Chapter 26 – Harry's First Memory

On Friday, after Harry's morning double Potions session with Snape, Snape kept Harry back after the lesson had ended.

"Potter," Snape said as Harry reached the doorway. "Stay. I wish to speak with you."

It was never nice being called behind by Snape. Harry knew he hadn't done anything wrong – well, nothing wrong that Snape would know about, anyway – but the man's general demeanour was enough to put anyone off. And Harry knew that Snape was a legilimens, which was another very good reason not to want to spend any time with him.

At least Harry could keep up an occlusion while having a conversation.

"Professor?" Harry said once he'd stood in front of Snape's desk.

Snape gestured with his wand and the door closed.

"The Headmaster has instructed me to continue with your training in occlumency," Snape said without preamble. "We shall begin tomorrow evening. If you are asked, your aunt has requested that I undertake pastoral care sessions with you. This is to be our excuse for continued meetings. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." Harry nodded. That was reasonable enough – Umbridge and the Inquisition controlled all punishments, so Snape setting Harry detentions was too dangerous. But pastoral care was entirely up to the student's Head of House. It was a good excuse. If word got out to Umbridge it was a solid reason for Harry and Snape to meet.

Although it had been a good excuse when it had been Dumbledore using it, and that hadn't worked out very well at all. Still, it was probably the best way to manage continued meetings with Snape without raising suspicions too much, as it was meant to be private and couldn't really be considered either a punishment or a reward.

So Harry thought it would work out well. Unless Umbridge decided to take over pastoral care duties, Harry supposed, but that seemed a step too far. Quite apart from the fact that Harry doubted Umbridge wanted to do that, he didn't think she had the time. Not with everything else she'd chosen to do.

"Good," said Snape. "I expect you to be fully prepared. The Headmaster has indicated that he considers you a satisfactorily competent occlumens. Do not make a liar of him."

That was, Harry thought, probably as close to Snape would get to a compliment.

"Of course, Professor," Harry said. "What time should I come to your office?"

Snape wasn't going to be anywhere near as gentle as Dumbledore had been. Harry knew that. Harry would have known that even if Dumbledore hadn't alluded to it, as Snape was never very gentle in anything. The idea of the sallow and ornery professor tearing through Harry's memories was not a pleasant one.

Made less so when Harry remembered that Mark on his arm. But Dumbledore evidently trusted Snape enough to let him go rifling through Harry's head, so that was something. A minor comfort at least.

"Half-past seven. We will practise for as long as is necessary for me to establish your true level of skill. Do not bring anything which may be considered… incriminating," said Snape. "You will have my permission to be out after the curfew: if you are seen, direct any and all questions to me. You may go."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said. Nothing incriminating. That meant no Invisibility Cloak, then. At the very least. Although aside from that, Harry didn't think he owned anything incriminating. Unless letters from an escaped convict counted, but none of those actually said Sirius's name…

Everything else incriminating was stored within Harry's own mind, which was the entire point of the occlumency lessons in the first place. Including knowledge of the Chamber of Secrets. That Harry had found it – along with a whole host of other things – was knowledge he wanted far away from Snape.

Not because he thought Snape would go rushing about to tell the whole world about it, but because Harry wanted to keep his cards close to his chest on that one. There was no telling when or how the Chamber could become useful, after all, and if he went around telling everyone about it its usefulness would wither away into nothing.

But given its relative newness in Harry's mind, Harry thought it could prove quite a difficult task to keep knowledge of it away from Snape.

A good test of my occlusions, Harry thought.

"Er, how long should I prepare for?" Harry asked. "Just in case, you know, I'm supposed to go on patrol or—"

"We will take as long as is necessary, no more or less," Snape said, face impassive. "I will ensure that we have the time; you need not be concerned with this. Now, go—I am quite sure your next lesson has already begun, and you do not wish to be overly late."

"Right," Harry said.

Harry left the classroom and shot off towards the Ancient Runes classroom. He had Babbling's apprentice, Mr Grammaticus, on Fridays and the man was never too happy about latecomers.

"Sorry I'm late, Mr Grammaticus," Harry said as he walked through the door. "Professor Snape needed a word."

