The flickering torches sent a strange light across the shadowed corridor. Harry stood at one end, a heavy weight on his chest, heart hammering. He felt absolutely no excitement unlike the previous times he had been here.

Despite the fear, Harry felt curiosity kindle in his mind, and determinedly he ran toward the black door. He could see the slice of light that shone through, which meant it was not locked. He ran until his breath ran out before he realised that the door was no nearer than when he had started. The fear mounted and Harry spun to watch behind him. He was sure he had heard panting, and yet he could see nothing but darkness. He wondered if his ears were tricking him.

He spun back around and unexpectedly the door was right in front of his face. It was not one of the heavy doors of the Department of Mysteries that he had been chasing, but the plain wooden door of his room at the Dursleys'. Harry heard the click of the lock, and the door handle turned. He was sure — in a visceral, unexplainable way — that something terrible would happen if he was found in front of the door. He tried to run, or at least get out of the way, but he couldn't move.

He twisted, mouth open to scream, and fell off the bed with a thump. After a few minutes of struggling, Harry was finally able to free himself of the blanket he was tangled in. Realising that he was still in Gryffindor Tower, he breathed a sigh of relief.

He pushed himself up on unsteady arms, a faint tremor shaking his limbs. Outside through the windowpane, the stars were shining brightly in the pitch dark — there was no moon.

Harry ran his hands over his face. He had been hoping for a restful night, as the following day was bound to be a bad one. To say that the last Occlumency lesson hadn't gone well would be an understatement, and he would have Potions in a few hours. Snape was going to be his usual, snarky self, especially as Harry's last work had been returned with a huge red 'D'.

Unable to sleep, Harry decided to re-check his essay instead of wallowing in his thoughts in hopes of avoiding another detention. The ones from Umbridge sapped enough of his energy.

He crept down the stairs quietly to avoid waking the others. The fire had died down, and the common room was cold. Harry ignited it with a quiet Incendio and took out the rolled-up scroll from his satchel. He settled down on the floor in front of the fire to re-read what he'd written for 'The properties of Mandrakes and three possible usages'.

It was hours before Harry had finished scribbling corrections on his first draft. The task was a welcome distraction from the nightmare and Harry grabbed it with both hands. By the time he was aware of the bustling sounds around him, he had paged through two library books and found twelve mandrake properties, sixteen potions it could be used in, three ingredients that could counter its effects, and one that would make it acidic. Harry realised with dismay that his original essay was ruined, and he had to rewrite it all over again. He glumly started writing it on a fresh parchment, his earlier peace destroyed. Still, all the information was gathered and the essay was completed within a quarter of an hour, well above the foot and a half required.

Harry had just finished packing the day's books into his satchel when Ron came down, still half asleep with one sock inside out, peeking beneath the trousers hanging above his ankles. Hermione was half a step behind him, looking much more awake with her bushy hair gathered behind her with a clutch clip.

"There you are!" Hermione said in her usual hurried tone. "I'd thought, for a moment…" she trailed off. To Harry's surprise, she had a lost look on her face.

"Where else would I be?" Harry asked, scrambling through the portrait hole.

"In your bed like the rest of us! What were you doing up so early?" Ron demanded, looking at Harry like he was mad.

"Nightmare," Harry said shortly, his mood worsening by the minute. He wished everyone would quit treating him like a child.

"Harry! You know you're not supposed to be dreaming of the corridor! If you had just—" Hermione began in a stern tone, but Harry interrupted her.

"It wasn't the corridor, it was something else," he said, quite truthfully.

Hermione didn't look like she believed him, but she let it drop. The boisterous noise increased as they got nearer to the Great Hall, and Harry's scar throbbed at each high-pitched sound that rose above the chatter. Once they were sat in their usual places, Harry pulled the nearest dish to serve himself, not even noticing what it was. He ate mechanically, hardly aware of what he was doing even as he got up and followed Ron and Hermione to the dungeons. He abruptly came to himself at the sound of raised voices.

"No, I said I can't! It's our OWLs year, and if you had a smidgen of care for your future, you wouldn't have any free time either! Why don't you go back to pampering yourself and leave me alone!"

"And if you thought about anything other than yourself, you'd have realised I invited you to study in the first place!" Parvati shrieked back at her sister, impossibly louder. There was a shrill ringing in Harry's ears. "What else would we be doing in the library? But Genius Padma wouldn't recognise common sense if it was held right under her nose!"

"Oh, don't —"

Harry had enough. His scar was throbbing, Professor Snape's angry face kept looming in his mind, his eyes watered, his hand faintly ached, and why wouldn't they just—

"SHUT UP!"

It was only once he heard the resultant heavy silence that Harry realised his outburst.

Just that moment Snape rounded the corridor and Harry groaned. Of course Snape would have heard him with his bat-like ears..

"You heard Potter," Snape drawled sarcastically. "He doesn't want any noise, so naturally we should cater to his needs." A few of the Slytherins snickered.

They quieted down when Snape turned his glare upon them, but smirked at Harry maliciously. Harry clenched his fists, a burning anger simmering in his mind.

Professor Snape slammed the door open and pointed one crooked finger towards the classroom. They filed in hurriedly, wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

The class had barely settled before Snape spoke. His quiet voice captured everyone's attention immediately.

"You have now reached the stage where you will begin using more valuable ingredients. Accordingly, you will learn how to save ingredients, how to correct damaged potions, and how to alter potions' objectives if they are beyond correction. This process is known as the Reconditioning Process.

"You have learnt to identify the different states last year. If you had effectively completed your homework assignments —" (he glared particularly at Harry) "— this should be a revision.

"To understand the mechanism that goes into repurposing potions, you will be studying certain catalysts…"

Harry let the words wash over him, taking notes in the blessed silence of the class. Before he knew it, the two-hour period had passed and his hand was cramping from the humongous length of parchment he'd managed to use.

At last, Snape came to the end of the lecture with the customary collection of the assigned work. The silence had helped steady Harry and he felt as calm as he had in the morning as he collected his things to head to Divination.

The day passed in similar ups and downs, with Harry's temper flaring at unexpected intervals. Thankfully it was a blessedly short day and it was soon dinner time.

However, the impending Occlumency lesson made his nerves mount steadily through dinner, and by the time it was time for him to begin the trek to Snape's office, his scar felt red-hot. This promised to be a dreadful lesson.

Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

The sound reverberated through the hall. loudly.

"Come in," Snape snarled, and Harry took a moment to calm his frazzled nerves.

When he opened the door, Snape was ready in his customary chair. The Pensieve was standing on the table, Snape's memories emitting a strange light. A draught seemed to be entering the room through invisible cracks, and Harry pulled his cloak around him. Snape didn't seem to notice the temperature — his face was as blank as usual.

"Did you practise?" Snape asked coldly.

"Yes," Harry lied, feeling a bit guilty. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder if Occlumency would help with nightmares.

"Yes, sir," Snape said, his voice low with irritation. "We will see. On the count of three – One… two… three… Legilimens! "

Sirius' face appeared in the fire… Dudley was counting his presents… Hermione was sitting at the table opposite him, scribbling furiously… Voldemort's face was protruding out of Quirrel's head, red eyes glittering maliciously…

Harry's knees ached as he got up from the floor time and time again. Repeatedly Snape broke into his mind, and Harry relived his memories over and over; yet the hours of practice seemed not to make the tiniest bit of difference. Harry was no closer to learning Occlumency than he was to landing on the moon. Snape got steadily more impatient until —

"Enough," Snape said forcefully. "You have obviously not practised and you are not making the slightest effort — you are wasting my time! Prince Potter's leisure is more important than everyone else's sacrifice!"

Harry tried to keep his anger at bay, he couldn't afford more detention. Already Umbridge had hogged his evenings.

