Griffin. Breathe in.

Hippogriff. Breathe out.

I… I… I… Iguana! Breathe in.

J… Jellyfish. Breathe out.

Harry turned his head almost imperceptibly, trying not to be noticed. The last thing he needed was for Snape to scold him again over his wandering attention.

Kneazle. Breathe in.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the professor still sitting at the potions counter, poring over a book.

Lion. Breathe out.

He knew this was supposed to focus his mind and calm his body, but really. Being told to sit against the wall and list animals alphabetically like a child’s game? It was a little bit insulting.

Monkey. Breathe in.

At least he didn’t have to do it out loud like the first time, listing the names of charms and spells. He’d felt like an idiot when he couldn’t think of spell names for each letter of the alphabet. And he was pretty sure Snape had been compiling a mental list of the flaws in Harry’s magical education.

N… N… What started with an “n”? N… Newt! He let out his breath in a rush, darting his eyes straight ahead when Snape raised his head to watch him.

O…O… Eh. Snape wouldn’t know if he skipped one. Breathe in.

P… Pig. Breathe out.

“That will do,” Snape said, and Harry looked up hopefully. “Are you still disoriented?”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Why does it keep hitting me anyway? I thought the dizziness was supposed to wear off, not keep coming back.”

Snape stood and closed his book. He crooked a finger at Harry to join him at the potions counter and studied him closely as he walked, probably making sure Harry was steadier than he’d been earlier. “Mental acuity potions can affect users differently depending on a variety of factors.” At Harry’s questioning look, he listed, “Age, body mass, emotional development, not to mention the body’s sensitivity to stimuli. This potion is harmless for a boy your age, but you may be more sensitive to the side effects due to a combination of those factors, not to mention your stunted physical development.”

“Oy!” Harry jerked his head. “I’m not stunted.”

“You have always been shorter and thinner than your father at the same age,” Snape said unapologetically, eyeing him like an insect under a microscope. Harry was too offended to squirm. “I never gave it much thought before, but it is obviously due to a lack of sufficient nutrition during your formative childhood years.”

Harry scowled. What Snape said might very well be true, but he didn’t need to spell it out like that. Some things just shouldn’t be said.

Snape gave him an unsympathetic and knowing look as he shoved the book away. “If you don’t want the truth, Mr. Potter, do not ask the questions.”

Harry harrumphed. “You know, there’s this skill some people have of being honest without being an arse about it. I think they call it tact.” He defiantly crossed his arms over his chest. He’d rather be annoyed and rude than show embarrassment. Though at least Snape had said lack of sufficient nutrition instead of deprived and starved. It sounded marginally better. Maybe even a little bit tactful, he grudgingly admitted, if only to himself.

“Language, Potter,” Snape said but didn’t sound upset. He was already moving to resume his earlier seat on the floor. “Shall we?”

Harry hesitated only a moment before obediently trailing behind to sit across from the professor.

They had already run through the mind melding exercise several more times, and each time Harry had gotten a little bit better at channeling and releasing the emotion. He was nowhere near as good as Snape at controlling his mind, but he was happy with his progress. Exhausted, too. Pulling up such deep emotion, as well as reliving the memory with Ripper and the dark cupboard over and over, had taken its toll. By the last time through, he’d have been tempted to curl up and take a nap right there on the laboratory floor if not for Snape’s presence. He wondered if that’s why Snape had called an end to the lesson. He’d been in Harry’s mind when he’d had the thought about taking a nap, after all. Harry couldn’t seem to hide anything from the man while he was in his head like that.

Of course, Snape had looked pretty exhausted by then too. Even though he wasn’t the one pulling up the fear or going through mental hoops trying to manipulate physical responses to emotions, Harry knew from the experience of being in Snape’s mind that the connection deeply affected the viewer. He felt kind of bad now, come to think of it. He’d at least already lived through the dog bite and the long days of being hurt and hungry and scared in the locked cupboard. It was a distant memory, one he’d come to terms with a long time ago. Snape had had to experience it for the first time and then over and over because Harry had chosen the memory and made him relive it alongside him.

