Over the following three days, Harry read, studied, and practiced Occlumency harder than he’d studied for any of his OWLS. Even so, he knew that if tested on the amount of information in the book that he actually understood how to put into practice, he would barely scrape by with an Acceptable. He still didn’t grasp how he was to empty his mind of all thought when all he could think about was his friend lying near death just down the hall from him. Or how to let go of his emotions when the worry and impatience never fully left his mind.

He tried though, he really did. What had before seemed a pointless waste of time and energy had a sudden degree of urgency to it, and Harry was through with giving up at the first sign of difficulty.

And he was starting to understand a few concepts. A light had gone on in his head when he’d read about the similar mental disciplines required to resist the Imperius Curse and to fend off an attack by a Legilimens. Snape had mentioned something about that in their first lesson last term, but Harry had been too nervous about the lessons to pay close attention. Reading about the similar skills now gave him renewed hope that maybe he had a chance of learning Occlumency after all. He hadn’t thrown off the Imperius Curse without difficulty; Occlumency would certainly involve difficulty as well. But it was no longer impossible, and that thought kept him moving forward in his studies.

He was even pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn’t all drudgery. Once he got past the dull introductory chapters, there were quite a few fascinating facts about Occlumency and tactics an Occlumens could use. It wasn’t all about fending off attacks, he learned; it was also about mastering misdirection. When he got to the chapter about ways in which strong emotion could be tethered to specific memories, which could then be used to misdirect a Legilimens, he read the chapter twice through and marked it for future study. He knew that skill in particular would come in handy after he had mastered the basics.

If he mastered the basics. He held back a sigh at the unbidden thought and mentally corrected himself. When. When he mastered the basics.

Because he would.

He stretched out his legs on the floor of the attic and sneezed as the movement unsettled some dust. He coughed as it re-settled itself, and he bent over the book to finish another chapter.

Since the Weasleys’ arrival, Grimmauld Place had become so full of wizards coming and going and whispering and crying, that Harry was hard-pressed to find a place to read his book or practice Occlumency without interruption. Even his room was out much of the time, now that he was sharing it with both Fred and George.

Harry didn’t much mind the arrangement, but being on top of one another did make it difficult to get any studying done during the day or to practice clearing his mind at night. And so each day he’d found himself sneaking up to the attic, the one place nobody else in the house ventured to go.

Everybody else was so distracted by Ron’s condition and the aftermath of the attack on the Burrow that as long as he made an appearance at mealtimes, nobody seemed to mind where he went off to during the day. Ginny threw him curious glances sometimes when he would sneak off, but she never asked him, and for that he was grateful. He hadn’t gotten to know Ginny very well before the last school year, but he was quickly coming to learn that she rarely missed a thing that went on around her. It was a product of being the youngest in an active house, perhaps. He was also gaining an appreciation for her way of knowing when not to push for answers.

“Harry?” said a voice behind him.

“Aaaaaa!” he yelled, snapping the quill in his hand. He spun around, then widened his eyes. “Her…Hermione? What’re you..?”

“Sorry,” Hermione took a step back from where she was standing, just inside the room. She clenched her hands awkwardly in front of her, and her red-rimmed eyes skimmed over the dusty attic. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you’d heard me come up.”

He stared for another moment before his brain caught up to him, then he stood and opened his arms. Hermione gave him a watery smile and let him envelop her in a hug. Neither spoke for several seconds, and it felt so nice, Harry thought, to know that he wasn’t alone. Hermione knew exactly how he felt about Ron. Neither of them was alone in this.

Hermione pulled back first, sniffing a bit and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“You too,” Harry said with a small smile.

“It’s…er, nice up here,” she said doubtfully as she carefully sat in the least dusty spot on the floor that she could find.

“It’s quiet.” Harry sat back down. “How’d you know where to find me?”

“Mr. Weasley,” Hermione said simply, and at his raised eyebrows explained exasperatedly, “You didn’t expect anybody to wonder where you’ve been disappearing to for hours at a time? Of course the Weasleys know better than to forget to keep tabs on you while Voldemort’s on the warpath.”

Harry shrugged again halfheartedly and looked down at his book. “You’ve, um…” he cleared his throat, unable to meet her eyes as he asked, “Have you been to see Ron?”

“Yes,” she answered softly, her voice wavering. She sniffled. “I sat with him for a while before I came to find you.”

Harry nodded, not sure what else to say. He looked up when Hermione laid her hand on his.

