Severus had to admit he was impressed as he examined the wall of fire. He could easily identify weak points—it was still only the beginning of the method change—but it was an impressive start, considering they had only had four Occlumency sessions since they resumed. Noting the weaknesses, he pulled from the boy’s mind. He met the green eyes for a moment before they closed, the normal headache rolling through the boy’s skull. He gave Potter a minute, watching the boy massage his temples to ease the ache. Eventually the Gryffindor sat up and looked at him, waiting for feedback.

“Have you been having nightmares still?” Severus asked.

Potter sighed. “Yeah, but they’re not as bad. Not as many.”

Severus nodded in mild approval. “There are still some glaring weaknesses in your barrier and this is where the nightmares will leak through. Also, where the Dark Lord will be able to get in.”

“I’ve tried to fix it, but nothing works,” Potter said.

“I imagine these weaknesses will remain while you continue to be stressed and refuse to acknowledge your own weaknesses,” Severus said, simply raising an eyebrow in challenge when Potter glared at him.

“Hard not to be stressed given everything going on,” Potter said tensely.

“Trust me, I am aware, Potter,” Severus said. “You might try speaking to someone about such things. Share the load, as they say.”

“Who do you talk to then?” Potter said, surprising Severus with his boldness.

“I have an immortal and a vampire that are quite persistent,” Severus said and Potter snorted a laugh.

“What about before them? Before they came back or before you ever knew them?” Potter asked.

Severus said nothing and Potter frowned.

“No one? You’re telling me to talk to someone when you never did?”

“It is called being a hypocrite,” Severus said dryly. Potter snorted again. “So, anything to share?”

Potter’s eyes dropped and he remained stonily silent. Severus sighed quietly, hearing Leif in his head, yelling at him to admit how he felt and step up with the boy in front of him. It had been a hard few days mentally as he reeled from and processed his fight with Leif, turning over the things the other man had said. Each time he’d seen Potter and Malfoy in those days had triggered roiling thoughts and odd emotions in his heart. He felt lost at sea in relation to the boys since being confronted with emotions he hadn’t known he’d felt or had been adamantly denying so directly.

He shook his head at himself and refocused on the Gryffindor. They had a lesson to get through.

“Very well,” Severus said and Potter raised his head again. “Try to strengthen your wall and I will attempt to break through. If I break through, redirect me as you have before.”

Potter nodded and Severus gave him some time to prepare. He didn’t know what to do or think about all Leif had said, but he knew he needed to get Potter to talk. He could see the draw everything Potter wasn’t saying was having on him and he knew it wouldn’t be long before it all broke the boy down. Secrets and pain could only be held so long before they caused a breakdown of some kind. His chest clenched as he remembered his own breakdowns over the years, though, at no point did he ever have anyone to witness or help except after Lily’s death.

“I think I’m ready, sir.”

For the second time, he pulled back from his thoughts and refocused on the boy. He gave a single nod and raised his wand, meeting the green eyes that were so much like her but not like her at the same time.

“Legilimens,” he said and found himself facing the wall of fire once again. It was truly an unexpected sight when entering someone’s mind.

He ignored the fact that Potter had managed to impress him in a branch of magic in which he was an expert and began examining the fire. It didn’t take long to find a thin spot where the fire seemed to be burning out and he immediately pushed through the opening. Now in Potter’s mind, he dove into the flying memories, searching for something that could get the boy talking. He found one easily—the reason they were focusing on blocking instead of redirection—and picked out a memory of a young Potter getting his small hand slammed in the oven door by his aunt. Fire engulfed the image as the little boy fell to the floor, sobbing as he begged for release. A strong wind flung him backwards and out of Potter’s mind.

He straightened and gazed at Potter. The boy was hunched over with his head in his hands, likely trying to push through the growing head pain.

“Potter—”

“I’m not talking about it,” Potter snapped. “I agreed to these lessons because of Voldemort, not to analyze my bloody childhood.”

“And I told you that you will never achieve full proficiency without dealing with your trauma,” Severus said.

“You did,” Potter pointed out sharply.

“Because it is the way my mind works,” Severus said. “Denial works for me. Anger works for me. These things do not work for you.”

“How would you know? You don’t know me.”

See them.

“On the contrary, I know you quite well,” Severus said. “You are much like I was at your age with a key difference.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” Potter said with a sneer.

“You held onto hope and light and kindness,” Severus said. “You believed these things could still exist while I did not.”

Potter seemed taken aback by his response and his forehead crumpled in clear confusion. The boy remained silent and it soon became obvious that he had no response of his own, so Severus stepped forward again.

