Synopsis of last chapter for those who preferred not to read it, as promised: Harry, destablized by the Pollyanna antidote, cuts his arm in a moment of despair. Snape finally gives in to his instinct that all is not well, and goes to check on him. Grudgingly, he has to reluctantly admit that he does actually care about Harry.

I do not like emotions.

They are complicated, messy and in my experience invariably end up as some kind of variation on the theme of pain.

I like other people's emotions almost as little as I do my own. Normally, however, I can simply observe them from a nice, safe and dispassionate distance. Rather like watching some dangerous and undesirable creature tucked away at the zoo.

Not this time.

Potter's emotional disturbance affected me horribly. I could not look at the fat white bandage around his arm, now resting in a sling, without wanting to shudder. Every time he was out of my sight for more than five minutes at a time I began to get anxious.

The boy was making me as neurotic as he was himself.

I scowled across the room at him. He was scratching away at a letter, curled up in a chair. A frown creased his brow under the untidy black hair. Sensing my gaze, he glanced up. His face still wore an expression of mingled apprehension and shame. I appeared to be developing indigestion; as I looked at him I experienced a pain in my chest.

I re-arranged my features in a gallant attempt to cease scowling at him.

He looked puzzled.

Damn it, I didn't have an expression which didn't in some way depend on an underlying scowl!

Harry wondered whether Snape had the tooth-ache. Every time Harry looked at him, he seemed to be contorting his face into peculiar shapes.

As a whole, Harry felt rather like his arm did: patched up, but sore, and definitely fragile. The chasm still gaped within him, but he was not teetering on the brink: just tip-toeing around the edges. It was in some respects a relief to be with someone who knew the worst of him. He could stop trying, and stop pretending.

But poor Snape, Harry thought guility. Snape didn't even like him. This must be the worst sort of hell for him, and he had been so kind. Well: in Snape-ish snarky idiom, but still, undeniably kind. Harry returned to his letter. He was writing to Hermione. He had a special request for her: a particular purchase he wanted her to make on his behalf when next she visited Diagon Alley.

He chose not to say anything at all about potions or razors.

The knock on the door startled both himself and Snape. Frowning slightly, Snape strode across his chambers.

"Yes?" he barked. "Oh. Albus. You had better come in, I suppose."

Dumbledore did not seem put off by this gracious welcome, but smiled benignly at Snape and crossed the room to take a seat next to Harry.

"Harry," he said warmly. "How are you?"

His eyes tracked down Harry's chest and registered the sling, which Harry had been attempting to hide within the folds of his robes.

"Fine, thank you," Harry told him, a bit nervously. What was Dumbledore doing here? An odd forboding plucked at him.

"Could I trouble you for a cup of tea, Severus?" Dumbledore asked Snape.

Snape looked most put out at being despatched to the kitchen, and also rather reluctant to leave Harry and Dumbledore alone. But he went.

"Dear me, Harry," Dumbledore said, "You seem to have had a bit of an accident. How did you hurt your arm?"

Over Dumbledore's shoulder, Harry could see Snape lingering in the doorway to hear what reply Harry made.

For the first time, it occurred to Harry that he had put Snape in an awkward position. Snape was a teacher at Hogwarts, and he was a student who had put himself at risk. And he had pleaded with Snape not to tell anybody.

"Oh," Harry said vaguely, "I fell over. Clumsy of me, I know."

"What was Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes looking at Harry keenly.

His voice was bland, but Harry had an uncomfortable sense that he was probing, and knew something was being kept from him.

"Oh," Harry said. "I wouldn't go and see her. Snape tried to make me – "

"Professor Snape," Dumbledore murmured.

" – but I didn't want to, I practically live in the infirmary when I'm at Hogwarts, and there wasn't much damage anyway."

Harry was almost certain Dumbledore knew he was lying. The old man gave him a long, considering look.

Harry sighed with relief as Dumbledore changed the subject.

"And how is the Occlumency coming along? Have you got started on the lessons yet?"

"Yes," Snape said, looming suddenly over Dumbledore's shoulders. He was holding a pink tea-tray with a frilly doily and a multi-coloured knitted tea-cosy. Dobby's handiwork, Harry was sure. Snape, tall and bat-like as ever in his black robes, looked so ridiculous carrying it that Harry had to stifle an urge to laugh.

Snape noticed, and looked at Harry sourly.

"Here," Snape said snappily, laying the tray down. "I assure you the decorations are not of my choosing. The house-elf left a tray laid ready earlier when he realized his beloved Harry Potter was coming to stay."

Dumbledore twinkled. "How very nice. I'm glad Dobby is looking after you.. So, Severus, you have made a start with the Occlumency?"

"Yes," Snape replied. "Oddly enough, yes. In an – er - unguarded moment, Potter was actually successful."

