Harry looked up at Snape, horrified. “What?” This had to be another nightmare.

“You did not hear me?” Snape asked, raising a brow, his tone lowering into one that Harry couldn’t tell if it was meant to be threatening or not.

“No, I…” He desperately wanted to be free of the nightmares, but felt certain he couldn’t handle Snape seeing into his innermost thoughts. He didn’t want him to see Cho trying to cheat on her papers by making out with him; he didn’t want him to see the many ways Voldemort wanted to kill him; he didn’t want him to see uncle Vernon beating him for something Dudley had stolen, or Dudley cracking his ribs to make him promise he wouldn’t tell uncle Vernon what he had done; and most of all, he didn’t want his feelings to shine through all of it. It was a scary thought. If he shouted something out he couldn’t lie and say that he was thinking of his father or someone else, because Snape would be watching the scene play out in his mind.

Harry looked down at his sneakers. “I won’t do it. You can throw me out, I don’t care.”

Severus sighed audibly. “While I have wanted to have you expelled many times in the past, that is not my wish at the moment.” He walked to the other side of his desk, and said, “Why do you not wish to rid yourself of these nightmares? Do you like having Voldemort in your head?”

Harry didn’t respond, not even with a shake of the head.

There was a knock on the door then, and Severus said, “Come.”

The door opened, and Professor McGonagall appeared. Harry sat with his head in his hand. Snape raised a brow at the woman, but she ignored him and moved to stand in front of Harry.

“Would you mind telling me what that was all about Mr. Potter?”

Harry shook his head.

“Well then, you will be serving your many detentions with Mr. Weasley then, who also refuses to say why you two seemed intent on killing each other.”

Harry looked up at this. “He didn’t say anything?”

McGonagall shook her head. “No, he didn’t.” She turned to Severus and asked, “Has he said anything to you?”

Harry looked up and met Snape’s eyes for a brief moment, afraid that he would tell her. When his dark eyes left Harry’s and met McGonagall’s, he said quietly, “No. I even threatened him with expulsion.” Here he held up Harry’s wand to show her, and she seemed taken aback. “He gave me his wand freely.”

“Well then Mr. Potter,” she looked at him again. “I have no idea what has gotten you and Mr. Weasley into such a fury against one another, but your temper had better simmer before you serve detention with him. If I hear that you two have anything close to a fight, I will seriously suggest expulsion for the both of you to the Headmaster. As it is a letter has been sent to Mr. Weasley’s parents regarding the matter.” Here she seemed to want to say something about a letter that had been sent to his parents, but couldn’t. “Because the Headmaster informs me you will no longer be living with your relatives, no letter has been sent to them.”

She turned to Snape and said, “If you are done with him Severus, he is to return to his common room.”

Snape looked back at Harry again, and said, “I wish to have more words with him regarding a different matter.”

She nodded. “Fine then. Mr. Potter, other than classes, meals, detention, and Quidditch practice, you are confined to Gryffindor House for the next two weeks unless in company of a Professor or the Headmaster, am I understood?”

Harry nodded, “Yes Professor.”

Here she shook her head once, and then looked at Snape. “Good day.”

When she was gone, Harry shook his head, still looking at the ground. “Why did you lie for me?”

Severus took a seat behind his desk and pulled from it a piece of parchment and a quill, and began to write something down. “I merely bent the truth. You told me nothing of the reason you and Mr. Weasley were fighting.”

Harry shook his head. “He told Professor McGonagall I was having nightmares.”

Snape stopped his writing and looked up at him. “You were that desperate to hide the truth?”

Harry shrugged. “I asked him not to tell, and he promised he wouldn’t… what kind of friend is that?”

Thinking on the question, Severus was silent for a moment. “A friend who cares,” he finally answered.

Harry sighed. He knew that he was right. He wasn’t even sure he wouldn’t have done the same thing if it were Ron having the nightmares, although he wasn’t sure what help it had been telling McGonagall… Snape was the only one who could help with the Occlumency he knew, unless the Headmaster was willing to give him private lessons. With this thought, he knew that he would rather take the lessons from Snape. For some reason he felt safer sharing his thoughts with the man in front of him than Dumbledore, although the reverse had been true in the past. He wasn’t sure if he could take Dumbledore feeling any more sorry for him than he already did.

