Harry slept poorly that night, tossing back and forth as nightmarish images of Sirius dying and Tonks wasting away in Azkaban drifted through his mind. He could see both their hollow-eyed stares, bleak expressions showing him all the hopelessness and pain he'd brought into their lives as surely as if they leveled words of blame at him. He awoke in the morning feeling nauseated, and curled into a ball to reign in the awful churning in his stomach.

Tonks was going to suffer. Even if she didn't end up in Azkaban, it would be a miracle if they let her keep her job. He could already picture the scorn they'd heap her with for... for despoiling the Boy Who Lived.

Bastards. They didn't know anything. They were going to take her away from him, probably claiming it was for "his own good," but it would only tear a deeper wound in his heart. She'd done nothing but help him. They had no right...

Oh, he'd been an idiot.

He should never have kissed her. Things had been fine before that, curled up on the couch of Grimmauld place as she took him into her arms and played her fingers gently through his hair. He still wasn't sure what prompted her to do it; it was not like he'd been crying or anything. He never cried if he could help it.

He'd been staring into space, feeling empty, wondering why Remus wasn't answering his owls, trying with all his heart not to think of Sirius. He hadn't even heard her come in. But once she was holding him, and once he no longer felt odd and uncomfortable with the foreign feeling another's arms wrapped around him, a strange emotion arose within him. He never wanted it to end.

He was the one who had crossed that fatal line. A stupid boy, like Snape always said, caught in the alien warmth of affection, he changed everything in an instant by turning his head and pressing his lips to hers.

His awareness caught up with him moments later, and he was mortified when he pulled back and beheld the stunned expression on her face.

"I-- I'm sorry!"

Harry lurched quickly to his feet and made as if to bolt from the room. A firm grip closed around his wrist before he could run, and he froze, daring only to breathe.

"Harry, look at me."

It was with the greatest reluctance he dragged his gaze to meet hers. Everything inside him bubbled with shame and horror; he'd ruined it. She wouldn't come back now. She wouldn't--

He hadn't realized another apology was stammering from his lips until she silenced him. There was a sweet and playful glint in her eyes; her fingertips tickled across his cheek, sending delightful chills down his spine.

"I don't mind," Tonks murmured, and her smile coaxed that warm feeling back to life. She gripped his collar and pulled him closer, lips descending upon his. Everything within him that had moments before felt dead flared to vibrant life.

He felt it now, remembering how later they'd maneuvered their way across the room. Tonks stumbled over the table, grabbed his shoulders for balance, and ended up pulling him down to the floor with her. They lay on the ground, side by side, laughing uncontrollably. His laughter died down when he needed to catch his breath. He rolled over to watch her while she was still chuckling, and he literally couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. It was the first time since losing Sirius that he'd felt so happy.

Now the memory was overshadowed with his terrible anxiety, the horror lurking in the back of his thoughts.

He had to owl Dumbledore. Dumbledore could help Tonks, he knew it! Or at least he could tell Harry something about what was happening to her. Had she already been arrested? When was she on trial? Harry could claim that Snape was lying. But what if they used veritaserum..?

He thrust his head out the window, searching the morning sky for a white blur. His frustration mounted as he realized Snape's owlery was inaccessible to him while these damn wards were in place.

He interrogated the house-elf about it as soon as she entered the room, and Minky quickly scuttled out, babbling something about Master Severus forbidding communication.

"Not safe, not safe. Nasty birds put masters in terrible danger!"

Harry tried opening the door again; locked. His spells reverberated pointlessly off the unyielding brass. In desperation, he tried to climb out his window, ignoring the ominous drop yawning below him. An invisible barrier halted his attempt and propelled him back through the window and to the floor of his room.

Several minutes more he searched frantically for an escape route, anger and anxiety steadily mounting. He even resorted to sweeping his hands over the walls, pressing on any uneven surface that could serve as a hidden trigger for a secret passageway. It was all fruitless.

At last, a wave of resignation crashed over him. Dejected, he returned mindlessly to bed.

He remained in his chambers until the early afternoon, watching the sunlight creep up the far wall. Minky interrupted his brooding twice to plant food before him, and he picked at it listlessly. He mashed up the quiche and dropped it in the rubbish bin. The soppy, green soup he poured down the drain in the bathroom adjoining his room. He had no appetite, and he did not want Snape bursting through the door, berating him for a fool for not eating up before Occlumency.

