Stay Free

Chapter 2: Visions, Vomit, and Occlumency

Harry was standing in front of a window, in a small, dark room illuminated only by the series of candles beside him. His white, spider-like fingers were slowly running over the walls that were made of stone, tapping, as though waiting.

Footsteps announced the arrival of the person Harry was waiting for, and he turned to greet him. He was met by thin blonde hair that surrounded a bald spot, glistening with sweat. The man was kneeling on the floor, shaking slightly as he kissed the hems of Harry's robes.

"Wormtail," Harry breathed, "get up."

Peter Pettigrew stood up slowly, as though trying to calm his trembling limbs. He looked exhausted, his face slightly dirty and his robes smelling strangely like the sea.

"Master," he whispered, his eyes wide with obvious fear, "I have spoken with Lucius...He and Bella will be free of Azkaban in at least two days."

"Good," Harry said, his high, cold voice echoing off in the near-empty room. "I am correct in the belief that no one saw you, Wormtail?"

"Of course, Master," replied Wormtail quickly, flexing his silver hand lovingly. "There are rats everywhere in Azkaban...and the guard who happened to notice me no longer walks the Earth."

"Good," Harry repeated. "After Lucius and Bella, we will retrieve Rodolphus and Rookwood...and then Avery and Macnair will be free as well..."

Wormtail made a slight squeaking sound of approval.

"I do believe it is safe to take you out of hiding now, Wormtail," continued Harry. "Now that Black has been taken care of, there is no one else--besides Potter, Weasley, Granger, and Lupin--that knows of your Animagus form...There will be no need for you to hide..."

Harry suddenly felt a sharp pain on his forehead. He clasped the long fingered hands to the source of the pain, wincing and closing his eyes. He traced the lightning shaped scar--but wait, did he even have a scar?

Harry's eyes snapped open. "Potter!" he hissed. "He is here! He has heard us!"

Wormtail made another squeaking sound. Harry turned to the window, and saw his reflection looking back at him, the horrible white face twisted into pain, red eyes glaring --

"NOOOOO!"

Harry sat up abruptly in his bed, pushing the sweat-soaked sheets off his body as his stomach lurched. Grabbing his glasses of his bedside table, he stumbled across the floor, his feet tripping over textbooks and parchments, his hands clutching his forehead; his scar was on fire--

"Harry?" Dudley whispered, stepping out of his room, but Harry pushed past him and hurried down the corridor. He shoved the bathroom door open, flipped the toilet seat up, and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach.

"Harry?" Dudley repeated, now standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He was shivering in his pyjamas, and his face was white and frightened. "Harry, do you need me to call a hospital?"

"No," Harry gasped, still clutching his scar. A sudden streak of pain skidded across his forehead, and he cringed. He closed his eyes; being temporary blind was better than the red dots that were appearing in his vision. "No, Muggles can't help this."

Harry reached a hand up to flush the toilet, and felt the floor move beneath him as his stomach lurched again. Whatever was left spewed out onto the tiled floor; he hadn't made it to the toilet.

"Do you need Mum or Dad?" Dudley said urgently, looking to be breathing out of his mouth. He hesitantly put out his hand and touched Harry's shoulder. It was awkward, but comforting all the same.

Harry shook his head violently, cursing under his breath as the feeling of his scar catching on fire rose again.

"Get Snape," Harry rasped, wiping his mouth to get rid of the vomit. "As much as I hate him, he can still help--"

"No need to get me," said a silky voice from the doorway. Dudley squealed in surprise (promptly falling into the tub) as Snape walked in, surveying the scene in front of him. He looked at the undigested food on the floor beside Harry, made a sound of disgust, and waved his wand. The vomit disappeared.

"Up," Snape ordered. He looked supremely displeased, as though Harry had forgotten to wash the dishes.

"Can't move, Professor," Harry said weakly. He tried to lift his arm to get into a more comfortable seating position, but it felt as though weights had been strapped to his elbows. "Hurts...scar...I can't move..."

"I see...another vision?" Snape supplied, and Harry nodded slowly. "What was it about?"

