AN: My responses to reviews have moved to the bottom of the chapter. You wonderful reviewers, you… Also, I can't exactly recall how the Occlumency worked, so forgive me if I got it wrong.

Chapter 7

"We may have figured out what it is Harry's been hiding," Hermione said, glancing at Ginny.

Ginny watched her brother carefully. Any sign of an impending eruption and she was going to hex him, honest, she was. Somewhat to her surprise, however, rather than getting red and blustery, Ron's face got serious.

"Yeah?" he said, leaning forward. "What've you two come up with?"

Hermione kept her voice low. "We think it's the prophecy," she said. "We think Dumbledore told him what it was after the Department of Mysteries, and that it's been hanging over his head ever since."

"Add it on top of him blaming himself for Sirius dying, and our all getting hurt…" Ginny added softly. Ron gave her a quick, keen glance that she didn't quite understand, but nodded, silently asking them to go on.

Hermione sighed and set down her quill. " 'You can't help me anyway,' " she quoted. "Harry said that…"

"At dinner the other night," Ron interrupted, eyes trained on Hermione's face. "Yeah, I remember."

Hermione looked surprised but kept going. Ginny knew HER eyebrows were currently having a nice one-on-one with her hairline. "Well, what if THAT'S the prophecy?" she said. "That we can't help him, he has to do it himself."

"The Boy-Who-Lived stopped Voldemort once," Ginny said grimly. "And now he has to do it again."

Somewhat to her surprise, Ron didn't get all huffy and mad. Instead, he sat back and considered for a moment, before sighing. "Yeah," he said, "that's pretty much what I figured, too."

Hermione's jaw dropped briefly, before she started looking pissed off. "You figured that? And just how long have you figured that and you didn't tell me?"

Ron looked immediately uneasy and held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, it was at dinner, when he said that, ok? It just kinda clicked for me… that maybe he meant it different than I thought."

Hermione was still glaring. "And you didn't tell me?"

Ron looked guilty. "I was gonna… but Harry was really happy about Quiddich, y'know? And I wasn't really sure yet, and I didn't want to get into anything with him, especially if it was something we couldn't do anything about. I mean, we can't exactly change a prophesy."

Hermione mumbled something, before letting out a breath of frustration. "Yeah, you're right," she said, sounding grumpy. "I just wish you'd mentioned this to me before, and saved us a night of sneaking into the library."

Ron grinned suddenly. "You snuck into the library last night? Is that why you looked so tired?" he said. His teeth flashed in a smirk. "Uh-oh, the Head Girl was out committing an infraction…"

Ginny rolled her eyes and threw her own quill at his head. "Shut up," she told him, somewhat concerned that Hermione might hex her brother. Not that he hadn't done ample things in the past to deserve it, she just didn't want to watch right now. "Anyway, what about Harry taking Occlumency again? I thought Dumbledore had given up on the idea."

"Apparently not," Ron said, looking sour. "And with Snape again, no less."

Hermione was apparently no longer fuming. "Dumbledore always has a reason," she said. "We may not know what it is, but he's always got a reason."

"It may not be that great of a reason," Ginny said sourly. "After all, Harry's been pissed at him for a good year, remember?"

"Like working with Snape will make that better," Ron said with a sigh. "What's he think, that Harry and the old bat are going to bond over mind melds?"

Hermione giggled, and then slapped a hand over her mouth when both Ron and Ginny gave her funny looks. "What?" she said.

"Uh, I missed the funny part…" Ginny said curiously.

"I didn't know you guys were big trekkies," Hermione grinned. The grin faltered as both Weasleys gave her blank looks. "No? But that's where the words are from, 'mind meld'…"

Ron scratched his head. "Actually, it's when one wizard swaps brains with another one, usually right before the one dies. Kind of adds on what the dead guy knew to the live one."

Hermione was staring at him. "Oh, for the love of…" she muttered. "Never mind." She closed her books with a decisive snap. "I'm going to bed. Thanks to someone's brainstorm, I was up all night reading about the first three years of Mr. Potter's life as a garden gnome and I'm very tired."

Ron looked bewildered as Hermione headed away from the table. "Huh?" he said.

