Aug. 10

Whatever, Snape! Ha, didn't think I'd do it, did you? But I'm fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, FINE, FINE, FINE!

Hopes he reads that. Telling me I can't use "fine" or "whatever," or whatever his faux-caringness problem is today. It was his idea that it only took one vote to "blacklist" a word. He should've thought that one out a bit more before using it to keep me from saying "git" or "bat," ‘cause now he can't say "detention," either. Ha! Although he was obviously getting carried away when he said I couldn't use "no way," or "leave me alone," so my next choice of words was "the." Choke on that, ye Greasy Git!

He didn't have to tear up the list though.

The "Official List" he says, is the one posted on one of the kitchen cabinets. It's shorter than the one we worked on at first, but I got a few choice words in there, too. Still not supposed to use "fine" though. What am I supposed to tell him, then? I can't describe the awful . . . ache inside, the way it's hard for me to think, sometimes, or catch my breath, because a memory hits me and I can't see beyond it . . . until I get it under the stone. Then, everything's, well, fine.

I catch him watching me, sometimes, and it's weird, ‘cause I know he's trying to Legilimize me, or maybe just trying to make me talk, but he doesn't say anything, and it makes me really uncomfortable, ‘cause he's supposed to be the one who yells and insults me and instead he's the one who, right now, is telling me I'm worth something, and that nothing that happened, with the Dursleys at least, was my fault.

I know that's not true, no matter what I told him. I was bad, and I was punished. Dudley almost got killed a year ago because of me, and I blew up Aunt Marge, and ruined business deals for Uncle Vernon, and never did chores to Aunt Petunia's specifications Sure, they were more than your average kid had to do, but then, they took me in when they didn't have to. I was lucky to have a home, even if they didn't want me there.

Of course, when I look over what I just wrote, and think of Hedwig, who never, never deserved what he did to her, and I think about how they left me to starve to death or die of infection, I think maybe Snape is right and I rationalize what happened to me too much. "Sure they hurt me, but they had a right to." Blah. What if it was Ron's parents who hurt him like that? Would I feel the same? Or even someone like Colin Creevy, who's folks are Muggles? Would I think he deserved to be beaten and starved and locked away in a cupboard because he did accidental magic in front of them?

No. I wouldn't.

But I can't think about that anymore, ‘cause if I do, I'll get all depressed and shit, because there isn't anything I can do about the fact that they hated me, and nothing I did was every going to make them love me.

There, I said it. Happy now, Snape?

Sighing, Harry closed the journal which had miraculously reappeared on the writing desk this morning. Well, not so miraculous, he supposed, since all Snape had to do was pick it up off the floor and put it back on the desk. But still. He was almost . . . glad of it, really. He was still pretty sure that Snape was not covertly reading what he wrote, but one couldn't be too careful. He'd gotten a bit carried away, to be honest, with this last entry. He hadn't meant to write all that personal stuff. But it was easier than talking to the professor. Mostly.

Snape looked up at him at last, and Harry was half way to his feet even before Snape said, "Flying, I assume?"

"Yes, sir," he said, with all the enthusiasm he could muster. "Please."

"Very well." Snape marked the page in his book - he read as much as Hermione, honestly! - and rose to get their brooms.

For the next hour, Harry was at peace.

Afterwards, he was surprised that Snape did not bring out tea, which had become their custom after flying. He imagined that Snape found him easier to deal with when he was in a good mood from being outside. This time, though, Snape brought out a wide, covered bowl and set it on the table between them.

The pensieve.

Harry swallowed hard, looking at the seemingly innocuous stone bowl. It was the same one he'd gone into last year, and seen the memory that Snape had hidden from him. He glanced up through his fringe at the Professor, who stared back at him. There was no hatred in his gaze, but Harry still shuddered, remembering. It was the only time he'd been truly afraid of Snape and his legendary temper. And it was his biggest regret of their . . . relationship, whatever it was.

"Professor . . .?"

Snape nodded, his eyes still boring into him.

"I'm really sorry. I mean it."

Snape sighed. "I know, Potter. You said so before. And I . . . accept your apology. Now, let us proceed."

"What . . ." Harry bit his lip. He could admit to himself he was nervous about practicing Occlumency with Snape. It had always hurt the last time, like being hit by a bludger in the head, over and over. And the lessons made his scar ache, too, and he did not want to think about anything connected with his scar, ever. No matter that he'd woken from screaming nightmares again last night, trying to claw his forehead off. "What are we going to do?"

"You are going to place some of your . . . potentially problematic memories in the pensieve before we do anything else."

