expelliarmus!’ from the other party sent his wand flying before he had it even half raised. Reflexively, Harry gripped his own wand as he turned to face the threat.

He gaped, struck by an overpowering giddiness as he recognized a teen-aged James headed in his direction. From this distance the resemblance to Harry was uncanny, it was eerily like watching a slightly altered version of himself coming right towards him. Walking beside James was another teen whom Harry realised with glee was undoubtedly Sirius. They looked to be right around his own age. He’d never dreamed he’d get a chance to see James like this, that he’d have a chance to confirm for himself any of the brilliant stories he’d heard about the person he’d tried so hard for so long to emulate. He relaxed his wand hand, smiling so wide it hurt.

“Impedimenta!” Sirius shouted the incantation and Snape, who’d been leaping to retrieve his wand, thudded to the ground. A jolt of surprise yanked Harry from his awe stricken state. Harry wondered what Snape had done to provoke this kind of ambush, immediately reasoning that he must be witnessing some sort of reckoning. It wasn’t a stretch to think Snape had done something characteristically awful, forcing James to retaliate. It only made sense that Snape would hide a memory like that, especially if this was a victory for the Marauders.

Harry observed the crowd gathering around them, students looked on with expressions ranging from amusement to unease. James and Sirius approached the impotently furious Snape, wands at the ready.

Harry watched curiously, wondering just what they thought Snape capable of seeing as he was defenseless. But James and Sirius only began to mock Snape, rather theatrically Harry thought, and it was obvious to Harry that they were pandering to their audience. Snape, still mostly immobilised, could only indulge in muttering swears and hexes at his captors. Of course without his wand, his limited efforts didn’t have the desired effects. James just looked down at Snape without sympathy and cast a ‘Scourgify’ that had Snape suddenly choking on the stream of soap bubbles which came pouring from his mouth.

Harry found himself feeling increasingly uncomfortable as he watched the scene unfold. It felt wrong seeing Snape like that, even if it was just his teenage self. He hadn’t had any desire to see Snape being humiliated, whatever the reason. It was especially troubling to watch James, who seemed to be enjoying the reactions he was getting from the crowd, but who looked at Snape with such callous indifference. Something about that unsettled Harry, because this didn’t feel like a grand, justified retribution, it felt closer to what Harry had seen in his cousin and his lackeys when they would gang up on him just because they were bored.

He was suddenly terribly aware that he shouldn’t even be seeing any of this. There was no reason to stay now, it was already clear this had nothing to do with Harry at all. It didn't help that he'd lived through plenty of similar experiences. He had a feeling he knew how this would end, and he didn't want to see it.

“Leave him alone!”

It only took Harry a second to recognize Lily as the source of the protest. The dark red hair and those brilliantly green eyes, eyes just the same as Harry’s, were unmistakable. Harry grinned, his concerns momentarily forgotten as the teen-aged version of his mother approached.

Harry looked back to James, who had swiftly taken on a wholly different demeanor, one clearly aimed to charm. He greeted Lily, his voice now manifesting a deeper, more pleasantly mature quality.

Lily was unmoved. “Leave him alone. What’s he done to you?”

“Well, it’s more the fact that he exists if you know what I mean. Besides, what’s wrong with trying to liven things up…”

Harry’s stomach churned unpleasantly upon hearing those words come from James, that ugly sentiment was one which had so often been aimed at Harry for as long as he could remember. He had hoped what he’d sensed was wrong and now he wasn’t sure how to handle the confirmation. Harry had heard many words used to describe his father’s attributes and cruel had never been among them, but James was acting like a bully, and Harry couldn’t excuse it even if the victim was Snape.

“You think you're funny, but you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.” Harry felt a vague sense of relief at hearing his thoughts echoed by Lily. That she seemed to feel just the opposite as James was about as encouraging as it was confusing.

James drew himself up. “I will if you go out with me, Evans. Say yes and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”

Harry barely heard Lily’s exasperated refusal as his attention shifted to Snape, who, with the jinx wearing off, had finally managed to close the distance between himself and his wand unnoticed by the others. Snape pointed his wand at James and unleashed a spell Harry couldn’t identify. Sirius called out to warn his unsuspecting friend but it was too late. A slash appeared on James’ face and James whirled in a fury to counter attack. In an instant James had Snape suspended upside down with his robes falling over his head leaving Snape’s pale, scrawny legs and dingy underpants exposed.

Harry watched the events with growing dismay. The students around them laughed and cheered while Lily continued to fight with James to leave Snape alone. Eventually, James relented and released the spell, letting Snape fall to the ground in a heap.

He had seen enough, Harry decided, more than enough actually, and he wanted out. But now he thought about it, he had no idea how to leave the Pensieve by himself. Perhaps it was a physical motion he had to perform, or could he just imagine himself leaving?

“I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” Snape’s harsh words snapped Harry’s attention back to the happenings around him. Had Snape disliked his mother too, even as she'd defended him? They didn't seem to be enemies but that he'd looked down on her anyway wasn’t terribly surprising; Snape hadn’t become a Death Eater out of nowhere. Although it did make him wonder again why Snape never spoke of her.

Lily appeared only momentarily surprised before responding with impressive equanimity, “Fine, I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.”

James however, rounded on Snape, furious. “Apologise to Evans!”

“I don’t want you to make him apologise, you’re as bad as he is,” Lily shouted.

Harry fought off a sudden wave of nausea as he quickly tried to refocus on his goal of getting out of the Pensieve. He looked around desperately for a way out but he saw nothing but the Hogwarts grounds surrounding him. When he’d entered it had felt like he was falling, maybe if he tried jumping… but a quick test of that theory proved him wrong and left him feeling a little silly. So he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the distraction of Lily quarreling with James over his repulsive behavior, and imagine himself rising back out of the Pensieve.

