Hours had passed since Harry and Snape had returned from the Dursleys, but Harry was still shaken up. After a while, the guilt had slipped away leaving him feeling hollow and empty. The only comfort he had was the fact Snape hadn't kicked him out. In actuality—without saying anything—the man had brought him a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate. So Harry sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Meanwhile, Snape sat off to the side, reading a large Potions tome.

Harry tried desperately not to think about anything. As usual, it didn't work. "They just sit there?" Harry asked. "What have the neighbors said? Surely someone noticed."

"I'm sure that the ministry is taking care of it," Snape replied, setting his book aside.

"But what about Smeltings? Dudley goes to Smeltings. They'd notice if he was gone."

"His school, I'm sure they were given some excuse—"

"What about Grunnings? Uncle Vernon's the director there; they'd notice he's gone."

"The ministry would have worked out—"

"And then Aunt Petunia, she has lots of friends. They gossip all the time."

"Harry, some story would have been made up—"

"Oh, and Aunt Marge, she visits occasionally and talks to Uncle Vernon on the phone."

"Harry, will you stop talking and listen?" Snape snapped. Slowly, the boy turned and made eye contact. Snape continued. "The Ministry of Magic has hidden the entire Wizard Wizarding world from the eyes of Muggles for a long time. However inept the ministry may be, they wouldn't have any trouble hiding a few Muggles."

"Yes, but what about the strange people coming in and out of their house? I mean, just today you and I—" Harry stopped when Snape raised his eyebrow. The boy had to admit—wizards did all sorts of things that muggles didn't notices.

Looking away, Harry was silent for a while. Snape went back to reading his Potions tome. Again, Harry started talking. "They don't eat or anything? Why aren't they dead already?"

"As you said earlier," Snape replied, "they're not really alive. But it's part of the potion they were given. Do you recall what I told you about the potion?"

"Yes, it's a variation of the Ferratilis Potion. The one that Voldemort is using to control the werewolves."

"Exactly. Well, it doesn't work as well on Muggles. They don't have much magic for the potion to bind to. So they were given one command—to kill you—and they can't do anything else. The potion keeps them alive, magically, for as long as possible so that they have every opportunity to succeed."

"You made the Ferratilis Potion," Harry stated, "and the one used on my relatives."

"Yes, I did," Snape replied, revealing none of his emotions.

"Did you know that it would be used on them?"

"No, but I did need muggle test subjects."

Harry got mad and shouted, "That's sick! You… I can't believe… Just test subjects? That's all that you thought about them?"

Snape waved him off, "I did not mean to give you the impression that I didn't care." Harry stayed silent; he didn't know how to respond. So Snape continued, seemingly unaware he was talking to anyone but himself. "The Dark Lord wants a variation to use on wizards. It would be stronger than the Imperious Curse, and almost undetectable. As it is now, a Wizard's natural magic is able to throw off the potion's effect. So far, I haven't been able to make a potion strong enough that doesn't end up killing the wizard instead."

Harry gasped. How many wizards had the potion been tested on thus far? Did he really want to know?

"Don't worry about all of that," Snape said quickly. "You're not really supposed to know about that anyway."

"So, this is Voldemort's big plan," Harry replied. "Drug people and send them off to kill me."

"Actually, The Dark Lord never really thought your relatives would be able to kill you. He expected you to kill them in defense."

As if that was any better, Harry's stomach started to churn. The idea of killing Voldemort was bad enough; he did not want to be a murderer. However, his own relatives? Sure, he'd wanted to give them a piece of his mind… but actually killing them… Suddenly, the images of their not so alive bodies came flooding back to him. It was overwhelming; he was going to sick up.

Standing, Harry managed to say, "Bathroom."

Instantly, Snape was at the boy's side, leading Harry through the rooms and into the bathroom.

Within seconds, Harry was retching into the toilet. His whole body began to shake and his knees felt ready to give way. Strong arms kept him from collapsing to the floor. Stomach empty, Harry allowed himself to relax.

