There was no hiding the fact that Harry's vision had been false. Too many students (or rather, too many Slytherins) had heard his warning, and when the Daily Prophet reported the ambush the following day, too many more made the connection. Even Professor Lupin's threat of lost House points could not stop the stares and whispers at breakfast.

Harry had not slept at all that night after it happened. The initial shock had eventually given way to an utter terror of falling asleep, of having another vision that could prove a trap. He had sat up in bed with the curtains closed, trying to do homework or anything else that would keep him awake. Each time he felt himself starting to drift off, panic set in and made him alert again.

And so the next morning, he was drowsily picking at his eggs, still determined not to sleep again until he could properly Occlude his mind. (How he was to accomplish that, he did not know, but logic had never been Harry's strong point, as those infuriating puzzles of Smythe-Wellington's frequently demonstrated.)

It didn't help overhearing Malfoy at the Slytherin table. "I can't understand why people are surprised. Potter throws a bloody fainting act and starts accusing people's parents of chasing goblins around Gringotts—I knew better than to believe him! And did anyone see my father there? Of course not!"

"Harry," said Hermione, watching him stare at his plate. "You've got to eat something. Did you sleep last night?"

"Hermione, leave the man alone," said Ron, patting Harry's shoulder.

"How's Sloper?" Harry asked quietly.

The pained look on Ron's face told Harry more than his words. "He's…in a bit of shock, you understand. His parents are coming to get him today. I…er, well…he's in a bit of shock, you understand, it might not be a good idea to go talk to him just now."

Harry nodded, knowing bitterly what Ron meant. Jack blamed Harry. Harry didn't blame him. He'd felt so proud after Dumbledore had stopped Voldemort's goblin spell—how had they done that, anyway? He had no idea. But the important thing was that he hadn't even stopped to think that the vision might not have been true.

Ron was saying something. Harry blinked back to the present. "Sorry?"

Patiently, Ron repeated, "We thought we'd do some Quidditch practice after Charms this afternoon. Tryouts are Thursday."

Oh. Quidditch. Right. And it would give him something to do where no matter how tired he was, he wouldn't risk falling asleep. Harry forced a smile at Ron and nodded. "I'll be there. Lord knows I'm probably out of practice."

On the other side of the table, Ginny snorted. "Don't be absurd, Harry, you're a natural. You're never out of practice."

"Still gonna make him work for Seeker, aren't you, Gin-gin?" Ron teased. Ginny smirked at him as Bastet crawled out of her book bag onto her shoulder. "Ahh, there is my fuzzy little monster-killer!" Ron cooed, to Harry's complete astonishment. "Does oo wanna spot of breakfast? Does oo wanna bit of bacon?"

Ginny giggled and took the bacon Ron handed her for the kitten, who was growing rapidly but still managed to balance on her mistress's shoulder. Hermione looked disgusted. "This from the boy who said all cats were bloodthirsty beasts."

"I've changed my mind," Ron declared. "Either cats are indeed noble creatures, and yours is just a slavering maniac, or this one's just a true goddess."

Ginny watched Bastet leisurely polishing off the bacon and shook her head. "She's so odd. She was perfectly sweet-tempered with me in Transfiguration yesterday—even though I was turning her only halfway into a tea pot. Then Ella Collins from Slytherin started making fun of my textbook—the cover's falling off—and Bastet went straight for her face. I thought Professor McGonagall was going to explode. She had to switch to a cat herself to call Bastet off! Collins has scratches all over her!"

"Brilliant! Two pieces of bacon!"

Professor Lupin asked Harry to linger for a few moments after Advanced Curse Defense. "Did you sleep last night, Harry?"

Fighting (and losing) against a surge of irritation, Harry shook his head. "I don't want him using me again."

"Harry, you cannot deprive yourself of sleep over this. That will only make you more vulnerable." Remus put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't blame yourself for what happened."

"Jack blames me."

"Jack has lost a family member; he blames everyone in sight, including himself."

Harry shot to his feet, frustrated and angry. "How could I forget?" he cried. "After what happened to Sirius, how could I let myself forget that those visions can be lies?"

Remus ignored his outburst. "You went through a terrible ordeal this summer. You can't be expected to remember everything. That was our job."

"But…" Harry sank back down again. "There was no summer! At least…not to me. It still feels as if it's been only a few weeks since…" he looked away. "And I forgot."