"I was Voldemort again," Harry explained hoarsely. Snape jerked horribly. "He was meeting with Wormtail, who said that he had talked to Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban, in his Animagus form...and that Lucius and Bellatrix would be free of Azkaban in at least two days. Then he started naming other Death Eaters that he would free next..."

Harry swallowed the next batch of vomit, wincing at the awful taste. He kept his eyes closed, reclining his head against the cool tile. Snape leaned against the sink.

"Was there anything else?"

"Yes, Voldemort said that there was no need for Wormtail to be in hiding anymore, now that Sirius is--is dead."

"Is that all?"

Harry nodded. "He knew I was there...my scar started to hurt mid-dream, I suppose, and he felt it--He knew I was there, he knew what I saw--"

Snape suddenly looked very grave.

"Shouldn't have started opening up your mind this early," he said quietly. "Made it just too easy to get into his mind with him noticing..."

"What do you mean, opening up your mind?" Dudley asked as he climbed out of the bathtub.

"Never you mind," Snape snapped. He sounded so much like Professor Grubbly-Plank, who taught Care of Magical Creatures when Hagrid wasn't available, that Harry managed a small giggle into his wet shirtsleeve.

Snape shot a dirty look at Harry. "You have to get up sometime, Potter."

Harry gritted his teeth to avoid throwing an insult. Didn't Snape know how much pain he was in?

"Er, sir..." Dudley squealed. "Maybe we should get Harry to a doctor..."

Snape frowned. "Doctor?"

"Muggle Healers," Harry said, squeezing his eyes shut. His scar was still burning horribly. "Oh, for God's sake, will you just bring me to St. Mungo's? Please?"

"St. Mungo's doesn't regularly do your type of scars," said Snape, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. "They wouldn't know how to treat it. Best you can do is just sleep it off."

Harry choked. "I can't go back to sleep! I'll have another one of the visions--but it might be fake, like last year--!"

"I have Dreamless Sleep Potions," Snape interrupted with a bite of impatience. "Can you stand up, Potter?"

"I'll help," Dudley offered, and he crouched down beside Harry, slipping an arm beneath his shoulders. "And up we go..." With a grunt, Dudley yanked Harry up to his feet.

Harry blinked, swaying slightly as blood rushed to his head. Dudley tightened his grip on his cousins's shoulders. "Feel ready to walk?"

"I think so," Harry said slowly. Dudley nodded.

Five minutes later, Harry was lying in his bed, head propped up by the two extra-large pillows from Dudley's room.

"Thanks," said Harry, wiping his forehead clear of sweat.

Dudley shrugged. "You're family. I might as well give you help once in awhile."

Harry gave a faint smile at that.

Snape strode into the room, holding a glass of water and a flask containing a purple liquid. "Drink both," he ordered, placing them on Harry's bedside table. "I have to alert the Order."

Harry nodded. "Anything else?"

Snape paused from shrugging into his cloak, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small Muggle notebook.

"If you have another vision," he said, putting the notebook on the floor, "write down everything you remember. Even if you think it's insignificant, I want you to write it down. It will then copy itself into an identical notebook at headquarters; so don't use this as your diary. The Order does not need to read your whining."

Harry nodded again, slightly insulted by Snape's words. "All right."

With a jerk of his head, Snape Disapparated.

Dudley's eyes widened. "Wow! He just...disappeared! How did he do that?"

"It's called Apparition," Harry explained, taking a sip from the glass of water. "Disappearing from one place and reappearing instantly in another. Very difficult. Sometimes people leave half of themselves behind, so they're stuck and can't go either way. That's called splinching."

"Are they stuck forever?" Dudley said with curiosity.

"No, there's a Department in the Ministry of Magic that helps them..." Harry thought back to the summer of his fourth year, when Mr. Weasley had told him about Apparition. "I think it's called the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad."

Dudley nodded, looking fascinated. "Why are you suddenly so interested in the wizarding world, Dudley?" Harry asked as the thought dawned on him. "Before you would turn into jelly if anyone mentioned the word 'magic.'"

Dudley heaved his massive shoulders into the air in a shrug. "Just seems kind of silly to be afraid of witches and wizards, you know? Besides, I think it does you good to have someone to talk to besides your owl."