“I don’t want you to see my thoughts,” Harry finally said after a long and very pregnant silence.

Snape didn’t look up from his writing. “Then learn quickly to hide them, and defend yourself when attacked. Is it any better for the Dark Lord to look upon your mind?”

No, it’s worse, Harry thought to himself silently. “I didn’t do very well with the lessons last time,” he reminded himself more than Snape, because he was sure that Snape remembered it well.

“No,” Severus said, looking up at Harry now. “But perhaps you have more precious memories and thoughts to hide now? I believe the more important the thoughts you have to hide, the harder you will work at it.”

Maybe he was right, maybe not, Harry thought. One thing that he did know however, was that he didn’t want to die in his sleep of fright. That was making it too easy for Voldemort.

“Alright,” he said. “Make the nightmares go away.”

Snape watched him closely. “What do I get in return?”

Harry couldn’t believe it. He had been offering the help freely less than half an hour earlier. Now he wanted payment?

“What do you want?” Harry asked cautiously.

Snape didn’t even have to think. “Grade papers again, and I will teach you how to Occlude your mind so that no one can look in upon it again.”

Harry felt a small wave of relief. “Fine.”

Severus nodded. More than wanting the help grading, he wanted to keep an eye on the boy. He could do that better if Potter was coming into his office several times a week to grade.

Moving again to the front of his desk, Snape commanded, “Clear your mind Potter. Empty it of all thought and emotion. See nothing. Feel nothing. Choose a picture if you must to concentrate on. An object, a color… anything. See only that which you concentrate on, and do not loose your concentration.” He paused for a few moments to allow Harry to do this.

“Ready?” he asked a minute later.

Harry nodded, a weak feeling in the pit of his stomach telling him that he was going to fail. The feeling of betrayal still flowed through his veins when Snape cast the spell at him.

Harry opened his eyes and immediately he was back in his dorm room, kneeling on the floor ripping his shirt off of himself, Ron beside him saying, “Harry, I don’t know what to do unless you tell me.” “Don’t do anything Ron, just… don’t tell anybody.”

He tried to force Snape’s presence out of his mind, and concentrated on pitch-blackness, but only held onto the image for a moment before another memory intruded in, and he was in the Library studying with Hermione, Ron, and Neville. He and Ron were laughing and throwing a crumpled piece of parchment back and forth at each other while Hermione was trying to catch Neville up. Snape’s voice suddenly filled his mind, and he was unsure whether or not the man was speaking with his mouth or his mind, “Concentrate Potter… pick an image. Defend yourself!” The scene of them studying in the library vanished, and Harry tried to fill the void with darkness, but failed, and was suddenly pinned against the wall by his cousin. “Don’t tell anybody you little freak, I’ll kill you if you do and that ruddy twig you call a wand won’t save you!” There was a sudden jab of pain in his ribs, taking his breath away, and then the images and pain were gone.

Harry panted, he didn’t know where he was. He felt cold up against his hands and forehead, and opened his eyes to see stone. It took him a few moments to realize that he was on Snape’s office floor on his hands and knees, head pressed to the floor.

“It’s no good,” he said, “I’m useless.”

From somewhere above him, Snape sighed. “You are not useless Potter, you just do not believe you will succeed.”

Harry shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. Finally he pushed himself into a sitting position, still on the floor, and Snape said, “Return here tomorrow directly after dinner. I suggest that you have your homework done before you come.”

“What for?” he asked him.

“Practice Potter. You are going to practice until you can block me out of your mind completely.”

Harry wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, and pushed himself gingerly to his feet, forgetting momentarily that his ribs were not cracked at the moment.

He turned to leave, and Snape said, “Concentrate on nothing but blackness for twenty minutes before you fall asleep. Push all other thoughts from your mind. If a thought intrudes, start over for twenty minutes.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “Thanks.”

When he had gone, Severus rubbed the spot on his own ribs where Harry’s cousin had broken his. He wasn’t sure how much he could take of diving into Potter’s mind if he was going to constantly be in pain.

Harry’s dreams that night, from which he could not wake himself, were filled with the high, cold laugh of Lord Voldemort. “Stupid boy. You cannot escape. Why do you even try? I am coming, and I will kill you. There is no place to hide.”