"If you allow it to tear you apart, you'll be giving Voldemort what he wants." Harry blinked. Remus pulled a chair up beside him. "Think, Harry. About last night, not the vision in the morning. Why did Voldemort let you feel his laughter at us?"

"To let me know he'd won. That he'd got the better of me," Harry said in confusion.

"Exactly. To make you afraid to sleep, to keep you off balance—and out of his mind," Remus said urgently. "Harry, don't you see? Yes, he can send you false visions—but obviously he cannot keep you entirely out of his own mind. Otherwise you would not have been able to warn us of the goblin spell."

With a disgusted groan, Harry put his head in his hands. "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me tw—"

"Harry! If you don't stop that, I'm going to start taking points from Gryffindor."

"Sorry."

Remus shook his head. "What class do you have next? Charms?"

Harry nodded. "Then Herbology after that."

"As soon as they're over, I want you to pick up some Dreamless Sleep potion from Madam Pomfrey and then go to your dormitory and get some sleep—don't argue, Mr. Potter, this is coming from your Professor now. Voldemort's activities are taking enough of a toll on you without your adding to it."

"I wasn't arguing," Harry grumped. "I mean…it's just…we had Quidditch practice this afternoon."

Remus sighed. "I think you'd best give it a miss today, if you're as worn out as my instincts and your charming mood seem to indicate. Or at least try to sleep a little beforehand."

"Yes, Professor," said Harry, suddenly too tempted by the thought of a non-haunted sleep to resist anymore.

Remus patted his arm. "Off with you, then."

Harry started to get up, then paused. He had been thinking about this all morning, and the idea seemed mad—not to mention unpleasant—but Harry was willing to deal with a little unpleasantness if it would get Voldemort out of his head. "Professor…I was wondering…do you think it would help if I did Occlumency more often? Would I get any better at keeping him out?"

Remus paused on the steps to his office, his face thoughtful. "Hm. I don't imagine it could hurt." He eyed Harry and smiled. "Of course, you would have to ask Professor Snape for additional lessons." His smile grew broader as Harry groaned loudly. "It's a reasonable thing, Harry, for you to ask and for him to agree."

Harry sighed, but smiled sheepishly back. "I'll need another excuse, then."

"Don't take that tone with me, Mr. Potter, detention for you this evening! Wait, oh dear, I seem to have acquired a previous engagement," Remus said blithely. "I shall have to ask Professor Snape to supervise your punishment." Harry couldn't suppress a hysterical giggle. "Of course, once you're in 'detention,' it will be up to you to ask for the lessons. Deal?"

"Deal," Harry laughed.

"Right, then. Get some sleep, and I'll see you at dinner."

"Okay."

Harry managed to get through his Charms and Herbology without making too great a mess of things—although he did manage to turn his notebook into a slime mold. On the way back to Gryffindor Tower, he told Ron he would be skipping Quidditch practice. "But we haven't got much time till tryouts! We already postponed them once, and the team's done for without you!"

"Oh, thanks, Ron!" snapped Ginny from behind them.

"No offense, Ginny, but it's true! We need you to replace Angelina or Alicia—and a Beater to replace Jack."

Harry paused on the stairs. "He's quit?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah, he, uh, said he didn't like it much last year."

"Is that what he said?" Harry sighed.

Ginny nudged Ron aside so she could walk next to Harry. "Don't take it personally, Harry—and don't believe it either. I told Jack he wasn't being fair, but I don't think he's really interested in being fair at the moment. He'll come round eventually, and if he doesn't, well, we'll find another Beater."

Harry sighed. Ron looked back at them. "Say, Harry, maybe if you go to sleep right away, you can at least make part of practice, just for a little Snitch-chasing."

"Then he'll have to skip the afternoon study session," said Hermione.

At that moment, Harry had to stop and lean against the banister so he could yawn heavily. "I think I'll be missing that anyway."

"And he can always study this evening," Ron pressed.

"Er…no, I've got…detention," said Harry.

Hermione dropped her book bag on Ron's foot—causing him to fall onto the stairs with a screech of agony—and spun around. "Harry, what did you do now? Who'd you get detention from this time?"

Ron lugged the book bag off his foot and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry looked at them and felt a rush of mischief. "Oh…I got detention from Professor Lupin."

