After his abruptly cut off talk with his godfather and former favorite teacher, Harry spent the weekend that followed involved in some serious thinking. Well, when he wasn't working on homework, writing essays, or studying for the OWLs.

He had retreated to the Room of Requirement for most of the weekend, telling only Ron and Hermione where he was, and explaining a partial truth that he needed to study without any distractions. His friends had not argued with him, and Hermione even said that this was a very good idea, because even the library could be too distracting at times. This had elicited a chortle from Ron, because when Hermione said something negative about the Hogwarts library, you knew that things were serious.

Hermione had simply rolled her eyes and gone back to her Arithmancy homework. Or, perhaps, it had been Ancient Runes.

The odd thing was, Harry did end up getting more work done in the study area produced by the Room of Requirement than he would have in the common room or, yes, even the Hogwarts library. The room seemed to know exactly what sort of chair and lighting would be best for him, and even included books that he had forgotten to pack, as well as supplemental ones he used for Transfiguration and Potions. Not that the second would matter. Harry was fairly certain that Snape would give him a 0 or a T on whatever he handed in for the rest of the year.

Even so, he put extra effort into his latest essay by the Potions teacher, hoping that he would manage an A. Unlikely, but as Hermione had said, it was all preparation for the OWLs.

She was usually right about exams, and Harry reckoned that if he and Ron had gone by her study schedule for their five years at Hogwarts, their grades would have been, if not as high as hers, a lot better than passing to reasonably good.

As a result of his newly found ability to concentrate, Harry had finished his work by Saturday evening, and after a brief dinner in the great hall, he managed an hour of studying Herbology before attacking the real reason he had retreated to this room.

Snape.

Specifically, the horrible memory he had seen in Dumbledore's pensieve, which had resulted in Snape returning and catching him, and canceling Occlumency lessons after throwing a jar at him. Sirius and Lupin hadn't exactly excused Harry's dad's behavior, only said that he was an insensitive and egotistical prat at the time. But he had changed, had grown up, and became a decent person.

Given that James Potter was dead, it seemed like the best answer he could hope for.

The real question was, what should he do next? Sirius and Lupin both wanted him to resume Occlumency lessons with Snape, but short of going back to detention with Umbridge, that was the worst way Harry could think of spending one evening a week. Having his brain attacked, forced to relive memories he hadn't even known he had, was not only painful, he didn't think he was improving in the slightest.

Besides, he didn't think they were necessary. Hadn't Harry been able to act as a spy all this time? Hadn't he saved Mr. Weasley? It simply didn't make sense that, once again, he was expected to remain in the dark.

On the other hand, Sirius had never lied to Harry or tried to keep him in the dark.

Of course, he might not have known what Occlumency lessons meant. For all Sirius know, it was hours of reading from an old textbook, then being tested on it. He had told Harry not to let Sirius give him a hard time, but how could he do that? Snape had let Harry know on no uncertain terms that the lessons were just that, even if it was under the guise of "Remedial Potions."

Anyway, Harry didn't doubt that Snape wouldn't resume them unless forced by Dumbledore, who was no longer physically present at Hogwarts.

But he could...(here, Harry swallowed in distaste) apologize to Snape.

He knew he had been wrong to invade his privacy. Anyway, the worst Snape could do would be take points (did Gryffindor even have any left by now to take?), yell at him, or assign a detention. Detentions with Snape were awful, but they weren't physically painful. (Here, Harry rubbed the back of his hand.)

All right. He swallowed again, and decided to apologize to Snape.

He thought that he might wait until after he got the essay he finished back.

One week later, Harry received his essay with a "P" but relatively few corrections. Steeling himself, he muttered to Ron and Hermione to go ahead without him, that he wanted a word with Snape.

Ron looked like he was going to be sick on Harry's behalf, and Hermione gave him an encouraging smile.

He took extra long cleaning up his Potions ingredients, and before he was finished, he was alone with Snape.

