Harry Potter and the Rise of the Phoenix

Chapter Twelve ~ Acting and Nightmares

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Don't give up today
Hang on 'til tomorrow.
Share the weight
And lay your cross down
And let the long arms
Of home bring you around.
It ain't easy, but giving up
Is the easy thing to do!

Terance Trent Darby ~
Dance Little Sister
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ron came to a halt between a beautifully carved door on one wall and a tapestry showing trolls in tutus beating on Barnabas the Barmy. He paused, catching his breath and thinking. He had no idea what he would find when he opened the door, but he had to be prepared for the worst. Resting his fingers on the door knob, he took one last deep breath and tried to turn the handle.

It wouldn't turn. Harry had locked it! Ron started to pound on the door, telling Harry in no uncertain terms what he thought of him and Harry had better open the door... or else!

"Just open the damn door, Harry!"

Harry listened as Ron pounded, screamed, and cursed through the door. He cussed as often as he pleaded and Harry knew that Ron wouldn't give up until the door opened. He, however, ignored Ron's pleas and swearing, preferring to remain alone with his thoughts for a few more minutes.

He stared out over the ocean hundreds of feet below him. Rain plastered his hair to his head, the tips of his bangs poking his eyes. The wind pulled at his new robes trying to push him over the edge. Even if it was possible to jump from here, he wouldn't. He just wanted to think!

"For the love of everything good and perfect in the world open the bloody door!" With that the door opened, and Ron fell into the stormy room. Harry watched him take everything in: the sputtering candles, the still lit tree, the water logged food, and finally the young man sitting on the edge of the cliff.

"Gin send you?" he asked with a faint smile. Ron nodded. God, he loved that girl! "Did she tell you anything?"

"No, she told me to come here on her way up to cry in her room," Ron responded, taking a seat next to Harry. "Hermione's going to talk with her and I came here."

"I'm not worth the trouble I cause," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Sure you are," Ron replied with a laugh, but his face turned serious as he looked out over the storm tossed ocean. "So what went wrong? I seriously didn't think it was possible for this plan to fail."

"She wanted to talk," Harry answered, Ron groaning in understanding. The bane of all relationships: communication. Only, this time, Harry knew Ginny had been right. They had needed to talk. They still hadn't had the one he had promised her over a month ago. "I didn't even get a chance to give her the owl. I just sent her to Ginny with a note and an apology."

"Yeah, we passed in the hall," Ron told him. "So, what made her cry?"

"I know what's wrong, and that's what made her cry," Harry answered. "I can't talk to her anymore. Not like I used to. I told her everything last year; every nightmare, every vision, every fear, every hope for the future. But now... now I can't get past the battle at Malfoy Manor. It's ripping us apart."

Ron nodded, but understanding didn't lead to a solution. The two boys sat on the cliff, trying to figure out a way to fix the relationship. But there was another problem; one that Harry wasn't so willing to share with Ginny's brother. Instead of wanting to spend time with Ginny to talk and maybe kiss, he wanted to snog her senseless and forget about everything, especially talking. He had noticed this difference before, but until that last kiss tonight he hadn't admitted it to himself.

Why should he want to talk? Every time he opened his mouth and said something, Ginny ended up hurt. Why would he want that?

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Ginny woke up slowly, wet feathers tickling her nose. Sitting up and sneezing, she turned her gaze on the offending owl. It was a beautiful bird; its ashy gray face different but matching its caramel brown body.

"Who do you belong to, beautiful?" she asked the owl softly, while removing the notebook tied to its leg. She recognized it as the notebook she had gotten Harry for his birthday. This must be a school owl, but how had Harry gotten up there so quickly? She hadn't been asleep that long! And how had the owl gotten into the room if the window was shut?

Ginny looked over at the shattered windowpane, remembering that she had thrown her shoe through the window. A few quick spells fixed the glass and dried the water up, returning the rain and wind back outside. Hermione was knocking at the door, begging to be let in. "Give me ten minutes, Hermione."

"Alright," Hermione called back. "Starting now."

Ginny smiled; Hermione was such a determined friend. Turning back to her bed, she saw the owl had made a nest out of the twisted bed spread. Ginny ran her fingers down the bird's back and then went to curl up on the window seat. Opening the notebook, she took a deep breath and began to read the letter.

Dearest Gin,

If you're reading this I messed something up. So first and foremost, please forgive me for whatever I did. I'm sure I didn't mean to hurt you, and once you're willing to let me talk to you, I'll apologize in person. Now that that's out of the way, on to more important things.

