A/N: Many thanks as always to the readers for all your wonderful reviews! We're glad you enjoyed the light-heartedness of last chapter—now it's back to the drama (dun dun DUN!)

Chapter Thirty-Three: Three Violent People

When Harry came downstairs the next morning, bleary-eyed and feeling as though a long time had passed since Christmas, Professor Snape met him in the hall. "Come to the parlor, Mr. Potter. The headmaster is here."

Startled, Harry hesitated, but the look Snape gave him brooked no delay, so he tightened his dressing gown around his pajamas and followed. He heartily wished he'd gotten dressed before leaving his room, when he found not only Dumbledore, but Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, Sirius, Remus, and the elder Weasleys waiting too.

"Good morning, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I am sorry to trouble you before breakfast, but we must have a report on your vision as soon as possible."

Harry took the seat Mrs. Weasley offered him and, with a deep breath, plunged into the recount. He'd been dosed with Dreamless Sleep Potion after waking up screaming at four in the morning, but his skull still ached from the force of the vision. To say nothing of his heart. The Order members remained quiet for the most part, though Moody and Tonks occasionally muttered to each other, and halfway through, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione came in. Mrs. Weasley moved to stop them, but Dumbledore raised a hand and nodded to them. They settled silently on the floor at Sirius and Remus's feet.

When Harry came to the part about Draco Malfoy, he looked fixedly at Dumbledore, but couldn't help noticing movement out of the corner of his eye. Snape stiffened at the first mention of Malfoy, then shifted restlessly where he stood as the report went on, gritting his teeth. The motion reminded Harry of something, but he couldn't think what. The only time Snape looked directly at Harry, rather than out the window or at Dumbledore, was when Harry reported that Malfoy hadn't been the one to deliver the Killing Curse. Snape went dead still then.

"He did not attempt it?" asked Dumbledore softly.

Harry shook his head. "He tortured them all 'till...he was really worn out, then Lestrange killed each of them."

"How did Lucius Malfoy respond to this?" Snape asked tightly.

"He seemed pretty pleased. Everyone did. Kept talking about Malfoy's potential," Harry muttered, sickened by the memory. By the time he'd mercifully awakened, Wesley had been dead, his Muggle mother too, and his father had been screaming at the Death Eaters to just finish it.

After he'd finished talking, he sat watching them all digest the report, and did his best not to fidget. At length, Dumbledore, who had been gazing absently out the window while Harry spoke, favored him with a brief glance and said, "We've much to do before you return to Hogwarts."

Moody sighed heavily. "We'll let the divisions know to keep an eye out for the Hendersons." Harry knew what he meant: the Aurors would be looking for bodies.

"Poor Wes," murmured George.

Bill crossed the room and pulled a white-faced Ginny into his arms. Hermione had her head on Ron's shoulder. "Did you know him well?" asked Bill.

Fred nodded. "Nice chap. Good sense of humor. Spent a lot of money at the Zonko's party." Harry looked away from them.

"I presume you're here to resume Occlumency, Severus," said Remus wearily.

It was Dumbledore who answered. "Of course. It is vital that we redouble our efforts. Harry, you'll be taking lessons from Professor Snape here in the evenings until you return to school." Harry nodded dully. "In the mean time, why don't you have some breakfast? I know this was a cruel intrusion into your holiday."

Harry nodded again and started for the door, then paused. "Professor. I was wondering something. Is there anyone who could teach me to use wandless magic?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Basic wandless magic is fairly simple to master, especially for a wizard of your talents." He demonstrated by putting out and relighting a candle with a flick of his hand. "Beyond that, it depends very much on the wizard."

"I could teach him," said Sirius eagerly.

"Actually," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps Remus would not mind continuing his professorial duties over the holidays. Wandless magic centers upon the controlling and directing of impulses. Remus knows a good deal about that skill."

"I'm certainly willing," said Remus. Sirius looked disappointed.

Ron and Hermione spoke up simultaneously. "Could we learn it too?"

"Me too!" added Ginny.

"Us too," said the twins. "Not as if it won't come in handy!"

"An excellent point, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore chuckled. "Sirius, we could use the skills of both you and Remus, in that case."

Sirius brightened at once. "I'd love to!"

Dumbledore smiled and rose. "That's settled then. Off to breakfast with you, Harry. You have a busy holiday ahead." He smiled and left the parlor.

As Harry and the others headed for the door, Snape said curtly, "Report to the basement kitchen at seven tonight, Potter."

No one had much appetite after hearing (and in Harry's case, witnessing) the demise of their classmate, but Mrs. Weasley gently pestered them until they all forced something down. "You especially, Harry, you're skin and bones! Sirius thinks we haven't been feeding you!"

