Chapter 4—Heart of Darkness

Harry sat upright and stared more intently at the book in his hands. This was what he'd been looking for. At first he'd tried to search out glamour charms that would imitate the effects of Occlumency, but he'd realized, finally, how futile that was. If there were glamour charms that would imitate Occlumency, Snape could have just taught him those, instead of the Occlumency itself. So he'd tried to track down more general glamour charms, and been frustrated with how few of them could do what he wanted.

Until now.

Oddivarius's Charm.

This spell is named after the wizard Otto Oddivarius, who had an interest in impressing Muggles with his own power. While many charms exist to make wizarding places seem uninteresting and turn Muggles away from us, Oddivarius wanted to give them a glimpse of what was true without exposing everything. After long years of adapting existing spells to unsatisfactory results, he succeeded in inventing this charm, which gives off a general sense of magic, without limiting that magic to the effect of one incantation or intention. The results of Oddivarius's Charm can feel equally like the aftereffects of a strong Transfiguration or a spell employed in the capture of an enemy. It is the aura of power produced, not the visible magic, which Oddivarius desired.

To cast Oddivarius's Charm, one must flick one's wrist in the motion that also casts a Shield Charm, then cross the wand three times in front of the chest, and speak the incantation: Cette veneficium!

Harry licked his lips twice. If he cast the spell on something ordinary that he then took into Monday night's detention with him, then it might seem as if his Occlumency came from that instead of his own training.

But what's going to happen when Snape demands that you take the charm off?

He didn't know about that, and it made him hesitate for a while. He resented spending this much time on it, since Snape mattered so little to his defeat of Voldemort, but he reasoned that he had to be absolutely sure Snape would leave him alone. If he could achieve a perfect result at first, then Harry didn't mind working harder and for longer right now.

In the end, he decided that he would have no choice but to let Snape see his thoughts for a bit, to make Snape believe his Occlumency would end when he removed the charm. But he could choose what memories Snape saw, the way he had with Dumbledore. The problem was to keep him from digging further.

And there was only one set of memories that might make him do that.

I'm sorry, Sirius.

His Dark Mark began to burn in the middle of his third-year Potions class, combined Slytherins and Gryffindors. Severus bit his tongue to keep from snarling and raised his Occlumency shields higher, to dim the pain through the Mark. He couldn't block the sensation completely—and he didn't want to, since the Dark Lord had returned, in case he missed a summons—but since the pain was so much mental, he had some control of it.

And, since the third-years were brewing a volatile potion, it was easy enough to flick his wand, unnoticed, at a cauldron, ruin the mixture in such a way that an enormous cloud of choking fumes would boil up, and send the students outside with a shout to the effect that this class and the next one would have to be canceled, until he could clean up the dungeons. He cast a locking charm at the door and went swiftly to fetch his Death Eater robes and mask, cheering himself up with the thought of detention for an insolent Gryffindor third-year he particularly disliked. It had been his cauldron Severus had destroyed.

He dressed, made his way swiftly under a Disillusionment Charm beyond the spells that prevented him from Apparating, and then leaped to his Lord's side.

As expected, he arrived in a buried section of the Riddle mansion, alive with so many spells against detection that Severus felt his teeth itch. An army of Aurors could have walked above this wing and never sensed it. Dim lamps burned on the black walls, turning the shadows red. Severus wondered, as usual, if that was for effect, or some magical purpose. Every time he came, the shadows had changed, and so every time, the answers might be different.

So starved of intellectual company am I, he thought, as he dropped into a kneeling position, that the danger matters little to me any more. It would almost be a blessing to die if I knew that I was never to speak with an educated person again.

"Rise, Severus."

The soft, hissing voice was normal by now. Give it enough time, Severus thought as he stood, and anything would become normal. He made his way slowly towards the sunken tub out of which the Dark Lord was rising, helped by two masked figures Severus did not know. He thought they might be Inferi, from the faint, sweet, rotting smell that surrounded them.

