Days came and went. Homework was given and detentions were assigned. The Weasley twins released a herd of Hinkypunks in the third floor corridor which caused Filtch to go on another one of his back-in-my-day-we-used-to-stretch-disobedient-students-on-the-rack-for-detention rants, even though he couldn’t prove it was actually them. McGonagall started to teach how to Transfigure ink pots to coo-coo clocks, and Hagrid moved on from Thestrals to Unicorns. Peeves was keeping a suspiciously wide berth from Harry and his friends, but attacked a group of Second Years with another onslaught of syrup-filled balloons. Neville managed to melt not one, not two, but three caldrons in Potions class that week, and Professor Binns was as boring as ever. A Hogsmeade visit was scheduled for that Saturday and everyone was looking forward to the weekend.

And so, all too soon, Friday rolled around and Harry once again found himself standing outside of Professor Snape’s office at exactly seven o’clock.

Just as the bell began to toll, Harry knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Enter,” a deep voice called from beyond.

Harry opened the door and once again found the classroom dimly lit with Snape grading papers at his desk.

“I see you are on time for once…” Snape said as Harry came to a stop in front of his desk. “A pity… I was hoping for a chance to deduct more points from Gryffindor…”

Harry didn’t say anything and just stood there in silence.

Snape finished looking over the rest of the scroll he was grading. When he finally wrote a big red T at the top of the paper and tossed the scroll to the side, he finally looked up and eyed Harry. “Have you been practicing Occluding your mind every night before bed like I told you to?” he asked.

Harry, in all honestly, hadn’t. With all the strange things that had happened lately, emptying his mind of everything was about as likely as Voldemort ever winning Witch Weekly‘s Most Charming Smile Award. Nevertheless, he replied, “Yes, Sir.”

Snape gave him a skeptical look as though he knew Harry was lying. “We’ll see…” he murmured, almost as a threat.

Getting up, Snape swept to the other side of the room where he once again took down a Pensieve from the shelf. Harry watched in silence as the Potion master carefully extracted half a dozen silver memory threads from his head and deposited them in the bowl. Finally finished, Snape turned back to Harry.

“Wand out,” he ordered, leveling his own at Harry. “Remember, empty your mind. Let go of any thoughts or emotions you might have and focus on clearing your mind. Are you ready?”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded.

“On the count of three. One-two-three- Legillimens!”

A rush of disjointed memories assaulted Harry.

Him in a cramped, dark place while heavy footsteps pounded overhead… A gapping, rotting mouth leaning towards him from under a tattered black hood… His own body laying on a hospital table while a doctor sadly announced a time of death - all while he stood there watching from the other side of the room…

Harry suddenly found himself back in the present, gasping for breath on his knees in front of a glowering Potions master.

“Pathetic, Potter,” Snape scowled. “I can clearly see you haven’t been practicing like you so claimed. I know you think you are better than everyone else, but even you need to practice. Occlumency is not something one can learn without actually practicing! Now get up and try again!”

Harry unsteadily pulled himself back up onto his feet and faced Snape. His knees throbbed painfully, still sore from the week before. But he wasn’t about to show such weakness and once again leveled his wand at Snape.

“One-two-three-Legillimens!”

Once again Harry found himself assaulted by a string of unpleasant memories.

A Hungarian Horntail, lunging at him with open jaws, ready to snap him in half… Hermione laying in the Hospital Wing, as stiff and lifeless as a statue… A werewolf howling at the full moon…

“Potter, that was the most pathetic attempt yet! A Hufflepuff First Year could do better than you!”

Breathing heavily, Harry pushed himself back to his feet. “I’m trying!” he snapped. “Maybe if you actually taught me what to do instead of just going through my memories like a bull in a China shop, then maybe I’d know what to do!”

“Watch your tone,” Snape hissed. “I will not be spoken to like that.”

Harry gritted his teeth and muttered none too sincerely, “Sorry…”

Snape studied Harry closely for a moment, as though waiting for another outburst from the boy. Harry defiantly met his gaze, but didn’t say anything else, though his jaw unconsciously clenched and unclenched with simmering anger. His resolve to keep a non-antagonistic view of the man was starting to wear thin.