The owl that delivered this to you is yours. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BEAUTIFUL!!! I think she's worth the three extra days of waiting, and I hope you feel the same way. I've got her cage, some owl treats, and a stand for you. If you don't want to talk to me yet (which I'll understand) ask Ron, and he'll get the stuff for you. I haven't named her yet, I thought you would want to name her yourself.

"So you're mine," she said, going over to pet the owl's wing. The owl opened one eye to watch Ginny. "You need a name, that's for sure. What though?" She looked around her room looking for any inspiration. The statuette that Bill and Melissa had given her caught her eye. It was the goddess Isis, one of the great, if not the greatest deity in the ancient Egyptian religion. This statue showed her in her human form with large wings stretched out to each side, reminding Ginny of an angel. Isis was the goddess of fertility, the goddess of childbirth, a goddess of wind, a goddess of love, and a goddess of mourning.

"Isis, I think that's a good name for you." Isis hooted softly in agreement and closed her eye, going back to sleep. Ginny smiled and went back to the window seat, picking up the notebook and continuing with Harry's letter.

Third... I'm not sure how to put this.. Maybe the best way is to just thank you. You've helped me more then I can say since the tenth. Even your birthday present distracted me; I didn't even realize that it's been a month since I tried to kill myself until I sat down to write this. You've given me another chance at life, to forget the past and live for the now. You are truly the greatest thing to every happen to me. Thank you.

Yours forever,

Harry

Damn him! Tears fell from her eyes again, as she re-read the last paragraph. How could she stay angry with him when he was so bloody wonderful! A git, yes, but he was her git!

"Time's up, Ginny!" Hermione called through the door, and Ginny brushed furiously at her tears. She stood, walked over to the door, and opened it. Hermione was surprised when the normally controlled girl clung to her, crying her heart out. Ginny tried to explain through the tears just what was wrong and what she knew she had to do. It would be for the best.

But it would bloody well hurt!

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The next morning, Harry and Ginny pretended that nothing had happened. Everyone else pretended as well. Ron told Harry and Hermione told Ginny that every Weasley and Lupin knew something was up. A major impromptu Exploding Snap tournament had been going on that night. Everyone had been in the common room when Ginny ran through, crying and shouting. Harry was glad that none of the brothers grilled him about it. He had a feeling that both Ron and Hermione had told them to leave the couple well enough alone and let them figure it out themselves.

That's the way it was for the next week or so. Harry acted around Ginny, while others were near, as if nothing had happened. Ginny acted the same with Harry. But alone... well they made sure they weren't alone. Harry was terrified that if he said something, Ginny would run off crying again. Ginny just wanted to delay the inevitable.

Yet it had to happen sooner or later. The day had started out normal enough. Bryant enjoyed folding Harry into a human pretzel while putting Ron, Hermione, and Ginny through weapon exercises. After that there was a break for breakfast and some down time. Druce then claimed them for a few hours, testing Harry's memory and teaching them all new spells. Lunch that day had been particularly eventful for someone had started a food fight (Harry's bet was on the twins) and the teachers and older adults had had a hard time stopping it. When half the participants weren't even students, it led to many problems. However, the arrival of Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall ended the fight almost the same second they had entered the Great Hall.

Thia, Tonks, and Remus (the first two dually ashamed for their involvement in the food fight) took the four teens up to the common room for dueling practice. Harry's dueling practice hadn't been combined with theirs until today, so that was interesting. Half way through, Remus and Harry went outside, and they took two slow and agonizing laps around the Quidditch pitch, stopping often for breathers. Remus left him at the Fat Lady and Harry entered a deserted common room. He went up to the boys' bathroom and showered, exhausted from the run.

Twenty minutes later, he descended the stairs, hair still wet, but otherwise feeling rejuvenated. Looking over the common room, he spotted a curly red head poking past the back of one of the sofas. He stopped on the last stair, trying to decide whether he should make a quick retreat to his dorm room or try and fix things with Ginny. Definitely the easier choice was to go upstairs; at least up there he didn't run the risk of saying something he'd regret.

Ginny sat up and looked around that very second. Spotting him, her lips turned down in a frown that was quickly replaced with a bright smile. "Hey, Harry," she called. "How was the run?"

That was a safe topic in Harry's mind so he walked over and took the seat next to her on the sofa. "It was painful and hard, but nothing unexpected."

