A/N: That crazy thing called life is getting in the way. Lots of working, traveling, then some good old COVID to top things off. Still doing my best to work consistently at this story—but it's definitely turning out to be longer than I thought!

Chapter Seven: Occlumency

In the sitting room, Snape sat in the armchair and gestured for Harry to sit across from him. "The first step in Occlumency, as you should well know by now, is to clear your mind," Snape said, wasting no time. "In our lessons previously you were either unable or unwilling to master this step, rendering our efforts rather fruitless. I trust after the events of last year you realize now the importance of being able to guard your mind against unwanted intrusions." Though his tone was matter-of-fact and lacked accusation, Harry still felt the weight of that statement drop in his stomach like a stone. "Occlumency also is useful for tempering strong emotions, such as anger," Snape said this with a pointed raise of his eyebrow, "fear, even sadness. Now tell me, Potter. Last year, did you attempt to clear your mind in our lessons, or did your desire to acquire information override any sense you might have had to take those lessons seriously?"

Anger sprung within Harry instantly. He clenched his teeth hard and kept his eyes trained on the floor to keep from reacting, mostly because he didn't want Snape's allusion to his emotions proven right. "I really was trying, sir. It's true that I wanted information. I don't like being kept in the dark about things that concern me. But I knew how important it was to not let Voldemort have control of my mind. Maybe…" he hesitated, but pressed onward. "Maybe it's true that if I didn't want the information so bad, I would have tried even harder. But that doesn't mean I wasn't trying at all."

"Hmm." Harry chanced a glance upward and saw Snape's countenance had turned thoughtful. He fished a vial from his robe and set it on the coffee table between them. "This is a potion I've developed to aid us in this task. It will allow me to feel your mind as if it were my own, which will, in turn, allow me to understand the best way I might help you to learn Occlumency. If you are willing to drink it, you may be able to learn quite a bit more quickly."

Harry reached over and held the vial in his hand. The potion was thick and gelatinous, almost black in color, and looked singularly unappealing. "What happens if I don't take it?"

"Then we will continue on as before, as there is no other known method of learning this art. But if I can understand why it is you're having such trouble, you may stand a chance of mastering it yet."

Harry looked at Snape doubtfully. "Are you sure I need to learn it? I haven't had as many visions this year, and when I do I can just… ignore them."

Snape regarded Harry with great skepticism. "And the minute the Dark Lord sends you a vision of your friends in danger? You will be quick to ignore it then?"

Harry pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze back to the potion. "What… what will it be like, taking the potion? What will it feel like, I mean?"

"It may prove different for you than it did for me. I experienced it almost like how Muggles describe psychedelics. There was a feeling of disconnect from reality, yet also a keen interest in the sensations I was experiencing."

"You tried it?" Harry said with surprise.

Snape gave him one of those 'why are you such a dunderhead' looks he employed in class so much. "I can't very well give a potion I've invented to a student without trialing it first. I imbibed the potion you have there, while the headmaster," he retrieved another vial from his pocket, this one a deep iridescent blue, "imbibed this sister brew. Both brews contain a drop of unicorn blood, freely given, which… well, can you ascertain what the effect might be?"

Harry thought hard, but came up empty and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not sure, sir."

Snape actually looked a bit disappointed at that. "Some more studying on blood magics to be done, then. The unicorn blood, freely given, facilitates a mind connection. To complete the potion, both parties must also offer a drop of their own blood, freely given, to each brew. This will allow me to meld with your mind for a time, to feel it as though it were my own."

Harry rolled the vial between his fingers thoughtfully. "And Dumbledore wants me to do this?"

"It was Professor Dumbledore's idea, in fact." Snape hesitated a moment. "After the… incident last year, when we discontinued our lessons, he suggested this course of action. I began developing the potion soon thereafter, though I confess I did not intend to use it. I did not intend, in fact, to ever be instructing you in this manner again."

"Sorry to disappoint you, then." Harry said balefully.

"Circumstances notwithstanding, it is perhaps best to consider this a fortuitous opportunity. It's become clear—in a variety of ways—that you are in need of these lessons, Harry."

Harry's head snapped up. "Why do you keep calling me by my name?"

Snape's expression was dispassionate. "I do call my Slytherins by their first names on occasion, when we are not in class."

Harry felt his ire raising again at the mention of being a Slytherin and had to dig his fingernails into his thigh to calm himself. When he looked up he saw that Snape's left eyebrow was raised, the unspoken 'I told you so' clear as day.

A gust of air escaped Harry's lips. "Alright. So… one drop of blood from each of us then?"

