It was lunchtime at Hogwarts and Severus was in his place at the staff table, despite the fact that he hated mealtimes as much now as he had when he was a student, twenty-odd years ago. Mealtimes in any school were always nothing more than a thinly disguised popularity contest, and, from his vantage point at the head of the Hall, he could easily look across the student tables and see the clusters that indicated the more popular students.

The Gryffindor table, as always, was one big mesh of activity, with students shifting and scooting around, moving from one seat to another every few minutes to speak with someone else. That entire House was easily the most 'fun' of the Houses, but also the most ill-equipt to face the realities of life. Even Potter and his little gang were not immune to the hustle and bustle of Gryffindor lunch life, and they laughed and talked as loudly as the rest of the lot. The Ravenclaw table was full of small groups, two students here and three there, their heads bent together, most likey discussing one assignment or another. Many of them had books open on the tables, some were scribbling at homework to make last-minute attempts to finish before the afternoon classes. Severus made a mental note of which of his students were engaged in furious writing; he would make a note to call on those students in class today. The Hufflepuff table was a constant in the Great Hall, with students sitting beside the same friends every day, their conversations always lively-looking, but never the reckless abandon of the Gryffindors. Of all the students, Hufflepuffs were the least interesting to watch. Finally, Severus' eyes drifted to the Slytherin table, and the corners of his mouth seemed to waver between a smile and a scowl. He could pick out the looks on individual faces, and he could guess what occupied their conversations. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were most likely plotting the latest and best way to sabotage Potter; Pansy Parkinson and her small gang were plotting ways to catch the eyes of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Two of the Third-Years were plotting a way to get out of their Transfiguration test, and a trio of First Years were plotting a way to sneak off into Astronomy Tower to meet a trio of Second Years who were plotting the same (they would eventually learn to keep their voices down, and if they actually tried sneaking out after curfew and Severus caught them, he had a feeling that they might learn that lesson tonight.)

Amber Carlisle sat at the end of the table, her attention divided between her bowl of soup and a group of Hufflepuff girls. From the looks of it, the soup had far less of her attention, and Severus' mind slipped back to their conversation two nights ago. Does the Sorting Hat ever make a mistake? she had asked him. She didn't think she belonged in Slytherin, and, just now, he wasn't sure he didn't agree with her. She looked positively miserable.

A sudden cacophany of hooting rising above a chorus of flapping wings announced the arrival of the daily post, and the Great Hall was inundated with owls that swooped and swirled through the air. Delighted squeals announced the arrival of anticipated packages, and a grown from the Ravenclaw table indicated that someone had received a Howler. Severus almost felt sorry for whoever it was, though he'd never gotten one, personally. He supposed no one had ever really cared what he did, one way or the other, enough for him to be given such an unpleasant piece of mail. In fact, Severus rarely got any mail at all. Apart from the occasional correspondance from one or another company he did business with, no one seemed to have his name. It was for this reason that he was marginally surprised when one of the owls broke that ranks from the students came to settle on the back of his chair, dropping a letter onto the table in front of him. He glanced up at the bird, which was hooting softly into his ear. "I don't have any treats for you," he murmured, rubbing her beak. She seemed to understand and fluffed her feathers, then nudged his head. Owls could be fascinatingly affectionate at times. He stroked her throat, and she preened, then took flight again, joining the other owls in thier exodus from the Great Hall.

Severus picked up the letter and peered at it, frowning slightly. He didn't recognize the handwriting, and the ink looked odd, like it was embedded into the paper. When he turned it over to break the seal, he had his second jot of surprise, as there was no seal. The envelope seemed to have sealed itself somehow. He poked at it for a moment, then found a loose corner at the top, which he placed his finger under and tugged gently. The envelope ripped, and he scowled as he removed the letter, dropping the envelope beside his plate.

Severus, it began, and he raised an eyebrow. If someone were familiar enough with him to address him by his first name, he would have expected some form of salutation.

I feel thoroughly ridiculous doing this, but she swore it would work. I'm not sure I'm convinced, though, but I promised I'd do it, so here goes nothing I guess. Frowning, he flicked his eyes to the bottom of the page, and frowned. The signature was scrawled so haphazardly that he couldn't make out the name. At least, that was what his assumption, since he presumed that the name was not "Natuii", which was what his eyes picked out of the angular script.

I meant to talk to you on Saturday, when you were here, but it seemed you were there one minute and then were gone before I could stop you. So I'm hoping that this owl finds you. An owl! What was she thinking? I mean, I've heard of pigeons and even St Bernards, but an owl? Severus frowned again, wondering who on earth would have sent him such a disjointed letter. Whoever it was, he hoped they'd get to the point soon.

