He’d tucked Draco in for the night about twenty minutes before, and considering that Harry had sent Draco out to say goodnight to his godfather, he was sure Snape realized that Draco would be asleep by now.
Harry looked up when Snape called his name and reluctantly got up when Snape gestured for him to come out to the sitting room.
“You need to be able to block your mind so that the Dark Lord cannot cross the link,” Snape said without preamble once Harry was in the other room.
Harry said nothing, not sure where Snape was going with this. They’d already discussed this.
“You will begin learning exactly how to do this, starting tonight,” Snape sneered.
“Tonight? But . . . ,” Harry protested.
Snape interrupted. “Yes, Potter, you will start tonight. It is one of the main reasons you are staying in my quarters,” he said coldly.
Harry stared at his professor, wanting to protest that he hadn’t expected to start immediately. Wanting to protest that he still had assignments to finish. Wanting to protest that he simply hated learning Occlumency—period.
Occlumency hurt. It hurt his body as he fell every time he was attacked. His scar always ended up prickling and seemed extra sensitive afterwards. His defenses always seemed lower and he usually felt downright shaky and sick.
Except for that brief appearance by Voldemort in his nightmare a few nights earlier, he hadn’t actually had to deal with him for over a week. Voldemort had been quiet and Harry appreciated that.
Harry needed to learn Occlumency, he knew that, but wouldn’t Voldemort become even more active once he thought Harry was gone from his mind again? Would the visions become even more horrible to bear? Would even more people be killed?
Perhaps, but they had no spy now. They needed to be able to know what Voldemort was up to and they needed to be able to rely on the information—rather than wasting time trying to sort through what was real and what was planted information. Then, of course, Harry was damned tired of Voldemort taunting him on a regular basis.
Harry looked down at the floor and sighed, resigned to a night of pain and misery. “Yes, sir,” he said quietly as he reached to slip his wand from the waistband of his jeans.
“Sit down,” Snape commanded. “We will start tonight by going over methods you can use to help clear your mind, which will help protect you from attack at night.”
Harry looked up at him in surprise but hurried to comply and sat down in the chair that Snape had indicated, directly across from his own.
“This will not keep you from slipping into his mind, but it will help prevent him from slipping into yours,” Snape said, using his best professorial tones.
Harry listened avidly and worked to begin learning meditation techniques that would hopefully be able to help him. The late night lesson was both interesting and helpful. Snape’s attitude was cool and sometimes derogatory towards Harry, but overall it wasn’t the type of cruel lessons that hadn’t really taught him a damned thing the year before.
Although, Snape did warn him that after he had taught Harry some of these other techniques, he would be showing no mercy when casting Legilimens and helping to further Harry’s skills. They would not all be pleasant lessons like this first one.
Harry simply nodded his acknowledgement. He understood the “no mercy” lessons and expected them from Snape. What he was surprised by, was Snape teaching something useful so that he could actually understand. He certainly wasn’t complaining about it, though.
It was close to midnight by the time Snape sent him back to his room.
* * * * *
September 6
It was actually a fairly quiet day for you today. I already wrote about this morning and our new room. I had kind of a rough start to the day and it’s ending kind of interesting for me, but you had a good day . . .
Chapter 13: Hurt and Confused
“Harry Potter.”
Harry knew Voldemort had him trapped. Looking around him, he realized he was in Voldemort’s version of a throne room. Harry knew the place and recognized it immediately because he’d seen it so many times in his visions.
Voldemort hadn’t ever actually summoned Harry to this place, though. He planted visions for Harry, he taunted him in his nightmares, he knew Harry often witnessed things that happened there—but he’d never called Harry there.
Harry couldn’t figure out exactly how it was happening, but he knew that it was happening regardless.
“What do you want?” Harry asked defiantly, and was not exactly surprised that Voldemort seemed to hear him. This little communication was new and it was unnerving Harry.
“Harry Potter, I’m so pleased you could meet with me tonight,” Voldemort said coldly.
Harry shivered and wondered how he could even feel himself shivering. “What do you want?” Harry repeated.
“I wanted to have a little talk with you,” Voldemort said almost casually, and Harry shivered again to remember that this piece of evil used to be a real man—completely human.
“Then talk so I can go,” Harry shouted.
“No need to shout, Potter,” Voldemort said. “We are the only ones here.”
Harry glared at him, the man with the cold red eyes, and hated the fact that he was trapped here and couldn’t leave. Harry waited. Let the snake-faced bastard say what he wanted to so he could get out of there.
“I’m quite curious as to why you were dreaming about my right hand man recently,” Voldemort said coldly. “How is it that you know about the intricacies between Lucius and his son? What exactly is your concern for the young Malfoy, who will soon be a part of my fold?”
“I’m not telling you anything about Draco,” Harry shouted defiantly.
Voldemort looked at him with interest. “It would seem that you are quite fond of Draco. I was not aware that you were even on a first name basis with him. Is there more to this? Or is this just something one-sided for you?”
Harry continued to glare at him, but remained silent. As much as he wanted to shout at Voldemort, he didn’t want to give the bastard any more ammunition.
“Hmmm, perhaps I need to learn more about what exactly is going on at Hogwarts this year,” Voldemort said musingly. “Perhaps also I need to free Lucius so that he might check personally on his son. I do miss having my right hand man available to me.”
Harry continued to keep his silence, glaring defiantly at Voldemort.
“You upset me greatly with that little stunt you pulled,” Voldemort said dangerously. “But then, I will have Lucius back. You will never see Black again, so I suppose not all was lost.”
Harry could feel the guilt, the anger, the fear—all of it weighing him down heavily. “At least you never got the prophecy,” he shouted.
“I was angered that you lost me the prophecy,” Voldemort said coldly.
“Yeah, it’s too bad you didn’t get a chance to hear it, because then you’d know you were fighting a lost cause,” Harry snapped recklessly.
Voldemort was beyond furious with that declaration and somehow flung Harry back to his own mind, however that worked.
Harry woke in his own bed, and promptly threw himself to the side, retching, unaware of anything more than the emotions swirling around inside of him, along with the pain flaring hotly from his scar.
Vaguely, Harry felt gentle hands helping to steady him as he emptied the contents of his stomach. Harry moved to swipe the back of his hand across his mouth but a cool cloth was suddenly pressed into his hand. He swiped the cloth across his face instead and tried to sit up again. Gentle hands helped him until Harry was sitting propped up against the pillows.
Gradually becoming more aware of his surroundings, Harry stared blankly at his Potions professor for a moment, uncomprehending that Snape was the one helping him. Harry flinched when he glanced around and realized Draco was sobbing on the other end of the bed, sound beginning to penetrate his overloaded brain.
“Draco?” Harry said hoarsely.
