Chapter 1 – Getting A Few Things Straight

The walk back to the castle was distinctly unpleasant. Severus had already decided not to mention the letter as a reason for why he had fetched Potter early. He did, however, have a willing alibi in the Headmaster, who had been nothing short of delighted to hear that Severus had given in on the Occlumency issue. And he intended to use that to his full advantage.

"Professor Dumbledore has decided that your summer is best spent learning Occlumency. As there will be no classes, Quidditch, or classmates to distract you, I will expect better results," he said, preemptively.

Harry had suspected that this might be the reason for Snape's sudden appearance. He certainly couldn't imagine any other reason why Dumbledore would send his least favorite Professor to get him. He swallowed hard, and replied, "Yes, Sir," trying to sound less aggravated than he actually was. He must have succeeded, because Snape turned to him sharply, as if to verify what he'd heard. Harry forced his eyes to the ground.

Ever since he'd seen the pensieve the previous year, two strong and conflicting thoughts had been racing through his mind. The first was that he should never, EVER have looked in there. The second was that he wished he could have seen more of his father and mother. Side by side with the guilt and desire those thoughts brought him, was a deep melancholy over Sirius. He'd barely known him, barely had a chance to GET to know him, yet losing him was almost worse than not having any parents. And he'd had over a month to dwell on these thoughts. The letter Hermione had sent on his behalf had been little more than a succinct rewording of all the bits and pieces of pain and guilt and anger that his letters to her had shown, though she'd left out a good bit of the anger.

They made it to the castle door in silence, and Severus could hardly believe his luck. He'd been expecting a barrage of angry questions: I Why couldn't Lupin have come to get me? - Why can't I stay with the Weasleys? - Why do I have to learn from YOU/I But they never came. So, as the castle door closed behind them, he was required to speak again.

"You'll need to see Professor McGonagall to let you into Gryffindor Tower. I'll expect you in the Great Hall for breakfast with the staff at 7. Following that, we will meet at the lake." Without waiting for a response, or bothering to instruct him as to Professor McGonagall's likely location, Severus swept toward the dungeon stairs. He came to a sudden halt, however, as Harry called after him.

"Thank you, Professor."

His instinct was to turn and sneer, however he reminded himself that a lot was riding on Potter's state of mind just now, not least his own survival. He forced himself to turn slowly. "Indeed," was all he said. Then, with a short nod, he made his escape to the dungeons.

Harry stood for a moment in the hallway before beginning the climb to get to Professor McGonagall's office. He knew he could do this. He would spend the night re-reading the Occlumency books he'd purchased, and just hope for the best. That's all he could really do.

Breakfast was a heartening affair, in spite of the fact that he was the only student present. He was welcomed warmly by almost everyone still in the castle, which included only Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick and Hagrid. Everyone else seemed to have vanished. Oh, and Trelawny, but she didn't come downstairs. Harry ate well for the first time all summer, and found that the pressure of grief in his stomach eased marginally once his hunger was sated.

When Professor Snape stood to leave, Harry did as well, excusing himself to Hagrid, who had begun talking excitedly about the lime green Fwooper he was expecting delivery of in time for classes. They walked side by side to the lake, and it didn't occur to Harry that Severus, being still a head taller, had to measure his stride in order to accommodate him. The lake was still, the squid having not yet made an appearance to bestir the surface, and Harry drank in the sight of the reflected sky and clouds. He'd been gone only a month, but had missed Hogwarts a great deal, in spite of everything that had happened the previous year.

"Now, then," Professor Snape said sharply, cutting into his thoughts. "I don't believe that the procedure was ever properly explained to you the last time."

"Nothing was explained to me last time, you just attacked me," Harry pointed out sullenly, anger sparking instantly in his eyes.

The spark was mirrored as Severus snapped back, "SILENCE!" Then he stopped, turned his head to the side a bit, as if considering, and continued, his voice once again the low tone of disapproval to which Harry was accustomed. "I had hoped that, after your first abysmal attempt at defending yourself, it would occur to you to go to the school library and check out a book or two on Occlumency. Failing that, however – " he was just about to offer to explain the basics when Harry spoke, just as Severus had intended him to.

"I did – er – I mean, I have, since then. I read all the books I found in Flourish and Blotts after school was out," he stumbled over his words in haste, trying to get it all out before Snape had a chance to snap at him again.

