Chapter -1
Severus was really frustrated with the Potter brat who, for the umpteenth time, had managed to accomplish the impossible. The boy had kind of sailed effortlessly through the first task of the Triwizard Tournament while the other champions hadn't remained unscathed. The Potions Professor had to admit then that even he was impressed with how Potter had handled the enraged dragon. And it was quite a remarkable bit of magic! His broom had made all the way from the Gryffindor tower to the arena following the boy's summoning charm, as if it simply were a book leapt into his outstretched arm from a few inches distance. But was it, on the second thought, that surprising, Severus mused? After all, he, being a mere thirteen years old boy, had conjured the Patronus charm of such a force that it had been able to chase away at least one hundred eager dementors. In both these cases there were needed not only one's pure power, but also firm determination, strong will and, last but not least, ability to organize yourself.
So, predictably, Severus came to conclusion that the boy, most obviously, never tried hard during their extracurricular activities. Potter's attempts at shielding his mind were steadily abysmal. By the second task the Professor had been even running out of scathing remarks on the boy's inability to grab ahold of his own emotions. And to add fuel to the fire, instead of putting in the effort, Potter decided to loosen him up by that suspect politeness and occasional willingness to answer his questions at potions. What the brat was trying to accomplish with it, Severus failed to understand. But the only thing he knew for sure, Potter was lazy and had nearly nonexistent respect for his Professor's repeatedly sacrificed evenings.
Something, however, was nagging at him and making him narrow his eyes at the boy when Potter was time and again panting on his hands and knees on the stone floor of Severus' office. The man couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness each time he emerged from the boy's mind which was the exact one Severus believed him to have. It was undisciplined, full of chaotic mundane thoughts and disgustingly happy memories of Potter and his little friends. All of these was proving him right in his assumptions of the Golden boy. Nevertheless, the picture didn't seem complete and it was getting on his last nerve which resulted in doubling forces while rummaging through the boy's mind.
Didn't Potter understand the utmost importance of learning Occlumency? The boy must master to shield his mind before the Dark Lord revealed himself again and figured out how to mess up with the brat from the distance. And the Dark Lord's returning wasn't already a possibility, it was a petrifying fact which would occur in the nearest future. Severus knew it. Karkaroff knew it too, if his agitated speech during the Yule Ball was anything to go by. Severus didn't need him to stick his Dark Mark under his nose to know what was the meaning behind its dull throbbing and darkening. He had the thing himself, for the love of Merlin!
The day of Severus' returning to the service of the homicidal megalomaniac was inexorably approaching. He could already hear it knocking on his door what made waves of panic from time to time wash over him. But the man knew it was only an instinct for self-preservation kicking inside his stomach and reminding him that he was just a mortal human being with a limited tolerance for pain. However, that didn't change the fact that Severus one day would have to act against that instinct. He would store all his fears and disgust on the farthest shelf of his mind and would entirely give himself to his role of a spy for the Light. It was the only thing his life had been designed for since one young and bitter fool overheard the silly and confusing words of an old charlatan woman and repeated them to the man who gave a start to the Prophecy.
It was clear as day that the boy's involvement in the forthcoming war was inevitable. And not that Potter wasn't already deep in it with his constant desire to put his curious and noble little nose in where angels feared to tread. It was an irony really. The boy was feverishly trying to get himself killed while Severus did all he could to keep the ungrateful brat's arse safe. And Severus knew he'd proceed with his task because the Potter's spawn was, to his chagrin, also Lily's precious child. The situation was so complicated that Severus often felt how all of this was pulling him in different directions threatening to make a complete mess inside of him. He was worried that he wouldn't be able to protect the boy with the Dark Lord being among the living. If he had a say in the matters regarding the Boy-Who-Lived, first thing he would have grabbed him and hidden somewhere far from Britain. Yes, it would have been such an inconvenience, but, on the other hand, dirty cauldrons for the Potter brat to scrub could be found and outside Hogwarts walls. That way Severus would have kept him safe without losing the pleasure of torturing him.