“Come, try again,” Severus said.

“Not going to tell me the weak spot will be there until I talk?” Potter said, sitting up straighter in preparation.

“You are aware of that fact,” Severus said lightly. “It is up to you to do something about it.”

Potter shook his head, frowning once more, and took a minute to ready himself for intrusion. Once ready, his green eyes met Severus’ again and he gave a tiny nod.

“Legilimens.”

He faced the fire wall again, noticing that it seemed to be burning a little less intensely and there were far more weak spots. He sighed and broke through an opening in the flames, immediately diving into the boy’s memories. It was always possible for Voldemort to break through Potter’s block and the boy needed to learn how to react quickly when such an invasion happened. So, he moved fast, watching how Potter attempted to affect him and the memories with other elements. He could feel rushing air and could see how memories picked up speed. He remembered how Potter had concealed his memories in a whirlpool during their first return to sessions and how effective it had been. Perhaps it was another better method for the boy, though they would have to discuss endurance with Alexei to prevent magical drainage.

He filed the thought away and reached for a memory. He found himself watching Potter and Malfoy play chess and talk in the Hogwarts library. He frowned at the tightening in his chest as Potter expressed his desire to go back to Prince Manor and Malfoy agreed. The memory burned, then, and he prepared himself for the aggressive wind that threw him from the Gryffindor’s mind.

He gazed at the bowed head of messy hair, torn on what to think or feel. So many other voices were screaming repeated sentiments from the last three months in his head.

“You’re a coward,” Leif’s voice repeated.

As he considered the boy and the memory, he thought about the summer. He thought about all he’d learned about Potter and Malfoy—while acknowledging how much more he still had to learn—and how things had changed. He thought about the nights sat with the boys, the quiet sounds of them existing in his home and daily life, the times they expressed joy or excitement with Leif or Alexei, emotions that had seemed so foreign to them, and the feel of their magic around him and with his. Even now, he could feel how his magic hummed while casually interacting with Potter’s, could feel how Potter’s drifted contently around and within them.

His brain knew what it all meant, so why couldn’t he comprehend it?

“You are a coward,” Leif said again.

His forehead creased as he frowned at himself.

Was he?

“Potter—” he started—to say what, he wasn’t sure—but was interrupted by shining green eyes suddenly meeting his, eyes filled with what could only be labelled as pained loss.

“Don’t!” Potter snapped. “Don’t tell me I’m being stupid, that we’re foolish for wanting to go back. We know it’s stupid. We know you hated it and hate us and we can never go back.”

“Potter, I understand—” he tried again only to be interrupted once more.

“No, you don’t,” Potter said bitterly. “If you understood, you wouldn’t have done this.”

Severus frowned, confused. “Done what?”

“Been like everyone else,” Potter said and the pain Severus felt was startling. “Gone back to how it used to be. You’re just like everyone else, maybe worse because you made us think it mattered, but it didn’t, not to you. Thing is, it mattered to us, we just didn’t know or get it until it was gone.”

Severus could feel himself struggle to even breathe through the constricting of his chest. How had seven weeks done this when nothing else ever came close in twenty years?

“Potter,” he said, his voice almost hoarse, “it mattered.”

Potter stood, somewhat shakily, and shook his head. “No, it didn’t, not enough. We didn’t matter enough to make any kind of difference, but it’s okay. We’re used to not mattering.”

Was it possible for a heart to physically break?

He watched as Potter picked up his bag and headed for the door to leave.

You’re a coward.

“Potter—”

“Just don’t,” Potter said, his hand on the door handle.

The pain in the green eyes could have brought Severus to his knees and when in the hell had that happened?

“If you’re not going to be what you were this summer, then don’t be anything but our professor,” Potter said and he turned back to the door so Severus could only see just a sliver of his face. “Don’t be anything because, I don’t know about Malfoy, but I am tired of being left behind.”

And then the boy was gone and Severus was alone in the loudest silence he’d ever experienced. He stared at the door for a long while, trying to make sense of even a single thought or feeling. He tried to understand Potter’s words and the effect they were having on him, tried to understand his own reaction to the lamentable accusations and pitiful admissions.

He wasn’t sure when he sat in the vacated chair, his eyes glued to the floor but seeing absolutely nothing.

“You care for them, Severus,” Alexei said in his head.

“You cannot care for them,” Dumbledore said.

Images of the summer floated through his mind, showing him the not-so-smooth journey it had been and the progression of changes.

“See them,” Leif said.