He could hear the snide voice already: "Sulking, Potter?"

Besides, a few minutes more of that stench of boiled peas and chicken bullion, and he truly would have emptied the contents of his stomach all over Snape's floor.

Harry felt half-dead to the world by the time Minky arrived to usher him into Snape's study for another Occlumency session. He followed her with leaden footsteps, too exhausted and heartsick to even nurse his anger towards this man who shared at least some of his guilt for the fates of two people he loved. He knew that, in the end, it was not Snape he could attribute the worst of it to. Harry had killed Sirius; Harry had betrayed Tonks. Snape had only done as Snape always did, acted with his predictable malice, and as much as he hated the bastard for it, the failure was Harry's to bear.

He should have guarded that memory with his life.

He felt a renewed surge of anger and anxiety upon entering the dimly-lit study and spotting the imposing figure standing with his arms crossed by the white light of the window.

"Shut the door behind you, Potter."

Harry wearily obeyed. Snape instructed him to stand in the center of the room, and he trudged over with leaden feet.

"Close your eyes. I will construct an enclosed alcove around you."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, feeling distinctly uncomfortable knowing Snape loomed only a few feet away. He wasn't entirely sure what Snape had in mind with this; he knew he wasn't going to let go of his anxieties standing here, unseeing, before an armed and irate Snape.

"Concentrate, now."

He heard Snape mumbling a quiet incantation, and the air around him thickened and solidified. Harry could feel it with the tips of his fingers. The solid air immediately began to draw closer, enclosing him in an invisible cocoon. It became smaller and smaller around him.

Panic leapt through him; he couldn't help but wonder if these compressing walls were some variation of Snape's constrictive spell. He flung out his arms to hold back the barrier. They strained against it for one fearful moment, and the walls abruptly dissolved into nothingness. He stumbled forward to his knees.

It took him several deep breaths to reign in his panic, his heart pounding relentlessly in his ears. Then slowly, his gaze crept up to meet Snape's, and he steeled himself for the reprimand.

Something odd flashed over Snape's expression. To Harry's disbelief, the man seemed to bite back a comment and retreated several feet, casting his eyes around the room.

"Perhaps that's not the most appropriate spell for this exercise," Snape muttered, almost to himself.

He watched incredulously as his professor ran a long finger across the thin line of his lips, seeming to ponder this new dilemma. Harry was unable to believe he'd been let off the hook so easily, without even one snide remark. For a brief moment, he was tempted to ask whether the professor was quite well today, but he bit back the impulse, unwilling to shatter this tentative civility.

He was grateful that Snape seemed to be refraining from insulting and belittling him at every possible juncture. Harry was trying to let go of his anxiety and clear his thoughts; there was no way he could listen to Snape's words and remain unmoved.In truth, he was more terrified by what could come out of Snape's mouth than what could come out of Snape's wand.

You just hate that Snape is honest, a voice whispered to him, the harsh truths of the other day drifting back into his thoughts.

Harry's shoulders sagged a bit; he was suddenly overwhelmed again with the awful feelings raging through him. He might have finally figured something out about Occlumency, but it was still six months too late. He'd already done the worst of it; killed Sirius, injured his friends, failed everyone. And even if the situation today demanded he close his mind, what would it demand tomorrow? What other arts and skills would Harry fail to master?

How could these people expect him to defeat Voldemort?

His fears and anxieties filled his thoughts, and thus when Snape abruptly turned back to him, wand drawn, Harry jumped back several steps and nearly stumbled over the arm of a chair.

The man stood there, watching him dourly. Harry muttered a breathless apology and righted himself.

"We'll take this approach, Potter. I'll cast a translucence charm on one of the closet doors," Snape said, refraining from comment on Harry's antsy display. "You will duplicate the actions you performed yesterday. I will inquire as to your thoughts and feelings at regular intervals, and when I feel you've sufficiently prepared yourself, I will cast a legilimens upon you."

Harry shuddered at the thought of crouching in a narrow space as Snape watched him, or repeating for Snape the words that ran through his head every time he allowed his emotions to fade away.

Worthless freak. Stupid little boy. No one sees. No one cares. You'll never amount to anything. No one wants you. No one needs you. Worthless, worthless...

And he didn't want Snape to know just how comforting those words were.

His mouth felt dry. "I... uh, it doesn't really work that way."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Then how does it work, Mr. Potter? Do enlighten me."