The professor didn’t say anything about it, not once, not even though he’d looked like he was trying to rein in his temper again after their third time through. Harry let it pass without comment, without asking why Snape was upset this time, because he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He didn’t think he was angry at Harry, because if he was, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell Harry what he was doing wrong. If he was angry at having to go through the mind meld over and over, he merely had to stop the lesson. The possibility occurred to Harry (after Snape had left his mind, thankfully) that the professor’s anger was directed at the Dursleys. But he wasn’t sure how he felt about Snape being angry on his behalf. The thought was too strange. And it had implications he didn’t want to consider. So he didn’t ask, and they mind melded again and relived the memory again and washed themselves in Harry’s fear again until finally their minds - or at least Harry’s mind -was in dire need of a break.

A positive side to all the exhaustion was that Harry couldn’t spare much energy for embarrassment. He reminded himself that Snape already knew about the Dursleys and his cupboard, and he was proud of himself for (mostly) pushing any more thought of it out of his mind. If he wanted to learn Occlumency - really wanted to learn it this time - he was going to have to get used to revealing a few humiliating memories and thoughts. He had enough to go around, after all. At least he could console himself by knowing that Snape was never going to know everything.

He was getting a lot closer than Harry had ever wanted him to though.

“Same thing, then?” Harry asked after they were both settled on the floor. “Or do you want me to pull up a different emotion this time?”

Snape studied him for a long moment before saying, “A change in direction, I think. You’ve gone through that exercise enough with my guidance to be able to practice it on your own from now on.”

Harry nodded, relieved. Just the thought of pulling up that fear over and over all morning was exhausting.

“Do you recall our exercise in locating your dominant sense?”

“Er, yes.” Harry cocked his head to the side, wondering where Snape was going with this.

“You seemed to successfully clear your mind by focusing on your sense of touch.”

Harry nodded.

“Do you remember how you did it?”

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged. “You told me to focus on my breathing and your hand, and I did, and I fell asleep, and that was that.”

“Are you certain?”

“Certain it worked?” Harry furrowed his brow. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, even my vision self said I managed to clear my mind.”

Snape gave him a look that told him what he still thought about his visions, but he didn’t comment on that part. “I meant, are you certain that it was touch that you focused your mind on before you fell asleep.”

“Um…yes?” Harry dropped his eyes to the floor and scratched behind his ear as he thought. “I remember breathing in and out, calming my mind, and focusing on the touch, like you said. I don’t remember thinking anything else…but it’s possible. I was falling asleep, you know. Things get hazy.”

“And when you managed to pull away from the Dark Lord’s mind? Do you remember how you accomplished that?”

“I…” Harry wrinkled his nose as he thought about that terrible day, the day Ron had been hurt. It was difficult to remember the details though. He’d been plunged into Voldemort’s mind without warning, seen his friend’s house about to be attacked, and even after he’d managed to pull his mind away, he’d been in shock about what he’d seen. The aftermath was a rush of frantic hustle, worried waiting, and way too much stress and grief. How was he supposed to remember something so small in that one tiny, action-packed moment in a grief-packed day? He shook his head apologetically. “I don’t remember. Does it really matter? I mean, well, of course it matters, if you’re asking. Just…what are you thinking?”

Snape tapped his chin with a long finger. “Touch may indeed be an effective trigger in aiding you to control your mind. Your sense of touch is somewhat heightened.” He frowned as he thought aloud. “But as evidenced by the side effects of this potion, smell is quite obviously your dominant sense. So strong is it that I would wager that you tapped into your sense of smell during one or more of those incidences, even if you were not consciously aware of it. That sense is perhaps so deeply ingrained in your day to day functioning that you rather take it for granted.”

“Um, well…that would be true of most senses, wouldn’t it?” Harry pointed out. “We don’t notice them until we need them, a lot of the time.”

“It is a matter of degree,” said Snape. “The more highly developed a skill or sense, the less we tend to take conscious note of it.”

Harry bit his lip. He could see why Snape would reach the conclusion about his sense of smell, with how sharp it had been since he’d consumed the mind melding potion. Just thinking about it made him wrinkle up his nose again at the strong mixture of various aromas in the room, and he wondered if he had the potion to thank for not having a headache from it all. He wasn’t all that certain why it mattered though. It was just smell.

“In fact, I believe that you may be altogether more sensory than I’d imagined,” Snape was saying. “It may be the key to focusing your mind, having something tangible to tether it to.”

“I thought we were already trying the…um, tangible approach.”

