1996

“Crucio,” Harry said in a bored voice.The tall Death Eater clutched at his middle and fell to his knees in the dirt, one hand struggling to hold him up. A low, agonized moan escaped the Death Eater’s lips as his body began to convulse. His mask slipped off with the force of his tremors, and a sweep of black hair brushed against the ground.

Snape!

Harry jolted himself awake, his face bathed in sweat as he tried to steady his ragged breathing. He wiped a clammy hand across his eyes and pushed himself up, trying without much success to disentangle his legs from his damp sheets. Harry took another shallow breath and grimaced. It was just a dream, he tried to convince himself, but it had been too much like the visions he had taken from Voldemort’s mind last year. Just like in those, Harry had been Voldemort tonight, calmly torturing Snape.

Harry scrabbled in the darkness for his glasses, panic beginning to settle over him. Was Snape being tortured right now? Or was this another trick by Voldemort? But, if it was a trick, then Voldemort had to know that Snape was his father, didn’t he? Harry’s stomach turned to ice.

He had to warn somebody. If Voldemort was reaching out to him again, he and Snape were both in danger.

Without taking any more time to think through his decision, Harry slid quietly out of his bed and tiptoed over to his trunk. Wincing at the slight squeak as he opened the lid, Harry quickly lit the end of his wand and waved it over the contents of the trunk. Finding his cloak easily, as well as the Marauder’s Map, he brought the large cloak over his head and hurried out of Gryffindor Tower.

Nobody, except a few ghosts, was about the castle at such an unlikely hour, and Harry made his way without any interruptions to Remus’ quarters. Though Harry had never been down there, Remus had given him detailed directions on how to get to his quarters after Harry had asked yesterday if he would mind an occasional visit. As Harry reached the portrait guarding the door, he wondered briefly if Remus had intended for him to come barging in at all hours of the night.

He didn’t spare much thought for Remus’ possible reaction, though, as he quickly whispered, “Harry Potter. Turbatio.” The large silver wolf blinked at Harry once before tilting its muzzle toward the tiny moon painted on the canvas sky and howled softly. The wolf stopped abruptly and tilted its head as though listening to something, then the portrait swung forward. Harry stepped through quickly to find Remus clutching a blue dressing gown around his waist, looking very anxious.

Harry whipped the cloak off, and Remus drew in a sharp breath. “Harry?” And then, in a voice that sounded a sight more vexed, Remus demanded, “What are you doing wandering around the castle at this time of night?”

“I think Voldemort is trying to reach through my mind again,” Harry blurted, “and he’s torturing Snape!”

“What’s this about You Know Who and Snape?” a woman’s voice asked. Harry’s mouth fell open; unable to stop himself from staring at the bluish-haired woman.

“Tonks?”

She was coming out of Remus’ bedroom, adjusting her own dressing gown, which Harry noticed was the same azure color as her short hair—and Remus’ dressing gown. The heat rose in his cheeks as he realized what he had obviously interrupted, and he began stammering an apology to Remus; Remus waved it away impatiently, and taking Harry firmly by the arm, the older man steered him toward a chair.

“Harry,” Remus said in exasperation as he looked Harry over, “you must be freezing!”

Harry glanced down and realized that, in his haste, he had neglected even to put on socks. He shrugged. “S’all right,” he told Remus, but his friend shook his head and Summoned a pair of brown socks from his bedroom. Harry put them on gratefully then tucked his hands under his thighs; he was suddenly very cold.

Tonks perched herself on the arm of the sofa across from Harry and looked between the two men. “What happened, Harry?”

“Erm,” Harry stammered uncertainly, and then looked up at Remus, who was watching him intently.

Remus seemed to understand Harry’s silent plea. “You had a vision again… the same sort as last year?” he prompted, and Harry realized that Tonks, along with the rest of the Order, had to know about those.

“I think so,” Harry nodded slowly. “I mean, it seemed the same. It was like I was Voldemort again. But this time, Snape was being tortured with the Cruciatus Curse.” Concern flitted across his friend’s face, and Harry knew Remus had come to the same awful conclusion.

“There was a Death Eater meeting tonight, and Snape attended,” Tonks volunteered. “McGonagall told Shacklebolt earlier.”

“Can’t we do something?” Harry asked as an unfamiliar worry clutched at him, though he already knew the answer.

“Harry, even if we could get to wherever Voldemort is, we can’t risk exposing Severus,” Remus said.

“It’s better to just let him die?” Harry demanded, and Remus pursed his lips; Harry understood the warning, and his gaze darted to Tonks. She looked taken aback at Harry’s outburst. After all, it wasn’t exactly common knowledge that he didn’t hate the Potions master anymore.