"This is true," said Harry, looking at Hedwig with affection. She hooted, clicking her beak against the bars of her cage.

Dudley clapped Harry on the shoulder. "I think it's time for you to take your purple...juice."

"Potion," Harry corrected as Dudley handed him the flask. He drowned it in one gulp, and sank into his bed.

* * *

Moments later, Severus Apparated just outside of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Brushing dust off his cloak, he began walking towards the house. But before he could begin knocking on the door, Lupin threw it open, yanking on a pair of jeans over his worn sweatpants.

"Saw you arriving on one of Mad Eye's new toys," said Lupin quickly, fumbling with his belt buckle. "Is Harry all right? How are the Dursleys' treating him? Is he having nightmares again? Do you think I should--?"

"I think you should shut up," Severus interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest, "and let me speak."

Pushing his graying hair out of his face, Lupin closed his mouth abruptly, and gestured for Severus to follow him into the house.

"Thank you," said Severus coldly. They were now standing in the corridor. "Potter is fine, at least from my view. The Dursley's are treating him fine, and his cousin is acting more like a family member towards Potter than a stranger."

Lupin nodded. "Good. Took him awhile, but good."

"There's more. He had another vision, just minutes ago."

Lupin's face fell. "Oh, no."

"It was bad enough that Potter vomited twice, and couldn't move without becoming dizzy. He said his scar was burning, too."

"What was in the vision?"

"A conversation with Wormtail, through the eyes of the Dark Lord. He's beginning to break his Death Eaters out of Azkaban."

"Oh, shit."

"That was my reaction."

"But didn't you already know?"

A muscle in Severus's jaw twitched. "No, Lupin, I didn't. The Dark Lord doesn't trust me at the moment."

"Ah," said Lupin.

They both stood in silence.

"Where's Kreacher?" Severus questioned, realizing that the house-elf wasn't anywhere to be seen.

A twisted smile flitted across Lupin's features. "The little bastard destroyed all the Wolfsbane Potion I had left, and then made the mistake of going down to the dungeons--I lock myself down there so I won't bite anyone here--during the full moon."

"You ate him?" Lupin shrugged. "Only his body. His head is up with all his family, where he belongs."

He jerked his head towards the staircase, and Severus peered over his shoulder. Indeed, Kreacher's head was mounted onto the wall. Upon closer inspection, Severus saw that there were tiny holes in the house elf's face.

"What are these?" Severus asked, gesturing to the holes.

Lupin bent down and scooped something off the ground. He held it up into the light so that Severus could see. "Darts," he explained, twirling the piece of wood around in his fingers. It was about five or six inches long, with three feathers glued on the sides.

"Muggle invention," Severus muttered.

"Yes," Lupin sighed, "but it gets out your aggression."

He pocketed the dart almost unwillingly. "But enough about Kreacher. Tell me the truth, Severus. How is Harry?"

Severus closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to avoid bumping into a house-elf's head. "I don't think he's doing so well. His uncle--I never bothered to learn his name--said Potter hasn't been eating the meals they prepare for him. And he looked very..." Severus searched for the right word. "Very unlike himself, I suppose. He was much too thin, wasn't caring too much about his appearance, and was very angry most of the time."

"He should be angry," Lupin replied, "just not at himself."

"I'm not Potter's shrink," Severus snapped, opening his eyes. "We aren't exactly sharing our feelings."

Lupin laughed. It was a hollow sound, with no humour to it.

"I didn't know you had feelings anymore, Severus."

Severus shoved his hands into his pockets. "I didn't come here to talk about myself, Lupin. I needed to alert the rest of the Order about Potter's new vision."

"Do you know what could have caused it?"

"Me," Severus said grimly. "I opened his mind twice, in about the span of five or ten minutes. I got him the first time when his back was turned, but the second he went willingly."

Lupin sighed. He scratched the back of his neck, almost nervously. "Do you think I should make a visit to Privet Drive?"

"If you feel the need."

"I suppose I should ask Dumbledore first," Lupin mused, and he began to pace back and forth on the carpet. "He knows what's best for Harry...." He continued to mumble under his breath.

