[I really wanted this scene to happen in Harry Potter...wish fulfillment time!]

Chapter 16

"Last year's attempts at these lessons were disastrous, as I'm sure we both recall," said Snape.

"Yes, they were. So…why are we attempting it again?" Harry asked.

Snape paced back and forth in front of a large, dark fireplace. "It's necessary."

Harry sighed and looked around, realizing that he'd never been in this room before. It was clearly Snape's personal study. Despite his frustration, he peered inquisitively at the furniture and neatly organized bookshelves. The room was far from cluttered, devoid of knickknacks, but every utilitarian item –a smoky crystal inkwell, a candleholder in the form of a kelpie horse, an urn-like vessel bristling with black quills– had more character than Harry would've envisioned. Despite the dankness of the dungeon walls, the space had an undeniable elegance, rather like the potions master himself. It was likewise cold and austere. A shiver ran through Harry, and he rubbed his hands up and down his arms to generate heat. Snape noticed, and said, "There's always a chill in here, even in summer. I'll light a fire."

He began to build a fire by hand, arranging kindling and larger sticks. Harry watched, curious. Hunched down by the hearth, he had never looked so human. "Why are you doing it the Muggle way?" Harry asked.

Snape lit a match and applied it to his careful construction. "I've found that certain tasks are more enjoyable without the use of magic. Also, to be quite honest, I'm attempting to gather my thoughts."

After the fire had been stoked up to the point that it was burning steadily, Snape stood up and absentmindedly brushed his hands on his heavy black jacket. He sighed deeply and said, "Potter, I was mistaken."

"What?"

"I've been laboring under the misapprehension that the practice of Occlumency requires a firm mastery of one's emotions as a prerequisite. For me, it has always been an intellectual skill, an exercise in compartmentalizing my thoughts and feelings. This came naturally to me…so it goes with my personality. You, however, are emotionally open by nature. So, perhaps instead of trying to suppress your nature, we can work with it to achieve the same result. Occluding with love."

The word love was so unexpected coming from Snape, Harry hesitated for a long moment, before asking, "Is that possible?"

"Yes, and you've already been doing it, in an unfocused way. It's the truth, which Dumbledore told you, that you will defeat Voldemort because of your love…and the love of your mother."

Harry couldn't recall ever hearing him refer to Voldemort as anything other than the Dark Lord. He began to pay closer attention to Snape's words, sensing that this was a conversation he would be unwise to dismiss. At the risk of opening old wounds, he felt the need to say, "Sir…I want you to know that I am truly sorry about what happened last term, when I saw your memories. I promise I won't do that again, if I can help it."

Still gazing at the rising flames, Snape shook his head and said, "Potter, before I can, in good faith and clear conscience, deem to teach you anything…I owe you an enormous apology for the way I've treated you. I have been terribly stupid, childish, and unfair, and I am sorry...more sorry than you know."

Harry's mouth hung open slightly, and his eyes widened. He was absolutely shocked, but after a few moments snapped-to, unable to pass up such a rare opportunity for clarification. "But, why, sir? Why have you always disliked me so much? I know that I look like my dad, and he was so awful to you, but did I do something-"

"No, the fault is entirely mine."

Usually so eloquent, Snape was now at a loss for words. He felt out of control, but he knew what needed to be done. "May I show you the truth, instead of hopelessly trying to explain?"

Harry nodded, and they took a seat across from each other, in chairs in front of the fire.

"I'm not going to Occlude my mind at all, so whenever you're ready..."

Snape trailed off. He was faintly shaking, but let all of his psychic defenses down. Harry had never seen Snape scared. His fearful expression amplified Harry's own feelings of apprehension. Bright green eyes met black, and Harry cast Legilimens.

It was overwhelming at first, the mind of a man who kept so much to himself, but soon the rushing information crystallized into emotionally-tinged memories that began to unfold in rapid succession.

