The majority of novice students of Occlumency do not have an instinct for barriers and shields. The average human mind is unaccustomed to such stringent organization. There is, however, a small percentage of people who are mentally inclined towards Occlumency. The characteristics of a natural Occlumens may include: intelligence, self-control, mental discipline, reticence, diminished emotion or emotional response, perceptiveness, and secretiveness.

 “Not me, then,” Harry sighed. The drapes were drawn around his bed, where he was reading a thick Occlumency text by wandlight. He yawned widely as he turned the page.

A teacher of Occlumency must familiarize his student with the structure of mental barriers before the student can hope to construct his own. The student typically learns by exploring the teacher’s barriers. A deep and lasting trust is therefore essential between teacher and student.

 Harry closed the book. The day he and Snape developed a “deep and lasting trust” was the day his parents rose from the dead. Shutting his eyes, he slipped the leather-bound volume under his pillow, and tried to clear his mind. It was impossible; his next Occlumency lesson was less than a day away.

Nothing has changed, he told himself. I will be just as incompetent as I was last week. But that was hardly the problem. Everything had changed, now that he knew there was another way. He could not stop thinking about it – if only he’d had a teacher he could trust, Sirius would have lived! – and Snape would see right through him. That was one can of worms he had no desire to open. Sleep was long in coming.

It was five to eight. Harry loitered at Snape’s door, pressed against the wall, praying that Snape wasn’t in his office – called off on some urgent and hopefully time-consuming business, perhaps – and he would be allowed a week’s reprieve. At a minute to eight, he put his ear against the door; he could make out the scratching of quill on parchment. You’re a Gryffindor, he thought. It’s high time you act like one. He knocked, and entered.

“Potter.”

“Sir.”

“I trust you have been practicing?” Snape asked, capping his inkwell.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. We shall see.” He strode to the front of his desk, his robes swishing menacingly. “Legilimens!”

Harry was playing and losing a game of chess against Ron… he was doing his Transfiguration homework at their table in the corner… Hermione was showing him a stack of Arithmancy texts… No! No! his mind screamed, as it flooded with a crawling, icy dread. The flow of memories stopped; Snape had left his head. He opened his eyes.

He was on his knees again, but otherwise upright. Snape gazed down at him; the scrutiny was unbearable. He stood up and looked away.

“I fail to see why you might find Arithmancy so horrifying. You are not even enrolled in the class, as I recall.”

Harry wished it were merely an observation, but Snape’s tone was laden with expectancy. “I’m not,” Harry replied, at length.

“And yet Ms. Granger feels the need to tutor you in the subject?”

Harry, still staring at his feet, scrambled to find an answer. “She thinks it… uh… might be useful in this Charms assignment we have.”

“I see. What sort of an association is this?”

“I… I don’t really know. Hermione probably does, though.”

“Undoubtedly. And you are unduly frightened of a Charms assignment.” He sneered, skepticism dripping from his every word. “Why is that?”

“I… err… Well, I…” And suddenly, inspiration struck. “Well, you know, sir, half those Arithmancy books have stuff about astronomy, and Hermione thought it would help with the Charms work… and there’s bits about stars…” he forced himself to hyperventilate “and there’s always… always… Sirius, but they think I need to get over him, and I’m not!” By the end, his breath really did catch in his throat, and when he glanced up at Snape, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, he looked – and felt – every inch the part.

Snape held his gaze. Harry told himself that the standing water pooling in the corners of his eyes was simply from staring, that he had not pushed himself too far. There was something deeply unsettling about the way Snape’s eyes bored into Harry’s. Legilimency, he realized, shite. He immediately began staring at a jar of pickled newts on the back shelf with some fascination, blinking away the warm wetness, ignoring the sudden hollowness in his chest.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Snape demanded. Gone was any trace of the previous week’s strange good will, as surely as if Harry had only dreamt it.

“No, sir,” he said, very quietly.

“Then would you care to explain how astronomy is in any way relevant to Muggle-Repelling Charms?”

“I told you, I really don’t know… I didn’t really get what Hermione was trying to explain…”

“Shall I invite Ms. Granger here, then, and have her explain it?”

Oh, crap, thought Harry. There was probably no relation at all, and Hermione would be in such trouble. “No, err… I think she returned the books already… she said she had a hunch, but it turned out she was wrong or something –”

“Potter, do you know that Hogwarts students can be expelled for lying to their professors? Or do you think that your celebrity renders you immune to punishment?”

“No, sir.”

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry. Harry squirmed, waiting desperately for the horrible silence to end. “Very well,” Snape said softly. “Let us try again, shall we?” He managed to convey a threat with every syllable. Harry had very little choice in the matter. He braced himself for the impending spell.