Harry flushed, and the twins snickered into their porridge. "Better humor her, mate."

But when they returned to the parlor after breakfast, Professor Snape was still there—facing off with Sirius again. "I said, it's out of the question," Snape snarled.

"And I say, it's not your decision," Sirius barked.

"Sirius, Severus!" Remus exclaimed, seeing Harry in the doorway.

Snape glanced at Harry and subsided, but Sirius didn't. "While you're conducting these lessons in my house with my godson, I will be there!"

"What?" Harry looked back and forth between the two of them. "What's going on?"

Ron and Hermione hastily took themselves and the rest of the Weasleys from the room and shut the door. Sirius waited until they'd gone, then said matter-of-factly. "Harry, I'm going to be sitting in on your Occlumency lessons."

Harry blinked. "Oh." Why Snape would have a problem with that, he had no idea—other than the usual objection to spending any time voluntarily with Sirius.

He was surprised by Snape's answer, which was almost calm. "Black, I have conducted these lessons alone since last year. There's no reason to change the situation now."

As surprised as Harry by the reasonable words, Sirius visibly checked his own temper. "I understand," he said tightly, "that the situation is different at Hogwarts, but while these lessons you're conducting are here, in my home, with my godson, I will be present."

"It will be detrimental to Potter's progress," Snape retorted sharply.

"Codswallop!" Sirius snapped, but Harry stepped forward.

"Sir, I don't understand how Sirius being there would be a problem."

"He has a point, Severus," Remus added. "Sirius's presence might be helpful for Harry to clear his mind."

Snape replied, "I have no doubt it would. And that is precisely my point." Harry and Sirius exchanged a confused frown, but Snape went on, "Black's presence would aid Potter in clearing his mind—during lessons. But not in an attack by the Dark Lord."

Sirius started to protest, but Remus held up a hand and said, "I'm afraid we're not following you."

With a heavy sigh, Snape said slowly, "I concede that Black's presence would make Occlumency lessons easier for Potter. And therein lies my concern: in the event that Potter is subjected to a mental attack by the Dark Lord in person, he is even less likely to be able to rely on Black's 'supportive presence' than on his wand."

With a sinking feeling, Harry understood. "Oh, I...guess I understand."

Sirius folded his arms. "I don't care."

"You don't care about your godson's ability to mount an effective mental defense? That's rich, Black—"

"I don't trust you alone with him, Snape, and while it's in my power, I'm bloody supervising to make sure you aren't the one doing more harm than good—"

"That's not fair, Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, and both men fell silent in surprise. Swallowing hard in the face of their stares, he said quietly, "The lessons...went better this year. I'm getting better, I mean. I think maybe he's right...it'd just be better if we kept going the way we've been."

The expression on his godfather's face was so stunned—and hurt—that Harry couldn't help cringing. Sirius noticed it, and forcibly calmed himself. "Harry, I could help you."

"Yeah," Harry said weakly, trying to force a smile. "You could, I know it. It'd make the lessons a lot easier if you were there." To his credit, Sirius responded in kind, but neither of their smiles met their eyes. Snape watched with a carefully blank face. "But maybe the lessons should be hard. After all...I've got to be ready to face off Voldemort."

This time, it was Snape who flinched, and Sirius turned appealingly to Remus. But Remus was slowly nodding in agreement. "They have a point. Severus has shown himself trustworthy in the Occlumency teaching."

Harry noticed the meaningful way the werewolf narrowed his eyes at the Potions Master, but to his relief, Sirius didn't. Neither Harry nor Remus could risk mentioning how the Occlumency lessons had started out this term, otherwise Sirius would never back down (there was also the possibility he'd go straight for Snape's throat.)

As for Sirius, he was making an obvious effort to conceal his reaction to seeing Remus and Harry apparently siding with Snape—but not quite succeeding. His dark gray eyes traveled from Remus to Harry to glare darkly at Snape, then back to Remus, hopeful.

"We'll be working with Harry on wandless magic and basic Defense, Sirius," Remus pressed gently. "And there's no reason why Harry can't give us a full report of Occlumency right after each lesson."

Sirius scowled, dropping his gaze. "Fine," he muttered. "Fine. Have it your way, Snivellus. Now get out."

Harry winced, but Snape mercifully said nothing on his way out the parlor door. He did shoot Harry a rather intense look as Harry stepped toward Sirius. As soon as the door closed, Harry said quietly, "Sirius, can I ask you something?"

Taking a deep breath, Sirius forced a smile and said, "Sure."