But his scar sent a particularly nasty pulse and he snapped.

"That's it!” he yelled. “If Dumbledore thinks I need the lessons so terribly, he can come teach me himself!" Angrily, Harry turned toward the door.

"Sit. Down." Snape's quiet voice was dangerous in his wrath, his nose flared. Harry stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily, and turned to face Snape. "You are not dismissed until I say you are. Professor Dumbledore has ordered you to learn Occlumency, and to learn it from me, and that is what you will do. I. Do not. Care. Whatever other obligations you think are important, you will arrive here on time, and you will practise each night. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered resentfully. He dared not raise his voice. The intensity with which Snape spoke scared Harry a little — he wanted nothing more than to get away.

"Dismissed," Snape growled and Harry gladly fled.

Harry had no time to rest his aching head. The lesson had taken an hour longer than expected, and he was already late for his detention. He groaned and hurried through the corridors, hoping to be done quickly. He had his load of homework to do, and his eyes were already drooping from exhaustion. He had no idea how he would make it through the week.

Umbridge's taunts barely registered as he sat down to do his lines. His scar throbbed in time to the pain shooting up his wrist. The effort to remain stoic took all his attention, and the hours crawled slowly.

At last, Umbridge's grating voice reached his ears. "That will do, Mr Potter. Same time tomorrow."

Harry muttered a surly "goodnight, Professor Umbridge", and dragged himself to the Gryffindor tower. Settling on the carpeted floor in the common room, he opened the first scroll his hand found, but the words swam in front of his eyes. Harry closed them to think… about… about… he had forgotten the essay topic, he should read it again — in just a moment…

He was asleep before he knew it.. The scroll fell from his hand but he didn't stir. Slowly,the fire ebbed and the coals turned grey.

Harry was lying in his bed, staring at Hedwig. He had no energy to even sit up, and black spots blackened his vision if he tried to stand. His lips were cracked and bleeding.

A nightingale sang loudly and Harry opened his eyes with a start. For a moment the dream lingered and he blinked bleary-eyed, confused. The sky was a few shades lighter, the window casting strange shadows. In a panic, Harry realised it was nearly dawn and hurriedly sat up to trudge through his homework. The scroll at his feet read 'The reason ouroboros tongue is harvested on moonless nights and has no substitute — twelve inches'.

Harry opened his book, Fantastic Beasts and Where to find Them. His mind was drowning in black sludge, and his thoughts were slow. Unfortunately, the deadline was fast approaching and he had no choice but to force himself to work through it.

---

The weekend did nothing for Harry's exhaustion. The following week, Occlumency lessons were as horrible as ever and Umbridge seemed to get impossibly more repulsive. The OWLs loomed ever closer.

The one thing that kept Harry from losing his mind was his unexpectedly growing interest in potions. The catalysts they were studying had intriguing properties and from reading ways they could go wrong, Harry found that they seemed very temperamental.

That was not to say that Harry was looking forward to his next Potions class. The last one had only gone so well because they were still at the theoretical stage, but somehow this year, Harry managed to blow up even the simplest potions. The only one worse than him was Neville and — Harry felt guilty even thinking about it — that was not something to boast about.

So on Wednesday at breakfast, Harry was as anxious as ever. Yes, he did know more about the current topic than he had ever before, but that did not mean he would be able to put it into use. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed his plate away.

"I'm going to class. See you guys later."

Hermione hummed, engrossed in her book.

"There's still loads of time, mate, what are you going so early for?" Ron asked.

"I want to go to the owlery, I haven't seen Hedwig in a while."

Ron nodded in understanding and Harry set off.

The owlery was dim and Harry squinted, trying to get used to the shadows after the brightly lit hallways. An icy wind ruffled his hair, and he pulled his cloak around him securely. He wished he had a warm enough jumper that fit him.

Feathers carpeted the floor and the air smelled musty. Most of the owls were snoozing, but every once in a while, a hoot could be heard. He spotted Hedwig roosting in a corner next to a tiny gray owl. He whistled to her and she flew down, whooing in welcome.

Harry stood there looking out the large windows of the tower, scratching Hedwig's crest. After a while, he spoke.

"I shouldn't be so worried about Potions, right? If Snape can't teach properly, it's his problem! I know I understand the work, I've got nothing to worry about."

Hedwig preened his hair in reply. Harry sometimes wished he could talk to her, but he quickly shook off the fantasy. "It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry," a tiny voice spoke in his mind.

With a last pull, Hedwig took off, hooting as if to say, "Hurry, it's class time!"

When Harry reached the dungeons, Ron and Hermione were already waiting in front of the classroom.

"Oh, there you are! Why didn't you say anything, leaving like that?" Hermione said, voice high with worry.

"I did!" Harry protested.

"I would've heard you," Hermione cried indignantly.

Ron and Harry exchanged an amused glance as Hermione hurried through the door when Snape opened it. She would never admit how lost she could get in her books.

They set up their cauldrons in the last row.

"If you imbeciles have completed your essay, we might even survive this class," Snape began, eyes narrowed. "As we discussed, these ingredients are particularly volatile. That is not to say that they are unpredictable. If you follow the steps properly, you should get the expected results.

"Today, you are going to brew the Costive Concoction, a potion that slows down the digestive tract. The instructions are on the board; the ingredients in the third cupboard from the left. You have ninety minutes. Begin!"

There was a pause as the order registered before the class broke into a flurry of movement, each student pushing to get to the cupboard first.

Ron went to collect their ingredients, while Harry set up both of their cauldrons. Ron was much better at elbowing through the students, so they’d fallen into those roles early on in their Hogwarts career.

Harry was comparing the catalysts when Ron returned with the ingredients. He muttered an absent-minded 'thanks', lost in thoughts as he noticed that the effects of the Costive Concoction could be reversed by putting the ingredients in the opposite order. He felt quite proud of himself; Potions wasn’t so terrible if you knew what you were doing, Harry thought to himself

An hour later, Harry had changed his mind. His potion was close to blowing up even though Harry was sure he had done everything correctly. Worse, the current state of the potion did not fit any description in the book. In fact, the black tar that he had achieved should not have been possible with the ingredients he had. Unless — a preparation difference altered the base of an ingredient? Harry got gradually more anxious as he rechecked his remaining ingredients.

He wasn't quite sure what made him look up, but when he did, it was just in time to pull Ron down as his potion blew up. It had miraculously turned white, and a smell of compost filled the room. It was hot too, and Harry had to keep from crying out in pain. He realised with a start that he had tears on his face and his ears were ringing. Snape's hooked nose swam in his vision as Harry passed out from the sudden vertigo.

---

Madame Pomfrey refused to let him out of the infirmary and to his dismay, Ron and Hermione agreed. Ron was looking a little pale and even got angry when Harry pleaded to back him up.

"You didn't see yourself, mate," Ron said, his face creased with worry. "Well. We can play chess here if you want. No need to go back to the common room."

"I want to go to the library!" Harry argued impatiently. "I don't understand what went wrong. The way that potion behaved made no sense!"

"Not you too!" Ron groaned. "One Hermione is enough! Er, I mean…" he hastily backtracked, seeing Hermione's furious look.

She burst out in laughter after a few seconds. Ron and Harry stared at her, mouth agape.

"Your faces!" she gasped. "Oh, come on, Harry. I agree with him! Normally, you'd have forgotten all about the potion by now."

Harry had to admit that it was strange. He felt his face warming up and quickly changed the topic.

"When's dinner? I'm hungry!"

Now Ron and Hermione stared at him.

"What?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "That's a first, mate."

---

The latest Occlumency lesson had been a miserable disaster. Harry still did not understand how to begin clearing his mind, and Snape would not admit that he was a terrible teacher.

