Harry walked into his bedroom struggling not to show how he truly felt. Snape made him so angry sometimes! What did Snape think, that he was stupid? Of course he hadn’t forgotten that Occlumency was tomorrow. Really! Harry snorted.

As he rolled his eyes he saw a snowy owl perched on the wire cage on the trunk. “Hedwig!” he exclaimed, forgetting his anger. “You found me! Good girl!” He reached out to pat her. Carefully he lifted her cage over to the desk where she resettled herself. Harry rummaged through his trunk, and then he stood and offered one of the owl treats he had been looking for to Hedwig.

He stretched and yawned, then caught himself. How could he be so tired at—he glanced at the clock—nine o’clock? For Merlin’s sake he had even had a nap that afternoon, though it wasn’t exactly restful, a bitter voice whispered in the back of his mind. Since when do you deserve rest, another asked coldly. “Enough!” Harry said aloud, causing Hedwig to cock her head slightly as she looked at him.

He would just work on his summer work a little more, until he fell asleep. With a sigh Harry pulled his Transfigurations text and a roll of parchment toward him. An hour and a half later he slumped forward on the desk, his forehead smudging the still-wet ink as the quill fell out of his hand and traced curlicues across the parchment.

Harry slowly came awake after a night of surprisingly refreshing sleep. He stretched and smiled a little until he saw the clock. Eight forty-five! He had fifteen minutes to get dressed and find Snape. Harry was dressed and out the door in five minutes. He was halfway down the hall before he realized that he didn’t even know where his beloved Potions Professor was. Making an executive decision, Harry headed for the dining room. If Snape wasn’t there, maybe he could at least find what-its-name the house elf. Ash? Ember? What had Snape called it? It was just as Harry remembered the elf’s name, Cinder, that he realized that he didn’t even know if it was male or female.

Severus Snape sat in the library and snarled. Trust Potter to be late for the first lesson. Severus snorted. Probably wants to make some sort of grand entrance, he thought to himself as he glared at the clock. Nine-oh-seven. Ah, but the Great Harry Potter was above such petty considerations as punctuality. He would have to come up with a suitable punishment for the brat. Just as he was turning his mind to the very pleasurable contemplation of what that punishment might be, the door slammed open and a panting, red-faced Potter burst into the room. “Professor, I-“he began.

“Legilimens” Snape murmured as soon as he had his wand in his hand.

Anger. Harry saw Sirius falling, heard Bellatrix laughing. He saw his uncle advancing on him, face purple with rage.

The Potter Boy was on his knees, gasping when Snape pulled out. “Let’s try that again, shall we?” he inquired archly. Potter pulled himself to his feet and was just going for his wand when Snape invoked the spell again, “Legilimens”.

He saw his trunk being shoved into a cupboard, which was locked. Saw himself being shoved into a small, untidy room. He saw Sirius staring at him with reproachful eyes.

Potter was kneeling again. “Come on, Potter,” Snape growled. “You aren’t even trying!”

“Am!” Harry gasped out. He heaved himself up again and pulled his wand out.

“Legilimens!”

His aunt was swinging a frying pan at his head. His cousin was Harry-hunting. Cedric was glaring at him.

“Tarantallegra!”

“Finite Incantatum!” Snape bellowed as he calmed his dancing legs. “Well, at least you’re fighting back now,” he sneered. “Not that it greatly matters.” Harry’s face was coloring as Snape once again said “legilimens.”

He was yelling at his friends, and they were looking at him with concern. Wormtail was groveling on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Sirius was yelling at him.

Wait, Snape thought. Black yelling at Potter? That doesn’t make sense.

He was just consternated enough to miss the curse hurled at him. “Rictusempra.” He belatedly processed what his ears heard.

“Finite Incantatum!” he gasped out, trying not to giggle like a pathetic school girl. “Funny how we keep coming back to you godfather,” Snape said with an appraising look in his eyes.

“You leave Sirius out of this!” Potter ground out.

“I didn’t bring him into it in the first place, Potter,” he murmured with a raised eyebrow. “Legilimens.”

Harry was furious. First Snape attacked him the moment he walked in the room, and then he had the nerve to speak of Sirius! Well, if Harry couldn’t stop him maybe he could manipulate which memories he saw.

He saw that moment in second year when he and Ron were peeking into the Great Hall. “Maybe he died!” Ron said with glee. Third year, he saw Snape in a dress with a vulture hat on his head, stalking out of the coat cupboard in the staff room. He saw Snape later that same year, foaming and enraged by Sirius’s escape.

When Snape pulled out this time they were both standing, breathing hard. “Thank you for that fascinating insight into your opinion of me,” Snape hissed. “It’s eleven o’clock. Get out.” Harry was only too eager to comply.

When Harry left, Severus was furious. Any concern over any of the memories he had seen was gone; all he could think about was the insult Potter had dealt him. His rage was such that he did not even stop to consider the strength it must have taken for Potter to manipulate him that way. Very quickly the Greasy Git of the Dungeons fell once again into pleasant contemplations of ways to punish Potter.

