Last Year:

It was after Dark Arts. Harry sat in his seat even after left. Severus was busy doing work and he snarled under his breathe as he was bent over his desk, grading papers. The professor's greasy, black hair was falling down. Harry was fidget. Harry wasn't sure what exactly he was doing staying behind in class. When Severus looked up, he sighed. "What do you want, Potter?" Harry flinched slightly.

"Um...sir...?" Harry was trembling. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say.

"If this is about your dear, old Professor Lupin, I know not of his whereabouts, but I press to the fact that it is none of your concern." Severus barely looked up at Harry.

"It wasn't about that...well, some of it was, but there is more..." Severus closed his eyes slowly.

"Spit it out, boy. I have work to do." Severus didn't stop writing. Harry felt his eyes water. After everything we have talked about and have been through. Why must he still act coldly? But then Harry felt a rage. He didn't like how the professor before him wasn't even looking at him.

"It's nothing." Harry grabbed his things and walked out. Harry didn't look back. Harry walked to sit under the tree by the lake in front of Hogwarts. Harry let his head fall agaisnt the trunk of the tree and his eyes close.

Last Summer:

"Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word." Harry's mouth fell open in horror. Harry was in the Black's House. He spent a fair amount at the Burrows with the Weasley family, but now they were all in the Black Family House. Sirius was there with them. It was Sirius's house. Harry had gained a few pounds, for Mrs. Weasley made sure he ate. And his bruises and cuts and welts and what-nots were all slowly healing. Harry still kept up glamours. He didn't want to look too skinny in front of anyone. He wanted to look healthy...or at least healthier. He looked around at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully upon the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices.

"Snape?" said Harry blankly. How could he be here? Why would he be here? For me? What does the git want from me now?

"Professor Snape, dear," said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long." Mrs. Weasley pushed him a bit to get him going. Why does he have to do this to me? Is he here to jinx me? To torture me?

"What's he want with you?" said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room. Harry shrugged as he felt the blood drain from his face. He didnt want to deal with the crude professor. Nor did he even want to see the man in black during his summer.

"You haven't done anything, have you?" Hermione piped up.

"No!" said Harry indignantly, racking his brains to think what he could have done that would make Snape pursue him to Grimmauld Place. Had his last piece of homework perhaps earned a T? He pushed open the kitchen door a minute or two later to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius. "Er," said Harry to announce his presence. Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair.

"Sit down, Potter." Severus said coldy. Harry felt like he was in the principal's office. He felt he was going to be hexed and have to battle Snape. Snape of all people.

"You know," said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see." An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table.

"I was supposed to see you alone, Potter," said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, "but Black —" Harry let his legs shake. What is going on? Since when did Snape and Sirius ever want to be in the same room together.

"I'm his godfather," said Sirius, louder than ever. Harry flinched slightly. Oh no...

"I am here on Dumbledore's orders," said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel . . . involved." Harry looked back and forth at the two men. Harry himself was quiet. Please stop...the boy had hated hearing arguing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Sirius, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs with a loud bang. Harry made a small whimper sound that everyone ignored. Please...stop...Stop it! Harry wanted to jump up and hex both of the men, but he knew he would be punished.

"Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful," Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, "for the Order." It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry. "The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

"Study what?" said Harry blankly. His eyes were more open. What does Dumbledore want me to study? Snape's sneer became more pronounced.

"Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one." Harry's heart began to pump very fast indeed. Defense against external penetration? But he was not being possessed, they had all agreed on that. . . .

"Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?" he blurted out.

"Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea," said Snape smoothly. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?" "Yes," said Harry.

"Who's going to be teaching me?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I am," he said. Harry had the horrible sensation that his insides were melting. Extra lessons with Snape — what on earth had he done to deserve this? He looked quickly around at Sirius for support.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?" asked Sirius aggressively. "Why you?"

"I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," said Snape silkily. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He got to his feet. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them." He turned to leave, his black traveling cloak billowing behind him.

"Wait a moment," said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair. Snape turned back to face them, sneering.

"I am in rather a hurry, Black . . . unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time. . . ."

"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harry noticed, had balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harry was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."

"How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?"

"Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly. "Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand tip to his face.

"Sirius!" said Harry loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear him.

"I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better —"

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?"

"Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

"Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform . . . gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand.

"NO!" Harry yelled, vaulting over the table and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't —"

"Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harry out of the way, but Harry would not budge.

"Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape.

"Harry — get — out — of — it!" snarled Sirius, pushing him out of the way with his free hand. Harry felt a slight rib crack. He whined in pain as he gripped his chest. Severus Snape looked at Harry for a brief secon and Harry looked back. Severus let a curled smile sprend on his face. Of course he would like me in pain! That bloody git! I hope he is killed! Harry cursed. He didn't let his pain show any longer. He stood up, but he was dizzy. He noticed that out of the corner of his eye, Severus was enjoying the show. The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pajamas covered by a mackintosh.

"Cured!" he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. "Completely cured!" He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking toward the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces and Harry immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each of them, trying to force them apart. "Merlin's beard," said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, "what's going on here?" Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Harry looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, yet the unexpected entrance of so many witnesses seemed to have brought them to their senses. Snape pocketed his wand and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment. At the door he looked back.

"Six o'clock Monday evening, Potter." Harry left everyone in the kitchen. He was mad. But he didn't let anyone know. Instead, he went on his own in solitude to cut himself. He felt the breeze hit his fresh wounds and breathed in heavy. He didn't want anyone knowing he was in pain. And of all people, Severus saw! Snape. The professor who hated Harry since the moment he laid eyes on the boy.

Occlumency:

When school started on the first day of September, that night, at six o'clock Harry took toward Snape's office with anxiety. He paused outside the door when he reached it, wished he were almost anywhere else, then, taking a deep breath, knocked, and entered. It was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated slimy bits of animals and plants, suspended in variously colored potions. In a corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry- not without reason- of robbing. Harry jumped when Snape's cold voice came out of the corner. "Shut the door behind you, Potter." Harry did as he was told with the horrible feeling that he was imprisoning himself as he did so. When he turned back to face the room Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry, dislike etched in every line of his voice. "Well, Potter, you know why you are here," he said. "The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potions."

"Right," said Harry tersely. Bug off, git! Harry cursed. Harry tried to beg Dumbledore to have another teacher. But Dumbledore refused.

"This may not be an ordinary class, Potter," said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, "but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times."

"Yes . . . sir," said Harry.

"Now, Occlumency. As I told you back in your dear godfather's kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence."

"And why does Professor Dumbledore think I need it, sir?" said Harry, looking directly into Snape's dark, cold eyes and wondering whether he would answer.

Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, "Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency-"

"What's that? Sir?"

"It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind-"

"He can read minds?" said Harry quickly, his worst fears confirmed.

"You have no subtlety, Potter," said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. "You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker." Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savor the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing, "Only Muggles talk of 'mind reading.' The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter . . . or at least, most minds are. . . ." He smirked. "It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so utter falsehoods in his presence without detection."

Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind reading to Harry and he did not like the sound of it at all. "So he could know what we're thinking right now? Sir?"

"The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them," said Snape. "Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency."

"Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?" Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so.

"The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable- when you are asleep, for instance- you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord." Harry's heart was pumping fast again. None of this added up.

"But why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?" he asked abruptly. "I don't like it much, but it's been useful, hasn't it? I mean . . . I saw that snake attack Mr. Weasley and if I hadn't, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to save him, would he? Sir?" Snape stared at Harry for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.

"It appears that the Dark Lord has been unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions and sharing his thoughts without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had shortly before Christmas-"

"The one with the snake and Mr. Weasley?"

"Do not interrupt me, Potter," said Snape in a dangerous voice. "As I was saying . . . the vision you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord's thoughts-"

"I saw inside the snake's head, not his!"

"I thought I just told you not to interrupt me, Potter?" But Harry did not care if Snape was angry; at last he seemed to be getting to the bottom of this business. He had moved forward in his chair so that, without realizing it, he was perched on the very edge, tense as though poised for flight.

"How come I saw through the snake's eyes if it's Voldemort's thoughts I'm sharing?"

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name!" spat Snape. There was a nasty silence. They glared at each other across the Pensive.

"Professor Dumbledore says his name," said Harry quietly.

"Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard," Snape muttered. "While he may feel secure enough to use the name . . . the rest of us . . ." He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.