The Potions master glared at him before he had even opened his mouth.

Not that this was anything new to Harry.

Still, it was unsettling. And, suddenly remembering the image of a choking Snape, groping around for his wand among his father and his friends, Harry felt his own ability to breathe lessen.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape snapped.

Even though Harry was not within arms' reach of his teacher (did it matter, with his wand at his side), he flinched.

When he chanced another look at Snape, he thought that, maybe, the look of pure hatred on his face had softened. Not by much, just to his usual look of pure disgust.

Not unlike Uncle Vernon's or Aunt Petunia's, really.

"Sir," Harry began, his voice scratchy, and he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Sir," he began again. "I-I wanted t-to apologize about w-what I did in our last lesson in remedial potions--"

Suddenly, Snape had crossed the half a room distance between them, and Harry felt his arm being grabbed.

"What. Did. You. Say?" hissed Snape, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Not that it mattered, as there were suddenly mere inches between their faces.

Harry forced himself not to look at his feet. Encouraged, suddenly, by the fact that Snape could read minds (whatever he'd said to dismiss the wording of this), he looked into the Potions master's dark eyes, and repeated himself.

"I wanted to apologize, Professor," he said, clearly.

Snape's lip curled, and he suddenly glanced around the room. Holding Harry's arm more securely (yet, Harry had to admit, it did not hurt), he marched him in the direction opposite of the entrance to the classroom.

Harry followed--not that he had much of a choice. His heart began racing, though, and for a brief moment, he wondered if Snape was going to do to him what his dad had done almost two decades ago.

"Where are you taking me? Sir?" he asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

Snape made no reply, but stopped outside of his office. After pointing to the door, it opened, and he pushed Harry inside before shutting it, and then pointing his wand at it.

Probably locked it, Harry realized, trying not to shudder.

Glancing at the look of likely terror on Harry's face, Snape's face changed one more.

"Sit!" he barked, turning to take a seat at the desk opposite of Harry.

Harry sat, and surreptitiously put a hand in his pocket, just to make sure his wand was inside.

It was.

Snape placed his fingers against his chin, forming the outline of a steeple.

"I couldn't have you blabbing about what you had no business seeing when any student could have come bursting in," Snape explained, not unkindly. "You wanted to apologize, Potter. You will do it properly, here."

Oh. Well, that wasn't so bad.

"I am sorry," Harry began. "Not just for looking where I shouldn't have, although that was wrong of me." At Snape's slight nod, Harry continued, "b-but for what I saw. For what he did to you." He forced himself to look into Snape's eyes. "It was awful, what my dad did to you. Despicable, really. I couldn't believe he could have been such a git."

Snape let out a deep breath. "Indeed."

Harry looked at his own hands, which he had folded tightly on top of each other on top of the desk. So tight that they hurt.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

Snape nodded. "Did you tell anyone?"

"I told Sirius," Harry admitted. "To try to understand why he would do that."

Sirius seemed unsurprised by this. "Was that on the same day of the Weasley twins infamous exit?"

Harry hesitated, but the twins were long gone, and were in no danger of punishment.

"Yes. Sir," he said, softly.

Snape snorted. "I should have guessed you were involved."

"Not...exactly," Harry admitted. "They were planning something, anyway. When they heard that I wanted to talk to Sirius..."

"Ah, so they simply coordinated their havoc to arrange for you to chat with your mutt godfather," Snape acknowledged.

"Yeah, but, I swear, I didn't tell them why. Or anyone! Just Sirius!" Harry insisted, raising his voice.

"Control your temper, Potter," Snape said, raising his eyebrows. After a moment, he added, "I can see you are not attempting to lie to me."

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

Snape nodded, slightly. He studied Harry for a moment (probably trying to read his mind, Harry thought).