Fortunately for Harry, there were no Inquisitors present in his Ancient Runes lesson that day to follow up on that, and Mr Grammaticus just sighed and gestured for Harry to sit down. He slipped into his seat next to Tracey and settled in for the lesson. He paid attention, more or less, but his mind kept wandering to occlumency with Snape and other things – like the basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets. It was such a big discovery that Harry wasn't sure what to do about it. Already he'd learned things that no one save Slytherin's own Heirs had known for centuries, and he'd barely scratched the surface. He knew that the basilisk had many more things left to tell him, assuming Harry could convince it to.

Which didn't seem too unlikely as the basilisk seemed to relish the opportunity to speak with an 'Heir'. But it was being cagey about some things, so perhaps not. Harry wondered if maybe—

"Are you even listening, Harry?" Tracey asked, poking Harry's arm. The lecture had ended and Grammaticus had given them some translation problems to do, but Harry had got distracted. "I was asking whether you think this rune translates better as 'fire' or 'flame' in this section of text, but you're just… staring…"

Harry forced himself back into the room.

"I, er…" Harry said. "Sorry. I'm a bit—distracted, that's all."

"Nothing bad, is it?" Tracey said, lowering her voice. "I understand if it is—we can talk about it after Runes, if you want."

"No, no!" Harry said quickly. "Nothing bad at all." No sense in worrying Tracey, not when there wasn't any reason for it. "I'm just…" Harry waved a hand.

He resolved to tell Tracey about the Chamber, about the basilisk.

Had a sudden, pressing need to do it just after Runes. He'd kept the secret to himself long enough, and now it was bursting to come out.

And with some luck Harry would then be able to keep the secret from Snape and his legilimency.

"I'll tell you after Runes," Harry said. "What was that about the translation? I wasn't paying attention…"

Tracey went over the exercises again, and the pair of them worked their way through them for the rest of the lesson.

When the session ended Harry was glad to leave.

"This translation homework is a bit much," Tracey complained as they were leaving the classroom. "A whole chapter…"

As much as Tracey probably really did think that, Harry could tell from her tone that she was trying to keep the conversation light in case he'd had bad news and was struggling for something to say.

"I know, it's awful," Harry agreed. "I hope the OWL isn't as bad. But I wanted to say…" He glanced around. They were still too close to others, so Harry drew Tracey into an ornately panelled alcove containing a painting of a demiguise. As it was lunch time, the corridors would soon empty, and such a place was perfect for a chat about secret subterranean chambers.

"Right. Here's okay, I suppose. You remember that snake I kept hearing in the dungeons? Well, I found it," Harry said. "And it's a big one. Like, a really big one."

"Ooh, is it? What kind of snake? I'm glad you found it—not knowing was driving you mad, wasn't it?"

"Er… yeah," Harry said. "It was, actually. But… I found something else, too." He paused. "I found where the snake lives."

"That's lovely, I suppose," Tracey said, sounding not entirely convinced that that was news. Or perhaps that it warranted such secrecy. Even so, Harry could tell she was curious.

"So, the snake was a basilisk, right?" Harry continued. "But that's not even the good part. Well, I suppose it's part of the good part. I mean, it's all the good part—er. Well, it lives in the… er… I found the Chamber of Secrets. You know. That Chamber of Secrets. Wanted to tell you first, since… well, you already know about the snake and my Parseltongue…"

Harry was met by wide eyes and silence. Silence, that rare thing from Tracey. So rare Harry barely knew how to deal with it. And then…

"Oh my God! That's amazing!" she said, volume far louder than it needed to be. "Oops. I didn't mean… but it's just so exciting! You really found it? Salazar Slytherin's secret chamber? That's… that's… that's just brilliant. What's it like? Does he have a portrait? And a basilisk! Is it friendly?" She paused. "Can I see it?"

There. That was the Tracey Harry had expected.

"I did! I found it. You won't believe this—the entrance is inside Moaning Myrtle's toilet!" At Tracey's look of disbelief Harry nodded. "I mean it. It's really there. No portrait, though. Or I didn't find one when I looked, but Voldemort's been in there before and he took other stuff out of there, so maybe that, too." Harry shrugged. "There's a big statue—the basilisk comes out of it. The basilisk is quite nice, actually. Which is a bit weird to think about. For a snake it's actually quite good at conversation—they're usually boring. This one's seen so much, though—it's the original basilisk Slytherin bred himself."