"You should to go to bed," Snape said uncomfortably.

"Yeah," Harry replied, but he didn't move. He was afraid the motion might irritate his still queasy stomach.

Slowly, Snape helped Harry stand. He half carried the boy back into the room and eased him into bed. Snape stood there obviously uncomfortable. Snape had tucked Harry in before—as a baby—but he wasn't a baby anymore. Unwilling to be coddled—no matter how much he wanted it—Harry climbed under the covers on his own. Snape spelled out the lights and began to leave.

"Wait!" Harry called. "I… er… nightmares."

"I'll get you some Dreamless Sleep."

"Yes, thank you, Snape."

xxxxx

The next morning, Harry entered the Great Hall. He felt a lot better than he had the day before. His stomach was still unsettled and he wouldn't be eating at all if it weren't for Snape's prompting.

He didn't feel ready to talk to his friends about the Dursleys, but Snape had announced that it was time for Harry to get back to his normal life. And the boy had to admit; he was being rather foolish. He had never really liked the Dursleys—yet he still couldn't shake off the feeling of responsibility for their predicament. Sure, it wasn't his fault per se, but he still had a hand in it.

Since Snape and Harry had woken early, hardly anyone had made it down to breakfast yet. Harry toyed with the idea of eating some toast and leaving.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, sitting down beside him. "How are you doing?" Apparently Ron knew him all to well. Since when was the boy early to breakfast?

"I'm fine," Harry replied. He had sent his friends a note last night informing them about what happened with Quinn and the Dursleys. Yet he had purposely been skimpy on details and he was not ready to delve into the situation.

"Hi, Harry," Hermione greeted, sitting down on his other side.

"Hi," he replied and barely held back adding, “Don't hug me.” They sat there in an uncomfortable silence for a while as the Great Hall filled with students.

Laughter and conversations helped lighten the mood. "So, tonight's the last quidditch practice before the game," Ron commented.

"I have detention at seven," Harry said, trying not to sound unpleasant.

"For the prank?"

"No, for attacking Malfoy—back when…well you know." Harry didn't want to remember that day when he'd finally lost it. He was so mad that he had cast Petrificus on his way to Potions.

"Good," Hermione stated. "Although I don't believe your prank on Quinn's classroom was a good idea,"—she seemed as though she was taking great care holding back a lecture—"Quinn's attack was bad enough for a punishment."

"I have detention for the prank on Sunday," Harry said casually.

"What!" Hermione and Ron shouted at the same time.

"Well," Harry explained, "Snape felt that regardless of Quinn's unfair treatment, I should still face the consequences of my actions."

"That git," Ron muttered.

"At least I’m doing detention with Snape," Harry replied.

Ron laughed, "I really didn't think I'd ever hear you say that."

Harry smiled. Now that he thought about it, he never thought detention with Snape would be a relief—even after Umbridge. Of course, Snape wasn't his mean nasty self anymore, either.

"I wonder who our new defense teacher will be," Hermione said.

"I hope we'll finally get someone normal," Ron added.

"No such luck," Harry interjected. "There's no new defense teacher."

"Huh?"

"They're keeping Quinn."

"What!" Hermione and Ron shouted again.

"Apparently, if they sack the guy, there is no immediate replacement," Harry paused, checking his friends for their level of understanding. They didn't respond, so he continued, "The ministry would have an opening to send another Umbridge."

"They can't keep Quinn here!" Hermione fumed.

"They have to," Harry answered.

"I can't believe you're not angry about this," Ron snapped.

"I'm not happy," Harry replied. "But Snape said Quinn would have restrictions, such as not being alone with students." He tried to casually take another bite of his toast. He'd only managed three so far, but he could feel Snape's gaze from the staff table compelling him to eat more. Truth be told, Harry was very angry that Quinn was still allowed to teach, and he wasn't looking forward to the defense class directly following breakfast.

The morning post interrupted further conversation about Quinn. A flood of owls swept through the Great Hall. As usual, Harry didn't get any mail, and today neither did Ron. Hermione received her copy of the Daily Prophet assuring silence from her for at least the next fifteen minutes. Or so Harry thought.