"Could you...please...not call him that anymore?"

There, he'd done it. Sirius stared at him. "I..."

"I mean...not just the name, the whole...fight," Harry muttered, dropping his eyes. "Like Dumbledore wanted after the Triwizard Tournament."

He dared a glance at Sirius and managed not to wince this time; Sirius was staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. There was silence until, without stepping into Sirius's line of vision, Remus said delicately, "Your godson has made a request of you, Sirius."

Sirius turned sharply toward him, looking genuinely confused. But Remus held his gaze with a gentle calm, looking neither confrontational nor entreating (like Harry did) and after several long moments, Sirius dropped his eyes and turned away. "Okay, Harry. If it'll make you feel better. I'll leave the g—I'll leave him alone."

Harry's throat was very tight by now; it felt as though he were being pulled from several different directions. He managed to mutter, "Thanks," and Sirius and Remus both looked sharply at him.

Then Sirius gave a genuine smile and crossed the few steps between them to pull Harry into his arms. "I guess we've all got some adjusting to do, eh?"

With a shaky laugh, Harry nodded into his chest, and felt Remus patting them both on the shoulders. "Yes, we do. But we'll make it. You're here, you're together, and you can take anything."

Sirius laughed. "Right-o, then. What about that wandless magic?"

Harry stepped back gratefully. "I'm ready if you are. But let's call Ron and the others back. They wanted to learn it too."

"I'll fetch them," said Remus, and went to the door to shout unceremoniously down the hall. Harry and Sirius laughed, and the tension in the room dissolved.

"As Professor Dumbledore mentioned this morning," Remus told them when Hermione and the four youngest Weasleys had joined them, "the most basic wandless magic is very simple to master. This type of magic is often the first identifier of young wizards that doesn't require Ministry detection devices."

He had apparently taken Dumbledore's suggestion of "continuing his professorial duties" seriously—this lecture could easily have been taking place in his DADA classroom. But at the moment, his students were scattered around the parlor: Ron and Hermione on the sofa, the twins on the floor in front of the Christmas tree, Ginny in one armchair, and Sirius in another with Harry settled on the floor at his feet.

Remus went on, "The most basic form of wandless magic is the ability to move objects—a magical 'push' or 'pull', if you will. A little bit harder is levitation and any sort of complicated manuever, but it's all the same principle. Muggles call it telekinesis. I doubt any of you will have much trouble with it, but let's start from there."

What followed was a rather light-hearted afternoon of shoving books, feathers, paperweights, leftover Christmas crackers, and even the Christmas tree at one point around the room with sheer force of willpower. As everyone predicted, it didn't take Harry long, once he determined that you just had to "feel" the object in your mind.

"Most initial incidents of wandless magic are triggered by emotion," Remus told them. "The trick to using it effectively is to harness your emotional impulses—your desire to make the object do what you want it to do—and strengthen it enough in your mind to be effective without the emotion overpowering you."

"And no, Fred, blowing on your feather does not constitute wandless magic," added Sirius, cuffing one of the twins. Everyone laughed. "Try shelving a few books."

"It's not as hard as I was afraid it was going to be," Ron said to Harry. Then he dropped his book and sighed. "Dunno why I have to concentrate so hard!"

"Can you juggle, Ron?" Sirius asked him suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Didn't I see you juggling chess pieces last Christmas?"

"Er...yeah," said Ron, giving Harry a puzzled glance.

Sirius went for the chess set as the others watched curiously, and picked up a few random pieces (who shouted indignantly.) "Here. Give it a try. No, normally," he amended it when Ron tried to levitate the pieces wandlessly. "Go on."

With a dubious expression, Ron juggled the vigorously protesting pieces in the air, and said, "Okay, what am I doing?"

"Two things at once," Sirius informed him.

"What? OH!" Ron exclaimed—and dropped the chess pieces. Ginny giggled, and he glared at her before returning his attention to the books. "So...I was saying..." he said slowly to Harry as the first book began wobbling its way through the air toward the second-from-the-top shelf, "I thought...Hermione and me...could...root around...the library while...you're..." (the book eased its way into place and a second began to rise) "in Occlumency tonight. There might be...some stuff there...for us to learn about Defense techniques. Advanced stuff, you know?" he finished with more assurance as the books began to move more smoothly.

Harry nodded absently as he magically put the fire out in the hearth, then re-lit it, then put it out, then wandlessly levitated a candle down to light it. "Good idea. We may as well make the moooost—watch your hair, Ginny!—of the holidays."