The next day, Ron stayed as far away as possible from Harry. In every class he sat at the far back of the room and made sure there were no empty seats around him. In Potions, he even went as far as to sit on the Slytherin side, which garnered both looks of surprise, and deep dislike from their Slytherin classmates. Hermione, who had not been told what had happened other than that Harry and Ron had fought, did not want to get caught in the middle, and sat by neither of them. At lunch Ron waited until Harry was sitting down, and sat at the far opposite end of the table with some first and second year Gryffindors he never spoke to.

Ginny took a seat next to Harry however, and said, “He got a letter from mum and dad this morning.”

Harry swallowed his bite of mashed potatoes. “And?” He remembered the last letter from Mrs. Weasley regarding trouble they had gotten into at school. It had been a howler, which magnified her angry screaming voice a hundred fold so that everybody could hear.

“I didn’t hear your mum screaming this morning from a flaming letter.”

Ginny poured herself a glass of apple juice. “Ron was surprised by that too. The letter just asked what had happened and asked if he was ok. It asked if you were ok too, but Ron said he wasn’t going to write anything about you back to them,” she paused, and then finished, “I think they know that if you two fought with each other it wasn’t to cause trouble and that there must be something wrong.”

“Hm.” Harry wasn’t sure why he cared that Ron hadn’t gotten a Howler, but he was glad that he hadn’t.

“He didn’t tell you know.”

Harry looked over at her. “Tell what?”

“About your dreams.”

Suddenly he wasn’t feeling hungry any more. “Then how do you know about them?”

“I’ll only tell you if you promise not to get into a fight with the person who told.”

Harry grunted that he was listening, similar to the way his uncle Vernon often did when Harry spoke to him. It was becoming clear to Harry now that Ginny was on a mission. “I was walking by Professor McGonagall’s office and I heard Dean inside. He said he was worried about you and that you’d made Ron promise not to tell.”

Harry had definitely lost his appetite now. He looked over at Ginny. “You’re not just lying so that I’ll apologize to Ron?”

Ginny shook her head. “Apologizing is your business. I just thought you ought to know that when Ron makes a promise, he keeps it. That’s the one thing about my brother that a lot of people don’t know. He can be a right git sometimes, but once you’ve got his loyalty, it will be there forever.”

Harry sighed heavily. “The only git here is me.”

Ginny shrugged. “At the moment, yeah.” With that she rose and moved off to speak to some other friends from her own year.

Harry looked down the long table and spotted Ron, not touching his food and barely listening to the conversation around him. He knew he had been too quick to doubt his best friend, and wasn’t sure why he had done that.

At dinner, Professor McGonagall delivered the same message to both Harry and Ron, who were still sitting as far apart as possible. Their first of five detentions was to be served at nine o’clock that night cleaning bathrooms on the first through third floors with Filch.

“Brilliant,” Harry said to himself.

After dinner, he made his way down to the dungeons as instructed, and met Snape in his office. Before the door was even closed completely, Snape had his wand out and aiming at Harry.

“Clear your mind,” he ordered.

Harry dropped his book bag and said, “I have to serve detention at nine.”

“That is not my problem Potter. Clear your mind now, or I will clear it for you with a spell that will make you unconscious.”

Harry spared a glare for the Potion’s Master, but it was one without much heart. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the blackness he saw, but as with the night before, thoughts and memories kept making a desperate bid for freedom into his conscious.

Within moments Harry was sitting in the Great Hall again listening to Ginny tell him that Dean had told McGonagall about the dreams, and not Ron. Think of darkness, he thought to himself, think black. The memory receded from his mind slowly, and was quickly replaced by one of Draco trying to become friends with him in his first year. “I think I can tell who that is for myself, thanks,” he had told him when Draco had referred to certain people, namely Ron, as being filth not worth looking at. Draco had withdrawn his hand quickly and sneered at him.

The spell was broken, and Harry was again on the floor. “You are not concentrating Potter!” Snape said angrily. This was the first time any real anger had been in his voice towards Harry in months.

Harry shrugged. “I’m trying.”

“You are not trying Potter,” Snape said quickly and with distaste. “Would you give up so easily in a duel?”

Harry bowed his head. No, he thought, he wouldn’t.

“Then concentrate! All we are doing is dueling with our minds Potter! Throw up some protection around your mind as you would around your body with a protective spell. Once you are well guarded, then you will learn to stab back at me as with a sword!”