Perhaps he should give him some menial task, like cleaning? That was usually a very good punishment for those students who were as arrogant as Potter. But something was niggling at the back of his mind. Something about the boy, perhaps? Well no matter; if it was important he would remember it later.

For now it was nearly time for lunch. Potter wasn’t in the dining room. Oh well, if the worthless brat wanted to sulk Severus certainly wasn’t going to stop him.

Harry, meanwhile was in his room, napping. Oddly enough, although he was dreaming of Sirius it was not one of the guilt riddled nightmares he had been plagued with recently. He was remembering the first time he had walked into 12 Grimmauld Place. He remembered the heaviness of the air; he remembered the way the Darkness seemed to ooze out of the very walls and pool in unnoticed corners while so many of the house’s inhabitants fought that same Darkness by cleaning and purging. Harry jerked awake later that afternoon knowing exactly why Snape’s house reminded him so strongly of Sirius; the same feeling of oppression could be found here.

Dinner was promising to be entertaining for both Harry and Snape, and no doubt would have fulfilled its vows admirably, except that Snape never made it to dinner that night. Approximately forty-five minutes before dinner was served, Snape felt a familiar but unwelcome burning on his left forearm. Quietly gathering a few necessary effects, he instructed Cinder to serve Potter without him and ran out the front door. He apparated as soon as he got beyond the wards surrounding his family home.

When he arrived, he surreptitiously looked around. It was a small group tonight. Not that that was going to make lying any easier. Those who were present promised to be the smarter, or at least more fanatical, of Voldemort’s Death Eaters.

Severus quickly made his obeisance and faded back into the circle surrounding the Dark Lord. “My faithful Sservantsss,” the villain formerly known as Riddle hissed. “Welcome. What newsss have you for me?” His voice was deceptively clam. Severus listened attentively while the others made their reports. Finally the serpentine being turned to him. “Sseverusss,” he crooned. “My faithful sspy. How goesss it?”

“My lord, I have been given care of Harry Potter for the summer. The Muggle-loving old fool thinks the boy will be safer with me.” It was always better to start with a bit of truth, and build the lie up from a solid foundation.

“A grievousss misscalculation on hisss part,” Riddle hissed appreciatively. “But why have you not brought young Potter to me, Sseverusss?” There was a dangerous edge in his voice now. It felt like a knife blade drawn slowly but carefully down Snape’s spine, creating chills but no blood.

“Forgive my presumption, my lord, but the boy has expressed an interest in the Dark Arts. I thought perhaps he might, with a little time and tutelage, join you. He would make a formidable ally.”

“And what of the prophecy, Sseverusss?”

“It was made by Trelawney, lord,” distaste was evident in his voice.

“Ah, yes. Our dear Ssybil. A pity she isss not more often accurate. And how isss the whelp responding to the losss of hisss godfather?”

“The boy is very depressed, my lord. He sulks constantly. He has only perked up when speaking of ways to get revenge on Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“It isss well known that Harry Potter ssneaksss into the restricted section at Hogwartsss,” the self-titled Dark Lord said contemplatively. “Sseverusss,” he seemed to have come to a sudden decision. “You will woo the boy. Teach him more of the Dark Artsss, but don’t go too quickly. Be patient with the child, Sseverusss; I’ll not losse thisss opportunity because you held a grudge against hisss father.”

Severus hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until that moment, when he exhaled almost imperceptibly. “Yes, my lord,” he bowed his head in what he knew was a suitably obedient and contrite manner.

“Perhapsss you had better go, Sseverusss. After all, we wouldn’t want to frighten the boy.“ Severus bowed and backed out of the circle. He walked away at a stately pace, staining to hear every last word he could. He heard nothing of further use, however; as he disapparated Voldemort’s comment “You’d better watch you back from now on, Bella,” and his Death Eaters’ raucous laughter was echoing in his ears.

The instant he got back to the Snape home, Severus went to his room and put away his cloak and mask. He then washed his hands thoroughly with both soap and water and the strongest cleansing potion he could use without burning his skin.

When his ablutions were completed he went to the top drawer of the desk in his study and removed the false back. Furtively he pulled out a small, round mirror with a plain, tarnished back. “Dumbledore,” he whispered to it. After a moment the old mage’s face appeared.

”Severus,” the headmaster greeted him. The benevolent twinkle was gone from his eyes replaced by a righteous fire. “You have news for me?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Snape replied in the affirmative. Clearly and concisely the Light’s spy related the evening’s events to his handler. The older man nodded occasionally but did not interrupt.

“Albus,” Snape said near the end of his narrative, “I am not entirely certain that the Dark Lord has fully accepted my explanation. He asked me to leave before the end of the meeting. It is possible that I am no longer a reliable source of information.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Do what you must, Severus, I will support you. But please, be careful. You would be greatly missed if you were gone and not only for the information you provide.”

“Thank you, Albus,” the austere Potions Master inclined his head. “I will communicate with you again when I have more to report.” Dumbledore nodded once more and was gone.

Silently Snape returned the mirror to its hiding place. He stretched and sighed; perhaps he would go to the kitchen and look for Cinder. She would probably be willing to fix him something light. As was frequently the case after a meeting with his own failings, Snape found he was slightly nauseous.