“It isn’t your fault, Harry,” she said, her face earnest. He tried to look away, but she shifted so that he had no choice but to look her in the eyes again. “I know you, Harry. I know you, and there’s no way you’re not blaming yourself right now. But,” she repeated, more clearly this time, “what happened to Ron isn’t your fault.”

He could feel his eyes brimming with tears, and she let him look away this time. It took him a few moments to speak, so worried was he that his voice might wobble. He didn’t agree with Hermione that it wasn’t his fault. Of course it was. Voldemort never would have gone after Ron if he weren’t after Harry. But Hermione would only insist that it wasn’t if he pressed the issue. He decided that changing the subject was the best way to go.

“Are you here for the rest of holiday then?” he asked, glad that his voice was steady.

Hermione gave him a knowing look but let him change the subject. “Yes. I already moved my things into Ginny’s room. Mr. Weasley spoke to my parents and assured them I’d be safer here than anywhere else. They were quite worried, you know…” she trailed off, her hand tightening around Harry’s where it still rested. She took a deep breath and let go of his hand, reaching for the book instead.

Harry leaned back and watched her as she strained to lift the huge book to read the title.

“Occlumency?” she asked with some surprise as she lowered the book back to the floor. “Is Professor Snape giving you lessons again?”

“Not exactly.” She gave him a questioning look and he explained, “Well, he helped me clear my mind once. But he’s not teaching me Occlumency. Dumbledore is. Or, I mean, he will be. When he has time. I’m trying to learn it on my own, as much as I can, until then.”

“From a book,” Hermione said, a small hint of humor dancing in her eyes.

“Yes, from a book,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I can read, you know.”

“Of course you can,” she said in a placating way, a smile pulling at her lips. “And you do it admirably well. It’s just…not generally your…well, your activity of choice, you must admit.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but thinking better of it, he snapped his lips shut. No need to make a fuss when she was perfectly right. He wasn’t nearly as bad as Ron when it came to studying, but he did much prefer learning through experience over learning from books.

He sighed, dropping his eyes back to the pages open before him. “I don’t know how else to learn it,” he admitted softly. “Lessons with Snape last year were doomed from the start, and Dumbledore’s away on Order business. He sent me a note yesterday that we’re starting our lessons the first week of school. But I need to learn it now…and this book’s the only thing I’ve got that’ll teach me how.”

Hermione was silent long enough that Harry looked up at her. She was studying him, and from the look on her face, Harry knew she was trying to decide whether to lecture him about misplaced guilt or some such nonsense. He gave her a sharp look before she could begin, and it was enough to convince her to, at the very least, shelve that conversation for later.

She reached for the book again and scooted over so that they both could read its pages. “So. What have you learned, and where should we begin?”

He stared. “We?”

“Well, of course,” she said, already flipping through the chapter he had just read. “You need to learn Occlumency, and I am going to help you.”

“Don’t you…don’t you want to sit with Ron?”

She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Weasley’s with him,” she said softly and followed it up with a determined, “Right now, you need me more than he does.”

True to her word, Hermione helped him for the rest of the day, leaving him only to retrieve snacks and drinks from the kitchen. Harry had always been impressed by her ability to soak up knowledge, but even after five years of friendship, he was amazed at how much she was able to learn and explain to him over the course of one afternoon.

“Well of course, it’s only theory,” she said smartly when he said as much. “I understand what the book says, but I’ve no idea how to actually put it into practice. According to the book, part of the ability to master Occlumency involves having an innate propensity toward the mental arts. You’ve always shown more natural affinity for that than I have, you know, with your ability to fight off the Imperius, and cast the Patronus so young.” She looked up from the pages of the book to give him a pointed look, as if anticipating an argument. “That is a spell that requires skill in the mental arts, you know. Any spell like the Patronus, that requires its caster to pull up specific memories or feelings in order to cast it shares a link with the foundational skills required to master Occlumency and Legilimency- Ooh!” She interrupted her own lecture to excitedly thumb through a chapter she had been looking for.

Harry waited patiently, and a few minutes later she looked up from the book and continued as if she hadn’t stopped, “Most of the D.A. learned to cast the Patronus, of course, but they had to try a lot harder and longer than you…not to mention they were older than you were when you first learned, and still none of us can cast it as well or as strongly as you could at thirteen. And hardly any fully-grown wizards can throw off the Imperius Curse. You have a strong mind, and if what this book says is true, Harry, I really do think you might find Occlumency easier to learn than you think. You could master it, even. Especially now that you actually want to learn it.”