Tracey nodded along.

"It's a bit crazy to think there's a basilisk just sleeping under the castle," she said. "Are you sure it's friendly? I mean, the rumours say it was put there to… to…"

"Exterminate muggleborns? Yeah, I heard that too. But it said that's not what it's for. Slytherin put it there to defend the castle. From muggles, technically, since he was worried about an invasion… but that wasn't unreasonable back then, was it? Even Professor Flamel was saying about how dangerous it was back in those days," Harry said. He paused. "It's technically killed a student once—er, it killed Moaning Myrtle." That was a big black mark against the basilisk, but there wasn't anything Harry could do about that, and he wanted Tracey to be fully forewarned before – or even if – he was going to take her to see the basilisk.

And that it had murdered someone on Voldemort's say so was kind of a big bit of news.

"But that was Voldemort's fault—he tricked it. Er, apart from that I think the basilisk is nice—it just wants some company. I'll take you to meet it if you still want to."

Showing someone else the Chamber, especially someone who wasn't a Parselmouth, felt like a big step. But it was Tracey. And she was a true Slytherin, so it couldn't be that bad. Certainly not a betrayal of the secret. And really, as only Harry and Voldemort remained who could even access the Chamber, it was technically Harry's Chamber. So that should be alright.

"I still want to! You don't know how amazing this is—lots of people don't even think the Chamber is real! But I get to go there…" She took a breath. "When can we go? Can we go now? I want to see it!"

As infectious as Tracey's enthusiasm for the Chamber was, Harry didn't think it was a great idea to go traipsing to it just then. People tended to avoid Myrtle's bathroom for its resident ghost, but with Umbridge's new rules and it being the middle of the day, Harry didn't want to take any chances. Besides, he had an Invisibility Cloak and could take Tracey to the Chamber at night. Or at least a weekend day. Much safer that way.

Although not that night, as Harry had a prefect patrol. And not on Saturday night either since Harry had occlumency with Snape. And probably not on the Monday because he had to go out with Justin leaving messages about.

But one night. Definitely.

"Er—bit risky to go right now, I think," Harry said. "How about Sunday? It's just, I've got, er—a pastoral care meeting with Snape tomorrow evening." At Tracey's look, Harry shrugged. "It's what I'm supposed to call our occlumency lessons."

"Well… alright," said Tracey, clearly disappointed. "Those are fair reasons. But you'd better not forget—I really want to see the Chamber! I mean, it's Salazar Slytherin's secret room! Millie would be more excited by the basilisk, I know, but I just want to look around the Chamber! It's just so exciting."

And she really did sound excited. She'd even squeaked a few times.

"The Chamber is pretty cool as well," Harry said. "The main part is a bit boring, but there's a swimming pool in it, too. Or it looks like a swimming pool anyway; I don't think that's what it's for. But… er, don't mention anything about the Chamber to the others just yet, would you? I'm going to tell them, but not yet. I wanted to tell you first because you… well, you already know about the Parseltongue and even the snake. So I just thought…"

"Ooh, that's not a problem!" said Tracey. "I won't say a thing. On my honour as a Welshwoman! But if we're not going to see the Chamber we should get on to lunch. Thank you for telling me!" she said.

Harry followed Tracey to lunch feeling just a little bit less stressed than he had done in a while. Sharing his news about the Chamber had been the right thing to do, and with some luck, that would help him keep it secret from Snape.

Harry spent the rest of his Friday half-paying attention in lessons and to what his friends were saying to him. The rest of his mental load was spent on permanent occlusion ahead of his occlumency lesson with Snape. Dumbledore had been gentle, although it certainly hadn't felt like it at times. But Snape would be far from it – Harry knew that from the man's own words, and by Dumbledore's admission.

Although Harry could have easily guessed from Snape's general comportment around the castle.

Dumbledore hadn't even planned on Harry seeing Snape until after Christmas. That meant Harry wasn't quite where he needed to be with his occlusion, and Umbridge's powerplay had forced Dumbledore's hand somewhat. Bad news for Dumbledore, what with losing his jobs and being branded a traitor to Ministry, but also bad news for Harry.