"That will be enough for today," Snape said at last, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

He had just picked up his satchel and turned towards the door when Snape spoke sharply. "Where do you think you are going, Potter?"

"To Gryffindor Tower, sir," Harry said, frowning in confusion.

"I don't think so. Maybe a little pain made you forget about your detention, but my mind is as sharp as ever."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"A little pain! My whole front was burnt over!"

"Yes. Learn to bear through the consequences of your mistakes," Snape drawled. "Nevertheless, the detention stands."

Harry dropped his satchel to the floor with a thud, stopping himself from rolling his eyes. "Alright, what do I have to do?" he said testily.

"Redo the potion."

Harry perked up. Now he would have the chance to find out what went wrong. He went to fetch the ingredients, feeling a lot more cheerful.

When he got back to the desk, Snape was watching him curiously. Harry ignored him and set about dicing the pepperwings.

Sixty-five minutes later, Harry relaxed. He had moved past the previous mishap, though he still couldn't figure out what could have gone wrong.

Evidently, he had relaxed too soon. He picked up the lemon, squeezing exactly thirteen drops. To his horror, his cauldron started sparking immediately. Before Harry could of reacting, the liquid boiled up — quite like milk — but thankfully it went back to simmering after a few seconds. Smoke began rising from the cauldron, alight with a million sparks. A sugary scent spread from the sparking smoke. Yet again, Harry had no idea what could have caused that effect.

"Fail, again! Although without significant harm this time."

Harry privately thought that Snape didn't need to look so disappointed.

Snape waved his wand over the cauldron, vanishing the contents. "An essay listing your mistakes, and how you could correct them."

Harry clenched his teeth to stop himself from protesting and picked up his satchel to leave before Snape could change his mind again. His thoughts raced and he wanted to get to the library before curfew.

He really was turning into Hermione, Harry thought amusedly.

---

Another fail in Potions. Harry hated it, nothing made sense!

"Harry! Harry!" Hermione called after him.

Harry ignored her, racing towards the bathrooms. He reached a stall and locked the door. Sitting on the toilet seat, he tried to catch his breath as he heard Ron pacify Hermione and move away. To his dismay, he realised his face was wet.

A few minutes later Harry had calmed sufficiently to string words together. It should not matter, he thought to himself. He had never cared before and this was not the first time his potion exploded.

All the same, Harry could not think of anything but the potion for the rest of the day. McGonagall looked at his badly-transfigured rat in disappointment and Ron and Hermione threw worried looks in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Harry rushed to the library again after dinner to look for past issues of Monthly Potions. He needed to know what had gone wrong with his potion.

There were quite a few exploded cauldrons in this lesson, but all of them, unlike him, had had complications mentioned in the books.

His potion had formed a cloud which had burst over his head right after he had added the moonflower nectar. His textbook did not have any information as to what could have gone wrong as to cause that particular reaction, and none of his extra knowledge helped. Hermione didn’t know what went wrong either, but she was nowhere near as invested as him.

Harry decided to brew the Costive Concoction again. He sat up his cauldron on his trunk, setting it alight to warm up the metal. He poured in the whey, waiting for it to heat up so he could add the seethed beans.

As Harry stared into the cauldron, the liquid began to spin, making Harry feel dizzy. As if from miles away, he heard " Now! ". With great effort, Harry looked away from the hypnotising sight to get the beans, but he could not find them. Harry looked back at the cauldron in confusion, and saw that it was turning red. A metallic smell filled his nostrils.

As he looked around to find the source, angry red eyes stared back at him. There was Uncle Vernon, holding a match in one hand and Hedwig in another.

"I've had it with you, boy," he said in a high, cold voice. "If you can't keep the bird quiet, you don't deserve it!"

Harry could not move — his heart was struggling to leap out his throat. With an enormous effort Harry opened his mouth.

"No!"

Harry jerked up, groaning as his neck cracked, and looked around in confusion. Where were Uncle Vernon and Hedwig? He shakily adjusted his glasses and signed in relief. He was in the library; he had never left. It was just a dream.

Despite that, Harry's heart would not stop thumping and the library was eerie in the hazy light of a winter evening. The shelves loomed over him like some ghoulish giants. The silence was stifling and Harry thought he could hear whispers come from the shadowed corners.

It's just in my head, Harry told himself firmly, trying to concentrate on Seasonal Potions. A moment later, Harry jumped up and ran out of the library as a book from the restricted section gave a loud hiss. Just as he reached the portrait of the fat lady, he realised he had left his satchel behind.

Harry turned around to return, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not lift a foot. Harry felt his face burn at how cowardly he was being. Hadn't he won a duel against Voldemort just last year?

All of a sudden, exhaustion took hold of his limbs, and he crumbled to the ground just outside the entrance with a bump. He rested his face on his knees, feeling absolutely pathetic. Mercifully, he did not have to think about it for long. He was asleep before he knew it.

---

Severus could not understand what had happened. He always watched the classes more carefully when they were busy with the Reconditioning Process, and he was sure Potter had followed the instructions to the letter. Now here he was, a cauldron-full of Potter's potion to the side as he brewed his third attempt at replicating it.

So far, he had tried mangling up the ingredients (thankfully the school paid for those), mixing the stirs up, playing with the flame, and once even tried to randomly throw an ingredient, which would have had him rejected from the Potions community if they were to see him.

He groaned — his back was stiff as a board. He set the cauldron in a corner with a wave of his wand and shuffled out of his lab. Today was one of the rare days he longed for his bed.

When he reached his makeshift sitting room, he frowned in confusion. Was sunlight streaming through his windows at six in the evening? Maybe the charm which paralleled the external weather had failed, Severus thought absent-mindedly.

As he poured a glass of water, his eyes fell on the clock on the mantelpiece. He hissed in alarm — it was six in the morning! The sunlight suddenly made sense, as did his exhaustion. He had worked through the entire night!

There goes my rest, he thought sourly, before dragging his feet to make a cup of tea. He mixed in a dose of Pepper-Up and relaxed on the worn-out couch. His legs creaked, releasing the pent-up tension.

An hour later, Severus entered the Great Hall, glaring. Why Dumbledore wouldn't allow him to dine in his quarters, he did not know. What good did socialisation do to anyone?

Today however, he had an additional reason to suffer through the noise. He wanted to watch Harry Potter.

Severus was quite perplexed at Potter's behaviour over the past week. He had achieved new heights at blowing up his cauldron in innovative ways, and yet he seemed to do everything flawlessly.

It was as ludicrous as Draco blowing up his cauldron, yet that was exactly what happened during their last Potions class. Not even twenty minutes in and Severus had had to prevent a disaster, raising a shield between Draco and the hazardous sludge he called a potion.

No less surprising was Granger's exploded cauldron. Severus' lips curled up in amusement, recalling Granger's look of disbelief at her splattered potion. Never made a mistake before, ha! He snorted in derision even as he brought a cup of tea to his lips.

However much amusement it provided, Severus had to admit that the girl was capable and her potion exploding so spectacularly was certainly curious. Longbottom's potion had been less mangled than hers or Draco's!

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Severus?" Severus jolted at Minerva's amused remark. "What has got you worked up so early in the morning?"

"Who else but Potter!" Severus' lips pursed at the reminder of the boy, who had yet to enter the Great Hall.

"What about him?" Minerva asked with a long-suffering sigh.

"Where is he? Breakfast will end in ten minutes."

"He has been exhausted," Minerva informed him quietly. "His friends found him passed out outside the common room early in the morning. I have given him a pass for the rest of the day."

Severus' eyebrows shot up. "What was he doing outside the common room at night?" he asked scathingly.

Minerva sent him a stern glare over her glasses. "Miss Granger said he went to the library and never came back."

"And they didn't go looking for him?" Severus raised an eyebrow in surprise. "They are usually so wedged together that it is impossible to separate them."