Nothing happened, and Harry sighed and opened his eyes, supposing he’d just have to wait until the memory concluded. But to Harry’s horror, James had Snape up in the air again and was now threatening to remove Snape’s pants.

Harry didn’t know if James was likely to see the threat all the way through, but he did not want to risk finding out. He abruptly decided that waiting out the memory somewhere along its edges would be his least distasteful option.

He turned and promptly slammed right into a soft wall of black. Harry staggered back, looking up in surprise, he hadn’t thought anything in a memory was supposed to be so tangible. But he found, to his absolute horror, a fully grown, thoroughly enraged Snape looking down on him.

“Having fun?” Snape didn’t wait for a response, he grabbed Harry’s upper arm with a strength that had him wincing and Harry immediately felt himself rising into the air. It wasn’t long before he was back in Snape’s sitting room standing in front of a revived fire.

“So,” Snape was almost too angry to speak. “So…been enjoying yourself, Potter?” He was still gripping Harry’s arm so tightly Harry was already losing feeling in that hand.

“N-no…” Harry said, now straining to free his arm.

Unable to escape, Harry tried to hide his terror; the man was clearly on the verge of losing control; Snape’s lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth bared. “Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” said Snape, shaking Harry so hard that he almost lost his glasses.

“It wasn’t–” Harry tried, but Snape wasn't listening. He all but threw Harry from him and Harry fell hard onto the floor.

“You will not share what you saw with anybody!”

“No,” said Harry, as he righted himself and put as much distance as he could between them. “No, of course I wo–”

“Pack your things, I don't want you spending another minute in my house!”

“I–”

“GO!”

Harry shot out of the room and virtually flew up the stairs to his bedroom. He practically slammed the door shut behind him in his eagerness to get a barrier between himself and Snape. He collapsed against the door as he tried to get his breath back. He was panting and his limbs were trembling but it had little to do with his exertion, and while Snape had frightened him, he was reacting to something bigger because the meaning of everything that had just transpired was almost too overwhelming to bear.

It was the first time he’d been able to see what his parents were like first hand. He’d created such a clear impression in his mind of who they had been just by how everyone around him had spoken of them. He’d never had any trouble accepting the nostalgia tinted recollections of their characters that had made Harry feel so proud to be their son. And he’d never had much difficulty dismissing the few who spoke of those same treasured qualities as though they were faults.

Now he couldn’t overlook the truth when it was right in front of him and nothing he’d seen matched the hallowed image of his father that he’d clung to. How much of it had been based on distorted perceptions and outright lies? There was nothing endearing or charismatic about what James had done. His father had appeared every bit as selfish and arrogant as Snape had claimed. Harry had never considered that all this time Snape was the one seeing things clearly. Did Snape see something like that in Harry?

But Harry could never be like that, regardless of what Snape said, because he knew what it was like to be humiliated in front of a group of jeering onlookers; only no one had ever spoken out for him.

Except, maybe under everything he pretended to be, he'd become more like the real version of James than he’d have thought possible. No one had ever said he was even a little like his mother, save for his eyes and that hardly counted. Snape had hinted how disappointed Lily would be to see him now and he had seen the loathing in her eyes when she’d looked at James; he was more certain now that she would look at him in just the same way. He winced as he thought about how he’d taken out his frustration on Snape earlier that day, he wasn’t sure he’d been pretending at all then.

Harry forced himself to let out a long breath, trying to release himself from the paralysing combination of dismay and confusion that gripped him. But it wouldn’t let him go just yet because he had more than just thoughts of the past to be devastated about.

He had been arrogant, monumentally so, in thinking that he’d any right to invade Snape’s privacy the way he had. This was different from what he’d done yesterday, this was a deliberate violation of trust. It was inexcusable, and it was no wonder Snape had been the angriest Harry had ever seen him. It was no wonder Snape no longer wanted anything to do with him now. Mere hours ago, being told he could get away from Snape would have elated Harry, but in this moment the thought only left him laden with guilt and self-loathing.

He felt suddenly drained, a cold, miserable dread seeping into him. He dragged himself over to his trunk, opening it and proceeding to carelessly heap all of his belongings inside. It didn’t take more than a few minutes to strip the sparse room of his things. He wondered if Snape meant to have him leave immediately, it had seemed the man wanted him gone as soon as possible. Of course, as tempting as it was, Harry knew he couldn’t just traipse out the front door on his own and see where the night took him. He would have to face the man again if only for transport purposes.

He sat on the edge of the bed, silent and slightly dazed, barely daring to consider what was likely to happen next. Because as much as he wanted to imagine that his departure from here would mean he would get to go to the Burrow or even Grimmauld place as he so fervently wished, he somehow knew the third option was the most likely one. He was sure he was going to be sent back into the tender, loving care of the Dursley’s.

A knock at the door startled Harry from what, during a sleepless night, had become a train of increasingly dark thoughts. He scrambled to sit up, wide eyes fixing on the door, keenly aware of who was on the other side and terrified of everything that meant.

He watched, muscles tense, as the door swung wide to reveal his professor framed in the doorway. Snape made no move to bring himself into the room, and when his ire sharpened gaze fell on Harry, it was clear he found it insufferable to be standing even that close. Harry swallowed but stayed silent, it wasn’t exactly the time for casual greeting even if Harry could bring himself to speak at all.

Snape’s eyes swept quickly around the bare room. “Good, you are packed. We will be leaving immediately.” There was an air of annoyed anticipation about the man, as though he was expecting, and dreading, whatever irritating thing he believed would come gushing out of Harry’s mouth in the next moment.

But Harry was frozen. In the night he had come to the conclusion that his only option was to apologise for his father’s actions and his own; what more could he do than try to explain himself? Except, now Harry had seen into those dark eyes, and after finding there a depth of loathing that was unprecedented even for Snape, he knew his words would mean nothing to the man.