Their reaction was even better than he'd hoped.

"HARRY!"

"What on earth did you do!"

"How could you, are you determined to—"

They all broke off as he started to laugh. "Yes, Professor Lupin assigned me detention, but he's going to be busy tonight, so he's asking Professor Snape to take care of it. Perfect opportunity for more 'Remedial Potions.'"

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all gaped at him for several more seconds before it sank in. "Oh, you!" Ginny clouted Harry upside the head, then they all started to laugh.

"Why do you have…detention again tonight?" asked Hermione. "Didn't you have it last night too?"

"Under the circumstances," Harry muttered at her, "I decided I'd better have it more often."

"With Snape," Ron groaned. "You are truly a glutton for punishment, Harry."

"No pun intended?" Ginny teased, and they all groaned louder.

When they got to the dormitory, Harry told Ron, "I'll sleep through study session, and see about practice."

"Priorities, Harry," sighed Hermione, coming up the stairs.

"Leave him alone, Hermione, he deserves a little fun!"

"Failing all his classes could end that fun pretty quick—"

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out his Firebolt—

His Firebolt. From Sirius.

Ron by now had stopped arguing with Hermione and had pulled his Cleansweep out from under his bed. "We've got to elect a new captain, and try out some new team members, Harry. I fancy you'll be up, and we've got to decide what to do about you and Ginny—Harry? What's wrong?"

Harry didn't hear him. He was staring at his Firebolt: its glittering handle, the way it vibrated when he picked it up and hovered in midair when he let go, the registration number engraved in gold at the top of the handle, and the streamlined birch twigs, all still as perfect and flawless as when it had arrived on Christmas morning nearly three years before. It had been right after his beloved Nimbus had been destroyed by the Whomping Willow, the perfect Christmas present.

From Sirius.

Apparently, Ron and Hermione had made the connection. Hermione's hands came to rest on his shoulders as Ron gently took the broom away. "Harry? You all right, mate?"

Harry blinked and looked up at them. "Yeah. Sorry. Go on. I'll see you later."

Hermione stayed where she was. "I can stay if you want, Harry. If you're worried about sleeping, I mean."

"Oh, you'll neglect your precious studies for him, will you?"

"Ronald…" she said in a hard tone. Ron looked ashamed of himself.

Harry shook his head. He just wanted a nap. "No. 's all right. I've got Dreamless Sleep potion."

"Okay, then." Hermione gave his shoulders a little squeeze and started for the stairs. "Harry?" He looked at her. "I think you're doing the right thing. With…detention." She smiled. "You can beat Voldemort at this, we know you can. And after all the times you've gone up against Voldemort, you can certainly handle Snape."

Ron nodded vigorously, and Harry forced a smile. "Thanks." He waved at them as they went back down the stairs, then crawled into bed, took a gulp of potion, and fell gratefully asleep.

"…Harry?"

Someone was shaking him gently. He grumbled and tried to burrow into the pillow, but the hand on his shoulder persisted. Rolling over, he opened his eyes and glared at Ron. "'f I had my wand, I'd hex you."

"Sorry," said Ron, not looking terribly apologetic. "Coming to Quidditch practice?"

Now that he was fully awake, Harry did feel more rested than he had in some time. And it had been ages since he'd even flown on his Firebolt. "Yeah, I'll come. Grab my uniform, would you?" He went to the bathroom to put some water on his face.

When he came back out, Ginny was there in her uniform, talking to Ron. "If those two even think about messing up our first practice I will hex them into next month!" Ron was snarling.

"What two?" asked Harry.

"Fred and George are here," Ginny told him. "They're getting ready to sit their N.E., and managed to wheedle Madam Hooch into letting them help us with practice."

"Their N.E.W.T.s?" Harry asked in surprised. "How's that possible?"

"Oh, I should show you that in the diary," Ron chuckled. "Mum went to Dumbledore, asking if there was some way Fred and George could finish—of course, she didn't ask them first. We didn't expect anything to come of it, but then Mum showed up at the shop one day when Hermione and I were there and told us Dumbledore'd said they could do it. Fred and George weren't so keen to at first, but then Mum really went below the belt—she said she and Dad didn't raise us to be quitters."

"Aah!" Harry grimaced sympathetically.

Ginny nodded. "So here they are. They take shifts at the shop and come here twice a week. They'll be finished right before Christmas holidays."