“We tried the ‘tangible approach’ as an exercise, Potter,” Snape said as if he should clearly know the difference between an exercise and a game plan. Harry barely managed not to roll his eyes. Snape was such a professor sometimes. “It was meant to give you something to focus on at the time, a way to practice disciplining your mind. However, I believe that you may benefit from a more comprehensive immersion into harnessing the senses.”

Harry wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, only that it sounded like a lot of work. “So what do you mean by me being ‘more sensory’ than you thought?” he asked, deciding to focus on one question at a time.

“Most people have one or two dominant senses. As do you. However, proving that you are once again the exception to the rule,” Snape said dryly, “almost all of your senses are heightened to some degree. For the average wizard, locating their dominant sense would open a pathway for the mind. For a wizard with above average sensory perception, a more careful approach is needed. Your senses are more likely to act in tandem without intention or notice, helpful in many situations, but obstructing or even overloading the mind when applied to the practice of Occlumency.” He looked assessingly at Harry. “I might go so far as to theorize that to be one of the reasons you have not been successful at harnessing your mind to the study of Occlumency, despite your natural aptitude for the art.”

“How so?”

“It could be one contributor to your lack of focus. Of course, you are a teenager,” he said as if referring to a particularly irksome species of insect, “and so I would hardly go so far as to blame sensory input for all of your shortcomings. But it could be exacerbating your attempts to clear your mind. And your lack of discipline. Not to mention your-”

“Okay, okay,” Harry muttered and decided he didn’t need that question expounded on any more. “What makes you think I’m so different anyway? Sensory-wise, I mean?”

“I have been inside your mind for the past two hours, Potter,” Snape said as if he were talking to a child, a fact which Harry decided not to resent because he really wanted his questions answered. “All but one of your senses are heightened to some degree under the influence of this potion, one to an absurd level, which suggests that when in their natural state, they are collecting a more than average amount of information. Not so much as to constitute a sensory disorder, mind,” he added as if it were an afterthought. “You are still within an acceptable, functional range. But it is enough to bombard your body and mind with an abundance of data. Combined with emotional trauma resultant from childhood abuse, and it is little wonder that your mind is so disorganized and lacking in focus.”

Harry just barely held in a flinch at the word ‘abuse.’ He still hated that word, at least when applied to him. He tried not to let it show, but he was positive that the professor already knew it.

Snape added, “Your inability to control your emotions at times is another factor, as well as-”

“All right. I get the picture,” snapped Harry, rather tired of being dissected, and a bit overwhelmed at how much appeared to be wrong with him. Just how much thought had Snape put into how Harry ticked since finding out about the Dursleys, anyway? An awful lot, apparently, and the thought made him distinctly uncomfortable.

“The good news, of course,” continued Snape as if Harry hadn’t interrupted, “is that once understood, heightened senses can provide a natural tether to the world around you. Once you utilize your senses rather than allowing them control over you, the finer skills involved in Occlumency should naturally follow.”

Harry sat quietly for a few seconds, thinking about that. “But…” he stopped and cleared his throat, not sure he should give voice to his insecurities. But he needed answers more than he needed to save face, so he charged ahead. “But if my senses are running amok, if my mind’s all…um, disorderly, what makes you think it can even be done? If I’m so messed up, what makes you so sure I have the makings to be an Occlumens? Maybe we’re going through all this for nothing,” he added, frustrated and defeated. He smoothed his fringe over his scar, not wanting to look Snape in the eyes after his rant but needing to see his answer.

His question was met with silence as Snape watched him for a several long seconds. When the professor finally spoke, it was to murmur in a stunned voice, “You really aren’t arrogant, are you?”

Harry didn’t answer, though come to think of it, the question was probably rhetorical. He huffed a loud sigh. They were still there? He’d thought Snape had already come to that conclusion, but apparently first impressions die hard.

Snape cleared his throat and shook himself out of whatever state he was in. His eyes didn’t quite meet Harry’s when he said softly, “Those are impediments, Potter, not defects. They are mere roadblocks to overcome in training your mind. They may even, as I said, be assets to you in time, the key to becoming a powerful Occlumens in your own right.”

Harry wanted to ask how emotional trauma resultant from childhood…well, how that could be an asset, but he couldn’t think how to ask the question without asking the question. And he wasn’t about to ask the question.