Snape conjured a short pocket knife in response, then uncorked his own vial and gestured for Harry to do the same. Carefully, Snape pricked his own thumb with the tip of the knife, then pinched his skin over the mouth of his vial. He allowed one drop of blood to fall into his potion, then did the same for Harry's. Harry watched all of this with growing trepidation, then offered his own thumb to the Potions Master. Snape made quick use of the knife, and a small bead of blood pooled quickly on the surface of Harry's skin. He squeezed a drop into his vial, then to the one Snape held in front of him.

"Bottoms up, Potter." Snape downed the potion in one go.

Sighing, Harry followed suit, forcing down the impulse to gag at the feel of the gelatinous substance in his mouth. The taste was vile and reminded Harry of the noisome cheeses Petunia would buy for Vernon's business dinners. He swallowed hard, then sat for a moment with his eyes squeezed shut, willing his throat to behave.

He felt the vial being taken from his fingers, then a hand pressing into his shoulder. "Lie back on the couch. You will be more comfortable that way."

Harry was already starting to drift. He felt his head settle into something soft, then his legs being lifted. When he opened his eyes the ceiling appeared distorted, shadows from the fire mingling together in strange combinations.

"Keep your eyes closed and breathe deeply." The voice was low and steady, soothing, and Harry did as directed. He felt pressure on his forehead, and a distant part of him realized that Snape's hand must be placed there. It didn't bother him though, even though he felt it should have. "Release yourself, Harry. Just let yourself be." Compelled to obey, Harry felt his body sink deeper into the cushions, his muscles loosening with every breath. Though his eyes were closed, the colors from the ceiling danced in his head, which recalled other shapes and memories.

He felt a presence slowly seep into his mind, but it didn't feel threatening—not like Voldemort's presence, which sometimes loomed darkly at the edges of his consciousness. This one felt more unfamiliar, but Harry could sense somehow that it didn't mean him harm. The images in his mind shifted now, colors of deep gray and orange whirling together and then expanding outward. The Dursley's living room faded into view and Harry saw himself tiptoeing down the stairwell, an action figure with one arm clutched in his right hand. He couldn't have been more than seven years old. Bright sunlight streamed through the windows—it must have been mid-afternoon, maybe summertime. At the landing Harry paused and peered cautiously into the empty kitchen, then scurried to the cupboard under the stairs. With great practice he turned the latch and opened the door, tossed the toy inside, then closed the door quietly and walked unassumingly to the kitchen.

Colors swirled together as the memory faded from view. Harry felt distinctly that he should be self-conscious about what he had seen—what the presence had been witness to—but he wasn't. A feeling of sadness had accompanied the memory, but no feelings of embarrassment for having had it witnessed. The pressure on his forehead remained steadfast and Harry found himself taking great comfort in it, though he was certain the gesture was wholly unfamiliar to him.

Another memory came into view. Harry was a bit older in this one, perhaps nine or ten. He didn't get much of a view of himself as he ran into the house from outside and flung open the cupboard door, hastily slamming it shut behind him. Vernon came careening after him, opening the cupboard door forcibly and sticking his head and arm inside. The man was too big to fit through the frame, however, and hurled insults at Harry before slamming the door shut again and locking it from the outside. Fear overcame him, and Harry suddenly saw the shapes shift and attempt to coalesce into a vision of himself huddled inside the cupboard. Before it could gain ground the colors bled together, making the image indiscernible as it faded from view. He felt great relief at this. Although he knew that the presence in his mind didn't mean him harm, he still didn't want anyone else to know about the cupboard.

More memories of his childhood appeared in this way with accompanying feelings of distress—Vernon towering over him with his fist in the air, Petunia coming at him with a frying pan. Memories of his aunt and uncle would often begin to morph and reveal the cupboard's interior, but each time the cupboard appeared, that strange bleeding of colors would dissolve the image completely.

Harry felt himself suddenly propelled forward, the presence in his mind directing him to a particular time and location. He found himself at Grimmauld Place, sitting in the kitchen and laughing with his godfather. A deep feeling of longing settled within him as he watched himself with Sirius. The memory shifted and he saw himself sitting next to Sirius near the Christmas tree, his godfather reminiscing over holidays spent with James in their youth. Several more scenes played out—Harry and Sirius playing gobstones, pranking Ron, and finally, the man telling Harry he was proud of him. The memories shifted again, and suddenly he was at the Department of Mysteries, where he and his godfather stood back to back dueling the Death Eaters. As the Veil came into view, every inch of Harry's being protested what was about to take place. He distantly recognized a keening sound coming from his own throat as he felt the loss of his godfather all over again, then felt the pressure against his forehead increase and another pressure added to his shoulder. Before the scene could play out it suddenly melted. A distinct view of the inside of his cupboard appeared, before that too coalesced into an indiscernible whirlpool of color.