The Dark Lord's body ran with soft, black liquid, which luckily melted out of sight as he was wrapped in thick ceremonial robes. Severus looked at the sunken tub, and did not let himself flinch. The pool was filled with blood, the most tangible remains of the victims the Dark Lord had started slaughtering of late. It was supposed by some ancient authors to be a magical remedy against the loss of youth, and the Dark Lord, when not vain, was desirous of keeping his life for as long as possible. Severus had seen worse things happen during the years he served.

"I wish," said the Dark Lord, when he sat once more on the carved black throne formed of twining basalt snakes, "for a report on young Draco Malfoy's progress." His hand absently caressed the head of Nagini, who curled at his side in a motion disturbingly reminiscent of a human woman's.

Severus poured Occlumency over his thoughts before he began to speak. Just in time, because the next moment he felt the darting, flickering probes of the Dark Lord's Legilimency, attempting slyly to steal memories without letting his servant know he was doing it.

He had to let some memories through, of course, because absolute blankness would have made the Dark Lord more suspicious than any innocent thought Severus might let cross his mind. He had survived so far because he was a stronger Occlumens than the Dark Lord was a Legilimens. It would be a shame to waste all that effort for nothing.

Their conversations always had this second dimension, an unseen struggle that Severus did his best to keep the Dark Lord from seeing as a struggle, since defiance was as out of the question as nothingness. As he spoke with light scorn about Draco's refusal to truly make an effort in areas other than Potions, and with reluctant admiration of his enthusiasm for the Dark Arts, he let himself think of Draco, and of Dumbledore in his most inscrutable moods, and of the other students he'd taught in the past who had come near to Draco's level of skill. They were the kinds of things that the Dark Lord might see in the mind of anyone with naturally strong walls. In this way, Severus tried to give himself some breathing room.

But, of course, there was the fact that any betrayal would be instant, and have instant consequences, which made it hard to anticipate, and harder still to brace himself for.

In the end, the Dark Lord sat silent on his throne and thought. Severus knelt there, eyes uplifted as always, and did the opposite of thinking, letting some thoughts drift to the surface, freezing others.

"Tell young Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord said at last, "that my confidence in him depends on his mastering spells that will serve our war effort. If he continues to resist, he should remember the past, and how easily the past can become the future."

Severus inclined his head. Draco would understand the message easily enough. Narcissa, whatever her plan had been, had "resisted" the Dark Lord, and her punishment would affect the rest of her life.

"Is there anything else that you wish me to do, my Lord?" he asked, not yet daring to rise.

"I wish to have the counter to Veritaserum that you have been developing in less than two months, Severus."

The Dark Lord need utter no threat other than that. Severus had been claiming that he could brew a potion that would make the drinker immune to the effects of Veritaserum for nearly a year now. The Dark Lord had at last given him a deadline. Another task to add to the ever-growing pile, but at least this was one he had anticipated, and would simply increase his work on. There could be no question of lying or falsifying here, not when he had such a definite command. It would have to work, and then he would have to do something else to ensure that the potion could not be truly used against Aurors and others of Albus's party—or have another black mark against him in the eyes of the Light.

It had not escaped Severus's notice of ironies that, if the Dark Lord fell tomorrow, he was still more likely to end in Azkaban than not.

"Other than that, Severus," and the Dark Lord waved a hand.

Severus was glad enough to leave. By the sound of the screams, they were bringing in another young Muggle woman. Whatever old books the Dark Lord had been reading said bathing in the blood of virgins was the only sure means to restore youth. She would be carefully and expertly exsanguinated.

Severus had little taste for such things.

Draco had not taken the message well, nearly breaking down, and Veritaserum was a notoriously difficult potion to brew at all, never mind counter. Thus Severus was in a foul mood by the time seven-o'clock arrived, and, with it, Potter, stepping hesitantly into his office.

At least the hesitation restored some of Severus's cheer, though. Remembering his twin resolutions—to discover the source of Potter's Occlumency and to break him—Severus turned towards him, steepling his fingers.

"I'm here, sir," Potter muttered, eyes on the floor, and then looked around. "You don't have cauldrons for me to scrub?"

"Look at me, Potter."

The boy disobeyed for a few seconds, of course, fidgeting and taking every excuse to glance in another direction. The disobedience raised Severus's temper higher. By the time he could finally tear into Potter's thoughts with his Legilimency, he knew Potter deserved this.