"The dementors have joined You-Know-Who," Hermione blurted out. Curiosity peaked; Harry leaned over to see. "Listen here," Hermione directed. "Tuesday, Death Eaters raided Azkaban Prison. It is believed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named accompanied them, and has now recruited the dementors to his side. Twelve guards have lost their lives, as well as countless prisoners. Aurors are still going through the rubble of a once impressive institution…" Hermione continued to read to herself.

"That means Malfoy's dad got out," Ron sighed.

"Yeah, probably," Harry confirmed, trying to choke down another bit of toast.

"Of course," Ron said in a happier note, "maybe he died."

"That's not something to be cheerful about," Harry scolded.

"Oh, who cares about a Malfoy!" Ron snapped—his anger rising.

"I don't," Harry said, still in a chiding manner, "but you shouldn’t get happy about someone dying; it's not right."

Ron looked mad, thinking up an angry reply, but quickly shoved a fork full of eggs in his mouth. Harry turned back to his toast, and they didn't say anything more for a while.

Breaking the silence, Ron asked, "Did you know about it?"

"No, why would I?"

"Oh, I don't know, probably because Snape was involved."

"I doubt that," Harry replied.

"You said he'd been summoned," Ron retorted. "How do you know he wasn't there?"

"Well, that doesn't make him a bad guy." Harry was feeling nervous now. Since he'd been on good terms with Snape, he hadn't really thought about all the things the man must have been doing under Voldemort's service. But after last night, he knew about the Ferratilis Potion. He knew Snape made the potion that was ruthlessly killing his relatives. And he also knew others had died from further testing.

"Spy or not, he's still a Death Eater," Ron accused in a hushed voice. "I'm not saying he's against the Order, but he still has to do nasty things."

"Oh, shut up Ron!" Harry shouted. Even though he knew he wasn't really angry with Ron, he couldn't help snapping at the guy. "It's none of your business!" Harry threw his half-eaten toast down on the table and then stood to storm out of the Great Hall. An article on the back of Hermione's Prophet caught his eye. He snatched the paper from her, and sat back down.

"Hey," Hermione protested, but then leaned over Harry's shoulder in order to see what had gotten his interest.

"Mysterious Owl Flu," Harry read. "All over Britain, owls have been getting sick. Many have died or become permanently incapacitated. The hardest hit area has been London's Central Post, disrupting lines of communication. It is unknown how this illness is being spread and we have yet to find a reliable treatment. Thus far, they have been using a milder version of the Pepperup Potion, but it is only effective in half the cases." Harry put down the paper, "Ron did you know about this?"

"No," Ron replied. He grabbed the paper from Harry and started looking over it himself.

"Have any more owls gotten sick?"

Ron looked uncomfortable, "Er… a few."

"Have any died?" Harry was feeling panicked now; he couldn't stand it if something were to happen to Hedwig.

"Er, a couple," Ron replied. "But don't worry, Harry, Hagrid and I have been checking over Hedwig everyday. She's fine."

Ignoring the boy, Harry got up—he had to check on Hedwig himself. Half running and half walking, Harry left the Great Hall and made his way to the Owlery. Ron and Hermione followed behind him.

In no time at all, Harry was at the top of the tower—somewhat out of breath—but he was there. He held Hedwig for a while, scratching the bird's neck. She was perfectly healthy, Harry sighed in relief.

"We're going to be late for class," Hermione reminded him.

Harry felt like shouting for her to just go, but reluctantly put Hedwig down. "I'll see you later, girl," he said, giving her one final pet.

"Come on," Ron prompted. "We should hurry."

They were all late for defense class, earning them each a detention. At least it would be served with Filch. Harry knew Quinn wasn't allowed to oversee detentions anymore.