Harry shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. He wanted to be anywhere else. "It's just not something I can do on command... With you monitoring me, or whatever. I just..." He found the words caught in his throat, and he forced an angry breath from his lips, suddenly very sick of this entire situation. "I can keep Voldemort out of my head. You said so yourself! So why do I need to do this?"

"You can prevent the Dark Lord from penetrating your mind during your sleep, true," Snape said coldly, his sneer showing his disdain for Harry's middling feat. "You cannot, however, pinpoint exactly how you've been doing this, nor can you withstand a direct assault upon your mind should he choose to possess you again. Thick though you are, Potter, surely even you can understand why this is necessary."

"Why a translucence charm?" Harry demanded. He didn't want Snape just sitting there... observing him like some science project.

"I've told you eye-contact is crucial to legilimency," Snape said, looking increasingly impatient. "Even a legilimens of my skill requires some visual perception of a target."

Target. Oh, how Harry hated Occlumency.

Snape seemed to sense his continued hesitation, for his patience abruptly wore thin. "We can do it the other way again if you'd prefer, Potter!"

"No!" Harry said quickly. No, he didn't like that other way. Those invisible, magic walls commanded by Snape, compressing around him like a chokehold...

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do it with Snape watching. He couldn't just feel Snape's eyes on him as he tried to immerse himself in images of the cupboard under the stairs. The whole point of that had been to escape the wizarding world. Now he had to twist even that method of escape into the service of his lofty, heroic goals?

He wondered then if he could do it again even without Snape watching. Knowing he was performing Occlumency, that those times he had been trying to escape his responsibilities, if only in his mind, had actually been productive... It made those small intervals of peace count for something; they were now important.

Important.

He suddenly felt weak under the pressure of it.

"I'm waiting, Potter!"

Harry was abruptly torn from his thoughts, and he looked at the glowering man across from him with what could only be construed as mute panic.

"Professor..."

He wanted to explain, but his voice cracked on the word, and Harry fell silent. Nervously he pushed his glasses further up onto his nose, unaware of how violently his hand trembled.

Snape's eyes narrowed, his lips curling down into a scowl. "What's wrong, Potter?" he inquired snidely. "Is our boy hero having an attack of nerves?"

He was. He most certainly was. Harry avoided Snape's eye and remained silent.

There was a tense silence, and then a long-suffering sigh from in front of him. Snape waved his wand to unlock the door to the study. Harry glanced up hopefully, thinking that perhaps Snape was letting him leave, but Snape walked by him instead.

"Wait here," he ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. He sent Harry a suspicious glance before closing the door behind him. Harry heard it lock again.

He stood there before Snape's desk, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers. He felt only slightly calmed by Snape's absence from the room. He attempted to concentrate on his breathing in the quiet study, but found himself instead listening to the crackling of the flames in the hearth. Harry was just pondering the wisdom of moving over to bask in its heat when Snape abruptly returned, a vial clutched in his long, white fingers.

"Drink," he said calmly, holding it out for Harry.

Harry made no move to take it, glaring suspiciously at the substance. Did Snape think he was mad? Last time he'd drunk one of Snape's concoctions, he'd awoken three inches shorter, in complete agony.

"Whatever it is, I don't want it," Harry said resolutely.

"You will drink this Potter, and then we will cease dawdling and carry on with the lesson," Snape said in a hard tone. His eyes glittered, daring Harry to refuse.

He felt an uneasy flutter in his stomach at Snape's dark look, and he took the vial from Snape's grasp. The substance looked vaguely familiar. He raised it to the light to study it more closely.

"I don't expect you to recognize it," Snape sneered. "It's regularly brewed by those with a far superior grasp of potions than you."

Harry glared at him coldly, suddenly remembering exactly what this potion was. "A Calming Draught. I know. We brewed it in second year."

Snape gave him a mocking smile and applauded faintly. "Congratulations, Potter. You've never before shown such aptitude for potions. A pity you failed to demonstrate it in class."

Harry's fingers tightened around the vial. "I have a significantly better grasp of potions than you think," he said coldly. "If you weren't so busy punishing me for the actions of a man who wasn't even my father, you would have realized that!"

Snape's retort was lost in Harry's surprise at his own words. It was the first time he'd admitted out loud that he wasn't a Potter. Snape still called him by that surname, inside he still felt as though he were the son of James and Lily, but in reality, he was the son of the bitter man standing before him.

It simply boggled the mind.