This time, Snape did not even say the word. He merely flooded past Harry’s defenses, like an inexorable tide. It was not like the Legilimency of before; rather than viewing whatever thoughts and memories he happened upon, Harry felt Snape sifting through his memories, deliberately picking and choosing, searching for something. This was true Legilimency; what Harry normally faced during lessons was merely the tip of the iceberg.

It felt like hours, though Harry knew it to be only seconds, before Snape found what he was looking for. A scene from the previous night replayed in Harry’s mind, in what seemed like slow motion.

Harry reached through the curtains enclosing his bed, and grabbed a book from his bedside table. “Lumos,” he whispered, bringing the tip of his wand to the cover. The faded gold lettering on leather read Arithmancy: Advanced Techniques. He cracked it open, and written on the first page was The Teaching of Occlumency.

Snape retreated. Harry blinked a few times, surprised to find himself still standing. He glanced at Snape and looked away; the professor’s sneer was nothing short of malevolent.

“So, Mr. Potter. These are not actually Arithmancy texts, are they?”

Harry swallowed hard. “No, sir.”

Snape summoned a book from the far shelf. He held it inches from Harry’s nose. “Can you reproduce the glamour we just saw?” His voice was low and even, but it was as though he had shouted.

Harry hesitated a long moment, and then mutely shook his head. Please don’t mention Hermione, he silently pleaded.

“All library books on the subject of Occlumency are shelved in the Restricted Section, where, as it happens, you are not permitted to enter. I am… curious… as to how you obtained them.”

Harry’s relief was quickly replaced with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was not a mere statement; Snape watched him for a response. He did some very quick thinking, staring at the book in Snape’s hands.

“I, uh, snuck in,” he said. His fingers tightened around the wand in his pocket; his other hand fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. “At night.” The words stuck in his throat, but he added, “I know, sir, I shouldn’t have.”

“This is hardly the first time you have blatantly disregarded school rules, Potter, and in your case, it is usually done without so much as a hint of shame. The question remains… why do you react so adversely to this particular incident? Or perhaps… my discovery of such?”

Harry kept his eyes on the hem of Snape’s robes, which seemed menacing in their very stillness. He couldn’t possibly confess, and yet it seemed he had run dry of plausible excuses. He said nothing, hoping that the few moments of silence might bring him some clever lie. It did not.

“Answer me this,” Snape said, after a while, “if you felt you needed Occlumency texts, why did you not ask for them? You need not have come to me – Merlin knows you are much too arrogant for that – but you could have gone to the Headmaster, or even your Head of House, whom you are aware is a member of the Order and knows the true purpose of ‘Remedial Potions.’” He fixed Harry with an unblinking gaze, like an owl staring down a mouse.

Whatever Harry had expected, this wasn’t it. The thought of asking a teacher had not even crossed his mind. He never even spoke to McGonagall about these lessons, save for an oblique mention sometimes, if he had to reschedule Quidditch practice. As for Dumbledore, he wasn’t sure himself why he hadn’t thought to ask. Perhaps it was that Harry hated to disappoint him, or perhaps there was never any occasion during their lessons, or perhaps it was something else entirely, some reason he himself could not identify.

Snape was still watching him through narrowed eyes, waiting for his answer. “I don’t know, sir,” he mumbled, feeling more than a little inadequate. “Didn’t think of it, I guess.”

“I am inclined to think that you are, once again, too arrogant to ask for help where you are so clearly lacking. Finally noticed that you have been making absolutely no progress, at all, have you?” Snape curled his lip in a singularly superior manner, and as much as Harry tried to suppress it, he could feel the frustration and anger mounting in his chest. Snape went on.

“Somebody finally got it through your impossibly thick skull that these lessons are for your own benefit, and you decide after a year of dithering and wasting my time to crack a book! You probably haven’t realized, Potter, that it’s not that simple. Do you really think a few hours of reading can replace a year’s lack of effort?”

“No! I know that! But I’m trying, all right? I –”

“You know that ‘trying’ is not good enough.” Snape’s voice was perfectly controlled, every syllable hitting Harry like a slap in the face. Harry blinked, fighting the impulse to shut his eyes and turn away, nursing a dull ache in his chest. He knew all too well that “not good enough” was deadly.

“I hope you know, Potter, that should the Dark Lord prevail, the fact that the supposed savior of the Wizarding world ‘tried his best’ will hardly mitigate the situation. Do you understand the gravity of the predicament now, or is it still too complex for your feeble intellect?”

“You don’t think I know that? Sure, I didn’t try last year, and I got people killed!” His voice cracked, but he ignored it. “What do you think I’m doing with the textbooks, then? It probably isn’t good enough, but you haven’t been teaching me anything either!”

Harry checked his temper, his brain catching up to his mouth. There was a long silence.

