The day wore on at a painfully slow pace, but nothing untoward happened. In fact, Severus didn't think anyone could have found anything the slightest out of the ordinary about his actions. He had been his normal scathing, biting, controlled self, and if his students had gotten on his nerves, there had been nothing to indicate it. And they had. Every single class he had, someone had seen fit to ask him if he was feeling better. And his answers had become more scathing as the day wore on, but other than that, nothing even tempted him to lose control of his temper.

Now, it was dinner time, and if he wasn't in the Great Hall, at least he had an excuse, and it was one that even Dumbledore and Poppy acknowledged—he had a bloody lot of scrolls to grade, and they were quickly reaching the point of 'unmanageable'. He was going to be glad when the week was over, and the essays quit coming in.

The only balm to his irritation was that Kitty was curled up on his desk, purring as he slept, and every time Severus glanced at the cat, he couldn't help but shake his head and smile. He'd argued with the feline for about half an hour, picking up the kitten and putting him on the floor again, but it never lasted long before Kitty was on the desk once more. Finally, Severus had given up, and Kitty had curled up to nap. Idly, he reached out a hand and stroked the kitten's throat, earning a shuddering purr for his trouble.

He turned his attention back to the scrolls he was grading—Sixth Year NEWT class now—and reabsorbed himself in the essay in front of him. Those independent studies were actually going a fair distance towards making him feel better about the entire situation; it wasn't as bloody boring to grade twenty different essays as it was to mark twenty of the same. And, it did pique his interest slightly to see what the students had chosen to study. The scroll in his hand was a study of the effects of the lunar cycle on healing potions. Much of it was speculatively, though well-documented, and while Severus didn't buy three points in ten that the student had made, he couldn't help being impressed at the logic used to reach those conclusions. It almost made him wish he had the time to pull this Hufflepuff aside and speak with her at length.

A timid knock on his door brought his eyes up from the scrolls and he regarded the portal sternly. "Come." After a second's hesitation, the door opened and a small, dark-haired head peeked inside. "Yes?" he asked, his voice a little colder and more distant than was probably strictly necessary with Amber.

"Professor Snape," she whispered, slipping inside and closing the door behind her, her eyes wide. "I heard you were back," she said softly, "and I just wanted to see if you were feeling better."

For a moment, he had the most ridiculous impulse to ask if Professor McGonagall had offered extra credit for this as well, but he resisted the urge. "I am, thank you. Did you come all the way down here just to inquire about my health?"

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Yes," she replied, sounding unsure.

He just stared at her for a minute, then put aside the scroll he'd been marking and gestured at the other chair beside his desk. A chair that was there because Potter would be here in half an hour to continue his Occlumency lessons, but for the moment was vacant.

"How are you, Miss Carlisle?" he asked, reminding himself that whatever the other students may or may not do or say, Amber was a special case. He hoped.

She sat, looking frightened again, and he was reminded of the night in the Slytherin Common Room when she had been so afraid of him. "I'm okay," she replied softly, still watching him warily. After another moment, Severus sighed.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, and she bit her lip. "Do I need to write you a pass somewhere? To the library? To Madame Pomfrey?"

Amber's face turned red, but she shook her head. "No," she whispered; a painful-sounding whisper.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, beginning to lose a little of his patience. Why wouldn't she make this a little easier and just tell him what was wrong?

She shook her head. "No," she whispered, sounding pained once more.

"Are you ill?"

"No."

"Is someone mistreating you?"

"No."

He was running out of ideas. "Is there something you wished to talk to me about?"

Silence. He met her silence with silence of his own, but after a long pause, he became acutely aware that he hadn't the time to outwait her. With a sigh, he moved his chair so he was facing her, and regarded her levelly.

"Are you going to tell me what is wrong, or am I going to have to play twenty questions, Miss Carlisle?" he asked. "I haven't the time for games, but if you've something to say, I will listen."

Her eyes grew bright. Bloody… he grimaced and opened his desk drawer, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to the girl just as a tear slipped down her cheek. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Not at all," he replied, hoping she would say whatever it was she'd come to say.