Of course, I've just realized that if you do actually get this letter you're probably wondering what the hell I'm talking about, so I guess I'll stop worrying about the method of delivery. We met at Aislinn's memorial, I'm the one who showed you upstairs. Understanding dawned in his eyes. The scrawl at the bottom said 'Autumn'. Someone needed to give that woman penmanship lessons.

Aislinn wanted me to give you something, but unfortunately, it wasn't ready for you when you were here before. If I knew where to find you, I'd just bring it to you, but I don't, so I can't. But if you get this, please come and pick it up because... well, because I really can't keep it, but I don't want to give it away to someone else because it's rightfully yours and... I really hope that this owl (an owl?!?) does this right because... There was another jumble of words, but it was scratched out so effectively that even a teacher accustomed to reading through the scribbles of students who thought to conceal their mischief couldn't decipher it. It picked up again with a most unexpected statement that made his brows knit together.

I swear if she wasn't already dead, I'd kill her for making me do this. I hope you know what you're doing because I certainly don't. I'm including my address and phone number. Call me or write me or... or just pop in and knock on my door so we can arrange something but... I just hope you're more adept at getting in touch with someone than I obviously am. Honestly, I thought I'd seen it all, but an owl? Have you noticed I can't get past that? Severus thought dryly that it could be considered an insult to his intelligence that she'd even asked such a question. Of course he could see tht she was having a hard tmie accepting that she was communicating via an owl.

Well, it's been a "hoot". I hope you get in touch. Autumn.

Snorting softly at the pun, Severus tucked the letter into his pocket and momentarily considered sending his reply back with an owl, just to be contrary. He didn't think he would, though.

He spent the rest of the lunchtime wondering how he was going to get a message to some Muggle; he hadn't the slightest idea how to go about it, and he didn't relish the idea of asking anyone. Particularly not Dumbledore, who would use it as an excuse to try to prod him into talking, yet again.

hr

He was sitting at his desk marking a scroll on the reactive properties of nettle when he heard a knock on his door. For a moment, he felt an awful sinking feeling, and his mouth went marginally dry, forcing him to swallow before answering with a curt "Enter." The door swung open to reveal Harry Potter, looking every bit as apprehensive as Severus felt. There was a palpable tension in the air as the boy who lived stepped into the room.

"Shut the door, Potter," Severus ordered tersely, and the boy obeyed, shutting it with a soft click but remaining beside the portal. "Well, stop wasting my time. Sit." As he spoke, Severus pointed at a stool which was, rather conveniently and not at all coincidentally, beside his desk chair. Assuming he would be obeyed, Severus moved over to the cabinet, where his borrowed pensieve was encased behind closed doors, and then touched his wand to his temple. He pulled out three thoughts immediately, though one of them he didn't know why he bothered with, since it was the one the little brat had already invaded. Severus had no idea how much Harry had seen, didn't want to know, but even though he logically knew that the damage had been done, he didn't want to relive the experience if the little moron broke through his defenses by accident again. Unlikely, that, since the first time Harry had done it and Severus knew he was capable, but it was a possibility. After a moment's pause, he added a few more thoughts to the bowl of shimmering silver. Almost as an afterthought, he added the memory of finding Potter peering into the pensieve; this would go easier if he didn't have that thought swimming in his head.

He returned to his chair and settled himself into it, leaning back, his legs crossed, hands folded, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "Before we begin, I want to make some things very clear. First: you will touch nothing in this office, is that clear, Potter?" He waited until Harry nodded his understanding, and then continued. "And that is not an order of technicality. That you did not actually touch will not save your skin if I find you snooping again. Is that clear?" Again Harry nodded, and Severus continued. "Second: As I hope you realize, now, it is very important that you learn this. I am not entertaining you because I have nothing better to do, and certainly not because I enjoy your company. Given your new access within the Order, it is crucial that you learn to block out the Dark Lord. There is more at stake here than a few bad dreams." He sneered the last words, and leveled a cold look on his pupil. "Is that clear, Potter?" Again, Harry nodded, and Severus leaned forward. "Do not bob your head at me. I want to hear you say it."

The look on Harry's face was one of pure hatred, and Severus could have easily assured the boy that the feeling was mutual. "I understand," he replied petulantly.

"Excuse me, Potter?"

"I said I understand!"