They graduated in a single afternoon to a raucous game of "Catch" with some rubber balls—no hands allowed. By the time Remus decided it was time for a break to have some tea and catch their breath, Fred and George declared they were sufficiently prepared for Death Eaters throwing rocks at them. Hermione's parents came in to have tea with them, and watched Ron teaching Hermione to juggle (by hand, although she proved quicker than he at wandless, handless juggling.)

Harry asked Remus during tea, "What causes the more...complicated wandless magic? How is that different from telekinesis?"

"They're essentially the same. Magic is a...well...a force that can affect the environment around it in many ways. Just as a mental 'push' can move a book without a wand or snuff out a candle, your surroundings respond to the surge of magic triggered by your emotions," Remus said, sitting back in his armchair and, for once, looking very hale and relaxed.

Harry went back to sit at Sirius's feet again, shaking his head. "I still don't understand."

"Think of your own magic as water," said Sirius, ruffling his hair from behind. "Simple wandless magic, like telekinesis, is just focusing its flow to move something. A surge of emotional magic..."

"It's like bringing it to a boil!" said Hermione, comprehending. "Raising the temperature so it boils and affects the environment around it. The hotter your emotions..."

"Exactly," said Remus. "The more violent the surge of magic. You've heard of 'flash boiling?' Or a pressure cooker?" He smiled at the baffled expressions on the faces of the pureblooded wizards in the room, but Harry nodded.

"I think I get it. Water that boils really suddenly can make things explode."

"Like Mount St. Helens," mused Hermione, and everyone in the room looked at her. "Never mind."

Remus chuckled and shook his head. "Well. I think that's enough wandless magic for one day. Shall we work on some more mainstream Defense topics? I thought we could see about honing your group-working skills."

"Absolutely!"

By the time dinner was called, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins had managed to thoroughly wreck the upstairs drawing room even after all the furniture had been shrunken and removed. It took ten minutes to repair the various hex-marks and curse-scorches from the walls. Fred suggested that they try some group work in the entrance hall in front of Mrs. Black's portrait to see if they could inflict a few well-placed jinxes on that, but Sirius insisted on holding off until they could find a way to Silence her first.

"Otherwise, she'll never shut up again!" (Sirius had been quite irked to learn that the Order still hadn't managed to get the offending portrait down in the months since his death.)

Over dinner, Hermione couldn't restrain herself any longer and delicately asked Sirius, "I was wondering if we could have a look around the downstairs library. We might find some books in your fam—er, the Blacks'—I mean, some books there useful for Defense."

Ron snorted softly into his butterbeer, and Sirius grinned easily. "And even if they're not useful, you'd read them anyway." Hermione blushed, but Sirius glanced at Remus. "I assume they've already been perused for anything especially dangerous?"

"At Molly's insistence," Remus replied with a knowing smile.

Sirius shrugged. "In that case, why not? You might well find something helpful." His eyes glinted with mischievous spite, and he added, "What dear old mum would think of the Order browsing through the Black family library. Borrow anything you like—hell, you can probably keep it."

Hermione looked as if Christmas had come all over again. "Oh, thank you, Sirius!"

Ron shook his head. "She's been wanting to get in there since we got home, but then after you got back we thought we should wait till we asked first."

Sirius gave them a dismissive wave of his hand before helping himself to steak and kidney pie. "It's all yours."

The remainder of Hermione's dinner went down even faster than when she'd been in the thick of S.P.E.W., and she fled the dining room for the library as soon as was decently possible. Harry and Ron joined her after finishing their own dinner (with the obligatory second helping pressed on Harry by Mrs. Weasley.)

When they got to the library, Harry understood at once why it was Hermione's dream come true. It was a VERY large room on the ground floor toward the back of the house—in a section that still hadn't been deemed safe to enter last Christmas. Now, whatever haunts or curses had been inhabiting the room were expelled, and the decades of grime cleared away to reveal handsome, dark-red polished wooden shelves lining every wall—and every shelf covered in books.

And from what Harry could tell, the great stacks of old tomes that made up the Black family library bore a stronger resemblance to the Restricted Section than the Reading Room of the Hogwarts library.

Hermione had already assembled a small stack of volumes on one of the tables, and turned gleefully to Ron and Harry when they entered. "This place is a gold mine! Come give me a hand!"

Although he was by no means as enthusiastic about books as Hermione, Harry was curious about what sort of material he might find of use, and went to examine the titles Hermione had already collected while Ron joined her in inspecting the shelves.