There were legitimate reasons to pretend the summer hadn’t happened, to pretend nothing had changed. It was easier to pretend if he never acknowledged the changes in the first place. The danger they were in was already astronomical. How could he contemplate risking Potter and Malfoy by admitting anything, especially when the admissions included caring for the boys and such feelings put them at risk? It was a vicious circle.

You care for them.

He did, inexplicably. Somehow, in seven weeks, he had come to see Potter and Malfoy, and they lost their places as his most hated students. Now, he worried for them, wished they could have those summer days back, and wanted to see happiness replace the ever-present sadness and loneliness. He had found them to be kind, funny, amazing young men. He didn’t know how it had happened. He’d ensured he’d never make connections again, would never allow anyone into his life in such a way. He wasn’t willing to tempt fate again when it had hurt so many times before. Yet, here he was, wishing two boys were his in some way, damn the danger or consequences.

You cannot care for them.

He frowned at the repeat of Dumbledore’s callous comment. The man was right in so many ways. He didn’t know what it was to care for or take care of someone. He had only ever hurt those he allowed himself to have affection for and didn’t know the first thing about being responsible for children that weren’t just students. He was not a person anyone came to for help or care or security. He’d done the worst things and could never repent for such sins. He couldn’t tarnish others’ lives with his darkness.

We are all more than our mistakes, more than our guilt.

Images of the summer flashed again, allowing him to see the little moments. Potter and Malfoy had changed in their time at Prince Manor and changed for the better. Perhaps he had figured something out without even realizing.

He was unable to ruminate more as one of his biggest mistakes flared to life on his arm. He grasped the Mark in pain and hurried off, throwing every detail of his evening into the deep recesses of his mind.

Harry sat heavily on his bed, throwing his bag aside and swiping angrily at the tears that had begun to fall on his way from the dungeons. He was angry at himself for revealing what he did to Snape, for being incapable of just forgetting about the summer. He was just so tired between Voldemort and Umbridge and his friends and the nightmares. Being with Snape, despite still feeling residual anger, brought an automatic calm to both his person and magic, and it just made it hurt more when Snape tried to push the lie, that none of it mattered, and reminded him that he’d never mattered to anyone, not really.

Well…maybe there was one person.

He opened the drawer on his bedside table and pulled out the little mirror he’d gotten nearly two months earlier, but had yet to use. He tugged the curtains shut around his bed, crossed his legs, and made sure his face was free of tears before lifting the mirror to reflect his face.

“Sirius Black,” he said, and waited as the reflective surface clouded and began to swirl. Eventually it cleared and he was looking at Sirius.

“Hey, kid,” Sirius said with a wide grin.

Harry smiled. “Hey. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to talk. I’ve been pretty busy.”

“No worries,” Sirius said. “I’ve been kept busy, too, at least with information through Arthur.”

“Like what?” Harry asked.

“According to Arthur, something is happening in the Department of Mysteries and Fudge is suddenly all interested, interrogating Unspeakables and other Ministry employees. Man’s acting odd, apparently,” Sirius said.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Harry asked, remembering Alexei’s vague mention of another prophecy.

“No idea,” Sirius said. “There are whispers that it has to do with Voldemort, though, so be careful, kid. With that Ministry woman there at Hogwarts, Fudge could try to get to you through her.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to the bandages around his left hand, feeling the constant ache and sting. He looked back at his godfather.

“I’ve had a few detentions with her and she refuses to teach us any actual magic,” Harry said. “She really is awful.”

“You’ll have to do it yourself if you want to learn anything,” Sirius said. “She doing anything else?”

“She was appointed to Hogwarts’ ‘High Inquisitor’ the other day,” Harry said, rolling his eyes as he remembered the decree and the verbal announcement. “She’s going to start investigating the professors.”

“Looks like you kids really will be on your own,” Sirius said. “The teachers won’t risk their jobs.”

Harry frowned, wondering how right his godfather was. Would the professors step up and take the risk if they believed the school or students to be in danger? Or would they just lay down and let the Ministry take over? All the teachers seemed to hate Umbridge. It was hard to picture ones like McGonagall or Snape allowing themselves to be intimidated or threatened by the horrid woman.

“Just be careful,” Sirius said. “Enough about all that. Tell me how your first month back has been. What’s kept you so busy?”

“Honestly, classes mostly,” Harry said. “OWLs year is mad. There’s also Quidditch. Our first match is in two weeks.”

“Who are you playing?” Sirius asked.

“Slytherin.”

“Make sure you trounce them,” Sirius said and Harry chuckled. “Speaking of, did the little Malfoy snake show up at school?”