"I'm leaving now," Severus announced. "I'm going to be late for my...punishment." He rubbed his left forearm on instinct.

Lupin stopped talking to himself and paused mid-pace. "Good luck."

With a nod, Severus Disapparated.

* * *

Harry awoke with a yawn, stretching out his arms and legs. He sat up, rubbing the space between his eyes. It was then that he noticed the parchment envelope in his lap. Harry opened it, and smiled at the familiar writing.

Dear Harry,

Remus again. When Severus let me know of your vision (don't worry about the Death Eaters escaping; Aurors have now been posted outside of each cell, and given orders to kill all the rats), I came as quickly as I could to Privet Drive, only to remember that you were still sleeping, and that you probably didn't want to be awakened. So, I borrowed some of your parchment and wrote you a note, as I'm sure you've realized already.

I know people have told you how much you look like your father, and that it must get annoying, but while you're sleeping, you truly look like James. (Except you don't snore. I had many sleepless nights when I was at Hogwarts, due to James's inability to keep his mouth shut when he slept.)

Well...what else to write? You know everything that is going on, so I can't write about news. (There were many splotches of ink here, as though the writer had begun to write something, then decided not to.)

I suppose I'll be going now. I have a house-elf to throw darts at. (Yes, Kreacher is dead and mounted upon the wall with the rest of his family.) Enjoy the rest of your summer. Work hard at your Occlumency.

Remus

PS: I'll be glad to accompany you to the reading of Sirius's will, seeing as how I got the same letter.

Harry set the letter aside, next to all his others, and pushed the covers off his body. He felt strangely light-headed as he walked down the stairs to the kitchen, and decided to call it a side effect of the Dreamless Sleep Potion.

He was met by the scowls of his aunt and uncle as he entered the kitchen. "Good morning to you, too," Harry mumbled as he got himself a glass of orange juice.

"Where is that man?" Uncle Vernon demanded from behind the newspaper he was reading. "The one who was here last night."

Harry shrugged, and took a gulp of orange juice.

"Humph," Uncle Vernon grumped, and returned to his paper.

Harry hesitantly approached his aunt. "Er, do I have any yard work to do today?"

"No," Aunt Petunia spat, one bony hand clutching a mug of coffee. She sipped it daintily. "But I wouldn't mind if you went to the supermarket for me while I do the laundry."

Harry shrugged. "Sure. I don't have anything else to do."

Uncle Vernon snorted. "No work from that freak school of yours?"

"I do, but I'd rather work on it when I have more helpful materials at hand," Harry answered coldly. "I don't think Dudley's magazines can help me write an essay of Strengthening Solutions."

"Humph," Uncle Vernon repeated. He had paled slightly at the mention of magical potions.

"Here's the list of items we need," Aunt Petunia said, picking a slip of paper off the table. She pushed it into Harry's hand, as well as a roll of bank notes. "That should be enough money."

"All right," Harry said, stuffing the money into his pocket and skimming over the list. "If anyone comes to find me, let them know where I am."

"A-Aren't you going to have any breakfast, Harry?" Aunt Petunia asked timidly as Harry started towards the door. He turned towards her, a look of surprise on his face.

"No. I'm not hungry, thank you."

Turning on his heel, Harry walked out the door, his hand in the inside of his coat, clutching his wand.

* * *

An hour later, Harry was walking back to Privet Drive with two plastic bags in his hand. They bumped awkwardly into his leg, making him walk almost crookedly. If only he could do magic, Harry thought wistfully as an old woman walked past him, then he wouldn't have to carry the groceries.

A faint wailing grabbed Harry away from his inner thoughts. His hand automatically tensed on his wand, his eyes flicking around for the direction of the sound. Harry quickened his pace.

Ah, he should have known.

Dudley and his gang, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon, were standing by the park gates, laughing loudly as Dennis shoved a boy's face into the dirt.

Harry recognized the boy at once. Mark Evans, a small, thin boy of about eleven. He had stringy black hair that always looked like it needed a wash, piercing dark eyes, and pale skin. He lived just around the corner of Privet Drive, on Magnolia Road. From what Harry knew and saw, he lived with his father, who owned a few shops.