Snape’s dark eyes bore into him, as though considering whether or not to rise to Harry’s bait. “Alright, Potter,” he finally sneered. “Since you seem to need it spelled out for you, I’ll explain. But pay attention because I’m only going to tell you this once.” Crossing his arms across his chest, he slipped into his usual teaching mode. “To successfully Occlude your mind you must empty your mind of all thoughts and emotions like I’ve told you for the last thousand times. Exploiting the emotions of someone is one of the easiest ways to look into another person’s mind. They are like the back door into seeing one’s true thoughts and feelings. That is one of the reasons why you are failing so miserably - you let your emotions from your memories distract you and lose focus.”

“Then how do I stop that from happening?” Harry demanded.

“If you would let me finish without interrupting, then maybe I could tell you,” Snape snapped.

Huffing, Harry crossed his arms and waited for Snape to continue.

“There are many different methods of clearing one’s mind,” Snape went on. “Some rely on the ‘blank-slate’ method in which one completely empties one’s mind of all thoughts. This is considered one of the easiest methods, and the one I instructed you to use. But since that seems too difficult for you to manage, we will have to try something else…” Going over to one of the many bookshelves lining the room, Snape selected a thin, leather-bound volume. “This book described several different methods,” he said, coming back and handing the book to Harry. “I suggest you read it before out next lesson.”

Harry glanced at the title - Clouding the Mind - before Snape regained his attention.

“The method I want you to try tonight though is call Grounding. It is a technique in which one focuses on a particular memory that is not necessarily happy, sad, or anything, but rather neutral in nature. The memory might be comforting, perhaps, but nothing more. If any other emotions are attached to the memory - whether good or bad - it will give the person invading your mind an opening to attack. This is the method I myself find most successful when Occluding, but it requires a certain amount of concentration above just that of clearing your mind.”

Harry stared at the book in his hand. He hadn’t actually been expecting Snape to go to such lengths to explain different methods of Occluding when he’s snapped at him like that. He was actually surprised Snape hadn’t kicked him out right then and there for speaking out of line. Nevertheless, he wasn’t about to snub the Potion master’s suggestion…

“What memory do you use?” he tentatively asked.

Snape stared at Harry for a moment. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Potter,” he sneered.

“But if I know what memory you use, then maybe I’ll know what memory I can use,” Harry explained.

Snape noticeable hesitated, but then with a put-upon sigh said, “Each one’s Base Memory differs depending on what meaning it holds for that particular person. I, for instant, focus on memories of brewing complex potions because it offers me a neutral base to ground my mind on. I highly doubt though that you would associate such feelings towards potions… I would expect you would ground yourself with memories of riding a broom or that barbaric sport, Quidditch.”

Harry stared at Snape, utterly taken aback by his introverted Potion master had divulged such personal information.

“Do you have such a memory?” Snape asked, ignoring the boy’s surprised look.

Harry searched his mind. What memory did he have that was comforting, but really didn’t have any positive or negative connotations? He considered for a moment using Snape’s suggestion of rising a broom, but had to scrap it in the end. Flying held too many happy memories for him. In a way it was strange. To produce a Patronus you needed to focus on your happiest memory. But to Occlude your mind, thinking of anything positive or was just as detrimental as focusing on something negative.

Snape was starting to look impatient.

Harry desperately searched him memories for anything he could use. What was something neither positive or negative, but at the same time a source of comfort? Did he even have a memory like that? He didn’t think-

And then he suddenly knew.

“I have one,” he announced, meeting his professor’s gaze.

“Very well,” Snape said. “Close your eyes and focus on that memory. Do not let your mind wander or otherwise I will be able to break into your mind with barely even trying.”

Harry frowned but closed his eyes as he was directed.

“I want you to visualize your memory,” Snape’s voice said from beyond the veil of darkness of Harry’s closed eyes. “Release all emotions and focus solely on your chosen memory. Don’t let anything distract you. Just focus on your memory…”

Snape’s voice seemed to dim a little as Harry focused inward. He felt his breathing slow and his body begin to relax.

He was in a dark, dilapidated mansion. There were multiple people gathered together in a large room - all of them wearing dark hoods and masks. A snake-like man was seated in a high-backed chair at the front of the room. He knew he should be anxious if not frightened. But strangely he wasn’t. He felt assured. Safe. He knew no one else could see him - no one but the tall figure standing beside him. He felt safe because he knew the man wouldn’t let anything happen to him…

“Are you ready?” Snape asked.

“Yes,” Harry replied, slowly opening his eye. “I’m ready.”

“On the count of three. One - two - three - Legillimens!”

Harry felt a pressure against his inner mind, like someone was squeezing his head from the inside. The pressure was moving around, almost as if probing for an opening…

A Death eater coming at him with his wand raised…

No…

Him beside the tall masked man… He knew he was safe…

A rat slowly morphing into a short, pudgy man…

No.