Harry tensed and frowned slightly. “Uh, yeah, he’s here.”

“Came skulking out of the shadows then after all,” Sirius said. “Shame. Could do without a Lucius clone rising through the ranks.”

“I really don’t think he is, Sirius,” Harry said. “A bunch of the Slytherins have been attacking him since the first day.”

“Just shows you can’t trust Slytherins,” Sirius said. “No loyalty. Traitors, all of them, even to their own.”

Harry couldn’t explain the level of discomfort he felt at Sirius’ angry, hateful stance on Slytherins. He couldn’t help but notice how similar Ron had seemed to feel.

“He doesn’t seem that bad,” Harry said. “He’s…changed. I don’t think I really knew him.”

The frown Sirius had adopted was severe, his stare hard. Harry swallowed thickly.

“What are you saying, Harry?” Sirius said. “Something you’re not telling me?”

Harry dropped his eyes from the mirror to a thread in his blanket he had started pulling at nervously. “Nothing. Not really. Just I’ve got him in some classes and we’ve worked…together and he doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Harry, you need to stay away from Malfoy. He’s learned from his bastard father and is probably a master manipulator. Not to mention he’s got Snape helping him out,” Sirius said. “You don’t understand what these kinds of people can do, but I know. Stay away from them.”

“Sirius, Malfoy’s in my classes and we’ve been made partners in some. I can’t avoid him,” Harry said. “And I can’t not go to Potions or Occlumency lessons.”

“What?”

Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d admitted. “Uh, I…I’m learning Occlumency to help with my connection to Voldemort and I’m learning from, uh, from Snape,” he stuttered. “It…it hasn’t been so bad, promise!”

“I’ll kill him,” Sirius said. “How could you keep this from me? Associating with snakes and Snivellus behind my back?”

“I…I didn’t—”

“What did they do to you?” Sirius demanded.

“What? Nothing,” Harry said. “They’ve…they’ve helped me.”

“Slytherins don’t help, they hurt,” Sirius said. “Now, tell me what they did.”

“Nothing, I swear!” Harry said frantically. “They offered to help and I accepted!”

“You willingly associated with them?” Sirius said with an air of disbelief.

Harry nodded meekly.

“What is wrong with you?” Sirius raged, making Harry flinch at the volume and pure anger that was clearly directed at him. “Are you out of your mind? They’re Slytherins! It’s Snape!”

“So what?” Harry said, voice far weaker than he wanted.

“Are you hearing yourself? So what?” Sirius yelled mockingly. “So, it’s Snivellus! You don’t know the things he did to us and your mother in school, how he hurt her! He’s a Death Eater!”

“He’s a spy,” Harry argued pitifully.

“I will never believe that. As dark as they come, Snape is, and you’re letting him brainwash you,” Sirius said. “Your parents would be disgusted.”

“What?” Harry breathed, unimaginable pain joining what had already existed.

“Slytherins are the worst of the worst, Harry. Your parents never would have allowed this,” Sirius said. “They would be so disappointed. I’m disappointed. I can hardly believe you’re a Potter, hanging out with Snape and Malfoy.”

Harry couldn’t stop the tears that had pooled in his eyes and instantly spilled over. “I…I’m sorry.”

“You have to stay away from them.”

Harry thought of his study and chess sessions with Malfoy, of standing up to Ron and Hermione and telling them Malfoy was his friend, realizing it was true and Malfoy was his friend. He thought of Snape, how, despite everything, the professor was still helping him with Occlumency and had helped him that summer, whether real or not. Like he’d told Snape, it all meant something to him and he couldn’t just let that go.

“I…I can’t,” he whispered.

“Then you’re not much like James at all, are you?” Sirius sneered and Harry winced. “Call me when you remember who you are.”

“But—”

The mirror was empty, showing nothing but his teary, green eyes. He dropped the mirror and stared unseeing at his comforter, mind racing with all Sirius had said. It wasn’t so different from Ron and Hermione calling him a traitor for hanging out with Malfoy. Would his parents really be ashamed of him too? Why was he being made to choose? Why didn’t anyone believe him that Malfoy, at least, wasn’t what everyone thought? Why didn’t anyone believe people could change?

He threw the mirror back into his bedside table and laid down, burying his face in his pillow. He’d finally found people that understood, that he liked and could care about if he let himself, but now he was being told it was wrong. He honestly shouldn’t have been surprised.

Having something that was just his wasn’t a luxury he was allowed. He wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worth it, was a freak.

He didn’t matter.

