Harry hurried to pick himself off of the floor once again. He wished, not for the first time, that his intrusion into Snape’s pensieve had ended the Occlumency lessons for good. Snape had been so angry that night, Harry figured Snape never wanted to see him again. A proposition Harry was heartily okay with. Not only did Harry still hold his old feelings of anger and dislike for his potions professor, but seeing Snape now also brought up new feelings of embarrassment and shame. Snape for his part had not spoken a word to Harry until the end of class a week after the pensieve incident. He had called Harry to his desk and fixed him with a cold, onyx stare.

“We will resume Occlumency lessons tonight. 8 pm.” Snape’s definite tone had left no room for argument. Harry left with a short nod, eager to be out of the man’s presence.  The lessons had not been going well.

“You have not been practicing.” Snape asserted, staring down his fingers at Potter.

“I have…” Harry trailed off. These days he was so bleeding tired that when he fell into bed he was asleep before he even had the opportunity to consider emptying his mind of emotion. The nights where he did try, he was unsuccessful. With Dumbledore’s absence, OWLs approaching, Voldemort’s new bid for power, Harry had nothing but emotion.

“Do not lie. You do so badly.” Snape retorted coolly. He observed Harry for a moment, shrewdly. “We have had fourteen lessons together Potter and still you show no sign of progress. Tell me, do you enjoy failure?” Harry gritted his teeth, determined not to respond.

“No? Well then do you feel like somehow this connection makes you special? You like being special, don’t you Potter? I saw your interview in that magazine. Anything for attention - you and your father have that in common…” Snape stopped his tirade abruptly. He hadn’t mentioned James since that night in the pensieve and clearly had not been intending to do so now. Harry and Snape stared at each other for one long moment of awful, thick silence that made Harry’s insides feel like worms. A hint of the other night’s anger glinted in Snape’s eyes. Harry briefly wondered if he was going to have a jar of beetles thrown at him again.

“I -” Harry stopped, not knowing what he wanted to say. His usual knee-jerk reaction to defend his father was gone. “That’s not why I gave that interview.” He finished lamely. Snape curled his lips in an unflattering scowl.

“Control your emotions. Legilimens. “ Snape snapped pointing his wand at Harry. This time Harry had been so unprepared for the attack that he did not even employ his usual feeble attempts to prevent Snape from accessing his most embarrassing and private memories.

Harry beamed, joy and pride rippling through his chest as he held the snitch up for the crowd to see. A newfound feeling of security and even family replaced the feeling of pride as Sirius hugged him at Grimmauld Place. A five-year-old Harry watched from the edge of the garden as Uncle Vernon threw Dudley into the air and caught him, both shrieking with laughter. Harry felt the ache of loneliness and envy with the honest simplicity of a child.  A much older Harry examined a picture of his parents, staring at his Dad’s face. There was a deeper, more mature sorrow as Harry felt the loss of his father all over again. The lump in his throat threatened tears.

“Stop!” Harry yelled, mentally yanking the image away. That memory was too fresh. There was no way Snape was going to see how much the memory in the pensieve affected Harry, nor was he going see that Harry was close to tears only nights ago.

Both Snape and Harry flew backwards as though blasted from an explosion. Harry’s head snacked against the hard, concrete floor. The smarting of his head, along with the internal aching of his tired brain and the wave of unpleasant emotions associated with the memories Snape just riffled through made Harry feel ill. Uncle Vernon, Sirius, his Dad, clearly father figures were on his mind tonight. Not considering where he was, he closed his eyes for a moment. Heavy footsteps brought Harry back to reality. He sat up, rubbing his head.

“Are you hurt?” Snape asked, no more solicitous than if he was going to start railing on Harry’s potions work.

“I’m fine, sir.” Harry replied, avoiding eye contact as he got to his feet. “What was that?”

“The beginnings of Occlumency. A stage you should have attained weeks ago.” Snape explained superciliously.

“That’s all for tonight. Practice for tomorrow.” Severus clipped, his robes billowing as he strode out of the dungeon. Harry sighed, a dull ache pulsing through his head. After all of this work, Voldemort better be planning on doing something utterly awful with his legilimency skills.

Harry exited the dungeons still rubbing his head. Snape had ended the lesson early enough that he should have time to go up to the Owlery and collect his thoughts before returning to Gryffindor tower. Ron and Hermione would want to hear all about the lesson and Harry did not wish to relive those unspoken feelings of longing, loss and resentment for a second time.

The approaching summer meant that the sun set later and Harry watched the pink sky darken. The warm, still air filled Harry with an ominous feeling. The sights and sounds of summer that often brought joy to students only brought misery to Harry. He knew that the more beautiful the weather, the sooner it would be that he would return to Privet Drive and Uncle Vernon. He wondered how he would feel about summer holidays if his parents were still alive.

Harry had always taken it for granted that he would be happy with his parents. He assumed that they would love him, like him even. He thought back to his mother’s blazing eyes and his father’s cruel idea of humor. Maybe his mother would resent Harry for binding her to James forever. It stood to reason that his father would not care for him much. Harry had never been popular before Hogwarts and was not particularly popular now. He was small for his age and much more retiring than James or Sirius. Would his father think he was a loser too? The sky darkened along with Harry’s mood.

A cough broke Harry’s reverie unpleasantly and a wash of dread filled his stomach as he turned to face Professor Umbridge. She was smiling at him in a flowered dressing gown, toad-like as ever. Harry’s heart sank. He had meant to be in the Owlery just long enough to pet Hedwig and pull his head together. Instead he had decided to lay-around daydreaming. Curfew had come and gone by now for sure.

“Mr. Potter what are we doing out of bed?” Professor Umbridge asked in an overly-sweet tone that boded worse than Snape’s waspish one.

“I’m sorry Professor. I just lost track of time.” Harry answered warily deciding that the truth was the best course of action. Umbridge regarded him as though he was a juicy fly that she wanted to eat.

“Lost track of time in the Owlery?” Umbridge asked, looking around the dropping-filled floor with disgust. “Hardly a place for a child to be…lurking. Where is your owl Mr. Potter?”

Harry remembered Hedwig’s broken wing with a flash of anger.

“With Professor Grubbily-Plank, m’am.” Harry answered, again hoping the truth would get him out of another set of detentions. Umbridge smiled toothily at this.

“A boy with no owl goes and sits in the Owlery after dark? Doesn’t that seem a wee bit suspicious to you Mr. Potter?” Umbridge questioned, her expression savage. Harry did not respond. He did not care how many detentions he got, he was not going to tell Professor Umbridge that he was moping around the Owlery wondering whether or not his father could ever have loved him.

“Waiting on a message from Dumbledore?” Umbridge asked with an expression that suggested she had just found a smoking gun in Harry’s hand.

“No m’am, just standing.” Harry replied nervously. There was not a great chance of Umbridge believing him and there was no Dumbledore to protect him if she didn’t.

“You’re lying Mr. Potter.” Umbridge retorted. She stepped close to him. “You know what happens to liars. Detention tomorrow night.” Harry’s heart raced.

“But m’am I have – remedial potions tomorrow night.” Harry replied hopefully. Maybe Snape was intimidating enough that she would let the class stand.

“You can do detention with me earlier, through dinner.” Umbridge concluded without batting an eyelash. “I suggest you eat a large lunch.”

Harry watched her go, pure loathing cursing through him.