"Quirke came in after you left," Ginny told him. "She said that with the way you're improving, Nettle might let you fly at Quidditch practices. Of course, Quirke was going to let you anyway, but this way it's official."

"That's great!" Harry replied; he had been wondering how he would explain that ban on flying come school time. "Snape been around?" he asked.

"No, how's Occlumency lessons going with him?" Ginny answered and asked at the same time.

"I haven't had one with him," Harry replied. "Not yet at least. They wanted to get me into a routine slowly, starting off easy and moving up."

"Isn't Occlumency more important than something like your balance or memorizing spells?" she asked, looking at him worriedly.

"Nah," Harry replied, stretching out and resting his head on the back of the sofa. "At this point, He thinks that I don't know the Prophecy. So we aren't that worried about a probe, but the next Revelry." Harry stopped, trying to suppress the shiver. Ginny rested her hand on his, reminding him that she had seen him at his weakest before, and that it was all right to show it now. Harry smiled at her gratefully and then continued. "Right now, it's more important getting my body and magic ready for the demands of seventh year. Once I start Occlumency, which is soon I think, I'll be learning ways to redirect my dreams from my own subconscious instead of from an intruder."

"Which will let you sleep," Ginny said with a thankful smile.

"Yeah," Harry replied, "sleep is good." He closed his eyes; trying to remember the last time he had had a peaceful night's sleep. The first night at the Dursleys', which felt like it had been ages ago.

"Harry," Ginny started but stopped. He looked over at her, a look of indecision on her face. Harry remembered the last time he had been in the common room with her and that same look had crossed her face. Moments after that, she had kissed him. It had been the best surprise of his life. "Harry--what's that smile for?"

"Just remembering how we started dating," he replied. "I never thanked you for kissing me, and if I did, I didn't do a good enough job." Ginny laughed, her face brightening in a genuine smile.

When Dumbledore cleared his throat sometime later, Harry had to disentangle himself from Ginny. Both teenagers blushed, but Dumbledore was staring out the far window with great concentration.

"It's safe now," Ginny replied with a laugh. "I'm heading upstairs to read." She picked up her book and sprinted up the stairs. Harry watched her go, a content smile on his face. He loved that woman.

"Harry, I think it's time for us to chat so that we can start our lessons," Dumbledore told him solemnly. "If you'd follow me up to my office, we'll get started." He had phrased that as a question and Harry took a moment to ponder it. Besides being slightly angry about being interrupted while snogging, he was curious about what was so important that he had to take these lessons from Dumbledore... even if that meant they had to 'chat.'

"All right," he replied and they left for the headmaster's office.

"Celery," he told the gargoyle and it jumped to the side to let them up. Harry raised his eyebrow at the healthy 'treat' and Dumbledore smiled wanly. "Minerva informed me that I needed to cut back on the sweets, and this has been the only way I can manage to follow her instructions." Harry nodded his head, unwilling to laugh at Dumbledore's joke, and waited patiently for the staircase to wind its way up to the office. He gave Fawkes a thoughtful pat, and then took the proffered chair. They sat in silence, each man regarding the other while deep in their own thoughts.

"What exactly will I be learning?" Harry finally asked, his voice harsher than he had meant. He wanted to scream at the man! He wanted to break things! But, what had that accomplished the last time he had done that? Nothing! This time... this time he'd be mature about it. Eventually, maybe even today, he'd have his say, but he wasn't going to be immature about this. He was here to learn. He was here to...

"A little of this and a little of that," Dumbledore replied offhandedly.

"And what does that mean?" Harry asked, his temper rising.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Dumbledore replied. "Mainly, I'll be teaching you the Theory of Greats, but on the side, I'm going to add in a little moral teaching."

"Theory of Greats?" Harry asked, his eyebrow arched questioningly.

"This is what Thia talked to me about towards the end of last year," Dumbledore answered. "Which I do think she explained to you very poorly."

"I don't remember what she said one way or the other," Harry told him. "A lot of things have happened since that particular conversation took place."

"Unfortunately, that is so," Dumbledore said in a voice filled with regret. "I know it will be very hard for you, but please, some day forgive me for my mistakes." Harry shrugged his shoulders, promising that seemed too close to forgiving him. There was a long pause, while Dumbledore regarded his steepled fingers closely.

"The Theory of Greats is a serious branch of magic," Dumbledore started, but then shook his head. "No, not a branch, but a way of magic. It's highly dangerous, time consuming to learn, and the rules were made not to be broken, but upheld. Break these laws and you break the basic laws of what is the moral and immoral use of magic."