“Harry, it’s unlikely that the Cruciatus Curse would kill Severus. He’s been able to withstand its effects for years,” Remus told him, in what was probably meant to be a comforting tone; Harry frowned at him.

“It didn’t look like he was doing so well with it tonight,” he retorted.

Remus turned to Tonks and said quietly, “Tonks, if you don’t mind… I need a word with Harry.”

Tonks smiled. “Sure. I have to relieve Shacklebolt in a bit, anyway.” With a wave of her wand, Tonks was dressed in her Auror’s robes, and with another, her messy hair looked a little less like she had just woken up. Tonks tucked her wand into her robes and said congenially, “'Night, Harry. I’ll let Shacklebolt know what you saw, all right?”

Harry nodded, and then he averted his eyes as Tonks kissed Remus loudly on the mouth.

“'Night, Remus,” she said lightly, and with a little wave, she left through the door.

“Tonks?” Harry asked Remus, though he really had no idea why he should be so stunned.

“Harry,” Remus said, turning his full attention back to the boy and pointedly ignoring the question, “I know you’re worried, but you simply have to be more careful with what you say. Even those in the Order can’t know about you and Severus.”

Harry nodded mutely. He knew very well that Remus was right, but he still didn’t enjoy the feeling of Remus scolding him, gently though it was delivered. “Do you think he’s all right?” Harry finally asked miserably, looking up again at Remus through his fringe.

Remus dropped down so he was eye-level with Harry. He placed a hand on Harry’s knee. “Severus has been taking care of himself for years.”

“So have I,” Harry said softly.

“I know it’s not been the best for you or for Severus to have been without each other for all these years,” Remus conceded gently, “but he’s an adult, and Severus knew the consequences when he agreed to take Voldemort’s Mark.”

“He did it for my mum,” Harry objected. “Don’t say it as though he had any choice.” Harry, by this time, had pulled his warmed hands out from under his thighs. He folded his arms over his chest, though it wasn’t strictly a defiant gesture.

Remus sighed and patted Harry’s knee again. “I know why he did it; of course he didn’t have a choice. But even when there is only one choice, there are still consequences… All actions have consequences, Harry.”

“But if Voldemort knows about me, he’ll kill Snape!” Harry erupted, his agitation forcing an abrupt change of subject.

“Harry, we have no way of knowing what’s going on. I think, though, that it might be a good idea for you to stay down here tonight… just in case,” he said quickly as Harry looked at him sharply.

“Just in case? In case Voldemort murders Snape and then comes after me, you mean?” Harry’s voice rose a few octaves in shrill panic, and he had clenched his fists, trying to still the convulsive shaking that began to course through him again. In one quick movement, Remus had Harry in his arms, pulling both of them up to stand.

“Harry,” Remus soothed gently as he held the trembling boy in his strong arms, “it’s all right.” Harry shook his head into Remus’ chest, but otherwise, didn’t disagree. He allowed Remus to hold him for a few more minutes before pulling away in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, but Remus shook his head.

“You don’t need to apologize, Harry. It’s okay to be distressed.” Harry nodded, even though he didn’t really believe the other man. When, after all, had any other adult allowed Harry to express his feelings of worry? Harry shook himself from further dour thoughts and chafed his arms briskly.

“Why don’t you take my bed, Harry?” Remus offered as he noted Harry’s sudden chill. He directed a Freshening Charm, followed by one that Harry sometimes used to make his bed, toward his bedroom.

“That’s okay, Remus,” Harry objected. “You shouldn’t have to sleep out here on the sofa.”

Remus smiled. “Who says I’ll be on a sofa? You know, it really is amazing what a wizard can do with a wand…”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hilarious, Remus.”

“Thank you. Now, why don’t you go to bed?”

“Ron will notice I’m not in my dorm and—”

“I’ll send Professor McGonagall a message, all right?”

Harry acquiesced with a slight nod as he yawned.

Remus smiled again. “Go, Harry,” he urged. Harry obediently turned, feeling suddenly exhausted, though not much of his worry had abated; he turned again to Remus after taking a few steps.

“Do you want to get some blankets first… or a pillow?”

Remus patted his dressing gown pocket. “Amazing wand… remember?” he asked with a smirk.

Harry shook his head at his friend and went through the open bedroom door. The bed was freshly made and looked terribly inviting. Harry made quick work of worming under the covers, but even the bed’s warm comfort did not help him relax. Harry lay awake for a long time, thinking of Snape lying in a tortured heap on a cold dirt ground, before falling into a fitful, dream-filled sleep.

