Sorry for the late, late update on this one, guys.

Chapter 12

The next couple days passed in an uneasy routine, and Harry found an unsettling truce forming between him and Snape. Harry would wake up and eat a quiet breakfast with the man; silence seemed like the best way to keep this strange peace from shattering between them. After breakfast, Snape would tutor Harry in two or three of his subjects, although the work mainly consisted of the theory behind spellwork and nightly essays – albeit short essays – about what Harry had studied that day. Snape had explained that it would be detrimental to his healing to cast spells, potentially reopening his wounds in addition to straining his already-overtaxed magical core. After a few hours of schoolwork, Harry would eat lunch and speak with Ashlynn. Later that night, if he was lucky, Ron and Hermione would stop by to visit him and fill him in on their lives.

This morning, however, Snape entered his room looking particularly grim. Although he normally arrived laden with food, Harry noted the absence of breakfast trays floating behind the man.

When Snape simply collapsed in his usual chair and buried his prominent nose in the day's Daily Prophet, Harry finally spoke up. "No breakfast today?" Snape met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Sir?"

Snape barely acknowledged the term, instead returning to his paper with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Lolly will bring a tray for you in a moment. Due to some unforeseen circumstances, it was necessary for me to take breakfast with the Headmaster this morning."

True to Snape's word, Lolly appeared beside Harry's bed with a tray of oatmeal and toast. "Thanks, Lolly." He picked up the spoon from its position next to the bowl and used it to idly mix the clump of brown sugar into his oatmeal. It melted into a watery layer atop the porridge, and Harry swirled his spoon until it disappeared. He took a half-hearted bite, but the stony expression on Snape's face took away what little appetite he had had.

"So, unforeseen circumstances?" Harry muttered quietly, half question and half discontented grumble. He spread a bit of butter and jam on a slice of toast with the back of his spoon. Madam Pomfrey had forbidden the inclusion of knives with his meals. If his lunch or dinner featured meat, it was pre-sliced in bite-sized pieces so that Harry – and probably more importantly, Snape – wouldn't have to cut it.

Snape lowered the paper and gave Harry a long look, causing him to self-consciously take a bite of his toast. "I do not condone meddling, however much the Headmaster does it himself. But this incident does involve you, so I will allow it to slide this once."

The Potions Master folded the paper and tossed it onto the bed, the cover page and headline visible for Harry to see. Harry's own face was splashed across the cover, a photo from his trial at the end of the summer in which he was looking uncomfortable and even downtrodden.

"Harry Potter: Boy-Who-Gave-Up?" Harry dictated, his voice monotone. Snape was assessing Harry's face as his eyes took in the subheading, which read, Hogwarts students report the possible suicide of the Boy-Who-Lived.

The silence hung heavy in the air for a moment, neither Snape nor Harry making any move to break it. But with a sudden start, Harry threw himself from the bed and toward the door. Pain tore up his wrists – he had yet to take his pain potion for the day – but he closed both hands around the doorknob and yanked hard. The door refused to budge.

"The door won't open for you," Snape intoned, standing from his chair and picking up the newspaper pages that had been scattered when Harry had gotten up. When Harry continued to tug at the door, he added, "Stop it, Potter."

"Ron – Hermione – they have to – know," Harry choked out, punctuating every few words with an emphatic heave on the door. The bandages around his wrists were saturated with fresh blood.

Snape did not miss the appearance of the blood, and he quickly moved to remove Harry's hands from the door. "Your friends were here last night, you imbecile. They clearly know that you are alive, and I am sure that they will ascertain the fact for themselves in a few hours. Show me your hands."

Harry offered his bleeding wrists to the Potions Master, who cautiously removed the bandages to reveal that Harry had reopened the cuts. Snape pressed a few scraps of conjured gauze to the wound and said, "Merlin, Potter. Of all the dunderheaded . . . I need to summon Madam Pomfrey."

"Harry," Harry reminded him with a small scowl, still holding his arms out in front of him. Snape met his gaze and opened his mouth as if to reply, but merely looked towards the door and sent a message to the Mediwitch.

Moments later, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room. "Up, Mr. Potter. Back in bed," she urged, vanishing Snape's makeshift bandages and conjuring gauze of her own. Catching sight of the newspaper that had been left forgotten on the ground, she gave Snape a warning look.