Fire With Fire: Dark Counters for Dark Curses
Blood Spells for Offense and Defense
Deadly Potions and Poisons
The Methods of the Masters: Favorite Spells of the Deadliest Warlocks and Wizards in History
Ancient Magicks of Africa and Asia
The Perils and Power of Blood Magic
The Magics of Emotion and Instinct

Harry picked up the last one, noticing the thick layers of dust in the cloth of the cover and the smooth, if yellowed, pages. The Magics of Emotion and Instinct obviously was not one of the Black family's most-thumbed books, although every one about blood magic appeared to have been handled by many readers. Moving further down the shelves, Ron had already found some volumes that looked interesting, and Hermione, standing on a chair, paused to look at Harry. "Thought you'd be interested in that one."

"Mm-hmm," Harry muttered, cautiously turning pages. (He'd never forgotten the book that had screamed at him in the Restricted Section his first year.)

"As pleasing as it is to see you occupying your holidays with study, Mr. Potter, it will have to wait," said a voice from the doorway.

Harry jumped and dropped the book. Snape raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the clock in surprise. It was seven. "Sorry," he said to his friends. "Occlumency."

He followed Snape to the basement kitchen. The Potions Master seemed distracted as he moved the table aside with a wave of his wand. "Have you been clearing your mind, Potter?" he muttered.

Harry shrugged; the answer to that question ought to be obvious, considering the vision. "I guess not as much as I should have, these past few days." Snape glanced at him and grunted, but offered no remark on the subject. Watching him with a frown, Harry asked carefully, "Is something wrong?"

At last, Snape seemed to look at him fully. "I assume that is a rhetorical question, Mr. Potter. We are in the middle of a war."

We have been for over a year now, Harry thought. Something more than that was bothering Snape. "They found the bodies of the Hendersons, didn't they?"

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the sharp look Snape gave him confirmed it. To his surprise, instead of summarily beginning the lesson, Snape folded his arms and walked stiffly away. More surprising still was the fact that Snape answered him. "They did." Then he shook himself out of the mood and turned to face Harry. "Clear your mind."

Harry braced himself.

"Legilimens!"

He hadn't centered properly, and Snape went straight for the vision. Wesley Henderson writhed on the floor under Draco Malfoy's Cruciatus as his parents screamed...then Harry managed to drag his thoughts away from the memory, trying to find some innocuous place to hide...he was sitting on the couch with Sirius, hugging him, deliriously happy to have him back...but then Sirius was falling, his body arching backwards into the veil...aah...he struggled to focus on Snape and raise his wand...he was out of practice...Dumbledore was tapping his Pensieve and Professor Trelawney's shimmering form rose out of the liquid: "THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES..."

This time it was Snape who recoiled, and Harry was yanked along the connection with him. His mind teemed with memories that were not his own...not exactly, anyway. A greasy-haired man watched a green-eyed boy sitting close to his godfather...a blond boy used the thought of a classmate he hated to torture another classmate...a greasy-haired teenager was able to curse a helpless victim at the thought of...

"POTTER!"

Harry stumbled back, dazed. "Sorry, I didn't..." then it clunked into place, what he had seen. Something very cold settled in his insides.

Snape fixed him with a piercing black gaze. "What's the matter, Potter?" he asked, his voice deathly soft. "You seem...surprised."

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Snape took a step forward, practically radiating menace. Harry was shaking from head to toe, and he almost stepped back.

Almost.

"You don't scare me," he said.

"Your quavering voice suggests otherwise," Snape sneered, and Harry felt, amid the inner shivers and nausea, the familiar spark of anger.

It was like a rudder for his ragged emotions, and he latched onto it. His chin went up, and he hissed, "I said I wasn't afraid of you. Not that you didn't make me sick!"

Snape bared his teeth and surged forward. Harry managed not to flinch. "You think you have the right to judge me, Potter?"

"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK!" Harry shouted. "When you bloody thought about my dad so you could torture people! You and Malfoy—"

"Do not mention him!" Snape bellowed.

"Why, so you can pretend he's not in it up to his eyeballs?" Harry demanded, wrenching away to put the table between them.

Snape was white-faced as he growled, "Draco Malfoy had no choice about joining the Dark Lord."

"He looked pretty enthusiastic to me," said Harry.

"SHUT UP!" Snape roared. "If you want these lessons to continue, boy, you will NOT speak of Draco Malfoy again!"

Harry fell silent, but stared at him. Snape was trembling, partly with rage, but also... "You care about him," he realized out loud.

Breathing heavily, Snape straightened and started to turn away. "The subject is closed, Potter."

Feeling a little daring, Harry advanced around the table. "Why doesn't he have a choice?"

Snape glared furiously over his shoulder. "What does it matter to you?"

"It obviously matters to you," Harry pointed out (mostly because he didn't know the answer to the question.)