Harry was glad to see that Quinn was a bit cowed. The man was still strict, and obsessively followed his distinct routine. Yet, all he did was lecture. He didn't call on any students, nor did he use anyone to demonstrate. All in all, it was a rather boring lecture. Harry thought that it was due, in part, to the addition of a painting in the classroom. He recognized it from Grimmauld Place. Phineas Nigellus Black hung behind Quinn's desk. Obviously, Dumbledore had enlisted this former Headmaster as a spy into the defense classroom. Quinn was going to have a hard time being his usual nasty self.

xxxxx

After classes, Ron had squeezed in one final practice before the big game on Saturday. Harry was tired of practices. Usually they were boring, with him hovering about the others looking for the snitch. This practice, however, Ron had created a series of drills especially for Harry. The entire team was enlisted to pose as various distractions. The beaters hit the bludger back and forth between themselves, crisscrossing dangerously across Harry's path. Meanwhile, two of the chasers tried to gain Harry's attention, yelling at him or flying in his way. Ginny, not hindered by anything, was his competition; she, too, was looking for the snitch.

On the first couple of runs, Ginny beat him to the golden snitch, but after awhile Harry was able to maneuver the bludgers' paths in order to knock off some of his distracting teammates. Then, it was only a quick dive to beat Ginny to the snitch.

Ron was about to call for another run, when Ginny interrupted him. "Ronald, the match is in two days. We can't afford to have someone get injured."

"No one is going to get hurt," Ron retorted.

Katie Bell, sporting a swollen wrist spoke up next, "Ron, either we stop trying to attack Harry, or practice is over."

The others all glared at him as well, waiting for him to respond.

Harry stayed out of it. Truth be told, he was actually having more fun now than ever before at a practice. It was challenging; he had to fly defensively testing the limits of his and the broom's capabilities. Plus, it had the added bonus of focusing Harry on nothing else other than flying.

"Oh, all right," Ron submitted. "But we're still working Harry. He has to leave early for a detention. Um… how about we all play Seekers. Everyone try to get the snitch."

Everyone nodded, and they were up in the air again. It was really no competition; Harry was a lot more skilled than everyone else was. Sure, several were great flyers, but Harry was adept at spotting the tiny golden ball. All in all, it was a lot of fun, and Harry found himself laughing on his way off the field.

On the way down to the dungeons, Harry's laughter faded. He was not looking forward to his detention with Snape. For one, it would be awkward. Harry had acted like such a baby the night before. And also, he knew regardless of their new relationship, Snape wouldn't be lenient.

Taking a deep breath, Harry knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Harry walked in and took a seat in front of a parchment and quill. A prompt read, "Even when I am angry, I will not attack another student." Picking up the quill, he started in on his lines. After a while, he braved a question. "How many lines do you want me to write?"

"As many as you can, until I see fit to dismiss you," Snape replied.

The room grew silent again. Harry hated the silence. This was worse than a normal detention. It reminded him too much of the old Snape. And he still had an insane worry that Snape would suddenly reconsider and start hating him again. Harry chewed on his bottom lip; he wanted to say something, anything…

Snape walked up to him, "How did defense class go?"

Smiling, Harry looked up, "Not bad."

"Quinn didn't single you out, or retaliate in any way?"

"No," Harry replied. "Well, er, I got another detention."

"What!"

Harry's cheeks reddened. "I was late." And then he quickly added, "So were Ron and Hermione."

"And why, might I ask, were you late?"

"The daily Prophet this morning, it mentioned the Owl Flu. And I got worried about Hedwig, I had to go see her."

"I see," Snape replied.

Snape went back to his desk to grade papers and Harry continued on his lines. Again, the room filled with silence.

Harry tried to concentrate on writing the lines. At the same time, he tried to interpret Snape's tone of voice when he said, "I see." Was Snape angry?

"Harry, you are being punished for attacking Malfoy," Snape said. "Detention is not supposed to be pleasant."

"I know, sir," Harry replied.

"Then stop fidgeting and get to work."