Minerva smirked. "They were a little… ahem— distracted."

"Distracted? What would drag their attention away from the Wonder Boy?" Severus asked. A moment later he snickered too, as understanding bloomed.

"Finally!" he said gleefully, thinking of all the ways he could use to embarrass the young couple.

"Don't torture them too much, Severus." Minerva tried to act stern, but she too was fighting a smile.

"Do not act like you are any better." Severus scoffed.

Minerva had no rebuttal.

Severus went back to his porridge in a much better mood. Who cared how Potter behaved? He was probably trying to get attention anyway. As if he did not have enough, Severus thought rather spitefully.

---

Harry felt anxious as he trekked the familiar path to the dungeons for his Occlumency lesson. He always ended up with a terrible headache — both his and Snape's tempers frayed.

The trouble was that Harry was really trying. Every night he tried to clear his mind, whatever that meant, and he even tried to look for Occlumency books in the library. He dared not ask Mrs Pince because he remembered how hard Snape had stressed to keep the lessons secret.

Yet nothing seemed to help. Snape got into his memories, flipping through them like channels on a TV, and no matter what Harry did, he could not get Snape to stop.

If that was not bad enough, having his mind turned inside-out regularly opened old scars. More often than not, Harry would relive long-forgotten memories in dreams. There was a surprising amount of traumatic events he had forgotten from his childhood.

And, Harry thought angrily, if Snape left my mind alone, they'd remain forgotten!

These dreams were having other effects too. Harry had never been so jumpy in his life and other people were noticing. Just yesterday, Harry had climbed up a tree in a blink when Fang bounded over to give his usual welcome.

When Hagrid had tried to get him down, he had behaved so irrationally that the half-giant had had to coax him out of the tree like a cornered animal.

Taking a deep breath, Harry raised a fist and rapped smartly on the door. It swung open, a gust of cold air blowing out of the room. Snape was scowling as usual and Harry glared back. Whatever powerplay Snape had going, Harry was not going to back down.

"Have you been practising?" Snape asked coldly.

"Yes," Harry muttered. A second later he added 'sir' at Snape's darkening face.

"We will see," Snape said, moving into position.

Harry tried to clear his mind, tense from Snape pointing his wand at his face.

"One… two… three… Legilimens!"

Images rushed past Harry's eyes, making him dizzy. He tried to stop Snape, pin down his presence, face screwed up in concentration; but it was no use.

The room came back into focus when Snape ended the spell. Harry glared defiantly at him, feeling jittery because of his thoughtful look. Snape suddenly let out a long sigh and sat on the chair behind his desk. Harry watched him in confusion.

"Sir?" he said tentatively.

"Sit, Potter," Snape said, pointing at the chair opposite.

Harry sat on the edge, his jaw tense. After a long pause, Snape let out another drawn-out sigh.

"Tell me, Potter, what don't you understand about needing to practice?" he said at last, in a surprisingly patient voice.

Harry was feeling decidedly unnerved now. He remained silent, unsure if he was supposed to answer. However, at Snape's fierce glare he spoke.

"How do I clear my mind?" If Snape was willing to answer, he was not going to waste his chance.

"Sir!" Snape said, a little of the venom returning to his voice. Oddly enough, Harry relaxed a smidgen. He never wanted Snape to behave that unnaturally again.

"How do I clear my mind, sir?" Harry tried again, as politely as he could. Snape could be as aggressive as he wanted, but Harry was at his wit's end. He had not forgotten the idea that Occlumency might help with his nightmares, and by this point he would play nice with Voldemort if it got him a full night's rest.

"Potter," Snape began in an increasingly frustrated voice. "If you will not stop playing around —"

"I'm not playing around!" Harry shouted. "I really don't —"

"Do. Not. Interrupt me!" Snape said sharply, but he looked thoughtful. Harry waited, hardly daring to breathe, hoping that Snape would finally explain properly.

"What do you do when I instruct you to clear your mind?" Snape asked after another long pause.

Harry fidgeted. "Try to stop thinking? But it's really hard!"

Snape stared at Harry. It looked like he was trying to decide if Harry was joking. When Harry stared back at him with a nearly hopeless expression, he seemed to take a deep breath to calm down.

"Foolish, dunderheaded boy!" he exploded. "Why didn't you say so before? All these weeks —"

Clearly, that did not work.

Snape stood up suddenly and began pacing. Harry wished he had said nothing. It took all of his resolve to not run out the door.

Snape rounded on him sharply and enunciated slowly, "So all these weeks, I have been wasting my time for nothing? What good is practice when you do not even know what you are supposed to be doing?"

Harry cringed.

Snape sat back behind his desk and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had not even noticed how tense he had been.

When Snape next spoke, he sounded more composed and his face was back to its blank state.

"As long as a person is alive, it is impossible for them to not think. When you clear your mind, you stop pushing against your thoughts. You do not direct them; but let them float past you. Do you understand?"

"Not really," Harry said, hoping it was not the wrong answer.

Thankfully Snape did not get angry. He only nodded, a pensive look on his face. After a moment of silence, Snape tried to explain in a different way. "When you are on your broom, are there different positions that make you buffet against the wind?"

Harry nodded.

"Explain."

"If I want to slow down and the brakes are not fast enough, I stretch my legs to increase resistance."

"And what would decrease resistance?"

"Lying flat on my broom and folding my legs."

"So imagine your mind having a wall, and in the wall, there is a disk with holes," Snape said, leaning forward. This was the first time Harry had seen Snape look at him without a sneer. "When I enter your mind, memories escape from those holes and I can get to them.

"You are trying to block said holes, but the flow is too strong. It is as if you are trying to contain a dam with scotch tape.

"Instead, turn the disk in a way that provides the least resistance. Your memories will rush through, and that is what is going to push me out."

Harry felt more confident now. "Wouldn't that mean that you'd be able to watch the memories before you were pushed out?"

"Yes," Snape answered. "But it is preferable over not pushing me out at all. Over time, you will learn to keep inconsequential memories at the forefront and hide the important ones at the back. First, however, you have to learn to push me out, or it will make no difference where the memories are. With enough time, anyone could get them all."

Harry shuddered.

"How do I do that?" Harry asked.

"You have to figure that out. That is why I have been instructing you to practise, Potter. Everyone's mind is too unique to have set rules. Now that you know what you are supposed to be doing, I want to see improvement. I might be expecting too much, however."

Harry scowled.

"You have two days. Practise each night before bed." Snape said.

"Dismissed," he added when Harry did not move.

Harry picked up his satchel and left the classroom, mind racing a mile per minute. Perhaps, his mind jeered, so quickly that Snape might not even be able to read his thoughts.

---

When Harry awakened the next morning, he felt more rested than he had the entire year. To Harry's disappointment, it was not quite light yet, but as he could hear birds, it was close enough.

He sat up, yawning. He wished he could stay in bed, but he had been neglecting his homework in favour of potions.

While he was showering and starting to feel like he was human again, Harry realised something — he had had no nightmares. That was exciting enough in itself, but for Harry it meant something even more groundbreaking: his Occlumency lessons were finally working.

He was still feeling jubilant by the time he had dressed and prepared to tackle his homework. Grinning wildly, he opened Intermediate Transfiguration to remind himself of his last class. Sharpening his quill, he settled down to write.

The common room was bustling with noise when Harry finally stretched. He had forgotten more than he had realised, and what should have taken an hour took over three times the amount of time. He made a mental note to catch up on his theory.

The high of the success carried through nearly the whole day and people were noticing. That, more than anything, told Harry how out-of-sorts he had been. He could have sworn he saw tears of happiness in Hermione's eyes when he actually ate his food at breakfast. Ron dragged him off to play a game of chess in a free period, and even Ginny had a few words to say during lunch.