Thankfully (or unfortunately - Harry still wasn’t sure which), Snape proved his observational skills yet again by saying unprompted, “Those who have never lived through trying circumstances will faint at the first sign of trouble. The untried mind is a weak mind. Adversity, on the other hand, breeds strength, and strength is vital to the development of skill. In my haste to assume you untried, I mistook your moments of bravery for arrogance and foolhardiness.” He shook his head. “You learned at an early age to stand up to danger, well knowing the consequences. While you still must learn to discern between courage and recklessness, your strength will also serve you well in developing the skill of defending yourself from mental attacks.”

Harry felt like he was looking with new eyes at Snape, so unexpected was that little speech. It sounded mostly complimentary, so…not Snape. And Snape had said the words with such conviction that Harry was startled to realize that Snape had meant what he’d said. Maybe…just maybe, the professor really didn’t hate him anymore. Harry’d already started to think that, but this was a different sort of revelation. As in, maybe Snape had admitted to himself that he didn’t hate Harry anymore.

Mind. Blown.

Before Harry could dwell too much on it, Snape gestured for him to lay his hands palm up on his knees. He placed his own wrists over Harry’s, clasped his lower arms, and instructed him to close his eyes. Harry automatically did as he was told, forcing their conversation to the back of his mind for later contemplation. He began readying his mind for the sensation of merging with another presence.

“Before I enter your mind,” Snape instructed, “pull up a recent memory. Something sensory. A memory in which you distinctly remember using your sense of smell. The more vivid you can remember it, the better.”

“What am I going to do with it?” Harry asked with his eyes closed.

“To begin, you are simply going to focus your mind. A variation on the exercise we completed last week. Choose a memory,” Snape repeated.

Harry chewed on his lip. He was thankful that Snape was giving him a chance this time to sift through memories before he entered his mind. But finding an innocuous memory was still hard. Recent…hmm. He thought of the past two weeks they’d been at Grimmauld Place, but nothing stood out that could be described as vivid. Naturally, he had no trouble pulling up the beginning of summer. The musty pile of clothes on the hard floor where he’d slept at the Dursleys, the dirt and sweat while his hands were rubbed raw from weeding, the smell of burnt bacon just before his head had been grazed by the edge of a swinging frying pan. But from the resentment already starting to bubble up inside him, he thought he’d have a rather difficult time focusing his mind if he brought up any of those memories.

“Do you have one?” Snape’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Harry huffed in frustration and opened his eyes. “Does it have to be happy?”

“Not necessarily,” Snape answered slowly, watching him through narrowed eyes. “But it will be easier for you to complete the next exercise if you select a memory moderately associated with a state of calm.”

Calm. Harry frowned. When was the last time he’d felt calm? Not a forced calm, like when practicing Occlumency or chopping up potions ingredients, but really calm? He couldn’t even remember.

Snape removed his hands from Harry’s and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “In the chaos of the past week, I’d nearly forgotten how problematic it is to use your memories as a focus for your mental practice.”

“You? Forget something?” Harry joked with a grin, which he dropped at Snape’s sharp look. An awkward silence lingered between them, and Harry was oddly fascinated that he’d forgotten himself enough to tease Professor Snape. And that’s what he’d done. He hadn’t griped or fought or barbed or grumbled. He’d teased. Professor Snape. He should probably be afraid for his life, but instead he felt the strangest urge to laugh.

Especially as Snape was eyeing him like a strange sort of bug, probably trying to decide if Harry had intended disrespect. Harry wondered if the man even knew the difference between a tease and a barb. Did he have any friendships at all in his life like Harry had with Ron and Hermione? And because Snape already was looking at him like he’d sprouted another head, he figured no more harm could be done in asking.

“Do you professors all hang out in your free time? Like friends and such? Or do you just spend your free time in your offices and personal quarters?”

Now Snape was looking at him like he’d sprouted a third head. “Are you disoriented again?” He reached out a hand to Harry’s head, pausing after Harry flinched away and then feeling his forehead anyway.

“No.” Harry batted the hand away. “Just curious. Are you friends with McGon - I mean, Professor McGonagall? Or maybe Professor Flitwick. He seems like he’d make a good professor-type friend.”

“I have never met anyone so easily distracted as you,” Snape gave his head a slight shake, his baffled expression morphing into exasperation.