A feeling of emptiness filled Harry then, and no more memories emerged. He floated awhile in a maelstrom of browns and blues, his body acutely aware of the presence still in his mind, the hands still resting on his forehead and shoulder. After awhile the presence began to recede, though the hands stayed where they were. Harry blinked as he came aware of himself, then grew confused when he was prevented from sitting up by that pressure on his shoulder.

"Easy. Best to stay lying still for the moment."

It took a moment for the fuzziness in Harry's mind to fade away, but when it did an acute sense of embarrassment stole over him. He sat up quickly, pushing Snape's hand aside and cradling his face in his hands. "You were looking for those memories," he accused, his voice hoarse.

"Yes," Snape conceded. "I had a theory, and needed to test it."

Harry tossed his glasses beside him on the couch and rubbed his eyes. "Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked, his voice bitter.

"I did." Snape's voice was soft, almost gentle, a sharp contrast to Harry's.

"Well? Are you going to tell me or not?"

"Take a moment to breathe, Harry." Harry's hands were clutched almost desperately in his hair now. Out of the corner of his eye a serving tray with tea and biscuits hovered close. Snape fetched the teapot and poured Harry a cup, presenting it to him like an offering. Harry wanted nothing more than to throw it across the room and watch it shatter, but resisted with great effort. He took the cup and cradled it in his hands.

Snape stood from where he'd been crouched on one knee. Harry realized the man had likely sat that way for the entirety of the exercise, and he wondered that Snape's knees hadn't given out on him. Snape served himself a cup of tea and then resumed his spot in the armchair, eyeing Harry keenly.

"After receiving the letter from your uncle, I found myself curious about why I'd never seen any memories of him during our lessons. His letter provoked a rather strong reaction from you, which should indicate that he holds more prominence in your memories rather than less. And yet, nothing—no indication that your uncle holds any sort of significance in your life at all." Snape took a sip of his tea and shifted his gaze to the fire. "After melding into your mind, I can see now what is happening. It is not that your uncle has no significance. Rather, his significance, as well as your aunt's, are so great—and so nefarious—that your mind must shield you from memories of them in order to cope. Drink your tea."

Surprised at the non sequitur, Harry drank his tea and instantly felt warmth come over him. He felt his anxiety reduce considerably, and immediately rolled his eyes at the realization that the man had dosed him with a Calming Draught. The potion itself wouldn't let him feel terribly annoyed about it, though, and he took another sip.

"Whenever I observed a particularly difficult memory, it would melt away and an image of the inside of a cupboard would appear. I don't know what the significance of this cupboard is, but the fact that it appears for only a moment and then also melts away suggests that the cupboard is not only shielding your most difficult memories, it also removes evidence of this shielding by fading away itself."

Harry let this sink in a moment. "So… I'm hiding my memories in the cupboard. And then I'm making the cupboard disappear. So it's like… it's almost like the memories are not there at all?"

"In a sense," Snape said. Harry was amazed at how patient the man sounded. "The memories are traceable to you—if you dig deep enough, you can recall these memories easily. But you are also able to stuff these memories into the cupboard and forget about them when it is necessary to do so. When it is necessary for your own sanity to forget them, for example. How often do you consciously think about your godfather?" Harry's shoulders tensed. Snape nodded as though a suspicion were confirmed. "I suspect memories of your godfather come at unexpected moments, perhaps even in your dreams. Do you recall a time when you've thought of your godfather, but then immediately brought to mind an image of this cupboard to take his place?"

Harry's mind went back to just that morning when he'd learned that Snape was Draco's godfather—that awful feeling of wishing desperately for Sirius to be alive and to tend to him as Snape did to Draco, and how he'd interrupted those longings by imagining himself in his cupboard with its accompanying numbness.

Snape didn't wait for Harry to respond before he continued. "Your mind is using this cupboard as a shield—and yet I sensed that the cupboard in itself is a source of shame for you. I'll ask you to explain why that is in a moment, but the salient matter now is this: you have, in fact, mastered a form of Occlumency."

Harry's eyes snapped up in shock. "What?"

"The memories I saw today were not present in our Occlumency lessons despite the incredibly strong emotions attached to them—and it was memories such as these that I was actively seeking during our lessons. This means, of course, that you did in fact succeed in shielding them from me."