The dislike for Potter was one of a few soothing constants in the Potions Master's live. It was his anchor and the source of power to make it through the day. Not once for the three years and a half Severus had given the boy credit for being a better man than he thought of him. It was what he had been assuring himself of anyway. And in his opinion, Severus had made a fine job thus far. That usually included taking points for insolence and stupid stunts, berating and insulting the boy's pathetic father to prevent him to go the same path of arrogance and false feeling of permissiveness. Potter should be grateful that at least somebody in the Wizarding world wasn't blinded by his fame and was trying to show him where he really stood.
But today his stability was deflected.
Severus didn't really know what had possessed him to hide in the alcove at the sight of Draco trying to make Potter rise to the bait. Maybe he wanted to give the two rivals the space to clear the air. It wasn't as if any of them were inclined to murder the other. They didn't even draw their wands. Besides, the man was a little bit curious how the Malfoy family heir would act around Potter without prying eyes. He always could step in and give an impudent Gryffindor what-for. In the Professor's eyes the guilty party was already obvious.
That's why the interaction between the students came as a surprise to him, and not a pleasant one. Severus didn't know what had happened before to rise such a topic on death and the Killing curse in particular but was intended to find out. In his speech Draco had sounded like someone who had pleasure in watching an innocent soul die. Like a Death Eater Lucius wanted him to become. And it was really disconcerting. Severus found Draco as a supercilious and haughty boy but never had he seen him among the likes to hurt others. Had he already lost the fight for him? And was it late for his other Snakes?
At one point, Severus thought Potter would become ballistic. He himself felt a righteous anger at the hint Draco had made about Lily. But the boy remained impassive and even somewhat tired. What Potter said to Draco was lacking malice and represented the mature part of him. His words undoubtably struck a nerve, Severus could say even if he didn't see Draco's face. The boy's shoulders went rigid and he was practically radiated the cold hatred towards his opponent. After he hissed a threat in Potter's face, Draco strode away leaving the other boy staying in the ringing silence of the corridor.
Severus was too caught up in his own thoughts regarding the incident that his ear not right away registered the approaching footsteps. It only took a moment for haunted green eyes to meet his. Potter however didn't linger a second longer while passing his Professor's hideout. The boy didn't acknowledge him, nor did he turn once to see if the Terror of dungeons was following him to have his head off for missing the class. The Potions Master didn't find it in himself to call him either, letting the boy disappear from sight around the first corner.
That evening was special. If anybody of the students saw their Potions Professor taking it easy on a Harry Potter and communicating with him without the usual spite, they would mark the date red in their calendar and spread rumors, each one more fantastic and absurd than the previous. Of course, it was a bit of a stretch, but certainly there was some truth to this too. And it made Severus extremely unhappy.
Since the incident in the deserted corridor several days had passed, but Snape couldn't help still feeling trapped in the memory. Their brief interaction, that wasn't really that at all, had left an anxious feeling in his gut. Only some time later did he put a name to it. Unmistakably, it was guilt what was surging through him. Not that the feeling was strange to him. Quite the opposite, it was present in his heart every second of every day torturing him. It was just that he wasn't used to have it directed to the messy-haired boy, that's why at first he couldn't comprehend what was going on with him.
Potter's eyes hadn't accused him in not taking action to deal with more than unpleasant situation where a fellow student had threatened him with a murder. There had been none of anger or surprise at knowing that his Professor had heard the boy had been accused of being weak and scared. These familiar eyes hadn't expected anything from him. Potter probably believed that him hurting didn't bother his Potions Professor at all. And for some reason that realization made the man's chest painfully constricted. His omission had only added to the boy's collection of reasons, whatever they were, not to seek help from adults and to try to handle all arising problems himself.
For the first time in many years the proud Professor felt ashamed of himself.
During their Occlumency lesson Potter was unfocused more than usual. All his thoughts were floating around the only topic – the second task which was due on tomorrow morning. In the boy's mind's eye was the picture of the Black Lake which was spreading the utter terror. It was accompanied with abstract images of water in general. It was apparent to Severus that Potter was terrified of the prospect of being submerged.