The result was the same as on Thursday night. Once again, he encountered slick, shimmering walls of Occlumency, and his efforts to sense more than the faintest shine of Potter's memories were frustrated.

He opened his own eyes again and leaned forward. This time, there was no question that Potter knew what he had done. He had backed away, his nostrils flaring and his face white.

"You had no right to do that!" he yelled.

Severus cast a spell to detect magic without answering. The stupid boy had to know that his little deception would be discovered sooner or later. Or, no, perhaps he had been both arrogant and stupid enough to think that he could fool Severus. He could not, and that was an end to it.

A tiny amulet, a battered-looking little thing, on a chain around Potter's neck flared with dazzling light. Severus snapped to his feet. "Where did you get that?" he whispered.

Potter covered it with a hand and glared at him. "What's it to you?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor House for disrespect," Severus said quietly, and Potter's lower lip quivered. He had to know that neither Minerva nor his friends would be pleased if he lost any more. Gryffindor was already lower in points than they'd been in any October since Potter entered the school. "I cannot read your thoughts, and I know you have not mastered Occlumency." He would have paused over the flare of joy that lit Potter's face at that, but he dismissed it; the brat probably thought he would let him go now. "That amulet is protecting your mind. Where did you get it? Have you any idea, foolish child, how dangerous objects that can touch your memories are?"

"I have some idea," Potter muttered, his eyes fixed as if he were considering a specific thought, which Severus doubted. Potter's thoughts were all general. "But, anyway, I found it among my godfather's things. It's mine."

That my godfather did it, after the day he'd had. Severus aimed his wand at Potter again. "Take it off," he said. "Now."

Harry let his breathing quicken as he removed the amulet, in reality nothing more than a cheap chain touched with a few glamours and Oddivarius's Charm. Then he looked up and met Snape's eyes again—

Just as the man intoned, "Legilimens."

And Harry had to act as if the amulet had given him Occlumency, dropping his shields and letting Snape read his mind.

It felt like a violation, more horrible than last year, probably because he'd learned to protect his mind this time. Harry could actually feel those potions-stained fingers digging through his thoughts, it seemed, pawing some of them and discarding others like rubbish.

He gritted his teeth and endured. The first memories Snape bumped into would be the ones that, hopefully, would drive him out of Harry's mind without more effort expended.

The memory of Snape's Pensieve was there first, of Snape spinning upside-down, gray pants displayed for the world to see, Sirius's laughter and James Potter's echoing around him. The hands became maddened and drove further into his head, making Harry cry out in pain. It took everything he had not to raise his shields again. He had to be free at the end of the evening, his secrets intact, and that meant convincing Snape he was helpless.

Then came the memory of the fight Snape and Sirius had had in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, the name Snivellus true to the life. Harry had carefully draped his own scorn of Snape around that as much as he could. He had to make Snape think he thought the nickname was the funniest thing in the world. Concentrating hard, he did manage to force a muffled snort through his lips.

One more dig. One more memory. Harry hoped that would do it, since he had no other memories as powerful as these to throw at Snape.

This time, he saw Snape throwing him out of his office after he'd snooped into the Pensieve. And he felt his own rage, his own conviction, at the beginning of summer, that this was the reason Sirius had died. If Snape had been more patient, had insisted Harry come back and resume his lessons, or had acted more like an adult—

And that worked. The painful presence was suddenly gone from his head. Harry let out a gasp of relief, and raised his shields again.

And then he found his arm gripped and shaken, and looked up into Snape's maddened face.

The beginnings of Severus's good mood had vanished. That seemed to happen often lately, and the fault was always Potter's. The boy was intolerable. Instead of learning something over the summer, perhaps coming to some vague emotion of remorse for what he'd done, he'd decided that he had the right to snoop, and that Severus's most humiliating memory was funny.

"Do you know the real reason your godfather died?" he hissed at Potter.

