So far, Harry had been able to neatly avoid Occluding anything too conflicting. Steering away from topics like the Dursleys (and, oddly, Snape), he'd sorted through his friends, class, Gryffindor tower, and the Hogwarts Express. All of these, being mildly safe subjects, had been shaped into tunnels and paths in his mind.

Snape had coached him through organizing the pathways into the very beginnings of a maze. He'd been alarmed to find, upon reviewing memories sorted a while ago, that several of the pathways had deteriorated. The general shape was still there, but the tightly compact and meticulously arranged assortment of thoughts had started to become loose. He had been alarmed, but Snape seemed to think this was not a big deal. He merely told Harry, "You are fourteen. You have never practiced Occlumency before. I'd be more surprised if they did stay where you put them the first, second, or even tenth time. Occlumency is a lifetime study. The focus and discipline required to maintain your mind maze is not something that can be learned in a month's time. Additionally, as a teenager, your brain is still developing. As you grow older, your abilities will develop with it."

Harry knew that speech was a long, Snape-speak way of saying "be patient and deal with it," but he had not been happy to spend an entire lesson redoing what he'd already considered finished and out of the way. At least it had been an excuse to not address any more difficult subjects.

Now, however, he stared blankly down at The Art of War, knowing that this lucky break wasn’t going to last much longer. It was raining heavily outside, a late summer storm having rolled in from the sea and settled in above the village. Snape had been oddly irritated by this. It was another of his rare days off, so Harry figured that he must not have been happy about being trapped indoors. Right now, he was pacing back and forth near the bookcase.

Harry tried to focus on the book again. Chapter VII., Maneuvering, wasn’t capturing his attention today. The thought of strategic troop placement and how to travel across land irked him, trapped and in hiding as he was. Giving it up as a lost cause for the moment, he shut the book over his notes and pushed it away.

“I’ll be back,” Snape abruptly said, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Keep studying,” came the unhelpful response, and Harry scowled as the door shut.

He reached for his Herbology textbook and flipped it open. Snape had been giving him assignments for all of his classes, and Harry had been forced to sort of teach himself most of the material. He wasn’t willing to go to Snape about it if he had trouble, so he struggled on. The professor always talked about any mistakes in his essays after he “graded” them, so he was usually able to understand it all in the end.

Snape wasn’t the best teacher. He’d known that since his first potions class. The man was harsh, unyielding, and impatient. He knew his stuff, but seemed to take the duty of imparting his knowledge to students as a personal affront.

In other regards, however, he wasn’t as terrible as Harry would have predicted before the trial. When he wasn’t trying to teach, he was more relaxed, and Harry had even noticed a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that could be funny when it wasn’t directed at him. He had also turned out to be not too bad at being a guardian, or whatever role he was taking now. They had just gone into hiding together, and Snape, being the adult, had been the responsible one. It had seemed natural, and Harry wasn’t too bothered about putting a label on it. Snape was in charge, Harry got away with what he could, and didn’t overly mind the rest.

He finished Herbology pretty quickly. It was a shorter assignment, which Harry thought might have been because Snape was tired at the end of the day and didn’t want to spend half an hour reading through all of his homework. Not about to complain about it, Harry paused his work to stretch.

The door opened, and Snape hurried in, looking slightly bedraggled from the rain. He shut the door quickly behind him, and Harry left the table to get a towel for him.

“Thanks,” Snape said, accepting the towel and rubbing his soaked hair. 

“Successful trip?” Harry asked sarcastically. Whatever it was for.

Snape gave him a slight glare and walked past him, towel wrapped around his shoulders. “Yes.”

No further elaboration came, so Harry huffed and returned to his seat.

“Where are you in your Occlumency studies?”

He stiffened. “Making progress.”

Snape walked past him, then rounded the table and took the seat opposite from him. “I think it is time we work through more difficult topics.”

Harry met his gaze defiantly, although he didn’t say anything. They both knew that Harry didn’t want to talk about Voldemort, the Ministry, or the Dursleys, because it would likely end in a fight

“No? What topic would you pick?” Snape asked, crossing his arms.

Harry stared mutely back, and Snape gave a knowing look, as if he’d guessed that Harry was out of easy subjects.

“Perhaps it would be best to begin where you began.”

The Dursleys, then. Harry cleared his throat and looked away. “Yeah, whatever.”

Snape narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment on his slight rudeness. “Childhood memories tend to feel different than more recent ones. Often, they hold stronger emotion, but the details are simplified and sometimes even cartoonish. In looking back and analyzing them, you may find that your perspective has altered.”