Harry looked up and into the man’s eyes. No spell was uttered this time, but Snape was in his mind again. Acting quickly, Harry tried to concentrate on pitch-blackness and nothing else. This time he held his ground a little while longer before Snape was plunging head first into a memory Harry didn’t want him to see.

He and Cho were sitting on a bench in the library and she was suddenly almost on top of him, her lips pressed warmly against his. No, Harry thought, NO! Switching tactics, he thought suddenly of brilliant white blinding light, as if he were looking straight into the sun. He imagined his entire world filled with it, and he could no longer see himself and Cho in the library.

“Good Potter, good!” Snape was saying. Again Harry could not tell if he were speaking with his mouth or mind, and the amount of wondering that it took for Harry to ponder that question broke his concentration, and again Snape was in another memory.

Two hours later, Harry was lying face first on the cold stone floor. Again, Snape had had to lift the spell of his own accord to give Harry time to breath and temper his thoughts again.

“I can’t,” Harry panted. “I’ll never get this.”

“Potter, if you insist that you won’t be able to do this, then you will not ever get any farther in the lessons than lying face first on the floor.”

Harry pushed himself up and looked at his watch.

“Yes, go to your detention Potter,” Snape said as if he had something that tasted bad in his mouth, “Report back here directly after dinner tomorrow.”

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. He felt weak, and knew he wasn’t going to be much good scrubbing floors and toilets.

On the way out the door, he was given the same instructions as the night before. Clear his mind before he slept.

Near the smallest boy’s bathroom on the first floor he found Ron leaning against a wall waiting for Filch. He didn’t look up at Harry when he approached and took the opposite wall of the corridor to lean on.

After a few long moments of silence, Harry said quietly, “Listen Ron, I’m-” Ron cut him off.

“Don’t talk to me Harry,” he said coldly. Harry’s shoulders fell. He was too weak to keep them from doing so. He wondered if he had lost his friend for good this time.

On hands and knees the two boys silently scrubbed their way through six bathrooms that night, and didn’t make it to bed until near one am.

Too tired to give twenty minutes time to deep concentration, Harry fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Again there was a noose slipped around his neck before he woke, panting and sweating. Ron had put the noose around him this time, and pulled it tight.

The sun was shining brightly through the dorm windows when the dream ended, and Harry didn’t bother to go back to sleep again. Instead he rose and finished the three pages of homework that he hadn’t had time to do before, and went down to breakfast, not bothering to wait for Ron or Hermione.

At lunch Harry tried to sit next to Ron, but before he had taken a seat, Ron had risen without a word and moved to the end of the table closest to the head table where the Professor’s sat. Seeing this, Ginny came and sat next to Harry again.

“Once you’re on his sh*t list Harry, you’re going to be there for awhile.”

Harry looked at her. “I thought you said he was loyal.”

“He is,” she said, taking a bite of Harry’s sandwich and setting it back down on his plate. “But he’s stubborn too.”

“How am I supposed to get on his good side again then?”

Ginny shrugged. “Be his friend.”

“I can’t. He won’t let me.”

“He will,” she told him, “give it time. Be there when he needs you to be.”

“That could take years Ginny.”

She shrugged, “Maybe.”

* * *

“Up Potter. Get off my floor.”

Harry opened his eyes and pushed himself up. “The floor off limits now?” he asked Snape testily.

Snape aimed his wand at him and was immediately in his mind. Angry that he hadn’t been given a chance to clear his mind, he flooded it with brilliant white light again, and held Snape off for almost a full minute before stray emotions and thoughts intruded and his defenses broke. “No!” Harry yelled audibly as Snape began forcing him to remember things. To Harry it was like the man was thumbing through a book that held a different memory on every page. Memory after memory flashed by him, and Snape stopped on the one of the dream the night before, forcing Harry to again be lead to the gallows, Ron by his side this time placing the noose around his neck and tightening it. The dream Harry looked around frantically, and the dream changed. Snape was now holding the noose around his neck and Voldemort’s high, icy laugh again filled his mind.