The boy ceased to struggle against him for a moment. "Because of you!" he shouted. "And because of Kreacher, and because of Bellatrix Lestrange, may she rot. May you all rot, Snivellus—"

Another shake, this time hard enough that the boy bit his tongue, and a small trickle of blood ran down his face. Severus felt a surge of dark satisfaction at the sight. He'd never manhandled a student as badly as this, but he'd never had a student on whom their salvation depended.

Perhaps he could make Potter realize the seriousness of his position now. That was the excuse he intended to use if the boy went blubbering to Albus, at least.

"It was you," he whispered. "You were not adult enough. You were not man enough, not wizard enough, to come back to me after that incident, apologize, and beg for the lessons to resume."

"You wouldn't have taught me again anyway!" Potter was twisting against his hold like a hooked fish. Severus shifted his hand, pinching a large nerve. Potter gasped and went limp and helpless against him. It was rather a nice feeling.

"Never underestimate what a certain amount of groveling can do, Mr. Potter," he murmured. "Of course, it would not serve now, but it might have then, when Black was still alive. And then you would have blocked your mind, then you would have mastered Occlumency, and then the Dark Lord could not have sent you that vision, and he would still be alive."

Potter's gasping breath was the loudest sound in the room.

"Black came only because you were in danger," Severus continued remorselessly. "Do you think that a threat to the Ministry alone would have been enough to bring him out of that house? No. What had the Ministry done to him but accused him wrongly and locked him away?" He did not believe that, of course, but that didn't matter. What mattered was hurting Potter. "He came because of you. And you have known for years that your life is the reason the Dark Lord has not yet seized control of the wizarding world. The Boy-Who-Lived. And what do you do? Foolishly risk that life, and draw Black after you, as nothing else could have done."

"That's not true." Potter sounded close to tears. Severus shifted so that he could see his face.

"It is true, Mr. Potter," he said. "You have not paid as much attention to defeating the Dark Lord as you have to Quidditch. You do not realize, do you, how many sacrifices have been made to keep you safe? Your parents' lives. Black's freedom, and then his life. Diggory's life. My own safety." It was permissible to say that, since Potter was obviously aware of his past. "Your friends' lives, when the Dark Lord begins to take notice of them as important to you. No one is safe, Potter, until you begin to pay attention to what you must do. And you never have. Black is dead. The loss of your beloved godfather did not teach you that you were a weak-willed little boy. Will learning that you were the instrument of his execution do it, I wonder?"

He held his breath. Everything was tense and silent for a moment, Potter's body trembling wildly. He seemed oddly thin, but then, he had always been slight.

And there it was, the moment Severus had waited for, the glitter of a tear at the corner of Potter's eye. He dropped the boy like a rag, letting him fall to his knees. Potter put his hands over his face. He did not sob, but the silence was in some ways worse—or better, like a balm to Severus's severely bruised ego.

"Get out of my sight," he said softly. "I will keep this." A quick step fetched him the charm the boy had been wearing, and he crushed it beneath his boot heel. "Consider yourself forewarned of the punishments to come."

Potter fled. Severus sat down, with a thin smile, and began planning the detention tomorrow. It would involve lines—very special lines.

Yes, he did feel intensely better. He needed to torment Potter, to show him his own stupidity and thoughtlessness, in the midst of the mire that his own life had become.

See? I'm strong. I was wise enough to start seeing the truth this summer, so that Snape can't torment me with it now.

It hurt anyway, of course. Every time he came face-to-face anew with the realization that he'd killed Sirius, it hurt. But Harry wasn't destroyed the way Snape probably wanted him to be. He already knew it was his fault, and that meant he could think of ways to make up for it, instead of just crying like a baby.

And he'd fooled Snape. He'd won. Snape didn't think he was smart enough to master Occlumency on his own, and that was his mistake. And he hadn't thought at all about what it meant that Harry hadn't told Ron and Hermione about that memory in the Pensieve.

He never will find out, not until it's too late.

Harry smiled. Ron and Hermione wouldn't expect him back in Gryffindor Tower for hours yet, since detentions with Snape usually lasted much longer than this. He had some extra time to master his Occlumency.

He was nearly ready to make the first tests of the Beholding technique, he thought.

The better I am, the sooner I can do this.

Almost there, Sirius.