"Stop that!" Harry shouted, dropping the bags and jogging towards the scene. Dudley instantly stopped laughing, the cigarette he had been smoking falling out of his mouth.

Piers's rat-like face twisted into a sneer. Harry was reminded immediately of Wormtail, and wondered aimlessly if Piers was a nephew of Pettigrew. "And what are you going to do about it, Potter?"

"Piers..." Dudley said nervously, glancing between his best friend and Harry, "I think you should stop..."

"Why?" Dennis asked, kicking Mark in the ribs. The boy choked, and mud spewed out of his mouth. "He can't do much to stop us, Big D."

"H-He'll tell my mum," Dudley replied anxiously.

"And she'll listen to him?" Gordon exclaimed, blowing his blonde hair out of his eyes. "She hates him, Dudley. Ever since his parents died and they left him here as an orphan...Or maybe his mum and dad just didn't like him much and decided to drop him off. Can you blame them?"

Gordon grinned, and Malcolm hooted with laughter.

Harry felt his hands curling into fists as he took a step closer. He stared at Gordon, his heart beating rapidly in his anger. He found himself flexing his long, white fingers, imagining wrapping them around the boy's neck and squeezing until he was left choking for air, his face purple, then leave him strangled and dead on the concrete sidewalk...And then he would go for the next person, but this time he longed to bite, to use the fangs that hadn't bitten flesh for so long--

Harry blinked. He realized he was breathing heavily, and he glanced down at his hands, turning them over. No white fingers. He was fine. He ran his tongue along his teeth, quite sure there were no fangs.

Gordon was backing up away from Harry, fear showing clear on his face. "Dennis, drop the Evans kid."

Dennis stopped kicking Mark, and looked up at Harry. He jumped, and gestured to the rest of the gang. "C-C'mon, let's go to my house...My parents aren't going to be home until late, we can sneak some of their beers..."

They started walking away, whispering amongst themselves and glancing over their shoulders at Harry.

"Go," said Harry to Dudley. "I'll make sure he gets home."

With a nod, Dudley started jogging after his friends.

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes, and looked back at Mark. His face was streaked with dirt and blood, and there were little paths of clean spaces that Harry realized were made from tears. His mouth was bleeding from a gash on his lower lip, which trembled slightly. One of his eyes was bruised with a green tinge, as was the opposite cheek.

Mark looked up at Harry with awe. "Thank you."

Harry shrugged. "It's nothing. I used to get beat up by them all the time." The boy continued to stare, and Harry saw his eyes, ever so quickly, flick to his scar.

"Is your father home?" Harry asked. Mark shook his head.

"He's not my father, he's my guardian. And he's in London. Working, as usual."

Harry frowned. What sort of person would leave a young child at home, with no one to watch them?

"I'm home alone mostly," Mark added quickly, noticing the expression on Harry's face. "I've gotten used to it."

"Well, I'll make sure you get home without Dudley and his gang beating you up again," Harry said, and Mark's face split into a grin.

"Wonderful. Although, with what you just did back there, I don't think they'll be bugging me again."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked curiously as they began to walk towards Magnolia Road.

"Didn't you just see?" Mark said, kicking a stone in the road. "You radiated this huge, powerful energy...He probably nearly wet himself at the sight. You looked like you were going to choke him to death, or something."

Harry shuddered at the irony.

"This is my house," Mark announced, stopping in front of a large, sky-blue, two-story building. The shutters were painted forest green, and they were closed over the windows. It gave the impression that whoever was on the inside did not want anyone from the outside looking in.

Harry hesitated. "Do you want me to help you clean up?"

Mark nodded. "Please." He started to walk into his home, and Harry followed.

"The bathroom is this way," Mark explained as he led Harry down a dark corridor. "It has all the bandages and stuff."

Harry peered into the other rooms as they passed them. The walls were painted midnight blue, deep violet, or anything else equally dark. All the furniture was black, and with the hardwood floor cold underneath his feet, Harry felt that the home had a lonely, not to mention unwelcome and forbidding, feel to it.