"Yes, sir." Smiling to himself, Harry got back to work. He suddenly wanted to get as many lines done as possible.

xxxxx

Excused a short time before curfew, Harry made his way back up to Gryffindor Tower. He chatted with his friends for a while, and then began studying. It didn't take long for him to start nodding off into his Transfiguration textbook.

"You should go to bed," Hermione suggested.

Harry was about to snap at her, but decided he wanted to go to bed anyway. He tried to ignore the fact that Ron was caring for another owl. Hedwig was safe, so far, and that's all he had time to care about.

Lying down, he fell asleep quickly.

Standing amongst a ring of Death Eaters, Harry felt both familiar and disoriented at the same time. This was the first vision he'd had—and with the exception of Voldemort using his mind to direct the werewolves—it was the first time they'd connected since the Department of Mysteries.

"Let's give the boy as show," a voice hissed from Harry's own mouth. Suddenly, the realization that he was in Voldemort's mind sank in. He tried to figure out why; the evil wizard wasn't particularly angry. No, Harry felt Voldemort's pleasure and his twisted version of joy.

Instantly, the Death Eaters snapped into action. Descending on a small house, they blew the door open. Harry, as Voldemort, waited outside. It was a rather quiet evening; the sky was clear and full of stars—small details that he found odd to note.

Screams interrupted the silence and Harry desperately tried to wake. He felt Voldemort's delight increase as a man and a woman were pulled from the house.

"The muggle first," Voldemort directed. "Let the blood traitor watch. But don't get too carried away. I don't want the muggle to die just yet. I want him to die, listening to his wife scream as you take her."

Harry watched the man's eyes grow wide at the implication of what was to come. For some reason, Harry recognized the man, but couldn't figure out why. The muggle stood in the center of the Death Eaters—he wasn't really defeated, just resigned… resigned to a fate he had no power to stop.

The first curse brought the man to his knees; the second knocked him down completely, and the third caused him to scream. It wasn't a cry for help or mercy; rather it was a result of pain—immense, unfathomable pain.

Harry screamed, too, although no sound left his mouth in this reality. He tried to pull away from Voldmort's mind; he wanted to get away from the horror. But the evil wizard forced him to stay.

The next Death Eater raised his wand.

Harry could feel his throat growing raw. He knew back at Hogwarts his screams must be heard. Where was Ron? His scar started burning as he was finally able to pull away.

"Harry?" He heard a familiar voice call. "Harry." It was Hermione. Harry struggled to open his eyes. His head hurt so badly, it felt like his scar had split open.

"Come on, mate," Ron encouraged. "Wake up."

Opening his eyes, Harry came face-to-face with his best mate. Somehow, he had ended up on the floor, tangled in his blankets. His head was now resting on Hermione's lap. Behind Ron were the rest of the sixth year boys. Everyone was in pajamas; it must be really late.

Neglecting the pain of his head, Harry got to his feet with Ron's help. The others all stood around him, watching him. Feeling uncomfortable, and wanting to talk to Snape, Harry darted out of the room before anyone could say another word.

He sprinted down the corridors, still in nothing but stocking feet. Harry could feel the cold stones through the holes in his socks. It was amazing that he made it all the way down to the dungeons without running into another teacher or ghost. He stood outside the Snape's office, waiting for the man to open the door.

For a moment, Harry was worried Snape was busy—helping with Voldemort's torture—but then the door opened.

"Harry?" Snape asked, sounding shocked. He took the boy's chin and examined his forehead. Apparently the scar looked as bad as it felt. "What happened?"

"Voldemort and his Death Eaters," Harry explained. There were tears running down his cheeks. "They… they tortured a Muggle and—" He couldn't go on.

"Come in," Snape directed, pulling the boy into his office and leading him back towards his private chambers. He pushed Harry down onto a couch and disappeared into his lab. Handing Harry a vial, Snape said, "Drink this." Then he sat down and attended to Harry's forehead.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"A Calming Draught."

Harry downed the vial, and then relaxed. The pain of his forehead was slipping away as Snape smeared a cream over it.

"Now, tell me what happened," Snape said.