“So this is your little secret,” Snape hissed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that your enormous ego has prevented you from whinging to the Headmaster. You believe that I am to blame? How typical. You never find yourself wanting, do you? When things go awry, it is never famous Harry Potter’s fault, because famous Harry Potter is –”

“I never said it wasn’t my fault!” Harry shouted, cutting Snape off. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not your fault too! I know I didn’t try last year, and Sirius paid for it! But you’re the one who made him miserable in that house – you’re the one who taunted him every chance you got! If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have been so desperate – he never would have come to the Ministry in the first place!” He broke off, chest heaving, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Black would have gone regardless, as he knew you were in danger,” Snape said calmly. It seemed to Harry as though he were deliberately schooling his expression. He put the book he’d been holding on the desk behind him, and crossed his arms. “You are grasping at straws here, Potter. I fail to see how your apportioning of blame relates to your assessment of my methods of instruction.”

“You haven’t been teaching me a thing,” Harry declared, all bravado. “All you’ve been doing is casting Legilimens at me, without ever teaching me how to block it.”

“Is ‘clear your mind’ too difficult for poor Potter’s brain to comprehend?”

“It doesn’t tell me anything! Sure, clear my mind, but how?”

“I have only been telling you for the past year to let go of your emotions.”

“I’ve already told you I can’t! I’ve practiced, but I can’t! Don’t you think you should be teaching me how, instead of just telling me to do it?”

Snape’s sneer seemed distinctly unpleasant as he said, “Ah. I see that your research renders you an authority on such matters. What do your texts say about the teaching of Occlumency?”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but stopped short. Their entire confrontation, he abruptly realized, was nothing more than subtle, skillful, and very Slytherin maneuvering on Snape’s part. This was the very question he had been attempting to avoid all night.

“They… er… they say stuff about barriers and shields and things.” The technical details, he hoped, were safe.

“Indeed. Obviously, you have not progressed even that far.”

Harry was silent.

“Did the texts also tell you that the average student masters the basic shield within the first few months of study? Of course, ‘student’ is taken to mean those studying Occlumency with the intent of achieving some level of proficiency.“

Harry grit his teeth and balled his hands into fists, fighting the impulse to shout at Snape. It was his temper, he knew, that Snape was using against him. Yet why did the man have to bring up Sirius – always by way of cruel, needling hints – again and again? Harry glared at Snape, and hoped that his expression was as venomous as Snape’s own.

The professor’s look was decidedly smug. “Naturally, given the small sample base, an exception is not terribly unusual – especially if said exception is Harry Potter.”

Harry fumed. “I’m not bloody asking for it!” he muttered.

“Language, Potter,” said Snape, raising a forefinger in admonishment. He added, “It is rather unfortunate, for all of the Wizarding world, that there are such glaring deficiencies in your repertoire –”

“Yeah?” Harry shouted. “Well all of the Wizarding world might be better off if you’d actually help me, like the books say!”

“Am I not helping you by giving up an hour, and quite a fruitless hour at that, every week?”

“You know what I mean! Helping me with barriers, you know, instead of just attacking me!”

He had gone too far. The ensuing silence was deafening; he waited for the proverbial axe to fall.

He could discern an almost predatory gleam in Snape’s eyes when he spoke. “You want me to help you with barriers,” he said, very softly. “Perhaps you have read about the prerequisites?”

It was a while before Harry could formulate a response. “Yeah. The part about… trust.”

“Potter.” Harry looked up, and reluctantly met Snape’s eyes. “Potter,” he said again, “do you trust me?”

Harry gulped, feeling like a deer caught in bright light. Try as he might, he could not avert his gaze. Strangely enough, he was certain that Snape was not using Legilimency, and yet he could not bring himself to lie. He opened his mouth, and it took him a few tries to arrive at the truth.

“No.”

Snape abruptly straightened. His manner shifted; it seemed detached now, like that of a professor during a lecture. “Indeed. In that case, I will be of little help to you. These lessons will continue, of course, under the Headmaster’s orders, but they will continue to be unproductive, as you have so astutely brought to my attention. Perhaps you will find your pilfered texts more useful.” There was a pause, and then, imperiously, “You are dismissed for the night.” Snape glanced briefly down his nose at Harry, and swept past him. He seated himself behind his desk.

Vaguely unsettled, Harry picked up his bag and opened the door. As he crossed the threshold, Snape spoke again, presumably to him. He looked over his shoulder into the office.

“One last thing. For raising your voice to a professor, and general disrespect, ten points from Gryffindor. You may go.”

Harry closed the door, and heard it lock behind him. He was surprised to discover that he felt no anger, only the barest twinge of indignity, over the lost points. In its place, he felt hollow, drained. Perhaps he was merely glad that it had not been more.