Snape scowled, apparently just as irritated by Harry’s prolonged silence as he’d have been had Harry said anything at all. “Bring your things.” Snape said, turning and striding away without bothering to give Harry a chance to reply.

With Snape out of sight, Harry’s mental paralysis eased and he rushed to follow after the man, grabbing and awkwardly dragging his trunk along as quickly as he could manage. Snape was already at the end of the hall and continued on to glide down the stairs, scarcely slowing as he turned the corner.

“Do try to keep up, Potter.” Snape’s irritated voice floated back to him.

Harry grimaced but kept his pace, moving toward the man’s voice. Snape was standing by the back door and once Harry was in sight, he opened it and stepped outside. Harry followed him into the garden moments later.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, slightly breathless from his efforts.

“You are going home,” Snape answered into the cold air before him.

Harry faltered, his sleep deprived brain struggling to process what he’d heard. “I thought no one was allowed to be at Hogwarts during break.”

Snape turned to him then, in apparent awe of his unbelievable stupidity. “To your relatives, Potter.”

Harry nodded and attempted a grin, which Snape’s suspicious frown told him was anything but convincing, and instead affected a posture which he hoped would be read as relief.

“That’s my punishment? You're sending me away to be pampered by my relatives on Christmas?”

Snape’s lip curled and twitched with unconcealed contempt. “What you did was utterly inexcusable, an unforgivable breach of my privacy that spit upon everything I have tried to do for you-” Snape cut himself off, pausing, and something shifted in his expression, as though he’d suddenly tucked his wrath away just out of view, ready to bring it back out only when the time was right.

“This has nothing to do with punishment,” he continued after a moment. His tone was even, almost impassive now, which Harry found all the more disquieting knowing the rage that lurked beneath. “I cannot teach you, and you do not wish to learn from me as is made clear by the blatant distrust and disrespect you continually show. So consider this the predictably disastrous end to an attempt to achieve something I knew to be futile from the start. I am relieved to say that what becomes of you from this point forward is no longer my direct concern.”

Harry swallowed hard, a dizzying thrum of panic was starting to creep its way into his awareness. Snape’s barest tolerance of him had been a gift maintained only by a brittle tether of trust between them, and now, because of Harry, it had crumbled to dust. And he hadn’t known how much it could hurt to have Snape give up on him altogether. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d been relying on Snape just to be a steady, familiar presence while his world rocked beneath him.

He couldn’t do anything to change what he’d done but he needed to say something, even if it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

He gathered his courage and tried to meet the man’s eyes. “Professor, last night… I need you to know I won’t tell anyone what I saw, I really am–”

“I do not wish to hear your contrived apology, it will do no one any good now.” Snape's words cut off the speech he had spent half the night planning and Harry understood it would be worse than useless to continue.

“Now, take my arm and ready yourself, we are going to Disapparate.”

Harry numbly did as instructed, and was soon experiencing the slightly more familiar but never comfortable sensation of being forced through a narrow tube. He landed with considerably more grace than he had after his arrival at Snape’s home, but Snape pulled away so quickly he very nearly toppled right over anyway.

They had arrived on Privet Drive, it was still early enough that the street was quiet but not so early that their presence would draw suspicion. He could see number four, its holiday decorations a precisely average representation of Christmas indulgence. And it was far closer than Harry would have liked. He trudged forward, fighting not to reveal just how distressed he was to be nearing that house again so soon.

“Is Dumbledore really all right with you giving up like this?” A surge of desperation brought the quiet words from his mouth. He cringed even as he spoke, he knew this wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

Snape didn’t even look at him much less grace him with an answer, but his mouth thinned into a bloodless line and his pace quickened slightly.

Harry let his shoulders slump, unable to hold on to any false bravado in the face of this particular reality. And Snape had already written him off so completely, Harry doubted it was physically possible for the man to think much less of him anyway.

He tried to resign himself to the situation but he knew he’d never feel ready, despite how this very scenario had consumed his thoughts throughout the night. Now that he was here, with no chance of escape, he was having a hard time getting his legs to keep moving forward.

He felt pathetic.

When he was away at Hogwarts, it was always easy to tell himself that when he saw the Dursleys again, he wouldn’t lose himself to their lies. That no matter how his relatives tried to reinforce them, their tricks wouldn’t have the same power over him.

And yet every time he crossed the threshold of number four Privet Drive, no matter how much he wanted to fight it, he always ended up giving in. And after the last few days, he felt so far adrift, how could he hold on to himself when he had no idea who that even was? He wasn’t strong enough now, never had been.

He braced himself with the thought that at least this time, it was only for a couple of weeks.

Snape knocked loudly on the door, and Harry nearly stopped breathing.

“Just a minute!” A shrill voice called out from inside. Snape folded his arms impatiently as Harry focused on making his breaths even.

The door opened tentatively a few moments later and Aunt Petunia appeared in the doorway. She saw Snape first and Harry didn’t miss the slight alarm that widened her eyes as they flitted from his professor’s potentially conspicuous clothing to the neighbouring houses in search of observers. A second later her gaunt face stretched into a strained but polite smile.

“Good Morning, what can I–” Her eyes dropped to Harry and after a nearly imperceptible hesitation, she beamed at him. “My, what a wonderful surprise, you've brought Harry!”

Snape nodded dispassionately. “Indeed, though I regret that I was unable to give you any advanced notice about our arrival. But, as I’m sure you were informed, this is a precarious time in the Wizarding World. I do hope you won’t find it too troublesome if your nephew stays in your care for the remainder of the holiday.”

