Disclaimer: All I own are my own ideas—and my much loved copies of Jo Rowling's books.

Scrub

If I grow bitterly,
Like a gnarled and stunted tree,
Bearing harshly of my youth
Puckered fruit that sears the mouth;
If I make of my drawn boughs
An inhospitable house,
Out of which I never pry
Towards the water or the sky,
Under which I stand and hide
And hear the day go by outside;
It is that a wind too strong
Bent my back when I was young,
It is that I fear the rain
Lest it blister me again.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

The Atrocity of Sunsets

Part III

"I would like an explanation, Mr. Potter."

Snape stared coldly at the boy in front of him, awaiting a response. When no response came, the Professor took it upon himself to continue speaking.

"Can you tell me why, Mr. Potter, is it that only yesterday evening you were capable of defending your mind for the entirety of the lesson, yet only just now, you failed miserably at maintaining any semblance of a defense?"

Swiftly, the expressions on Potter's face changed from nervous to blank, and finally to a carefully neutral, guarded mask. As the boy's posture also shifted—though seemingly without moving at all—Snape narrowed his eyes. What kind of game was the Gryffindor trying to play now?

"I will not ask you again, Potter. Even your abysmal talents in occlumency couldn't have warranted such a large discrepancy in this brief a time. Now, explain yourself."

The boy quirked an eyebrow and gaze impassively at him, with an aristocratic bearing that even Draco Malfoy would be hard-pressed to imitate.

"It's of no use telling him off, you know," the boy casually informed him, "it isn't as though he's the one that's been attending the lessons."

It was only several years' experience as a spy that enabled Snape to maintain a neutral expression instead of externally reacting to the child before him. Not only had his posture changed, but the timbre of his voiced had changed slightly, and there was a marked difference in his manner of speaking. Though the boy's expression was still inscrutable, Snape had a distinct feeling that the sixth year was very much amused by his reaction.

Finally regaining his bearing, Snape spoke once more. "May I inquire as to whom I have been teaching, then?"

"That would be Potter," he replied, smirking.

"And I would assume that you are not 'Potter'?" The Potions Master asked, deciding to just play along for now.

The boy stared at Snape incredulously. "Me? Saint Potter, Hogwarts' Resident Hero? Hardly. Do I look like a Gryffindor to you?"

Snape resisted the urge to respond that that was exactly what he looked like, and instead responded, "Well, if you are indeed neither Potter or… Harry, then I believe I have not yet made your acquaintance."

"Daniel, of Slytherin House, at your service," he introduced himself, with an admittedly Slytherin smirk on his face. "There is no need to introduce yourself, Professor Snape."

From his experience as a member of—and then the Head of—the house known for its cunning and skills at manipulation, the Potion Master's natural reaction was suspicion and skepticism. However, being a skilled liar had given him the ability to recognize when others were trying to deceive him, and it was this ability which prevented Snape from throwing the boy out of his classroom on the spot. Whatever was going on here, the boy seemed to sincerely believe what he was saying.

"Why is it, Po—" he paused, and then tried again, "Can you tell me why, Daniel, you've revealed yourself to me? Are you not capable of passing as Mr. Potter?"

"As for why I 'revealed myself' to you—well, at least one of us was going to be revealed eventually, and you were the one closest to the truth. A Slytherin myself, I am the one who could best deal with you. However," he said, "if you think I was forced to 'come out,' if you will, you are very sorely mistaken. I am a Slytherin; as one yourself, I'm sure you can understand that I'm always acting according to my own self-interest."

"Forgive me if this seems obtuse," Snape started, still trying to digest what he was being told, "but how does exposing a major weakness qualify as acting in self-interest?"

"I'm sure a man of your intelligence and situation knows the value of survival," Daniel responded, a touch impatiently. "Loathe as I am to admit it, my survival depends on Harry's, and he is hardly in a state where he will be able to survive unassisted for much longer."

Snape thought about this for a few moments before responding. "What makes you think that I am trustworthy, or even in a position to be able to help him?"

"You're a spy for the Order," Daniel said flatly. "If Harry doesn't survive—physically or mentally—Voldemort wins by default, and you lose everything. And you're not such a fool to take that risk."

The Professor bristled at the implied insult.

"Also," the boy continued, ignoring Snape's reaction, "you obviously have a good, if basic, understanding of the human psyche. We don't know of anyone else we can go to, who has that qualification. Most wizards try to fix everything with magic, but Harry's problem cannot be solved with a wand."

After he finished speaking, Snape stared hard at the black-haired boy sitting in front of him. 'Daniel' obviously had given this much thought, and his arguments were logical. However, did the Slytherin Head even completely believe this wasn't just some elaborate hoax? And if Potter did actually have such serious problems, would the Professor be able to help with only rudimentary skills in psychology? Whatever the situation, more thinking and research would be essential before making a decision.