Harry, who would have Snape rooting around in his head.

Harry sat in the Common Room with Blaise and Tracey on Saturday evening – Millie and Daphne gone off somewhere alone as usual – waiting for the time to go. Murky lakelight came in from the windows which looked out into the lake. Harry stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window not really registering the things which swam past. Instead, he compartmentalised his thoughts, placed parts of his memories under occlusion. Floated others to the surface of his mind.

That was a bit more advanced than anything he'd been doing thus far with Dumbledore, but Harry wanted and needed to be ready for Snape. Not only was Snape going to be very rough indeed, Harry had actual secrets he wanted kept from the man. Such as the gigantic basilisk lurking beneath the school, or the infamous Chamber in which it lived. Not to mention Harry and his friends' clandestine activities around the school. Whether or not Dumbledore had told Snape about them, Harry couldn't say, but he didn't want to risk it if he hadn't.

After all, Snape seemed to be under the impression that Harry was a generally well-behaved and studious young wizard. There was no sense ruining a good thing, as Harry didn't doubt he'd need more permissions to do things after hours at some point.

So Harry sat there and sorted through his mind, putting all of his hard earned skills at occlumency to the test.

Completely zoned out while Blaise and Tracey were speaking to him.

A scrunched up ball of parchment smacked Harry in the face, breaking his occlusion.

"Oi!" said Harry. "Piss off, I was…"

"…completely ignoring me when I was trying to tell you what Umbridge wants us doing next, yeah," said Blaise. "I know you've got, er, stuff to do but this is important as well, you berk."

That did seem like a reasonable sort of reason to take a brief break from occluding. Harry shook the cobwebs from his mind and focused properly on Blaise. He'd completely zoned out, so snapping his awareness back to the Common Room, where various students were lounging in different states of noise and activity, was a bit jarring.

"Oh, yeah? What's she got you doing?"

"She wants us to start enforcing the 'English only' rule in the corridors and places like that—even in Common Rooms. I was telling Trace about it—apparently the Inquisitors are getting fed up with not being able to spy on students speaking other languages."

"It's awful, is what it is," Tracey said. "Really unfair. They already shut down the other schools, and now they want us to stop speaking our languages in private as well? I was going to write to Mam about it but, well, with what she said in her last letter… I'll just have to wait until Christmas. Not long now, anyway."

"That's rough," Harry said. It was a rule that didn't affect him in any way – the only language he spoke was English. And half-way passable Latin, although nobody talked in Latin, so that didn't feel like it counted. Well, and Parseltongue, but as a general rule Harry didn't go around talking to snakes in the corridors.

At least not when anyone was watching.

"It's more than rough," Tracey said. "It's what got the other schools started in the first place—when the Wizards' Council voted for Hogwarts to start teaching in English instead of Latin the other countries went and started their own schools! But the Ministry made that illegal this time…"

Harry hadn't heard that. Although it did make sense that early Hogwarts would have taught in Latin, it being the main language of scholarship and magic in Europe back then, and with so many different languages represented on the Isles… still.

"And Umbridge wants her Squad to start enforcing that rule?" Harry said to Blaise. "Even in the Common Rooms? That's… that's not going to make you popular. I suppose you can just not do it, but…"

"That's the thing," said Blaise. "They've got us reporting on each other as well. We don't see Umbridge much—she farms us out to that Arlecchino bloke who's up her arse—but she said we're always welcome to come speak with her about things like that. So if I just don't do my 'Inquisitorial duties', one of the others in the Squad is supposed to report me."

"Ah," said Harry. That did complicate things. Blaise would have to decide between remaining in the Squad or royally pissing off some of the other students. And Harry didn't doubt that many of the students on the Squad would be quite keen to report to Umbridge. It was, after all, one of the things that she'd selected them for.

"Yeah," he said. He shrugged. "It's not so bad for me—Tracey's already said I can punish her publicly for speaking Welsh just for appearances. But it just feels a bit… dirty… to have to do it at all."