Feeling disconnected from the vision, Harry was able to recount what he saw in more detail. Snape listened quietly, saying nothing, until the boy was finished.

"I'll inform the headmaster, but you should get to bed."

Harry didn’t move. "Er… I, can I stay here?"

"Yes," Snape replied. They went to the hall and had to wait for the room to reappear. "I should just make this a permanent fixture." Harry blushed; he wouldn't mind having a room in Snape's quarters.

Nearing the bed, Harry asked, "Can I have more Dreamless Sleep?"

"Not after a Calming Draught," Snape answered.

Climbing into bed, Harry sighed.

"Try to clear your mind," Snape suggested.

Harry laughed, "I don't know how."

Snape snorted, "I've shown you how twice now. Push your thoughts to the side."

"How?"

"Try."

Closing his eyes, Harry attempted to mimic what Snape had done, back when Voldemort was directing the werewolves. It was monotonous work, each time he managed to push a thought away, another one would pop up.

"This is impossible," Harry muttered, still closing his eyes.

"That's why it takes practice."

Feeling annoyed, Harry continued in his attempt to clear his mind. Over time, he slipped off into unconsciousness.

xxxxx

"Harry, get up," Snape called, knocking on the door.

Stretching his arms, Harry answered, "I'm up, I'm up." Rolling over, he snuggled deep into his blankets. He was only planning on relaxing a moment, waiting for his body to fully wake up, but it had the opposite effect.

Asleep again, Harry was startled awake, when the covers were yanked off him. "You've missed breakfast," Snape said. "Now, get up before I douse you with water."

Harry pulled his arms and legs in close to his body, trying to conserve some of his body’s warmth. "What time is it?" Harry muttered.

"Time for you to get up," Snape snapped. "Now move."

With a sleepy scowl, Harry crawled out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. His school robes had been sent down and were hanging up, waiting for him. After a quick shower, Harry dressed and went out to find Snape.

It was amazing how much better Harry felt. Both his mind and his body had had the opportunity to rest. He didn't have any nightmares and when he woke, his mind had not been bombarded with feelings of guilt. Somewhat reluctantly, he admitted to himself, that the "clearing your mind" thing worked really well. And he wasn't even sure if he did it completely.

"Eat breakfast," Snape said, pointing to the table. "Be quick, your first class starts in fifteen minutes."

"Shouldn't you be going?" Harry asked as he sat down.

"I'm leaving now," Snape replied. "I didn't expect to have to see you off to class."

Harry blushed, "I fell back to sleep."

"Yes, I realized."

Since he didn’t have much time, Harry scooped up his eggs and bacon and stuck them between his two slices of toast.

Snape's lip curled, "What are you doing?"

"Well, I don't have much time, so I can eat this on the way," Harry explained as he got up with his newly fashioned breakfast sandwich.

"Harry, sit down," Snape ordered.

"Oh, come on Snape," Harry laughed. "I'm going to be late to Quinn's class again. I suppose you could write me a note or I guess I could skip breakfast."

Snape scowled, "Just go."

"I'll see you later today," Harry called as he left Snape's quarters.

xxxxx

That day in Potions, Ron was present to learn how to brew the milder Pepperup Potion. When they entered the classroom, they saw Neville talking to Snape. The boy appeared nervous, but at the same time collected. That was until a seedling jumped out of his backpack. Harry recognized it as a seedling from the Alesco Plant.

Neville's face reddened as he tried to catch the plant as it ran around on Snape's desk. It was awfully fast for a plant. He finally caught it, but then didn't pick it up.

"Longbottom," Snape fumed. "Why is that plant out of the green houses?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Neville replied. "It must have sneaked into my bag."

That explanation didn't seem to help the boy at all. Snape glared, "Ten points from Gryffindor. Now get the plant and return to your seat."

Neville hesitated. "Er, I can't, sir."

"What!"

"Er… well, it seems to have planted itself."