"I'd like some time to think over what you have told me. Is this a problem, or did you want an answer immediately?"

"Of course not," Daniel replied, unconcerned. "We wouldn't want you to agree not knowing what you're getting into, after all."

The Slytherin in a Gryffindor's body rose from his seat, and headed toward the door.

"Good day, Professor."

Harry was sitting on his bed. As he looked around his dorm bemusedly, he resigned himself to the fact that his black-outs didn't seem to be fading away this year, as they usually did.

Upon brief examination, it was apparent that he was the only one in the dorm at the moment. His books were dumped next to him on the bed, and it looked like the sun was just setting—

It took a moment for this to sink in, but a second later, his eyes flashed back over to the window, and then desperately looked down at his wrist to see what time it was. Upon seeing the time, his eyes widened and he wasted no time in hopping off his bed and dragging out his Quidditch gear. He haphazardly threw on the uniform, snatched up his firebolt, and raced out the door.

Luckily, he did not crash into any people on the way down to the Quidditch Pitch, and he managed to make fairly good time. However, when he finally made it to practice, he was still more than ten minutes late.

"Harry!" Katie Bell shouted from about 20 feet in the air, "You're late! Where have you been?"

"Sorry," he replied breathlessly, "I—I guess I just lost track of time."

"Well, don't let it happen again," she replied. "Now, get in the air and practice drills. After twenty minutes, you can take out the snitch."

Harry wasted no time and immediately took to the air. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been late to a practice—at least he seemed to have eaten during his black-out, as he wasn't hungry at all.

On the other side of the field, Kirke and Sloper were practicing executing their Bludger Backbeats, while Katie, Ginny, and Collins were concentrating on perfecting the Hawkshead Attacking Formation. The three reserve players were running speed and precision drills. Harry vaguely took all of this in, but he was primarily focusing on his own maneuvering and precision. It was true that he was a talented Seeker, but he could only improve himself with practice, and there was always room for improvement.

It was a cause of some consternation that Harry could not remember the bulk of time he spent training—and most of the games in which he played—but most of the time, he assumed that he was just concentrating so hard that the time flew by without his noticing. The muscle memory was there, so he was obviously there for the practices. As for the games, that was obviously adrenaline; many of his teammates had remarked about past games being 'like a blur,' so as far as Harry was concerned, it was nothing to worry about.

Soon, he was finished with drills and was able to let the snitch out. Before he knew it, the sun was down, and practice was over.

Severus Snape urgently scanned an out-of-the-way bookshelf in one of the far corners of the library. The section he was looking through was a small one—not many at Hogwarts actually had a use for the texts addressing psychology—but hopefully, he would be able to find something of use.

After fifteen minutes, he had managed to find three books that looked promising, and proceeded to make his way back down to his quarters as quickly as possible (he had done his best to ignore the suspicious, bemused look on Madam Pince's face). Once back in his rooms, Snape sat himself in his most comfortable chair and opened the first book.

Unfortunately the first text—as well as the second—was vague, generalized, and basically unhelpful. There were outlines and definitions of things like neuroses and psychoses, explanations of chemical imbalances and the like, but nothing that really seemed to shed light on Potter's apparent situation. However, he was able to find much pertinent information in his last selection, Mind Over Magic: Implications of Psychology in the Wizarding World.

The book was a considerable size and contained information on a number of issues—the power of suggestion, the 'nature versus nurture' debate, personality types—but it was when he was scanning the section concerned with specific disorders that Snape found what he was looking for:

Dissociative Identity Disorder

Dissociative Identity Disorder, or Multiple Personality Disorder as it is more commonly known, is a mental defense mechanism generally first constructed in early childhood, most often in the wake of multiple severe traumatic occurrences. In the wake of traumatic events, the mind will dissociate and create 'alters' in order to keep itself functioning. This disorder is much less common among wizards than muggles, presumably due to the importance that traditional pure-blood families place upon heirs. Most cases of Dissociative Identity Disorder that have occurred within the Wizarding community were documented as occurring with those of a muggle-raised background.

Aside from alters or 'split personalities,' there are a number of signs associated with the disorder. Among these symptoms are mood swings, depression, sleep disorders, panic attacks, anxiety, compulsions, and psychotic-like symptoms. Because these signs are also associated with various other anxiety, depression, or panic disorders, those with DID are often misdiagnosed.

In addition to this, there has long been controversy in the muggle world over the credibility of the condition, with various arguments on either side. Most disbelievers claim that patients create false memories while in a hypnotic state. In the Magical community, the disorder has been recognized as completely legitimate since the case of Dissilia Ketteridge (an American witch diagnosed in 1972). It had been noted before the Ketteridge case that different 'personalities' seemed to have various differing talents, and even varying magical abilities. This case was able to conclusively prove the existence of DID based on an extreme example of the above observation: Dissilia, with her two alters, had three animagus forms.