"In other words, evil?" Harry asked, trying to clearify.

"Correct," the man said with a nod. "Now where to start? And don't you say the beginning, or we'll be having a history lesson, and neither of us wants that." The old man looked at the young one. Teacher/student, mentor/mentee, grandfather/grandson... all these and yet none of these defined their relationship. He took a deep breath. "I've found a good way to sum up the ideas behind the Theory of Greats, is with three simple 'laws' borrowed from the Muggles. But that is a subject best talked about later. First, and foremost, I need you to swear on the one thing most important to you that you will abide by the laws. I will not train the next Dark Lord, and this is a quick way to the dark."

Harry thought about that. Of course he'd swear, but swear on what? Ginny? No, people die and people change. So, that ruled out Ron, Hermione, Remus, Thia, Tonks, and everyone else he knew. Brooms broke, wands snapped, buildings crumbled. So what held it all together? What kept him fighting against the odds?

...Hope...

That intangible, unchanging, completely constant thing in human life. Wars were fought for it, and wars were won because of it, peace was secured by it, and it drove the human race to continue no matter what. It was the one thing that had convinced him to come back, the hope for a future. A future with Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and everyone else he cared for, hope for a happily ever after to his 'story'.

"I swear on the hope I have, that I will not, not today or any day after this day, use what you will teach me for a dark purpose," Harry replied.

"A written statement and signature is needed on this parchment," Dumbledore replied, handing him a quill and slip. "I'll stop short of an Unbreakable Vow, but this is a magical contract, and as such is just as binding."

Harry wrote his previous statement out and signed it. Dumbledore smiled at the words and then stood quickly, going over to the cabinet that contained his Pensieve. Opening the door, Dumbledore placed the slip of parchment in a hidden compartment and closed it.

"Next, and just as importantly," Dumbledore continued once he had returned to his desk, "we need to speak about your note to me that night a little over a month ago." He pulled open the top desk drawer and handed Harry the top parchment. Harry read the note that he barely remembered writing.

Dumbledore--

Well, I'm writing to let you know that your gamble failed. By sending me to the Dursleys' (I can't even call them relatives!), you've left me with my worst enemy: MYSELF! Thia tried to warn you. I tried to warn you. Everyone tried to warn you, but in your infinite knowledge you knew best and you sent me to my death.

I'm through being your pawn. Use your other ones as you wish, just don't get Ron, Hermione, and Ginny killed in some stupid suicide mission. I'll find a way to come back from the dead and I'll hunt you down myself. God, you make me sick. You're so emotionless. Is that 'cause you've gotten so many people killed in your war that it doesn't affect you any more? Merlin, the guilt kills me, but you must have hundreds upon hundreds of lives on your hands. How do you sleep at night?

Good luck with YOUR war.

--Harry Potter

P.S. I was sent this by a mutual friend, but it was a mistake. You should have been the one to receive it. Sorry that I opened it. H.P.

Somehow, Harry didn't regret a single word in that letter, but he could now see how it was a bit tactless. Yet, he had meant every word of it then, and still did now.

"Again, I apologize for my foolishness," Dumbledore replied. "I should have done things differently, but I thought you were strong enough to make it alone. As Thia has told me, you didn't want to burden your relatives anymore than you had to, I felt the same way. We both know your uncle's views on owls. I was planning on asking someone to deliver mail instead, but things kept coming up to drive it from my mind. As for your friends, it would have been rude of either of us to invite them over without your relatives' consent, as it is their house. But, maybe the ward was not so important as to force you to be there."

"Where are they now?" Harry asked, thinking of his relatives for the first time since his birthday. The pointlessness of the overall destruction had occupied his thoughts since that night. He felt a bit guilty for not wondering about them. Hadn't Dumbledore said they were at Hogwarts?

"Back on Privet Drive," Dumbledore said wearily. "With considerable expense, we relocated your relatives to number 19 Privet Drive, a house that had been on the market for some considerable time."

"What were the families of those killed told?"

"Terrorist attack," Dumbledore replied. "Blew the whole thing up. No one survived that was there. It is things like this that makes me glad I am not the Minister of Magic. The Prime Minister is very upset at Emmeline."

"He has reason to be," Harry said in a huff.