Snape was glaring at him expectantly, and suddenly Harry welcomed the idea of a Calming Draught. He'd never get through this otherwise. He would never tear his thoughts from Tonks, Sirius, and the fate of the wizarding world without some artificial means of inducing peace of mind.

He downed it, and the effects hit him almost immediately. A vague, syrupy feeling seeped through his brain, enveloping his thoughts, extinguishing the trivial anxieties, such his sudden concern that his empty stomach would not take well to the potion. The more serious fears failed to die in their entirety, but they drifted away from him, retreating from his surface thoughts.

A heavy weight crept into his stomach. In some vague, distant part of his mind, he felt reassured that Snape hadn't doctored this potion at least. He suspected it was the stronger variant of the draught, but there were no unexpected effects. The study, bathed in the warm firelight, took on almost a dreamlike quality, and even Snape's dark, querulous figure, still hovering above him, lost some of its sharp edges.

"Are you quite ready?"

Snape's voice was lined with thinly veiled irritation. Harry noted it with a certain degree of indifference, and nodded absentmindedly.

"Sure, why not." Half-knowing what he was doing, he lowered himself to the floor before Snape. "Cast that spell again." An idea drifted to him, and he raised his arms out to his sides. "But I don't want the walls any closer than this."

Snape stared at him a long moment that seemed to stretch longer in the gentle haze of Harry's mind. "Are you certain you're willing to engage in this method? With a translucence spell, one of the closets--"

A part of Harry registered surprise at Snape's hesitation. It was highly uncharacteristic of him to be concerned with Harry's discomfort.

"It's fine. Just stop moving the walls in when I tell you," he heard himself reply.

With an unfathomable expression on his face, Snape again muttered the incantation that solidified the air. Harry felt the invisible walls creep closer, this time without any accompanying fear. And when he told Snape to stop, beginning to feel slightly cramped, the walls retreated several centimeters.

That was nice of him, Harry thought with an absent smile, leaning back against the invisible wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Snape watching him speculatively.

"You should know, Potter, that I don't intend this potion to be a crutch." He sounded as though he spoke form a great distance. "The goal here is to eliminate your emotional impediments so we can discern exactly what techniques you've been using. I'll expect you to master your anxiety during your next occlusion attempt."

"Hmm. Right," Harry said absently. He felt very, very good. The draught seemed to be getting stronger. He let his eyes drift closed, enjoying a vague, floaty sensation.

"Potter! You are not wasting my time by falling asleep."

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes again, mustering the strength to shoot Snape a half-hearted glare.

"Yes, sir."

Snape scowled at Harry's easy manner. He must hate seeing me in a good mood, Harry reflected calmly.

He hadn't realized he'd given voice to the thought until Snape snorted from the other side of the invisible walls. "This variant of the Calming Draught is laced with an opiate. You're 'in a good mood' because you're in a narcotic-induced haze. Do not enjoy it too much, Potter. I would not have administered it if I'd had another variant at hand. As it is, I'm wondering if I overestimated the dosage."

"Opiate, eh? Never knew you chased the dragon, Professor," he mumbled, letting his eyes sink closed again.

There was a short silence. Then, "It's purely for practical reasons. Opiates neutralize the more deleterious effects of the Cruciatus Curse."

Harry wondered idly if Snape used it a lot. He'd only seen glimpses of Death Eater gatherings, but he'd seen enough to know Voldemort could be brutal with his underlings.

Snape's footsteps traveled across the floor. "Stay awake, Potter, or I'll feed you the neutralizing potion."

Harry wanted to protest. He liked the way he felt, and he really didn't want Snape taking it away. The objection died on his lips. If the only way to keep this delightful feeling was to stay awake, he would stay awake.

Focus, Harry.

He sat up straighter and looked blearily at Snape through the invisible barrier. "So, what now?"

Snape held his gaze levelly a moment, clearly assessing the draught's effects on his system. When he gave a short, satisfied nod at Harry's level of coherence, he waved his wand and sent the world into darkness.

Harry blinked into the blackness, mildly disconcerted. Had he fallen asleep after all?

"Sir?" he called timidly.

"Out here, Potter," came Snape's voice. "I blocked the light from your enclosure."

"Oh."

"Rest assured, I can still see you." Snape's voice sounded closer. "Do not take this as an opportunity to relax."

The thought of Snape watching him didn't bother Harry as much as it had earlier. The wonderful, floaty sensation that accompanied the draught had reared back up with the blackness. The enclosed space spun in gentle circles around him.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes," Harry answered, not entirely sure what he was ready for.