Severus looked away from the text, processing this information. If indeed Potter did have this disorder (and it looked as if it was a major possibility), then he really did need help. As a teacher and Order member, Snape knew that it was his responsibility to help. The only reservation he had was whether he could help the Gryffindor by himself; surely the process would go much smoother if others were also helping Potter adjust—people that the boy actually trusted and respected.

It was now certain that the Potions Master would be involved. But, before he made any concrete plans, he would need to talk with the boy again.

Harry sighed contentedly as he put his finishing touches on an essay about Text Translation charms for Flitwick. It was his last assignment he needed to finish for the next day, and he was relieved to have it all done (though he hadn't been very eager when Hermione had been needling him into working earlier in the day). As he sat back in his chair, he looked at Ron, who had only just succumbed to the force of Hermione's glares and began his own work.

"Let's see, what do I have to do for Potions?" the red-head muttered to himself, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a very rumpled piece of parchment, smoothed it out, and squinted at it. "Explain the differences between fluxweed and pennyroyal, and describe their common uses in potions."

Ron contemplated the scrap of parchment for a moment, before setting a fresh roll of parchment before him and readying his quill.

"So, Hermione," he began, "what do you know about the differences between fluxweed and—"

"For goodness sake, Ron," she exclaimed, "why can't you ever take your school work seriously?"

"What?" he asked defensively, "I'm only asking because you're better at taking notes than I am."

"Well, maybe if you paid more attention in class, you would have better notes!"

Harry, who had been watching the scene amusedly, suddenly felt someone nudging his shoulder. He turned his head and found himself looking straight at Ginny, who had managed to sit down on the arm of the chair he was in without his noticing. Smirking, she nodded her head towards the still bickering pair. He grinned back in response.

"So," she said quietly, leaning towards him, "I'm betting they'll be found in a broom closet together by the end of the year."

Still smiling, he glanced quickly at his two friends, and then back at Ginny. "A lot can happen in a year," he agreed.

Harry didn't know if he imagined it, but he thought that Ginny's smile got just a little wider at this statement.

"Yeah," she agreed, "and a lot stays the same."

She ruffled his hair, smiled at him, and walked away.

Harry couldn't describe the strange feeling in his stomach, but couldn't bring himself to be bothered by it.

While Harry's schedule was already strenuous, it seemed that many others felt they had plenty of free time, as he had been questioned about the reinstatement of the DA since the second Monday of term. Thus it was that, using the coins designed by Hermione the previous year, he signaled that the first meeting was to take place on the coming Saturday. When Saturday evening finally rolled around, Harry found himself in the now familiar Room of Requirement, facing a slightly smaller DA.

"Er, alright," he began, with the same kind of nervousness he had felt when he first stood in front of the group the previous year, "I think it's safe to say we're all here to get better at defending ourselves.

"The DA isn't going to have the same priorities as last year—unlike Umbridge, Professor Zokaine does actually do his best to teach us defense. So, um, this year I figured we'd focus a little more on trying to learn how to defend ourselves from Death Eaters, and how to prepare in case of an attack. Eventually, I'll be teaching you some auror-grade spells and techniques I've been learning."

There was an excited murmuring at the last statement.

"However," he said, "this meeting is primarily going to be a review of what we covered last year, so everybody get a partner, and begin going over Expelliarmus."

Though there was some grumbling (most vocally from Zacharias Smith), everyone quickly complied and got to work reviewing the spell. The meeting progressed smoothly, and by nine o' clock, they had also covered Stupefy, Impedimenta, Protego, Reducto, and briefly practiced conjuring Patroni.

The meeting ended about five minutes before curfew, allowing everyone just enough time to make their way back to their respective common rooms. As everyone else filed out of the Room of Requirement, Harry remained behind to quickly straighten up. Hermione and Ron offered to stay behind as well, but he waved them off; he'd be along in a few minutes anyway.

Harry banished the pillows—which had been strategically placed to cushion falls while they were practicing stunners—to one side of the room, and neatly stacked the targets on which they had been practicing casting Reducto next to them. He checked the room to make sure there was nothing else he was missing, and then left for Gryffindor Tower.

Snape was somewhat at a loss as he contemplated how he was to go about discussing Potter's apparent condition with him without alerting anyone else, or bringing about suspicion. It would be incredibly out of character, he knew, to ask the boy to come to his office without apparent reason; he could assign an arbitrary detention, but no doubt McGonagall or Albus would question his reasons for this as well. After some contemplation, Snape was resigned to simply asking the Gryffindor to stay behind in class again, but when he was walking through a seventh-floor corridor, he saw his chance to execute a better plan.

While walking vaguely in the direction of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Snape very clearly heard the sound of footsteps. The Potions Master was ready to take house points away from the offender, who was guilty of being out after curfew (if only just barely), when the perpetrator came into sight, and he changed his plan of action entirely.

