Dumbledore's Secret

Chapter 18

Hermione growled as yet another piece of fish landed on her charms textbook. "Will you stop it!" she said, glaring at her lunch companions. Their meal of fish and chips had turned into a messy eating contest. Ginny had bet both boys that she could stuff more food into her mouth than either of them, and apparently, she was correct. Ron, who had just crammed his face with three large pieces of fish, had spewed half of it on the table when Ginny began to tickle him.

Harry shot Hermione a remorseful look. "Sobby," he mumbled, his fish-filled mouth unable to enunciate the word clearly.

"Yeah, sorry, 'Mione," Ron said between laughs, making her think he wasn't sorry at all.

"If you're really sorry," Hermione said sweetly, "you'll do something for me."

Ron glanced warily at her. "Uh ... like what?"

Before Hermione could answer, she heard Mrs. Weasley's voice in the kitchen stairwell. "There's plenty of left over fish and chips! I'm so glad you decided to stop by!"

Hermione quickly leaned toward Ron and whispered, "Meet me upstairs in a few minutes. But don't leave too quickly, it'll look suspicious ..."

Hurriedly gathering her books, she jumped from the table.

"Finished already?" Mrs. Weasley asked her, just coming into the kitchen. Bill was at her side, somehow managing to look hip in his stuffy business robes.

"Bill!" Ginny cried, throwing herself at her oldest brother. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I'm here to eat lunch with my favorite sister, of course!" he replied, giving her a quick hug. Then he stuck his hand out to Harry. "And I wanted to wish Harry a happy birthday."

"Thanks!" Harry said, shaking Bill's hand enthusiastically.

"Ron, Hermione, how's it going?" Bill asked them with a smile.

"Hi!" Hermione said. Then, she faked a big yawn. "Sorry Bill, but after this great lunch, I'm so sleepy! Bye!" She shot Ron what she hoped was a subtle but meaningful look, then hurried up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Flipping open her charms text, she quickly found the section she'd been reading earlier. "Portus - a charm that turns an object into a portkey. For this spell to be successful, the caster must not only have sufficient magical capabilities (i.e., ability to perform other advanced movement charms such as summoning and locomotion charms), but also permission from the Portkey Office at the Ministry of Magic. Although it is possible to create a portkey without permission from the Ministry, the user of said portkey is not guaranteed to arrive in the correct location."

Dog-earring that page, she turned to the index. "Walls, magical ...Wands..." she muttered, running her finger down the page. "Ah, wards! 234." Flipping to the page, she had just begun to read when Ron burst into her room.

"So!" he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "You want to continue where we left off?"

"Where we left off?" she asked, barely glancing up from the book.

"Yeah, you know, in the hallway before lunch, snogging ..."

She rolled her eyes, but Ron seemed unperturbed as he fell onto her bed and threw and arm around her.

"You asked me to do something for you," he continued, his lips on her ear. "My wish is your command."

Hermione pushed him away, though not before stealing a quick kiss on the lips. Dratted hormones ...if someone had told her two years ago that she'd seriously be contemplating putting aside her books for a heated snogging session with Ron Weasley, she'd have hexed them senseless.

Putting an arm's length between them, Hermione said, "I need your help."

"As I said ... my wish is your command," he replied with a salacious grin.

She sighed. "With this," she said, throwing a book at him.

He groaned. "I should have known," he muttered, picking up the text. "Advanced charms? For Merlin's sake, Hermione, can't we give homework a rest? It's still several weeks until term begins and ... wait, did you just say you need my help with something academic? Is the world coming to an end? Is the sky falling? Have flobberworms learned to fly?"

Throwing a pillow at him, she said, "Shut up, you." But she smiled as she added, "And you give yourself too little credit. You did quite well on your OWLs."

He threw the pillow back at her. "You mean, I did a hell of a lot better than you ever expected."

She clucked her tongue. "Don't curse. And I always knew, if you put your mind to it, you could do well. What changed your attitude?"