Ginny gave him a pitying look and leaned over to pat her brother on the arm. "Don't worry, Ronnie, you really don't want to know," she said.

$$$$$$$$$$

Harry approached Friday evening with a great deal of reluctance. He was in no hurry to begin spending his evening with bloody Snape. Who seemed to be out to get him in Potions, his wife's presence or not. The last class, Harry had lost five points for breathing too loudly, Snape claiming he was disrupting the flames of his table partner. Even said table partner, frickin' Malfoy, had thought that one was rather humorous.

And who wanted to rush through the first week of quiddich practice? That first day, Harry'd gotten out to the pitch early and had kicked off, soaring up so high that the castle had started to dwindle below him. Then he'd turned his broom about and plummeted straight for the ground. The wind had screamed through his ears and he'd been going so fast he could barely keep his eyes open. He'd pulled up with feet to spare and proceeded to race about the pitch, a dopy grin plastered all over his face and probably a few bugs caught in his teeth as a result.

And now, here he was, glumly approaching the dungeon classroom with very heavy feet. A whole hour. Just him and Snape. Whoopdedoo.

Harry paused outside the door and stared at it for a moment. Why the bloody hell was Dumbledore bringing this back up again? He wondered for the billionth time that week. He'd let it go all last year, much to Harry's relief. Why the blazes was it coming back now?

He heaved a sigh and bracing himself, pushed the heavy wooden door open. "You're late, Potter," came to greet him from the dark depths of the empty classroom.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Sorry, sir," he said, not meaning it at all. Like I want to be on time for you, you old bat, he thought as he came in and found himself a chair.

He didn't see Snape in the room, but the door to his office was open, so Harry sat and waited. Sure enough, the billowy black robes of the Potion Master soon swished through the office door. Snape strode over and dropped into his desk chair. The professor glared at him.

"If I am to waste my evenings once again attempting to teach you to guard your mind, you will be prompt, Mr. Potter," the Potion Master said in a silky tone. The exact one that usually pissed Harry off.

Harry bared his teeth in a grimace of a smile. "Sorry, sir," he said again.

Snape stared at him, eyes black and glittery. "Very well," he said. "Let us see if you have managed to forget everything I tried to teach you. Legilimens!"

Harry was caught completely off guard as Snape shot the spell at him. He instinctively ducked, a reflex now after working with the dummies in the Room of Requirement. Half the time, ducking was as good as a shield spell and took a whole lot less energy. But instead, he felt a sudden sensation as if someone was attempting to hold his head while wearing thick mittens.

Then the sensation stopped, and Snape was sitting staring at him. "That was not what I taught you, Potter," said the dark man in a tight voice. "Legilimens!"

The sensation happened again, except this time, Harry wasn't quite as unprepared. The mittens only lasted a split second, and then he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Trying not to smile, he gave the rather angry looking Potion Master an inquiring look.

Snape muttered something under his breath, and then fixed his eyes on Harry's. Fine, so that's how he wants to play it, Harry thought, staring right back. Let's go fishing…

Breaking into Snape's thoughts was a whole lot more difficult than, say, Dean's. It was as if Harry was feeling around a wall in the dark, trying to find a doorknob. But find one, he did, and was just opening the door when Snape's eye got very wide and he abruptly stood, breaking the eye contact.

"What are you doing, Potter?" the man demanded angrily. "What spell is it, and where did you get it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, professor," Harry lied, unable to keep the smug mockery completely from his voice. "But I guess you can report back to the Headmaster that these lessons are really unnecessary."

For some reason, that made Snape's eyes narrow and take a few steps closer, studying Harry once more. "No, Potter," he said softly. "I don't believe I will." The Potion Master stood straight and tall, robes black and blending with the shadows behind him as Harry was studied. "You will report to me tomorrow night," Snape said. "And you will have some answers."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. After all, he had to take a class with the git, and this particular git already wasn't inclined to be kind to his grades. "Yes, sir," he said, in as cool a voice as he could. "May I go?"

Snape didn't move. "Go." As Harry headed for the door, he could still feel eyes boring into the back of his skull. Unable to resist, he flicked a finger in the direction of the fireplace and sent the place plummeting into total darkness as the door closed behind him.

$$$$$$$$$$

Ron was in top form that night, moaning and groaning about how Hermione was making him do so much bloody homework, on top of those long quiddich practices that SOME psychotic captain was putting the poor innocent team through…

Harry finally gave up and retreated to his bed, pulling the curtains shut and flopping back with a nice silencing charm in place. Merlin, the guy could be irritating, he thought with a wry grimace. He was quite sure that was exactly what Ron intended to do.