Harry wanted to point out that obviously he had met plenty of more distracted kids; he was a professor of eleven-year-olds, after all, and been witness to countless exploding cauldrons over the years. But instead he wheedled, “It’s not like it’ll kill you to answer. You’ve got to at least spend holidays with somebody. You’re not a total Scrooge, I think, no matter how much you want people to think so. You’ve got to have a friend or two. Maybe if you just tell me, my mind can let it go and get back on track.” He gave his best innocent expression.

“Alternatively, we can skip the information that is none of your business and get back on track now.” the professor said imperiously, but Harry wasn’t fooled. Snape wasn’t angry or even all that annoyed, really. He could milk it a bit longer.

“So you’re saying that you are a Scrooge?” he slyly asked. “You know, if that’s the case, secrets have a way of coming out...haunting you…that sort of thing. So you might as well just tell me now.”

Snape crossed his arms and gave him a glare. “Even Ebenezer Scrooge did not willingly divulge his secrets.”

“Ha!” Harry’s eyes lit up and he pointed a finger at Snape. “I was right! You do read Dickens!”

He was even more proud of himself when Snape didn’t have a ready comeback. He didn’t protest that he’d seen a movie version of A Christmas Carol or that he was familiar with pop culture. His silence was proof that he’d read it. Harry’d out-Slytherined the Slytherin! Again! Sure, he didn’t get his main question answered, but he’d managed to trick him into giving away the answer to at least one of his personal questions of the last few days.

Snape was a reader. And now Harry knew it. A small win, but a win just the same.

Snape couldn’t hide a twitch of his lips. Harry thought for certain that he had been fighting a smile, which he counted as another win even though the man’s lips smoothly straightened out into a stern line. “Allow me to reiterate, Potter, that my personal life is of no concern to you. I suggest we get back on track now. This potion will not last indefinitely.”

Harry wanted to argue. Snape’s personal life was of sudden interest to him, definitely of more interest than thinking about how his own most vivid recent memories consisted of pain and loss. But seeing as how he’d gotten a partial victory - and Snape was right that it wasn’t really his business - he clamped his lips shut and slouched back to lean on his hands. Well, not his business for right now, anyway. He determined not to give up. One way or another, even if he had to spy on the professor during the school year, he was going to find out whether the man had any real, live friends. And maybe, just maybe, he’d even catch him in the act of smiling. If the man even knew how to smile. Which was doubtful. But it seemed more possible the more he got to know him.

“Okay,” he focused his mind back on the topic at hand. “Okay, so if memories are problematic, what am I supposed to do? Try it anyway? Hope I can come up with something that works? Or can I just do it without a memory?”

“There are many ways to focus your mind and your senses without memories. Memories, however, tend to be most effective for beginners. We will at least attempt it before moving on to other methods. Think again, but this time simply envision a moment in which you felt calm or relaxed. We can recreate the sensory experience from there.”

Harry wrinkled his nose, finding this just as hard as before. But a memory nudged its way into his thoughts, one that hadn’t occurred to him before…probably because it wasn’t real. He looked up at Snape through his fringe, considering. Snape looked back at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for Harry to voice his question.

He took a deep breath and raised his chin. “Do memories of dreams count?”

“Dreams.” Snape said the word like it was foreign on his tongue, then said, “Dreams are not tangible. To link them to sensory experience is unduly troublesome. Particularly for a beginner in the art of Occlumency.”

“But…what if the dream is tangible?”

“That is not the nature of dreams,” refuted Snape.

“Maybe not usual dreams,” Harry argued, “but my vision dreams were tangible. They felt like I was really there, as real as when I’m awake.”

Snape’s face showed his dawning comprehension and just as quickly his skepticism. “That you believe your visions to be real does not make them so. They are still by nature dreams. And dreams lack the necessary experiential component to be effective in such an exercise.”

“Still. It felt real, it really did,” Harry insisted. “Couldn’t I at least try?”

Snape studied him for a long moment, then asked, “What is so unique about this particular memory that you are so inclined toward it?”

“I felt calm,” Harry said simply. “Relaxed. It’s the only recent memory that fits. And it was real. Tangible, I mean. Sensory. I could feel, smell, hear…all those things, professor. And anyway,” he shrugged, “if it doesn’t work, I choose a different memory and move on, right? What’s the harm in trying?”