Harry's voice took on a pleading tone. "Everyone out there thinks I'm dead. I have to tell them I'm alive. They need to – "

Snape had reassumed his seat beside Harry's bed and interrupted his plea. "Those who matter know that you are alive. Consider the rest irrelevant, and it makes the difficult things easier." He paused as Madam Pomfrey administered Harry's daily pain potion and blood replenisher. "The Headmaster and I spoke this morning because realistically, this situation could be used to our advantage."

"How could me being dead be used to our advantage?" Harry asked, his voice expressionless. He picked up his breakfast tray and took another half bite of his oatmeal.

"Think. The Dark Lord has likely already heard the rumor that you have committed suicide. He is hopeful that the war has been won for him, that the wizarding world is his for the taking. He will summon me tonight once classes have concluded, and I will tell him that you are indeed dead. I will explain that Professor Dumbledore wanted to keep the news a secret to keep hope alive but that an errant student nicking a snack late at night saw your body and leaked the story." Snape pointed a thin finger toward the newspaper. "Potter – Harry, that story may win us the war."

"I don't understand," Harry supplied faintly.

"If we can convince the Dark Lord of your death, he will no longer be attempting to monitor your every move. We will continue to work toward the Dark Lord's demise without his knowledge, provided he remains unaware of the connection between your minds. Have you read the chapter that I assigned you on Occlumency?"

Harry nodded. "But I thought we were waiting – "

"This is now of the utmost importance. I need to speak to the Headmaster, but I will be back within the hour to commence your lessons. We will be focusing primarily on your ability to close your mind."

Snape swept out of the room, his robes billowing behind him. Harry was left with a crumpled newspaper and a nearly untouched bowl of oatmeal, which he called Lolly to pick up. Madam Pomfrey moved from her spot by the door – Harry had all but forgotten that she was still in the room – and patted his knee.

"Everything will be alright, Mr. Potter," she reassured, leaving the room herself and closing the door behind her.

Now alone, Harry flopped back against the pillows and threw one lazy arm over his eyes.

oOoOo

For once, when Madam Pomfrey let Ron and Hermione into Harry's room, she didn't look exasperated or warn them to keep him as calm as possible. Their faces were pale and solemn as they came through the door, but their tense expressions melted away into something akin to relief.

"Harry!" Hermione cried. "We saw the" – she caught sight of the crumpled newspaper on the bed and nodded toward it – "well, that, and we just wanted to come make sure you were okay."

Ron nodded in agreement. "Did Dumbledore tell you about it?"

"No, Snape did," Harry said, trying to remember if he'd told his friends that he'd been staying with and essentially been babysat by the Potions Master recently. By his friends' blank looks, Harry figured that he hadn't. "Yeah, I was actually staying with him after the first – attempt, I guess. Dumbledore said it would be best." He rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron exclaimed, eyes wide. "If I had to live with the greasy git, I'd try to off myself too!"

Harry flinched, and a moment of shocked silence settled over the group. It was immediately broken by a shriek.

"Ronald Weasley! That is not funny!"

Ron immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry, mate. I didn't mean it – that way, you know. I was just surprised, I guess. How is living with Snape?"

"Not great," Harry informed grimly. "The first time, he just . . . I don't know. He saw all the memories from the Dursleys, even things that I haven't told you guys about. I panicked. Honestly, I don't even think that I meant it. But then once I tried it, I couldn't get the idea out of my head. All I could think about was how easy it would be to just stop."

"Stop?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Stop everything. You know, breathing, existing, everything. And Snape was there the whole time telling me that I was basically making up the whole thing and that I had jumped off the tower for attention and one day he read this diary that Dumbledore was making me write in and left the quarters, and I guess I thought it was the only option left. So I broke out of his quarters and well, you know the rest."

Neither Ron nor Hermione said anything at first, but Hermione covered Harry's hand with her own. Harry could see the way she avoided looking at the bandages on his wrist, and he didn't blame her. He didn't know how he would take the news that she or Ron had tried to kill themselves – and twice, at that. Harry leaned back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling. He wished that he could go back to before the fateful Occlumency lesson with Snape and erase the awkwardness he had created amongst the three of them.

Hermione spoke first. "Do you ever think about how different our lives would be if the war didn't exist?"

"Loads," Ron replied, toeing the floor with one trainer. The troubled look on his face suggested that he was thinking of his brother Percy, who had disowned the Weasley family and made it no secret that he disapproved of their belief in Dumbledore.