"I believe we should call it a night for today", Severus said sighing at the sight of the boy who was now trying to slow his breath down. "You should rest well before the tomorrow's challenge". He was not tiptoeing around the boy! It was only a reasonable suggestion.
Potter gave him an odd look. "Yes, sir". After he gathered his belongings, the boy made a few hesitant steps towards the office door as if not believing he was released earlier from his personal hell and waiting at any moment to be yelled at.
Awkwardness in the air was prominent. Finally, Severus cleared his throat and, as indifferently as he could master, asked, "Are you ready?" The man saw that the boy understood that the question wasn't any longer aimed at whether he had managed to clear his mind. He expected an answer leaking with stupid bravado, but the simple one that followed shocked him speechless.
"No".
Fidgeting with the strap of his school bag and pointedly looking at the Potions Master's desk rather than at the man himself, Potter offered, "Emm, goodnight sir".
The boy again expected nothing from him. And if a few days earlier Snape would assume the boy was too stubborn and proud to ask for help, now he knew better. Being a few years younger than the other champions and not having a guiding hand (which Olympe and Igor undoubtably were providing Fleur and Viktor with, though it was against the rules), the boy was struggling with difficulties only with the help of a bunch of adolescents. Short and skinny, Potter now was looking even younger than he really was. And where was Albus with his annoying 'Golden boy' nonsense? Where was Minerva, for Merlin's sake? Were they just sitting calmly and waiting for the boy to produce wonders?
The one thing Severus knew for sure was that he would not remain idle again. That much he owed Lily.
Ron and Hermione refused to go to bed while their friend was silently panicking. They remained at his side, seated in the comfy chairs near the crackling fire of the fireplace and detached from all the hubbub that was filling the air. Finally, it was only three of them seated in the Gryffindor common room. They couldn't possibly leave him to his misery, knowing full well that Harry would face tomorrow's tribulations completely bare-handed.
It might seem to a random observer, that those two were more out of joint than Harry himself was at the moment, but it wouldn't be the right thing to think. The Boy-Who-Lived was simply used to find himself in a deadlock without any hope left in his heart. And he knew better than to show his inner turmoil. Usually it was a defensive mechanism he had learned a hard way. But now he really should maintain a reasonable semblance of strength to spare his friends unnecessary worry. Up to this day he had somehow managed to survive, and now he was really suspicious that his luck wouldn't expand into tomorrow.
Harry listened with one ear Ron's heated suggestion of him hiding under Harry's Invisibility cloak and stealthily confounding the other champions, so that they would have performed worse than Harry. If one could imagine it, it was rather funny, but Harry wasn't in the mood to be amused.
"It's illegal, Ronald, really," Hermione chided her red-haired friend. Then she wrinkled up her forehead, thoughtful. The boys knew it always preceded quite a good solution from her part, so the both of them stared at her intently, literally making holes in her face with their eyes.
"Out with it, Hermione. Drop the bomb", Harry rushed her up feeling extremely nervous.
Hermione sighed and tiredly said, "It's a simple way out actually. What you need to do is just do nothing at all".
"Hah?" Ron gaped at her stupidly. He couldn't comprehend what she had just suggested. "How's that better? Did you hear that, Harry? She wants you to stand there like a bloody fool and do nothing. How it's supposed to help?"
Harry too shook his head indignantly. The very thought of standing idle and waiting for the judges to become fed up with him and throw him in the water made him shiver. Could they do that, if he refused to jump in the Lake?
"Idiots", the girl muttered to herself not too quietly. "One can't be disqualified from taking part in the Tournament in the middle of it. But from the part of it can. By refusing to partake tomorrow you'll gain zero points. You'll fall behind all of your rivals, but, all in all, will be safe".