"What's the punishment for not speaking English?" Harry asked, glancing at Tracey. With the recent Decree reinstating physical and spell-based punishments…

"Detention, for now," Blaise said. "I don't think they want to push it with this one. Just want to see how it goes. Since it's a bit of a silly rule…"

"It's a stupid rule," said Tracey. "Really unfair. I don't say things like this often but it's just—it's not—the rule is unjust. Alright in lessons I suppose because teachers need to know what's going on, but in private? That's just not on."

"Yeah. Seems harsh," said Blaise. "Usually I'd be all for punishing people stupid enough to break rules in public but this rule just seems…" He shrugged. "Absolutely draconian. Tyrannical, even."

"Definitely," agreed Harry. He glanced at the clock sat on a nearby shelf. "Ugh. I'd better get going to, er, pastoral care with Snape. See you both later."

As annoying and unfair as the recent rule changes were, Harry had more practical things to worry about.

Harry got up and left the Common Room. He didn't take anything with him except for his wand. Snape had said to avoid anything which might be incriminating, but while Harry had no doubts that the Inquisition could find a reason for his wand to be such a thing, there was no way Harry was going anywhere without it. Not that Snape's office was far from the Slytherin Common Room, and nor was the route there especially unsafe… but Harry felt more comfortable with his wand.

He was a wizard, after all, and wizards carried wands.

Harry timed it so he arrived outside of Snape's office at exactly half-past seven. Neither late nor early, Snape would have nothing to complain about… and would hopefully be a little more lenient. Not gentle, as Harry wasn't sure he knew how to be gentle, but at least not overly rough.

Harry knocked on the door.

"You may enter," Snape said after a few moments.

The door opened. Harry stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

Snape had reorganised his office ahead of their 'pastoral care meeting'. His desk was set back against the wall, and a pensieve stood against the far wall next to the desk. Harry had very little experience with the artefacts, but he knew Dumbledore owned one, and he had a general sense of what they were for. No doubt Snape was keeping some of his memories in it just so that Harry couldn't sneak a look at them.

Which was… fair, Harry supposed, although in some ways terribly unfair as Harry didn't get that opportunity and it was his head under attack.

There was nowhere for anyone to sit, but the main part of the office was cleared of furniture. Snape never kept his rooms particularly well-lit, but the lamps were dimmer than usual that night, adding to the dismal atmosphere.

Perhaps if Snape had had a more decorative flair the room would be slightly more inviting, but the walls were bare save for plain wood panels at the far side of the room opposite the door. Not even a portrait to add a bit of ambience. Just bare stone walls and that persistent damp smell pervading parts of the dungeons.

"You are on time," Snape said. "Good. We shan't waste any time this evening. Prepare yourself and we shall begin."

"I—er—yes, sir," Harry said. "Where should I stand?"

"Anywhere you wish," said Snape gesturing vaguely. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that you are prepared. You have one minute to prepare, and then I shall attack."

Unlike with Dumbledore there would be no conversation, no pleasant chat about the day's activities. No discussion. Not even any of Dumbledore's annoying philosophical questions – just straight into the attack. Efficient, Harry supposed, but a little off-putting.

Harry took up a position opposite Snape and strengthened his occlusion. He kept the most important memories and feelings locked away deep, deep inside his mind. Things Harry definitely didn't want Snape to find out about, like the Chamber of Secrets and other, more personal things.

Harry knew there were ways of locking memories and feelings behind layers of occlusion. Harry had managed something like that in the Common Room, although he didn't doubt what he'd managed was rudimentary at best. But there were other things, things Harry hadn't even tried to attempt because he knew he was far away from being able to do them.

Ways to highlight some memories and bury others, all while appearing as if there was no occlusion at all. Very advanced techniques which could cause an invading legilimens to get lost nowhere at all. Those were things Harry hadn't figured out yet, which Dumbledore hadn't shown him to do.

Things which hopefully Snape would teach Harry.

…or which he would have to figure out on his own.

"I'm ready, Professor," Harry said. He braced for the attack.

It was instantaneous. As soon as Harry looked over at Snape, he felt the man's presence in his mind. If Dumbledore was like a thief in the night, gentle and quiet, Snape was a runaway bull. The razor-sharp thrust of Snape's legilimency bore into Harry's occlusion. Tore pieces from it. Dredged up memory after memory—

A conversation with Tracey about nothing in particular. Playing Exploding Snap with Blaise. A lecture from Professor Flamel on the early origins of ritual magic. Each one passed by in rapid sequence, barely playing out before being replaced by the next.

