He surveyed the clearing through slitted eyes as dark-robed figures appeared around him. His servants convened in a wide circle, kissing the hem of his robes before silently taking their places.

“My brethren!” he called. His voice, cold and cruel, was pitched from years of practice to instill fear. “It seems we have a traitor.” Suspicious eyes flicked left and right in the ring of masks. He laughed, and his minions flinched.

“He is not here. No… tonight, we hunt! The traitor will be punished. We will see how well his school protects him then!” He turned, and said softly, but with no less malice, “Peter, come here. I have need of your arm.”

Harry Potter jolted awake, one hand clamped over his forehead. His heart was racing, cold sweat dotted his neck, and his scar was throbbing. He recalled his vision, and it took him just seconds to make the connection. Traitor… school… Snape.

He bolted out of bed, plucking his wand from under the pillow. “Mmf,” said a lump in the next bed. He ignored it. He shrugged on his robes, and considered grabbing his invisibility cloak, but he had no time. He was sure that this vision was real.

He dashed out of the portrait hole, bare feet pounding down the hall. “Lumos,” he whispered as he ran. He was running out of time. He cursed vehemently, making his wand sputter, as he rounded a wrong turn. If he was even a second too late…

He skidded to a halt in front of the door of his most despised professor’s office. He flung it open, light flooding into the hallway. “Professor!” he called breathlessly, “Professor, don’t go, not tonight! They’ve got –”

“Potter!” Professor Snape snarled. “Ten points from Gryffindor for wandering –”

“No! Don’t you see, they’ll kill you!”

“Potter, have you gone mad?” He paused as the boy’s hand rubbed his scar. “Who, or what, are you going on about?’ he demanded.

“The Death Eaters! Voldemort!” Harry hurried on before Snape could stop him. “I saw it all; they say they found a traitor, something about the school… Don’t go! They’ll kill you!”

For once, Snape’s eyes lost that glare he saved just for Harry. “Where I go is my own prerogative,” he said with quiet menace, “Leave, now.”

Harry was not a Gryffindor for nothing. He stood his ground. “No, sir. Not tonight. I –”

“Twenty points from Gryffindor,” hissed the professor, “and –”

“It’s not about bloody house points!” roared Harry, “Voldemort will kill you! I- I don’t… Oh, never mind then! Go on, get yourself killed!” He turned and stalked out the door. Frustration was clouding his vision. He reached back to slam the door behind him, only to walk straight into someone. He expected to see Snape scowling down at him.

“Harry, my boy, what brings you here?” Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway, eyes unusually grave behind his half-moon spectacles.

“Professor!” Harry gasped “Oh, I saw… I had a dream, and they’re going to kill him, Snape, I mean, and he won’t listen, and –”

Dumbledore placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and steered him back into Snape’s office. “What exactly did you see, Harry?” he asked. Harry knew for certain that whatever Snape might think, the Headmaster would believe him.

“It was Voldemort, talking to the Death Eaters,” he said, not looking at Snape. “He said he found a traitor, that they would hunt him down, and the school couldn’t protect him from his summons, and he would be… punished.” Harry almost choked on the last word.

Dumbledore, however, gave him a small smile, with a twinkle in his eyes. This only made Harry more desperate. “Professor, I’m serious, they’ll kill him! Don’t let him go!” The Headmaster only smiled some more.

“I don’t doubt this dream is real, my boy,” he stated. “In fact, it makes much sense in light of recent developments. I have news for you, then, Severus, Harry.” He eyed each of them in turn. “I was just notified; Igor Karkaroff has gone missing.”

Harry breathed an audible sigh of relief before managing to look mortified. Dumbledore’s hand returned to his shoulder. “It is quite all right, Harry. A completely reasonable misassumption.”

“If I had actually been summoned, Potter, I would have already left, rather than listen to your prattle,” Snape added snidely.

“Gee, sorry for trying to help,” snapped Harry, Dumbledore’s presence giving him license to vent his frustration.

“Perhaps you mistake me for one of your delinquent friends, Potter. My affairs are my own. You need not… concern yourself.”

“Severus,” warned the Headmaster. Snape grudgingly subsided. “It is late, but seeing as we are convened here, I will take care of one more item of business before I send Harry back to Gryffindor Tower. That is, Occlumency lessons.”

“No,” said Harry and Snape in unison. Dumbledore turned his gaze on Harry, and for a few painful moments, the shadow of a man, a great black dog, hovered between them. Harry looked away and nodded, willing away the lump in his throat. He could not see what passed between Dumbledore and Snape, could not read into Snape’s inscrutable gaze. “Fine,” he heard Snape say moments later. The professor pushed abruptly away from his desk and stalked away.

“Come, Harry,” the Headmaster said kindly, “You had best be off to bed.” Harry nodded again and headed back out the door. “Tomorrow, at eight,” Dumbledore called softly as the door clicked shut.