"Hey, Harry." the red-head slid in next to him, trying to shove half a dozen books in her satchel at once. "Luna says the Wrackspurts have finally disappeared."

Harry looked up from his Shepherds Pie, distracted from the pea he had been trying to get on his fork.

"Hm? Oh, Ginny! D'you need a hand?"

"No, thanks. I've got it." Ginny straightened at last, pushing her hair away from her eyes. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Errr." Harry blushed in embarrassment.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Luna says the Wrackspurts have finally disappeared," she repeated.

"That's good, I guess? I hope they don't come back."

Ginny giggled, and the spoonful of serving she was helping herself to dropped in Harry's plate.

"Oops!" Ginny said, sounding unconcerned. "You needed a little more anyway. I have to say though, it's good to see you eating — for once."

"Hey!" Harry said indignantly, "I eat!" He shoved a mouthful in to prove himself.

Ginny clicked her tongue. "Sure, enough for a bird."

Unfortunately, Harry could not answer; he was busy trying to swallow the — admittedly delicious — morsel.

By the time he had finally managed to choke it down, Ginny had turned away, caught up in heated banter with the twins.

Fred caught his eye and grinned. "What do you think, Harry? How is Umbridge going to go? So far we have ten galleons for strangulation from her cough, and five for getting eaten by a toad."

Harry laughed. "I say fifteen galleons for being chased out by the students."

"Boring!"

"Hem, hem!"

They all jumped.

"Betting on school grounds?" Her smile was sickly sweet and the back of Harry's hand burned. "I think you need another week's detention, don't you, my dear?"

"Not really," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" Umbridge asked sharply.

Harry winced as the twins and Ginny started objecting loudly. "I said 'yes, Professor Umbridge'," Harry said over them. He gave them a glare that plainly said 'Shut up, you idiots!'.

They were not to be outdone, however. "Please, Professor! It's our fault."

"Yes, we were just betting on how to over-power a certain toad."

"I said—"

"That is enough!" Umbridge's face had gone purple and her eyes bulged. She took a deep breath and pasted the disgusting smile back on her face. "I will decide who is at fault, Messrs. Weasley." She turned to Harry and glared. "The detention stands."

Harry picked glumly at the remaining food on his plate, appetite dissipated.

The twins looked guilty.

"We're sorry, Harry," George began.

"Yeah, we shouldn't have bought you into it," Fred agreed sorrowfully.

"It's okay, guys," Harry said, forcing a smile. "She'd have found another excuse, anyway."

All the same, Harry was loaded with assignments and even a good night's rest could not help with that. He just hoped Umbridge would not keep him too long.

---

By the end of the week, the singular success was a long forgotten dream. By the time Harry got back from his detentions, he was too exhausted to even think about practising, and Snape looked like he was regretting explaining anything to him.

Even the castle was sombre. After Umbridge had sacked Trelawney, all the teachers were walking around grim-faced. Harry was especially worried for Hagrid, who did not seem to be able to understand how much trouble he could get into.

On the bright side, Gryffindor had won the Quidditch match even with Harry out as a seeker. Harry felt a little guilty for being jealous, but Ginny seemed to understand.

"I'd rather you were there, Harry," she had said sympathetically. "I know how much you love Quidditch."

And wasn't that just the problem? Harry had always used flying to clear his head. When he was up in the air, all his troubles seemed to fall away. Nothing mattered but the snitch, and avoiding bludgers and — Harry sat up straight in excitement.

"Ginny," he said in a hushed voice. "I need to fly."

---

Harry was trembling under his cloak, wand lit and trained on his map. Whether it was from excitement or fear, he did not know. The common room was loud and rambunctious. Everyone was still celebrating the last win even though it’d been a week, and it was nearing midnight.

Harry had already pretended to go up to his dormitory, yawning widely. Once there, he charmed a pair of pyjamas to look more bulky, and transfigured a pillow into the shape of his face. Putting on his Invisibility cloak, he came back downstairs.

He had finished all his homework in case he got detention, and had studied the potion for the following class while he was waiting. He knew he was taking a terrible risk, but he had to know.

Finally, Ginny sent him the agreed upon signal (three taps on her thigh) and Harry exited through the portrait, hidden under his cloak. The common room was so crowded that nobody noticed the portrait hole opening and closing by itself, and the Fat Lady's voice was drowned in a screech of laughter from a group of fourth-years.

Harry reached the changing rooms without incident and found the broom cupboard unlocked as promised. He picked the closest, not confident enough to take the time to choose. Harry thanked his paranoia when Filch rounded the corridor, muttering under his breath. He had barely closed the door.

Ten minutes later, Harry was up in the sky after what felt like forever, grinning like a lunatic. The constant ache in his scar fell away, as did the burn on the back of his hand. The wind rushed around him and his invisibility cloak billowed around his ankles. He had used a sticking charm to make sure he could not be seen from below.

Harry indulged himself for a moment, attempting a few manoeuvres, rushing around the pitch as fast as he could go. At last a little out of breath, Harry slowed down to do what he came for in the first place.

Even the thought of Occlumency did not bother him. He closed his eyes, making sure not to go too fast. He imagined the sound of the wind like the roaring in his ears when Snape Legilimised him, and he imagined bludgers of memories rushing toward him.

Let it all pass… he thought, as he dodged the bludgers. They missed and Harry imagined a groan as they hit Snape. Harry slowed down further, and as the sound of the wind howled a little less, he imagined Snape falling away.

Harry landed with a thump, but the exhilaration of flying remained with him. Quickly but silently, he returned the broom to its place and nearly ran all the way to Gryffindor tower. His head had barely touched the pillow when he was out like a light.

---

"Harry! Harry! Breakfast is almost over!"

"Gimme a minute," Harry muttered, trying to pull the sheets over his head.

"You don't have a minute. Do you want Snape to give you another detention? And where were you last night? That was a very clever piece of Transfiguration, by the way."

Harry groaned and sat up. Hermione's grating voice would not let him go back to sleep. Picking up his glasses from the nightstand, he blinked his eyes to clear them.

Hermione was sitting on Ron's bed, and Ron was digging through his trunk, clothes and socks strewn around him. The sun was glaring through the windows, and Harry could hear the sound of students far below on the grounds.

"Wha's the time," Harry said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Quarter to eight," said Hermione. "You have fifteen minutes to get ready, have breakfast and get to class."

"WHAT!?" Harry shouted, jumping up. He held onto his bed as the room spun. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I just did," Hermione said indignantly, but Harry was already in the bathroom. He was ready in two minutes, having used freshening charms liberally.

Thay had had to run through the corridors (thankfully they did not meet Filch) and gobble down their breakfasts, but they did manage to reach class on time. Snape set them to correct the Invigoration Draught, and Ron and Harry paired up.

Harry lit a fire under his cauldron, and started chopping up the Jacaranda leaves. It would take him a while, as nearly half a cauldron was needed.

An hour later, Ron put his stirring rod on the table, massaging his arm. Harry was counting the minutes down to switch off the flame.

"Three… two… one…" The potion turned honey-coloured from the murky brown it was, and Harry cheered under his breath.

At that exact moment Snape said, "Your potion should be smelling like mildew, with a watery consistency. Pour your attempt into a flask, label it clearly and bring it to my desk."

Harry poured his potion and labelled it, and proudly brought it to the desk. He was so happy he could not stop beaming at Snape. He quietly laughed at the suspicious look Snape sent him.

"What's up with you, mate?" Ron asked while Harry began clearing up their workplace.

"Just had a good night of sleep." Harry smiled cheerfully, "C'mon, Hermione's waiting for us."

---

Harry whistled a jaunty tune under his breath on his way to Occlumency. If his experiment worked the way he thought, he might just be able to push Snape out.