Mark pushed open a door, and beckoned for Harry to come in after him. "I get beaten up by Dudley's gang a lot," said Mark with a heavy sigh, "so I spend a lot of time in here, cleaning up."

Harry picked up a nearby washcloth, soaked in some water from the sink, and handed it to Mark. "Put this against your eye," he said, and Mark nodded. "It'll help for a little while. Where are the plasters?"

"Underneath the sink," Mark answered, his voice slightly muffled from the washcloth that was spread across his face. He plopped onto the toilet (thankfully, the lid was closed), and sighed again.

Harry rummaged in the cupboard underneath the sink, and finally emerged with a box of plasters. "This isn't much," Harry said regretfully, "but it'll do for now. I don't think you need to go to a hospital, so plasters should do the trick."

Mark was silent as Harry bandaged his skinned knee, put another washcloth on his face for his bruise, and got him an ice cube for his lip. When Harry was finished, he said quietly, "I can't believe that I'm spending time with the Harry Potter."

The soap that Harry had been washing his hands with slipped out of his grasp in his surprise, landing on the floor. He turned to Mark, gaping. "You know who I am?"

"Of course," said Mark softly, taking the washcloths off his face. He shook his hair out of his eyes, and looked back up at Harry. "You saved us all from Tom Riddle."

Harry stared. A Muggle boy knew who he was? A Muggle boy knew of Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Voldemort?

"Why don't you explain how you know all this," Harry said shakily. Was this someone in disguise? "Preferably now."

"Well," Mark began, "you see, I'm an orphan, like you."

"Do you know who your parents were?"

Mark shrugged. "All Dumbledore would tell me was that my Muggle mother had died protecting someone she loved very much, and that my father had either broke it off with her when he learned she was pregnant, or he just hasn't bothered to call me up. He also said that they were a wizard and witch, so that's where I got my magic. They weren't married, though."

"You know Dumbledore," Harry stated.

"Yes. He visited me just last week, to personally deliver my Hogwarts letter--I'm going this year--and to explain everything about the world of wizards. My guardian's Derek, he's a Muggle, and doesn't really care that I'm off to a wizarding school. His wife died a couple of years ago, so he doesn't really care about much of anything anymore."

"I'm sorry," said Harry automatically.

Mark laughed, a rich sound unlike anything Harry had heard coming from an eleven-year-old's mouth. "I don't really mind. She and I didn't get along well."

Harry looked at his watch absent-mindedly. "Sorry, Mark, but I think I'm going to leave. My aunt and uncle will probably be wondering where I am." He turned to go.

"See you at Hogwarts, then," Mark said, looking very glum.

Harry stopped. "Why don't you come over to Privet Drive tomorrow, or something?"

Mark stared blankly at him.

"I've got someone with the school staying with me," Harry added quickly, "so you'll be safe if you're afraid--"

"I'm not afraid," Mark interrupted. "I just never imagined that someone like you would invite someone like me over."

Harry smiled weakly. "You'll be much better company than the Dursleys--though Dudley is easier to get along with now--and I can answer any of your questions about the wizarding world."

"All right," Mark said, the grouchy look gone from his face. "I look forward to it."

"Probably any time after noon," Harry added, remembering that tomorrow he had to discuss Sirius's will. "I have to be somewhere else before that."

Mark nodded, and showed him out the door.

* * *

"Where is Potter?" Severus mused. He had just Apparated into Number Four, Privet Drive, and had now spent the last ten minutes searching for the boy. He wasn't in the garden, doing yard work for his aunt; he wasn't in the living room, looking at that enormous black box that blinked pictures every once in awhile; he wasn't even in his room, where Severus was currently standing.

"Idiot," Severus muttered to himself. "As usual, no regard to the rules, so he goes off wandering someplace. He'll get himself killed..."

"Er...mister?"

The voice made Severus jump, his foot catching on the remains of a Chocolate Frog wrapper. He glared at the direction of the voice, and Dudley Dursley began stammering in fear.

"Do you know where Potter is?" Severus snarled, taking a step towards the boy. Dudley nodded, his tiny eyes flicking around in all directions. "Where?"

"H-He just s-saved a kid that I--I mean, my f-friends--were beating up," Dudley stuttered.