“It's no trouble at all. It'll make for a much brighter Christmas with Harry around.” She reached over and pulled Harry into a one-armed hug for good measure, and Harry tried to resist the overwhelming urge to recoil from the contact. He was sure his aunt was doing the same.

“It's, erm, really good to see you too, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, dully. Snape looked on with something approaching disgust.

There was a minor commotion from inside the house and a moment later Dudley appeared at the door. He gave Snape a nervous glance and took a step back before he even seemed to realise it. But upon seeing Harry, he grimaced and turned to his mother.

“What’s hedoing here?” he asked.

Petunia’s plastered smile faltered for an instant at her son’s too obvious discontent. “He'll be staying with us these next couple of weeks, isn't that right?”

“Quite so,” Snape said, clearly losing interest in the whole situation. “However, as… touching as this familial reunion has been, I really must be on my way.”

Petunia nodded. “Of course, I won’t keep you. Thank you again for bringing Harry to us.”

“It was my pleasure,” Snape replied a little awkwardly. Harry might have found it amusing, had he not been on the verge of sicking up.

Harry grabbed his trunk and scurried inside with a half-hearted farewell to his professor that went completely ignored. Petunia stood in the doorway until Snape disappeared fully from sight, then closed the door a little too hard. Dudley stared at them briefly with an uncertain frown and then disappeared into the lounge.

“What the devil are you doing here?” Petunia hissed, “I was promised we wouldn’t have to deal with you until the Summer.”

Harry dropped his head. “Right, I'm sorry, things just…didn’t work out exactly.”

She latched onto his hesitation, her eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

Harry debated for an instant and then lied. “I didn’t do anything. The arrangements just fell through.” It was always risky to lie to her, but it wasn’t as though Snape would be coming round for tea anytime soon to catch him out.

She eyed him critically for a moment, but appeared to believe him. “Fine. But I won't have you skulking about and ruining my family's holiday. If you’re going to stay here–”

“WHAT!?” A voice erupted from the adjacent room and a second later the door to the lounge flew open and bounced hard against the wall. Harry flinched violently, already anticipating what was coming.

Vernon appeared before him, his bulk taking up most of the doorway as he passed through. His uncle’s beady eyes fixed on him straight away and Harry tried not to shrink back. Dudley slunk out after him, watching but without quite the same gleeful malice Harry had become so used to from him.

Vernon grunted. “So it's true then. Thought I wouldn’t have to see your runty arse around here for a while yet. Why'd you come back, boy?”

“I didn’t want to come back, they forced me–”

Vernon advanced on him, anger suffusing his meaty features and Harry froze. “What do you mean you didn’t want to come back? You saying you’re unhappy here?”

“Of course not, I–I appreciate everything you’ve done for me!” Harry said quickly.

Vernon shook his head and Harry paled, an icy dread tingling up his spine. His uncle never believed him as easily as Petunia. The man addressed his wife. “It's like this every time. He goes away to that freak school of his and forgets his place in the real world.” He turned his attention back to Harry. “I think it's time for a refresher, don’t you, boy?”

Harry shook his head, placating. “I'm sorry, you’re right I forgot myself, it won't happen again.”

Vernon was unmoved. “If only I could trust your word. Dudley, fetch my belt.” Harry bowed his head, inwardly cursing his own carelessness. One sentence in and he had already screwed up.

"Get upstairs, you know what to do."

Harry looked warily to the stairs and then turned back to his uncle. If he was going to take a stand, now was the time. He took a steadying breath, clenching and unclenching his fists anxiously.

"No. I won't let you–" Vernon was on him before he could finish, a sharp blow to his midsection forced the air from his lungs with an undignified rush of sound and Harry fell back against the wall.

Vernon leaned in. “I don’t need you to let me do anything, boy.”

Harry glared at him, but he didn’t have the energy to be truly defiant. When he was away, it always seemed so absurd that he couldn't take on Vernon. He was just one man, surely it couldn't be so hard just to stand up to him. But now, looking up at his infuriated uncle, knowing how much worse it would be if he didn't just give in, he was having a hard time seeing any other way.

He couldn't go out on his own, it would be stupid to run away because he couldn't take a little pain, just to find himself captured and tortured to death by Death Eaters. It was so easy now to look back and see how all of his terrible decisions had led him right back here. He should have begged Snape to let him stay.

Seeing that Harry hadn’t been persuaded to move, Vernon scowled. “Why must you always go making things difficult.” He grabbed Harry by his already sore upper arm and began practically dragging him towards the stairs. Harry struggled valiantly against the man's grip, protesting loudly, but got no reward for his frenzied efforts.

Vernon tossed him into his room, and waved impatiently. “Take off the shirt.” Harry didn’t move. His uncle walked over and forced the shirt over Harry's head, taking Harry's glasses with it. Harry scrambled into the corner, drawing his knees up to cover his bare upper body. Dudley poked his head into the door. “Here you go, Dad,” he said holding out a thick brown leather belt. Vernon took it, sliding it through his hand and snapping it as though to get a proper feel for it.

“Seems you’re feeling especially wilful this time. I was prepared to go easy on you if you cooperated, but that's out of the question now, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “It must be so confusing for you, with those freaks filling your degenerate mind with lies. Don’t worry, boy, I'll put your mind at ease. You’re home now and I can remind you exactly where someone like you belongs in this world.”

“Wait! You don’t have to do this! I remember now, really, I won't screw it up again.” Harry said recoiling as his uncle drew nearer and hating himself for it. His appeal was not acknowledged. Myopic green eyes darted around the small room in search of an escape route. He spotted it: A space between his uncle and the wall; if he was fast enough, he might be able to slip through to the door.

Vernon took another step and Harry went for it, dashing forward at top speed and twisting himself through the gap. But he hadn’t seen Dudley, standing there with a look of surprise on his face, blocking off the doorway and his only means of escape. He faltered, could he even push Dudley out of the way?