“Help,” Harry said audibly. “Why won’t you help me?” As he said this and his words rang around the small study, the dream Snape turned to him and tilted his head. The noose suddenly tightened and Harry’s eyes shut tight with pain. “Help Dad!” he shouted. There was a flash of blinding white light as Harry realized what he had said and forced the intruder from his thoughts. It seemed as if he held the light there for an eternity, when in reality it was only a few moments, and then the spell was broken, and Harry was on his back on the office floor. He pushed himself backward hurriedly, not looking at Snape.

“I hate you,” he said, “I hate you for making me remember things!” He pushed himself up and heaved the office door open. Leaving his bag and books in the office, he ran up the corridor and turned a corner, leaving the door open behind him. He hoped that nobody was following him because he had tears of anger in his eyes. Why was he so stupid? How could he think something like that about a man like that? How could he consider him even a friend? Look at all he’d done to him in the past five years! His father was right to dangle him upside down in the air like he did!

It was only seven o’clock, and there were still lingering students in the halls, mainly older ones, as curfew for sixth and seventh years was nine.

Stupid! he kept thinking to himself, you’re so stupid Harry!

On the third floor he rounded a corner and almost walked straight into Draco. He stopped abruptly, and tried to push his way past, but Draco blocked him from doing so.

“Well well,” he said in his sneering voice. “Where are we off to in such a hurry? Not going to sneak off and grade more papers for my head of house?”

Harry ducked his head. He knew Draco would have a field day with his social life if he caught him crying.

Draco was quiet for a moment when Harry didn’t answer. Harry still didn’t look up, and just waited for him to move. He couldn’t afford a fight at the moment, and he also wasn’t sure he had the will left to make one. Draco stood there and stared at him, taken aback at what he saw. For once the snide comments that were always on the tip of his tongue failed him.

For lack of something else to say or do, he stepped aside, and Harry strode around him, Draco watching him as he did so.

Not wanting to be in a room full of people, Harry did not go back to the common room as he knew he was supposed to, being on the two-week probation. Instead he went back down a flight of stairs, and found his way into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. There he sank to the floor with his back against a wall, knowing that both the wall and floor were now spotless, because he and Ron had had to clean it twice the night before, apparently not having gotten it clean enough the first time.

After a few minutes, Harry finally got the tears to stop and wiped his eyes and face clean on his sleeve. There was silence for a while more, and when Moaning Myrtle failed to make her appearance, he rose and went to her stall. The toilet was empty, and he wondered if she were again in the Prefect’s bathroom watching somebody bathe.

At nine o’clock Harry rose and found his way to the bathroom that Ron waited outside on the fourth floor for their second night’s detention. Harry made no attempt to apologize this time, and instead just looked at the floor. When Filch arrived, Harry gave one-word responses to all of his instructions, and set to work silently, Ron watching him do so. Filch left them alone to clean twice for an hour at a time, and the second time he did so Harry stood with anger and kicked the small metal pail half full of water that he was using clean across the bathroom. Ron looked up.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” he demanded. “Now we’re going to have to mop it all up again!”

Harry turned away. It hadn’t been in anger against Ron, but against himself, and Snape.

“I hate Snape,” he said with feeling. “I hate him.”

Ron was silent for a few moments, wondering what had brought this on, and if Harry was going to kick anything else.

“Well good for you,” he said, “we already knew that.” Just then the door opened, and Filch walked in, stopping at the sight of the massive puddle on the floor and the bucket on its side against the wall.

“Been fighting have we?” he asked in an accusatory tone.

Harry looked at Ron for help, and Ron looked at Filch. “No, it was a spill. I tripped over the bucket and we were trying to mop it up again.”

The caretaker gave the two boys a wary glance, assessing the truth of it. Finally he muttered something about “Rotten disrespectful students,” and shouted at them to clean it up and get to the last bathroom on that floor, or else they’d be there cleaning until daybreak. Not wanting to watch the Gryffindors clean, he left again.

Harry picked up the mop that leaned against the wall nearest him. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Ron grunted. “Kick buckets over on your own time. I’ve still got homework to do.”

That would have been the end of it, but Harry suddenly felt the need to apologize again.

“Ron, I’m sorry-” he began again, but Ron held up his hand to stop him.

“Save it Harry.” He paused, and then continued with, “I don’t know what happened to my best friend, but I don’t know him any more.”

Harry hung his head low. Quietly he said, “I don’t know him either.”

Ron looked over at him, but like Draco, did not have the words to say. They finished cleaning in silence, and left for the next bathroom.