Things were looking up. During DADA, when Umbridge had tried to rile him up, he had imagined his made-up scene and was able to calm down successfully. Better yet, his scar had not pained at all today, and Harry realised just how tense he had been because of it.

He knocked on Snape's door the minute he reached it, and waited for Snape's 'come in' before pushing it open.

Snape was standing in position, his memories already stored in the Pensieve off to the side.

"Did you practise, Potter?" he began with his customary greeting.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and beamed again. He pursed his lips to stop himself from laughing at Snape's glare.

"Get ready in three… two… one, Legilimens!"

Harry did his best to concentrate on his strategy and forget about the memories playing in his head. At first nothing seemed to change, but after a while, the memories seemed to move faster and faster until they all seemed to merge together. He could not differentiate one memory from another, and the roaring in his ears got quieter. With an immense effort, Harry broke the connection and Snape's face swam into view.

Unfortunately, his success had no mercy on his knees as he found that he was on the floor again. Once he had caught his breath, however, he could not stop grinning. He jumped up, crowing,"I did it!", then covered his mouth in embarrassment when he remembered that Snape was still there.

Snape rolled his eyes.

Harry stared.

Snape smirked, his eyes lighting up in amusement.

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Close your mouth, Potter, you will catch flies."

Harry pulled himself together with difficulty and closed his mouth. Snape's passive expression was back, as he stood back in his place, lifting up his wand.

"Again. Three … two… one … Legilimens! "

This time, Harry managed to push Snape out faster. He felt less out of breath, anyway. He was not exactly looking at a clock.

And again. And again. And again.

With each success, Harry's confidence grew, and the ever-present anger in Snape's eyes seemed to dim. There were hardly any insults uttered by the time the hour was out, and Harry felt nearly content.

"Enough. Continue with what you are doing, and maybe it will stick into that thick skull of yours. I am not brimming with hope, however."

Harry was feeling too exhausted and content to be bothered and only nodded. "Yes, sir. Can I go, then?"

"Yes, Potter. Straight back to Gryffindor Tower. No detours, you understand?" Snape looked disappointed for not having a reason to keep him.

Harry nodded and left, dragging his feet. It seemed that not even managing to push Snape out lessened the exhaustion from the Occlumency lessons.

"What are you doing here, Mr Potter? Surely your common room is not in the dungeons?" Umbridge's simpering voice grated on his ears.

Harry blanked his expression and turned around to face Umbridge. He really was not feeling up to a confrontation

"Just finished with Remedial Potions, Professor."

"Really? If we were to go ask Professor Snape, he would corroborate your story, I trust?" Umbridge frowned disbelievingly.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said.

Umbridge grabbed Harry's arm tightly, going back towards Snape's office. Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out from the sting of her nails.

They were standing in front of Snape's door a few minutes later, and Umbridge banged her hand. The door flew open to reveal a thunderous Snape who had to quickly dodge to avoid Umbridge stumbling into him.

Gathering herself up to her tallest, she said with dignity, "Potter claims he was getting back from Remedial Potions. " The sarcasm in her tone was so thick, Harry could almost taste it.

"As difficult as it is to believe, in this case Potter is telling the truth." Snape looked bored.

"And who, may I ask, gave approval," Umbridge said shrilly. "For him to get extra classes?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore, obviously." Snape seemed to take great pleasure from saying those words.

"Of course, of course." Umbridge calmed herself down. She released Harry's arm and smiled at him. "Off you go, then. Goodnight."

Harry felt a shiver run down his back. "Goodnight, Professors," He muttered, and hurried through the corridors. He did not want to meet anyone else today.

Inside the common room, Harry barely paused to wave at Ron and Hermione, going straight to his dormitory. He was already in pyjamas when Ron came up.

"What happened? Was Snape being a git again?"

"Umbridge," Harry said sourly.

"Tough luck, mate," Ron said, giving his shoulder a friendly bump. "What about the Occlumency thingy?"

Harry brightened. "I did it! I really did it!"

"That's great! Maybe Hermione will get off your back now. When are you telling her?"

Harry yawned. "You tell her, I'm knackered. Occlumency is still exhausting." He laid down, pulling the covers up.

"Right then," Ron said, standing up. "G'd night."

Ron looked back when he didn't get an answer, but Harry was already asleep.

---

Harry regularly went out to fly with Ginny's help. It seemed to work well for clearing his mind, and the Occlumency lessons were going smoothly. He managed to avoid detentions with Umbridge, and a good thing too. She was going around the school like a raging rhinoceros after the stunt the Weasley twins had pulled — flying away from Hogwarts and insulting her on their way out — and Peeves was not helping matters.

The DA was going well too, and Harry was especially proud of Neville who was growing in leaps and bounds. Harry was not getting any strange dreams or nightmares, and as a result, he was feeling very well rested. He was keeping on top of his homework and managed to study ahead for potions. He thought that last win was kind of a breakthrough, because he had managed to get each potion perfect or close enough ever since.

It was all too good to last, however. Two weeks later, Harry was nearly paralysed with fear. His invisibility cloak had caught onto a hook just when Filch had rounded the corridor. He had pulled it up quickly, but he clearly had not been fast enough.

"Aha!" Filch pulled the cloak triumphantly. "So that's how you're going about unseen, you are!"

Harry shook his head, unable to speak. He remembered with horror that Umbridge seemed to have papers that gave permission for whipping. He gulped.

"We will see what the headmistress says about that, yes we will. I reckon she might let me use the manacles hanging in my office," Filch muttered the whole way and Harry was ashamed to admit it was creeping him out. He was almost glad to reach Umbridge's office until he remembered who was behind the door.

Umbridge looked especially vile in the light that spilled from her office behind her when Filch explained the situation. "Where's the cloak, then?"

Filch handed it over.

"I will keep it. Little bad boys should not be walking around invisible, should they? People would wonder what they are up to."

"You can't!" Harry yelled.

"I certainly can," Umbridge said.

Harry's temper snapped at Umbridge's self-satisfied look.

"Give it back!" Harry shouted. "It's mine!"

"Now, Mr Potter, don't go making things worse for yourself," Umbridge said, looking like she hoped Harry did the opposite.

Filch couldn't remain silent any longer. "Headmistress, should I bring the whip?"

"No," Umbridge said quietly. "You can leave it to me. Go now."

Filch looked disappointed but shuffled away. Umbridge waited until his footsteps faded before she pulled Harry into her office and pushed him roughly in a chair. She looked excited. Harry felt sick.

"You have had it coming for a long time," Umbridge said, pointing her wand at him. "Will you explain yourself?"

"I was just going to fly," Harry forced through his tight throat. He was afraid if he didn't say something, Umbridge would get it in her head that it was Order business and find out about Sirius.

"Is that so, Mr Potter?" Umbridge said gleefully. "Did you forget that you are banned from flying?"

Harry said nothing.

Umbridge smiled wider. "Very well. I have heard enough. Get up!" Her voice was so sharp that Harry jumped up at once. The look in her eyes reminded him of Uncle Vernon and he could not stop a shudder.

Umbridge noticed and fell on the sign of weakness like a pink vulture pouncing at the smell of meat. "Are you afraid, Mr Potter? You should have thought of that before deliberately disobeying." She flicked her wand and Harry gasped. He felt a burning stripe over his arm and hand, but when he looked, there was nothing.

"Turn around!" Umbridge shrieked, "It is time you felt the consequences of your actions!"

"Professor, I —"

Harry cut off with a cry as Umbridge flicked her wand again. He bit his lip and turned around, knowing it would hurt less. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe deeply.

"That's better, isn't it? You will take your punishment quietly, won't you?"

Harry kept silent and Umbridge flicked her wand again. Harry's breath hitched. Umbridge, bolstered by the reaction, flicked her wand again, and again.