Hermione’s face had grown more excited the longer she spoke, and Harry felt buoyed by her words. They made him a bit nervous too: what if he proved as bad at learning Occlumency as last year and disappointed her? But with her help, he was starting to feel hopeful that he could learn this difficult skill. He wondered if this was the right path that he was supposed to be on to keep his doomsday vision from coming true. Which brought up another question.

“How about…” he paused, unsure how to phrase the question that had just come to his mind. He didn’t really want to talk about his dreams, but he needed to know something. “Do you know if…well, if divination is linked to the same kind of mental arts? Not tea leaves and crystal balls,” he rushed to explain at her skeptical look. “I mean…Seers. Prophecies. The real deal. Do you think that somebody with a…um, natural affinity for the mental arts…might be more inclined toward the abilities involved in divination?”

Hermione cocked her head as she thought for a moment. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief that despite her general loathing for divination, she was taking his question seriously. He really wanted to know if all his unique powers and accomplishments were somehow linked. Maybe the possibility that he had an Inner Eye was tied to his abilities in the mental arts..?

“I don’t know for certain…” Hermione said slowly, “but from how this book talks about it and what I’ve read of the mental arts, I’d think there wouldn’t be a link between the powers. Not an evident or strong one, in any case.”

“Oh,” was all Harry could think to say. He looked back at the page Hermione had been reading. The answer didn’t disappoint him exactly. He’d just gotten hopeful for a moment that one more answer about his strange new power would be explained.

But Hermione wasn’t done thinking aloud now that Harry had given her a new puzzle to sort out. “Prophecy doesn’t appear to require discipline of the mind, you know. From what I’ve read, one either has the gift or one doesn’t. Of course, some might disagree.” She rolled her eyes, and Harry was sure she was thinking of Trelawny. “But Seeing is more about opening your mind to a gift you already possess, I think. An Inner Eye isn’t a muscle that just anyone can exercise or develop. You either have it or you don’t. But the mental arts…well, anyone can learn them to some degree, can’t they? A person like you, with a strong mind and natural talent, just has more innate potential.”

Harry nodded absently. So his possible Seer abilities were something else, then. He didn’t know why, but now he felt a bit relieved at Hermione’s words, if only because he could put Other Harry on the back burner for the time being. If understanding his visions wasn’t tied to learning Occlumency, then he’d deal with it later.

“Are you thinking about the prophecy?” Hermione asked softly, studying him.

“What? No,” Harry waved that off. “Just curious.”

She gave him a skeptical look, and Harry felt his lips curl up a bit. Sometimes having a know-it-all for a friend was annoying, but it still was nice to have such a perceptive friend in his corner. “I was thinking of something, but it’s not the prophecy,” he reassured her. “I’ll tell you all about it some other time though, okay? I promise. Just…let’s focus on Occlumency for now, yeah?”

Harry could tell he had made her curious, but she quickly agreed and they once more buried their noses in the book, discussing what Harry might be able to use as a mental anchor for an exercise in clearing his mind.

“Harry! Hermione!”

Ginny’s voice interrupted them several hours later, and Harry looked up, surprised when he saw that the light was fading outside the tiny attic window.

“Mum sent me to call you down to dinner!” Ginny’s voice was directly below the attic, and Harry grimaced at the proof that they really did know where he’d been disappearing to for the past few days.

“Coming!” Hermione called down as she jotted a few notes on one of the pieces of parchment she’d laid out next to the book on a newly clean section of floor. Harry had been amused earlier when she’d made him hold the book up so that she could sweep. The idea of working with a dirt-smudged book or parchment had elicited an actual shudder from her.

“We’ll work on the principles outlined in chapter fourteen next, do you think?” she said as she put her quill carefully to the side of the parchment and stood, stretching both arms. “Since you’re still having difficulty clearing your mind, it might be helpful to skip ahead to some of the mind strengthening exercises and circle back.”

“Yeah. That sounds good,” he said as he stretched out his legs, stiff from sitting on the hard floor for so long. When she started toward the stairs, he stopped her with a hand on her arm and waited until she looked at him, a question in her eyes. “Thank you, Hermione,” he said with as much sincerity as he could. “You’ve already helped me more in one afternoon than I’ve managed in three whole days on my own.”

Hermione smiled and gave him a quick hug before preceding him down the stairs.

Dinner was a solemn affair, as usual, and by the time Harry and Hermione reached the kitchen, they all but lost their feelings of excitement at making progress. It was easier, sequestered away in the attic, to imagine that the world was going on as usual and the most pressing concern in the world was to study.

And it was pressing, of course. Occlumency was very pressing for Harry right now.

But coming downstairs, being around the Weasleys, all he could think about was the latest reason why it was so pressing: Ron.