"Of course, of course. Yet, it is not Emmeline's fault the whole neighborhood was destroyed. Nor is it yours!" Dumbledore assured Harry when the young man's shoulders slumped in guilt. "Do not take the guilt that that monster should feel upon yourself. It will only lead you back towards suicide, and that is not the answer." Harry nodded, though he wasn't sure if he could follow that piece of advice.

"Now, we digress. Every man's worst enemy is himself. The only way one loses is when he or she gives up." He held up his hand to stop Harry's argument. "Take that from someone that has seen many sides of life, and even a few sides of death. I may be old, but I'm not senile yet!" Harry nodded once again, rolling his eyes. It was up for debate about the senile part.

"Next, please do not think I use you as a pawn," Dumbledore pleaded. Yes! Pleaded! Dumbledore! Harry could hardly believe it. "You are right, in that I must 'use' people. That is the way with command in war. That is the way of the world. I don't want to, and I make a point of knowing the majority of those I command personally. They remain people to me. You..." he stopped, looking at his steepled fingers once again.

"Harry, you are the closest thing I have had to a son, or grandson as the generation goes. I've had students before that were... how should I say it... that were teacher's pets. But never before have I thought of them as family. I watched you grow and spread your wings. You've turned into a far better man than I can ever aspire to be. It was a pleasure watching you develop into this exceptionally fine human being sitting before me. You struggled to remain afloat, but you did a fine job of it."

"A fine job of it!" Harry yelled at the man. "I bloody well tried to use an Unforgivable against myself! I damn near succeeded as well! How is that staying afloat? How is it possible that you are so blind? Fine human being! That's a load of crap! I'm selfish, I'm cruel, I'm vengeful, I'm rude! Go patronize someone that isn't so aware of their faults. I'm through with you and your mind games." Harry went to stand, but found he already was. He pushed the chair aside and strode to the door, his temper flashing in his eyes.

"Youth these days!" Phineas Nigellus commented disgustedly from his portrait.

"Harry, stop, please!" Dumbledore called, standing and taking a few steps past his desk. Against Harry's better judgment, he stopped. Turning around slowly, he saw that Dumbledore was pushing back his beard to show him something directly over the right pulse point on his neck.

Harry took several steps forward, stopping dead when he recognized a black, spidery scar. No! He shook his head and ran from the room, not wanting to stay longer.

He wasn't the only one at Hogwarts to have survived the Avada Kedavra!

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Harry spent the next day avoiding people. He had to think of creative places to hide during lessons, but somehow he managed. At the moment he was sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room with the Marauder's Map. Why he hadn't thought of it sooner was beyond him! Finding a deserted broom closet, he carefully scanned the map, looking for the best place to hide more permanently.

Harry smiled as his eyes rested on the ideal place. No one would check for him there. None of those students were at Hogwarts this summer, and why would Harry Potter go there to think? It was the opposite of everything he normally wanted while thinking. It was dark, underground, and unfamiliar. In other words, perfect.

He carefully made his way there, easily avoiding everyone in his path. Thinking longingly of his Invisibility Cloak, Harry waited for Peeves to finish singing in the Entrance Hall and zoom off. Once the poltergeist was gone, Harry rushed down into the dungeons and stopped in front of the blank wall that hid the common room. Looking down at the map, the dot labeled Harry Potter revealed the password. Harry said it aloud and went to sit in front of the fire once the door was open far enough for him to slip in. His thoughts instantly returned to the circle they had been running for hours.

Dumbledore were supposed to be perfect, strong, and unmovable! Why had Dumbledore shown him that scar? Harry's own hand reached up to his temple where the black scar resided. As a rule, Harry avoided looking at it, and once school rolled around, he wasn't sure what he would tell others about it. Dumbledore could grow a beard and hide it, but Harry didn't feel like growing his hair that long. His hair was bad enough the way it was!

What had made Dumbledore give up for just long enough to use that spell? Who or what had pushed him over the edge? Did someone talk to him on the other side? If so, who? How much about this man did he really know? How much did anyone know about him?

The fire flickered mockingly at him, as if it knew he didn't belong there. The mantle, he realized, had an intricate serpent design carved into it. Harry's eyes followed the twining bodies of what seemed like a hundred snakes, but he couldn't tell which tail belonged to which head. It was a strange piece of art, but art nonetheless. A log cracked sharply, sending sparks up the chimney and startling Harry out of his examination of the mantle. Slowly another thought occurred to him.

Did people really know Harry Potter? Or did he hide behind his own masks? The answer was simple, he hid. Was he a hypocrite for hating Dumbledore for keeping things from him, when he did the same thing with his own friends?