"Potentially . . . Oh." He could feel the blood drain from his face. He would have to think about the memories he wanted to remove, think about them in all their horrific glory. "I don't know if I can do that."

"I will be right here with you," Snape said, in the calm and somehow gentle voice he used when he thought Harry was about to bolt or throw something. That he was usually right did nothing to calm Harry's fears.

"Yeah, but-"

"'Yeah' is blacklisted."

That earned a brief smile. "Yes, sir," Harry started again. "I know you will . . ." and for a moment, he had to pause and let that sink in. Snape would be with him. And he knew that. He didn't have to face the memories alone. The greasy git of a potions master, who'd hated him for as long as he could remember, was going to stand by him through this. The idea was overwhelming, as he came to truly appreciate it for the first time. He drew a deep breath and peered at Snape, brows furrowed.

Snape stared back, his arms crossed over his chest, and lifted one eyebrow.

Harry laughed suddenly. "You are so gonna have to teach me how to do that."

"'Gonna,' Mister Potter?"

"Sorry. Going to. Teach me, that is. How to do the one eyebrow thing."

"And why would I do that?" Snape asked with a sneer. "It benefits me nothing to have young, cheeky imitators running about."

Harry sniggered under his breath. "Maybe I'll trade you."

"I can't imagine you have any personal habits I wish to emulate."

"Ha. Very ha. I meant maybe I have something else you'd want to trade for." He shrugged, casually. "Or maybe not."

"This discussion is unnecessarily off topic," Snape snapped. He held out a length of dark wood that looked shiny and new. "Now. Take this wand and put it to your temple."

"Your wand?"

"Indeed."

"Won't it . . . I mean, I thought doing stuff like this could mess you up if you didn't use your own wand."

Snape huffed in annoyance. "Only if, as I believe a certain ex-professor learned to his discomfort, the wand in question is malfunctioning. Any wizard can use any wand, Potter. Of course, if you use a wand more attuned to your personal magical core, the results are rather better as a result." He held out his new wand again. "Take it."

With a trembling hand, Harry did, and the warmth that spread through his fingers and then up his arm was like a balm. It had been too long since he held a wand, any wand, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it until now. He let the warmth permeate his being, let it settle in his chest until all he could feel was peace. Tears came unbidden to his eyes, and he blinked them away, squeezing his eyes shut for a minute, till he got his bearings.

Finally feeling centered and in control again, he opened his eyes.

"All right, Potter?"

"You . . . you can call me Harry. If you want."

Something glinted in the professor's eyes, but was gone almost immediately. "Very well . . . Harry. Are you ready to begin?"

"Yes, sir.

A longer pause this time, and the professor was stalk still as he said, "This is likely to be difficult for you, and I would not like to be the cause of your distress. Thus, I ask you, may I put a hand on your arm, to steady you whilst you do this?"

Harry bit his lip again, hard enough to taste blood. Snape was asking. Not telling. He quickly nodded before he lost his nerve.

Snape stepped around to his side of the table, and put a hand on his shoulder. Managing, barely, not to flinch, Harry took another deep breath. "That's it," Snape said. "Try and relax. It'll be easier that way. Now, put the wand to your temple and concentrate on one memory you wish to remove." His fingers tightened on Harry's shoulder as Harry lifted the wand. The wand trembled and he had a sudden jolt of . . . something. Revelation?

What if he just Obliviated himself?

Wouldn't that be the best thing to do, all around? He wouldn't be able to remember any of it, the manor, Voldemort's pale white hands, Lucius' cold whispers . . . he would be at peace, truly. He wouldn't hurt any more. Hand shaking even more, he gathered his courage, and the word was on the tip of his tongue when Snape suddenly grabbed his wrist.

"What are you doing?" Snape snarled, and yanked the wand away from his head.

"What I should have done days ago," Harry told him, and wrenched his hand free of the potion master's grip. He still had the wand; that was something.

"Idiot child! Do you even know how to perform the spell? Do you want to wipe your entire mind clean away?"

"I don't care! What does it matter, anyway?"

Snape glared at him, eyes like dark fire. "If you truly do not care, then it matters not a whit. Go ahead. Curse yourself to oblivion. Abandon your life, your friends, and the entirety of the Wizarding world. Become a squib, go back to your Muggle life, or make a new one from a blank slate, if you really do not care."

A primal sound formed in Harry's throat, and he gave vent to the anguished cry and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He did care, he cared too damn much. It had always been his problem. Could he erase all memory of Hermione and Ron, the first and best friends he'd ever had? Could he obliterate Hagrid, or Remus, or . . . or Sirius? No, it was impossible. He wanted them, memories of them, but he could not deal with the others.