“How is he?” he heard Hermione whisper to Ginny as they settled at the kitchen table. Ginny shook her head sadly, which was all the answer they needed. Harry felt a familiar rock settle in his stomach, and he reached for a bowl of stew if for no other reason than to reassure Mrs. Weasley that he didn’t need looking after on top of everything else.

He barely looked up as the door creaked open, but he did a double take as Snape stepped through the door. Harry hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse him in days, not since…well, since the incident, as Dumbledore had called it. And it wasn’t for lack of trying on Harry’s part. He’d knocked on the professor’s laboratory door several times, but it had remained closed and locked. It was just as well. Harry didn’t know what he’d meant to say anyway.

However, it was clear that Snape had been avoiding him. Harry usually would have been just fine with that, but he found himself curious about Snape now in ways that he hadn’t been before. He felt the strangest urge just then to say hello and ask how the man was getting along with his potions. Thinking of the reactions that would garner, not only from Snape, but from the rest of the occupants of the kitchen, he squashed the thought and looked back at his food without saying a word.

He watched Snape from the corner of his eye though. The man didn’t stay for more than half a minute. He walked in, accepted a plate of food from Mrs. Weasley with a murmured thanks, and walked right back out again. He didn’t look at Harry once.

Harry had no idea why that bothered him. He sighed as he chewed on a bite of stew. He felt more jumbled up than ever. He didn’t know if he was supposed to hate the man or be grateful to him, argue with him or pepper him with questions. He also didn’t know if Snape was holding a grudge against him after his behavior the other night…or maybe a grudge against him for interfering with Dumbledore. It was all very confusing and certainly wasn’t helping his ability to focus on clearing his mind.

He took another bite of food without tasting it and looked up to find Hermione studying him. He could already see new questions forming in her mind and couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to answer them when even he was confused about things.

Sure enough, as soon as they reached the attic again, she asked, “Snape’s still at Grimmauld Place, then?” When Harry merely shrugged, she went on, “Professor Dumbledore didn’t say anything about it when he spoke to my parents. Of course why would he? We were all rather focused on Ron-” her voice broke slightly but she kept on, “and also on you and the war and me possibly being in danger…” she trailed off before back to the point, “I’ve wondered how you two managed to get along after we left last time. You haven’t said.”

Harry started to shrug again, not in the mood to go into it, but he stopped himself after a glance at Hermione’s curious face. She was being the best friend a guy could ask for, helping him even though he was the reason Ron might be downstairs dying. He owed her something.

“He’s been okay,” he answered lamely.

“Okay…” Hermione repeated slowly.

Harry looked up. “Well…better than okay, actually. I mean, by Snape standards. He’s still a right git, but he’s helped me out a few times.”

“Really?” Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “So are you and Professor Snape on…um, good terms now?”

Harry smiled at her incredulous tone. “I wouldn’t say that. More like tolerant terms? Yeah, tolerant. I haven’t seen him in a few days…but for a while, it’s like we’d figured out how to tolerate each other. Most of the time. We kind of had to, being in close quarters and all.” He purposely didn’t tell her about their last meeting. He wasn’t sure he wanted to until he’d managed to get Snape to talk to him again.

Hermione studied him for a few seconds, looking as if she wanted to say something. Harry ducked his head and absently flipped a page in the Occlumency book.

“If things are better now…and he’s already helped you out…” Hermione paused, seemingly searching for the right words, and Harry tensed, knowing exactly where her mind was going, “why…well, why couldn’t you resume your Occlumency lessons now?”

“No,” Harry said immediately.

“Harry -”

“No,” he said firmly. “I might not mind too much spending time in his potions lab these days, but no way am I letting him into my mind again.”

“Dumbledore trusts -”

“I know, Hermione,” he made an effort to keep his voice down, not wanting to yell at her. “I know Dumbledore trusts him, okay? That’s not the problem. I’m not even sure I don’t trust him anymore. I even think it’s possible he might actually be on our side now. I know, breathe. Doesn’t mean I want him digging around my brain. Do you think I want to let just anybody in my mind? See my deepest secrets? Know everything about me? Would you like that?”

Hermione was silent for a moment, then softly answered, “No. No, Harry, you’re right, I wouldn’t.”

Harry nodded, ready to get on with studying, but she wasn’t done. She laid her hand on his arm and gave him such an earnest look that he knew no matter how much he disagreed with what she was about to say, he’d listen. “I wouldn’t like it, but I’d do it if it was the only way. And I think you would too.”

“It’s not the only way,” he weakly protested, waving his hand at them and the book. “We’re making progress, Hermione.”