She brushed the tear away with her hand and sat there, knotting the handkerchief between her fingers for several minutes, and the seconds ticked by, Severus vowing patience but feeling his conviction slowly slipping. He hadn't the time for nonsense. At least, though, she wasn't crying.

"Miss Carlisle?" he prompted once more, keeping the irritation from his voice, but only just. She looked up at him, her lower lip wavering, and he sighed deeply, then stood. Two steps carried him to her side, and he knelt at her knee, his hands braced on the arms of the chair. "I cannot help you if you won't tell me what's wrong," he told her, as gently as he knew how, though he was aware that his gentle still fell well short of certain other people's harsh. He had half a mind to send the girl to Pomfrey or Sprout or one of the other dozen or so women in the school who were much more adept at such things than he was. Why did she keep coming to him?

Amber nodded, and took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. Severus hoped his own steeling was somewhat less obvious. "It's my mother," she whispered, and Severus frowned. Why was she telling him about her mother? "She's going to take me out of Hogwarts," Amber quivered. "She wants me to go to Beauxbatons next term. She says…" there were tears flowing freely down her face this time, and Severus reached for her hands, gently disentangling the linen from her fingers, and pressed it against her cheek. "Thank you."

"What does your mother say?" Severus asked, trying his best to be patient but finding it difficult.

"She says she won't have me staying here under a Muggle-loving Headmaster and that Hogwarts isn't worth the classification as a school of wizardry and witchcraft when most of the students here are Mudbloods and…"

Severus exhaled slowly, and then stood, taking Amber's hands in his own and pulling her up. "Why don't you write your mother, and invite her to talk to me. As head of Slytherin, I might be able to change her mind." He was sure he'd be able to, actually. He'd changed many a concerned parent's mind regarding the suitability of Hogwarts, including some who were likely far more prejudiced than the Carlisles. He couldn't imagine anyone being worse than the Malfoys about such drivel.

"Really?" He glanced down at her again, and his heart suddenly made its presence known again, clenching unaccustomedly in his chest at the look of adoration in her eyes. He'd seen students look adoringly at Hagrid, or at Dumbledore, or even at McGonagall. And some even at that charlatan Trelawney, but he'd never had a student look at him with such frank reverence. It made him marginally uncomfortable.

"Really," he replied, placing a hand on either of her shoulders and steering her to stand in front of his desk. "Now, I think it's time you met someone. I'm writing you a pass to the library, Miss Carlisle, and I wish you to make a study of the relevance of organic vs. inorganic materials in potion-making. You will find a number of books in the section on magical plants; and I expect it will take you at least an hour of studying there. And you may write your mother that I will be more than happy to talk with her, that she only need let me know ahead of time." As he spoke, he scrawled a note on a slip of parchment, and then offered it to her. "The section on magical plants, Miss Carlisle," he repeated. "And if you are having a difficult time finding the books, you might ask one of your older classmates."

Amber nodded hesitantly, and then whispered, "Thank you, Professor Snape."

"Of course," he replied, standing again and placing a hand on her back, ushering her towards the door.

"You know," she said softly, "I'm glad I'm a Slytherin now."

"Really?" he asked, perplexed. "Why is that?"

"Because if I were anything else, you wouldn't be the Head of my House." She grinned and all but ran out the door, leaving him to stare, bewildered, after her. Females, he decided, were a mystery at any age. Shaking his head, he turned back into his office and seated himself, finishing marking the scroll he'd been reading, and then adding it to the small stack he'd finished. A stack which contained, among others, a scroll on the necessary balance of organic and inorganic ingredients in Healing potions, written by one Hermione Granger, whom he strongly suspected was in the library at that very moment researching the next portion of her essay.

There was a knock on his door and Severus looked up from the scroll he'd been marking. "Enter," he called, wiping his quill and replacing the lid on his bottle of ink. The door swung open, and in stepped Harry Potter, and Severus fought one of his customary waves of nausea at the thought of an hour with the miserable little prat. Why wouldn't Potter just learn these lessons and be done with it? It would make everyone's life so much easier.

"Well, have a seat, Mr. Potter," Severus said, gesturing to the chair by his desk as he stood and walked over to the cabinet. He touched his wand to his head, removing a silvery strand of a memory and depositing it, swirling, into the borrowed pensieve. "Have you been practicing?" he asked in a soft, neutral tone, casting an obsidian eye to his pupil.