"I just wanted to know," Harry began again, forcing his voice back to politeness, "why-"

"You seem to have visited the snake's mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment," snarled Snape. "He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it too. . . ."

"And Vol- he- realized I was there?"

"It seems so," said Snape coolly.

"How do you know?" said Harry urgently. "Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or-?"

"I told you," said Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, "to call me 'sir.' "

"Yes, sir," said Harry impatiently, "but how do you know-?"

"It is enough that we know," said Snape repressively. "The important point is that the Dark Lord is now aware that you are gaining access to his thoughts and feelings. He has also deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse; that is to say, he has realized that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return-"

"And he might try and make me do things?" asked Harry. "Sir?" he added hurriedly.

"He might," said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. "Which brings us back to Occlumency." Snape pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his robes and Harry tensed in his chair. "Stand up and take out your wand, Potter." Harry got to his feet feeling nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them. "You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of," said Snape.

"And what are you going to do?" Harry asked, eyeing Snape's wand apprehensively.

"I am about to attempt to break into your mind," said Snape softly. "We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. . . . You will find that similar powers are needed for this. . . . Brace yourself, now. . . . Legilimens!" Snape had struck before Harry was ready, before Harry had even begun to summon any force of resistance: the office swam in front of his eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings. . . . He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy. . . . He was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn. . . . He was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin... No, said a voice in Harry's head, you're not watching that, you're not watching it, it's private. He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape's office had come back into view and he realized that he had fallen to the floor; one of his knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk. He looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark. "Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?" asked Snape coolly.

"No," said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.

"I thought not," said Snape contemptuously. "You let me get in too far. You lost control."

"Did you see everything I saw?" Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.

"Flashes of it," said Snape, his lip curling. "To whom did the dog belong?"

"My Aunt Marge," Harry muttered, hating Snape.

"Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been," said Snape, raising his wand once more. "You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand."

"I'm trying," said Harry angrily, "but you're not telling me how!"

"Manners, Potter," said Snape dangerously. "Now, I want you to close your eyes." Harry threw him a filthy look before doing as he was told. He did not like the idea of standing there with his eyes shut while Snape faced him, carrying a wand. "Clear your mind, Potter," said Snape's cold voice. "Let go of all emotion. . . ." But Harry's anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? "You're not doing it, Potter. . . . You will need more discipline than this. . . . Focus, now. . . ." Harry tried to empty his mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel. . . . "Let's go again . . . on the count of three . . . one- two- three- Legilimens!" His father and mother were waving at him out of an enchanted mirror. . . . Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at him. . . .

"NOOOOOOO!" He was on his knees again, his face buried in his hands, his brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from his skull.

"Get up!" said Snape sharply. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!" Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was.

"I- am- making- an- effort," he said through clenched teeth.

"I told you to empty yourself of emotion!"

"Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment," Harry snarled.

"Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!" said Snape savagely. "Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily- weak people, in other words- they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"

"I am not weak," said Harry in a low voice, fury now pumping through him so that he thought he might attack Snape in a moment.

"Then prove it! Master yourself!" spat Snape. "Control your anger, discipline your mind! We shall try again! Get ready, now! Legilimens!" A hundred dementors were drifting across the lake in the grounds toward him. . . . He was running along a windowless passage with Mr. Weasley. . . . They were drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor. . . . Harry expected to go through it . . . but Mr. Weasley led him off to the left, down a flight of stone steps. . . .

"I KNOW! I KNOW!" He was on all fours again on Snape's office floor, his scar was prickling unpleasantly, but the voice that had just issued from his mouth was triumphant. He pushed himself up again to find Snape staring at him, his wand raised. It looked as though, this time, Snape had lifted the spell before Harry had even tried to fight back.

As they tried once more...

He was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four House tables were gone. Instead there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time. Sunshine was streaming through the high windows onto the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light. Harry looked around carefully. Snape had to be here somewhere. . . . This was his memory. . . . And there he was, at a table right behind Harry. Harry stared. Snape-the-teenager had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping onto the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled. Harry moved around behind Snape and read the heading of the examination paper: defense against the dark arts- ordinary wizarding level So Snape had to be fifteen or sixteen.