“Yes. We are. I’m just…” Hermione bit her lip. “Look, I know I’ve only been helping you for less than a day, but you’ve been trying and failing to clear your mind for more than half a year now. The more I read about Occlumency, the more I’m worried that theory isn’t going to help you as much as working with a Master Occlumens would.”

Harry rubbed his eyes, tired. He didn’t have it in him to argue any more. He knew she was right. He was proud of the progress he’d made in understanding Occlumency, but he was still struggling with the application. Hermione learned through books, but he learned best by being shown how to do something. He still wasn’t convinced that Snape was the right person to show him, but logically he knew the man was all he had available to him at the moment.

“He wouldn’t teach me now even if I asked,” Harry finally said, defeated. “Even if I wanted him to, even if I asked him to teach me again, he’s the one who ended lessons in the first place. With good reason, too. I betrayed him, snooped into his memories.”

“So apologize,” Hermione said, as if it were that easy, and Harry scoffed. “Well, Harry, it’s obvious that you feel bad about it. Even if he doesn’t accept your apology, or agree to teach you, apologizing is the right thing to do when you regret wronging somebody.”

"Yeah, well, I'm not the only one who needs to apologize," he muttered darkly. He knew he sounded childish, but still…

"Of course not," Hermione agreed. "He's been plain awful to you, to all of us, right from the beginning. And he's the adult. He should have known better. But Harry," she patted his sleeve. "If we all waited to apologize until the other person did first - even if they're more in the wrong than we are - nobody would ever apologize for their part in anything, would they?"

Harry thought on that for a moment, and Hermione let him, leaning back to rest her weight on her hands.

He finally sighed. "I'll...I’ll think about it. It'd probably come back to bite me though. He’s as Slytherin as they come. He sees plots and plans everywhere. He'd probably think I was apologizing just to spite him or show him up or get something out of him." He paused, mulling that thought over in his head. "Which is true, isn't it? If I go in there because I want help with Occlumency, he’ll know that's my real motivation in an instant. He'd kick me out before I got two words out, and fat chance he'd ever even consider -"

"Well, aren't you sorry for real?"

"Yeah, 'course I am. I was sorry as soon as I did it. But he'll never believe it."

"You can't help that. You're sincere, that's what matters, and that's all you can be. If he doesn't see it, well..." She shrugged.

"Easy for you to say," he muttered. "You're not the one who has to contemplate getting skewered alive for 'daring to put on an act of repentance to manipulate...um, something or other.' Huh…though he might actually prefer me to get all manipulative, come to think of it. He did want to act more like a Slytherin."

Hermione gave him a puzzled smile. “Sometime you’re going to have to tell me exactly what happened this summer.”

His thoughts darted to an image of Snape comically dressed in Dudley’s clothes at the Dursleys, and he smiled. He nearly laughed out loud at the memory, but then his mind also pulled up an image of Vernon violently shaking his already bruised body in front of Snape. “Uh, yeah. I’ll tell you about it sometime.” Just not all of it, he tacked on silently.

Satisfied, she let the topic drop and began helping him through a mind strengthening exercise.

They stayed at it for several more hours, until Mrs. Weasley called for everyone to get ready for bed. Harry rubbed his temples in exhaustion as they made their way through the house to their rooms. He’d had a bit more success with the third exercise they tried, but even Hermione was starting to show some frustration at how long it was taking them to make real progress. They were used to the cycle by now: Hermione would read a passage aloud, Harry would understand it in part until Hermione explained it to him in simple English, the light would go on for him, he’d beginning practicing, and then…nothing. Or maybe some progress, but not enough. Thanks to Hermione, he understood what the book was telling him to do now; he just couldn’t quite figure out how it translated into practice.

As grateful as he was to Hermione for her help today, he was even more frustrated knowing that even with her excellent help, he still couldn’t master a simple mental exercise.

Almost without thinking about it, after he parted ways with Hermione, he found himself veering away from his own hallway. He soon found himself in front of Snape’s closed laboratory door, where he’d found himself multiple times since their argument. A light escaped through the cracks of the door, and Harry heard the faint swish of sound from within. He knocked before he could talk himself out of it.

There was no answer, just like every other time he had tried. Snape definitely was avoiding him, if he could pretend not to hear him at this time of the evening when all was quiet and the house was settling into sleep. It was blatantly obvious to anyone standing outside that Snape was within. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he was ignoring Harry.

Taking a deep breath, he said as loudly as he dared, “I’m not going anywhere. If you don’t answer, I’ll just sit right here and wait until you leave to eat or use the loo.”