"Yes sir," Potter replied, sounding as he always did at first—determined to behave and to make this as inoffensive as possible.

Severus deposited the last of his most painful memories into the bowl and closed the cabinet door, then seated himself in front of Harry. "Well, then, let's see how you've done. Legilimens."

He plunged immediately into Harry's mind and watched the boy's face carefully as he began to sift through the layers of memories. Harry was lying in a bed in the hospital wing, his friends telling him that Hufflepuff had won the Quidditch match. He was staring at his empty cauldron, a cauldron from which Professor Snape had just vanished his potion. He was staring down a corridor in the Department of Mysteries. Severus sighed. "Finite," he recited, almost boredly. "Are you even trying, Mr. Potter?"

"I wasn't ready," Potter retorted peevishly, and Severus snorted.

"Do you think the Dark Lord would give you warning? You must always be ready, Potter. Now, let's try again, and this time, just to satisfy my own doubts that you're even making an effort, I want you to keep me away from any memories involving the Headmaster. Legilimens."

Harry was carrying on a conversation with a snake in a zoo, the rest of the world seemingly oblivious to the boy's presence. He was staring at a cake with uneven lettering on it. He was opening his Hogwarts letter, reading the invitation to school. He was sitting under the Sorting Hat. He was listening to Dumbledore's opening speech his First Year. "Finite," Severus sighed. "You cannot tell me you did not see that coming, Mr. Potter. Why did you not stop me when I saw the Hogwarts letter?"

A scowl crossed Harry's face. "I don't know, sir," he spat, and Severus shook his head.

"Then I suggest you figure it out," he said evenly. "Try that again. Keep me from any memory involving the Headmaster. Legilimens." Harry was sitting in the Great Hall, Hermione on one side, Ron on the other, their heads bent together and speculating about their Charms Final. Severus directed his attention to the staff table, but Harry deflected the memory away from Dumbledore and settled it on Flitwick instead, and then turned him to a scene of the tiny professor decorating a Christmas tree. "Much better," Severus murmured, allowing himself to be directed away from the Great Hall.

Harry was a child again, sitting on the bottom stair in a tastefully decorated house, watching as three others opened Christmas gifts, an unwrapped box at his feet. There was a set of shoelaces in the box. Severus lingered, watching as Harry picked one up, sliding it through his fingers, tears running down his cheeks. Severus turned his attention to what Harry's cousin was opening; an odd-looking box that obviously meant more to Harry than it did to the wizard who'd never seen anything with so many buttons on it. In the present, Severus watched Harry's face, and noted almost distantly that the boy was blinking rapidly. "If you don't want me to see it," Severus said softly, "turn me away."

The scene flickered, and Harry was painting the trim on a house. He was bringing lemonade to a woman and a man. He was staring at a photo of his parents dancing. He was dancing with Pavarti Patil at the Yule ball. He was sitting at the table with the staff on Christmas his Third Year. Severus saw himself and Dumbledore open a cracker, but the image disappeared almost as soon as it had formed, well before the vile vulture-topped hat appeared. Harry was opening Christmas gifts while Ron watched. Harry was opening Christmas cards. He was opening birthday cards. He was writing birthday cards. He was writing a letter that began "Dear Professor Snape." Severus stopped abruptly. "Better," he commented, and stood, walking briskly to the sideboard and retrieving a tea cup, then, almost as an afterthought, looked over his shoulder at his student. "Do you want tea, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked suspiciously at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No sir," he replied, and Severus nodded, filing his cup with water and then touching his wand to it to heat it. He dropped a bag in it and moved back to his chair.

"Very well. Again. Legilimens." Harry was sharing tea with Lupin and Severus came in with a goblet of Wolfsbane potion. After Severus was gone, Harry frantically warned Lupin that he, Snape, would do 'anything' for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, to which Lupin merely smiled and drank the potion. Harry was in the astronomy tower with Lupin, facing a dementor. Harry was on the shore of the lake, trying desperately to fend dementors away from Black. The Harry in the chair beside Snape's desk had a longing look on his face, and suddenly, Severus found himself watching as the perspective shifted, and Harry was across the lake, forming the Patronus which had so impressed Severus. Harry was leading a Hippogriff to the cell where Black was being held. "Finite."

