A/N: EDIT: This fic has been edited for grammar reasons. Little things have also been fixed, and I have also added little bits here and there. Also, no sexual abuse happened anymore under the roof of Number Four Privet Drive; I feel that added too much serious to the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Harry Potter franchise, whether it be film, book, or anything else. This fic was written purely for the fun of it, and the only thing I get out of it is a few giggles and reviews. I do not make money from it, and don't intend to.

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Dear Harry,

I know you're probably not wanting to discuss this right now, and I'm not asking you to. However, I can see the point you made in your letter. I think you're right, although I loathe to admit it – not because you're right, though. Professor Snape definitely did have hours to tell the Order of our predicament before they got there, and since Sirius told you they came as soon as they heard… Yes, something is off. I really don't want to participate in your conspiracy theories, but… Everything you're saying just makes so much sense!

Which is why, Harry, I paid a visit to Diagon Alley the day I received your letter to buy you these books. They're on occlumency. Considering what you just told me, I think we can both agree that Professor Snape definitely wasn't teaching you properly. Just a flick through one of them and I discovered that all he was doing was open your mind further!

I will try to learn it myself, too. I'll send copies of the books to Luna, Neville, Ron and Ginny as well, but I think it's safe to say that Ronald won't bother.

You need to learn it, Harry. You need to be able to defend yourself against him, and this is the best way. I think it may be harder for you now than it will be for myself because of what Professor Snape did, but don't let that put you off. And if Snape being unable to read your mind isn't incentive enough, you won't get any more false visions with this! Apparently it even works like an eidetic memory when mastered properly, too, meaning studying will be easier. Not that that will encourage Ron, since it still involves work…

Don't pay me back. Think of it as an apology for not believing you when you said Professor Snape wasn't teaching you anything in those 'remedial' lessons. You've always been somewhat right with your instincts in the past, and yet I ignored that. I'm sorry.

If you need anything, owl me. I know it will be hard for you to get out of there. I'll tell you how much anything you order cost in letters, since I know you would never ask for anything if I were to pay for all of it.

Don't hesitate to ask me for anything.

See you soon, hopefully,

Hermione

That had been three weeks ago.

Since then, Harry had been working hard on his occlumency. The books Hermione sent had been more helpful than Snape had been in Harry's entire five years at Hogwarts. They gave step-by-step advice and instructions on the matter, and Harry learned that masters in the art were only rare because occlumency not only required a good deal of willpower, but sufficient magical power – although he honestly didn't understand the reason they'd given for that. It had been full of technical jargon that meant nothing to him, and Hermione's answer had only been slightly better. Something to do with getting trapped.

However, learning the skill had brought some interesting things to light – things he couldn't simply owl Hermione about.

There were blocks on his mind and magic.

It had all started when Harry had succeeded in meditation for the first time and entered his 'mindscape' as the books had put it. It was messier than Dudley's room a week before the end of summer, and that was pretty darn messy. He'd reasoned that it was the combined result of Snape's blunders and him having not organised it yet, which was what he was meant to do next.

But during his tidying up session, he had come across some strange things. The first and most innocent discovery had been that during a one-sided conversation while Sirius was babysitting him, the dog had concluded that Harry would grow to be an immortal philosopher with a grand knowledge of Egyptian poetry. How he reached that conclusion eluded Harry, who was mildly disturbed when he realised that Sirius was, for once, being serious.

Seems like Azkaban made him sane.

Then the nastier things were revealed. He'd been ecstatic when he found his magical core, but then he noticed how compact it looked compared to the description in the book, according to which he should have been able to see through it. But he couldn't. Returning to the land of the living, he discovered that it was a magical block.

He went through the steps to release it, naturally, as described in the book; they seemed to have predicted this for some reason. The results weren't quite as Harry expected; one minute the glowing ball wasn't even as wide as his arm span, the next it seemed to be glaring down at him from somewhere high above, as if to say "Who's tiny now, bitch?"

When he released it, though, a foreign magical signature washed over him. This was the signature of the binder, and even though he had no idea what the man's signature felt like, the moment he did feel it, he knew it just screamed "SNIVELLUS SNAPE WAS HERE!"

Ever so slightly pissed, he had examined the now multi-coloured core, which had merely been bright green before. Now it had swirls of pink and purple in it as well, which, according to the book, were signs of those fancy and rare abilities people whine about not having. The pink was his metamorphmagus power, and the other was, apparently, mage sense.

Looking back, Harry realised that there were times where he had accidentally and temporarily unblocked the metamorph power in times of emotional stress. Like the time his aunt had practically shaved him bald, for example. Hence why he hadn't accidentally made his hair flat; he hadn't been desperate for it to change.

The mage sense seemed to have been blocked right at the beginning of his Hogwarts career, however. Perhaps Snape had checked his mind for more recently developed abilities during a detention?

Pleased at his new fancy abilities, Harry had then continued to sort through his head. That was when he had come across the – okay, a – bane of his life. Voldemort.

Now, at first he was wondering how the hell Voldemort had got into his head without him noticing. That was when he realised it wasn't actually doing anything, save leaching off his magic. How he missed that strand of power pouring straight into snake-face's gaping mouth, he would never know – like how he'd never know why this Voldemort appeared to be naked and… masturbating.