“Huh. The Dursleys still look pretty awful from this side of fifteen,” Harry mused aloud.

Snape looked briefly skyward, then settled his gaze on him again. “No doubt.” He sighed. “Begin by meditating.”

Harry reluctantly closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Blankness. Just blank. Nothing. Field of black. That’s it. The anticipation of the coming discussion had brought forth other memories, however, and the dark behind his eyelids no longer seemed so welcoming. The concept of blank emptiness reminded him too much of his dark cupboard, and his eyes flew open. Snape was still watching him and noticed, raising an eyebrow quizzically. Harry looked away and wrapped his arms around himself.

“I can’t do it. Not right now.” Not when he’d been thinking earlier about how Snape was taking care of him. It made the emptiness of his childhood hurt a little more.

“What is it?”

“I just don’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to have fish for dinner again, yet here we are.”

Harry could not dredge up a smile at the running joke, and Snape sat forward. “I know it isn’t easy, but you need to work through it eventually. You will never be able to properly Occlude if you ignore such a vital portion of your memories.”

Harry snapped, “Fine,” and closed his eyes again. He’d rather just get it over than talk about it. He tried to pull up his memories and begin sorting them, but each memory made him more upset than the last, and without the calm, he wasn’t able to control them.

The first step to organizing your thoughts is to sort out your emotions. That was what Snape told him when they first started these lessons. You will need to trust me at least a little for this to work. Did Harry trust Snape?

“Yeah, I do,” he answered aloud. It didn’t surprise him anymore.

“What was that?”

Harry looked at him. Clothes shopping, Occlumency lessons, and several days’ hike through the Highlands were running through his mind. “I don’t want to think about the Dursleys because I just want to forget about them. I don’t want to sort those memories, because I don’t want to cement them forever in my head.”

“I think they’re already ‘cemented’,” Snape said, “if the idea bothers you so much.”

“Probably.” Harry sighed and sat back in his chair. “I can’t just sit here and bring up all those memories. It’s impossible to calmly view them and parcel them out as if they don’t really matter. ‘Oh, here I’ll put the memories of weeding all day in the heat. And here I’ll put memories of running away from Dudley and his friends! And here, I’ll put all my special, fond thoughts about my cupboard!’”

Snape blinked at him. “Your what?”

Realizing what he’d said, Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “My, er, cupboard. Under the stairs. I slept there when I was really little.” Ten years old wasn’t all that little, but he didn’t want to admit that aloud.

“Those-” Snape swore, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. After several long beats, he looked up, dark eyes flashing. “Their treatment of you is inexcusable.”

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable but slightly warmed at Snape’s indignation on his behalf. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is,” Snape said firmly. He twisted his lips. “Harry, I’m afraid that your standards for treatment from adults aren’t where they should be. You’ve been sleeping on the couch for a month like some vagabond and haven’t mentioned it once.”

“The couch? That’s what you’re concerned about?” Harry asked, disbelief tinging his voice.

“You shouldn’t have to sleep there,” Snape argued. “I… regret that I’ve been unable to provide you with a bed before now. It is not because you don’t deserve better, but it’s taken a while to save up—”

Harry realized that Snape was genuinely bothered by this. “Sir, I haven’t said anything about it because I don’t care. I’m not some spoiled little kid,” he said, frowning.

“It would almost be easier if you were spoiled,” Snape said quietly.

“How would that be easier?” Harry demanded, still miffed that Snape would think that he cared about how much money the man made.

“Because then I could be mad at you.”

“What, so you’re mad at yourself instead because I know what it’s like to not have everything? Trust me, I know what neglect feels like, and this isn’t it.”

Snape’s flashing eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, knowing that Snape wasn’t happy with his tone but not caring. “Neglect isn’t when you don’t have something important. Neglect is when your relatives don’t care that you don’t have it.” He huffed, sensing that he wasn’t getting his point across. “The fact that you even bothered to bring it up: that’s the opposite of neglect.” He looked away from the still-disturbed look on Snape’s face. “I don’t mind not having a bed. I just don’t like that you think it makes you a bad guardian for not being able to provide one. If you just let me sleep on the couch ‘cause that’s all you thought I deserved, that’d be different. But even then, I don’t mind the couch. Don’t think that I’m some… some Malfoy who needs to have everything to be happy. As if I was upset about the couch, but just not saying anything ‘cause I was being noble or something.” He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t think of the right words. All he knew was that he’d mucked up what he’d meant to say. “Listen, Snape—”

“Do not address me like that.”