"Typical," Severus snorted. "Harry Potter, the world's hero."

"W-Why do you h-hate Harry so m-much, sir?"

Severus's jaw clamped down automatically. "That would be none of your business, Dudley. Now, can you tell me where Potter is right now?"

"H-He just walked in," Dudley squealed, pointing down at the staircase. "H He's talking to my d-dad."

Severus swept past Dudley, a slow smile spreading over his face as the boy nearly quaked in fright. It always felt so good to put such fear in people.

He walked past the kitchen, but stopped when he heard voices.

"Uncle Vernon, I was just helping him clean himself up," Potter was saying, talking with his hands squeezing the countertop. He was glaring at his uncle, who was matching the glare perfectly from across the counter. Severus peered in around the corner.

"Boy, you dropped the groceries in the middle of the street!" Vernon declared, waving his fork in the air. He brought it back down to his plate, and stabbed at a sausage. He shoved the food into his mouth, and began chewing.

"They were beating him up!" Potter retorted. Severus could see that he was gripping the counter so tightly, that his knuckles were turning white. "I don't care what you think of Dudley being a boxing champion! It gives him no right to nearly murder every child below the age of twelve in the neighbourhood!"

"He is merely practicing!" Vernon snapped, pulling out tufts of his moustache. "He's going to be fighting in a--"

"Semi-pro tournament, I know," Potter cut in sharply. "I've heard enough of it to last me a lifetime."

"Then you haven't heard enough!" Vernon growled, bringing the fork very close to Potter's face. He remained unmoving, his emerald eyes flashing.

"I wouldn't suggest cutting me with that fork," Potter said coolly. "Dumbledore won't be pleased if I come back to Hogwarts with more scars on my forehead."

Vernon dropped the utensil as though it were on fire. Potter smirked.

"Even if you do have a babysitter here with you," Vernon said dangerously, "that does not mean different rules apply. You still live under my roof, and you will do as I say. Are you going to understand this or not?"

"Maybe you forgot, dear Uncle," Potter replied, his voice mocking, "but graduating fifth years can do small magic. If I ever felt the need, I could turn this house upside down--and not get in trouble for it. So, you can stop bossing me around, and I won't turn you into a porcupine."

"Actually, Potter, you haven't done Human Transfiguration yet," said Severus smoothly, deciding this was the moment to enter the conversation. He walked into the kitchen. "And I don't recall Transfiguration being 'small magic.'"

Potter twitched slightly at Severus's voice, his hand drifting to his pocket.

"Do take out your wand, Potter," Severus continued, loathing twisting the words into a snarl. "We have a lesson in Occlumency to complete, I believe."

"Occlu--what?" Vernon sputtered.

"I don't believe this is of your concern, Dursley," Severus said with ice lining his voice.

Vernon mumbled something under his breath and stalked out of the room, heading towards his bedroom. Severus turned to Potter as soon as he left.

"Where are we practicing?" Potter asked, his voice dull and bored.

"I told you to call me sir."

"Where are we practicing, sir?" Potter repeated.

"Outside." Severus pointed to the door that led to the backyard. "Don't worry about the neighbours, there's Muggle Repelling Charms, Silencing Charms, and other wards to protect you all over the place. And Dumbledore's done something at the Ministry, says we're doing extra curricular activities to boost your Potions grade. Any spells will not get you yet another hearing."

Potter nodded, and began walking outside. He called over his shoulder, "Are you sure you'll be able to take in any sunlight, Professor?"

Severus tightened his grip on his wand. It was the same taunt that the late Potter and Black had used on him during his time at Hogwarts. He had never gone to watch the Quidditch matches, and never bothered to take a class that required being outdoors, such as Care of Magical Creatures. He shuddered at the memories, and found himself double-checking that he had put all the embarrassing ones in his Pensieve that was currently in a locked cabinet in his office at Hogwarts.

Potter seemed to have realized he found a weak spot, because he was smirking as he stood by his aunt's garden, tapping his foot in impatience. "It won't bite, sir."

Severus gritted his teeth and walked outdoors, slamming the door behind him. It shook slightly, and bunches of leaves that had gathered above the door fell behind him as he strode towards Potter.