Still no answer. Harry narrowed his eyes and looked around for a place to sit. He was tired and wanted to go to bed, but he could at least settle in for a little while to show Snape that he was serious.

He’d no sooner sat down than the door was yanked open. Harry took in Snape’s stern face, how his lips were set in a thin line, his hair even more lank and greasy than usual, and then he scrambled to his feet.

“Can I come in?”

“No, you may not come in,” Snape bit out. “I am working on highly sensitive and volatile potions that require my complete concentration.”

“I could help,” Harry offered quickly. The repetitive motion of chopping ingredients suddenly sounded like an excellent way to clear away the stress of his Occlumency failures.

“No.”

“I won’t be in the way, I swear. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Highly doubtful,” Snape sneered and moved to close the door.

“Wait!” Harry wedged his foot into the door to block it. “Do you have any Dreamless Sleep?”

Harry didn’t need Dreamless Sleep, at least not right then. Asking for a potion just seemed the best way to get Snape to keep talking to him, and Dreamless Sleep was the first that came to mind. It worked, as Snape paused and then opened the door a bit wider.

“Have you had a vision?” he asked, eyes scanning Harry’s face.

“No,” he admitted. “Just…dreams. Not that kind of dreams,” he added quickly at Snape’s sharp glance. “Just regular dreams.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d been having bad dreams every night since the attack on the Burrow. He didn’t intend to use Dreamless Sleep unless he had to, but now that he’d asked for it, it did seem like a really good idea to stock up.

Snape held the door in place for a long moment, seeming to have an internal battle with himself, before he opened it completely and brusquely gestured for Harry to enter.

Harry waved a hand in front of his face and coughed as he walked into the laboratory. It was positively hazy, the air cloudy with some sort of thin mist. He could make out a line of cauldrons, all in various stages of simmering and stasis. Ingredients were lined up before them, some whole, some chopped or crushed.

“Are these all for Ron?” he asked.

Snape ignored his question as he stalked over to a cabinet in the corner. The sound of bottles clinking together filled the room, and then he walked back over to Harry and handed him a small vial of purple liquid.

“Do not drink it all at once. A few sips before sleep will suffice,” he instructed and then gestured for Harry to leave through the still-open door.

“Are you sure you don’t want help-”

“Go to bed, Potter,” Snape said, and for the first time Harry could see weariness in the professor’s face and in the droop of his shoulders. He thought, seeing that, that maybe he should do as the man said and leave…but what if Snape continued to ignore him? When else was he going to be able to clear the air?

“I am sorry, you know,” he blurted out before he could talk himself out of it. “I know I was out of line the other night…and I’m sorry.”

Snape stilled, his hand in mid-air while reaching for the door, and Harry fidgeted in the long seconds before the man turned back around to study him with those all-seeing dark eyes. He was sporting his expressionless face, but he wasn’t doing as good a job of keeping it in place as usual, for Harry could still see the edges of exhaustion in his eyes and in the heavy way he moved. He felt a twinge of guilt then. Was he selfish to assume that the professor had been avoiding him? Perhaps he was so busy with brewing and Order business that he hadn’t had time to bother with Harry’s insignificant needs. Now he felt the urge to apologize again, this time for bothering the man’s work, but he held his tongue. Who knew how even one apology would be received tonight? He shifted, uncomfortable under the man’s assessing gaze.

Snape sighed, closed the door, and pointed at a stool near Harry. “Sit.”

Harry nervously sat and watched as Snape cast a few spells over the nearest cauldrons. Several cauldrons continued to bubble and steam, but a few slowed and stopped as he put them into stasis. Snape then pulled a stool over to where Harry was perched and sat opposite him. He jerked up his left sleeve and held up his bare arm.

“What do you see, Potter?”

“Um…” Harry looked up at Snape’s face, wondering if this was a trick question, or if he was about to be put in his place in some humiliating way. “It…it’s your Dark Mark, sir,” he said hesitantly.

“Yes,” Snape said without emotion. “Now say the Dark Lord’s name.”

Harry stared, certain that he’d heard wrong, but Snape didn’t correct himself. “You told me not to -”

“Yes, and you’ve listened so well to my wishes thus far, “Snape said, a slight sneer in his voice. He said again, “Say the Dark Lord’s name.”

“Voldemort,” Harry near-whispered, and he widened his eyes as the Dark Mark visibly darkened and seemed to writhe on Snape’s arm. The muscles on the man’s arm jerked until the Dark Mark faded back to its normal shade and lay still upon his skin.