--

The sun woke Harry much too early; he squinted against its harsh light as he struggled back to consciousness. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, remembering as he peered around the room that he had spent the last few hours in Remus’ quarters after rushing down here pell-mell at two o’clock. As the new dampness of his pajama shirt shifted against his skin, Harry remembered with a nervous shudder the nightmare that had propelled him to seek out Remus.

Harry shrugged out of his damp shirt quickly, intending to apply a Drying Spell to it, but the sound of voices from behind the closed door interrupted him.

“There was no need for you to come all the way up here,” came Remus’ surprised voice.

A deeper voice, heavy with annoyance, rumbled in response, “Your message implied it was urgent that you speak with me, Lupin.”

Snape!

Harry grabbed hastily for his glasses, and shoving them onto his nose, he threw the covers back, swung his legs over the bed and hurried out of Remus’ room; Remus’ door opened with a loud and Remus both spun around.

Remus smiled at Harry andSnape’s black eyes widened in shock.

“Harry,” Remus greeted easily. And then Remus was being shoved roughly up against the wall, with Snape’s large hand wrapped in a deadly lock around his neck.

“What is this?” Snape hissed.

Harry, snapping out of his momentary stupor, plunged toward the two men and screamed, “Stop!” Snape’s head twisted toward Harry, but he did not loosen his grip. “Let him go!”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and Harry had no trouble this time identifying the hurt deep within their obsidian depths. Then, with a snarl, Snape abruptly released Remus, flinging him away from him as though he had been contaminated.

Remus stumbled, clutching at his abused throat as he collapsed in a chair. Harry went to him as he fell. “Are you all right, Remus?” he asked. When Remus nodded shakily, Harry rounded on Snape, who was staring at Harry and Remus with adazed look on his face. “What in the bloody hell was that?” Harry shouted.

That seemed to snap Snape out of whatever had flummoxed him. He straightened and said coldly, “Do not shout at me.”

Harry glared at him. “I’ll shout at you anytime I please, Snape! What did you think you were doing? You could have killed him!”

Snape’s face had paled slightly as Harry began, but by the end, he had regained his color and a sneer. “Yes,” he agreed.

“Yes?” Harry echoed, outraged. “What is that supposed to mean?” He was clenching his fists together with so much force that they were beginning to ache.

“Severus...”

Remus was pushing himself out of his chair. He swallowed a few times, but his voice was still raspy as he said quietly, “Harry came to see me after he was woken by what he believes to be Voldemort reaching out to him again. I simply didn’t want him wandering the castle in the middle of the night.” When Snape didn’t respond, Remus said in an even quieter tone, “I slept out here.”

Harry looked between them in confusion, and watched in fascination as Snape closed his eyes briefly and then the familiar mask settled once again over his features.

“Why do you believe the Dark Lord is reaching out to you?” he finally asked Harry.

Harry was still rankled at Snape’s maniacal treatment of Remus andalmost refused to answer. But since he did want to figure out what had happened last night, he unclenched his fists slowly and answered, “It was just like last year. I was Voldemort… seeing things from his perspective.”

“What did you see?”

Harry shifted nervously, and he had to look down before he could answer. “I was torturing you,” he whispered.

“You did not do anything.” Snape’s voice had lost all of its harshness, and Harry looked up quickly in surprise. Snape looked away as he continued, “Can you remember specific details? What was said, descriptions of where I was?”

Harry nodded quickly. “It was the Cruciatus Curse, and you were lying in the dirt.”

Snape was silent for too long before he said curtly, “The Dark Lord was not in contact with you.”

“But how can you know that?” Harry asked, bewildered by the surety in Snape’s tone.

Snape pressed his lips together. “The Cruciatus Curse was not used on me, and at no time during the night did I ‘lie in the dirt’.”

Harry thought he sounded vaguely amused, though it was hard to tell with Snape. What was so amusing about lying face down on the ground, anyway? Harry folded his arms across his chest, and asked, tilting his head in puzzlement, “So… it was just a dream, then?”

Snape nodded without hesitation. Remus was watching the interplay closely, and he cleared his throat slightly, probably still trying to regain some feeling in it, Harry thought with rancor. “I need to get dressed, Harry. Will you be all right?”

Harry hesitated, and Snape interjected with a sneer, “I have managed to be in the same room with him without eviscerating him, Lupin.”

Remus only smiled lightly in response, and with a gentle squeeze to Harry’s shoulder, Remus left them alone. Harry looked everywhere but at Snape, feeling particularly self-conscious and horribly confused.