Snape studied him through narrowed eyes before motioning him to sit up. “Once. We will try it once. When you fail, we shall move on.”

“Gee. Thanks for the pep talk,” Harry muttered but held out his wrists for Snape to clasp. Snape ignored the comment, and almost immediately, Harry felt his familiar presence merging with his own mind. After doing this over and over throughout the morning, he wasn’t quite so overwhelmed anymore by the sensation. It still felt different and somewhat invasive, but it was starting to feel more natural at the same time.

“Pull up the memory,” instructed Snape. “The moment in your dream when you felt most calm. Immerse yourself in the moment, remembering any sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and other sensations. Attempt to lose yourself in them, thinking of nothing else.”

Harry ignored the way Snape’s voice betrayed his skepticism that this would work. Well, actually, Harry thought about ignoring Snape’s skepticism, which he supposed didn’t constitute ignoring, since he’d had to actually think about it in order to think about ignoring it. Ugh. He was doing it again: thinking too much into every thought because he knew that Snape could hear his every thought. Or could he hear it, really? More like feel it… Read it?

Snape cleared his throat.

Right. Getting back on track, then…

Harry thought back to the last vision he’d had from his other self. Seer self? Inner self..? Anyway. Other Harry, whatever he was. He imagined the green grass, the bordering lake, and the clear blue summer sky. He imagined himself sitting on the grass, breathing in the smells of not only the grass, but other scents in the air: popsicles, a light whiff of perfume in the breeze, and the natural floral aroma of the nearby flowers. He didn’t bother to imagine Other Harry there with him. It was the setting that calmed him, not his mirror image telling him that he’d soon be captured by Voldemort.

Aaaand capture was really not the thing to think about when he was trying to reach a state of calm.

Just to feel more like he was there, he focused his mind on the touch of grass between his fingers. It was difficult to imagine, as he could clearly feel Snape’s skin, not blades of grass. But he tried. He thought of the muffled voices, the chatter of the group of people nearby, the laughter of the children. He tried to imagine them together - sunshine on his face, smell of grass in his nostrils, laughter in his ears. Sunshine, smell, laughter. Breathe in, out, in, out. Sunshine. In. Flowers. Out. Laughter. In.

They sat for several minutes while Harry repeated it like a mantra in his head. He could tell it wasn’t fully working. He couldn’t clear his head of thought altogether and just be. But it had to have been working at least a little bit, for he felt much calmer than he had before starting. Simply imagining that clear, beautiful day and the happiness that it brought to the dream-people made him let go of some of the stress that had been gathering in his neck and between his shoulder blades. He took in another breath and consciously relaxed his body, letting some of the stress of the last few days flow through his body and out of his nostrils with each breath.

Snape lightly squeezed his wrists in warning that he was about to speak, and Harry was grateful. During one of their earlier exercises, Harry had been so immersed in his memory of Ripper that he’d nearly jumped out of his skin when Snape had said something out loud. The warning squeeze was a small sign that they were learning how to work together, and Harry might have grinned at that thought if he hadn’t been trying so hard not to break his concentration.

“You were…correct in that this dream is more tangible than the typical dream.” Snape obviously didn’t want to admit that, and Harry tried so hard to not think I told you so that he thought it anyway. Snape didn’t comment. “I am going to use a spell to amplify some of the sensations you recall. Focus your memory and your mind on them. Do not be startled to feel or sense some of them in the air around you.”

Harry nodded, and he felt Snape remove one of his hands from his. He tried to focus on the imagined feel of the grass, not on the suddenly cold skin of his wrist, as Snape muttered some words and Harry heard the slight swish of a wand near his head. He spared one thought for how horrified Ron would be to hear that Harry hadn’t even flinched as Snape pointed a wand at his head while his eyes were closed. But he immediately redirected his mind, imagining the sensations, and was rewarded when a moment later, he felt as if he really were on that grassy field next to a shimmering lake with the sunshine on his face. He reflexively raised his chin to meet the heat of the sun, but the artificial heat that the spell created didn’t come from a source above him like a sun; it surrounded him. He tried not to dwell on the evidence that what he felt wasn’t real, instead inhaling deeply of the scents of grass and flower and fresh air.