Severus gave him a withering look. "I believe I have made it abundantly clear in the past that I expect you to call me 'Professor' or 'sir'. Nothing has changed that."

Harry's face twisted into something almost unrecognizeable. "I understand, sir," he hissed. "But I do not understand why I have to be respectful to if you do not have to be respectful to me."

For a moment, Severus considered the boy, holding him locked under a piercing gaze. On some level, he admired the courage it must have taken to say such a thing, and yet, that admiration was considerably dampened by the tone. And Severus' mood further darkened by the irrefutable logic behind the statement. Harry was watching him warily, as though thoroughly expecting to be given a detention for his lip, and Severus was close to fulfilling that expectation. He changed his mind, though, and said softly, keeping his tone carefully neutral, "Very well, Mr. Potter." He paused only long enough to savor the widening of the boy's eyes before a sneer curled on his lips. "And that's five points from Gryffindor. For impertinence."

Again, hatred flickered across Harry's face, but the expression faded. "Can I ask you a question, sir?" he asked after a moment.

Severus nodded. "You may."

"Why do you hate me?"

Momentarily taken aback, Severus' face almost softened for an instant. Almost. "I should think, Mr. Potter, that it would be rather obvious. But then, I do have a habit of overestimating the intelligence of others."

The boy looked as though he were about to retort, which Severus hoped he would, as it would steer the conversation to more comfortable waters for him, but damn the boy, he did not. "I'm not by dad, you know," he said softly.

Severus regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. "I know you are not," he conceded. "But you are many of the things I hated in him."

Once more, Harry looked as though there was a sharp reply on his tongue, and there was an edge to his voice. "I would never do the things I saw in your..."

"ENOUGH!" Severus swooped to a standing position and leaned over, bracing a hand on the corner of his desk, putting his nose barely an inch from Harry's. "That is the third rule, Mr. Potter," he hissed between clenched teeth, "You will not discuss your past transgressions." He stared menacingly for a moment, then moved back to his seat.

Harry was looking at his shoes. "Would it help if I apologized, sir?" he asked quietly.

"Not likely," Severus replied. "But it would be polite."

"I'm sorry, sir. I really am."

A silence settled between them, and then Severus nodded. "Apology accepted," he said softly. But transgression not forgiven. He cleared his throat softly. "Why is it so important to you?" he asked quietly, hoping that the boy could be serious for a change.

Harry hesitated, then glanced up at him. "Because I know what it's like to be bullied," he replied, almost fearfully. "And I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

After another moment, Severus nodded. "Very well," he said briskly. "Shall we begin? Empty your mind, Mr. Potter, and master yourself. Legilimens." He pointed his wand and immediately was rewarded with a vivid image of a younger Harry being surrounded by a half-dozen boys who were three times as big if not a year older. That image gave way to one of him lying awake and staring at a clock that said midnight. He was lying awake in the infirmary, his beloved broom shattered across his knees. He was in a dark corridor, screaming at a door. Suddenly, Severus stopped. "You are not even trying, Mr. Potter," he said wearily.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him, and there was pain etched on those emerald orbs. "I don't know how," he whispered. "I don't know how to keep you out. I would if I could, believe me! I don't want you seeing those things any more than you want me seeing your past!" By the time he finished, Harry was almost shouting.

Severus raised an eyebrow, but let the outburst slide. "Then prevent me from seeing it. Empty your mind. Now, one... two... three..." Severus immediately found himself face to face with an image of himself, outraged beyond reason, pulling Harry away from the pensieve, and once more Severus was treated to the expression on Harry's face, which, for the first time, Severus realized had not been pure fear over being caught. There was something far worse in it. He stopped the assault and sighed. "What do I have to do to make you understand, Harry?" he asked softly. "What do I have to do to make you see that this is not a game?"

"I know it isn't a game, sir," the boy replied, looking pale. "But I don't know how." The last was nearly a whisper.

"What have I been telling you?" Severus asked pointedly.

"To empty my mind," Harry replied promptly. "But how am I supposed to empty it with you digging around in it? Sir?"

For a moment, Severus was taken aback. How to empty his mind? It was like asking how to breathe. It was a simple matter of control, and it was not difficult and... And that's why you had such a hard time of it the other night, came an accusatory stray thought, which Severus shooed on its way. He studied the boy carefully for a moment, then nodded. "Close your eyes, Harry," he commanded, and when the order was not instantly followed, he scowled. "Really, Mr. Potter, if I were going to do anything unpleasant to you, I wouldn't bother telling you to close your eyes." After another hesitation, Harry closed them. "Now, I want you to picture your mind."