“As we have been… distracted of late,” Snape began, and Harry had the distinct feeling that the Potions master was feeling at least as uncomfortable as he was, “we did not settle the matter of your Occlumency training.”

Snape was staring at him again, in that way he had of making Harry feel as though the man was about to thoroughly chop and dice him. He shrugged, not really knowing what Snape was expecting of him, and he wasn’t so surprised when the professor’s jaw stiffened. But what Snape said next, did give him a start.

“Would it be acceptable to you, were I to resume your lessons?”

Snape’s voice was flat, without a trace of emotion as he spoke, but Harry was beginning to notice a pattern. Whenever the professor held himself so stiffly, he was inevitably saying something that made Harry’s stomach lurch, though in a way that made him tingle with a nervous half-hope, instead of with dread. It was as if Snape were trying very hard not to show he cared.

Wanting to test his theory, Harry smiled and said smoothly, “Sure,” keeping all of his reservation about Occlumency lessons tightly bottled up.

Harry watched carefully as a light glinted in Snape’s eyes briefly and the professor’s face relaxed a fraction. But then Snape was still again, except for the quick nod of approval. Harry, satisfied at the success of his experiment, allowed himself a grin, though what he really wanted to do was laugh, or maybe shout with joy.

“When should we start?” he asked calmly, ignoring the panic that was warring with his light happiness.

Snape was watching him now, and Harry wondered if Snape could sense his fear, like a wild animal giving in to its instincts. “Tonight. Seven o’clock.”

“Your classroom, sir?”

Snape hesitated, but then nodded. “That will do.”

Again the uncomfortable silence overcame them as they stood in Remus’ sitting room, staring at one another until Remus came out of his bedroom, fully dressed in his teacher’s robes and holding Harry’s now dry pajama shirt in his hand. Harry’s face heated as he realized he was standing in front of both of them, his chest bare.

“Erm… thanks, Remus,” he muttered and hastily replaced his shirt to its proper place. When he was fully clothed again, he glanced up at Snape with eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. “You thought I was in here, with Remus,” he exclaimed incredulously, and his mirth spilled right over his embarrassment; he laughed. Snape pursed his lips, looking decidedly disgruntled. Harry raised his eyebrows as he glanced quickly at Remus and then back again. “I guess your reaction makes sense, then,” he mused, but he bit his lip quickly to end his smirk as Snape stiffened.

“As I recall, I told you to stay in the tower yesterday,” Snape said icily, effectively changing the subject and causing Harry to look down at Remus’ socks.

“Uh…”

In a smug voice, Snape continued, “Perhaps we will discuss your inability to obey instructions before your lesson this evening.”

“But I thought you were being tortured,” Harry objected indignantly.

Snape’s haughty sneer faltered, but then he said smoothly, “Be that as it may, you should not have left your dorm.”

Harry folded his arms across his chest and glared at Snape. The professor glared right back. And as Snape’s glower was eminently more effective, Harry gave up after a minute and sighed. “Fine. Take points if you want,” he said grumpily.

Snape narrowed his eyes slightly and simply said, “I will see you at seven o’clock. Do not forget.” Ignoring Harry’s pointed mumble, Snape swept from the room; the door thudded closed behind him.

“Can you believe that git?” Harry fumed. He turned to Remus, expecting his friend to be nodding in full agreement.

Instead, Remus was frowning at the door in thoughtful concentration. “No, I can’t,” he answered slowly as he rubbed his neck gingerly.

--

Harry was leaning with his back against a tree, with Ginny leaning against him. Contentedly, they both watched the sun setting. Ginny twisted around a bit when Harry sighed into her hair.

“It’ll be fine, Harry,” she told him calmly.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly, though his insides felt like they were twisted in knots. “It was brutal last year, Gin,” he confided, the memories making him squirm uncomfortably. Ginny turned fully around to face Harry. She reached a small hand up to run her fingers through his hair. Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Ginny so close to him.

“Things aren’t the same any longer.”

Funny how Ginny’s easy confidence could bolster his spirits, Harry mused as he pulled her to his chest again. “It feels that way, sometimes… but then it’s as though something snaps in him, and he’s the same foul Snape he’s always been.” Harry felt Ginny nodding against his chest.

“He’s been alone for sixteen years, Harry.”

Harry didn’t answer as Ginny’s words sunk in, and it felt as though a stone had settled itself into the pit of his stomach as he thought of the Potions master so filled with sorrow… so alone after losing everything. “I didn’t want him to die,” Harry whispered suddenly, and Ginny wrapped her arms around him, letting Harry lean into her for support. They sat that way for a long time, not needing words.