"Why think of things we'll never have?" Harry grumbled. He kept his eyes firmly glued to the ceiling. "I'd love to have parents and to get Voldemort out of my head. I'd really love to be out of this bloody room but wishing for it doesn't make it easier to deal with."

"Well, living here is better than living with Snape, right?" Ron asked.

Harry looked at him and shrugged. "Not so different, really. He's always here to tutor me and sits in with the therapist that Dumbledore is making me see. Besides, we have a truce or something now. If I call him 'sir,' he'll be less of a git."

Ron laughed aloud, but his laughter abruptly cut off when he caught sight of Harry's pale face. Snape was standing in the doorway, looking distinctly irritated. He was holding a rather large book between his crossed arms and his chest.

"Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger," Snape intoned, both a greeting and a dismissal. His voice was lighter than Harry would have suspected based on the fact that Harry could see that the man had spoken the words through clenched teeth.

"Bye, Harry," Hermione called, leaning forward to kiss Harry on the cheek. Ron followed her out the door, giving Harry a little wave. "Hello, Professor," she added as she passed the man standing in the doorway.

Snape took a seat next to Harry's bedside, still giving Harry a displeased look. "Would you like to refresh my memory on when 'git' became a respectful term, Potter?"

"I didn't know you were there," Harry mumbled. "Besides, what happened to calling me 'Harry?'"

Snape seemed to examine Harry's face for a moment before he released an infinitesimal sigh. "Old habits die hard. I am working on it, Harry."

Harry didn't quite think that it would be a good idea to inform Snape that old habits died hard when it came to insulting him behind his back, so he picked at a stray thread on his bed sheets instead.

"As I said this morning, Occlumency has become our first priority. The majority of the time that was previously spent on your lessons will now be spent learning to defend your mind." Snape set the book he was holding on the foot of Harry's bed, summoned the other Occlumency book from the table across the room, and stacked the two. "We will be taking an alternative approach since my previous teaching method did not seem to be – conducive – to your learning style."

"You didn't teach me at all!" Harry snapped without thinking.

A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw, letting Harry know that he was clearly toeing the line. The man's voice sounded a little forced when he repeated, "As I said, we will be taking an alternative approach."

Harry reddened slightly and tried to discreetly read Snape's expression. It seemed that the man was more committed to this so-called truce than he thought, so Harry swallowed his pride and pushed down his hatred of the man. "Sorry, Professor."

Snape's jaw loosened slightly. "I believe that you require more instruction in the formation of your shields than I had previously thought. As such, we will work solely on building your defenses before moving on to withstanding actual attacks."

"But I tried that," Harry protested. "I worked every night on clearing my mind, but it didn't help."

"Clearly controlling your emotions has not been your strongest skill this term," Snape replied dryly, although there was a bit of a hard edge to the comment that made Harry scowl slightly. "I will be in your mind, helping you see what I mean by formulating a shield."

The thought of Snape entering his mind brought back the memory of exactly what had happened the last time Snape had used Legilimancy on him. He wished that he could shout at Snape or even punch him in the man's overly-prominent nose, but in the end he merely nodded, avoiding Snape's gaze.

"Have you put much thought into where your true memories will be hidden? It must be somewhere that you feel safe, for you will essentially be hiding your true self away there as well."

In fact, Harry had put some thought into this. When Snape had given him the book on Occlumency on his first night in the Hospital Wing, Harry had dedicated himself to learning the art. If nothing else, he wanted to be able to protect his memories from his hated Potions professor. But as of this morning, it appeared that there was more at stake.

"My cupboard," Harry muttered, keeping his eyes focused somewhere across the room.

Snape blinked, clearly caught off guard. His mouth opened, then closed. Faintly, he repeated, "Your cupboard?" When Harry shrugged, the man added in evident disbelief, "You feel safe in the cupboard under the stairs? From your relatives' house?"

Harry shrugged again. "It was the only place in the Dursleys' house that was really mine, the only place that I could really hide and feel safe there. And since Hogwarts has been my only true home, I was thinking that maybe I could hide the cupboard somewhere in the castle."

Snape still looked slightly taken aback, but when Harry locked eyes with him, the man rearranged his facial expression into something that closely resembled his teaching face – although without the usual disdain.

"That . . . could work, Harry. The only way to truly determine its practicality is to test it, but the thought behind the idea makes it likely to work."