Dumbledore looked astonished. "Already? That's wonderful news! Well done, Harry!"

Harry saw Snape scowling at him and tried to retrieve his dropping jaw. When had he done Occlumency? He didn't remember this! Unless…had Snape tried to read him while he was high on Pollyanna, and not been able to?

"Yes," Harry ventured. "Er – I've found out I can do it if I'm not thinking about it. Sort of." He sneaked a look at Snape, who seemed to think this answer was acceptable. At least he wasn't glowering any more than was normal.

Dumbledore sipped his tea. He looked entirely relaxed. The same could not be said of either Harry or Snape. Snape's glare deepened as Dumbledore held out his cup for another cup of tea. Harry was almost positive he saw a malicious twinkle in Dumbledore's blue eyes, as he savoured his second cup. And then his third.

Finally, Dumbledore rose to go. "Well, Severus," he said genially. "All seems to be well. I know I can rely on you to keep a close eye on your young friend here."

Snape looked as though he would happily have wound Dumbledore's long beard around his neck, and twisted.

My – what? 'Young friend,' indeed.

I pondered Dumbledore's last words with misgiving. Was there some hidden meaning in them? Did he, in the uncanny way he had, know or guess that within a few hours of arriving here I had permitted Potter to half-kill himself?

Well. To business. It would do Potter no good just to mope about the place. He seemed reasonably calm at the moment, but whatever despair had driven him to attack his own flesh could not be far from the surface. Occlumency, in fact, ought to help: it depended on letting go of the emotions. A feat that had always seemed well beyond Potter's meagre powers of self-control.

Still, I reflected: it was possible the time might be ripe to review my pedagogic methods. The last time I had taught Potter Occlumency, I seemed to recall that he spent rather a lot of time keeling over and hitting his head on the floor. I didn't think his health was sufficiently recovered for that mode of instruction just yet.

"Potter," I said at last. "Do you have any recollection of how you stopped me reading you when you were under the influence of that blasted Potion?"

"No. Sorry."

"It was when your scar was hurting…"

Harry frowned in an effort to remember. "I was feeling really dreamy then… I just remember being sort of floaty."

"I suspect that was the effect which blocked your mind from mine. You may recall," and my voice darkened, "I told you repeatedly last time I was in this unhappy position that the key to Occlumency is clearing your mind.."

"Yes," Harry agreed. He looked anxious to be co-operative. "I just don't know how to do that."

I sighed, with deep bitterness. I had in fact thought of one way to help him acquire skill in Occlumency. I simply did not wish to pursue it.

Our previous lessons had followed the model on which I had learned myself: I had attacked his mind, to goad him into defending it..However, I had to concede it was just faintly possible he might learn better by example.

Damn Dumbledore.

"It may help if you understand the whole process better," I said finally, irritated. My mouth felt as if I had sucked on a particularly sour lemon as I forced the next sentence out."You may conduct Legilimency on me."

He looked startled. "Me? Er – read your mind?"

"Legilimency is not mind-reading, Potter! How many times…"

The boy looked petrified at the thought of entering my head. Ha. How did he think I felt?

"This can be controlled to a certain extent, Potter, when undertaken with agreement and not as an act of hostile magic. You will understand that there are a number of memories I do not wish you to access. It will be obvious when you encounter one such, because I will begin to resist you. I am trusting you not to pursue such memories and to retreat immediately."

Quite aside from a number of very personal memories, I had no intention of letting him stray into certain other areas of my mind: he had enough nightmares on his own account.

"You'll trust me to do that?" Harry sounded astonished.

"I have just said so, haven't I?" I said waspishly. I sniffed to myself. All this trauma had clearly had a most unhealthy effect on my brain.

I sat down and folded my arms across my chest.

"Begin."

I fixed him with a stony stare.

Harry eyed Snape's rigid and forbidding form. He looked like a condemned man stoically awaiting execution. A condemned man who might break and make a run for it at any moment.

"Legilimens," Harry said faintly, waving his wand and peering unwillingly into Snape's glaring eyes.

Nothing happened. Harry suspected it was because he didn't actually want it to.

Snape snorted in exasperation. "No, Potter, haven't you learned anything in six years at Hogwarts? You don't just waft your wand around as if it is a feather duster. Like this."

Snape demonstrated the correct movements.

"OK," Harry said. "Here goes. Legilimens."

And then, he blinked. It was as though a door opened, and behind it, a great mass of images and memories whirled and shifted. He sensed a great discomfort. Snape was not happy. He continued, however, to allow Harry to enter his thoughts.

There was a small boy with lank black hair and pale skin.

"Here, kitty," he was saying enticingly. "Aw, come on Santa, I'm not going to hurt you.."

A purple cat was regarding the boy balefully from the roof of a garden shed. Her tail twitched. She looked distinctly ruffled. Don't you dare, her crouched form said, outraged dignity in every line.