He dared to feel hope, even a sense of accomplishment, but these feelings were quickly quashed as he observed the grim look on Snape's face. "But.. that's a good thing, isn't it? That I was able to shield them from you?"

"Your mind is only partially secure. Because shame is your motivating factor, only those memories associated with that emotion are secure from outside intrusion—everything else is quite bare and vulnerable, a veritable blank canvas for Voldemort to implant false visions. And too, no Occlumency shield can be sustained by such a strong negative emotion such as shame. Under the wrong circumstances, the cupboard in your mind could implode with memories rooted in this emotion, which would not only render you helpless in the face of an enemy, but even a danger to yourself."

"A danger to myself?"

"The intensity of such an emotion can cause one to experience a desire for self-harm." Snape eyed him carefully. "Have you ever experienced such a feeling, Potter?"

Shocked, Harry shook his head fiercely. "No! I'm not some kind of nutter!"

Snape laced his fingers together calmly. "I didn't say you were. I merely asked you a question—and even if you had answered 'yes,' it would hardly make you a nutter. It would make you a normal teenage boy who has experienced extremely trying circumstances, as well as an appalling lack of adult guidance to aid him in dealing with those circumstances."

Annoyed, Harry sat back and folded his arms over his chest. "I can take care of myself."

"Oh yes, we've established just how well you've been taking care of yourself, Potter," Snape said wryly. "In any case, that is not the issue at the moment. Now that we know what is going on in your mind, we can begin to take the necessary steps to unwind this pattern."

"And how are we supposed to do that?"

Snape eyed him intently. "We will talk."

Gobsmacked, Harry simply stared.

"Yes, Potter. We will talk. It appears that clearing your mind of emotion is not a method for learning Occlumency that will work for you, regardless of the fact that it has worked for many others, including myself. Strong emotion seems instead to be the tether you need to shield your mind, thus we will explore more positive emotions and find one suitable to the task."

"But why do we have to talk to do that? Why can't I just… you know… concentrate on changing my emotions?"

"It is much more complicated than that. Exposing memories couched in shame, then finding an alternative positive emotion to associate with these memories… it will be very difficult."

Harry pounded his fist against his knee in frustration. "But why. Why can't we just keep the memories where they are, and then you can teach me how to use a more positive emotion to shield the rest of my mind?"

Snape's expression finally evidenced some frustration, which made Harry feel strangely relieved. "As I just finished explaining, hiding your memories with shame can only produce bad results in the end. As well, you will never be able to fully Occlude your mind with two competing emotions vying for control of the art. Your shield must be of one substance—an emotion, an element, an emptiness. It is very rare for emotion itself to be the Occluding tool. Emotion is usually that which puts someone at risk of intrusion by the Legilimens, which is why I've been instructing you to clear your mind of emotions. But we shall have to employ a new strategy." Snape summoned a piece of parchment and quill and set them on the coffee table. "Your assignment for this afternoon is to list a positive emotion that could be consistently drawn upon, and to describe what comes to mind when you think of this emotion. You may describe sensations that you feel, memories or people that come to mind, hopes for the future. Whatever you wish. But I expect at least a foot on the subject. Now, one final thing, and then we will conclude this session. You will explain to me the significance of this cupboard."

Harry was dismayed to recognize the shame that came over him at merely the thought of explaining his cupboard to Snape. Something about knowing how the feeling was affecting him, affecting his mind, made him even more sensitive to it. Was it possible to feel shame about feeling shame?

He snapped back to attention as he realized Snape was still talking. "I do not require a lengthy monologue. A simple explanation will do, so long as it provides enough context to understand why this cupboard seems to serve as both a source of shame and a place of refuge."

Harry lips turned up ironically at that. He thought of being stubborn and refusing to answer the man, but figured he'd eventually be forced to talk anyway. "The cupboard was my bedroom until I got my Hogwarts letter. They'd lock me away in there when I got in trouble for something." He snorted without humor. "But it was also the place they couldn't get at me. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were too big to get past the door, and Aunt Petunia was scared of the spiders." He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I felt like I was safe there, even though I got locked in sometimes, too."

Silence reigned over the room for a long moment. Harry stole a glance up at the Potions Master and found his expression indecipherable. Uncomfortable, Harry looked away and fiddled with his empty teacup. "Um… should I get started on the assignment, then?"

A moment more passed before Snape suddenly stood. "Indeed. You may stay here or sit at the dining room table. I need to check on Draco, and then will be in my lab for an hour. I will check on you before lunch."

Snape departed, leaving Harry with nothing but his thoughts and a flurry of confused emotions.