He buried his face in his hands and thought deeply about everything right and everything wrong with his life. There was much to think about, but, not surprisingly, the bad out shone the good. Hopefully, he and Ginny were on the mend... hopefully. He and Ron had started playing chess games once again, Harry as abysmal as he had been in the past. Hermione and he had had long discussions concerning Druce's lessons and the implications and uses of the spells he was teaching them.

"Mr. Potter, what are you doing in my common room?" Snape asked the young man. Harry turned around to look at the entrance to the Slytherin common room and saw that instead of the normal anger and hatred in Snape's eye, only mild curiosity and... could that be concern... filled them.

"Thinking," Harry replied. "Just thinking. I didn't expect anyone to find me here."

"I was walking past when I saw the door open," the older man explained. He crossed the common room and took a seat in the ornately carved chair near the sofa Harry was sitting on. "A drink?"

"Water," Harry replied.

"Spot, a water and a butter beer," Snape commanded to the empty room. Harry looked around wonderingly, until there was a pop and a small house elf offered Harry his water and the butter beer to Snape. "Thank you." The house elf nodded and disappeared with another pop. "She is the house elf from my home," he explained. "Instead of leaving her there alone, she comes with me to Hogwarts." Harry nodded; it made sense. "It is time we had a talk about your Occlumency lessons. We will get no where unless you overcome the flashbacks of your time spent as a guest," Snape spat this word, "of the Malfoys." Harry was surprised with the amount of hatred connected with the name. Prior, he had only heard that hatred connected with his own.

"And, how do I do that?" Harry asked, willing to do almost anything to gain some control over them.

"Talk about it," Snape instructed. "Pick one of your friends and an adult. Talk to them alone or together. Pick just two or pick several. The details do not bother me, just do it. It will be hard, but anything that isn't hard isn't worth doing."

Harry stared into his water. Talking was easier said than done. But hadn't he just thought that he was hiding, being hypocritical? "I will try."

"You will do this," Snape insisted. "You must overcome the fear, the pain, and the anguish. If you let this control you, you will have no chance to learn anything I have been asked to teach you."

"Why are you teaching me?" Harry asked. "You hate me."

"Hated," Snape replied. "In the past. Not now. In truth, I never hated you, just what you represented. You were James' son, Lily's son. You were Sirius' Godson. You were the Boy Who Lived. All this fame and you were not the one to be credited. I thought you arrogant and reckless. Maybe you still are, maybe we all are. Last year, when you came in after seeing Hestia Jones' death and the murder of her family, I recognized you for what you were. The arrogance and recklessness that I had always seen was an act, a mask placed on for the world to see, and acting is what I do best. I finally understood. You were lost, horrified, and disgusted by all you had seen. Day to day life was a battle to survive nightly nightmares, and nightmares I know as well. You were still the Potter boy, but at least I saw the human in you.

"Last Christmas, when I took your punishment, I was thinking of my son, Sloan." Snape continued, his eyes fixed on the fire. "He was three years older than you." A smile lit Snape's face, past memories rekindling the old person he had been. "What do you know of my family?"

"I know your father was extremely dark," Harry answered. "There was that one flash of a memory where I saw him yelling at a woman. I know you and Sam started dating in your fifth year, sometime after O.W.L.'s. You married sometime, and had a son named Sloan and," Harry paused trying to remember the name his mother had said. "And a daughter named Shylah. They were killed at some point. That's it, I think."

"You know more than I expected," Snape said slowly, taking a drink of butterbeer thoughtfully. "My father was abusive, dark, one of the first Death Eaters. I was promised to the Dark Lord at birth, and hell was to be paid if I didn't take the Mark. But, I didn't want to. I played the part of a Death Eater's son. I hated 'Mudbloods,' I picked fights with Sirius the first few years just to make my father happy, but soon that turned personal. Eventually, Sam and I became friends, and you are correct, we started dating after O.W.L.S. When I wouldn't take the Mark over the Christmas break sixth year, my father was furious. He informed me that he was planning on arranging a marriage between Bellatrix and myself. We wouldn't hear of it. That Easter holiday your mother and Nott stood for us at our wedding. My father was furious, but weddings are magically binding, and short of death, he could do nothing. He wouldn't kill me, but Sam was in even more danger."

"Why'd you take the Mark then?" Harry asked confused.

"Sirius asked Sam out only a few weeks after we had married," Snape replied. "She told him that she couldn't because she was going out with me."