What was he here to do, again? Oh yes, Occlumency. Right.

A picture of the Dursleys briefly flashed through his head, but he couldn't retain it. He gave it a few more token attempts. Bacon, stairs... Oh, he felt so nice. Why break this by thinking of those people? He surrendered to the delightful, peaceful feeling once again.

"You're not trying, Potter," he heard Snape growl. "This is a pitiful performance. I can only hope in later years you'll hold your alcohol more successfully than you do this draught."

Even amidst his woozy state, Harry felt the slightest bit offended. Snape clearly didn't think he was man enough to handle his potions. "It's just because I didn't eat today," he found himself explaining. "I could hold it just fine, otherwise. And you know what, Snape? I bet I could drink you under the table if we had some firewhiskey handy."

Well, he couldn't substantiate that last claim. Actually, he wasn't sure why he'd made it. He was a terrible drunk. He'd just heard Seamus bellow one time that--

"You are an absolute imbecile, Potter," Snape snarled. "I've told you time and again you need energy before an Occlumency session! You have just wasted my time and a valuable potion."

He heard the rustle of Snape's robe, and light abruptly flooded his vision. Snape's pale, pinched face looked absolutely livid.

His anger disturbed Harry beneath the soothing effects of the drug. He cast about for the reason for Snape's anger, and somehow his mind wrapped around it. Oh, of course... The food thing...

"You wanted to test my Occlumency skills," he said, half-aware of what he was trying to say. "It really is easier to pretend I'm in the cupboard if I haven't eaten at all. Not that they never fed me, mind you, it's just that I was hungry more often than not, so if I'd eaten a full course buffet like your house-elf kept bringing--"

"What on earth are you talking about, Potter?

"I mean," Harry fumbled a second, uncertain what his point was. What was his point? "It's not like it is with Dudley-- he's practically a whale." He felt confused, an image of a slimmer, more muscular Dudley flashing through his head. "Well, not now so much now. I'm kind of glad those Dementors came because I think he'd--"

"Your earlier point, Potter," Snape broke in impatiently. "You go into a closet to pretend you're in a cupboard? That's what is entailed in this vaunted new Occlumency technique?"

He wasn't sure what Snape meant by 'vaunted.' He was probably making fun of Harry somehow.

"Yes--" he stopped. "Actually, no..." He felt vaguely like he was explaining something to a particularly dull-witted child. "At the Dursleys I'm already in the cupboard, so I don't have to pretend I'm in a cupboard--"

"The sole act of sitting in a cupboard occludes your mind?"

Snape said it like it was strange. Maybe Snape was claustrophobic and couldn't imagine willingly getting in a cupboard.

"Oh, I like it there," Harry volunteered helpfully. "At least I do now. I can't stand up in it anymore, but I could when I was little. It helps with the scar a lot; they haven't made me stay there since they gave me Dudley's second bedroom--"

"I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Snape sounded confused. It was such an alien tone in his voice that Harry glanced at his baffled expression.

"I just mean I never have to sleep in there anymore. It's just nice to go there when my scar hurts." He rubbed his forehead unconsciously. He was glad that it wasn't hurting. "I'm too big to live in it now. But I bet if I'd never gotten those Hogwarts letters, I'd still be in the cupboard--"

"Your cousin had a second bedroom," Snape said disbelievingly. "And you lived in a cupboard."

"I didn't live there," Harry mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit sleepy. In the back of his mind, he registered some concern about the content of the conversation, but he wasn't certain just why it bothered him. "I got to leave during the day for school, and when I had to cook meals and stuff. And even when they were mad they still took me out to use the loo--"

"Merlin's beard, Potter, are you inventing this nonsense?"

Snape sounded angry again.

Harry blinked up at him, trying to sort out what had made Snape angry now. His thoughts drifted over the conversation; why was Snape mad? What had he invented?

Ah. He knew now. Well, he hadn't invented that… but he might have exaggerated just a bit.

"Okay, so Dudley's not really the size of a whale," Harry admitted. "But he's still really fat."

The invisible wall he was leaning against abruptly vanished and Harry found himself lying, disoriented, on the carpet. He gazed up at the ceiling, wondering why his eyes were acting funny. He still had his glasses on, so it wasn't his poor eyesight...

Harry gathered the wits to push himself up and glance around the room. He was surprised to find himself alone.