"Indeed? Well then, perhaps we should start with you telling me what you've discovered so far." With that unusually forgiving statement, Snape gestured to the grass in invitation as he himself sank down onto it, robes falling into immaculate folds around him. Harry was very conscious of his baggy jeans and tee-shirt as he sat as well.

There were a few beats of silence, and Harry's eyes were focused somewhere out over the lake when Severus grew impatient. "And which books have you read?" he prompted testily. Harry's head snapped guiltily back toward him.

He rattled off the first three titles quickly. "Er - Your Mind Is Your Own, by Bennett, Alone In Your Head, by Hampton, Minding Your Mind, by Gingerich, and – " he hesitated, "Well, Lockhart wrote one, but I didn't buy it," he finished lamely.

Severus suppressed a sigh. So Potter hadn't purchased his own book, in spite of the fact that every book he named had cited his work as a reference. He was certainly going to have his work cut out for him. He was just shuddering as he contemplated how to go about being I nice /I to the boy as he told him to get back to the library and FIND more to read, when Harry swallowed audibly and continued.

"And Betwitching The Mind, of course. That was the first one I finished," he admitted quietly. He'd not really wanted to tell Snape that he'd read his book. It sounded way too much like something Hermione would say. Yet for just a moment, a look of approval stood out on his Professor's harsh features. It was so foreign, and so fleeting that Harry thought he'd imagined it at first. It was only much later as he lay in bed that he realized that it was only natural that Snape should be pleased to hear that someone had read his book. He'd obviously put a great deal of work into it, and even Harry had to admit that it was a better practical guide than any of the others he'd read.

The morning was spent talking over theory in somewhat less stilted tones than they'd begun with, and carefully avoiding one another's eyes. By lunchtime, Harry was truly beginning to feel as if Occlumency was something he could understand and master. Certainly if Snape carried on with being this – well, perhaps not pleasant, but certainly civil - it wouldn't even be such a chore.

The afternoon was his to do with as he chose, so naturally Harry dug out his broom and headed for the Quidditch pitch. He didn't come in until dark, and then only because Snape had set him some meditation practices before bedtime that he wanted to try. Now there was an odd thought: he actually WANTED to do the homework Snape set him.


Harry awoke in the morning as though someone had snapped two fingers under his nose. His whole body went rigid and his eyes popped open, but he didn't move. Light was streaming into the room, and through a gap in his bed curtains that he hadn't noticed the night before. He took inventory carefully. There were no sounds from the room at large. His fingers and toes all wiggled properly. He could see the ceiling just as well as usual (which wasn't particularly well, as his glasses were still on the bedside table). What was wrong then? For something certainly felt wrong to him.

Slowly his muscles unclenched, and he allowed himself to notice the pleasant warmth of the sheets around him. He sat up and put on his glasses, swinging his feet onto the chilly stone floor. That's when it hit him. No dreams. There hadn't been a single moment of the night when he'd woken in a cold sweat, or shouted himself awake. He could remember nothing at all after performing the meditation exercises Snape had recommended. He turned his head each direction, then gave a whoop and shot across the room, anxious to be dressed and headed downstairs to tell Snape.

Several minutes later he careened into the Great Hall at top speed, only to see that the Professor he was looking for was surrounded by several others with whom he was not quite ready to share his success. After all, it might just have been a fluke. Voldemort had to sleep sometime, right? Maybe he'd finally taken a night off or something. He checked his speed and plopped himself into a chair beside Professor Flitwick, cheerfully passing the syrup when asked, and completely oblivious to the long-suffering look Severus exchanged with the his Head of House.

On the way to the lake, Harry was silent. Somehow he just couldn't bring himself to talk to Snape about what a good night it had been. It had occurred to him during breakfast that it might sound too much like bragging, and the prickly Professor already thought him arrogant.

Severus, for his part, was eyeing the boy carefully. Obviously something had gone right, or he wouldn't be bouncing on the balls of his feet as he walked. Perhaps flying yesterday had put him into a better mood. They lowered themselves onto the grass as before, and this time Severus noticed Harry's discomfort over his clothing. "Potter, why don't you wear your Hogwarts robes?" he asked caustically. "Those are obviously too big for you." he gestured at the tightly belted jeans and huge tee-shirt that was all Harry had with him.