"And he told you about the Whomping Willow," Harry finished. Snape nodded. "You took the Mark because of him. No wonder you hate him." Snape nodded his head again, taking another deep drink.

"Sam was furious, horrified even, but she still loved me," Snape continued, wonder filtering into his voice toward the end. "She would not turn me in, though her job required her to. She had become an Auror, you see, and I studied for my Potion Mastery. She was pregnant with Seirian before school was out," he said with a sly smile. "The Prewitts were angry, but supported her. I'm sure Molly would be able to tell you more on how they took it. Sloan was born little less then a year later. Even with the pregnancies she finished the shortened Auror training. I was proud of her, and I loved our children. Yet, I could hardly see them. Her family would have turned me over to the Ministry. The best chances I had were when your mother minded the kids and none of Sam's family was around.

"Sometime during all this, Nott told the Dark Lord and the Inner Circle that Sam Prewitt was my secret wife. They hunted her down. It took them years, she was too smart for them. After the birth of Shylah the year before you were born, she had to stay put a bit longer then normal." Snape stopped, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy. "Shylah was little less then two months when they killed her, her brother, her sister, and her mother. Lucius always took credit for killing 'the bitch that had turned Severus' heart from the true calling'." Snape's lips curled into his normal sneer. "It was torture being that man's friend, even if I was only pretending. I only saw the bodies briefly, not truly having a reason to be there. It was not a clean murder, and I'm sure you understand what I mean." Harry nodded, horrified by this tale of grief. No wonder the Potions Master was a bitter man.

"I found Dumbledore several days later and explained everything to him. Lily confirmed my story, and I owe her my freedom and the chance to have married the one woman I loved more than life itself. I fully embraced the Death Eaters, freed of the one thing that had kept me back. It made me sick, but the Order needed that spy in the Inner Circle. The Dark Lord welcomed me and so, a year later, when he found out about the Prophecy, he told me. I warned Dumbledore, and informed him about what the Dark Lord knew. Your father was no great friend of mine, but your mother had become one. She had seen me with my children, had always seen past my mask. Your mother's death was hard to bear, for she had been a great friend to Sam and me." Silence met his tale. Harry thought about it, committing it to memory. Yet another thing He would pay for.

"Why did you tell me this?" Harry asked.

"To prove to you that talking helps," Snape replied. "Do you think seventeen years ago I could have told this tale? More likely, I would have hexed you. I can't stand watching children tortured and killed. The faces of my own replace those in front of me. When the Dark Lord was torturing you, I saw my son. And I remembered Lily's kindness. My children stayed alive as long as they did because of her care. I couldn't let you be tortured, even if you were the spitting image of James. Sam would have been proud of my choice."

Harry cleared his throat and looked away. "My mother wanted me to pass on a message for you. She said Sam sends her love, and had she not been busy with Shylah, she would have met with me personally." Snape gave a dry sob grief seeming to overcome him, and Harry looked around panicked. Quickly, Snape was back under control, for which Harry was grateful. "And my father sends his apologies, saying you didn't deserve the stuff they did to you. Sirius told me to kick Nott's arse for him... but I'm not sure if it's for Malfoy Manor or you and Sam." Snape nodded in understanding. "They sent these messages at Christmas as well," Harry admitted guiltily. "I chickened out the one time I remembered, and then forgot about it. I even forgot the fact that I had met my parents."

"An odd pair we are," Snape commented after several minutes of silence. He twirled his nearly empty bottle slowly before continuing. "I barely had a chance to know my children and you barely had a chance to know your parents. How I hate this war!" he spat at the flames.

"Me too," Harry sighed with little emotion. "Will talking really help?" he asked after a few more minutes of silence.

"Yes."

"I'll try," Harry promised him. "It may take a bit of time."

"By this time next week, I want you to have talked with the two," Snape informed him, using his teacher's voice. "You'll meet me here at two in the afternoon for your first Occlumency lesson from me. I will be speaking with the headmaster if you do not."

"It's the summer," Harry complained. "You can't give me homework."

"I just did," Snape replied dryly. "If thinking of it in such a way helps, then do that. Just talk with them. It will truly help with the flashbacks."

"Alright."