“Sorry, Dad it’s just kind of annoying when the only good guardian you’ve  ever had is acting like his best efforts aren’t good enough, when they are, simply because he’s trying.”

Snape’s face was a mixture of anger at his tone and shock at the sarcastic use of the term “dad”, but the anger won out when his brows drew together thunderously and he opened his mouth to retaliate. “You seem to be under the impression that I will tolerate disrespect outside of school grounds.”

Harry replied more calmly, but wasn’t ready to back down. “You seem to not have heard any of what I just said.”

They stared each other down for a long time. Finally, Snape rolled his eyes. “This does not pertain to the lesson."

“I disagree. I Think it has everything to do with it.”

Snape lifted his chin. “Oh, really? Why do you say that?”

“It’s all the same thing. It might alarm you to hear it, but you’re kind of taking their role right now. Feeding me, buying clothes, that sort of thing. Except you’re doing a better job of it than they ever wanted to. Not could, but wanted to. They easily could have bought me new clothes every year, and given me my own room before I went to Hogwarts, or any of the things they should have done, but they didn’t, because they never cared. And that’s what makes it hard to sit there all detached and sort those memories.”

Snape tilted his head slightly, anger fading into a look of thoughtfulness. He studied Harry, saying slowly, “You wonder why I, a teacher, would care more than your own family.”

“I told you that weeks ago,” Harry said.

“You did,” Snape agreed. “I believe the answer is not a matter of whose duty is stronger.”

“Then what is it a matter of?” Harry asked, frustrated.

“Common decency, perhaps?”

“The Dursleys never did have much of that,” Harry assented.

They slipped into silence, each in his own thoughts, until Snape spoke up.

“About the bed,” Snape began, giving Harry a look that told him not to get back into the argument of earlier, “I’ve made a deal with some men around the village. I will buy materials, and they will build a frame in exchange for dinner.”

“Why?”

“Because that is the sort of thing nice people do, I suppose,” Snape said, nose wrinkling slightly. “I will offer to pay them, but I doubt most will accept. As for the mattress, Amy Duncan will buy it, and we will pay for it in increments, with the rent.”

“Is that why you left earlier?”

“Yes.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

Snape huffed, as if frustrated by the gratitude, but luckily didn’t launch into another speech about how adults are meant to provide for children or what Harry “deserved”.

“Is there anything else about the Dursleys that makes it hard to Occlude?” Snape asked.

“Besides the fact that I get too angry to focus?” Harry asked wryly.

“That may be because you have yet to make peace with it,” Snape said.

“I’m not forgiving them,” Harry said flatly.

“I’m not asking you to. If you’re going to forgive anyone, forgive yourself for thinking their treatment of you was your fault.”

“What would I think it was my fault?” Harry demanded, even as something deep inside him ached.

“Because that’s what I used to think about my father,” Snape said.

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh.” Snape admitting that to him was extremely unusual. He was normally so closed off about personal matters.

“You really want me to learn Occlumency, don’t you,” he realized, a note of wonder in his voice. If his intensely private professor would admit something like that just to help him make peace so he could learn Occlumency, it really said something about the man’s dedication to teaching him. Remembering his earlier thoughts about how Snape hated teaching, it made him feel even more… what? Looked after? Cared for?

Snape nodded, looking slightly out of place, and Harry felt a rush of determination. “Okay. I’ll try my best.”  He shut his eyes, his newfound resolve helping him focus. 

He wasn’t able to get through all of his memories of the Dursleys by a long shot, but even the small fraction he did manage took a lot of energy out of him. He found, to his surprise, that the cupboard was actually easier to work with. The conversation with Snape about common decency and the bed—Merlin, the bed… Snape really was worried about getting him a bed?—helped him to view the neglect with a bit more resignation. It wasn’t alright that they’d done that, but it wasn’t because he didn’t deserve a room of his own. He stopped after about twenty minutes, psyche raw after being so deeply immersed in what were still pretty unhappy memories. Still, he’d made some small portion of progress.

“It’s a start,” Snape said when Harry told him as much. “And starting is always the hardest part.”

Harry nodded listlessly. Snape started making dinner, recognizing that he wasn’t quite able to do so at the moment, and Harry watched him work with a sort of tired wonder. Was this really the same professor that had sneered down at him in that first potions class, look and tone so clearly expressing how much he loathed him and felt him to be beyond hope of teaching?

“What are you making?”

“Fish,” Snape smirked.

“Really?” Harry mock-gasped. “I haven’t had fish since yesterday!”

“A rare treat for your hard work, then,” Snape said, and Harry smiled despite everything.