"I tried," Harry said defensively. "They're four inches too short and they look ridiculous."

Snape gave him a smirk as if to imply that they couldn't look worse than what he was currently wearing, however, there was little malice in it. Had no one taken the boy shopping? Hiding an uncomfortable twitch in his stomach, he asked him.

"Er – No. The Dursley's wouldn't ever go to Diagon Alley. I usually go with the Weasleys," Harry responded quietly, looking away from Severus' piercing gaze. It was never pleasant to admit such a weakness in front of the enemy. Harry flinched a little in guilt over that thought and looked back at Snape. He wasn't really the enemy, or at least, not the one that mattered. To his surprise, the Professor looked thoughtful.

"You have your book list?" he asked sharply when Harry caught his eye.

"Er- yes. Professor McGonagall gave it to me when I arrived."

"Get it. We're going to Diagon Alley." With that terse command, Severus stood up. 'Incredible,' he raged silently. 'The foolish muggles are housing the world's most famous wizard and treating him like a nuisance they can't be bothered with.' Of course he could read between the lines. He'd seen how the much the boy had eaten yesterday, and it couldn't be denied that he was looking decidedly thinner than he had at the end of last term. He wondered briefly how the Headmaster could allow it before he caught himself. Was he seriously considering that Potter's relatives should be I told /I to be nice to him? By whom? The Headmaster had never stepped in when Severus himself arrived back from holiday with bruises. Why should he do so for Potter, who didn't appear to actually have been harmed?

He shook his head and made for the castle. There were some things he could get in Diagon Alley today as well, and he needed his list. "At the castle doors in one hour, Potter," he spat, his disgust with his own thoughts coming through in his voice. He swept down the dungeon staircase without looking back. Harry, puzzled and annoyed as he wondered how he'd managed to anger the nasty bat this time, trotted up to Gryffindor tower for his bag of galleons and book list.

He was waiting impatiently when Severus appeared at the top of the staircase exactly an hour later. Wordlessly, they walked into the Great Hall. Severus handed a pouch of floo powder to Harry, who took a handful and stepped into the huge fireplace, calling, "The Leaky Cauldron," in a clear voice. Severus was a bit taken aback by this. He usually flooed to – oh. Realization dawned. The apothecary in Knockturn Alley was not a place Potter would likely be familiar with. Suppressing a wry grin, he followed him to The Leaky Cauldron.

Appearing in a cloud of black soot was not Severus Snape's preferred entrance, however he cast a cleansing charm over his robes, and then, eyebrow raised in distaste, over Harry as well, who'd obviously just picked himself up off the floor. With a knowing glance at the bartender, he put a hand roughly to Harry's shoulder and steered him toward the back door.

"Flourish and Blotts, Potter," he said crisply, striding in the bookstore's direction.

"Naturally," Harry muttered under his breath, not really caring if his angry tone was overheard. He'd spent the whole hour of waiting trying to determine what he could have done wrong this time. But he could think of nothing. Perhaps Snape was still angry at having to teach him, but it had seemed yesterday as though they would be able to get along.

In Flourish and Blotts, Harry saw several people he recognized. Terry Boot was getting his books as well, and Harry waved to him. Terry grinned and held up the fake galleon that had served as the signal for the DA the previous year.

Alarmed, Harry shook his head quickly and gestured to Snape, who appeared to be lost in reading the book titles in the Potions section. Naturally Snape knew all about the DA. Everyone did, now. But Harry didn't think that it would be wise to remind Snape that Harry had spent most of last year teaching the only useful Defense Against the Dark Arts course that Hogwarts offered. That was bound to stir the bad blood that was already between them.

He turned away from Terry and climbed the stairs, heading for where he'd found the Occlumency books the last time, and intending to purchase any new ones he saw. There was only one, and he carried it back downstairs with him, surprised to find Professor Snape already standing with his arms full of sixth year textbooks. "Find them all?" Snape asked, his voice not quite unkind.

Harry nodded and Severus noticed idly that he had, yet again, not purchased Lockhart's book. He smirked and turned to place Harry's books on the counter. Among them were several defense books that had not been on the book list, but Harry bit his tongue, rather than mention them.

The time at Madam Malkin's was the worst. She had always made a fuss over him, and Harry had always found it aggravating. But today, with Snape as an audience, Harry found it downright embarrassing. It didn't help that halfway through the process, Malfoy sauntered in. He noticed Harry first.