And the next.

And the next.

Harry fought to keep up his occlusion. He needed to breathe. One in, hold, out. Breathe in. Hold. Out slowly. Again and again Harry repeated his breathing exercises and focused on his occlusion. His mind was a fortress. His mind was a vast ocean, calm and serene. His mind was—

A flurry. Frenetic, frenzied activity from Snape as the dour man chipped away at Harry's meagre defences. Harry knew that if he just pushed back, took the fight to Snape, he could get the man out of his mind. Force him back into his own head.

But that was legilimency, not occlumency. It was exactly the technique Dumbledore had wanted him to avoid, as it wasn't a substitute for a proper occlusion. So Harry doubled down. Reinforced his occlusion. Kept up his breathing. Imagined his mind as the Great Wall of China. Thought once again about a calm, serene ocean.

Offered up decoy memories to Snape. Easy, meaningless exchanges between Harry and his friends. The memory of a book read long ago. A song half remembered and enjoyed.

Even a particularly tasty sandwich he'd swiped from the kitchens one evening. Salacious in a way, because it was a bit of rule breaking, but nothing important. Harry continued on like that, offering up bland memories while keeping up a basic occlusion around the rest of his mind. With some luck—

But Snape tossed them aside without so much as a metaphorical glance. He wanted to break the occlusion, Harry knew. Get inside, see whatever it was Harry had kept behind it.

Harry thought of a tree, tall and strong. Ancient. Roots that stretched deep underground, anchored it, kept it safe, kept it—

Harry felt himself stagger backwards. He was flung into a memory as Snape broke through the occlusion. An old memory, one of his oldest, and one he hadn't thought of in a very long time – the first time his aunt had told him anything of his parents.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry saw a much younger version of himself say. He was perhaps four, maybe five. It was difficult to tell and the memory was hazy. One not often revisited. Harry had earlier memories, but they were hazy and indistinct – barely coherent. The memory he saw unfold was the earliest Harry remembered properly, for all that he barely revisited it.

Harry had made his way into the kitchen and tugged at his aunt's dress for her attention. He'd been crying, Harry remembered, although there was little trace of that on his face. "When we were making cards for Mother's Day at school Johnny said I shouldn't make one because I don't have a mother. I said I have you, but he said it doesn't count. Who was my mother, then?"

Petunia stopped what she was doing and turned to Harry. She knelt down.

"I'm always very happy to get Mother's Day cards from you, Harry," she said. "I don't want you to ever worry about that. Please." She paused. "But it's true that I'm not your mother, although I promise you I love you like a mother does." Petunia had gone silent then, and although Harry felt like it had only been a few brief moments, the silence in the memory stretched on longer than Harry would have thought.

"Some families are just more complicated than others," Petunia said eventually. "It's just one of those things. Heaven knows ours isn't exactly how I'd always… but that doesn't mean…" She sighed. "What Johnny said was very unkind, and you should know that your uncle and I love you very much. You know that, don't you?"

Young Harry nodded. That had seemed like a stupid question, at the time, because his aunt had always said that she loved him, both him and Dudley. That still wasn't the same thing as having a mother. In young Harry's mind, they'd been different things entirely.

But now, looking back on the memory, Harry could see why she'd asked.

"Good. Because it's very important that you know you're loved, Harry. We love you, and your mother loved you too," his aunt said. At the time, Harry hadn't noticed that she'd looked uncomfortable throughout the conversation. But with his older eyes – and a decade more experience with his aunt's expressions – he could see the discomfort for what it was.

But then, Aunt Petunia had never liked speaking about Harry's mother. It was too painful.

But Harry remembered what she'd said next perfectly, since it had been the very first time anyone had ever explained to him what had happened to his parents – even if it had later turned out to be a lie. A small lie, Harry supposed, but a lie all the same.

"Your mother was my sister. She died when you were very little—it was a horrible accident. Her name was—"

Snape retreated from Harry's mind, jerking Harry out of the memory. Harry came back into the office dazed, blinking.