It didn’t matter. His brief hesitation cost him dearly as he felt a hand closing around the back of his neck and a weight pressing him down. A second later his face slammed into the ground, his limbs flailing uselessly about him. The weight at his back lifted but before Harry could think to move, Vernon delivered a swift kick to his ribs. Another followed shortly after and Harry writhed on the floor gasping for breath.

Vernon's sausage-like fingers took hold of Harry's short hair, forcing him upright only to throw him back onto the floor to his hands and knees. Harry tried to crawl away, too distressed to consider the futility of the action. Pain exploded in his back as hard leather bit away at his flesh and he stopped, instinctively going down on his haunches and tucking his head so only his back would be exposed. It was over, he had nowhere to go, he couldn’t fight it any more and moving away now would only make this more painful.

He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth against the pain. He knew it wouldn’t go on long, Vernon had never had much in the way of stamina but he made up for it with the considerable strength he put behind each strike. Even so, it may as well have been an eternity later when he heard an unexpected voice speak out.

“Vernon, for Heaven's sake that's enough.” The blows stopped and Harry raised his head, he hadn’t noticed when Petunia entered the room. He stared at his aunt as though he'd never seen her before. Petunia had never been one to watch his punishments, but she'd never put a stop to it either.

Vernon had a similar look on his own face. “Enough? He still has fire in him, the filth hasn't accepted his place yet. You know this is the only way to get through to his kind.” He raised his belt arm again, and Harry quickly lowered his head.

“I know, I know,” Petunia quickly agreed, “but it's Christmas Eve–”

Vernon laughed outright. “Feeling sentimental is it!”

Petunia shook her head, put off by the absurd notion. “No, No. Tomorrow is Christmas and there are still a good many things to be done in preparation. If the boy must stay, I intend to make good use of him. But how can I if the freak can barely move? Look at him, he'll track blood all over my clean house!”

Vernon considered it for a moment. “All right, we'll finish this later, boy,” he conceded gruffly. He left the room and Dudley followed, only Petunia was left standing over him.“Get yourself cleaned up. I want you downstairs in five minutes,” she said brusquely, eyeing him with intense dislike.

Once she’d left him alone, he righted himself, grabbing at his glasses and shirt and hurrying for the bathroom. He didn’t look in the mirror, he was disgusted enough with himself without having to see what had been done. That had been humiliating, he hadn't been remotely able to defend himself. He cursed his idiocy. Why did he always have to make things worse for himself? When would he learn that it was best to just keep his head down?

He bitterly stripped off the rest of his clothes and threw on the shower, not waiting for the water to heat up before stepping in. After the initial shock of cold, he found the cool water ebbed away the pain of the hot, stinging cluster of welts on his back.

Of course, he couldn’t stay long to enjoy it. As soon as the water circling the drain lost its red tinge he shut off the shower, redressing and made his way downstairs to report to his aunt. She had evidently spent the last few minutes composing a list of chores he was to complete for the day. She shoved the list in his face as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He took the paper, skimming the long list. There was more housework than Petunia could possibly have been planning to do if he hadn’t shown up. He looked to his aunt knowingly, but didn’t dare to voice his thoughts.

She looked disdainfully back and made an impatient shooing gesture. “Well, off you go then. I want all of those tasks completed by the end of the day, I want everything to be perfect for tomorrow and if the house isn’t sparkling clean it'll be on your head.”

“Of course, Aunt Petunia,” he said, resigned.

Harry spent the day moving stiffly about the house, trying to get through all the work assigned to him while staying as much out of the way as possible. He worked fast, with an efficiency only brought about by experience.

“Boy!” Petunia's shrill voice called out from the kitchen and Harry stopped dusting and went over to her. The kitchen smelled wonderful, the room filled with the savoury scent of the hot roast beef sandwiches plated on the counter. He realized suddenly that it had already been about a day since he'd kept anything in his stomach. The events of yesterday had all but erased his hunger, but now his stomach betrayed him, growling loudly at the tantalizing aroma.

Petunia gave him a nasty look and Harry flushed, of course he knew the food wasn’t for him. “Take these to the living room, and then tidy up the kitchen.” She said, handing him the serving dish. “And don't you lay a single grubby finger on them, these are not for you.” She watched him carefully as he took the sandwiches into the room where Vernon and Dudley were watching the telly with the volume way too high. When he set the plates down they dove in like starved dogs, not bothering to acknowledge him, and Harry decided it best not to linger until they did.

He returned to the kitchen, hoping to clean up quickly so he could get back to the tasks on his list. But his eyes fell on the counter and he stopped; Petunia had left a crusty end piece to a loaf of bread and a few tiny scraps of meat sitting on the counter. He looked around and quickly shoved it all into his pocket for later, unable to believe his luck. It was rare that Petunia was so careless, she must have somehow got out of the habit of hiding food scraps before Harry could get at them. He carried on with his cleaning in slightly higher spirits.

It was evening when he heard his aunt screeching for him again, thankfully his haste had paid off and he was already finishing up on the last task on the list, setting the table. Petunia was wholly unimpressed with his swiftness. She had prepared dinner and Harry, as usual, was to play the role of manservant. At his aunt's instruction, he set out the warm food on the dining table as everyone took their seats.

Dudley prattled on about his school and what only he could consider to be accomplishments while Vernon and Petunia showered him with all the praise and attention he desired. Harry had taken his place standing out of the way in the corner, just in case he was needed, and stared studiously at the floor as his relatives ate and talked. Harry tried to let his thoughts drift away from the room and the food so close yet out of his reach, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself because his stomach wouldn’t keep quiet.

