Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters are the property of JK Rowling, Scholastic, and Warner Brothers, among others. I am making no money and no copyright infringement is intended. I love JKR and just want to play with her toys for a bit! (And don't bother suing. I am a lowly graduate student with no money whatsoever.)

Rating: PG-13 to R depending upon the chapter

Authors Notes: This fic is part of the Order of the Phoenix Harry/Severus Fuh-Q-Fest. Challenges: A3 (Harry goes to talk to Snape about his father), B6 (Harry is desperate to find out the truth about his father, and steals Snape's pensieve to view all of his memories of James) and C5 (Occlumency practice creates a link between Snape and Harry, and they start experiencing each other's dreams). 

Betas:  Wolf Lupin, Eowyn, and Julie (AKA: Mayfair98).  Thanks for all of your help!

Where the Apple Falls
Chapter Two: Lessons in Patience

            Severus Snape was not pleased. He paced his office wondering how he always got talked into such things. True, he was indebted to Albus Dumbledore. But why did he have to pay his debt by putting up with the spawn of his nemesis? The boy was just as arrogant and conceited as his father. Dumbledore, and in fact nearly the entire Wizarding world, had helped to make him that way. He was lauded as a hero for something he couldn't even remember. Everyone loved The-Boy-Who-Lived. Everyone wanted a piece of him.

            Not Severus. He couldn't stand the sight of him. He was the mirror image of the man who had made his school life hell. Granted, Severus had gotten in some pretty good shots of his own, but still. The boy brought back unwanted memories.

            Imagine his surprise when Dumbledore told him that the reason he was to carry on with the boy's lessons was so that he wouldn't be coddled. That was a nice change.  Usually he had to deal with Minerva's lectures about how badly he treated her precious Gryffindors.

            He looked at the clock behind his desk. It read "Time to torture the brat." Well, it was a particularly accurate clock.

            There was a sharp rap on his door. He waved a hand, and it opened.

            "You're late," he said.

            Harry said nothing. He walked over and sat casually on the corner of the desk, pretending confidence.

            "You're going to tell me the truth," he said.

            Snape smirked, seeing the boy's nervousness beneath the act. "And what, Mr. Potter, should I tell you the truth about?"

            "I want to know what my father was really like."

            "And you assume," Snape drawled, "That the memory you saw was a lie? Or perhaps you have rationalized it with the idea that I had somehow provoked the attack, that the memory was out of context? Or that your father and that mutt thought that I somehow deserved it because I was evil?"

            Harry shook his head. "I want to know the truth as you see it. I want to know both sides of the story."

            "Oh, do you now?" Snape said, his lips briefly jerking upwards in a near-smile that was somehow worse than a sneer. "You want to know the truth? That's very Gryffindor of you, Potter, but I'm afraid I can't help you. You don't really want me to tell you the truth. You want me to justify your father's actions. I will not do so."

            Harry sputtered in protest, but Snape just shook his head. The matter was settled. Snape raised his wand.

            "Now, Mr. Potter, clear your mind."

**********

            Harry asked the same question at every lesson for three weeks. Each time he received a similar answer; with Snape getting more and more frustrated each time.

            Eventually Snape just told him to stop asking.

            "Persistence will get you nowhere, Potter," he said, sneering. "Don't you have the brains to realize that I'm trying to protect you? You do not want to know about my interactions with your father."

            And that was that. Harry stopped asking. It was clearly not going to work. His Occlumency lessons, on the other hand, were going well. Harry eventually learned to anticipate and block most of Snape's attacks upon his mind. When Snape did manage to enter his mind, Harry was often able to drive him back. Occasionally, he pushed back too far and wound up traveling Snape's thoughts.

            Often, after such a lesson, he would catch Snape looking at him strangely. Once, just as he was about to leave, he heard an exhausted Snape mutter, "Well done, Mr. Potter" under his breath, as if he didn't wish to be heard. Harry had to struggle to keep from grinning. The git had actually paid him a compliment.