“The spell will recreate what you imagine,” said Snape as he replaced the hand on Harry’s wrist. “It will follow your mind where it goes. For now, focus on only one sensation - smell - so as not to overwhelm your mind. Remember: immerse yourself in it, until your mind is clear of all else.”

Clear my mind, Harry said to himself like a mantra. Clear my mind.

“Until your mind is clear of all else, including the thought to clear your mind,” added Snape dryly.

“Um. Right.” He took a deep breath, focusing in on the scents in the air around him, trying to not to even think of what they were, just trying to let go of conscious thought and experience them. It was even more difficult to not think about his breathing, but after a while, he let go the thoughts of his chest rising and falling. He smelled the grass and flowers and let his body simply exist.

He had no idea how long they sat in silence before he again felt the slight squeeze of his wrists, followed by Snape’s quiet voice. “Draw yourself slowly away from the memory. Allow yourself to focus on the sensations and scents of the room around you rather than those of your dream. Try your best to experience the change without concrete thought or words.”

Harry did as he was told, though it was difficult to limit his thinking, as Snape’s instructions had already somewhat drawn him away from his memory. He allowed himself a few minutes to re-immerse himself in the dream world before reaching out for his more immediate surroundings. He first latched onto the muted scent of potions, mingled with clay and spice. He felt himself drawn away from the dream, into the waking world… But first into the memory of a pair of arms surrounding him, cradling him against a chest. Rough cloth. Beating heart. A faint whiff of lilac in the air.

Safe. The world flowed unbidden through his mind, and he relaxed into the memory, breathing in the welcome scent of dirt and flower and clove and feeling protected like he hadn’t felt in so long… Held, like he’d longed to be held as a child, but the Dursleys never did, always pushing him away when he was too young to know better than to try to hug them like Dudley did. But now, he felt calm, safe…

A squeeze of his wrists, not as gentle as before, drew him from the memory, focused his mind on other sensations…hands clasping his, solid ground beneath him, scents combining in the air. Before too long, he was completely aware of the room around him, present in his mind, though he still felt a tad bit hazy. The potion again, probably. He hesitantly opened his eyes and squinted against the light of the room.

“That was trippy,” he said, blinking slowly to adjust his eyes. “But kind of cool. Did I do it right?”

Snape withdrew his arms and his mind from Harry’s but didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Harry with a blank expression, which quickly turned pensive.

“What did I do wrong?” Harry asked automatically, not liking the way he was being studied, like Snape didn’t know what to do with him. He looked away, thinking through the exercise. He’d cleared his mind, he knew he had. The dream memory had worked.  He opened his mouth to say a more diplomatic version of I told you so, but before he could, the tail end of the exercise played through his mind. Oh. He opened his eyes wide, sneaking a glance at Snape, who was pushing himself to his feet and walking over to his potions cupboard.

Harry wanted to sink through the floor. He’d relived the memory of Snape holding him, waking him up from that vision dream a week ago, and he’d wanted to stay there. He’d thought about how safe he’d felt, how protected. And Snape had seen - felt - all of it alongside him. No wonder Snape wasn’t saying anything. No wonder he was getting as far away from Harry as possible. The last thing Snape would want was a needy, clingy teenager who was becoming somehow attached to him. Some unhealthy product of his childhood, he figured Snape would say, that would cause him to cling to the first adult who gave him a hug. Not that it was a hug! Not at all a hug. But still.

He hadn’t even thought about how safe he felt around Snape these days, not consciously, not until now. And to his utter embarrassment, he realized that he did feel safe. He didn’t used to. Over the past five years, he’d become so used to being worried about being cut up for potions ingredients or cursed into oblivion during Snape’s bouts of temper that he still thought the thoughts out of habit, even though he wasn’t literally worried about it happening anymore. He hadn’t even realized until this moment that little by little, his fear had been replaced by security. He’d been wrestling so much with the question of trust lately that he’d glossed over the fact that he already did trust Snape. At least to some extent. Maybe even to a large extent.

Mind. Blown. Again.

Snape was back in front of him, waving a potions vial in front of his face. “Drink,” he instructed, voice inscrutable. He moved to the counter as soon as Harry accepted the vial.

He downed the liquid in the vial, not bothering to so much as look at it, grateful at least that it gave him something to do instead of looking at the professor. As much as he now had plenty of food for thought, his epiphany didn’t do a thing to erase his mortification. What must Snape think of him? He groaned as quietly as he could.