At breakfast, Harry was recounting the events of the previous night. “And now I’ve got Occlumency lessons again, tonight at eight.”

Ron rolled his eyes sympathetically. “Sorry, mate. Stuck with that greasy git again, eh?”

Hermione elbowed him. “It’s great that he’s teaching you again; Occlumency is really important, you know,” she said, glaring at Ron, “especially since… what happened… that time…” she trailed off lamely. “Sorry, Harry.”

Harry nodded and forced down some pumpkin juice. Sirius’s shadow still hung over him, and he felt like it would never go away.

“Come on, mate, we’ll be late to Divination,” Ron said sometime later, recalling him to the present.

“Ready for some dream diary readings?” Harry managed a lopsided smile at his friend.

“She’ll probably just tell you that you’re going to die again,” said Ron.

“As if that’s news,” snorted Harry and they sat across the room from the giggling Lavender and Parvati. Trelawney did indeed foretell gloom and woe, just for Harry, no less than three times that day. He and Ron could not help laughing even as they headed to double Defense... with Snape.

He swept into the classroom looking every inch the overgrown bat. He gave Harry the usual venomous glare before beginning class. Within the first ten minutes, Harry had lost five points for failing to correctly answer a question that most certainly hadn’t been covered in last night’s reading. Snape spent another portion of the class terrorizing an already-petrified Neville over his “abysmal wand technique.” Ron muttered something about “that greasy bastard” and earned a glare from Hermione and ten points from Gryffindor. Harry was really not looking forward to Occlumency that night.

Indeed, as he walked into Snape’s office and deposited his bag in the corner, he noticed that Snape was watching him with an unpleasant sneer. “Let’s see if you’ve been practicing, Potter,” he said without preamble. Harry had only a moment to steel himself and regret his lack of practice as he was hit with a Legilimens.

The memories gushed forth like a flood. He was standing with Ron and Hermione on McGonagall’s giant chessboard… he was fighting the basilisk, getting bitten, nearly passing out from the poison and pain… he was writhing in the grass, clutching at his scar, the resurrected Voldemort only a few feet away…

And then he was on the dungeon floor, a hand over his tingling scar, the room a dizzying blur. “Accio glasses,” Harry said as he stood up. He shoved them back on, and was greeted by Snape’s malicious sneer.

“That was pathetic, Potter. You are no better than you were last year. Again. Legilimens!”

This time, Harry resisted for a few more seconds before being overwhelmed. He was circling above the Quidditch pitch, when a homing Bludger smashed into his arm… a horde of Dementors was bearing down on him as he dropped to his knees…

“Expecto Patronum!” A silver stag erupted from the end of Harry’s wand. As Snape dispersed it, Harry picked himself up off his knees.

“Potter!” he hissed, “You must learn to shield your mind without a wand! Have you forgotten that the Dark Lord attacks you in your sleep?” As if to accentuate his point, Snape pocketed his own wand. “Legilimens!”

He was nowhere close to being able to resist Snape, but it was taking Snape marginally longer to break through his defenses. It was a full minute before Snape was once again watching the replay of Harry’s memories. Nevertheless, he was relieved to discover that the hour had passed more quickly than expected. Snape dismissed him, admonishing, “You must clear your mind before bed; I will be able to tell if you are not practicing.” Harry glowered at him through an increasing headache as he left.

The Occlumency lessons of the next few weeks did not improve. Snape had watched an inordinate amount of Harry’s Quidditch successes, including several Gryffindor victories over Slytherin, probably due to Harry’s subconscious compensation for his ban the previous year. An errant Patronus, a knee-jerk reaction to a vivid Dementor intrusion at a Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, yielded several unflattering memories of Snape’s childhood. This only served to make him even more short-tempered, and there was only one person in the room to take it out on.

“Legilimens!” he snarled, with malice glittering in his eyes. He punched through Harry’s mental defenses like a battering ram.

“Kill the spare.” Cedric flopped onto the ground, his lifeless eyes staring… Harry screamed, his head burning as Voldemort laid an icy finger on his scar… Remus’s arms encircled him, dragging him away from the veil, where Sirius had disappeared just moments ago, and he was yelling “No! No!” as he fought off Remus and his impending tears…

He was crying. He was curled into a shaking ball on the floor, and he was crying. The image of his godfather falling backwards through the veil, a look of surprise adorning his carelessly elegant features, seared itself into his mind’s eye. He turned his face to the flagstones, away from the light, not caring about the bloody scratches on his cheeks, as he tried to muffle his sobs.

“Potter, get up,” said a cold voice from somewhere above him. Damn it, thought Harry as he was hauled back into reality. He was breaking down in front of Snape, of all people. He stood up slowly, wiping his glasses with shaking hands.

“Hurry up, Potter, I don’t have all night.” Harry did not notice the trace of uncertainty in the professor’s voice. He slammed his glasses back on and pulled his arms to his sides, trying and failing to put on a mask of Gryffindor defiance.