Snape lowered his sleeve to cover his arm without looking at Harry.

“Did that…hurt?” Harry whispered after the silence became too much.

Snape gave a sharp nod. “It is not unlike a lesser, localized Cruciatus. A reminder to the Dark Lord’s followers to fear not only the man, but the power that even his name holds over us.”

Harry blinked, not sure what to say to that. It all suddenly made sense…every time Snape had flinched at Voldemort’s name, or each time he’d hissed at him to call him something else. He was starting to feel a weight of guilt for having goaded him with Voldemort’s name so many times, but the guilt was overshadowed by the shock of Snape having revealed something so personal to Harry. It wasn’t like him. Snape didn’t share anything personal, especially not a weakness, and especially not to Harry Potter.

“Why did you show me, sir?”

“The headmaster seems to be under the impression that you operate best when given more, not less, information,” Snape said and crossed his arms over his chest. He still wasn’t looking at Harry.

“Professor Dumbledore knows?” Harry gestured at Snape’s arm.

“More or less,” Snape said, and by the way he refused to elaborate and from the times Harry had heard Dumbledore say Voldemort’s name in Snape’s presence, he wondered if this might not be one of the few times when Dumbledore knew less rather than more. Which made it all the more puzzling why he was sharing it with Harry.

“I really am sorry-” Harry said to fill up the empty space, but he was interrupted.

“The headmaster also seems to be under the impression that you take too much blame upon yourself for the decisions of others. He is an old fool when it comes to you,” Snape tacked on, though his sneer seemed forced. “However, in this instance, he may be correct.”

“Sir?” Harry asked with a frown.

“My reaction to your misguided attempt to relieve the stress of your situation, Potter.” Snape spared Harry a quick glance, then looked away. “However reprehensible your behavior, mine was unwarranted. And…” he paused to clear his throat. “It had nothing to do with you.”

Harry stared. Was that an apology? He wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but it sounded as close to an apology as he’d ever heard from the man. He couldn’t stop the thought that Ron was never going to believe it, and he just as quickly shoved the thought away. He couldn’t think about Ron so casually like that, couldn’t wonder if he’d ever get to tell him things. It was too painful.

“I assume you require thanks for your intercessions on my behalf with the headmaster.” Snape said stiffly, arms still crossed, and Harry stared uncomfortably at the rigid way Snape held himself and nearly sighed out loud. Why did Snape always have to make weird situations even weirder by being so formal whenever things got awkward between them?

“No, sir. I, um, I don’t.” he finally answered, when it seemed Snape was waiting for a reply.

Snape gave a sharp nod. “I trust you will respect the confidence I have shared with you tonight.” Standing up, he moved his stool back to his work area.

“Um,” Harry couldn’t think what to say for a minute. “Oh. Of course. I won’t tell anyone, professor. I promise.”

Harry could tell that Snape considered the conversation over, but from Harry’s perspective, it had barely begun. He hadn’t had a chance to bring up how bad he felt about last year and the Pensieve before his half-laid plan was derailed by Snape’s personal revelation. Plus, they didn’t seem to have cleared the air at all. Snape looked as if he thought he’d done his duty by talking to him - in fact, Harry was starting to wonder if Dumbledore had told him he’d had to as a condition of staying - and now he’d probably go right back to ignoring Harry for the rest of summer. Harry didn’t exactly know why that bothered him, but it did. He’d have been overjoyed for Snape to choose to ignore him a mere two weeks ago, but now he felt let down at the prospect.

Snape had walked over to the door and was holding it open, pointedly looking at Harry, and before he could think what else to do, Harry obediently left. The door clicked shut behind him without another word from Snape, and Harry walked through the quiet house back to his bedroom feeling even more unsettled than he had before finally getting Snape to talk to him.

He was cold. It was dark, and he was cold. For several moments, that’s all he knew.

A light turned on, and he blinked, yawning. He opened his eyes and sat up abruptly. A dark shape was coming toward him. He backed up, reaching for his covers…but the covers weren’t there, and neither was his bed. Before he could think about where they were, he was suspended in midair by his ankles. He panicked, trying to reach for the knots at his feet.

A chorus of laughter reached his ears, and he looked up. All around him were figures in black robes and hooded masks. The Death Eaters were chanting something, but he couldn’t make it out. He tried even harder to untie himself, his breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as he heard the slithering sound of a large snake coming toward him.