"Well, that's nice," said Harry. "Your mum will be pleased."

"She's ecstatic," Ron snorted. "Blubbered all over them. I think the main reason they agreed is Percy's still being a prat, and it's making Mum crazy."

"A prat? How?"

"Aside from that little snit you overheard? Well, he's talking to us again at least, but he still won't come home," said Ginny, sighing. "He just keeps saying it's not a good idea. We don't know where the Ministry's got him stashed, but Mum is convinced it's not safe enough."

"Not as safe as Headquarters, no doubt, but imagine trying to get Percy there!" Ron remarked. "Oy, Ginny, turn your back. Harry, get your uniform on."

"Oh, right."

Harry had his shirt half-off before Ron added, "No peeking, Ginny!"

Harry froze, his back to them, but heard Ginny say in a huff, "You may enjoy being a Peeping Tom, Ron, but not everyone is a complete cad. Hurry along, Harry."

It was only then that it dawned on Harry that he was in the midst of stripping his clothes off in the same room as a girl! He couldn't get into his uniform fast enough. "Okay, let's go."

He picked up his Firebolt with reverent hands and followed them to the stairs. Carrying it, his mind wandered as they walked out onto the grounds, back to Sirius, inevitably. He had been dismal when he had told Sirius about the lifetime ban from Quidditch over Christmas. "Now don't think for a minute that old Umbridge's so-called 'lifetime ban' will stick, Harry," Sirius had said. "Once people find out that you have been telling the truth—and they will once Voldemort makes himself known, believe me—you'll be vindicated and she and Fudge will have a lot of questions to answer about the way they've treated you."

"But do you think a ban like that could be reversed?" Harry had asked bitterly.

"Of course it can. And no matter what it takes, Voldemort be damned, I'll make it to your next game. Don't gape! Remember your third year? I've done it before!"

"I'd forgotten," Harry had laughed. "It was right before the dementors got me on the field."

"I'll never forget that. I nearly switched to myself and ran out onto the field—which would've resulted in me getting my charming personality sucked out," Sirius had grimaced at the memory. Seeing Harry's glum expression, he had smiled and said, "Don't fret on it too much."

"It seems silly to 'fret' on it at all with everything that's happened," Harry had sighed.

"Don't be silly. I know Quidditch is important to you; you've got the right to enjoy growing up," Sirius's face had turned solemn. "And I promise you, Harry, once this is all over, I'll come and see you play in person. And I'll be sitting in the stands cheering so bloody loud you won't hear a single Slytherin!"

"That'd be brilliant, Sirius! I can't wait."

"It will happen, Harry. My word as a Marauder on it. So keep your chin up."

"…Harry? Harry?"

Harry blinked back to the present. He was standing at the entrance to the Quidditch pitch with his Firebolt in hand, no idea how he had gotten there. Ron and Ginny were mounted on their brooms, glancing back at him. "Are you ready?" Ginny asked. Seeing his blank face, she said patiently, "We're going to have some practice rounds. Ready?"

Harry shook his head hard. "Yeah, sorry. All right. Let's go." He kicked off and followed them into the air.

To Harry's relief, the months and months he had gone without flying had not dampened his skill too terribly much—though the Firebolt felt a good deal faster than he remembered. Still, after about twenty minutes of tentative flying, he was swooping and diving around the pitch, laughing deliriously—and getting yelled at by Ron, who wanted to get on with the practice rounds.

Even better was the fact that this wound up being a Slytherin-free practice. The mood was light and cheerful as the team members reacquainted themselves with each other and their strategies. Katie Bell was the oldest member this year, but things were complicated by the fact that she did not want to be captain.

"I'm a follower, not a leader," she insisted when they all landed for a huddle. "Give me a strategy and a plan and I can do it, and I can judge Chasers, but Keepers and Beaters and the rest?" She shook her head. "No, it'll have to be someone else."

Every pair of eyes turned to Harry. "Er…" He felt his face turning red. Why on earth would they want him to be captain? He managed to get himself injured or banned almost every year! "I dunno…" he muttered, looking at the sand beneath his feet. "I…er…maybe we should wait until…a few more practices."

Every Weasley on the pitch was grinning at him. "Have it your way, Ickle Harrykins," said one of the twins, who were there under the guise of "supervising" practice. "But don't think you'll get out of it so easily in the end."