"That was a … an almost … satisfactory attempt at occlusion," Snape said, saying nothing of the memory he'd witnessed. "You must maintain the occlusion even under duress. Your goal should be to occlude so completely, so naturally, that the legilimens cannot even detect that you are occluding. Clear your mind and we shall try again."

Not that Snape was going to actually suggest any ways of doing any of that, of course. That would have been far too helpful. Fortunately, Dumbledore had already given him some pointers, so Harry had some idea of what would be needed to achieve such a thing.

It just seemed a way off. Especially if Snape was going to be able to see more memories like that one. It wasn't a particularly embarrassing memory, but definitely not one he wanted his Head of House to have seen. It was private, something from Harry's deepest childhood that he didn't need anyone else to see ever.

Harry took a deep breath and attempted to occlude once more. After a successful invasion Harry always found it more difficult to start back up. His ability to be calm and zen-like always suffered, and although Harry understood why, it was frustrating. Too many thoughts whizzing about. So Harry counted down from ten and felt himself slip back into the right mental state.

Snape hit Harry's occlusion with his legilimency immediately. Struck him hard and sharp, held back nothing. The occlumantic shield shuddered under the onslaught as Harry's carefully corralled thoughts escaped his clutches. Harry dimly felt his body stagger, move of its own accord, while he frantically sought to reinforce his occlusion.

Harry turned his attention inwards.

The master occlumens was supposed to be able to pay attention to both the internal world and the external world… but Harry was far from a master. Until he'd mastered the Mind Arts he'd have to take a more pragmatic approach.

And there wasn't anything in Snape's office to be aware of in the first place anyway. So it was fine.

Harry kept up his breathing. Focused inward. Visualised an ocean, a great big tree, a calm and tranquil desert…

And Snape cracked the occlusion again. Shattered it, sent Harry reeling back into the recesses of his mind. Right into a memory.

Harry was perhaps six, maybe seven years old. Watching his aunt as she cleaned the living room. Pulled out photographs and dusted them. Scrubbed the skirting boards. Dudley was elsewhere. Aunt Petunia was busy. Hurried, much more than usual. Harry hadn't understood why. It was nearly Christmas, which meant he and Dudley had no school and even Uncle Vernon would have time off work. So quite why that meant Aunt Petunia had more to do, Harry didn't know. Especially because Father Christmas was taking care of all the presents.

It had seemed to Harry at the time that Christmas was a time for doing nothing at all, so his aunt's frenzied Christmas cleaning had interested him.

It was a memory Harry hadn't revisited in years. Hadn't felt the need to. But Snape had found it anyway, and Harry regarded the younger version of himself with a mixture of curiosity and sadness.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry said. There was no answer. At least not at first. The Harry reviewing the memory felt like cringing. He'd hardly waited a moment before asking again and again. "Aunt Petunia?" Harry tapped her. "Aunt Petunia?"

"Yes, Harry?" said Petunia eventually. She didn't stop her cleaning.

"I wanted to ask a question."

"Well, go on then, Harry," said Petunia. "What is it?"

"Why does Aunt Marge always come here at Christmas?" Harry had asked. Harry remembered asking it. It had seemed quite strange to him that Marge would visit for Christmas, every Christmas, and even bring along some of her dogs, when nobody seemed to actually enjoy the visits at all – Marge included. It had just seemed completely pointless to a much younger Harry that everyone would suffer through the visits. "Nobody enjoys it. Even she seems to hate being here."

Silence.

"Out of the mouths of babes," muttered Petunia.

"What does that mean?"

"It means—oh, it doesn't matter, Harry," said Petunia. "Aunt Marge comes to visit with us at Christmas because she's family, and Christmas is a time for family."

"And for presents."

"Yes, and for presents," said Petunia. "But Aunt Marge is your uncle's sister, so—"

"Like you're my mother's sister?"

"I—yes, just like that," Petunia said. "So that's why—"

Snape pulled out of the memory, and Harry snapped back to his body. Again Snape said nothing about the contents of the memory. Harry was glad for that, but the very fact that Snape kept watching those particular memories when he just let the other ones pass by was frustrating. It felt like… well, it felt almost like it was on purpose.