"Legilimens!" he bellowed before Potter had any chance to prepare himself.

Suddenly, Severus's mind was being overrun with memories that he did not recognize, but was expecting; Helping the other students produce Patronus's in the Room of Requirement; "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!"; Standing in the forest with the centaurs, Granger, and the complete idiot Umbridge--

But, suddenly, the memories were fading: Potter was pushing back, and Severus could faintly see, through the rivers of memories, his face screwed up in determination.

Oh, what was this? Severus forced the spell back on him, pulling up a memory of a tall, smiling, dark-haired man, who was handing Potter a grubby package and then yanking him into a rough hug--

"NO! EXPELLIARMUS!" Potter bellowed.

Severus felt his wand fly away from his grasp as he stumbled backwards; as soon as his wand left his fingertips, there was the feeling of someone shoving their hands into his chest. He nearly fell to the ground, but managed to catch himself on the fence that surrounded the garden. His open palm landed on a particularly sharp fence post, and he winced as blood began to flow from his palm.

"Your wand."

Potter's harsh voice jerked him from his pain. Severus looked up, and Potter tossed him his wand. His expression couldn't be read (finally, the Occlumency lessons were beginning to pay off), but there were tears streaming down his cheeks. He made no move to wipe them away.

Severus muttered a Healing Charm under his breath, and after a jet of white light, his palm was healed.

"That was a surprising effort, Potter," Severus said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. The boy hadn't practiced since the night before (and he had seen another vision), yet he was still able to push the spell off. Where was all this energy coming from?

"Do it again. I need to master this."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And when did you come up with this brilliant plan? Shouldn't you have thought of this perhaps a month or two ago?"

"Enough," Potter spat, a strangely familiar glint in his emerald eyes. It was a hungry for power, angry gleam that Severus knew well. "You're just trying to get me angry, so I--"

"Legilimens!"

Severus could hear Potter let out a sharp gasp; again, he had been caught off-guard. But his mind wasn't as open as before; there were barriers, protecting the most private memories, which had to be broken.

"NO!"

Severus, who had been viewing the memory of the graveyard with Cedric Diggory again, felt the spell slipping from his grasp. He gritted his teeth and forced it back, but it was pushed away. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, he dropped his wand arm to his side, breathing heavily.

"Was that better?" Potter asked, his face shining with sweat and tears.

Where had all this energy come from? Severus found himself thinking again. He knew he was very skilled in Legilimency--perhaps as well as the Dark Lord himself--and that Potter had not been the superb Occlumens that he was now. Why hadn't he been this advanced during the previous year?

Severus nodded grudgingly, as though he refused to accept the fact. "That will be enough for today. You've done well." Not to mention I'm exhausted, he added privately. "You do remember that Black's will is being read tomorrow?"

A muscle in Potter's jaw twitched as he nodded.

"I'll be dropping you off," Severus continued. "You'll be in Lupin and Dumbledore's care for the rest of the day, because I have other things to do."

"Will we be going to Grimmauld Place afterwards?" Potter's voice was low and hollow, and he deliberately looked down at the ground. He seemed to be extremely interested in a worm that was currently climbing up his shoe.

"That is up to Dumbledore," Severus said flatly. "Now, I do not wish to stay around this horrid house all day, so I am leaving."

"Good for you," Potter snapped, and started walking back into the house. Severus waited until he could distinctly hear his feet on the stairs, and then Disapparated.

* * *

Harry flung himself onto his bed, rubbing his prickling scar. He felt strangely refreshed after his Occlumency lesson, though at the same time, thoroughly shaken and violently ill. His scar was sending spasms of pain into his stomach, but the fact that he had been able to push Snape out of his mind--not once, but twice--lifted his spirits slightly.

But there was still a nagging voice in the back of his head. The same thing that had happened when Harry was facing Gordon had happened again during his Occlumency lessons, though in a different way. He hadn't longed to strangle Snape, but instead felt energy running through his veins, fuelled by his anger. He had felt different; stronger, taller, nearly crackling with newfound energy. Not to mention he had suddenly gained Occlumency skills.

Harry shook his head. It was too much to think about.