Ron looked annoyed.

That night, as dinner wound to a close, Harry found himself suffering a severe loss of nerves. "What was I thinking?" he muttered. "Why am I putting myself in Snape's clutches voluntarily?"

"Courage, mate," Ron muttered back, giving him a thump on the back. "Courage."

"It'll help in the long run, Harry," Hermione whispered. "Just be patient!"

He rolled his eyes at her. "Easy for you to say."

"Hey, be fair; Hermione's not exactly Snape's favorite person either!" said Ron.

Harry saw Professor Lupin getting up at the head table. "Here it comes."

Lupin looked so stern when he walked over to the Gryffindors that Harry gulped, half-wondering if he had gotten himself into trouble. "Come with me, please, Mr. Potter." Around him, his Housemates sucked in their breath. He timidly got to his feet and followed Lupin out of the Great Hall.

Once they were down in the dungeons, away from curious eyes, Remus winked at Harry before knocking on Professor Snape's office door. "Enter."

Snape looked quite startled to see the two of them. Harry gulped, fighting the urge to hide behind Lupin. "Severus, Mr. Potter is scheduled for a detention this evening, but I'm afraid I'm unable to supervise him. Would you mind?" asked Lupin smoothly.

His eyes narrowed, Snape looked from Lupin to Harry, then said slowly, "Very well." Remus gave a gracious half-bow and left the office, closing the door behind him. Snape rose and came from behind his desk, staring hard at Harry. "Well, Potter?"

Harry's mouth was frustratingly dry. He swallowed thickly and said, "Professor…I wanted to ask…if you—if I—could do Occlumency more often. I mean…as often as possible, really." He forced himself to meet Snape's eyes. "After what happened yesterday, this has to stop. I thought having the lessons more often might help."

Snape was silent for several minutes, and Harry managed not to fidget or drop his gaze. At last, the Potions Master sneered, "Well, if no other good has come from yesterday's debacle, you've finally had the consequences of your arrogance drummed into your worthless head."

What did arrogance have to do with any of this! Ignore it, ignore it, he's just being Snape. This is more important than you or him! Harry told himself furiously. Through clenched teeth, he ground out, "I just…want it…to stop. Will you help me, or won't you?" Like an afterthought, he added, "Sir."

It clearly amused Snape to have Harry Potter admitting to needing additional help, but Harry supposed that was to be expected. Hermione's right. I've been face-to-face with Voldemort. I can handle you. He gritted his teeth, but finally got Snape's answer. He probably should have expected that too. "Legilimens!"

Harry saw the look of mingled surprise and fear on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face…

No…concentrate…concentrate…He fought to see the office and Snape and concentrate on them rather than the memory…

Sirius was falling through the ancient doorway, his body curving gracefully…

Come on…get away…Snape was staring at Harry's face, muttering…concentrating…

Sirius disappeared behind the veil, and it fluttered as though in a high wind—

"NOOOO!" Harry crashed to the floor and curled into a ball instinctively, trying to hide from the memory that was now re-playing itself viciously before his eyes. "STOP IT!"

"Stop it yourself, Potter! Legilimens!

The veil fell back into place…Sirius did not reappear…

"STOP IT!" Harry kicked out furiously and got Snape in the shin, making him stumble back. He scrambled to his feet, trying to get his heart under control, and wishing the hand holding his wand would stop shaking.

Snape was still smirking. Harry glared at him, trembling. Last year had been bad enough when he'd had so much anger to contend with, now it was all he could do to keep the memory of Sirius from overwhelming him completely. In an almost-cheerful voice, Snape said, "You'll have to do better than that, Potter. One…two…three…Legilimens!"

The red light of Bellatrix Lestrange's curse hit Sirius right in the chest before his laughter had even died…

STOP IT! Harry fought to keep his eyes on Snape's face, but he felt as though his heart were being torn out at the same time as his brain. And his heart seemed more valuable. STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT!

His godfather's eyes widened in shock…but he could see Snape muttering…

Oh Sirius, I'm sor—Wand, WAND! "Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand flew from his hand, and Harry found himself gasping and shaking—and his vision was horribly blurry. He wiped frantically at his eyes, but not before Snape straightened himself up and saw it. "Tears again, Potter?" he sneered, drawling out the words with relish.