"Move out of the way," Snape ordered. Neville moved his hand. Sure enough, the roots had disappeared into a crack in the desk. Snape pulled gently and the plant wouldn't budge. The Potions Master's lip turned into a scowl; his head snapped up. Neville took an involuntary step backwards. "Everyone in your seats," Snape said coolly.

Harry took his seat next to Ron and, thankfully, Snape didn't complain. Despite the fact that the rest of the class was making the original version, it seemed the man was going to allow Harry to work with his friend.

Snape was in the middle of his dramatic lecture, emphasizing the various points at which the potion could explode, when Neville suddenly shouted. "That's it!"

The boy ran to the front of the classroom, oblivious to Snape's incredulous look. Taking out his wand, Neville cut the wood around the seedling.

"Longbottom!" Snape shouted.

Ignoring the Professor, Neville scooped up the section of wood, complete with plant. "Excuse me," he said, darting out of the classroom.

The students all stared at Snape for a while, waiting for the dam to break.

"Get to work," Snape ordered, spelling the instructions on to the board.

Quickly, the class obeyed. Snape dropped off supplemental instructions for Ron and Harry. Then, he began his usual stalk around the classroom.

Harry was glad that he got to work with Ron. After the initial, "Are you all right, mate," Ron hadn't pressed for any more details. In no time at all, they were working together, just like they always had.

"I can't believe he let you work with me," Ron said.

"I told you we were getting on better," Harry replied.

"Yes, I know. But for Snape, doing something nice for anyone would be a surprise. And then being nice to you…it's just unbelievable. I mean, you guys hated each other."

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. "Snape's been great. Would you believe he woke me up this morning? It was really weird." Almost dad-like, Harry realized.

"I'd have to see that to believe it," Ron said. "I'm still getting over the absence of insults. I mean, I knew you said Snape was being nicer to you… but he seems so human."

"Yes, shocking," Snape drawled. "It's almost as shocking as the jobs I will come up with for your detention if you continue to chat instead of brewing."

Both Ron and Harry's cheeks were burning red. Together they said, "Yes, sir."

Examining the boys’ bubbling potion, Snape continued, "You need more ground mint. And when the instructions state five turns counterclockwise and then three clockwise, it means exactly that. Do I need to demonstrate the difference between the two strokes?"

"No, sir," they replied.

Snape gave a curt nod and then moved on to Seamus and Neville.

"Git," Harry muttered very quietly.

"How do you suppose he knew we were stirring it wrong?" Ron whispered.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged.

They both looked up at Snape at the same time. The man was glaring in their direction. A muffled squeak escaped from Ron, while Harry attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. When Snape turned to Malfoy's potion, Harry and Ron let out the breath they were holding.

Focusing quietly, they both got back to work. Towards the end of class, they were pleased to note the color and consistency matched the description—although it was slightly murkier than it was supposed to be.

"Excuse me, Professor," McGonagall called from the door. The room became silent as every student turn towards her. "I need to talk to Mr. Finnagan." Snape nodded, and then flicked his hand to excuse the boy. "Bring all of your belongings," she added.

Looking nervous, Seamus left the classroom.

Harry wondered what kind of trouble the boy had gotten into. Ron and Harry turned to each other and shrugged.

xxxxx

That night at dinner, the Gryffindor Quidditch team all sat discussing game strategy. Ginny had dished up their plates with instructions to eat everything. It was unlikely that Harry and Ron would be able to eat Saturday morning, so it was actually good thinking on her part.

Finishing his meal, Harry got up. "Excuse me, guys," he said. "I've got to go to Remedial Potions with Snape." He ignored the following words of encouragement and made his way down to the dungeons.

When he got to Snape's office, he was glad when the man led him back to his private quarters. He knew they were just doing Occlumency lessons, but the office held too many negative memories.

They sat down at the kitchen table.

Snape didn't waste anytime starting the lesson. "I want you to use the same method you did last night to clear your mind."

Harry nodded.

"When I tell you to," Snape continued, "open your eyes. That's when I will cast Legilimens. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, closing his eyes. Time seemed to stop as he pushed thoughts away from his consciousness. He almost didn’t hear Snape's command to open his eyes.