Harry yawned. He was tired. Quiddich WAS long practices, especially since Harry couldn't just zoom around looking for the snitch anymore. Now he had to actually get involved with the rest of the game, run plays, drills… he had to settle stupid little bickering fights between Ron and Ginny and coax his beaters into actually trying to hit him with those bloody bludgers…

He drifted off to sleep, relaxed and weary, and thus unprepared.

Harry stirred as he heard footsteps in the dark and quiet dorm. He glanced to the side, seeing his curtains were open. Hadn't he drawn them before bed, he wondered. And why did it look like all the other beds were empty…

The steps paused, and Harry waited, still drowsy. Who could it be?

The moonlight slipped over a bright head, her hair glimmering like the fire that still burned low in the common room. "Shh…" she whispered when she saw his eyes were open.

Harry didn't move, didn't breath as she climbed up onto his bed, those slim, pale legs bared beneath the nightshirt she wore. If he laid his hand on her ankle, he thought, and slid it slowly up, would he find anything in his way?

Her weight settled comfortably, familiarly over him, as if they'd done this a thousand times before. She leaned forward, bracing her arms on either side of his head. "Shh…" she whispered again, before leaning down.

Her lips sank into his, and it was all Harry could do to stay still, his hands fisted in the bedclothes. He wanted to devour, to inhale, to swallow her whole. Instead he let her tease and taunt, mouths and tongues barely brushing, his body growing tauter and tauter by the second.

"Harry…" she whispered against his lips, and he'd had enough.

He lifted his hands, wrapping them around her waist, resenting the nightshirt that kept her skin from him. With a low growl that he didn't even know came from his throat, he flipped them, landing her on her back with a quick gasp. Those dark eyes gazed up at him from his pillow, huge in the middle of that porcelain-fair face. Her hair tumbled wildly against the white linen, vibrant and so beautifully alive in the night.

"Harry," she whispered once more, this time gazing up at him, her eyes full of longing. She arched her back as he traced a long, hot line down her cheek, her throat, reaching for the first button and slipping it through the hole.

"Ginny," he whispered back, voice thick as that smooth, silky skin slid beneath his fingers as cotton fell away. "Ginny…"

Harry jerked away, breathing hard. His hands were fisted in the sheets, body as hard as if the dream had been real. He glanced about quickly to see that his curtains were still drawn, and then let out a shuddering sigh.

He had to stop those dreams, he told himself, shakily wiping his face with tense hands. He couldn't keep wanting like this and denying the real thing existed. He had to just… sleep.

Deliberately, carefully, Harry forced his mind to a complete blankness. No thoughts of red hair, smooth skin or long pale legs was allowed. Finally, finally, his body began to relax and he let himself slide back into slumber. This time, he hoped, to avoid dreams.

$$$$$$$$$$

Mrs.SakuraPotter – Your wish is my command. (bowing) lol.

Padfoot Is ALIVE – Ok…

Kyntor – AHAH!! You get the cookie this round, my friend! I was wondering if anyone would pick up on that… As for answers, you'll just have to see. Bwahahahahah…

Maria, Moonglaze, MetroDweller – They are smart girls, aren't they? Lol. I think Harry better start keeping that in mind.

Shahrezad1 – (looking sheepish) Yeah, well… I really had no clue how much quiddich practice to do. I kinda went with what a high school football team might do… maybe… if they were run by an insane dictator which it is always possible Harry might turn into…

Child-of-scorpio – I hope you found some stories… really that's how I find half of mine, is wandering through author profiles and favorite stories.

Crookshanx, java – Thank you, thank you very much! Keep reading and reviewing!

And last but not least…

Ferggirl99 – Who are you calling a lug of a sister, you squirt, you? (Yes, gentle readers, this IS truly my sister, so I can call her all the names I want) Addressing your points: I can kill whoever I want. So there. (Sticking out tongue) Actually, I use the interpretation of the prophecy that says essentially "kill or be killed". It may be the more dramatic theory, but it works for me. And Bellatrix… See "Undercurrents," story #2 in this series. It's a Draco-OC tale.