"Clear your mind and we shall try again. Quickly, now," directed Snape.

Harry rushed to occlude before Snape attacked again.

"Aunt Petunia?" Harry watched himself – a much younger version of himself – ask his aunt. He couldn't have been any older than eight, perhaps not even that old either. He was still dressed in his primary school uniform, so he couldn't have been long home from school, as Petunia had always changed him and Dudley out of their uniforms as soon as they'd come home.

They were in the living room. A much older version of the living room, though, with far fewer photographs and not nearly as much ornamentation. Dudley was watching television from the floor, but Harry sat on the footstool next to his aunt's chair.

"Yes, Harry?" Petunia had said. She was reading a letter of some sort.

"What did my father do?" Harry asked. "At school today we were talking about jobs and Mrs Smith asked us all what our parents do for work. Dudley said what Uncle Vernon did. I was going to say him too, but Dudley said I shouldn't. So I was going to say what my dad did, but I didn't know that either," young Harry explained.

That had been a strange day for Harry. He remembered it well enough even without Snape's legilimency as it had been another of those days that had brought into sharp focus the fact that his family, his life, wasn't like his friends'. That despite having a family – being part of a family – it wasn't his family. Not like everyone meant.

And his own family, the parents he'd had but never known, he knew nothing about.

"Well, Dudley shouldn't have said that," Petunia had said, her gaze lingering on Dudley where he lay on the floor. "I shall be having a word with him."

Harry shrugged. He hadn't cared about that.

"But what did my dad do? Did he do anything?"

Petunia was silent for a while. At the time, Harry had thought she was trying to remember, but looking back on the memory from outside he realised she had been trying to figure out what to say.

"Your father didn't—he didn't work," Petunia said. "He didn't need to. There was—he had—it's complicated. I'm told he was … good at sports…"

Snape pulled out of the memory.

"We will go again," Snape said. "Prepare."

They spent the next few hours repeating the cycle of occlusion and attack, each time ending with Harry being thrown into a long-forgotten memory of his. Over the course of the session the memories started to vary in content, no longer being about his early childhood and spanning a much wider range of time and contexts.

And Snape, to his credit, pulled out of each of those quickly enough, but by the end of the session Harry's head was reeling. He'd had half a mind to ask Snape not to look through his early childhood memories again, since they felt personal, but he doubted Snape would have acquiesced and the half a mind he'd had felt like it had gone running out of his ears anyway.

Harry supposed the more personal nature of the memories was a good motivation to occlude, but…

"We will stop here for tonight," Snape said eventually. "You have performed adequately." The statement sounded like praise – or as close as Snape ever got – despite being an incredibly bland statement delivered with all of Snape's usual inflection. Harry was just pleased he'd managed 'adequate'. "We will meet again at the same time up until Christmas—and over Christmas should you stay this year."

Harry rubbed at forehead. He was getting a headache. At least he'd kept Snape away from any memories about the basilisk and the Chamber. That was a win, even if he felt like he'd taken several steps back in his journey to become an occlumens.

"I think I'm going home this year, Professor," Harry said. Even Christmas with Aunt Marge would surely be better than being brutalised by Snape. And there was the Inquisition looming large over proceedings as well, which wasn't something that Harry wanted to have to deal with at Christmas. And he had spent two years at the castle for Christmas anyway, and that seemed like more than enough.

Even with Marge. Maybe.

Snape merely nodded.

"Then you are to practise occlumency at all times. There must not be a single occasion during which you are not in a state of occlusion," Snape said. "You must be able to occlude while you perform any task—writing an essay, walking, eating. A basic occlusion can be maintained permanently once you are proficient. This is to be your goal, and you shall attempt it over the Christmas holiday while you have little else to worry about. You may go."

'Little else to worry about' was a bit rich given that Harry still had to worry about Voldemort, the Inquisition, and his OWLs, but Harry supposed he was lucky Snape hadn't assigned him anything too arduous. Occlusion on Privet Drive should be easy enough with few distractions, and it would give him decent reasons to avoid Marge in his bedroom.

So there was that.

"Thank you, professor," Harry said. He left Snape's office and returned to the Slytherin Common Room in a slight daze.