Harry tried to ignore the pain. He barely felt his cheeks getting wet from the tears that escaped his tight shut eyes. He barely felt the pain in his lip when he bit hard enough for a bead of blood to escape. The stripes of fire on his back took all of his awareness. He was certain they were bleeding.

Harry did not notice when Umbridge stopped the spell. He only straightened when her voice dragged his concentration. "That will do. Detention tomorrow, at lunch."

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," Harry mumbled dejectedly.

"Get straight back to your dormitory, you understand? We wouldn't want you to get lost now, would we?"

"No, Professor Umbridge."

Harry fled the office, running to the seventh floor. Just before the corridor to the common room, Harry turned toward an alcove, squeezing through. He bit his lip to stop crying from the sudden pain that pulled at his muscles.

Only when he was completely hidden and still did Harry allow himself to break down. Angry tears leaked from his eyes at remembering how helpless he felt, how powerless. No one, not even Voldemort had managed to get him so afraid.

Harry was seriously considering telling someone, but who? Dumbledore was gone, but he would not look at him anyway, and McGonagall had told him to keep his head down. Harry laughed bitterly to himself. Who was he kidding? No one had interfered when Umbridge had threatened to whip the twins, no matter how much they celebrated when they had escaped. Why should this be any different? The fame is getting to my head, Harry thought, half hysterically.

Half an hour later Harry felt composed enough to leave his hiding place. He went to the bathroom and washed his face, hoping he would not be asked any questions, but red-rimmed eyes looked back at him from the mirror. Giving it up as a hopeless cause, he returned to Gryffindor Tower. He would not put it past Umbridge to check if he had done as she said.

When Hermione caught sight of his face, her smile dropped. She got up and started trying to reach him but Harry ignored her, getting to the dormitory as soon as possible. He went to his bed and pulled the curtains shut. Taking off his shirt, he strained his neck to look around.

There was nothing to be seen.

Even so, it felt like the spell had left real wounds. Each movement sent sparks shooting up his back and over his shoulder and every now and then, a hiss escaped through his clenched teeth.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Hermione's voice sounded uncertain.

Harry hurriedly put his shirt back on.

"Nothing, everything's okay." To his horror, his voice was hoarse. He groaned under his breath. Now Hermione would never believe him.

"Harry James Potter! Do you think me stupid?!" Hermione's voice was high pitched in her worry.

"I'm not okay," Harry amended. "But I don't want to talk about it."

Hermione sighed. "You will come to me if there's anything seriously wrong, won't you, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry lied. "But now I really want to sleep. "

"All right, I'll be in the common room if you need me."

Harry heard the door closing softly as she left, and he laid down on his front tiredly. He did not know how he would keep it from her longer; not when he flinched with every movement, but that was a problem for later. For now, he just wanted to escape in the darkness of unconsciousness.

He was standing in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. His hands were clenched on the back of a chair in front of him. They were long-fingered and white as though they had not seen sunlight for years and looked like large, pale spiders against the dark velvet of the chair. Beyond the chair, in a pool of light cast upon the floor by the candles, knelt a man in black robes.

"I have been badly advised, it seems," said Harry, in a high, cold voice that pulsed with anger.

"Master, I crave your pardon..." croaked the man kneeling on the floor. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He seemed to be trembling.

"I do not blame you, Rookwood," said Harry in that cold, cruel voice.

He relinquished his grip upon the chair and walked around it, closer to the man cowering upon the floor, until he stood directly over to him in the darkness, looking down from a far greater height than usual.

"You are sure of your facts, Rookwood?" asked Harry.

"Yes, My Lord, yes… I used to work in the department too after all..."

"Avery told me Bode would be able to remove it."

"Bode could never have taken it, Master... Bode would have known he could not... Undoubtedly that is why he fought so hard against Malfoy's Imperius Curse…"

"Stand up, Rookwood," whispered Harry.

The kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey. His face was pockmarked; the scars were thrown into relief by the candlelight. He remained a little stooped when standing, as though halfway through a bow, and he darted terrified looks up at Harry's face.

"You have done well to tell me this," said Harry. "Very well... I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems... But no matter… We begin again, from now. You have Lord Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood."

"My Lord… yes, My Lord," gasped Rookwood, his voice hoarse with relief.

"I shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can give me."

"Of course, My Lord, of course… anything."

"Very well... you may go. Send Avery to me."

Rookwood scurried backward, bowing, and disappeared through a door.

Left alone in the dark room, Harry turned toward the wall. A cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows. Harry moved toward it. His reflection grew larger and clearer in the darkness.

A face whiter than a skull... red eyes with slits for pupils…

---

Harry walked like a zombie through his classes the next day and hardly even noticed Hermione's concerned glances. He did not answer Snape's insults, or Ron's teasing, or Umbridge's attempts to rile him up. At lunchtime he felt the apathy fall away for the first time, replaced with dread. Harry was beyond scared.

He did not know why last night's punishment scared him so much. It was over and done with. Wasn't carving lines into his hand for hours objectively worse than a whipping that went on for a few minutes, at most?

Harry ignored the voice in his head that whispered that it was different, he wasn't so powerless when he was writing lines. Shaking it off, Harry tried to summon the bravery he was known for.

His hand trembled when he knocked on the disgustingly pink door.

"Come in!" Umbridge's sugary voice floated through, and Harry entered. A piece of parchment sat with a quill beside it in front of a chair, and Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

Only lines, then, he thought. He took up the quill, much calmer now, and began writing. An hour later Umbridge dismissed him, saying he needed to go to class. Harry thankfully escaped her stifling presence and made for Charms.

"Where were you, mate?" Ron asked while they were trying to banish their feathers.

"Detention," Harry whispered back.

"You missed lunch."

Harry nodded; he was not hungry anyway. Ron saw he was not in the mood and turned back to his feather. Harry practised listlessly, scarcely concentrating.

The rest of the day passed in a similar manner. Harry picked through his food and ignored Ron and Hermione whispering furiously over his head. The minute dinner was over, Harry went to the dorm and closed the curtains. The pain was sapping his energy and his scar was throbbing. Everything was too much. He kept on looking over his shoulder, expecting narrowed eyes and little coughs. With a heavy heart, he fell asleep.

---

Things went from bad to worse in the morning. By the time Harry had stirred, breakfast was long over. When he tried getting up from bed, his entire back seized up and he had to take deep breaths to compose himself.

He did not understand how the spell worked. His back was unblemished but it felt like any other wound. Harry hoped it wasn't just glamoured because then it would be too hard to make sure it was not infected.

By the time Harry reached potions, he was five minutes late and everyone had started brewing. Harry ignored Seamus' glare when Snape took five points. Dismissing Hermione's worried looks, he went to his work station. He sent a grateful glance at Ron; his ingredients were already laid out.

From the get go, things went wrong. He had barely added the Thunderbird feathers when the potion turned green, the opposite of what it was supposed to be. Stirring did not help matters; a cloud of purple smoke rose up which sent everyone coughing.

Snape was livid. "Everyone out! Potter, what are you doing? I said, out! Out! Out!"

Once everyone was standing in the corridor outside, Snape closed and warded the door.

"Potter, what did you do? That could have killed us, you imbecile!"

Everyone looked at Harry accusingly. He wanted to sink through the floor.

"Nothing, I'd barely started!" he defended himself feebly, trembling.

"Exactly! Are you truly so inept that you destroyed a potion in the first five seconds or was that your idea of a joke?!"

"That wasn't a joke, I don't know what went wrong!" Harry shouted.

"Keep your voice down! Detention after dinner."

Harry gave a mutinous glare and stalked off.

By the time Umbridge allowed him to leave her mid-day detention, lunch was over, and Harry was feeling decidedly unsteady. Black spots danced in his vision and his head was pounding. His back felt like it was on fire. If there were any real wounds, Harry would say they were infected. As it was, all Harry could do was wait it out.