"You do it for me then!" he cried and shoved the wand at Snape. "You know the spell, you could remove just . . . just those couple weeks."

Snape made no move to take the wand. "Harry . . . it's no good. You can obliterate those memories, yes, but it won't take away the feelings associated with them. You won't know why you don't want anyone to touch you, nor why the idea of physical intimacy makes you shaky and sick. Also, you won't be able to erase the memories from anyone else who has knowledge of what happened, and who might remind you, wittingly or otherwise."

"What? You wouldn't . . ." Harry was suddenly very cold. And nauseous. And thought he might actually faint. "You mean Malfoy."

In a very quiet voice, Snape said, "I was not thinking specifically of Draco, but yes, that is what I meant. I cannot imagine that the Dark Lord, nor Lucius, will keep your . . . treatment at their hands a secret."

"Oh, god, oh, god. I'm gonna hurl . . ." and before he'd made it more than two steps to the bathroom, he did so, spewing the little bit of lunch he'd had all over the nice rugs in front of the fireplace. From his knees, he heaved and heaved until there was nothing left, and then he heaved some more until there was naught but sour spittle in his mouth and the taste of salt from tears.

---

From his knees, Severus banished the foulness with a wave of his wand, and considered conjuring a bucket. But the boy was nearly done now, just shivering and hugging his arms to himself. To make sure he did not collapse, Severus put a hand on his back, and though Harry twitched like a skittish colt, he did not fling himself away as he had previously.

Severus would have counted that as progress if the mere idea that other students might know what had transpired at Topsham had not sent Harry into this awful spiral. Had the boy not considered it at all? The very idea was absurd. And yet . . . perhaps he was just too focused on making a recovery that he had not given the future much thought?

It was possible, though he doubted it. Harry seemed to give an inordinate amount of consideration to the future, at least insofar as fighting the Dark Lord was concerned, and he usually thought little of the past. Perhaps that is where the problem lay, this time, in his inability to push this event away as he had so many others.

It would bear thinking on. In the meantime . . . he summoned a glass of water and held it out. "Harry. Take the glass and drink. It will help you feel better. Your throat, anyway."

Blindly, Harry reached for the glass, and his hands shook as he brought it to his mouth. As the boy sipped, Severus was unsure what else to do, and ended up rubbing small circles on the boy's back to soothe him. It seemed to work, as the boy relaxed a little, and some color returned to his cheeks as his shivering abated.

"S-sorry, sir," he said in a thick voice, when half his water was gone.

"Don't be. Let's get you off the floor, though, shall we?"

"You're not gonna refer to me in first person plural now, are you?" Harry muttered. "Like a nursemaid?"

Severus snorted softly. "Impertinent brat. I'll only do so, if we don't get up very soon. My knees are not as young as yours. And that's points off, for your use of a blacklisted word. Again."

"What, ‘nursemaid'?"

With only a growl in response, Severus hauled himself to his feet, and offered a hand down to Harry. After a brief, almost non-existent hesitation, Harry took his hand and stood. He still looked pale and his hand was clammy, but he was clearly over this particular episode.

It was equally clear that the necessity for Occlumency had risen dramatically. "Come sit at the table," Severus said, and waved Harry into the seat he'd occupied until a few minutes ago. Once more, he gave Harry the wand and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. The boy had the determined gleam in his eyes that Severus far preferred to his passivity, no matter that he would rail about it once classes started again. "Hold it to your temple, and focus. When you have the memory completely in your grasp, draw it away from you with the wand. Be careful, and deliberate, so the strand does not break."

Harry nodded, then closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The wand was pressed into the flesh just above his ear, but his hand was steadier now, Severus was glad to see. He also knew when the boy had accessed one of the "troublesome" memories, as his face creased in pain and his eyes screwed shut.

Severus squeezed his shoulder, letting him know he was not alone. "Begin to draw it away now, Harry," he encouraged, and the boy's hand moved very slightly. The edge of a memory appeared, a slick silver strand that grew longer and longer as the wand eased away from his head. "Slowly, that's it." Harry's breaths came in harsh pants, his whole body trembling, but his wand hand was still steady. "Easy, easy," Severus told him, and then the strand came free, and Severus directed him toward the pensieve.

The memory arched and wriggled like a thing alive before falling into the stone bowl, and Harry sagged back on his chair. Sweat coated his face.

Severus handed him the water. "Drink that, and then we'll try another one." When Harry gave him a brief glare, he amended, "All right. You'll try another memory, and I'll offer moral support."

The boy's lips quirked in one of his rare, sardonic smiles, one that almost reached his eyes. "You have morals?"

"Cheeky brat," Severus growled, but he was pleased.