Harry turned away. Why couldn't he stop shaking! "Is this lesson over, sir, or shall we keep going?" he snapped.

"Face me. Now."

Harry did, clenching his jaw to keep it from trembling. Snape's voice was stern, disciplinarian, but Harry was certain he could see flat-out glee in his eyes. I hate you I hate you I hate you…

"Have you retained nothing I taught you last year?" asked Snape coldly. "For all your pathetic whimpering, you have made yourself more vulnerable to the Dark Lord than ever, and an even greater liability to our side, considering all the plans and efforts you've already managed to bollix up. Do you think he will leave your pitiful grief for that mongrel alone—"

Harry snapped. "SHUT UP! You bloody bastard, SHUT UP!"

Snape lunged toward him so fast that for a split-second, Harry expected to find himself flying across the room with a broken jaw. Instead, the Potions Master grabbed him by the shoulders. "I warn you, Potter—"

Harry wrenched away. "Don't lecture me about control of my emotions, you stupid fraud! You're not choosing that memory because of Voldemort, you're choosing it because you enjoy it!" he shouted. At Snape's momentary silence, Harry lashed out harder. "I'm surprised you haven't gone for that night in his headquarters and made me relive getting tortured. Or is it because you'd enjoy that too much to stand? Is that it? You'd die laughing watching all your old mates putting the Cruciatus Curse on me?"

He saw Snape falter; for the first time, he'd struck a nerve. He drove the blow home, desiring to make Snape see how it felt to have his nose rubbed in his nightmares. "What's the matter, Death Eater, you enjoy hurting people so much—why don't you take a peek?"

He saw Snape raise his wand, but aimed his own at the man's chest. "Tell me this is about Occlumency, Professor," he hissed, his voice shaking with fury this time. "Tell me you're not just amusing yourself watching my godfather die over and over again." His voice cracked when he said it, but he was angry enough not to care. "Is it the time on your hands now? I remember—you said finding out what Voldemort said to his Death Eaters was your job! Well, you're out of that job, now, aren't you? And that's my fault, of course, that's what this is all about! You're not the big, important spy anymore, you're as trapped as Sirius was! And that's my fault, right! And what Sirius and my dad did when they were fifteen was my fault too, wasn't it?"

Harry had never imagined himself capable of feeling this way. An odd, mirthless grin was spreading across his face as Snape stared dumbly, and he rambled on, "I'm curious, Professor: which one did you hate more? My dad or Sirius? Does it matter, as long as I look like James Potter and Sirius Black is my godfather, I'm a convenient substitute for either, aren't I? I remember, 'revenge is sweet,' isn't it? Even if it's only on a replacement. Or…was it neither of them? Maybe it was my mother you hated, because she stood up for you, and because you can't say she was arrogant, can you? You can't deny that 'Mudblood' who tried to help you was everything you'll never be, can you?" Barely pausing to draw breath, Harry screamed out. "WHICH PART OF ME DO YOU HATE MOST, SNIVELLUS! MY FATHER'S FACE OR MY MOTHER'S EYES!"

Snape's face was dead white, reminiscent of the rage Harry had seen when he'd come out of the Pensieve, but there was something else there too, this time. Harry was too hysterical himself to identify what it was. He just wished Snape would hex him or hit him or something, instead of—Snape disappeared.

So did the office…

He was seated in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles. His long, white fingers were knitted together as two men in black robes dragged a third man, clad in a gray, Muggle-style suit, into the pool of light cast by the candles. They forced him to his knees.

Harry stood up. "Look at me," he ordered the third man. As if he had no power to refuse, the man raised his head. He was young, and could have been called handsome anywhere but here; the terror was so intense in his wild eyes and pasty face that Harry could practically smell it.

"Wh-who…are…you!" the young man rasped. "Wh-what do y-you want with me?"

In a voice no less cruel, but rather coldly amused, Harry said, "With you personally, nothing. You are here as a matter of convenience."

"Wha—"

Before the man had a chance to speak again, Harry looked into his eyes, ignoring his choked sobs, and then through them, seeking information. He saw a white, domed building, bright and dazzling against the night sky, then brightly-lit hallways crowded with people, all of whom appeared to be Muggles, and a flag hanging in a doorway, an American flag, and more hallways, sloping downward, seeming to go underground…

"POTTER!"

