Harry spent most of the first day back from the Christmas holidays dreading the evening. The last time he had been in Snape's office had not been a pleasant experience. Of course, no time he was in Snape's presence had been pleasant. His morning Potions class, for instance, had been as loathsome as ever, with Snape breathing down his neck making sarcastic comments. Add this to the fact that he kept having to explain to everyone, including members of the D.A., that he was taking "Remedial Potions" that evening and he had the makings of an extremely uncomfortable day.

Harry sighed. He was pacing up and down one of the aisles in the library, the one place in the school that was consistently silent. After everything that had gone on over the past few months and over the holidays with Mr. Weasley's attack, Harry felt that he needed to think. He glanced down at his hand where the words "I must not tell lies" should have been. The concealment spell was still in place. Having been rushed out of the school so quickly the night he had the vision Harry had no time to plan how he would hide the cuts from Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, or the others. Fortunately, he had perused the library in Grimmauld Place while everyone thought he was sleeping. Most of the books were rather foul, containing all kinds of Dark spells; one, however, had contained a whole chapter on Concealment and Vanishing Spells. Harry had found one designed to hide scars and disfigurements. Perfect.

Of course, that led Harry to a topic he would rather not consider: why was he taking such care to hide it? The reason, or the reason that he told himself, was that Sirius might do something rash and get chucked back in Azkaban. That could be very true, of course. But was that all? Harry could have told McGonagall or Dumbledore; Sirius didn't have to know. Or Lupin. Why did he never think of Lupin? They had been so close during third year. But Lupin hadn't written to Harry either. Lupin had never written to Harry even when he was a kid…or checked on him…or given any indication that he had been to close to Harry's parents at all when they first met…maybe somehow Harry was returning the favor.

Harry groaned and leaned against a bookshelf. He had been so angry lately, all the time. He never used to be this way. Maybe Voldemort being back had something to do with it. Or Cedric. For all that Harry had been alone with his thoughts during the summer he had never really let himself think about Cedric, despite the nightmares. It had been so much easier to foster his anger towards Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione for keeping him out of the loop. So much easier to spend the school year being enraged than…what? Sad? Guilty?

Frightened?

Harry's thoughts came back to his hand. It was so much easier to deal with physical pain. I must not tell lies. But he had been lying to himself all year, hadn't he? Telling himself he'd dealt with Cedric's death, telling himself he didn't care how everyone always seemed to either adore or detest him and there was never a middle ground, that he didn't notice Lupin's silence, that Sirius' "fits of the sullens" didn't hurt because James could have soothed those fits—

Harry was interrupted by his watch beeping. He quickly silenced it before Madame Pince could hex him for disrupting the peace in her library. He had set the alarm to go off twenty minutes before his appointment with Snape. There was no point in being late and angering Snape on the first day. And frankly, Harry was getting sick of being at odds with people. He hated being angry and sullen all the time; he didn't like himself when he looked in the mirror anymore. Some words Dumbledore had once spoken to him came back, "It is our choices that make us who we are…" Harry reflected how much Sirius' sullen moods wounded him. I don't have to be that, he thought, if I have control over nothing else I have control over this at least.

As Harry made his way down to the dungeons another thought occurred to him: that Snape of all people had been one of the few constants in his life. Constant dislike, granted, but a constant nonetheless. After everything Snape was always the same. And he had watched out for Harry regardless. He had saved him in his first year, he had come after him in third year when Harry was in the Shrieking Shack, he spied for Dumbledore right under Voldemort's nose. That couldn't be easy. Why did Harry feel such a need to dislike him? To validate Sirius? Well, Sirius hadn't done much to endear himself to Harry, as of late. Maybe this was another thing Harry could resolve to change…

Harry came to a sudden halt, realizing that he was outside Snape's office door. Well, it was now or never. Harry took a deep breath and entered. It was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated slimy bits of animals and plants, suspended in variously colored potions. In a corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry – not without reason – of robbing. Harry's attention was drawn toward the desk, however, where a shallow basin engraved with runes and symbols lay in a pool of candlelight. Harry recognized it at once – Dumbledore's Pensieve. Wondering what on earth it was doing here, he jumped when Snape's cold voice came from the corner.

"Shut the door behind you, Potter."

Harry hastened to obey. When he turned back to face the room Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry, dislike etched in every line of his face.

"Well, Potter, you know why you are here," he said. "The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than Potions."

Harry felt a surge of annoyance but then remembered his earlier resolve. And really, he did hope that he did better at this than Potions.

"Why does Professor Dumbledore think I need Occlumency?" he asked.

Snape's eyes narrowed malevolently. "This may not be an ordinary class, Potter, but I am still your teacher and therefore you will call 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times."

Well, okay, that was a reasonable request. "Sorry, sir."

Snape blinked and then carried on to explain what Occlumency was and why Harry needed to learn it to guard his mind from attack, scoffing at Harry's calling Legilimency mind-reading.

Harry shifted nervously. Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded a lot like mind-reading to Harry, and he wasn't too keen on letting Snape of all people peruse it. Snape took out his wand and Harry tensed, but Snape merely placed it at his temple in the roots of his greasy hair. When he withdrew it a strange silvery strand, neither gas nor liquid, came away. It stretched like a gossamer strand and then broke and fell gracefully into the Pensieve. Snape did this twice more and the carefully removed the Pensive to a shelf as though afraid Harry might peek. But Harry was not at all inclined to pry. Snape returned to face Harry with his wand at the ready.

"Stand up and take out your wand, Potter."

