A/N: I'm sorry I missed the last two updates. I've been dealing with a lot of bureaucratic "non-profit" bull the last week and a half. From here on out, I'm going to slow my update schedule to once a week.
After clearing the air with Snape, Harry felt a renewed desire to prove himself to the man. Sunday, he finished his homework straight after breakfast. Hermione approved of this newfound dedication to his schoolwork, but he assured a worried Ron that he just wanted more time to work on his Occlumency. Then he went straight back to his dorm and sat cross-legged on the bed.
It was now second nature to begin by meditating. After his mind had reached a ready, calm state, he tried once more to arrange his different portions of memories into a cohesive, deliberate whole; and once more, was unsuccessful. With a frustrated groan, he stood and started pacing.
It wasn't that he was unable to move the memory groupings around in his head. It wasn't his ability to focus or multitask, either: he had worked on both skills with Snape through various mental exercises like the kick beat lesson and brewing session. If the problem didn't lie there, then what was it?
He thought back on all of his previous failed attempts. The overall feeling throughout all of them was a sense of confusion, like he didn't know what he was doing. He understood the theory and general concept, but struggled to visualise the application.
Visualise! He needed to find a way to visualise the maze as a whole. Then he would be able to have a plan to follow of how to go about making his mind maze instead of randomly moving memory clusters around and hoping they would somehow magically form a deadly trap against a snooping Voldemort.
His roaming gaze fell on his bedside table. He hurried over and opened the drawer, grinning as he caught sight of the Marauder's Map.
"You made a… map… of your mind maze?"
"More of a blueprint, actually, 'cause it's not built yet, but yeah."
Snape looked it over critically. "What do these symbols represent?"
Harry had fashioned the map to look like the plans for a castle. "Well, it's all a bit symbolic. The corridors are long stretches of safe memories I made, like the Quidditch tunnel, that I could send a Legillimens down to guide them towards or away from certain places." He leaned forward to point at a prominent corridor that led straight out of the castle. "This here is actually the Quidditch tunnel itself—obviously you can tell that, because I labelled it and all—and the arrow points in the direction the tunnel goes. Since it's designed like a buffeting wind, travel down it can only go one way, so I made the tunnel an easy way for me to kick a Legillimens directly out of my mind if I had to."
He then pointed to a different spot. "The rooms are different. Rooms shaped like circles are memories that I absolutely need to keep hidden, that I can't afford to let anyone into. That's why they're so hard to get to, and close enough to the Quidditch tunnel that I can boot anyone who gets too close. Square rooms are more personal, private memories that I would rather keep hidden but could sacrifice for the sake of the circle rooms. Emotional talks with my friends, embarrassing childhood memories, that sort of thing. Not what I'd want public knowledge, but they're not war secrets. The triangle rooms are unimportant memories that don't really matter."
"And the diamond rooms?"
Harry smiled grimly. "Those are trap rooms. Really bad memories, like the Dementors on the Quidditch pitch in third year, that I would force a Legillimens into to disorient and scare them. Not all of my bad memories, since some of those have sensitive information, but any that are safe for me but not for them."
Snape nodded slowly, reading over the various rooms and corridors with an approving eye. Harry, watching him closely to see his reaction, knew immediately when Snape noticed the one thing Harry had hoped he wouldn't.
"There is a circle room here labelled 'S2' and a corridor on the other side of the castle labelled 'S1'. If they are related, as the numbering would suggest, then why are they given such opposed priority?"
"S1" was the passageway of Professor Snape memories, while "S2" was the soon-to-be carefully hidden cabin of ones with village Snape. Harry really didn't want to explain it, so he shrugged.
"Some I can let others see, and some I can't."
Snape narrowed his eyes. Why could he always tell when Harry was lying, or at least hiding part of the truth? But he seemed to decide to let it be, probably deducing that it was something personal. He returned to his perusal of the map.
"Very good," he eventually said, handing it back. "One thing to note: the layout of the castle is very similar to that of Hogwarts. Anyone familiar with the school will have an advantage if they recognize the likeness."
Harry pursed his lips. "So I have to rewrite it?"
Snape raised an eyebrow, and he repressed a sigh. He had to rewrite it.
Using the original as a reference, Harry sat on the floor beside Snape's coffee table—they had moved into his private quarters for this lesson, as it was so cold that night and Snape seemed to have a pathological inability to build up the fire in his office. Maybe he was afraid of someone coming in and realising he was human?—and started working.
Snape walked off to the kitchen, where yet another cauldron was bubbling on the range top. He had told Harry that he only brewed simple potions that were stable and at least non-fatal to consume at every stage in his kitchen, which was less of a comfort than it probably should have been.
"Hey, D-Professor?" Uh-oh. That was an unforeseen consequence of his relief at getting back on easy terms with Snape. His emotional control was shaky after their argument. He cleared his throat when Snape looked up expectantly from his cauldron. "Is there a music shop in Diagon Alley?"
"I believe there is," Snape said, turning back to stir his potion. "Why?"
Harry shrugged, even though he wouldn't see it. "I'd like to get another practice chanter. Dominic Maestro's Music Shop in Hogsmeade didn't have one. The full pipes are cool, but usually people stay on the chanter a little longer before moving up. It's kind of hard to use the whole set."