His hand was flying across the parchment; he had written at least a foot more than his closest neighbors, and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped. "Five more minutes!" The voice made Harry jump; turning, he saw the top of Professor Flitwick's head moving between the desks a short distance away. Professor Flitwick was walking past a boy with untidy black hair . . . very untidy black hair. . . . Harry moved so quickly that, had he been solid, he would have knocked desks flying. Instead he seemed to slide, dreamlike, across two aisles and up a third. The back of the black-haired boy's head drew nearer and nearer. . . . He was straightening up now, putting down his quill, pulling his roll of parchment toward him so as to reread what he had written. . . . Harry stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at his fifteen year-old father. Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach: It was as though he was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes. James's eyes were hazel, his nose was slightly longer than Harry's, and there was no scar on his forehead, but they had the same thin face, same mouth, same eyebrows. James's hair stuck up at the back exactly as Harry's did, his hands could have been Harry's, and Harry could tell that when James stood up, they would be within an inch of each other's heights. James yawned hugely and rumpled up his hair, making it even messier than it had been.

Then, with a glance toward Professor Flitwick, he turned in his seat and grinned at a boy sitting four seats behind him. With another shock of excitement, Harry saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James's nor Harry's could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn't seem to have noticed. And two seats along from this girl- Harry's stomach gave another pleasurable squirm- was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky and was absorbed in the exam: As he reread his answers he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly. So that meant Wormtail had to be around here somewhere too . . . and sure enough, Harry spotted him within seconds: a small, mousy-haired boy with a pointed nose.

Wormtail looked anxious; he was chewing his fingernails, staring down at his paper, scuffing the ground with his toes. Every now and then he glanced hopefully at his neighbor's paper. Harry stared at Wormtail for a moment, then back at James, who was now doodling on a bit of scrap parchment. He had drawn a Snitch and was now tracing the letters L. E. What did they stand for? "Quills down, please!" squeaked Professor Flitwick. "That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! Accio!" More than a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick's outstretched arms, knocking him backward off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows, and lifted him onto his feet again. "Thank you . . . thank you," panted Professor Flitwick. "Very well, everybody, you're free to go!"

Harry looked down at his father, who had hastily crossed out the L. E. he had been embellishing, jumped to his feet, stuffed his quill and the exam question paper into his bag, which he slung over his back, and stood waiting for Sirius to join him. Harry looked around and glimpsed Snape a short way away, moving between the tables toward the doors into the entrance hall, still absorbed in his own examination paper. Round-shouldered yet angular, he walked in a twitchy manner that recalled a spider, his oily hair swinging about his face. A gang of chattering girls separated Snape from James and Sirius, and by planting himself in the midst of this group, Harry managed to keep Snape in sight while straining his ears to catch the voices of James and his friends. The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting with shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water.

Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn't tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry noticed his father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to make sure it did not get too tidy, and also that he kept looking over at the girls by the water's edge. "Excellent," he said softly. "Snivellus." James Potter grinned.

Harry turned to see what Sirius was looking at. Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting: Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face. "All right, Snivellus?" said James loudly. Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: Dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes, and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Snape's wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter. "Impedimenta!" he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet, halfway through a dive toward his own fallen wand. Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feet and were edging nearer to watch. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands up, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water's edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view. "How'd the exam go, Snivelly?" said James.

"I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment," said Sirius viciously. "There'll be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word." Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes.

"You- wait," he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. "You- wait. . . ."

"Wait for what?" said Sirius coolly. "What're you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?" Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but his wand being ten feet away nothing happened.

"Wash out your mouth," said James coldly. "Scourgify!" Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape's mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him.

"Leave him ALONE!" James and Sirius looked around. James's free hand jumped to his hair again. It was one of the girls from the lake edge. She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes- Harry's eyes. Harry's mother.

"All right, Evans?" said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

"Leave him alone," Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. "What's he done to you?"

"Well," said James, appearing to deliberate the point, "it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean. . . ." Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn't, and neither did Lily.

"You think you're funny," she said coldly. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone."

"I will if you go out with me, Evans," said James quickly. "Go on . . . Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again." Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch toward his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid," said Lily.

"Bad luck, Prongs," said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. "OY!" But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants. Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter.

Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, "Let him down!"

"Certainly," said James and he jerked his wand upward. Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, "Petrificus Totalus!" and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," said James earnestly. "Take the curse off him, then!" James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse. "There you go," he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, "you're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus-"

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" Lily blinked.