Harry had just propped up his Transfiguration text, pretending it concealed him from view, dropped his head onto his folded arms behind it, and closed his eyes when he felt someone sit next to him. He stayed as he was, hoping whoever it was would just go away.

No such luck, as per usual for him.

“I know you’re awake.”

Harry turned his head on his arms and scowled at Malfoy. “So what if I am? Doesn’t mean I want to talk or anything.”

The blonde gave him a small frown. “You haven’t since your Occlumency lesson on Thursday. I thought the lessons were going okay?”

Harry sighed and turned his head again, propping his chin on his arms and his eyes crossing as they stared at the textbook’s words that were far too close to actually read. He knew Malfoy was right. He’d been off for days, unable to get past his longing for what he’d had that summer or what Sirius had said that night. The nightmares had been intense as though he needed to remember every moment with the Dursleys or the graveyard or the other deadly events from the last four years. He’d even started seeing Halloween night again, heard the screams as though he were surrounded by Dementors. Every feeling he hadn’t realized had eased over the summer and even during the first month of school had returned with a vengeance. He was overwhelmed and he didn’t know how to deal with it. He’d never felt it so intensely all at once before and he didn’t know what to do.

“Potter?”

“Sorry, yeah, just…haven’t been sleeping well,” Harry said. “Lessons are fine, but memories get brought up, you know?”

“Right,” Malfoy said, his voice quiet.

Harry was sure he heard sadness in the blonde’s tone, and remembered everything he was also going through and likely feeling. He knew they were on the same page about Snape, which made it all the more difficult. They both wanted what they couldn’t have and what many thought they shouldn’t have or even want.

He sighed again, letting his eyes close as he felt a headache build at his tiredness and overactive emotions, his magic sizzling uncomfortably inside.

“What the bloody hell is the point in doing anything for Defense? Not like we’re actually learning anything.”

Harry’s eyes opened again at Malfoy’s grumbling. His eyes tried to focus on his Transfiguration textbook automatically and he nudged it to make it fall over when his eyes started to cross again. His eyebrows furrowed as he considered Malfoy’s complaint and replayed one of the few non-painful things Sirius had said three days earlier.

“You’ll have to do it yourself if you want to learn anything.”

Harry frowned at himself and the sentiment. Was it possible, to teach and learn Defense by themselves? They certainly needed to learn. Voldemort wouldn’t be around forever, but he was still a threat for now and, even when he was gone, they still needed to know how to defend themselves and fight. There would always be a threat of some kind and they needed to be prepared.

But…was it possible to do alone?

“Your silence changed,” Malfoy said, “which means you’ve gone Gryffindor and Snape won’t be happy.”

Harry lifted his head to more easily turn and glare at the blonde, especially when he found the smirk. “Have I told you how much I hate Slytherins?”

Malfoy snickered. “You’ve mentioned it. Now, what happened?”

Harry sat up a bit more, leaning on his crossed arms. “What if we did it ourselves?”

Malfoy frowned, clearly confused.

“Defense,” Harry clarified. “Like you said, we’re not learning anything, but we need to learn. So, what if we did it ourselves?”

“Are you mad?” Malfoy said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then, please, explain how we are meant to teach ourselves Defense,” Malfoy said. “Plus, who is included in this and how do we do it with Umbridge here?”

Harry chewed his lip as he thought. “We make it like a study group combined with the Duelling Club from second year. We have people sign up. It can be for anyone, all the houses and years. We all take turns teaching spells and techniques. Whoever is good at something, teaches it to everyone else. If we make it out to be a study group and make it look different for each house, Umbridge won’t notice or be able to say anything.”

He met the grey eyes which lost their confusion and disbelief as Malfoy clearly considered his abrupt proposal.

“Is that even possible?” Malfoy said. “Teaching ourselves?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”

“What about Leif and Alexei?” Malfoy said. “They’re not staff. They wouldn’t be at risk for helping with something like this. They could help with the actual duelling stuff.”

“And make sure we don’t kill each other,” Harry said.

“If you’re willing to include all the houses, definitely,” Malfoy said.

“You know which Slytherins to avoid,” Harry said, “and I know which Gryffindors won’t curse you or other Slytherins.”

Malfoy gave him an odd look. “You’re serious about this.”

Harry nodded. “I’d like to survive the next time I face Voldemort and I’m sure you’d like to do the same if you ever have to fight your father.”

He saw Malfoy’s face tighten briefly before it was replaced with contemplation again. He waited, going over it all himself. Could they do it? Could they teach themselves Defense, with or without Leif and Alexei?

“Alright, Potter,” Malfoy said eventually. “What’re you thinking?”