A young red-haired girl. 'Hello, I'm called Lily.' The sorrow of a lonely childhood yielding to the joy of having a friend. A feeling of comfort and belonging, such tender love coupled with fierce protectiveness. Mistrust of Muggles, a sense of superiority. At school, anxiety that your best friend is drifting away, towards better company. Envying James Potter for his money, Sirius Black for his charisma. The shock of realizing, through their harsh demonstrations, that you, possessing neither wealth nor personal charm, desperately need to prove yourself worthy and build a respectable future by making powerful alliances with influential people, even if your core beliefs differ. The heart-rending agony of being humiliated in front of the girl you love, nearly a woman now, then in your rage and shame saying words you wish to this day you could take back. Begging for forgiveness and not receiving it. Feeling hollow, deserving of nothing good, and finding solace in being a part of something bigger, something impressive, something that you know is wrong, but since you can not take it back, can not see a way to redeem yourself for the rupture you caused, the pain becoming as indelible as the mark upon your arm. And it only gets worse. The heartless play of Death Eaters. Rites of initiation so traumatizing that your mind blurs and distorts the memories to protect itself. Overhearing the prophecy. Intense regret over sharing it with Voldemort, begging the Dark Lord to spare her and panicking, throwing yourself at Dumbledore's mercy. Godric's Hollow and a half-destroyed house, silent except for the cries of a baby, cold despair gnawing on the remains of your heart as you cradle the lifeless body of your only friend. Too late realizing the profundity of your unforgivable mistakes. Thoughts of suicide. Albus convincing you that you can still be of use. 'He has his mother's eyes.' The years, each spilling blindly into the next, spent worrying about Harry's welfare at the Dursleys, lingering resentment and distrust of Petunia, who so needed to label you and Lily as freaks. Seeing Harry, a decade later, in the Great Hall and feeling like a terrified child again. Not wanting to meet those beautiful eyes, confronting you with all of your failings, your disgrace, your envy of James Potter persisting, even intensifying, because he is still with her, united in death and in the form of their son. Lashing out at Harry at every opportunity, the reflex ingrained in you to strike before you are struck. Waiting for attacks that never come. Almost relishing the few harsh words and naive hexes you are able to wring from the boy and his friends, their suspicious glares, their hatred. Yes, you should be hated for what you've done. You should never let him know how much you wish you were his father, how you willingly risk your life time and time again, only to protect him, with a dedication impossible to put into words, with a love that takes the form of a doe.

He opened his eyes and saw Severus Snape. He removed his glasses and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, which was damp with sweat.

"Potter, I am sorry-"

"Shut up."

Harry hurriedly put his glasses back on, fully expecting the blurred image to resolve into a furious potions master. Instead, the greasy-haired man just sat there, expressionless and still, staring at the dungeon floor.

"You loved my mother. You still love her."

Snape cast his Patronus. The glowing doe bounded joyfully around the room.

"Mine is a stag. My father's Animagus form was a stag," said Harry.

"When your mother fell in love with James, her Patronus changed into a doe. So, in a way, your father is responsible for this," said Snape, without a hint of remaining bitterness.

"I think she would've loved you, if you hadn't joined the Death Eaters. You made a terrible mistake, not realizing that."

"I made several."

"Yes, you've made mistakes…but you've also been insanely brave. I think you're one of the bravest people I'll ever know. If it were up to me to release you from your guilt, I would've done it ages ago. But it's not up to me. I hope you can…find some peace."

"Thank you. That is very kind of you to say."

"Do you not believe that I forgive you?"

"I don't see how it's possible."

"Take a look in my mind, and maybe you'll see."

Snape was still frightened. He wasn't sure what would happen, who he would become, if he forgave himself. He did know one thing for sure. "You amaze me, Harry."

He called me by my name, thought Harry, surprised by how good it felt. A part of him was still angry that past events had happened as they had, but the better part was glad to know the full truth, and to know who he could trust and rely on as a friend. Harry smiled and said, "Please teach me Occlumency, Professor."