"Alone again, Potter? Or is that miserable oaf of a I game keeper /I waiting for you?" Malfoy sneered, purposely ignoring the fact that the game keeper in question was also a Professor. Harry was about to point that out when someone else spoke on Hagrid's behalf.

"If you're referring to your Magical Creatures Professor, Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you speak with a bit more respect," a smooth voice said from the vicinity of the door Malfoy had just slammed. The fair-haired boy turned, hiding his surprise behind an ingratiating smile, one that had gotten him out of trouble with even the unbending Professor McGonagall. It did him no favors, however, with Snape.

"Sorry, Professor," he said immediately, not sounding at all contrite. Snape only nodded shortly. Then, when Malfoy didn't immediately turn away, the aggravated Professor gestured imperiously toward the witch who was waiting to fit the boy for new robes. Malfoy took his place on the block, finally looking somewhat chastised.

"So you're here with Professor Snape, then?" he asked Harry snidely out of the corner of his mouth. Harry nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. It had been all he could do to keep his silence – his anger on Hagrid's behalf was as easily provoked as it had ever been. However he could see Snape's profile against the bright window. He was being closely observed, and he didn't wish to give the Professor any further reason to dislike him. He said nothing.

"What's the matter, the Weasleys couldn't afford the floo powder to drag you along this year?" Malfoy was starting to get annoyed, as Harry continued to stare straight ahead, obviously gritting his teeth, but not rising to the bait. "Or were you so overcome with grief that Dumbledore put you on suicide watch?" Malfoy knew he'd struck gold when Harry wheeled around, wand in hand.

Madam Malkin was thrown off balance and landed on her rear with a heavy thud. "Now, really!" she exclaimed, picking herself up inelegantly.

"Mr. Potter!" Professor Snape said angrily, striding forward. "Enough." Malfoy was smirking in challenge, but Harry reluctantly returned his wand to the pocket of his jeans, his jaw set. He didn't know why he was surprised that Snape had taken Malfoy's side. After all, that was how it always happened. It didn't matter that Malfoy had been baiting him. It didn't matter that he'd put a good deal of energy into resisting, either. In the end, in Snape's eyes, Harry had been weak, and revealed that weakness to Malfoy. The thoughts came to him in a sudden flash of understanding, and just as quickly, he realized that they weren't his own. He tried, feebly, to put up the Occlumency shields he'd read about.

To his surprise, an odd look passed over Snape's face. "Hold still, both of you," Madam Malkin scolded, having regained her feet. With a muttered word, she lifted Harry, block and all, and placed him several feet away from Malfoy. When Harry looked back at the Professor, there was no trace of whatever he'd been thinking. The features that were so familiar to him looked as harsh and unrelenting as ever, which Harry thought was just fine, as Snape was now talking to Malfoy.

"Do not be a fool, Draco," Severus whispered convincingly. "Whatever you feel for him, it is not wise to show enmity to the acknowledged savior of the wizarding world."

Draco looked mutinous, but Severus continued anyway. "Do not burn bridges until you have made your decision."

"That bridge was burned first year and not by me," Draco shot back harshly.

"Was it? Are you so proud that you'll never offer your hand to him again?" Severus' voice was bleak. Draco had told him about the incident on the train as soon as he'd arrived in the Slytherin common room that night. The boy had been near tears with humiliation. Imagine, a MALFOY being turned away by Harry bloody Potter. Obviously the embarrassment of that was still following Draco around, six years later.

Draco glared over the Professor's shoulder at Harry, who was purposely not looking at them. "I don't know," he whispered finally, his voice tinged with defeat. "If it's the only way."

"It may well be," Severus whispered, nodding in approval. "Bear that in mind when you're deciding whom to hex next month." With that tight-lipped advice, he turned back to Harry. "Are you quite finished?" he asked Madam Malkin impatiently, his voice once again at it's normal timbre.

"Nearly, Professor," she answered, ignoring his caustic tone. She had, after all, dealt with him since he was a boy himself. Harry ignored him as well, though his face was flushed. He was amazed to find himself somewhat angry over the whispered conversation that had just taken place. Had they been talking about him? Making fun of him together? Or was he only upset because it seemed so easy for Malfoy to talk to Professor Snape when it was so difficult for him?