Harry's eyes opened again. "How am I supposed to picture something I don't know what looks like?"

Severus closed his own eyes and sighed. "Fine," he hissed. "Picture a closet then. There are shelves on the wall, and things strewn all over the floor. A very messy closet, Potter." It was a cheap shot, but oddly satisfying, made only less so by the fact that Harry obviously didn't realize that his mind was being compared to a disorganized closet. "Do you have that picture vividly in your mind?" The boy nodded, and Severus continued. "Good, now imagine that there is a trap door in the floor, with an empty space below it. Open the door and begin putting everything from the closet into it. Everything. All the shoes, any toys that are on the floor, anything on the shelves. Just... clear the closet of everything." Harry looked doubtful, but Severus hoped he was doing it. Hoped for both their sakes. After a moment, he murmured, "Legilimens," and edged towards Harry's mind again. After a moment, he delved further, pleased to find nothing. He continued to probe for a minute, and finally ran across a stray thought in Harry's head, though it was only that. Harry was bent over a parchment in a class. "All your thoughts," Severus said in a low, warning tone, and even the stray thought disappeared. After a moment, he stopped probing. "Much better, Mr. Potter. You may open your eyes."

Harry's eyes opened, and triumph flashed in them. "I did it?" he asked, incredulously.

Severus nodded, "Yes," he replied. "And that is what you are to practice every night before you go to sleep. Empty your mind of all thoughts. We will continue our lessons, of course. You may go."

The boy stood, and was halfway to the door before he stopped and turned around to look at Severus again. "Can I ask you another question, sir?"

"You may."

Harry edged a few steps closer to him again. "Why did you hate my father so much?"

Severus sighed and frowned. "Really, Potter, I would think that you had seen enough to..."

Harry was shaking his head, though, and interrupted. "Everything I've seen, you already hated him. I just wanted to know why. Sir."

Tilting his head to the side, Severus regarded his pupil thoughtfully for a moment. "It would be well within my rights to tell you that is none of your affair," he pointed out softly.

"I know, sir."

For a long moment, Severus was quiet, considering. He could tell Harry, easily enough, what it had been that triggered his hatred for James Potter. Or, perhaps more accurately, he was capable of defining it. He wasn't at all sure that he actually wanted to say it, though, and he was certain that he didn't want to relive the memory. "The first time I met your father was on the Hogwarts express," he said finally, closing his eyes. "I was one of the last students on board, and looking for a seat, and he slammed the door to the compartment he was sharing with Sirius and Lupin in my face. He told me that there was no room there for snivelling little gits." Severus opened his eyes and looked at Harry levelly. "I had a cold," he said softly. "And because I was ill, I earned a nickname from your father that caught on before we were even sorted into our Houses." That was, of course, a severly abreviated version of the story, but it was the bare bones of the truth. He purposely left out the exact words that James Potter had used.

"My dad was a jerk, wasn't he?" Harry asked softly.

Severus snorted. "He really was," he muttered. "He was fiercely loyal to his friends, and he treated them like gods, but the rest of us mortals..." he shook his head, and then suddenly realized how much he had told Harry just then. Eyes narrowing and voice growing cold once more, he lifted an eyebrow. "Is that all, Potter? Or shall I comment on your mother as well?"

Harry seemed torn for a moment, then nodded, astounding Severus. "What was she like?" he asked. "Everyone says she was super nice and..."

"She was," Severus admitted. "The only real fault she had was the lack of intelligence to fall for your father."

"But you called her..."

Severus scowled. "I know what I called her, Potter. Perhaps in twenty years, you will understand that you do not mean everything said in the heat of anger when you are young."

"Did you like her?"

What is your obsession with whether I like people or not? he wondered bitterly, but shook his head. "No," he replied. "I could only see that she was a mudblood. Though, I think perhaps if I had known her years later, when such things stopped being so important to me, I might have."

The answer seemed to satisfy Harry. Almost. "Can I ask you one more question, sir?"

"You may."

"What's the difference between you calling her... that... and my dad calling you... what he did?"

For a long moment, Severus stared at the boy. "I suppose," he answered finally, "that there is something to do with the fact that I have outgrown some of my youthful prejudices," he admitted. "Your father never did."

"Maybe if he'd lived long enough, he would have," Harry whispered, then stood. "Thank you, sir."

Severus just watched him for a moment. "Practice, Potter," he said at last. "I will know if you have not."

A/N: And incidentally, if anyone has ideas for the renaming of chapters, tell me. I'm awful at naming chapters.