Severus stirred his tea thoughtfully for a moment, and took a sip before he spoke. "Did you intend to show me that, Mr. Potter?" he asked softly after a moment.

"Yes," Harry replied rebelliously.

"Why?" Severus settled against his chair, watching his student closely.

"Because," Harry replied evenly, "I wanted you to know who did it."

Severus snorted softly. "You lack maturity, Mr. Potter, though I suppose that at your tender age that might usually be forgiven. However, I would hope that you would have the sense not to show your enemies those memories that they might hold against you."

"Are you my enemy, sir?"

For a moment, Severus was taken aback, and he only stared. Was he Potter's enemy? Not really. He wouldn't lower himself to considering a child an enemy, not without good reason. Of course, from what little he'd seen of himself through Potter's eyes, he had a fair indication that Potter considered him an enemy. Which made him wonder why he'd shown him that image of freeing Black. "If you need ask, Mr. Potter, it is best you plan for the worst contingency. If you do not know, then the answer is yes. Anyone you are unsure of is an enemy."

"Why won't you answer real questions for me, sir?"

"I wasn't aware that you'd asked any questions I hadn't answered."

"I asked about your childhood."

"And I told you it was none of your affair," Severus replied smoothly, taking another sip of his tea. "The fact that it was not the answer you sought does not make it less of an answer."

"Why won't you tell me if you're my enemy?"

Severus sighed and placed his teacup aside, and then his wand, and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I'm going to tell you something right now, Potter, from a man who has lived his life in a precarious position to a boy who is shaping up to do the same—I was being entirely truthful when I told you that anyone whose loyalty you doubt is your enemy. If you have reason to ask, then there is no reason I could give that should make you believe me, even if I were interested in convincing you of my intentions, which I am not. Choose your friends wisely, Mr. Potter, and always remember how your parents met their end—through the betrayal of a man they thought to be their friend. Take care what you trust to other people, and you will live far longer." Having thus dispensed the unaccustomed bit of unbiased advice, Severus leaned back in his chair again and took up his teacup once more.

"Is it worth it to live longer if it's without any friends?" Harry asked softly.

"I wouldn't know, Mr. Potter, and that is a decision you would have to make for yourself. I tend to think living is preferable to dying, though, yes."

"You haven't any friends, have you?"

A scowl flitted across Severus' face. Surely even McGonagall couldn't blame him if he lost his temper with the insolent little prat. "I fail to see how that is any of your business," he said pointedly.

"And why is it so important that you not tell me?" Harry challenged.

Severus cast his gaze skyward for a minute and shook his head. "Yes, Mr. Potter, I have friends. I am not so deprived of social interaction as you and your classmates like to imagine."

The look on Harry's face said clearly, Who'd be friends with you? Severus ignored the unspoken question. "Legilimens," he said suddenly, and he plunged into Harry's mind. Harry was walking with Ron, who was saying 'it's no wonder she hasn't any friends', and then Hermione brushed past, tears in her eyes. Harry was making a face as Colin Creevy pestered him about an autographed photo. Harry was listening somewhat sympathetically as Moaning Myrtle bemoaned her friendless fate.

Tired of the line of thought, Severus used that memory to delve deeper. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting around a cauldron in that bathroom, brewing the Polyjuice Potion (Professor Snape cringed at the thought of what those three idiots could have done if they'd missed an ingredient in that one.) Harry and Ron were changing into Crabbe and Goyle, and infiltrating the Slytherin Common Room (Snape exhaled sharply as he realized that for half a term, a pair of Gryffindors had walked around knowing the location of and password to the Slytherin area.) Slowly, Severus filtered through the layers of memories surrounding the events of four years ago, looking for an image of Dumbledore, but Harry seemed to have learned how to head him off. Severus picked up a bit of speed, moving more quickly through the fleeting images, challenging his pupil more and more, but Harry continued to deflect him, and, after fifteen minutes of finding nothing, Severus was ready to call the exercise a success.