He was nothing short of astonished when Snape answered his previous question. Quietly, with his back turned to Harry, the Potions Master said, "You know as well as I what Draco Malfoy has been groomed to be since his earliest childhood. He was never offered a choice, nor given any hint that there even was one."

Harry asked, "So why didn't you give him a choice?"

Snape turned and stared at him. "Me?"

Folding his arms, Harry pointed out, "You walked away from Voldemort, and something tells me your family wouldn't have been thrilled either. How did you do it?"

"That's none of your concern," Snape said curtly.

Harry shrugged. "No, I guess not. But if he matters that much to you, why not try and help him?"

Snape made a disgusted noise. "Your 'saving people thing' is showing, Potter."

It was a tidy diversion that almost succeeded. Harry hauled a chair away from the table and dropped into it. Wearily, he muttered, "I just want all this to stop. I asked Sirius to stop." He forced himself to look at Snape and prayed that just once, just this once, he'd be reasonable. "If you want to keep hating my father, fine. My father's not here. He's not the one who has to fight this bloody war. We do."

Narrowing his eyes at Harry, Snape murmured, "'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord...'"

Harry nodded wearily. "I thought you already knew it was me."

"I have heard the altered version that Dumbledore prepared for the Dark Lord last summer," Snape said. "It would not be wise to divulge the rest, Potter, or even to hint at it to anyone."

"Oh, come on, Dumbledore said you could figure it out," Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead. His scar hurt.

"This power the Dark Lord knows not?"

"I've no idea what it is," Harry said. He looked at Snape miserably. "Do you?"

"I have my theories. But then I do not know the full wording of the prophecy."

"'Either must die at the hand of the other,'" Harry finished, the words tumbling out only partly against his will. For some reason, an ache inside seemed to lesson at telling Snape this. "'For neither can live while the other survives.' It means, either I figure out how to fight him—and win—or I die. He kills me, and...we lose." He let his head sink onto his arms.

Snape was silent for several moments. "Have you told Black and Lupin this?"

Harry shook his head. "They're worried enough about the war and me as it is. If they knew the prophecy..." he shook his head again. "I thought about telling one of them...or both...but I can't. I just can't. The only people I've told are Ron and Hermione."

"Is that a necessarily wise choice?"

"I had to tell someone. And if it were one of them, I'd want to know. Even without the prophecy, they'd...stay with me," he explained clumsily. "They said so." He sighed. "Maybe it wasn't very smart, but...I...had to." He laughed bitterly. "Or maybe it's just so they'd put up with more from me than if they didn't know it."

Snape was slowly pacing on the other side of the table, but then he paused and looked hard at Harry. "Has it occurred to you, Potter, that this 'power the Dark Lord knows not' may be of the more base variety than a first glance implies?" Harry blinked, and Snape asked, "Do you not recall your possession in the Great Hall?"

"Yes," Harry said coldly. He still had a hard time forgiving Snape for putting Ron and Hermione in harm's way.

"Then you know how you were able to push the Dark Lord from your mind," Snape continued, unphased by the flash of anger in Harry's eyes. "Unless there is some magical talent that has yet to surface—and all the signs suggest not—your greatest strength appears to be your assorted allies, and their regard for you."

Harry sat up in confusion. "What?"

"You have surrounded yourself, Potter, with an assortment of talented witches and wizards, all exceedingly devoted to you. And, it appears, you to them. Your concern for them gave you the strength to prevent the Dark Lord from fully possessing you, and they pulled wands on the Minister of Magic on your behalf. Do not overlook the significance of that. The Dark Lord has no such power."

"What about the Death Eaters?" Harry pointed out.

Snape actually laughed. But it was a bitter, hard laugh, full of scorn, and Harry actually cringed a little. "You had almost managed to convince me you weren't a fool. Tell me, Potter, from what you have heard and seen of the Dark Lord's followers, do you truly believe that a single one of them serves the Dark Lord out of love?"

It didn't take much deep thought to understand what Snape meant. "I don't understand," he mused. He didn't mean the love part, and Snape knew it, so he went on, "How could it possibly seem worth it?"

Snape snorted. "If you ever do truly comprehend it, Potter, that is when I will grow worried." Harry actually smiled. It was a good point. "How long have you known the prophecy?"

"Since the night Sirius...since the night of the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore told me." Glancing up, Harry saw Snape looking surprised. "What?"

"We're fortunate the Dark Lord didn't suspect Dumbledore of divulging it, or he most likely would have wrung it from you the night you were taken."

Harry bristled. "He tortured me for hours, and I didn't tell him."

Eyeing him, Snape asked, "Why not?"