"Good afternoon, Harry," Snape replied, standing and placing his empty bottle on the coffee table. "You should make an appearance before Molly has a heart attack. I don't know what Sam would do to me if I let her favorite sister die when I had the chance to save her. Until next week." With that Snape swept from the room, leaving Harry staring thoughtfully into the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry paced along the top of his cliff as Thia, Tonks, and Remus looked around. Ron and Hermione were watching him, perplexed about why he had brought them here and worried about his agitated state. Ginny sat in one of the lower oak branches, eyes closed and her head leaning back against the trunk. Harry turned once more, keeping himself from running to the tree and hitting his head against it. What in the world was he going to say to them! Where was Snape when he needed to wring the man's neck?

Ron and Hermione settled on a bench, Hermione resting her head on Ron's shoulder. Tonks sat on the cliff edge, her feet swinging widely. Remus sat next to her, his eyes watching Harry pace. Thia took a seat on the ground her head rested against the tree. Harry turned again, and walked to the very edge of the cliff, looking down at the powerful, crashing waves below. He sensed that everyone twitched or shifted uncomfortably with his close proximity to the edge. Tonks gently placed a hand on his calf, whether to reassure him or catch him, Harry wasn't sure.

"I'm not jumping," Harry assured them. "The Room wouldn't let me die, because I don't want to, it would move the beach closer." He turned and smiled at them. "Don't worry about me trying again any time soon either. I've got a date with a monster and I'm not about to break it."

"What's this about, kiddo?" Tonks asked. Now that he had broken the silence she asked the question they were all dying to know the answer to.

Harry thought for a moment, grabbed a conveniently placed rock, stepped further away from the edge, turned and ran towards the edge, throwing the rock as far as he could, screaming, "I'm going to kill Snape for this!" The six people around him were stunned by the display. Harry sat on the edge of the cliff, his back to the ocean--for now at least.

"I thought Snape was being rather civil," Ginny commented dryly from her perch.

"Oh, he is," Harry answered wryly. "That's why you're all here. If he was his old hating self, I'd have disregarded his advice, and this homework."

"And that made absolutely no sense, Harry," Ron informed him.

"We had a talk yesterday," Harry explained sighing. Last night, he decided that if he didn't talk with them soon, he'd lose his nerve, and that wouldn't be good. So, at breakfast this morning, he asked them all to meet him here. Snape smiled slightly when he had heard Harry ask Remus, Tonks, and Thia. "He... he explained about himself and Sam and why he took the Mark and why he changed and..."

"And..." Thia prodded gently when he had been silent for a while.

"And why he decided to save me," Harry finally finished.

"Where were you yesterday?" Hermione asked. "We looked everywhere."

"Not the Slytherin common room," Harry answered. "I knew none of you would check there."

"How'd you get the password?" Thia asked, puzzled.

"Marauder's Map," Remus replied before Harry had a chance. "If I may brag a bit, it was I who figured out how to connect the map with the school's magic just enough to discover secret passwords and such."

"You may not," Thia replied hotly, but did a double take. "Is that how you guys got into Lily's Head Girl's office to trash the place?"

"We didn't trash it, just re-decorated," Remus replied sheepishly. "And yes, that's how. I didn't hear Lily complaining when James used it to leave her flowers and notes, or get one of us to deliver them when they were together."

"So, I take it, Snape found you in the common room," Ron said, interrupting the debate.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "We talked about the Occlumency lessons and he gave me a bit of homework."

"And what's that?" Hermione asked after Harry was silent for five whole minutes.

"Talk," Harry finally said, slowly, as if uttering that one word had condemned himself to a slow and painful death. Or worse, someone he loved dearly to a slow, painful death while he watched. He wasn't too far off.

"Talk?" Tonks replied, saying it just as slowly. "Well, you're talking now, so I guess you've done it."

"No, he wants me to talk about... everything," Harry corrected her. "Talk about the things that happened when I was at Malfoy Manor, I think in particular."

"Oh," Tonks said faintly.

"But see, the thing is, that's starting a story half way through, and it won't make sense to you guys, if I do that," he said softly, keeping his eyes on the grass, focusing on each blade carefully. "But the question then becomes, when does the story really start? Definitely not last summer, Sirius' death is again, starting a story half way through. So, we're all the way back to third year. But Peter is a story that started that first train ride when Ron brought him aboard and tried to turn his tail yellow. Yet, even that's a story half way through. The only reason he was sitting with me was 'cause everywhere else was filled, and that was because the Weasleys always arrive moments before it left, and they're the only reason I got on. But--"

"Even that's starting a story half way through," Thia finished. Harry nodded, glancing at each of his friends, hoping that Snape was right.

"So, the start would be way back at the beginning, my first and earliest memories."