Harry gasped. Snape was standing over him, still white-faced, still furious, and memory came flooding back. He sat up. "I saw—"

"I know what you saw, stupid boy." Snape was shaking with anger.

Harry gritted his teeth, remembering, too late the reason he'd come to Snape's office in the first place. Gone and blown it now, haven't I? he thought bitterly as the first twinges of shame started to creep in. But there wasn't time now. "I don't know if it was real or not, but we have to tell someone—"

"Shut up, Potter," Snape snapped. "I will report this new…vision of yours. You will remain here."

"But how did you see it?" Harry protested. Snape turned to him with the faintest sneer, and waved his wand toward Harry's head. Oh. Harry was too rattled by the dream to be angry now that Snape had been poking around his unconscious mind.

"You will remain in my office, and you will disturb nothing, Potter, or so help me, you will wish the Dark Lord had killed you," Snape growled. "Now stay here and keep quiet." He stalked out the door.

Silence came crashing down around Harry, leaving his mind far too free to think. And to remember. He sank to the floor in front of Snape's desk, drew his knees up to his chest, and started to shake. Why, why, why did it have to have happened now? Why here, right in front of Snape?

And how was Harry any better than Snape after the things he'd said? When he'd enjoyed it?

He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard footsteps coming back toward the door, but he scrambled to his feet as it opened to reveal Professor Dumbledore, trailed by Lupin and Snape. Harry felt himself cringe.

"Severus told us about your vision, Harry," said Dumbledore.

Swallowing hard, Harry nodded. "I don't know if it's real or not."

Lupin smiled at him. "Let us determine that. Are there any details you recall specifically?" Snape, behind Lupin, visibly bristled, as though offended that they were asking Harry at all.

Harry tried to remember everything he could. "The man they took…he wasn't British…the way he talked…I think he's American. His accent. And I saw an American flag in…wherever they were. What happened?" he asked in confusion.

Dumbledore said, "Lord Voldemort was penetrating the prisoner's mind, Harry. You were seeing the prisoner's memories."

"That explains why I didn't recognize that place," Harry mused.

"If the domed building was the U.S. Capitol, then the corridors were probably the underground tunnels," said Lupin, "where the American Wizarding Congress keeps its offices." Seeing Harry and Snape's confused expressions, he explained, "I've been there. Once."

"But the man looked like a Muggle," Harry said. "He wasn't dressed like a wizard, and I didn't see any wizards there."

Lupin nodded. "American wizards tend to follow Muggle fashions, for they mingle much more closely with them. The American Wizarding Congress works in the same building as their Muggle Congress. Hiding in plain sight, as it were."

"So this time he will target the United States," murmured Dumbledore.

"This time?" Harry asked carefully.

Dumbledore nodded in Harry's direction, keeping his eyes just over Harry's shoulder. "The Americas were largely left out of the last war, Harry. Lord Voldemort concentrated his efforts upon wizarding Europe. For that reason, it will be difficult to convince them to take action against him."

"And that, of course, is the reason he's doing it," concluded Lupin with a sigh. "We'll have to get in touch with their ambassadors."

"Immediately, Remus," Dumbedore agreed. He smiled at Harry and Snape. "Thank you for bringing this to our attention right away, Severus. We'll let the two of you return to your lesson."

Harry and Snape both reacted the same way: they gaped.

He knows, Harry realized with a sinking feeling as Dumbledore slipped out the door and smiled once more at them both. He knows everything that happened.

The door fell shut with a hollow thud. Harry's heart made a similar noise. He didn't dare look at Snape. What now? "What now, sir?" he heard himself mutter.

"You heard the Headmaster; the American wizarding authorities will be notified."

Harry took a deep breath. "That wasn't what I meant. I…want to keep trying."

Snape made a disgusted noise. "I don't especially care what you want, Potter."

"I know," Harry said quietly. "But it still has to be done." There was no answer. "He's watching. Always. He'll keep watching until I can block him."

His heart sank further as the silence went on, convincing him that Snape would see the whole wizarding world destroyed before he taught Harry anything ever again. But then, in the heavy silence of the dungeons, he heard Snape's voice, speaking in a low growl. "Take out your wand. Clear your mind."

It was all he could do not to gasp with relief. He didn't answer, but stood with his wand ready and concentrated on letting go of emotion—and wished he could do so permanently.