In disbelief, Harry replied, "What was to tell? 'Oh, by the way, Voldemort, you can win the war all right, all you have to do is kill me!' That'd finish us all real quick, wouldn't it?"

"You didn't wish for death to end the torture?"

Harry glanced at Snape and shrugged. "Yeah, but I figured he'd get around to that sooner or later." He shrugged again to disguise a shudder. He still didn't like remembering that night. There was a lot he didn't like remembering.

And even more in the future that he didn't want to think about.

Snape was silently watching him, and when he spoke again, his words seemed to cut right through Harry. "You're frightened."

It wasn't mockery or even surprise. Just an observation.

Without looking up, Harry nodded.

"For your friends or for yourself?"

Harry shot him a withering glance. "Is that a 'rhetorical question', sir?" he mocked.

"You know what I mean." Snape leaned sideways against the table, folding his arms as he regarded Harry. "Has your Gryffindor heroic protective instinct spared no thought for your own life?"

"Of course it has!" Harry exclaimed, sitting back in his chair. "I don't want to die!"

"Then why have you conducted yourself for the past six months like one facing his own execution?" Harry stared, and Snape went on, "I am not unobservant, Potter. You cannot fight this war if you already expect to fail."

It was Harry's turn to get up and pace. "I want to win," he muttered. "I just...don't know how. I don't know how to beat him."

"You're not expected to know yet."

"So what does that mean?" Harry demanded, facing Snape in frustration. "That we just send me back to school for wand-waving lessons until I finish at Hogwarts? In the mean time, Voldemort gets stronger and recruits more Death Eaters, very possibly finds out the prophecy, and kills off who-knows-how-many people—"

"Potter!" Snape grabbed his arm. "However grave the situation, I can assure you hysteria will only worsen it."

"I'm not hysterical," Harry grumbled.

He was answered by a faint snort. "As to your question, the steps being taken at this moment are meant to prepare you. The prophecy has led you to labor under the illusion that you must fight this battle entirely alone."

"Yeah, I know, everyone's helping," sighed Harry, dropping back into his chair. "But in the end, it has to be me, doesn't it?"

From behind him, Snape spoke quietly. "In the end, Mr. Potter, we will all be fighting. Do you believe your friends would permit you to face him alone?" Harry turned and looked at him, and the Potions Master went on, "Or Black and Lupin?"

Harry studied his feet. "How am I supposed to fight if I'm worrying about them?"

"You are not responsible for the lives of everyone on our side, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you will find your concentration improving."

"That's easy for you to say!" Harry protested. "I'm talking about people I care about!"

"Then trust them to protect themselves," Snape told him. "You will find as your training progresses that a crucial factor in winning this war shall be the ability to function as both part of a group and an individual."

Harry frowned at him. "Then why did you use Ron and Hermione that way? When I was possessed, Voldemort could've realized they're my weakness."

"Again, you miss the point. That it was their presence that enabled you to fight off the Dark Lord's invasion. That is strength, not weakness."

Harry blinked. That is strength...they're...my strength. Snape was watching him. Harry met his eyes and slowly nodded, understanding at last what he was getting at.

Snape abruptly stood. "That is enough for tonight. Concentrate on clearing your mind, and we will resume at the same time tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Harry said distractedly, and got up, still mulling over what Snape had told him. But when he reached the door, something prickled in the back of his mind, and he glanced back. "Thank you."

Snape simply nodded.

No sooner had Potter's footsteps died away on the stairs than Severus marched out of the kitchen and went up to the main parlor. Several Weasleys and the elder Grangers were there as well, so Snape carefully tempered his tone and said, "Black. Lupin." The pair in question glanced at him, and he jerked his head at the door.

Black narrowed his eyes, but Lupin nodded and gently nudged the more obstinate Marauder to join him with Snape in the hall. "Something the matter, Severus?"

"I require a word in private," he said curtly, forcing a civil tone. For a moment, he thought Black was going to be contrary, but after a moment, Potter's godfather nodded coldly and led the way to one of the other drawing rooms.

"What seems to be the trouble?" Black drawled once they'd closed the doors.

Potter had mentioned asking Black for a cessation of hostilities, and Severus supposed Black's behavior was somewhat more restrained, but he felt his own attitude at the moment was well-justified. On the other hand, it seemed fate's sense of irony was determined to force him into concert with Sirius Black and Harry Potter again and again—and that the entire war would ride upon their ability to work together. And not a single one of us is especially known for his deference or flexibility. In all honesty, Potter so far had been the most reasonable of the three of them.