Their fingers intertwined naturally together as they stood up and walked back to the castle awhile later. Harry gave Ginny a light kiss as they parted at the enchanted staircase, and then Harry made the rest of the journey into the dungeons alone.

The door to Snape’s classroom was open, so Harry went inside.

“Close the door.”

Harry looked up to see Snape seated behind his desk, quill in hand, apparently marking a fresh batch of essays. Harry shut the door as Snape had requested and wasn’t surprised as the professor added his usual charms to the ones already in place.

Snape stood after he’d finished and moved toward his office, beckoning Harry to follow. Harry’s heart plummeted. The last time he’d been in Snape’s office had ended in disaster. He willed his feet to move forward, and then he let out a relieved breath as Snape passed his office door and stopped in front of the Floo.

Snape turned to look at him inquisitively. “Is there a problem?”

Harry shook his head quickly. “No, sir. Are we going somewhere, sir?” he asked as he watched Snape pulling a handful of Floo powder from the pot on the mantle.

“Obviously,” Snape said, though without any heat. He gestured for Harry to enter the Floo. Apprehensively, Harry obeyed. Snape followed after him, standing so close to Harry that their arms were touching. Snape seemed little bothered by the contact as he calmly threw down the powder and called, “Severus Snape’s quarters!”

Harry’s mouth fell open at Snape’s words, and a moment later, he was rewarded with a mouthful of soot. He coughed and sputtered, hacking violently, and with one quick whack from Snape, Harry coughed once more and then fell silent, his throat burning. As he stepped out of the fireplace, Snape silently handed him a glass of water. Harry glanced up, and Snape gave the glass a pointed look. Harry took it and sipped the water carefully, trying to soothe the ache in his throat.

“Thank you, sir.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “It is best to close your mouth while Flooing,” he informed him, deadpan, and Harry’s cheeks burned right along with his throat. He opened his mouth to retort, only to close it slowly as he noticed that the end of one of Snape’s lips was lifted about a millimeter above the rest of his mouth. Harry stared at the professor and then nodded.

“Good advice, sir. I’ll try to remember that,” he said seriously. Snape peered at him then his face went blank again, and Harry almost did laugh that time. The Potions master was easier to read than Ron.

“Shall we begin?” Snape asked as though they had not just exchanged good-natured barbs.

Only then did Harry notice his surroundings. They were definitely in the dungeons. He looked around, surprised at how light the furnishings were. The couches and chairs actually looked comfortable, the paintings almost… cheerful. It wasn’t Snape at all.

Snape was watching him survey the room, and Harry suddenly felt self-conscious. “Sorry, sir. We can start now.”

“Your mother picked out most of these things,” Snape said abruptly, guessing where Harry’s thoughts had strayed.

“She did?”

Snape only nodded.

“You kept them, sir?” Harry asked before he could censor himself.

Severus looked away as he explained, “Albus created a ‘safe house’ of sorts for us when you were born. Your mother decorated it. When she died and Albus appointed me Potions master, I brought everything here.” For Snape, it had been a lengthy speech, and Harry, with considerable effort, didn’t stare dumbly at him. He nodded instead.

Harry felt ridiculously happy that Snape had kept his mum’s things. Even after she had given him every reason to hate her, here was proof that Snape had never stopped loving his mum. Snape was watching him closely again, and Harry wondered how much he was giving away. Taking a chance and hoping fervently that he wouldn’t regret it, Harry asked, “Why did you bring me here, sir?”

A muscle twitched near the Potions master’s lips. “Do you have an objection?” he asked, and Harry almost rolled his eyes.

“No, sir. I’m glad we came.” The words sounded unnatural, and Snape looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t snap out an angry response, so Harry didn’t feel as bad as he might have.

“We should begin,” Snape said, steering them away from sensitive topics, though of course Occlumency lessons were rather a sensitive topic on their own. But Harry nodded anyway, determined not to disappoint the professor.

“The mind has many layers,” Snape began, and Harry blinked. Snape didn’t pause, though. “Occlumency is the art of burying thoughts beneath a shield, while purposely allowing other, specific thoughts to surface.”

“Sir?”

“That is how I am able to play the part of spy for the Dark Lord. I only allow him to see what I want him to see. The rest of my thoughts, especially those that would give me away, I bury deep under my shields,” Snape explained patiently, and Harry almost couldn’t listen as he was still reeling from this drastic change in Snape’s teaching tactics.

Tentatively, not wanting to tear the fragile bubble that seemed to be forming around them, Harry asked, “But how do I do that, sir?”

Snape regarded him with a thoughtful expression and said simply, “I will help you.”