The tall dark man standing beside him within a crowd of Death eaters, assuring him with a simple hand gesture that he was safe…

A snake-like man rising from a bubbling caldron…

No!

The tall dark man beside him…

“No!” Harry’s voice echoed through his own ears as he aimed his wand at the invading source.

A startled cry brought Harry fully back to himself. He was surprised this time to find himself still standing. But as he focused his attention on the one that should have been standing in front of him, Harry felt any jubilation at his victory instantly disappear.

Instead of finding himself on his knees this time, it was Snape on the ground, doubled over holding his chest.

“Professor!” he shouted and rushed to the Potion master’s side. “Are you alright?”

It took Snape a moment to catch his breath before his shakingly rasped, “Most impressive, Potter… A Stinging Hex while simultaneously fighting off a mental invasion… A notable improvement from your previous failed attempts…”

Harry didn’t know whether to be shocked by Snape’s thinly veiled words of praise or even more frightened. Surely he didn’t hit Snape that hard that he was actually complimenting him now, did he?

Taking his elbow, Harry helped Snape rise. “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know what happened. I just-”

“Stop apologizing,” Snape snapped, shaking off Harry’s hand and gingerly moving back behind his desk to sit. “That was what I’ve been trying to teach you to do all along - to push someone from your mind. You took long enough, but you were essentially successful in the end…” Sitting down, Snape winced as he leaned back in his chair, still holding his chest with one hand. “At least it seems you finally found an Occluding technique you can do…” he murmured, though not with his usual venom. Harry once again had to wonder how strong of a Hex he’d used.

“I think we’re done for today,” Snape went on. “You are dismissed.”

Harry was about to turn and leave, but then stopped. Snape had already gone back to his grading. His quill scratched noisily across the parchment, underlining a word here, leaving a scathing remark there. Hadn’t he been telling himself these Occlumency lessons might give him an opportunity to talk to Snape and possibly find out what was going on with him?

It was several moments before Snape looked back up at him. “Is there something else you wanted, Potter?”

Harry hesitated, not quite sure what to say. “Um… I was just wondering if everything was okay, Sir… With you, I mean…”

Snape stared at him for a moment as if Harry had just announced he was going to become Trelawney’s Divination apprentice. “Whatever are you going on about, Potter? I would hardly have ever thought you would care about my personal life, or that it was ever even any of your business to begin with.”

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. This wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped… “Er… I just mean that I overheard some other Order members talking about what you’ve been doing for the Order lately, like with that Death eater raid on Azkaban the other week…”

“You mean the one where you got half the Order to go out looking for me in the middle of the night because of a bad dream?” Snape drawled.

“Yes, Sir…”

Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. “And why would any of that concern you?”

Harry didn’t immediately answer. “It’s just that we’re all in the Order,” he softly murmured, “whether officially or unofficially… We all have to stick together if we’re ever going to stop Voldemort…”

Snape stared at Harry, not even correcting him for his use of the Dark Lord’s name. “I suppose so…” he murmured. “But things are never as easy or as cut and dry as you Gryffindors might like to believe. There is always someone in the group that must be sacrificed for the good of the rest…”

“I don’t like to believe that, Sir. I don’t want to have to sacrifice anyone…”

For a moment, neither one said anything.

Student and teacher stared at each other, green eyes meeting black. Snape’s eyes seemed to bore into Harry, as if searching to see if the boy was sincere.

Harry met the Potion master’s questioning gaze. I’m here to help, he silently tried to plead. Let me help you…

Snape’s eyes, meanwhile, betrayed none of the man’s own thoughts. They were like two pits of ink, swallowing him into their bottomless depths…

A Death eater was coming towards him, holding a black stone. The stone was evil. He knew he couldn’t let it touch him. But he couldn’t move. Two other men were holding him immobile as the man came closer. The stone’s black surface reflected the room’s dim light evilly, as if revealing in the soul it was about to corrupt…

Harry came back to himself with a gasp. He was only partially aware of Snape talking as if nothing had just happened.

“Then that is the reason the Hat would never sort you into Slytherin (amongst other reasons…) Now, if you are quite done wasting my time, Potter, it is time for you to leave.”

Harry could only mutely nod, still confused by what he’d just seen. Just what had that been? He slowly headed for the door.

“Potter,” Snape called after him just as he reached the threshold.

“Yes, sir?” he asked, almost as if in a daze.