“You are bleeding,” Snape observed, as though he were inspecting a Potions assignment. Harry swiped a sleeve across his face. “I don’t think that will help,” Snape remarked.

“I don’t care,” Harry said through gritted teeth. He glared at the man, hating him for seeing this, seeing his weakness.

“You do not address me in that manner,” Snape said icily. “Five points from Gryffindor for your insolence.”

Harry was seething with rage. He knew that if he stayed any longer, he might do something he would later regret. So he ran. But the door would not open.

“Let me out,” he growled, fighting to keep his voice even.

“Our hour is not yet over, Potter. As unproductive as this time may be, the Headmaster wishes it.” Snape smirked.

“I don’t care, let me out!” Harry clenched his hand, white-knuckled, around his wand. On sudden impulse, he aimed it at the door and said, “Alohamora!”

“That is not going to work,” said Snape. He sounded vaguely amused, which only incensed Harry further.

“Let go of your emotions, Potter. Clear your mind.”

“I can’t! You don’t understand, do you? You have no idea what it’s like! I’ll bet you’ve never cared about anyone in your life! So don’t… don’t you dare underestimate it, don’t you dare…” His voice cracked, and he swallowed a sob. “I’m… I’m supposed to defeat Voldemort with this,” he said. He attempted to sound spiteful, but only managed something between lost and desperate.

“You know nothing about me, Potter. Do not presume you do.” There was a pause, and Snape sneered coldly at Harry. When no response was forthcoming, he flicked his wand at the door, which clicked open. “It does not appear that you will make much progress tonight, and I have better ways to spend my time.” Harry took the hint and bolted out the door. It then occurred to Snape that he had neglected to remove points from Gryffindor for the earlier tirade, but he figured that the ordeal had been humiliating enough. He let it go. He was growing soft, he decided, distinctly unhappy at the thought.

Harry threw himself onto his bed and pulled a pillow over his head. He knew that Ron and Hermione had seen him tearing through the common room, and would be coming up after him any minute. He didn’t think he could face them.

He felt them sit down on the bed. Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. “What happened, mate?” asked Ron. “Was it Snape?”

He tried to surreptitiously wipe his face on the pillowcase. “C’mon, Harry, what’s wrong?” He shook his head. Finally, Ron snatched the pillow away.

“Your face!” gasped Hermione. “What happened to you?”

“Snape did that?” Ron demanded indignantly. “The bastard! You should go to Dumbledore –”

“No!” said Harry, a little too forcefully. “He didn’t have anything to do with it.” He only invaded my mind, but that was on Dumbledore’s orders. He glanced at his friends, who watched him expectantly, a mixture of concern and righteous anger on their faces. With a sigh, he motioned them further onto the bed, drew the curtains, and cast a Silencio.

“it was the Occlumency, you know, the memories and stuff. I was watching everyone die… and the l-last one, it w-was – it was at the Ministry.” He couldn’t bear to say his name. “I fell, that’s where the scratches came from… and…” He put his face in his hands and shook his head.

“Oh, Harry…” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his hands away. “Don’t,” she chided. “It might get infected.” She spelled the blood and tears from his face, murmuring in what she hoped was a comforting voice, “It couldn’t have been that bad, it’s all right…”

“Of course it was bad!” snorted Ron. “It was Snape!” Hermione shot him a withering glare.

“I broke down in front of Snape,” Harry said hollowly. “Snape, of all people… over Sirius. Can you imagine?”

“Hell, we have Defense tomorrow morning,” said Ron.

“Harry, it’s all right, he can’t say anything!” She ignored Ron’s incredulous look. “It’s Order business; no one knows about Sirius. He can’t do anything in public.”

Harry nodded, clearly unconsoled, but he managed a weak smile nonetheless. “I know,” he said, voice low. “Hopefully Defense won’t be any worse than normal.” Occlumency lessons, however, were an entirely different matter.

Ever the pragmatist, Hermione said, “Here, Harry, let me fix those scratches. I don’t think you’d want to explain them to Madame Pomfrey.”

Thankfully, they left him alone after that. Harry extracted the cracked, dark two-way mirror from his trunk and flipped it open. “Sirius,” he whispered. No answer. He snapped it shut and tossed it back into his trunk.

He flipped himself onto his stomach and buried his face in the sheets, no longer able to hold back his grief. He wept until he had no tears left, ragged sobs tearing through his lungs. It was the first time he had really let himself grieve, he realized later, the first time he really cried for Sirius’s death. Over the summer, he had survived the Dursleys by regressing to denial. There was no body, he reasoned with himself. Bellatrix’s spell didn’t kill him either. They don’t know what they’re on about. There’s a way back, there has to be. Sirius would never leave me like that. He promised to be here for me. He promised.

Snape had brought back the memory he’d buried, the one that he’d tried his hardest to forget. Somehow, seeing it happen again brought the weight of his godfather’s death crashing down on him. There was no denying it anymore. He was dead, and he wasn’t coming back.