Harry fought back a shocked grin at the man's compliment. While it had been covert and perhaps even unintended, Harry was used to getting only contempt or – at best – cold dispassion from the man. Snape's acknowledgement of his effort was entirely new but certainly not unwelcome.

Before Harry could formulate a reply, Snape spoke again, "I trust that you have been practicing visualizing your shields over the past few days?"

"It's not difficult to imagine being locked in my cupboard," Harry replied. He got up to sit at the little table on the other side of the room. "But I've been practicing a bit."

Snape followed and sat across from him, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on steepled fingers. "We will not be doing much more than visualizing this afternoon. I theorize that you may be a more visual learner than I had previously thought. As such, I would like to start by demonstrating a properly constructed shield to you."

"Wouldn't I have to be in your head for that?"

Harry caught the slightest flicker of alarm that crossed Snape's visage, as if the idea of having Harry inside his head horrified him. The man's eyebrows furrowed. "No, I will enter your mind, projecting my state of mind into yours."

"That's possible?"

"It takes significantly more magical energy and mental control than both Occlumency and Legilimency, but it is possible. However, due to the necessity of a stronger mental connection, I will need to . . . maintain physical contact. I will try to keep the demonstration brief for the benefit of the two of us," Snape informed him, disdain at the thought of touching Harry coloring his tone.

Harry barely kept his gaze from darting down to stare at Snape's steepled fingers. The thought of the man's hands on his made his stomach turn slightly, for although he had begun to maintain an uneasy truce with Snape, his mind jumped back to the years of hatred between them.

Snape leaned further across the table and held his hands out toward Harry's head, pausing for a moment as though asking Harry for permission. Harry met the man's eyes – which were curiously blank – and nodded. Snape pressed two fingers against each of Harry's temples and maintained eye contact.

"Legilimens."

Rather than the bruising force with which Snape had entered Harry's mind in the past, Harry felt just a brush of magic against his mind before he felt Snape's presence in his mind. Snape didn't search through his mind for his memories, but rather, Harry saw an image unfold in his mind.

He was standing in a meadow, with the lush grass between his suddenly bare feet and the small flowers blooming on the large tree behind him telling him that it was sometime in the spring. There was an abandoned playground not far from the tree, separated from the meadow by a small playground gate. A soft breeze ruffled his hair.

Snape's voice reached his ears, although it sounded distorted, as though he were hearing the words from underwater. "Relax, Harry. Embrace the stillness of the meadow. Try to feel for the atmosphere of the environment."

Harry seated himself under the tree and stared up through the branches, which were adorned with leaves and little flowers. There was an overwhelming calm to the place. It was disconcerting to think that Snape's head could ever even be this calm.

"I am going to remove myself from your mind now," came Snape's garbled voice again, and Harry felt the peaceful meadow scene retreat from him mind. He found himself back in his room at the hospital wing, sitting across the table from Snape. Snape's face was pale and drawn, as though projecting his shield into Harry's mind had physically drained him.

"Are you okay, sir?" Harry asked carefully, not wanting to find himself on the receiving end of Snape's wrath for inquiring into the man's health.

Snape waved his hand in a gesture that Harry found uncharacteristically careless for the man. "I am fine. Occluding alone for a long period of time takes its toll on the mind. Projecting, well . . ."

"A long period of time? You weren't in my head for that long, were you?"

Snape looked at him carefully. "I was in your mind for over an hour." When Harry failed to respond in any other way than to look utterly surprised, Snape continued, "You have now experienced what a shield should feel like. It should be a safe, calm place for you. As the book said, the strongest shields are formed from places that are linked to personal meaning, such as your cupboard or Hogwarts itself."

"What's the importance of that meadow?" Harry asked before he could help himself. He immediately regretted the question, as Snape's eyes became shuttered and unreadable. Harry wondered if he was occluding again.

Snape stood abruptly from where he was sitting at the table. The loud scrape of the wooden chair against the stone floor made Harry cringe, but Snape didn't seem to notice it.

"Continue practicing your shield every night. Now that I have given you an example, it should be easier for you to visualize what is required of you." Following his words, Snape smoothly left the room, closing the door behind him with a snap.

Harry stared after him. What was the significance of the meadow? And why had the man shut down at the briefest mention of it?

Regardless, the makeshift Occlumency lesson had tired Harry as well, so he retired to his bed and tried to visualize his cupboard locked away in the deepest part of the dungeons as he fell asleep.

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