"Fine," she said coolly. "I won't bother in future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."

"Apologize to Evans!" James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him.

"I don't want you to make him apologize," Lily shouted, rounding on James. "You're as bad as he is. . . ."

"What?" yelped James.

"I'd NEVER call you a- you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can- I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK." She turned on her heel and hurried away.

"Evans!" James shouted after her, "Hey, EVANS!" But she didn't look back. "What is it with her?" said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

"Reading between the lines, I'd say she thinks you're a bit conceited, mate," said Sirius.

"Right," said James, who looked furious now, "right —" There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air. "Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?" But whether James really did take off Snape's pants, Harry never found out. A hand had closed tight over his upper arm, closed with a pincerlike grip. Wincing, Harry looked around to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage.

"Having fun?" Harry felt himself rising into the air. The summer's day evaporated around him, he was floating upward through icy blackness, Snape's hand still tight upon his upper arm. Then, with a swooping feeling as though he had turned head over heels in midair, his feet hit the stone floor of Snape's dungeon, and he was standing again beside the Pensieve on Snape's desk in the shadowy, present-day Potions master's study. "So," said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so tightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. "So . . . been enjoying yourself, Potter?"

"N-no . . ." said Harry, trying to free his arm. It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared.

"Amusing man, your father, wasn't he?" said Snape, shaking Harry so hard that his glasses slipped down his nose.

"I- didn't-" Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard onto the dungeon floor.

"You will not tell anybody what you saw!" Snape bellowed.

"No," said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. "No, of course I w-" Before Harry could finish, Snape was inside his mind. There he saw Lily Evans and James Potter. Sirius Black. Everyone dying in front of Harry. Everyone smiling at Harry. Or at least for the time they had lived. Snape has just witnessed Harry's memory of seeing his parents in the Mirror of Erised.

"Feeling sentimental?" Severus grinned crudely.

"That's private."

"Not to me. And not to the Dark Lord if you don't improve. Every memory he has access to is a weapon he can use against you. You won't last two seconds if he invades your mind. You're just like your father. Lazy, arrogant. Weak!"

"I'm not weak!" Harry wanted to hex Snape. He wanted Severus to die right there. He wanted to kill Severus.

"Then prove it! Control your emotions! Discipline your mind! Legillimens!" Series of flashbacks, including a touching moment between Harry and Sirius passed through.

"Sirius."

"I may vomit."

"Stop it!" Harry felt his throat burning as he wanted to cry.

"Is that what you call control?"

"We've been at it for hours. If I could just rest!"

"The Dark Lord isn't resting. You and Black, you're two of a kind, sentimental children forever whining about how bitterly unfair your lives have been, well it may have escaped your notice, but life isn't fair. Your blessed father knew that, in fact he frequently saw to it!" Just like that, Snape snapped at Harry. "Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!" And as Harry hurtled toward the door, a jar of dead cockroaches exploded over his head. He wrenched the door open and flew away up the corridor, stopping only when he had put three floors between himself and Snape. There he leaned against the wall, panting, and rubbing his bruised arm. He had no desire at all to return to Gryffindor Tower so early, nor to tell Ron and Hermione what he had just seen. What was making Harry feel so horrified and unhappy was not being shouted at or having jars thrown at him- it was that he knew how it felt to be humiliated in the middle of a circle of onlookers, knew exactly how Snape had felt as his father had taunted him, and that judging from what he had just seen, his father had been every bit as arrogant as Snape had always told him.

Harry let himself doze off in front of the lake. After this memory and waking up sweating and his throat burning with despair and anger, he felt his eyes get heavy and then shut. Harry felt calmer at the lake. The lake where Severus Snape felt the most calm at Hogwarts, too. Harry James Potter remembered and he cursed his father's name for bullying. But Harry let himself focus on the heavy feeling in his limbs as he dozed into a sleep.

Hey guys, I'm recovering this story to make it better. I will be making sure the timeline is matching with the sequence. I will also be using a lot from the books and movies to ensure the sequencing. I do NOT own anything from Harry potter. I give credit to J.K Rowling: The author of the Harry Potter universe! Leave reviews and inbox me with what you want to learn about or anything. Thanks.