"Legilimens," Snape cast.

When Snape entered his mind, it was very different than it had been the year before. It was easy to distinguish Snape from himself. It was almost like a physical presence in his mind… like a hand had reached in to pull out his memories. At first, he was too shocked to do anything.

"Push me out," Snape instructed.

Regaining a sense of purpose, Harry tried to figure out how to push Snape out. Meanwhile, Snape was riffling through some of his memories. Deciding on a physical attack, Harry pushed back. It worked, Snape was leaving his mind, but at the same time, Harry fell backwards—he'd inadvertently pushed against the table, causing his chair to tip back.

"An improvement," Snape commented as Harry picked himself up off the floor. "Let's go again. This time, try not to push yourself over."

They continued this several times, Harry always pushing himself back in the chair. His head was starting to hurt and he was growing frustrated. Dragging himself off the floor, again, Harry was glad to see a mug of hot chocolate waiting for him.

"Tonight, I want you to clear your mind again, as best you can. Can you see why it helps?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. They were both silent for a while. Harry sipped away at hot chocolate while Snape took some notes on a parchment.

After some time passed, Snape spoke up. "We should work on your wandless magic before you have to leave."

"All right," Harry replied.

Snape set his quill down in the center of the room. "Do your Accio first."

Holding out his hand, Harry complied. Instantly, the quill flew into his hand. Smiling, he put the quill back into the center of the table.

"Now, try to lift it up."

Staring at the quill, Harry concentrated on commanding it to rise. Wingardium Leviosa. The quill shook. Again, Harry commanded Wingardium Leviosa, imagining it lifting into the air. Suddenly, the quill shot up to the ceiling and then fluttered back to the table.

"What are you doing?" Snape asked.

"Pardon?"

"To get the quill to move," Snape clarified. "What do you do?"

"Oh, well to get it to float I thought Wingardium Leviosa and then obviously for the Accio, I thought Accio."

"Is that all?"

Harry shrugged.

"It's just strange how it didn't work at first," Snape mused. "Are you sure you didn't do anything different?"

"Well, at first all I did was think the charm, but then I also imagined it rising."

"Try again without the charm."

Harry nodded and then stared at the quill. He imagined it flying into the air. It didn't move, not one bit. Glancing up at Snape, Harry shrugged.

"Try giving it a command, like 'up,'" Snape suggested.

Again, staring at the quill, Harry imagined it floating up and then commanded up. The quill obeyed, jumping up into the air and hovering at eye level.

"Wow," Harry gasped.

"Indeed," Snape replied. The man snatched the quill out of the air. "I need to talk to the headmaster about this."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Why?"

"I'm not sure this is exactly 'Wandless magic,' strictly speaking."

"Then what is it?"

"I need to talk to the heamaster." Snape's tone implied "Subject closed." He stared at the quill for a moment longer, caught up in his thoughts. "You should go back to Gryffindor Tower; it's near curfew."

"Sure," Harry grumbled. He hated it when people kept information from him.

"Don't talk to your friends about it," Snape directed as Harry walked to the door.

"Of course not," Harry muttered.

"Harry," Snape said. "We'll talk about this again. I just don't have all the answers right now."

"Okay," Harry replied, feeling much better. "Good night, sir," Harry called as he stepped out of the private quarters.

Before closing the door, Harry could hear Snape reply, "Good night."

xxxxx

Entering the Common Room, Harry was excited. He wanted to tell Hermione and Ron how he'd improved at Occlumency. His excitement died down quickly when he caught sight of all the subdued students. Some of the girls were crying. Spotting Hermione, Harry made his way over to his friend.

Leaning down, he whispered into her ear, "What happened?"

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "McGonagall just told us. Seamus' parents were tortured and killed last night by Death Eaters."

Harry felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. His knees gave way as he sat, half-falling, to the floor. He suddenly realized why he recognized the man in his vision. It was Seamus' father.