"Apology accepted. On both counts," Snape told him. "What you did was a gross violation of privacy, and I have no doubt that you were fully aware of this breech, but I can see that you grasp the magnitude of your error. Additionally," Snape added, rather reflectively, "you can now see what I was neither lying nor exaggerating when I told you, on multiple occasions, that your father was arrogant and conceited."

Harry bit back a retort--mostly because he had the evidence in his mind.

"Sir?" he asked, tentatively. "May I ask you a question?"

Snape stared at him for a moment. "Proceed."

"Was Sirius right? Did my dad get less arrogant?" Harry asked, staring down at his hands.

"He did," Snape answered, and his voice was softer, more gentle, than Harry had ever heard. "And do not let yourself think that what you saw was typical of what transpired on a daily basis between us. I did not become a Death Eater by sniveling as self perceived stronger wizards hexed and humiliated me. It was often James Potter and Sirius Black who hexed me together, because they knew that they had no chance against me on their own. However, I was easily able to beat them by my seventh year. I also managed to perform some rather serious and painful hexes on, shall we say, intimate areas that led to several visits to the hospital wing." He smirked. "Caused no small amount of trouble between him and Lily Evans, I am sure."

Harry reddened, but laughed in spite of himself. "I never thought I would say this, but I am sort of glad."

Snape smirked. "Do not unduly feel sorry for me based on that incident alone, Potter."

Harry stared at the desk. "It was still horrible, what he did. He should have been expelled, probably."

Harry felt a hand on his, but as soon as he looked up, it was gone.

"Indeed."

They were quiet for a few minutes, and it occurred to Harry that he should ask to be excused, only to realize that he was missing History of Magic, and Binns likely wouldn't have noticed that he wasn't there.

Snape cleared his throat. "Regarding Occlumency lessons."

Harry flinched. "Yeah?" Belatedly, he added, "Sir?"

"I will not resume teaching you. Not simply because of what you did, but because you have no aptitude for the subject. Granted, I doubt that you are trying very hard at emptying your mind, but you are no better after months of lessons than you were on your first day."

It was true, but it still hurt.

"I must stress, Potter, the importance of attempting to empty your mind at night," Snape continued.

"I don't know how," Harry admitted.

Snape looked surprised. "Simply imagine a place or memory or, perhaps, person, where or with whom you feel safe. Focus entirely on that. Let it consume you. Do this every night before you fall asleep."

Harry blinked. "That's all?"

"It's a discipline, Potter, and without the practical aspects, there is only so much it can accomplish. However, it is a starting point. If," he added, "you see marked improvement, and no further dreams from the Dark Lord, I may be persuaded to teach you further next year. Especially since, with your grades, it would take an act of Merlin to manage an Outstanding on your Potions OWL. And I accept no students below that, Boy Who Lived being no exception."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled.

"Moreover," Snape added, "in the event that you encounter anything out of the usual in your dreams, you are to tell your head of house immediately. Or me, but only if she is not available."

"Yes, sir," Harry repeated.

Snape placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. It was not comforting, but it was not painful.

"I mean it, Potter. The Dark Lord is likely aware of your shared connection, and while he cannot possess you, as he did to Miss Weasley, he can send you false visions to manipulate you. Is that understood?" Snape asked, sounding firm, but also intense.

Harry nodded, understanding. "Yes, sir."

Satisfied, Snape let go of Harry's shoulders. "Now, is there anything else?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir."

"Then, I shall write you a note of excuse for your next class," Snape said, reaching for quill and parchment. "Who is the instructor?"

Harry tried not to smile. "It's Professor Binns."

Snape snorted. "Just go, then."

He waved his wand at the door, and it opened. Harry entered, feeling oddly relieved. And trying not to smile at the image of a teenage Snape giving his dad (and perhaps Sirius) boils on his privates.

A/N: This idea came to me last night/this morning. There will be a second chapter featuring the vision Harry receives. If my Snape is OOC, I can only attribute that to a combination of wishful thinking on my end, and lack of practice writing him.

Reviews are always welcome!