As he opened his mouth, though, the tables suddenly turned on him. He was fourteen and standing at the edge of the Great Hall, watching everyone else dance, too afraid to ask any of the girls. He was twenty-three, and one of his Second Year students set a cauldron on fire, catching him unprepared and very nearly killing half a dozen students. He was standing in front of Dumbledore's desk, listening with downcast eyes as the Headmaster chastised him for a particularly thoughtless comment to one of his older students who had been of a rival house when he was still in school. McGonagall was relieving him of his teaching duties for the week. None of the memories were more than a flicker as Severus deflected Harry from each of them, and then finally hissed, "Enough!" and closed his mind entirely to the prying student. "What do you think you were doing, Mr. Potter?"

Harry scowled. "Trying to distract you," he answered, his eyes flashing defiantly.

"A bad idea. I liked your stinging hex last year better."

"Of course," Harry replied petulantly. "It is fine for you to rummage around in my head and dredge up memories, but if I turn the tables…"

"You are not here to learn legilimency, Mr. Potter. You are here to learn to block such attacks from yourself. And, if my memory serves, we have already had this discussion." Severus folded his arms across his chest. "Besides," he said softly, "if you force yourself into another's mind, he will almost certainly know you are there, and you leave yourself more vulnerable."

Harry sighed and slumped against the chair, his arms folded. "Fine."

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "Fine?" he repeated. "Need I remind you every time we meet that you are my student and I expect you to treat me with the respect due a professor?"

"Fine. Sir."

"Look at me, Potter." Harry looked rather pointedly in the other direction, and Severus picked up his wand and placed it against the boy's chin, pressing gently until the boy turned his head to meet his eyes. "I said look at me, Potter," he repeated in a dangerously low voice.

Harry looked at him.

"Your attitude has worsened, unlikely though I would have considered the possibility it could become worse."

Harry scowled. "You should talk," he muttered.

Severus opened his mouth, a retort on his tongue, but he was interrupted by his own mind. He was staring at the Dali exhibit, admitting to Willow that he didn't understand the art. He was sitting with Lupin at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, a fourth of a chocolate cake on the plate in front of him. Dumbledore was handing him a bundle of letters from his students. He was sitting at his desk, reading the one letter that had been unsigned, telling him that the letters were an extra credit assignment from McGonagall. Severus shoved Harry from his mind again.

"Enough," he hissed sharply, narrowing his eyes at the miscreant pupil. "Detention, Potter. Seven o'clock on Wednesday. And I think we have progressed as far with our formal lessons as we are going to. Practice, Potter, and be wary; if I decide to delve into your mind, I do not wish to see images of anyone connected to the Order. Keep your mind on Quidditch and other things equally innocuous and inconsequential, and do us all a favor. Now go."

Harry rose, looking torn between anger and… something else that was more difficult to identify. "I want to tell you something first, Professor," he said quietly.

Severus sank his head into his hand, massaging the bridge of his nose. "What is it Potter?" he asked, what remained of his patience wearing thin very quickly.

"It isn't true. McGonagall had nothing to do with the letters, sir. She doesn't give extra credit for anything." Severus looked up at the boy, frowning. Then what…? The question must have shown on his face, because Harry continued. "Last fall, when you were gone for a day, Professor Ichalia made a comment that you were human like the rest of us and that you might appreciate a get-well card. Someone was trying to get her to tell where you were, but she wouldn't. Said she'd be more than happy to relay concerns to you… I dunno. Everyone was talking about it at breakfast on Tuesday, how some people had written you letters and…"

"That's enough, Potter," Severus said softly, interrupting him. "I don't require explanations."

Harry shrugged a bit. "I thought you deserved it," he replied. "Or at least deserved to know that any letters you got had nothing to do with McGonagall." Harry had his hand on the doorknob before Severus stopped him.

"Why did you tell me that, Mr. Potter?"

Harry paused for a minute, then half-turned and met Severus' eyes. "Because even if I don't like you, no one deserves to be told that acts of kindness were assignments from other teachers."

A/N: sorry for the delay in updating! The next three chapters kind of belonged together, so I needed to keep them all editable until I was ready to load them.