"You could order one by owl."
"Owl order is a thing?"
Snape paused, then looked at Harry over his shoulder. "It is sometimes hard to recall how little you know about our world."
"S'not my fault there was nobody to teach me," Harry scowled.
"No," Snape said slowly, brewing at a more ponderous pace. "You could write and inquire."
"I don't know the name of the shop," Harry protested.
"Check for ads in the Daily Prophet. Many businesses advertise there."
Harry carefully drew the outline of a triangle room labelled First-year Charms classes, lips pursed in concentration. "That's so much work, though."
Snape snorted. "It is entirely in your hands. Endure the gruelling task of reading the paper, or suffer through practising on an instrument you feel unready for. You decide which option will be best in the long run."
"Ideally, neither," Harry carefully blotted the ink before moving to another section.
"Alas, first world problems."
He couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, I guess after Voldemort, it doesn't seem like such a big deal."
"Perspective, Harry. It may not change the world, but it certainly changes how we see it."
"Was that on a greeting card?"
"No, a condolence card from your Head of House after you started attending."
Harry's jaw dropped open in amused affront. "You don't even have to try, do you?"
Snape's back was to Harry, but he could feel the man's smirk deep in his soul.
Technically his lessons ended at half eight, but curfew wasn't until ten. So, when the clock on the wall marked 8:30, he completed the last finishing touch and left it rolled out to dry. He only hesitated for a second before flopping down on the couch with his Transfiguration textbook. He was about halfway done with the essays and readings McGonagall decided he would need to complete, and he was more grateful than ever that he had been allowed to take an evaluation and test out of lessons he didn't need. It made the sting of missing the first term less fierce. He didn't mind having less work to do, either.
He was still contemplating whether he valued having increased free time or less reminders of his criminal standing more when Snape began walking over. He faltered slightly when he saw the time, but didn't say anything about it, so Harry slumped deeper into the couch with a small smile.
He leant down to inspect Harry's rearranged map, hands clasped behind his back like some sort of art critic. He looked it over in silence before giving a wordless hum and settling into what Harry suspected was his usual armchair.
"Well? Good enough?"
"Sufficient," came the bland reply.
"Admit it, it was a great idea."
Stony black eyes met dancing green ones. "Oh?"
Harry paused. He was fairly sure that this was just Snape's dry humour, acting unaffected as usual whenever they bantered. If it had been two weeks ago, he would have proceeded as usual, but now, his confidence was somewhat shaken. He'd forgotten what it was like to have village Snape actually angry with him, and was suddenly nervous about making it happen again.
The man across from him sighed, perhaps realising why the sassy comment he must have been expecting never came. "Yes, it was."
Harry, cheeks red with embarrassment, hid his face behind his book by pretending to read. Don't be so stupid! He wasn't even mad at you last week, you just read the situation wrong.
Yeah, but what if I read it wrong again? Another voice seemed to argue back. You learned him pretty good in the village, but this isn't the village, is it?
"Of course," Snape said after a beat, sarcastic humour more clear in his voice now, "I could not comment on its execution. Art was never my strong suit."
Harry recognised the quip he'd made during their swim lesson, and behind his textbook, a big grin spread across his face.
At breakfast the next morning, an owl careened wildly over to Hermione, narrowly avoiding landing in a plate of scrambled eggs. It was holding a thick scroll, and its feathers were in severe disarray. It impatiently held out a leg for Hermione to take its message, then began aggressively preening. Parvarti and Lavender squealed in disgust and pulled the dishes out of range as dust and down began to get everywhere. Ron shook fluff off his nose and leaned in, mirroring Harry on her other side.
"What is it?"
"Rita," she said with a grim little smile. She unfurled the scroll, setting aside the attached letter, and began reading as the two boys tried to follow along. She had always been a faster reader than either of them, however, and rolled it back up before either were finished.
"It's good." She tapped the scroll against her chin, eyes far away. "Very good. She certainly knows what she's doing. A bit too focused on the dramatics for my taste, but the average reader will love it. I'll tweak it, of course. Redirect that one bit away from such a focus on speculating where you may have been, emphasize the unfairness of being forced to hide in the first place. But overall, I think it will do exactly what we need it to."
Ron blinked slowly, then sat up with eyes widened to exaggeration. "Yup! We understood everything you just said!"
Hermione huffed but nudged his shoulder playfully. Harry smiled and reached for the letter. Before he could read it, Hermione plucked it out of his hands.
"I believe the name at the top says 'Granger,' not 'Potter'." She smiled to lessen the impact of her words, but she also made sure to stuff the letter directly into the Satchel of Death.
"C'mon, I just want to know what she said."
"I know what she said," Hermione grumbled, standing. Ron and Harry followed suit.
"What'd she say?"
"She said she'd be happy to, but I'm going to tell her no–again." And with that cryptic comment, she strode off, the boys exchanging perplexed looks and hurrying to catch up.
A/N: As Harry wisely left it open to interpretation, I will do the same. Therefore, it is up to you to decide what Snape doesn't "even have to try" at.