Uh-huh, safe and utterly disgraced, Harry added bitterly to himself. Slytherins would love that. The boy could already see the headline in the 'Daily Prophet': 'The Boy-Who-Didn't-Manage'. Not to mention, how Dumbledore would be disappointed in his Golden boy who kinda ought to be a wizarding world's hero. And what about Sirius? What if he would consider his godson a coward? What a shame to the Potter name! Judging by the expression on Ron's face, the boy was trailing on the same line of thought. But before any of them could give a piece of their mind, a loud pop distracted them, startling them out of their skin.
"Dobby!" Harry exclaimed, his heart pounding in his chest.
The house elf was beaming at him, not at all bothered by the impact, his unexpected appearance had caused the three Gryffindors. A ridiculous amount of mismatched colourful socks merrily flaunted from the tiny elf's legs. "Hello, Harry Potter, sir! Hello, Harry Potter's sir's friends! Dobby's very lucky to find you still awake."
"What is it, Dobby?" the boy asked the incorrigible little creature. "Is something wrong with Winky?" When Harry last saw the inconsolable elf, she had been trying to put her nose through the mouth of firewhiskey bottle, so drunk she had been then.
"Oh, no, sir, it's not about hers, but thank yous for asking. Harry Potter is a great wizard, so caring and kind even to us, mere house elves", Dobby sniffed.
A sound at Harry's left, suspiciously resembling a muffled fit of snickering, made him blushed. Trust Dobby to fuss over him and embarrass him in front of his friends! "Emm, well, Dobby, what brought you here at such a late hour?"
"Dobby came to help Professor Severus Snape to help Harry Potter".
The children stared at him as if he'd grown two additional heads. Ron even looked disgusted at the mention of the git's name pronounced with happy overtones.
"Pardon?" Harry choked out.
"Ow", the elf's ears slumped and his face scrunched up in a guilty expression. "But Professor Snape instructed Dobby to say that it's Dobby who wants to help. Or was it about Professor Snape wanting to help? Not that Dobby doesn't want to help Harry Potter too… Dobby's confused". Now he was tugging at his ears in clear intention of punishing himself for letting superfluous information slip. "Dobby should turn himself over to Professor Snape for his incompetence this instant!"
Dobby was already going to snap his fingers when Harry recognized the elf's gesture as the attempt to apparate away and quickly seized the little hand. "Wait!" the boy cried, and Hermione hissed at him to lower his voice if he didn't want to wake up all the Gryffindors. "How's Snape… I mean you, Dobby, going to help me?" Harry decided it was better to pretend he hadn't heard the Snape part at all.
The elf seemed grateful. He perked up right away and started explaining, "Dobby knows that Harry Potter doesn't have anything to let him breathe under water. So Dobby made research and found something that could help with it". Harry couldn't decide what feelings this lie, put in Dobby's mouth by a certain Potions Professor, raised in him. It all was so unSnape like, that the boy wasn't even sure he wasn't hallucinating.
Dobby rummaged through his clothes and pulled out a plain wooden box. Harry gingerly took it, not knowing what to expect from the thing presented, lo and behold, by Snape. He opened the lid only to find there a sort of a plant that resembled a bundle of slimy, grey-green rat tails.
"What the hell is that?" Ron peered over Harry's shoulder, obviously repulsed by the sight of that dubious gift. Harry wanted to know that as well.
Instead of the elf however it was Hermione who answered, taking the box from Harry's hands, "It's a gillyweed!" Her excitement completely opposed the boys' aversion. "I've read somewhere about it. After you eat it, it gives you gills, allowing you to breathe underwater, and with webbing between the fingers and toes you can even rival merpeople' swimming skills, with due practice of course. I haven't mentioned it to you because gillyweed isn't a common plant you can easily purchase. However, I'm not surprised Professor Snape has it. It's very generous of him to give you one, Harry".
"Of course, she's read it somewhere", Ron muttered under his breath, "Who'd have thought?"
"No, no", Dobby babbled, terrified. "Dobby stole it from Professor Snape's private storeroom! Professor Snape didn't give it to Dobby to pass it to Harry Potter!"
Harry should remember in the future that his little friend could hardly tell a lie. "Ok, Dobby, thank you. You saved my hide".