Snape studied him for a moment with his piercing black eyes. “Don’t forget your book,” he curtly reminded him.

“Sorry, sir…” Harry mumbled as he hurried back and retrieved the book Snape had given him to study.

Snape didn’t look back up as Harry hurried out the room.

Harry lay that night staring at the canopy of his bed for several hours before he finally dropped off to sleep. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but he knew he had to be dreaming. 

He dreamed that he was walking through Hogwarts - or at least walking was the closest word to describe how he was moving. He almost felt like he was floating, though he felt his feet moving beneath him. He drifted along, wandering the halls not quite sure where he was going, or why.

Moonlight flooded the deserted corridors, creating bright pools of light in the inky darkness. He was on the second floor, east wing. The school was strangely peaceful without other students running around everywhere. It reminded him of when he used to use his father’s invisibility cloak to sneak out in the dead of night to go on one of his adventures. But this time it was somehow different…

He was now at the stairs. Even though it was the middle of the night, the staircases continued to move back and forth between levels. He took one that led him to the main floor of the castle. He didn’t know where he was going, but he felt drawn, as if something was calling him, pulling him along by a fragile thread…

None of the portraits looked up or even seemed to notice him as he passed. As he descended towards the ground level, he came across Mrs. Norris standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks halfway down the staircase. Mrs. Norris was going to see him and alert Filtch. He was going to get in trouble. He had to hide. When she saw him-

But it was too late.

Mrs. Norris swung her large golden eyes in a wide arch around the corridor, as if hunting for misbehaving students out past curfew. Her eyes seemed to glow like those of a Jack o’ lantern in the darkness. But as her head swiveled ‘round and looked up the staircase right where Harry was standing, her eyes passed over him as if he wasn’t even there.

He stood there in confusion as the cat gave one last look around the empty hall then silently padded away down another corridor. Confused, but strangely unconcerned at the same time, Harry continued on. Something was urging him on, pulling him towards it like a silent Siren’s song.

He wandered down another hallway, heading towards the middle of the castle. As he turned down another darkened corridor, he saw a silvery figure appear at the other end of the hall. Humming a cheerful song, the Gryffindor ghost Nearly Headless Nick floated towards him.

Harry began to open his mouth to call out to the friendly spirit, but then noticed that just like Mrs. Norris, Nearly Headless Nick didn’t seem to notice him. Harry paused and watched as Sir Nicholas came closer. As the ghost drew parallel to him and was about to pass him, he suddenly stopped.

Harry silently watched as Nick cocked his partially severed head to the side as though listening for something. Glancing around as though he could sense someone else nearby, Nicholas frowned. Both of them stood there in the hallway for several minutes, the deafening silence of the night stinging their ears.

But then, shrugging his shoulders as though writing off his unease as unfounded paranoia, the ghost floated off, leaving Harry standing alone in the middle of the hall.

For some reason Harry didn’t seem to care. He felt strangely disconnected from everything, as though he were caught in some ethereal walking dream.

The pull to move on was growing a little stronger. Forgetting his encounter with Nearly Headless Nick, Harry moved on. As he continued on, he began to recognize where he was going.

He was heading towards the dungeons.

Why he was being drawn there he could not say. All he knew was that there was something calling him towards it.

As he drew closer to the top of the stairs leading down into the deepest bowels of the castle, Harry felt a slight burning sensation begin to spread across his left forearm. It grew stronger as he came to the top of the stairs. He stood on the edge of the stairs, staring down into the winding black darkness below. The burning sensation began to grow painful, now snaking up the length of his arm. His vision began to blur.

No… He had to go on. Something was calling him.

He started down the stairs. His arm was now afire with pain. Taking one step at a time, Harry had to concentrate on placing one foot down in front of the other. His vision swam. He felt as though the world suddenly lurched to the side. Harry had to grab the wall to steady himself as he continued to push himself down the spiraling stone stairs. The pain in his arm flared white before his eyes.

He had to get there. Whatever was drawing him to it was growing desperate in its need for him to hurry. He had to get there and help.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Harry shakingly put a foot down onto the next step. But this time he could no longer find the strength to hold himself up. His arm flared again, and his vision tunneled dangerously.

The pain was becoming too much. He could no longer focus on anything around him. He felt his grip on reality slip. He pitched forward down the stairs, unable to concentrate anymore beyond the pain to catch himself.

And just before everything dissolved into black, Harry’s last coherent thought was that he would be unable to go to whatever had been calling to him…