It seemed relatively passive, but after staring at it for god knows how long, Harry concluded that this was probably what caused him to see into Voldemort's big ugly noggin, and even if it weren't, well, who wants old snake-face in their head? And that's beside the point, the fucking thing was leaching off of his magic!

From there, a grand – or not so grand – battle of the wits – okay, willpower – commenced. The fragment was determined to stay in his tortured noggin, but Harry was pissed that it had even dared enter his skull. So, it was greed vs. a teenage kid with territory issues – or not-so-issues – and who'd have thought? The kid won. Of course, the kid wasn't distracted by a sudden wave of pleasure spreading from his groin, but still…

Things seemed fine from there, although he did witness his parents having a good snog once or twice. His eyebrow had twitched at those memories. Parents or no parents, you just don't want to see that. But, a week later, his mind was clean and defended by walls, traps, insane creatures and a giant clown. Hey, who said Snape's not afraid of heavily made-up grinning fools? No one, that's who.

Having his magic unblocked had helped, too.

Apparently, a result of having his magic bound was that he was less quick-witted than he was meant to be, and more impulsive. Hence, Harry's hatred of Snape grew; it was Harry's impulsiveness and idiocy that had killed Sirius, both of which had been caused by Snape, and so therefore, combined with how he spent hours procrastinating rather than warn the Order, the greasy git was the one responsible for Sirius' death. He didn't even have a problem calling the bastard 'Snivellus' any more.

Once that nonsense was over and done with, he had sent a letter to Hermione.

Hey, Hermione,

You will never guess what I found whilst practicing. Can't mention it in a letter lest it get intercepted, but I promise to tell you later… so long as you master it too.

I have a grand plan. Think you can grab a few texts on animagi for your messy-haired friend?

Harry

What is his plan, you may ask. Revenge on Severus 'Snivellus' Snape. Marauder style.

He was going to fake insanity and prank him to real insanity.

Thus, his 'Dear Order' letters were going to slowly grow barmier over the next few weeks.

A few minutes later, Pig, Ron's owl, had fluttered excitedly through the still-open window. Ron's letter had been the same as usual; life's boring, he's hungry, Quidditch, subtle hints that Ginny fancies him – not that Harry cared; she may be pretty, but he'd never forget the insane fangirl she'd once been – whining about having a few chores to do. Looking back, Harry groaned upon realising that he'd only kept the redhead around out of fear of not having any friends. Now he wasn't semi-brain damaged, however, Ron seemed less of a friend and more of a parasite. He meant well, of course, but he just didn't like him as much now.

Replying as politely as possible before drafting a few letters to the other Ministry Six members to send later, Harry had considered what he should work on next. The first thing he did was focus on his mage sense.

He could feel the blood wards on the house, which didn't seem as strong as the headmaster had made them out to be. He could barely even feel them, which was quite a feat considering he could feel a mild tickling sensation from Hedwig's cage, and that only had an unbreakable charm on it!

Feeling a little foolish for his paranoia, Harry had begun to check his belongings for unwanted curses. His invisibility cloak had a tracking charm on it placed by Dumbledore (the reason he seemed to be able to see through it, he gathered, and decided to keep it just in case he lost it), but other than that the only suspicious things were the warming charms and comfort charms Dobby had placed on the socks he'd given him for Christmas. And that wasn't suspicious in the slightest, just really comfortable.

He was glad he'd checked, though. Pettigrew had lived in the dorm for three years before he buggered off, after all.

Back on track, though. Harry had then begun to practice legilimency on his unsuspecting relatives whilst keeping up the gradually-going-nuts façade. Who would have known that Dudley was beginning to actually like him? He wasn't sure whether to sing or puke. One thing he did know to puke at, though, was when he'd used legilimency on Petunia whilst she was remembering the, uh… fun she'd had with Vernon years back. He was pretty sure he was traumatised now. Funny really; he hadn't been very affected by events so far, and yet reading his aunt's mind once was enough to make him want to die tragically.

Whilst doing all this, though, he was gradually working through metamorphmagus skills - starting with growing his nails in various weird ways – and wandless magic. Why was he studying wandless magic, you ask? Firstly, it would be handy if he lost his wand or felt the need to do something while at the Dursleys – which he did, several times, in fact – and secondly… well, why the hell not?

Once Hermione had delivered some books on animagi, he got started on that as well. He had been slightly disappointed when he found out you had to brew a potion to find your form, but then figured that improving his potions skills would piss Snivellus off too. So he got Hermione to restock his potions kit and got to work.

Upon awakening from his drug-induced dream where he found his form, Harry's first thought was 'Right… shit.'

From that day onwards, the Dursleys wondered what the fuck he was playing at by slipping into the nearby forest for hours on end. That is until Dudders followed him one day, witnessed his first transformation and ran back home screaming.

Now, he was behaving pretty insane, even towards Hermione, who suspected he'd damaged himself some way during occlumency practice and only Harry's protests that you can't damage the mind through occlumency had stopped her from alerting the Order. It wouldn't be too long before they sent someone, and he had his suspicions on who it would be, considering Dumbledore's… unique ways.