"It's Dobby's honor to help Harry Potter!" With that the elf bounced twice with glee and disappeared, leaving the three Gryffindors in stunned silence.
All of them were staring at the disgusting content of the box, not quite believing that after the amount of books they had perused in the library, the solution just popped right in front of them and at the perfect time at the behest of their snarky Potions Professor, of all people.
"It's a mind-blower, isn't it?" Ron whistled in astonishment.
"Yeah", it was hard not to agree with it.
Harry took back the box from Hermione and couldn't help feeling warmth that washed over him. It was the first time ever when an adult had deliberately made a move to help him, not because was told to or ought to. And Snape would not have any benefit from it as Harry wasn't even supposed to know about the man's contribution. It was one thing to receive help from someone who liked you and quite another to have it from the very person who had been actively hating your guts since you first step foot on the Hogwarts grounds. There definitely was more to the man than Harry had ever realized. And maybe, just maybe Snape finally would see that the same could be applied to Harry too.
"So, are you going to eat it tomorrow, mate?" Ron asked, unsure. "What if it's poisoned?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and didn't even grace that with a comment. Harry smiled, feeling relaxed for the first time in months. Snape had not only provided him with an aid, he'd given him opportunity to forget about his phobia. It'd be almost impossible to fear water when you could breathe in it with your own lungs. And the Boy-Who-Lived knew he wouldn't waste this chance if he could help it. "Even if it is", Harry answered, his green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, "it's not that I have another choice".
True to his word Harry hadn't humiliated himself during the second task. It was all he could do not to seek Snape's eyes hoping to find in their depths a hint of pride. He was slightly embarrassed by his childish behavior, but quickly suppressed the annoying thought of why on earth would such an emotion present there regarding Harry.
As the days went by, the Golden Trio could finally take their first full breath in weeks, free from the unpleasant anticipation of another puzzle demanding to be solved. The weather was becoming more and more welcoming, so they fell into the habit to spent afternoons outside the castle after the classes. Harry really appreciated the break. One more task, and he would be done with that damnable Tournament and forget about it like a simple nightmare.
Even at Occlumency lessons Harry felt the first glimmer of hope. Snape now seemed to tolerate him more than ever, refraining from laying into his student's sorry hide in three out of five cases. And it was an achievement, to Harry's mind.
When, frustrated and for a change disappointed in himself, he gathered his bravery and asked Snape why couldn't he grasp the concept of occluding one's mind, the man shocked him by saying that actually Harry had already been doing it for quite some time.
"It appears, Mr. Potter, that your occluding is selective. I didn't realize it at once, but after that much time being inside your head I can say it with confidence". At Harry's puzzled expression Snape elaborated further, "I didn't see in that head of yours a single unhappy or sad memory prior to your arrival at Hogwarts as a first-year student. Even such a little pampered prince as yourself must have experienced sorrow, pitiful though it was".
Yep, definitely it was one of the two remaining cases when Professor wasn't in the mood to trying to be nice to Harry, to his own standards of course.
"So that leaves me with only one conclusion. Concealment of that something in your past from others, probably from yourself as well, has been developed into unconscious sort of Occlumency. Only you, Mr. Potter, can be so special to produce accidental mental magic". Snape narrowed his eyes at him looking suspicious.
'Geeze, no doubt Snape's contemplating a horrible crime on my part', that way Harry deciphered the riddle his Professor's face was. Aloud he asked with an edge to his tone, "And what would I do about it?" Seeing a dangerous glimpse in the man's dark eyes he hastily added, "Sir".
Harry was not at all happy to appear once again special. A freak. He would have happily scraped off his lightning-shaped scar from his forehead, if he only could, so that he wouldn't be in need learning Occlumency in the first place. No such luck though.
Unusual as it was, Snape let it slide. Maybe he'd exhausted his stock of malice for today, Harry thought trying not to snicker. The man undoubtedly wouldn't appreciate it. "Learn to control it", Snape said sharply. "In order to manage it you must consider the very intention you put in your shield that up to this day has been successfully preventing my looking further into your mind".