***********

            Harry found himself on the floor in the corner of Snape's office one afternoon during a particularly difficult session. Snape had just broken into his memories of Sirius and his guilt over his godfather's death. All of Harry's defenses had immediately crumbled.

            "Get up, you idiot boy!" Snape snarled at him. "We've got work to do."

            Harry curled up even further, away from the man before him. He was struggling not to cry. He had not cried over Sirius since the few days after it had happened. Snape would not see him cry now. He had no doubt that the man would take every opportunity to use such a display to humiliate him.

            "Dammit, Potter, stand up!" Snape said, more gently now. "You're going to have to withstand that type of assault. Voldemort will play to your weaknesses, Potter, and you can be certain that he knows what they are."

            Harry whimpered.  Snape sighed and ran a hand over his face.  This would become a stumbling block for the boy if he didn't soon let it go.  If Voldemort were to be able to access the boy's power they might as well surrender now.  He had been shocked at how much power the boy had.  More than Dumbledore, certainly.  It was uncontrolled and untrained, but in the hands of a wizard like Voldemort it would assure the worst kind of victory, in which only the winning side is allowed to live.

            Somewhat unwillingly, he held out a hand to the boy.  "If it means anything coming from me, Potter, it wasn't your fault.  Black was looking for an opportunity to get himself into trouble.  Besides," he added, playing into Harry's anger, "it's not like the mutt was actually a worthwhile godfather.  You're probably better off without him."

            Snape watched as Harry visibly pulled himself together by sheer force of will and stood up, refusing the hand offered him.

            "I'm ready, Professor," the boy sneered.

            Snape nodded and walked over to the desk where the pensieve sat. Harry watched carefully as the professor removed several thoughts and placed them into the bowl. After several trips from temple to bowl, Snape's wand finally stilled. He glared at the boy before him. He was rather annoyed that he had to glare up at the boy. Potter had somehow grown to be slightly taller than him.

            Snape prepared to enter the boy's mind. It was not an act that he particularly enjoyed. If nothing else, it had dispersed some of his more comfortable delusions about Potter's personality. He had wanted to believe that the younger Potter was just an arrogant show-off. Instead, he had found a mind filled with insecurity and self-loathing. The boy's memories, particularly the last few that he had entered, were not pleasant.

            Snape pushed, forcing his way in through the routes that he already knew were weakest. He felt the boy pushing back. He could almost feel the determination emanating from him. The fight was purely mental, but had someone walked into the room during the encounter they would have seen Snape baring clenched teeth with the effort, glaring at a boy who appeared totally relaxed.

            Harry pushed back. He had suddenly found this particularly easy. Snape had given him a hint, somewhat. He was looking for weaknesses in Snape's defenses. Knowing what he knew about Snape, finding his weak spots proved simple. Before he knew it, he was in his Professor's mind. He knew what he wanted. He wanted memories of his father. Unfortunately, as Snape had warned him, the mind was not an organized file system. Images and sounds appeared garbled and out of place, swirling about in no particular order. Harry was aware of Snape's attempts to force him out, but he pushed on. Seeing something that appeared vaguely familiar, he felt his way towards it. He found himself outside of a house that he recognized, despite the fact that he had not seen it since he was a baby. He moved forward, opening the door to the house that he knew to be his home.

            Snape chose that moment to force him back, violently. He was vaguely aware that he had returned to his own body, yet it felt as if Snape was still with him. He tried to push at the slight Snapish feeling bit in his mind but it would not budge. It even seemed to push back. He sat up slowly, exhausted. He looked around the room and blinked at what he saw.

            Every piece of glass in the room had shattered, including the glass in the clock. It was lucky that the door to the storeroom was closed; most of the potion ingredients were still safe. He and Snape were in separate corners. Snape looked as if he had been thrown against the wall and fallen. Harry supposed he didn't look much better, but at least he was awake. He carefully walked over to the Potions Master, avoiding the broken glass. He was leaning over the man when he opened his eyes.

            "Potter," he said, "you will not do that again."