Harry obeyed, feeling nervous. "You may use your wand to disarm me or otherwise defend yourself. I've been told that you have an aptitude for resisting the Imperious Curse; this will require similar skills. Prepare yourself…one, two, three…Legilimens!"

Harry had no time to conjure a resistance. The office dissolved and he was lost in a whirl of colors. Image after image flashed before him as though he were watching a poorly edited, disordered film.

He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy…He was nine and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree while the Dursleys stood on the lawn below and laughed…He was sitting under the Sorting Hat and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin…Professor Quirell was running up to the Head Table, shrieking about a troll in the dungeons…His aunt was rapping on the cupboard door, screaming, "Up! Get up! Now!" and Harry was sitting up wearily, taking in the underside of the stairs, and beginning a hunt for his socks…

Suddenly Harry was jolted back into awareness as he felt a sharp pain in his knee. He realized he had fallen to the floor and his knee had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk.

"That was not as poor as it might have been," said Snape, who had lowered his wand. "You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused."

"Did you see everything I saw, sir?" Harry asked.

"Bits of it," Snape said. A sneer was starting. "Did you often hide in that cupboard?"

"No…sir," he added hastily after seeing the look on Snape's face. "I slept there." Then, not entirely knowing why he felt the need to explain himself, he went on, "It was my room until I was eleven."

"Your room?"

"Yeah. It was where my bed and everything was. It was as far away as they could put me, I guess."

"I see." Snape's expression was unreadable. "That unruly, were you?"

"I was a wizard." Harry shrugged. "I suppose they didn't want me infecting them."

Why were they discussing this? Even Ron and Hermione had never asked why. Come to think of it, Harry reflected, they didn't know. He had never told them. Ron only knew about the second bedroom and the bars. Snape had an odd look on his face that Harry couldn't quite make out, but then he hitched on his usual sneer.

"I had no idea there was such a simple method of containing you, Potter. I shall know where to conduct your next undoubtedly imminent detention."

Oddly, Harry began to be amused, as though he and Snape were having a battle of wits rather than wills. And, Harry had to admit, after all the tension and people tiptoeing around him at Grimmauld Place like he was a bomb that could go off any second this was rather refreshing. How strange.

"I don't know, sir, I mean it doesn't have the same effect without Aunt Petunia's melodious voice. Maybe we should ask Umbridge, I bet she could reach the same pitch if I ask Fred and George to spray paint "Fudge loves half-breeds" on her desk." How could he possibly be smiling in Snape's office? Surely the earth had stopped spinning.

Snape stared at him a moment before raising his wand. "Are you ready to resume your lesson now, Potter, or shall we continue this inane stroll down memory lane?"

At the reminder of why they were there Harry felt his amusement evaporate. But he managed to reply, "Let's continue, sir. Why listen when you can watch?"

"If you make suitable progress, I shall not have to do either. Get ready…" Harry stared at the wand tip, focusing on repelling it. "Legilimens!"

Harry was lost in a swirl of colors once more, but rather than watch the images he tried to focus on where he really was. He doesn't have to see this. I don't have to let him see this. Get out, get out, get out…

Harry tried concentrating on one image but they were whirling too fast. He tried not thinking but he could as easily detach his head. Growing desperate, he tried something else.

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, he sang in his head. Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald or young with scabby knees. Harry tried to focus on remembering the words. Our heads could do with stuffing…no…our heads could do with filling with some interesting stuff, But now they're…What were they? They're bare and full of air, dead flies, and bits of fluff…Harry couldn't remember what came next. Then he was aware that he was kneeling on the floor again.

"Interesting strategy, Potter," Snape said from above him. "Perhaps you are not entirely hopeless."

"Is that kind of what I'm supposed to do, sir?" Harry asked, getting to his feet again.

"The true Occulumens will be able to clear his mind, suppressing those specific emotions while retaining the ability to consciously think and act. However, for a beginner you were not completely abysmal."

"Thank you, sir." Harry was panting as though he had run a long distance.

Harry stayed for another half hour, Snape repeatedly casting the spell and Harry trying to resist. By the end, Harry still couldn't push Snape out but he did at times succeed in making things look fuzzy. At last Snape put away his wand.

"That will do for tonight, Potter. I expect to see you here next Thursday at the same time. Practice emptying your mind each day between now and your next lesson. Breathe deeply and try to find a point of stability inside yourself to concentrate on. Since you are just starting out I suggest that you do so in a quiet environment. In other words, try to be as far away from the Weasley twins as possible. You may go."

Harry got to his feet, feeling a little muddle-brained, although that could have been from shock. Unless he was mistaken Snape had just cracked a bit of a joke!

"I'll do my best, sir," he said. Then, after a slight pause, "Thank you for taking the time to do this. I imagine it's not how you want to spend your evenings." Maybe this was too much, but on the other hand there was no sense in offering an olive branch only halfway.

Snape raised one black eyebrow. "If you recall, I had little choice, Potter."

"Even so, sir, I appreciate it."

"Hmph. In that case, I expect you to be especially diligent about practicing and make sure my efforts don't go to waste. And be warned, I will know if you haven't."

Harry nodded, picked up his bookbag, and left. As he walked he couldn't help feeling extremely accomplished. Sure, he clearly had a lot of work to do before he mastered this Occlumency business. But this was probably the most civil he and Snape had ever been to each other since they met. Harry wasn't sure what this meant or what his lesson next Thursday would be like. But for the first time in a long time he was walking away from a conversation that he didn't feel ashamed of.