“Harry Potter. You’ve joined us at last,” said a familiar snakelike voice, and Harry tried to move faster, but his arms slowed down until they were frozen in midair. Voldemort reached a hand out to touch Harry’s cheek, and he shuddered. His eyes met Voldemort’s red eyes…but they melted away, to be replaced by a purple-faced Uncle Vernon spewing spittle as he yelled an undecipherable string of insults at Harry’s face. Harry was finally able to move his arms just in time to block a vicious swing from Vernon’s meaty fist.

He was suddenly cut down and landed in the middle of an overgrowth of weeds.

“My garden!” yelled Petunia, and he dodged as she came at him with a frying pan. He ran as fast as he could to the park near Privet Drive, but he could hear the Death Eaters behind him, gaining on him. The park was in sight when he tripped, falling through the Veil. Sirius caught him.

Harry smiled in relief, but Sirius pushed him away.

“Sirius, it’s me. It’s Harry!” he yelled frantically, grabbing hold of his godfather. Sirius pushed him away again, harder this time, and Harry fell down at his feet.

“I didn’t want to die, Harry. Why did you make me die?” Sirius asked accusingly.

Harry felt tears spring to his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You’re not like James at all, are you? Nothing like James.”

“I can try to be!” he tried again to grab hold of Sirius, but he was shoved back through the Veil and landed in a heap in his cupboard.

He lay still for a moment, trying to stem the flow of tears, before he heard someone else breathing in the small space. He scuttled to the corner, trying to remain as still as possible. His hand felt around for the tiny flashlight he’d hidden in here years ago. He found it, turned it on, and…he wasn’t in his cupboard at all. It was a basement.

It was the basement, the one Other Harry had shown him. And there next to him was his unconscious self. But when he turned the body over, he found himself staring into Ron’s lifeless eyes. Harry gasped and grabbed hold of Ron, trying to wake him up, but when he looked down, his hands were covered with blood.

Blood was everywhere, flowing from the walls, flooding the basement, trying to drown him. He reached for Ron to keep him from drowning, but he couldn’t find him. Had he already drowned? He felt around, but the blood was rising too fast. He had to get out. He couldn’t breathe. He was under it now, he was drowning, he was…

Harry gasped awake - for real this time - and tried to sit up, but he couldn’t move. He frantically tore at his sheets from where they were tangled around his sweat-soaked body, and out of habit, he deliberately slowed his breathing and listened carefully to find out if he’d woken anyone up. He could hear the twins’ snores echoing through the small room and gave a small breath of relief. He swiped at his wet cheeks, grateful that at least his nightmare hadn’t had an audience.

Knowing that he wouldn’t be falling back asleep any time soon, he padded in his bare feet to the loo and splashed his face with water. He stared at himself in the mirror, taking in his blotchy face and bloodshot eyes. He could still see the wall of red from his nightmare, and he felt a childish fear of turning out the light. Shaking his head at himself, he turned off the light anyway and made his way out into the hallway of Grimmauld Place. There would be no more sleeping tonight, he knew, not without the aid of a potion. He didn’t want to rely on a potion though, even though he now had plenty on hand, and instead of walking toward the kitchen as he had intended, he again found himself in front of Snape’s closed laboratory door.

His mind was full, and he didn’t know which thread of thought to follow. Occlumency, Ron, the Weasleys, Voldemort, Snape…Snape gearing up to ignore him again, Snape pretending he didn’t exist after they’d been forced to learn so much about each other. He thought again about Hermione’s advice to apologize about last year and let the chips fall where they may. Maybe Snape would even accept the apology and give him some more Occlumency pointers to help him until formal lessons started with Dumbledore in a few weeks.

Not that Occlumency was likely to help him with the garden variety nightmare that was becoming increasingly common. He groaned and rubbed his pounding head.

Unable to decide whether he was up to facing Snape right then, but not wanting to return to his bedroom yet or trek all the way to the kitchen, he lowered himself to the ground opposite the lab. He simply sat for a while, drawing his knees up to his chest and staring at the closed door. It was warmer in this hallway than in his bedroom, and it smelled rather like the Potions classroom at Hogwarts, only without that chill in the air that lingered everywhere in the dungeons. He found it familiar and comforting, in a way. Even though Mrs. Weasley had whipped Grimmauld Place into shape and gotten every corner cleaned to perfection, the rest of the house still carried a musty smell to it that couldn’t ever seem to be wiped away.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to clear his mind by imagining himself to be at Hogwarts. He pushed against the images from his nightmare, thoughts of Voldemort’s plan, worries about Ron and his friends, and thoughts of Snape and overdue apologies, and tried to simply be.

He wasn’t sure if it worked or if he was too exhausted to keep it up, but it didn’t take long for his head to droop forward and his mind to relax into sleep.