The boy was looking at him flabbergasted. It was the nearest thing to a compliment Harry could have ever received from Snape. These words of acknowledgement were few and dryly said, but they affected the teen and made him, for the moment, feel his chest swelling with pride. In a way it sounded reassuringly to him. His relatives had never praised his hard work, they hadn't even seemed to notice that basically it was Harry who had been running their house. But if something wasn't in order, they were quick on doling out cruel punishments.
"But sir", Harry started carefully, "Your analogy for a mental shield isn't working for me, all that brewing staff and all".
The Professor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "It seems to me I've given you too much credit for your aptitude to figure that matter out by yourself. Clearly, I was mistaken", now he was looking at Harry down his long nose. "Well, Mr. Potter, let me correct my misconception".
One part of Harry felt a little portion of embarrassment, but the other though, the bigger one, was screaming 'It's unfair!' on the inside. After weighing the pros and cons of his response, Harry decided it was wiser to keep silent. Not receiving a whine from his student, Snape continued, "You should pick up your own analogy with the aid of which you would manage to sort out a chaos a human being's mind is. It must be something that brings you confidence, familiar images you could be able to make them arose at any time, if situation warrants it, or ideally to maintain constantly altogether. It's not something I can do for you. You need to give a good thought to it, but I'd recommend you to start with your beloved quidditch that seems to flood the significant part of your brain", the man finished smirking.
The boy wanted to feel affronted but couldn't find it in himself. This time Snape's remark wasn't actually that snide. It was more of an attempt to maintain an evil git's image than something else. Besides, Harry was already roaming through his played matches, mentally taking notes of what he would be able to use as elements for his future Occlumency shield.
"Take your time. We will continue in ten minutes", Snape offered, positioning himself at his desk and slipping the stack of papers to grade over to himself.
Controlling your mind was easier said than done. Images were constantly slipping from his focus, shifting into other forms, and leading the boy's thoughts from one topic to another. After ten minutes he was feeling a headache growing under his skull. And instead of being calm after the attempt of detaching himself from emotions now Harry was pretty irritated.
With a rustling of parchment Snape rose to his feet and now was again standing in front of Harry, expectantly arching his eyebrow. Really, how did the man do it so expressively, at the same time remaining an indifferent statue-like guy. "Should we begin, Mr. Potter?" Obviously, it was not a question.
The Gryffindor nervously exhaled. Hastily he crumpled his memories in a tiny blob and squeezed it inside a golden snitch. The shining ball merrily flapped its wings and took off from his hand in the sky teasing to try to catch it. Then he nodded at Snape. That was one more thing that had changed between them. Now the man was asking if he was prepared before entering his mind like he used to do only a month earlier.
"Legilimens", Snape breathed out, pointing his wand at Harry.
The boy was watching as if from afar Snape appearing in the quidditch pitch and looking around. Finally, the man noticed the snitch and followed it with his eye as the ball swiftly flew past him. 'Ha, take it, Snape! You ought to have a broom to catch it. But can you see one around?'
'You think too loud, Potter', Snape's taunt reverberated inside his head. Harry yelped in surprise and the picture of the pitch slightly blurred.
The man extended his arm and commanded, "Up". Out from nowhere a broom jumped into his hand. The pressure on Harry's mind intensified and the boy felt that his poor control was starting to wear off. In the meantime, Snape mounted his broom and kicked off the ground.
'No!' Harry shouted and sent his way a bludger, popped in existence at the boy's will. But Snape easily waved it away as if it were just an annoying fly. If it kept going that way, Harry feared the snitch might obligingly land on the man's palm itself without as much as a resistance. 'Think, Harry!' he ordered to himself. 'The quidditch pitch is your domain as potions are Snape's'.
If Snape wanted his memories, well, he'd indulge him. Harry mentally created a quaffle and tossed it to him. Slightly confused, the Potions Master caught it and instantly was pulled into the memory of himself clad in the old lady attire with a disgusting stuffed griff on top of his broad-brimmed hat. On his face was clearly written 'What the hell!'. For Harry it was even more hilarious image than the first time he had seen Neville's ridiculed boggart.