The fact that the room had become awkwardly silent made it worse, because it was painfully obvious that Snape had seen and felt the entire memory and that Harry had realized that he had. Snape was certainly, at the very least, unsettled by it. Or maybe he was trying to figure out how to extricate himself from Harry-sitting duties. Formulating a plan to get Dumbledore back here, to get away from Grimmauld Place after all.

“The mental acuity potion’s effects must be allowed to wear off naturally,” Snape’s even voice broke the silence, and Harry tried not to flinch. “The potion you just consumed will help with any lingering disorientation until then. If your senses waver in intensity as it wears off, lying down to rest will help.”

Harry nodded automatically. When Snape said nothing else, he darted his eyes to where the professor stood at the counter, eyes on the same book as earlier.

Harry cleared his throat. “That - that’s it, then? The lesson’s over?” He wasn’t an idiot. He knew Snape had planned on doing more with the sensory exercise but had been spooked into cutting it short.

“You have learned quite enough to fuel your practice,” Snape said neutrally, still not looking at him. “I expect you will now be better able to understand the concepts within your Occlumency book.”

“The dream worked then?”

“Yes,” Snape confirmed and didn’t even sound upset at being proven wrong. “It seems the nature of your dreams is as unusual as you asserted.”

Harry nodded again, though Snape wasn’t looking his way, and he pushed himself to his feet. The professor didn’t say more, and Harry knew a dismissal when he heard one. Still, he shifted from foot to foot in the middle of the room, reluctant to leave things like this. No matter the progress they’d made recently, it would be completely like Snape to go back to avoiding him just because he was uncomfortable with getting too close.

Well, screw that, he thought with a sudden spark of conviction. He may be mortified, and Snape may think him a wilting flower, but that didn’t mean he had to act like it. He’d made more progress in this one lesson with a Master Occlumens than he’d made over the past week on his own. And they were finally learning to trust each other, like Other Harry had told him they needed to do. So he was going to swallow his fear and humiliation, damn it, and Snape was going to get over his aversion to teenagers and Harry and being close to anything more human than a toad, and they were going to work together.

“Sir?” He squared his shoulders. Snape barely twitched, still reading. “Will you teach me again tomorrow?”

Snape’s head jerked up. He clearly hadn’t been expecting to be asked that after the mutually uncomfortable conclusion to their first lesson. His brows drew together, and Harry could have sworn he saw a flicker of fear. Harry didn’t dwell on it, just moved closer to head off any arguments. He could tell, with or without his Snape Mood Reading abilities, that Snape was about to come up with a very good excuse to refuse him.

“I need to learn,” Harry insisted, gripping the edge of the counter across from Snape, “And you’re a good teacher, when you want to be. Please.” He inserted authority into the word, not pleading, and he met Snape’s gaze steadily. He knew instinctively that Snape needed to know that Harry could stand on his own two feet emotionally, that he was grounded enough to not put too much weight on Snape’s willingness to teach him. Snape couldn’t do this unless he was allowed to keep some distance. Well, if he taught Harry what he needed to know, then Harry was perfectly willing to let him have it.

He knew the moment he’d won. Snape’s eyes lost their determined edge and he exhaled, long and slow. “Very well, Potter,” he said without emotion. “Tomorrow then.”

Harry knew better than to smile. He gave a single nod and made for the door before Snape could change his mind.

“And don’t be late again!” Snape called after him as he opened the door. “You may enjoy spending your days in endless teenaged monotony, but I do have valuable things to do with my time.”

Harry kept his back to Snape as he answered “yes, sir,” and closed the door behind him. He didn’t think it wise to show Snape the grin that was spreading across his face at the man’s expense. He’d been right about Snape needing to have distance, and he knew the parting words were the professor’s way of keeping that distance firmly in place.

He’d worry about how to navigate that later. He’d also have plenty of time to dwell on the embarrassment of the shared memory. For now, he’d push both obstacles out of his mind - he needed to practice directing his mind, anyway - and celebrate his victory. He was well on his way to learning Occlumency, and he was learning from the greatest Occlumens of his acquaintance. Soon he’d be in control of his mental connection to Voldemort, and maybe the discipline of his mind would even help him to sharpen whatever skills or advantage he could possibly have over the dark wizard.

And then Voldemort had better be the one watching out for Harry.