An even smaller boy, possibly about three, playing on his own with some toy Galleons. Two women came into the room. One was meek and mousy; she looked anxious, and rather unwell. The other was brisk, and carried a clipboard emblazoned with a logo Harry recognized: the Ministry of Magic.

The boy scowled, and hunched a shoulder.

"Hello, Severus," the Ministry woman said brightly. She reminded Harry of one of his primary school teachers. "Are you having fun?"

The boy did not grant this question the compliment of a response. He ignored both women.

"Are you having a nice game? Now, then, if I took those Galleons across to Diagon Alley, would I be able to spend them?"

The boy gave her a contemptuous look with cold black eyes.

"No," he grunted finally, continuing to stack his fake coins with stubby little fingers.

"Why not, Severus?" the woman asked. "Why wouldn't I be able to spend your Galleons?"

He gave her another look. Stupid female, it said.

"'Cos they're mine," he growled at her. His bottom lip thrust out in sudden fury as both women began to laugh, the mousy one with a hand pressed to her mouth as if mirth were forbidden.

The scene faded into another. Harry felt a burst of pain.

"I'm sorry.." the boy, older now, was gabbling to a tall man bending threateningly over him, belt in hand. "I'm sorry, I'll get it right next time, I'm sorry…"

Harry became conscious of resistance. He released the memory swiftly.

A whirl of places he didn't recognize, people he didn't know, overlain by a brooding sardonic presence.

A tall girl with red hair and green eyes.

Harry tasted yearning and loss for a fleeting moment before the memory dissolved. He concentrated. But the images were floating away from him; snatch at them as he might, they were sinking into a cool, bottomless lake – fainter and more slippery with every moment.

Harry found he could no longer penetrate the sleek surfaces of Snape's mind. It was not that Snape had raised any barriers to block him; rather he had sunk his memories into a well so deep Harry could not follow.

"There," Snape said stiffly. "Do you understand now? Because I can assure you I have no intention of allowing you to ferret through my memories on a regular basis."

Harry nodded slowly. He recalled how it had felt as Snape's mind faded away.

"I think so…" he said uncertainly. He did have a better idea what he was supposed to be aiming at. He just still had no confidence that he would actually be able to do it.

I made him sit down before we began. I stifled an urge to fetch him a cushion. If only he would stop looking so…. vulnerable. I realized I was scowling at him again.

In keeping with my new approach, I did not enter his head with the mental equivalent of a sledgehammer, but slipped softly inside.

His thoughts were chaotic as ever. My lips thinned as I rifled once more through memories of his early childhood.

"Come on, Potter," I grunted. "Resist. Don't just let me take a casual stroll through your head."

I went in search of thoughts he wished to keep from me. Ah yes, that was better…he did not like this one…a Hogwarts room. I recognized it. Umbridge's office. Potter was serving detention. No doubt well deserved. He was scratching away with a quill. A sharp pain ran across my hand.

"What..?"

I must not tell lies, he was etching onto the surface of his hand. I must not tell lies. Blood dripped as he dug the sharp tip again and again into his inflamed skin.

I released him from the spell, shocked.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" I demanded. I was angry.

"If anyone had tried to interfere, she'd just have passed another decree," he shrugged.

Toad of a woman. It was fortunate indeed for her that Dumbledore had confined me to the Hogwarts castle. There were times when a Death Eater training could be a distinct advantage.

I returned to Potter's head. More recent memories here. I trod carefully. Lostness. A vast plain of dull misery….

Harry grimaced, waves of despair crashing against him again.

No use…it was no use…he was lost, alone, and he couldn't do what they wanted of him…

The prophecy, etched into his skull, echoed through his thoughts….

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives …"

Helpless rage filled him.

He didn't want Snape there with him. It was too personal. He pushed. Go away. Snape was still there, sorting through Harry's fierce unhappiness, strand by strand.

No. Let it go, Harry thought, let it go…he took in a deep breath and thought hard of the feeling when Snape's own mind had slipped through his fingers, sank away….

Harry found himself blinking at Snape, his thoughts safely where they belonged at the back of his own head.

"I did it!"

"Yes. Finally."

Snape looked agitated. Harry was momentarily puzzled. He had thought Snape would be pleased.

So that was it, I thought, disturbed. That was the prophecy Dumbledore had been keeping so close to his chest. The Order knew what it contained in general terms. But he had never revealed the exact wording.

I had a dreadful suspicion as to why.

I looked at Potter. He was smiling, gratified to have made some progress with Occlumency at last.

Did he guess, I wondered? Did he know what the wording of prophecy implied?

Probably not. I doubted he had ever troubled to research the matter. He had obviously not yet consulted Granger about it.

I was assaulted by another bout of indigestion, harsh and burning.

I did not like emotions. No. Not at all.

And damn Dumbledore!