Making certain the doors were well-sealed, he demanded furiously, "What the devil have you two been doing, sitting about telling war stories?" Black bristled, but Severus plowed on, "I'd have thought you possessed sufficient concern for your godson to prepare him psychologically for this war—since evidently Lupin's teaching in that area has been completely ineffective."

Black had gone dead white and looked about to lunge, but Lupin hauled him back by the scruff of the neck, his eyes flashing. "What are you talking about?" he said sharply.

"I'm talking," Severus snapped, "about the boy's disturbingly strong belief that he will not survive the war."

"What?" Black breathed, and Severus rolled his eyes in disgust.

Lupin was quicker. "I know Harry's scared, and Ron and Hermione have been very worried about him, but surely..."

"I'm in a position to know," Snape said curtly. "Potter is convinced he is going to die."

Black sat down heavily in a chair, rubbing his forehead. "I thought he looked like hell when I returned—more than just convalescent. Why didn't he talk to us?"

"I believe it's your responsibility to see to that, Black," Severus pointed out. Black glared at him, but it was a distracted glare. "And it is also your responsibility to remind the boy that he is not merely a walking weapon. We cannot win this war if Potter is paralyzed with terror."

"And here I thought your concern was for him," Black grumbled. "And Harry isn't a weapon in this war at all, I don't care what you or Dumbledore have to say about it."

"Oh, wake up, Black!" Severus snapped. "Potter is a pivotal figure in this war, whether you and I like it or not!" At Black's growl of denial, he added, "The Dark Lord thinks he is, and therefore he is. He is a target at the very least, and must therefore be prepared to defend himself. And he will always be a target until the Dark Lord and his followers are gone."

Black subsided, his sunken eyes wide with dismay, but he was no longer looking at Snape. At length, he sighed, "You know something we don't?"

Without rancor (for once) Severus replied, "I know many things you don't."

Scrubbing at his eyes, Black said, "I guess we all have a lot of work to do, then. Harry can't face this alone."

Lupin walked over to put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll do whatever we must, Sirius. And he won't be alone; he has you. You're a good godfather." Black looked doubtful, but he smiled. "He has us all."

"I guess I ought to talk to him. Let him know I'm here," Black murmured and shuffled to the door, seemingly no longer aware of Severus.

Lupin started to follow, then paused beside Snape, a twinkle of old mischief in his eyes. Snape frowned, and the werewolf said cordially, "Thank you, Severus, for bringing this to our attention. It's important, and I certainly appreciate your...outrage on Harry's behalf."

Severus realized how this must look, and had to fight the urge to swear loudly as Lupin slipped out of the drawing room with a stifled chuckle. So he swore silently as he stalked out of the room and down to the library to help himself to the Black family's collection of Potions books.

A few hours later, he was brought up short outside another unused parlor by the sight of Black and Lupin hovering outside the open door with positively saccharine grins on their faces. Black slipped inside, and Severus strolled casually by, but paused in spite of himself when he caught sight of the dimly-lit interior.

Potter was there, upon the sofa with one of the books liberated from the library in his lap and feet tucked under him. All but one of the candles in the room had gone out, and the remaining one flickered feebly, reflecting in the boy's glasses as he rested his head on his arm. The boy had fallen sound asleep, with the book in danger of sliding off his lap.

As Snape and Lupin watched, Black knelt in the flickering candlelight and lightly slipped the volume from his godson's hands. Predictably, Potter stirred and blinked sleepily at him, then smiled. Black ruffled his hair. "All right, you, that's quite enough constant vigilance for one day. To bed with you."

The boy grinned back and mock saluted before sliding off the sofa. "Yessir," he replied.

Black gave his godson a one-armed embrace. "We'll talk in the morning, 'kay?" Potter nodded and shuffled off to bed, giving Lupin a drowsy wave goodnight as he passed.

Severus had slipped into the shadows behind the werewolf. Against his will, the memory of Potter's earlier words slipped into his head. "So why didn't YOU give him a choice?"

Because there was never any chance he would listen.

Wasn't there? Black could probably persuade Potter of just about anything; then again, Potter adored Black. (And Black adored Potter.) Draco...well, Severus and Draco had been close once.

I could never win Draco over from Lucius's influence now.

Couldn't he?

"If he matters that much to you, why not try and help him?"

If Draco mattered that much...

Bloody good question.

To be continued...

Coming next weekend: It's back to Hogwarts, where spring may not have sprung yet, but love is in the air! And so is stress—it's time for the sixth-years to start applying to the Auror Program, and Harry has to get an application written that will satisfy Smythe-Wellington! Yikes! Letters and a few insults are exchanged in Chapter 34: The Mystic Kettle of Nackledirk!

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