Eventually, once Dudley had all but licked his fourth plate clean, dinner was at last winding down and Harry stepped in to collect the dishes. He took up his aunt's and his uncle's plate and was reaching for Dudley's when the doorbell rang. His cousin perked up. “I'll bet that's Piers!” Harry barely had time to wonder why Dudley's friend was visiting so late before Dudley slid his chair back, not caring as it knocked into Harry. “Out of the way, freak,” Dudley said, pushing past him in a hurry to get to the front door.

Harry hopped almost comically, trying to regain his balance but he lost this grip on the dishes in his hand in the process. They hit the floor just a second before he did, and he winced as they cracked against the hard surface. He stared at the broken pieces in something akin to a daze, and then looked worriedly over to the two still seated at the table.

“My china!” Petunia screeched hysterically. Her ordinarily pasty face was bright with unbecoming blotches of colour, but it was nothing compared to the violent purpling of his uncle's face. With a jolt of panic, Harry sprung into action.

“I'm so sorry! I'll get it cleaned up right away!” Harry said scrambling to collect the large shards in his hands.

A second later something cracked against his skull with a burst of pain and he toppled over sideways, dropping the pieces he'd collected. He blinked, looking up to find the shadowy form of his uncle against the chandelier's light.

His uncle wasn’t looking at him any more though, Harry followed his gaze and his own eyes fell on a familiar hunk of bread lying amongst the china and before he could stop himself his hand went to check his pocket. Vernon didn’t miss the incriminating movement, he grabbed Harry by his throat pulling him easily to his feet and forcing him back against the wall.

“So. Stealing from us already, is it?” he accused through gritted teeth.

Harry floundered, “It wasn't...I mean, I didn’t–” Vernon's hand tightened threateningly around his windpipe, nearly cutting off his air.

“I'm sorry!” Harry choked, “I won't– I won't do it again.”

Vernon threw him forcefully to the ground and swiftly stomped down on his tender back. Harry rolled over immediately, attempting to move back but Vernon was all too ready to unleash his fury on him.

“I graciously let you into my home. I give you a place to live. And you repay me by insulting me? Breaking my things? Stealing from me!” he ranted, punctuating each sentence with another kick.

“Please... I'm sorry..” Harry moaned, he knew apologising had never once helped, but he was sure his ribs were going to give soon. Harry braced himself for a blow that never came and after a few seconds, he cracked open his eyes.

“Get up.”

Harry didn’t move, not quite ready to believe it was over. His uncle rolled his eyes and reached down and yanked him up by the back of his shirt. Harry stood, trembling, and Vernon looked at him with a mixture of repulsion and amusement. “Pathetic!” he jeered, dragging Harry from the room and over to the back door. He opened it, letting in a rush of chilled air, and pushed Harry through.

“You'll sleep out there tonight. And you can stay there until you remember how you freaks are to behave in proper society.”

Vernon closed the door and pulled the shade over the window, leaving Harry to fumble in the darkness. Harry waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to the scarce light of the starless night. When he could make out the path to the shed he set towards it, the stinging December winds quickening his step. To his immense relief, the lock on the door was already undone and he blindly stepped inside, feeling his way through the clutter to the back wall.

He huddled in the corner, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he drew his knees to his chest to recapture some of his body heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Was it worth it just for a bloody piece of bread? he rebuked himself mentally. He could have gone several days longer without food before resorting to stealing and now he'd just guaranteed that he’d have to do just that. Whereas they might have eventually thrown him some pity scraps before, now they would feel justified to let him starve for a while.

Harry let his forehead drop onto his knees with a sigh. His first day back had gone almost as disastrously as ever. In a way he was happy he had to stay outside, at least he didn’t have to worry about making a mess of anything out here. It was even relaxing, and despite the bitter cold it was still better than being in the cupboard where he could be yanked out at any moment.

The cold seeped into him, making him feel even more tired than he'd already been. He groped around him, he'd smuggled an old towel in here one day for occasions like this and he hoped it hadn’t been discovered. After a minute, his hand fell on something soft and fuzzy and he grabbed it. He lay down in the corner, draping the towel over as much of himself as he could and resting his head on an old mower tire. He drifted off gently and with surprising ease, a testament to his exhaustion.

He awoke screaming.

Harry clutched at his burning scar. Voldemort was angry, very angry and he was on a rampage. Harry had watched in abject horror as he tortured muggle after muggle before he'd managed to claw his way back to his own mind. A hand clamped over his mouth and Harry frantically pulled away and tried to bite down, sure a Death Eater had found him at last. He received a slap in the face for his efforts.

“BE QUIET! You'll wake the whole ruddy neighbourhood!” Vernon's voice broke through his fear, and he began to panic for an entirely new reason. Waking his uncle was never good in the best of times, but dragging him outside into the cold in the middle of the night? The man was probably murderous. But Vernon hesitated, apparently torn between acting on his hatred towards Harry and succumbing to his desire to return to bed.

“Get back inside, before the neighbours start asking questions. And I don't want to hear another peep from you,” Vernon grumbled, obviously having chosen the latter but not happy to be letting Harry off his punishment. Harry didn’t argue or hesitate, his uncle followed him up to his room and secured the locks outside the door once Harry was inside. He collapsed onto the thin sparsely bedded mattress the Dursleys provided him. He groaned, feeling wide awake and yet still utterly exhausted, a state which had become the ongoing theme throughout this past term. All the same, he knew he’d be getting no further rest that night.

With no way to occupy himself, Harry laid there as the hours passed, glumly watching the light stretch across his ceiling as the sun rose to announce the arrival of Christmas day. To Harry’s surprise, Dudley was the first one to rise, apparently as impatient as he'd been when they were kids to get at his presents. Harry heard his distinctive footsteps as he waddled down the hall to the master bedroom to wake his parents. He heard Vernon grunt something and a minute or two later, Harry heard the locks on his door being undone.