'Not bad, Potter', sneered Snape, getting grip of himself again and tossing the memory aside, adding one more reason to hate that fleabag Lupin to his list and promising himself to show the Longbottom brat what-for soon as he got a chance. 'But not enough'.
Unexpectedly the pitch started to fill with noise. On the stands Harry could see now a crowd of viewers and, to his horror, he discerned among the faces the one he usually saw in his nightmares during the school year. There, seated on the bench, was his Uncle Vernon in all his glory, layers of fat above his waist, thick moustache and all. But the man wasn't looking at him. Well, it was not entirely true. He did glare at Harry's younger self standing defeated beside him. And the moment Harry comprehended it, he, and Snape he'd wager, could hear what was being said there.
'And remember my word, boy', Vernon spitefully hissed at his nephew, 'if I hear as much as a pip from you this evening or see you doing your freaky stuff, while the Masons are here, it would be a hell to pay later. The last punishment would seem to you like a walk on a flower field. Am I clear?'
'Yes, sir', memory-Harry meekly replied.
Harry vividly remembered the loud thud of Dudley's second bedroom door slamming shut and the ringing of his barred window from the impact, but now they didn't follow his Uncle's rant. On the contrary, all the sounds subdued and the colours in front of his eyes lost their sharpness. In a heartbeat he once again found himself on his fours in Snape's office, feeling more shattered than ever.
When he dared to lift his eyes, he saw his Professor scrutinizing him as if he were a rare potions ingredient. Feeling uncomfortable at being in such a vulnerable position, he got back on his feet and glared back defiantly, daring Snape to comment on what he had seen inside Harry's head. But the man kept silent, getting on his nerves. Once or twice he parted his thin lips to say something but then pressed them back again. It was the first time Harry saw the always eloquent man at a loss of words. Then finally reigning in his emotions, Snape cleared his throat and neutrally stated, "Well, this time it was something, Mr. Potter. It was indeed a creative shield, and I admire your attempts to disrupt me from getting to your hidden memories. Actually, your working out to distract me with another one is the next step in learning Occlumency. Maybe there's hope for you yet. But nonetheless your quidditch analogy is quite difficult to maintain. Try and choose another one. You're going in the right direction", and without letting his student answer he dismissed him.
When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room that evening his friends as always were waiting for him, though he'd told them numerous times they didn't need to. But Ron and Hermione were the same stubborn loyal fools as himself, so who was he to judge. They obligingly gave him their ear to complain about Snape. Ron went as far as to curse the bane of his best mate's existence. Usually Hermione's calmness and Ron's antics cheered him up but today he felt he wouldn't be able to stand it. So he grunted that he was very tired and was going to bed and blew right past them up to the sanctuary of his dormitory.
Once in his bed, Harry closed the curtains around it and crawled under the covers not bothering to change into pajamas. Though he had said so to his friends, he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. He knew that for sure. There was too much on his mind.
Snape suspecting his muggle relatives were not quite fond of their freakish nephew was bad enough in itself, but Snape pitying him for it was a disaster. It was the very reason why Harry didn't want anybody to know about his home life. Because it would have been unbearable to handle the changes in attitude towards himself. People would have considered him weak and fragile, ready to shatter at just their breath. But he was not! This time Snape hand't even yelled at him for failing to protect his mind, the man had said he 'admired' Harry's attempts, for Merlin's sake! That was saying something. And what was going to happen now when Snape had his piece of knowledge? Was he going to bombard him with questions so he could report to Dumbledore? Was he going to blackmail him or ridicule him in front of other students? Or was he going just to let it be? From all these questions Harry's head was spinning.
The other, more deeper, fear was for others to think he deserved the treatment at his relatives' hands. Because it'd have meant that the Dursleys' actions towards him were justified all those years, and as soon as the others understood it, there wouldn't be a place to Harry where he could feel accepted.
