Disclaimer: Sigh Still don't own anything. Do I have to put this every time?

OMG! I am SO SORRY! I meant to update MUCH MUCH sooner but I had quite a few personal situations arise that were unavoidable and PLEASE FORGIVE ME! Sorry sorry sorry I didn't mean it. Just to make up for it, no beta reader this time, sorry for the mistakes, but I want to get this up before something drastic darkens my doorstep again. And it is a really bad chapter and I absolutely hate it, but it's needed somehow or another, can't do the rest of this story without it.

Well, I read HBP, and let me just say that that makes this story a bit AU and OOC for ahem certain people in case you haven't read it. Oh boy. So, I'll just continue with this story.

To Wish One Could Forget is going a little slowly, but I'm trying to update them both one at a time.

Well, I'm not going to talk much this time. Quick note to Gwennyth, I would prefer to be corrected, so no worries. Thanks, in fact. I need people to point out my mistakes (hence the beta reader)

And here is…

Chapter 23: Accidental Outburst

The next day, Harry promptly appeared for lessons with Snape. "Which potion today, sir?" Harry asked.

"I want you to brew the Babbling Beverage on page 696. I think you'll find it easy enough." Snape turned back to the paper on his desk, then stood up. "I trust you can manage brewing this on your own? I will need to leave for a while. In the meantime, once you finish the potion, leave a phial on my desk and eat lunch. We will resume our regular occlumency lessons at the normal time." And without further word, the professor swept out of the door, his long cape trailing behind him.

Harry wondered where Snape was going that appeared to be so important, but tried to push his natural curiosity of his head to continue with the babbling beverage. But as Harry turned matters over in his mind, Snape's behavior did seem quite strange to him: even if it was the overgrown bat he had known since he was eleven. As Harry tried to think of the meaning of the bizarre mannerisms, he focused less on his potion than he should have. The potion did not begin to bubble as it should have; when bubbles did arise, they were small and pink instead of large and purple. Harry tried to add the missing fairy hair, which made the bubbles slightly larger, but a musty smell began to arise from the potion instead of one of honeysuckle. All in all, the potion was a botched concoction, meeting few of the standards it was supposed to have met.

Harry reluctantly bottled the potion and set it on Snape's desk, then left the room. His stomach was already beginning to growl, and he could almost smell the food before he even reached his room. As Harry entered, he saw one of the house elves leaving, having set a bowl of food on the bedside table. Steam arose from the bowl of potato soup, but the Pumpkin juice was just cold enough without it giving him a brain freeze. Harry ate slowly, as he was in no real rush to get anything done. The books from the library still sat on top of the bureau, but he didn't feel like reading them at the moment. They contained so many secrets that he had no solution for. He would need Hermione's help with the problems they contained. Until then, he would practice Occlumency and work on his potions for the NEWTs class.

At the precise time, Harry went to the office for his lesson on Occlumency, but upon knocking on the door, received no response. Remembering all past experience of having entered a room unbidden, Harry was of course hesitant to open the door. But curiosity always found Harry an easy target, and his mind ached to know why no one has answered the door. It was very un-Snape like to be late for a schedule. Well, when he was a death eater he had of coursed been tardy, but now he really had no reason.

Harry grasped the cold door handle in his hand and turned it slowly, making sure not to make noise to attract any unwanted attention. The door slowly swung open, revealing a dark and sinister scene. Yes, it was the same room that Harry had been in everyday for the past few weeks, but it was much darker, cold, and seemed to harbor an ill-presence. "Professor," Harry called softly. Somewhere in the room, someone was breathing. "Professor?" Harry tried to focus his eyes in the dark, but couldn't see the desk, where the sound was evidently coming from.

"What do you want?" Snape asked in a very threatening voice.

"Occlumency lessons, sir," Harry said as politely as he could. He had the horrible feeling that Snape was not in the mood to converse.

"You ungrateful brat. I cancelled it for today. Now get out."

"I'm sorry professor. You just didn't tell me." Oh no, Harry thought. Should have shut up. He could almost feel the anger radiating off the professor, even if he couldn't see him.

"I don't have to tell you anything, little snot! Now get out!"

"Sorry professor." Harry turned and reached for the door handle, coughing as he did so.

"What is it now, boy?" Snape asked.

"Sorry sir, I just don't feel well, that's all."

"You always don't feel well, Potter."

Harry would have said something, but felt it better to just so nothing. No sense reasoning with a drunk man, as he had learned from experiences with the often inebriated Vernon Dursley. "Tell me something, Potter, how does it feel knowing that everyone is concerned about your personal well-being?" Silence. Harry didn't know how to answer. The question felt like a trap, as so many of Snape's questions did. "How does it feel to know that no one is ever going to give up on you? That there are those so concerned about your well-being that they refuse to give up any hope that you may still live when death is almost certain? Do you know how much the headmaster has tried to prevent your impending death? Your whole life seems to concern him. You're killing him! Did you know that? You're killing Albus Dumbledore. That's something the Dark Lord would like to say, that's for sure."

"What do you mean killing Dumbledore?" Harry found his voice ad had to ask the question.

"Don't play daft, Potter. Your little excursions worry him. He's old, even in wizarding standards. 150 years old and he worries constantly about you."

"I don't mean for him to." Harry could feel his heart breaking. He didn't mean to cause Dumbledore such great distress. Was this really what he was doing? Killing someone who had come to mean so much in his life.

Snape made a noise that sounded like a snort of disbelief. "You've got the whole wizarding world either depending on you, doting on you, or trying to kill you. For crying out loud, you've even got me trying to find a cure for you! I feel guilty, if you can believe that! Guilty, and it's not even my fault." Now that was shocking. Snape felt guilty? For what?

"I'm very sorry sir. I'll leave now." And before the professor could protest, Harry was gone. Harry felt a sort of knot in his throat that he could not force down, and he felt guilty somehow. How ironic, he thought, Feeling guilty about making someone else feel guilty.

Harry did not return to his room imediately. Instead, he went to the astronomy tower and peered out over the water. Somehow, he couldn't wait for school to be back in, and at the same time he dreaded it. He did not return to his room that night, as he fell asleep in the tower, comforted only by the soft night breeze.

A/n: Again, I am so sorry. Thanks for putting up with the delay. I'll try to be quicker next time. Please r/r.