Petunia poked her head in. “Downstairs, now,” she said. Harry got up and joined in the migration down to the living room. Harry was unsurprised when he saw the immense collection of presents stuffed under the Christmas tree. He examined them impassively, he wasn’t a fool, he knew he wasn’t brought here to open anything himself. Petunia shoved a bag at him, with the obvious implication that he was on rubbish duty.

Dudley was already ripping into his first present, tossing the paper about carelessly and Harry collected it without bothering to look at what his cousin had received. It had taken a good while but he'd stopped being envious of Dudley. He knew he would never have everything that his cousin did, barely even a fraction of it. There was no point in wasting energy pining over things he’d managed just fine without.

When he was younger, it had been a much more difficult concept to accept. He remembered the day Dudley found out when his birthday was. Dudley had thrown a world-class tantrum in the grocery store saying it was unfair for the freak to have a birthday when he had to wait nearly another year for his. Petunia had given in immediately as she always did, not wanting the scene to continue.

Just like that, she had given Dudley his birthday and he'd had to watch as his spoiled cousin opened presents and ate cake on what should have been his special day. He was too young to understand then that it didn’t work that way at all. Instead, when he was alone, he'd cried and hated himself all the more because he could never be normal.

Harry glanced absently over at Dudley who was currently opening a small, rather crudely wrapped box. He threw away the paper and pulled out something that somewhat resembled a wallet covered in fur. Must be some new muggle trend, Harry thought blandly, though considering some of the fashions he'd seen wizards sporting, he could hardly criticize. He bagged the crumpled paper.

“OW!” Dudley cried out, right in his ear and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Dudley was holding an injured finger to his mouth. “The bloody thing bit me! Is this some kind of joke?” He looked to Harry accusingly.

Harry kept his face blank, though he was quite taken aback, trying to figure out exactly what Dudley was trying to accuse him of doing.

Nobody moved, the allegation was absurd after all. “Just look at it, it's got teeth!” Dudley said, irritatedly waving a bloodied finger at the furry thing.

Vernon wasn’t convinced, “What are you on about? Of course it hasn’t!” he said, shuffling over to examine it. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “Well look at that. Where did you buy this one, Pet?”

Petunia, who had gone over to Dudley and was attempting to soothe her poor, injured son, looked up in surprise. “Me? I thought that tasteless thing was from you!” she said, her indignation clear.

Like the breaking of a dam, understanding flooded the room and three horrified sets of eyes found Harry. Dread coiled heavily in his stomach and Harry rushed to explain. “This wasn’t me! Well, at least not on purpose... I think Dudley must have just opened a present that was meant for me.” Whatever it was, he had a pretty good idea who it had been from.

“Who’d want to send you presents?” Dudley asked with genuine and insulting confusion.

Harry bristled, despite himself. “My friends for one. If you remember I’m actually rather famous in the wi– in my community,” he said heatedly.

Vernon stepped in, his tension replaced by irritation. “I don’t care if that lot dubs you King of the Freaks, I don’t want any of that abnormal filth under my roof!” He started digging through the remaining presents under the tree, making a much smaller pile of what must have been Harry's presents.

“Sneaking into my home without my permission, I should be calling the police!” Vernon groused.

Harry was about to protest that possibly they had simply been spelled into the house somehow, but he couldn’t think of a way to point that out without painful results.

“I won't stand for this, I'll burn every last one of these blasted boxes!” he said, looking at the pile with revulsion.

Harry's eyes widened, “No! You can't!” he blurted, regretting his rash choice of words immediately. Vernon's beady eyes narrowed. “Oh, I can't you say?”

Harry thought quickly, his friends would be asking a lot of questions if they found out he didn’t receive their gifts. “Er– no, it's just … it could be dangerous if you try to burn– er – you know, m-magical–” Vernon's beefy fist collided with the side of his head and sent the room spinning. Even at his angriest, Vernon always avoided directly hitting his face, something Harry was always vaguely grateful for.

“That vile word is not to be spoken in my house! or did you need another lesson?” Harry was sure his uncle would have pulled out his belt right there had he been wearing one.

“Come oooon, I want to open the rest of my presents,” Dudley whined pathetically. “The freak's ruining it, does he have to be here?”

“Of course he doesn't, Diddydums,” Petunia cooed, shooting her husband a chastising look.

Vernon stopped short, his anger fading to chagrin after getting so caught up. He cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Boy, back to your room. And take that pile of rubbish with you,” he commanded, gesturing at Harry's meagre stack of gifts.

Harry did as he was told, using every method of restraint he knew of not to look too happy about it. He silently appreciated his cousin's need for endless attention and vanished upstairs into his bedroom and placed his presents on the bed. He moved quickly; there was no guaranteeing Vernon wouldn’t change his mind and destroy everything, consequences be damned.

Harry sorted through his presents and found one with Hermione’s handwriting on it. She had given him a book that resembled a diary, except that it said things like “Do it today or later you’ll pay!” every time he opened a page.

Sirius and Lupin had got him a stunning set of books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had moving colour illustrations of all the counter jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful for him later.

Tonks’s present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around his room, though he wished he still had his full-size version. Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies; and Dobby, a truly dreadful painting claiming to be a likeness of Harry that he suspected had been done by the elf himself.

He grinned, placing the painting against the wall; he didn’t have to look at it to appreciate the thought behind it after all. Harry put on the jumper over his rather worn shirt and then savoured one of Mrs. Weasley's pies; it was heavenly and not just because he was so hungry. He reluctantly hid the rest away for later along with the beans; he had to make it through the next couple of weeks yet.

He could hear the Dursley's downstairs, talking and laughing, but he couldn’t have been happier not to be a part of it. For the first time in a week –though it felt infinitely longer– Harry was reminded that he was loved. His friends were his true family, they were his continual source of strength even when he was surrounded by so much animosity. He knew that without them, he would be lost.