So Harry decided to play a fool and pretend that the memory meant nothing if Snape happened to ask him about it. And it was no way he would let the man see one more during their lessons. Next time he was determined to go out of his way to block the intrusion into his mind. And it looked like an idea of a better shield was already forming in his head.
With his spirits lifted, he didn't even hear Ron unsurely bidding him goodnight while passing his bed. In spite of not closing his eyes that night at all, next morning Harry was feeling satisfied and in a better mood. He was ready to rub Snape's nose at the next Occlumency lesson.
And in a few days Harry's wish was granted. But it went not at all smoothly as he had previously expected.
After throwing 'Legilimens' at him, Snape found himself in a room he remembered guarding from breaking into and stealing the Philosopher's Stone from. He was confused as to why the brat would choose this place where he could have easily died. At the far wall the Professor saw the familiar ancient, ornate mirror. Upon closer examination, it did indeed appear to be the Mirror of Erised with its mysterious inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Harry remembered Dumbledore saying once in explanation to him how he had managed to get the Stone, "It was one of my more brilliant ideas". Now it was Harry's turn to say these words. Snape himself had triggered the creation of such an unusual shield. In Harry Snape always saw what he wanted to see – a spoilt, disrespectful, insufferable, and obnoxious little prince. The Dursleys when were looking at him saw a freaky, bothersome intruder to their perfectly normal life. The Dursleys' neighbours thought of him as a juvenile delinquent keen on terrorizing the neighbourhood. And finally, how could he forget about all the Boy-Who-Lived stuff, hmm?
Snape entered his mind to see his memories with a certain purpose, that's why he would never be able to find them, he would only see the deepest desire of his heart in the Mirror's surface.
When the man came closer to the Mirror, his reflection in it drastically changed. Snape stiffened. His hands tightened to fists with such a force that his knuckles got white.
Curious to know what his Professor was seeing, Harry focused on his shield as to get access to what the Mirror was portraying. Harry saw and the picture made him gasp in pure shock. There beside the man were two figures. One was of a woman the Gryffindor had already seen in that same Mirror and in the photos Hagrid had so graciously gathered for him. His mum. It was utterly weird to see her standing alongside another man but his father and seeming to be very happy about it. She was smiling sweetly and having her hand tucked in the Snape's. The other figure was of a boy with an appearance of whom Harry was slightly familiar with. And then it struck him. He was looking at himself, well, almost. It was not a Harry Potter. It was a Harry Snape. The boy had his dark hair, but it laid flatter. Harry Snape was a little bit taller and didn't wear glasses that didn't hide his green eyes. His cheekbones were sharper and lips thinner. The boy, Harry noticed, had his mother's nose, not his father's. He would have laughed about that bit if not for this situation.
Harry was watching the image not quite comprehending what it meant, but when he did he felt as if the ground had crashed under his feet sending him to the never-ending fall. Snape knew his mother, loved her even. Loved enough to want to have a child with her. It was clear that the man was regretting the real Harry wasn't the Harry from the Mirror of Erised. And it hurt the boy in a way it shouldn't have been. He should be enraged at Snape for imagining himself in a relationship with Harry's mother. Yeah, he was definitely gobsmacked but not angry which annoyed him to no end. And the knowledge of being wanted to be born somebody else hit him hard. Harry would never be able to gain the man's acceptance because he was Harry Potter, not Harry Snape.
The reality crushed back on him unexpectedly. And to his embarrassment, the boy found himself crying. He hastily wiped the tears away.
Snape was glaring at him with such a loath that Harry instinctively cringed. As a true Gryffindor he was, Harry made a step further closing the distance between them and pathetically stuttered, "Sir, I…" He didn't really know what one was supposed to tell in such situations.
The Professor saved him the trouble of inventing something and hissed in his quiet, velvet, that was usually identified as his most dangerous, voice, "Get out of here and never return!".
Harry didn't dare to disobey.
Well, now we're finished with the part that takes place before the "Prologue". Thank you for your patience. I really hope that I've not bored you to death.