Harry skipped out of Herbology and hid out in his dorm. He had absolutely no energy to even try doing any heavy work. History of Magic was a bonus class to get some much needed rest, and by dinnertime, Harry felt much better.

Still, he could only force down a quarter of what was on his plate. Feeling better didn't mean much when he was feeling absolutely wretched before, and his stomach was protesting each bite. The minute he saw Snape stand, he gave up and followed Snape slowly to the dungeons.

"Come in!"

Harry gave a start. He had not even known he had reached Snape's class, let alone knocked. It took all of his strength to open the heavy door, and he stumbled through sluggishly.

"Were you just going to stand there, expecting the door to open on its own?"

"Hmm? Er…" For some reason the voice seemed to take forever to reach his brain. "I didn' know."

"Did not know what?" It registered in Harry's mind that Snape sounded impatient.

"You shouldn' get so angry, 'fessor."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, you get scary."

"Potter, are you drunk?" Snape was looking strangely at him. Harry did not understand why — he was telling the truth.

"'m drunk. I drunk at dinner."

Snape stood up, going around his desk. Harry felt a sudden panic seize him.

"No! Stay 'way! Stay 'way, please!"

Snape stopped in his tracks and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Potter, what has happened to you?"

"Don' feel so good." Harry said, seeing the room spin. He sat down on the floor with a bump.

"May I come closer? I need to check you over."

At this point Harry was past listening. The only things that mattered were the fire racing through his body and the pressure that was threatening to explode out of his eyes.

---

Potter's erratic behaviour was worrying Severus too much for him to keep his composure. The child had pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes and kept mumbling 'don' feel so good'. He kneeled by the boy, ignoring his increasingly hysterical cries. He waved his wand in a complicated motion and his eyes widened upon seeing the hazy diagram floating in the air. Picking Potter up in his arms, he raced to the hospital wing, ignoring the few students still struggling in the corridors after dinner. The doors opened before he reached them, and he hurried inside.

"Poppy, blood poisoning!" he shouted, almost frantic.

Madam Pomfrey came out the side door, her face white. The minute she saw Potter, she started casting her own spells. At last she turned to face him. "Any chance you have got Septicemal Serum in your stores?"

"I will brew it immediately," Severus said, voice tight. Turning sharply, he left.

---

Harry peeled his eyes open. His throat was parched like a desert that hadn't seen water in years.

Sitting up, he blinked. He was not in his bed in GryffindorTower.

The hospital wing was silent. No one was there apart from him. Moonlight shone on the blurry cabinet opposite, and the air smelled sterile. Placing his glasses on his face, Harry looked around in confusion. What had happened?

The tickling in the back of his throat demanded attention and Harry remembered what woke him up in the first place. Climbing out of bed, he nearly jumped out of his skin, hearing Snape's low, irritated voice. "Potter! What are you doing out of bed?!"

"Er, I just need to get a drink."

"Do you not have your wand?" Snape looked at Harry like he was stupid.

Harry blushed in embarrassment.

Snape took a deep breath, walked over and filled a glass with a quiet "Aguamenti". Harry gulped it greedily. Remembering his manners, he blushed again and muttered "thanks". Snape acted like he did not hear him.

"There is something we need to speak about. We might as well do it now, seeing that you are awake."

Without waiting for Harry's answer, he conjured a chair and sat down. Harry climbed back on the bed and waited.

"Why did you not tell anyone?" Snape asked quietly.

Harry looked up, startled. He had not expected that question. "Tell what?"

"Do not act dense, Potter! That Umbridge used the Hablunnaar on you."

"The what?" Harry asked, blinking in confusion.

Snape sent his gaze upward, as if asking for help. "The whip!"

"Oh," said Harry eloquently.

"Yes, oh."

They stared at each other.

"Well?" Snape added when Harry did not answer.

"Er, I thought you knew?" Uncertainty made the statement sound like a question.

"What on earth gave you that idea?" Snape looked so baffled that in another circumstance Harry would have laughed. Nothing was funny about this conversation, however.

"Because," Harry mumbled. "Of, you know… before —"

"Speak up, Potter," Snape said. "Before what?"

"Well," Harry gathered his courage. "When Umbridge had the twins."

"You think we would have let her torture them?" Harry flinched. "Are you daft? We would have stepped in if she had gone that far!"

Harry got tired of everyone acting like Harry did something wrong. It lit the spark on his volatile temper.

"Yeah? After she drove the Great Professor Dumbledore out? When I complained to McGonagall, she said I had to keep my head down! Umbridge has been giving detentions left and right but all of you are turning a blind eye! What was I supposed to think?"

Snape seemed lost for words. "You told Professor McGonagall? And why should we pay any attention to her detentions? We do not make a habit of doing that, not even for Prince Potter!"

Harry exploded. "See, I knew you wouldn't listen! What is the point?!" With that, Harry shut his mouth and would not say more.

Snape’s jaw was tense. He looked like he was about to say something — but he did not speak.

After a few moments, Snape moved on. "That was not what I came to discuss," he leaned forward. "Tell me, have you been feeling strangely emotional? Depressed, perhaps, or angry?"

Harry said nothing, but his face must have given him away.

Snape gave him a knowing look and continued, "The ingredients we have been using are particularly volatile. What is not well known, however, is that they react to emotions. When you were able to clear your mind and felt relatively stable, your potions went well. On the other hand, if something happened that caused an emotional upheaval, your potions exploded.

"The reason we are discussing this is that unstable emotions are normally not enough to cause the effect you had on the potions. Do you have any notion of what else it could be?"

It pained Harry to speak, but he was too curious. "You're asking me?" he said, a note of shrill disbelief in his voice.

Snape rolled his eyes. "It is your mind, Potter. Now, the answer if you please?" he sneered.

"Why should I say anything to you?"

"Potter!" Snape burst out. "This is not a game! Get over your tantrum and answer the damn question!"

Harry felt insulted — he was not a child! "Fine! If you must know," he said mulishly. "It's my scar. It’s been burning a lot this year."

"Now is not the time to lie!" Snape’s lips were white with anger.

"I'm not lying! Why would I lie about that?"

"Your scar hurts?" Snape asked for clarification. "Are you sure it is not your head?"

"It's not in my head," Harry said shortly, annoyed at not being believed.

"I asked if your head was hurting, not if it was in your head," Snape said crossly.

"It's not my head," Harry reiterated.

"Is it hurting right now?"

Harry shook his head.

Snape abruptly stood up. "Get some rest, Potter."

"Wait! Aren't you going to tell me what's going on? What about the potion thing?"

"How eloquent," Snape sneered. "You will know what you need to, and at the moment you need to know nothing more. Goodnight." Snape said in a firm voice, and Harry knew he would not budge.

"G'night, sir," he muttered sullenly, laying back down. He was sure he would not be able to sleep with the thoughts racing in his head, but minutes later, with Snape's silent presence watching over him, he was snoring.

---

By the next week everything had changed. Umbridge had disappeared and Dumbledore was back. He had given a speech about 'unforgivable mistakes' and 'safe places', but Harry was still feeling too angry at the Headmaster to give him much attention.

Harry had gotten a note saying that Occlumency lessons were put off for a week to 'give him time to process things in that minuscule mind of his'. Harry was too happy about the respite to be too bothered about the insult.

Harry did not stop practising, however. Occlumency really did seem to keep his nightmares away, and there was the added benefit of explosion-free Potion classes.

Harry noticed that trying a rudimentary Occlumency exercise during Potions helped too, and also made him more focused. With his increasing success, Potions was firmly fixed as Harry's favourite subject. If a minuscule nod from Snape sent a warm feeling inside Harry's chest, no one would ever need to know.