He felt remarkably content. Harry settled down on his lumpy bed with his new defence book, bent on looking through it in depth, but still ready to stash it away at any moment if need be. Harry read the day away, making mental notes of things he could use for the DA, hoping he'd remember it until he could write it all down. Considering where he was, he could not have asked for a more tolerable Christmas.

Harry did his best not to make a sound, not wanting to remind his relatives of his existence. By midday enticing aromas were wafting into his room, and Harry was almost tempted to go downstairs and see if he could nick something; of course he wasn’t foolish enough to push his luck that far. The Dursley's were apparently so wrapped up in their own goings-on, it seemed they'd chosen to forget about him completely. Or so he'd thought, until a couple of hours later Harry nearly had a heart attack when he heard the locks on his doors rattling until he realized they were being slid into place instead of released. A plate appeared through the pet door with a slice of bread on it, he stared at it in wonder. When he heard the doorbell ring, he recognized the bread as a bribe to ensure his continued silence.

He put his ear to the door, trying to determine who the guest could be. He all but recoiled with loathing as he heard the distinctive, imperious speech of Vernon's sister Marge. He understood their precaution now, obviously they had still not forgiven him for blowing up Aunt Marge a couple summers ago; even if the ministry had erased the incident from her mind.

Harry couldn’t relax properly again until at last, that wretched woman had said her goodbyes and left. Just in case Marge had put any ideas about disciplining Harry into Vernon's head, Harry didn’t even consider attempting sleep until he'd heard all three of the Dursley's heading off to bed themselves.

The house quiet, Harry made sure to clear his mind before letting himself sleep, he didn’t want a repeat of last night. He drifted off with decidedly hopeful thoughts that he could have a few more days like this one.

Harry made his way through the darkness, his body lithe and flexible as his belly slid smoothly over the stone floor. He scented the air, he was nearing his destination. He turned a corner, his sharp eyes picking out a lone drowsing figure slumped in a chair in the distance, he felt an incredible bloodlust rise within him.

He ignored it and moved forward, focusing only on his singular goal. But the figure was stirring now, a man, and as he stood he was drawing forth a wand. He couldn’t let the man become an obstacle, there was no helping it. Harry approached quickly and without caution, letting instinct take over and rearing up to strike. He lunged forward, plunging his teeth into the man's chest until he felt the satisfying give of bones as they cracked under the pressure of his bite. He savoured the rich flavour of blood as it seeped into his mouth before easing up, ready to strike again and again–

“NOOOOO!”

Harry's eyes flew open, unseeing in the agony lancing through his skull. The feeling wouldn’t subside, and no matter how he clutched at his head the pain only intensified. He couldn't escape it, until the pain became so much he rolled over and vomited over the side of the bed. He writhed, trying to untangle himself from his sweat soaked sheets, a sense of urgency driving him through the miasma of pain.

He had to wake Snape; Snape would know what to do. Harry staggered towards the door but before he reached it, the door flew open and light flooded in from the hallway. Harry was blinded again, only just able to make out a figure in his doorway.

“P-professor?” he choked out desperately.

“What in the blazes is all this ruckus!” No, that wasn't Snape. He wasn't with Snape any more, he remembered.

Harry took another step and lost his balance, he reached out, grasping at the cloth of Vernon's nightshirt to steady himself.

“He's in trouble,” Harry gasped, “I saw it.. so much blood.. I have to help him!”

Vernon recoiled from his touch, slapping his hand away, but he seemed too disturbed to do anything more. “Blood? Who?” Vernon said, looking around with alarmed uncertainty.

Harry squinted at his uncle, the pain was finally starting to ebb. “You won't understand, I saw it…He's dying! I-I have to tell someone!” Vernon was taking up the entire doorway and Harry tried to push past but the man pushed him right back.

“Just where do you think you're going?”

“Don't you get it? I need to get to my trunk!” Harry was yelling, but he didn’t care.

“You'll be doing no such thing, now be quiet!” Vernon hissed.

“I have to get help! Someone's in trouble!” Harry said frantically, trying to find a way around his uncle's immovable mass. “Enough of this nonsense.” Vernon said, losing his patience, he brought his knee up to catch Harry in the stomach and he staggered back, but Harry wasn’t going to be stopped so easily.

Harry cried out desperately, ramming Vernon with all his might. For all his effort, he'd only managed to make his uncle rock backwards slightly.

“I said ENOUGH!” Vernon advanced on Harry again, hands curling into fists and Harry stepped back warily, still eyeing the doorway.

“Please, he needs help–!” Vernon's fist found him before he could finish, hitting him so hard, he fell to the ground. Harry winced in pain as he got back to his feet. Why couldn’t Vernon understand? This was life or death and all the man cared about was losing a few minutes of sleep.

Vernon fixed him with a hard stare, making clear his intention not to give in to his nephew's whims.

“LET ME THROUGH!” Harry all but screamed, feeling the anger and frustration build to near intolerable levels within him. The lights began to flicker and Vernon's eyes widened with alarm.

“Oh no you don't!” Vernon clouted him around the head this time, and Harry swayed on his feet, but his determination remained. Vernon regrouped and slammed his massive fist down on him like a sledgehammer, Harry was too slow and disoriented to dodge and it connected solidly near the top of his head. The force of it radiated all the way down his spine and his knees buckled beneath him.

The world became fuzzy around the edges, dreamlike; he knew he had to do something, something important but as much as he tried to will himself to move he couldn’t muster the strength. He toppled bonelessly onto the floor and Vernon took to kicking him again, he really seemed to like doing that, Harry thought distantly. But the man's efforts were wasted because only moments later, Harry was lost to unconsciousness.