The boy seemed not to have spotted him yet, so Snape stopped and cleared his throat. A moment later, the student had frozen in his tracks, and his green eyes focused in on Snape.

"Mr. Potter," Snape started, "may I inquire as to what you are doing out of your dormitory after hours?"

"Er… that is," he said nervously, "I had to check out a book from the library."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Where, then, is the book, Mr. Potter? Also, I was under the impression that the library closed at eight o' clock, unless Madam Pince has suddenly changed her policies?"

"Well, uh…"

"As I thought," interrupted Snape. "Congratulations, Potter, you've just earned detention with me tomorrow night."

"Uh, sir? I have a lesson with Professor McGonagall tomorrow night," the Gryffindor said anxiously.

"Very well," Snape sneered at him, "you can serve your detention tomorrow at noon."

"Yes, sir," the boy sighed in resignation.

After dismissing Potter to go back to Gryffindor Tower, the Potions Master headed back to his own quarters in order to prepare for the next day's conversation.

At precisely noon the next day, Snape was to be found sitting at the desk in his classroom, liberally marking a stack of fourth-year essays with red ink. He'd just finished marking a prominent P at the top of one student's essay when there was a brisk knock on the door.

"Enter," he commanded.

He heard the click of the latch and the faint creak of the door and, without looking up from his marking, said, "Close the door behind you and sit down."

A moment after he heard the click of the latch for the second time, he finally looked up. As he expected, it was Potter. With a pair of unspoken spells, he placed a powerful locking charm on the door, along with a silencing charm.

Looking the boy over, the Potions Master noted that he was holding himself with the same patrician bearing that 'Daniel' had employed on Thursday. The Professor was grateful that he wouldn't have to waste time in figuring how to draw the 'alter' out.

"I have given much thought to your proposal," Snape began without preamble.

"Have you reached a decision, then?" the boy asked lazily.

"I have," he confirmed, "and I consent to endeavor to help… Harry. However, I have one stipulation."

Daniel simply raised an eyebrow.

"There will be others involved in Harry's therapy."

"Absolutely not," immediately responded the alter.

Unfazed, Snape continued. "Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall will have a part in the healing process as well, along with Lupin."

"I refuse to let three more people know of our secret," Daniel forcefully stated, staring icily at the Potions Master.

"Do you honestly believe the three in question will not eventually discover what you are hiding?" the Professor sneered. "Whether I tell them or not, they will know; they are already concerned and suspicious in regards to Mr. Potter's recent behavior. If they are involved from they outset, Harry will have a wider and more… sympathetic… foundation of support."

Though Snape was still being glared at, he could tell that the alter was at least considering his words. After about half a minute, the expression on the boy's face shifted, and the Potion's Master found himself on the end of a measuring, thoughtful stare. Unlike the stare leveled at him by Daniel, Snape was easily able to detect a degree of affability in whomever it was that had just emerged.

When the boy next spoke, it was in a considerably warmer tone. "You're sure that informing the other three professors would not be harmful to Harry?"

"I am positive," Snape responded easily, taking great pride in the fact that he hadn't faltered at the emergence of this new alter. "At present, they have much better relationships with him than I have, and he quite obviously trusts them more. And there is no question that none of them would do anything to harm him."

"Are you absolutely certain that they will not tell anyone else of our secret?" the boy pressed.

"Yes."

The black-haired boy finally removed his stare from the Potion's Master and, with furrowed brow, looked to be in serious debate with himself (which, Snape reminded himself, was actually a significant possibility). Finally, the boy slowly exhaled and looked back up at him with an easy smile on his face.

"We agree," he said.

Snape simply nodded in satisfaction, somewhat at a loss for what to say.

Suddenly, the boy brought a hand to his forehead and laughed lightly. "I've just realized I'd forgotten to introduce myself in the midst of the discussion! I apologize; it was very rude of me.

"My name is Eric Samuels," he said, smiling sheepishly at the professor.

"A pleasure," Snape said tersely.

What had he gotten himself into?

Author's Notes:

Some random odds and ends: almost all the names for original, minor characters are borrowed from people I know in real life. However, if any fans of the musical Rent are reading this, then I'm sure they noticed I borrowed the name of one the main characters, and used it for one of the new members of the Quidditch team.

Dissilia is an alteration of the Latin word 'Dissilio' which means "to leap apart, break asunder."

Zokaine is a transliteration from Hebrew, and it literally means old, or elder.

I am a huge nerd; if there was really such a book as Mind Over Magic: Implications of Psychology in the Wizarding World, I would read it in a heartbeat.

I'll be posting review responses in my blog (of which there is a handy link on profile) within 24 hours.

Also, my apologies for not having updated in a couple months; it's amazing how much time midterms, lit papers, and ecology lab reports take up.