Ron shrugged. "Oh, it was definitely that homework planner you got for me." Then, dodging another pillow, he laughed and said, "Well, I do really want to be an Auror."

Hermione saw how his eyes lit up when he talked about becoming an Auror. Smiling, she said, "Then I'm sure you can do it."

He blushed and looked away. "Well, we'll see. And you haven't answered my question... why do you, the most brilliant witch to attend Hogwarts in a generation, etc., etc., need my help with homework?"

She huffed. "I'm not that brilliant, and I don't need help with homework." She paused. "I need help with a project."

"A project?"

Biting her lip, she said quietly, "A project to help my parents."

"Oh." Then he leaned forward and grabbed her hand. "Listen, Hermione, I've been thinking about this ... wouldn't it be better if you told them? If you're really worried about them ...and maybe my parents can talk to them ..."

To her embarrassment, her eyes filled with tears. Quickly blinking them away, she said, "I know, I know, I've thought about it too. But they'd pull me out of Hogwarts!" She let out a screech of frustration. "But I feel so selfish! If I were smart, I'd go home, tell them, and then we'd hide away somewhere until this war is over. But that feels so ..."

"Cowardly," Ron supplied.

"Yes! To run away from this war, to leave Harry when he needs us ..." She glanced at him. "To leave everyone I love ..."

She wondered if she'd pushed things too far. They had, after all, only just started dating. But he didn't seem upset by her words. Instead, he reached out a hand and cupped her cheek. "Then we have no choice. What's this project, then?"

She smiled broadly. "I knew you'd help me!" She leaned over and gave him a smacking kiss. "Now, I've been thinking ... what, realistically, has the Order been able to do to protect my parents?"

"Probably not much, considering how short they are on manpower," Ron admitted.

"Yes, exactly. Maybe they've erected some wards, maybe they have someone who goes to check on them occasionally, but if death eaters really wanted to attack, the wards probably wouldn't stop them, nor would one order member."

"So what do you propose? There's no way that we can create stronger wards than an Order member!"

Hermione shook her head. "No, but we could build a different type of ward. I mean, what's the problem with wards, as they stand?"

"Problem? Well, nothing, unless they're broken."

"Yes, exactly. It's like a lock on a door. So long as the lock works, whatever is behind the door is safe. But once the lock is picked ..."

"Okay, so I'm not following you here. I really don't think we can create wards that cannot be broken."

"But what if we thought of wards not as a lock but as a detection device?"

Ron's face wrinkled in confusion. "I still don't get it."

"What if," Hermione continued patiently, "we created simple wards, wards that are easily broken. But, once they're broken, they activate some sort of device, something that allows my parents to escape before the death eaters are even able to get through the front door?"

Ron blinked. "You mean, like a portkey?"

"Exactly!" Hermione said, clasping his hand. "That's exactly what I was thinking! What if, once the wards are broken, some object in their house could be automatically transformed into a portkey that will transport them to Grimmauld Place or some other safe house?"

Ron shook his head. "I've never heard of that being done before. Could we do it?"

With a long sigh, Hermione admitted, "I don't know. For one thing, it's very difficult to create portkeys."

"Yeah, and then there's the problem of getting your parents to latch onto the portkey. I mean, if they don't know what's happening ..."

Hermione nodded. "You're right." She bit her lip. "But, I've got to try, I've got to come up with something, or I'm going to go crazy."

Ron stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "All right, though shouldn't we get Harry and Ginny to help? Ginny seems pretty good at charms; you saw those extendable ears she improved. And Harry might have some ideas we haven't thought of ..."

"Yeah, I considered that but ...I'm a little afraid to tell Harry."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione glanced down at her hands. "He's got so much to worry about right now, and I'm afraid if I told him about my parents ... he'd feel guilty, you know? Like somehow, his being friends with me has caused this ..."

Ron nodded. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

"And if we didn't tell Harry, but we got Ginny to help, Harry would figure out that we're doing something without him," Hermione added.

"Whereas this way, if we're spending a lot of time alone..."

"...he'll just think we're snogging," Hermione finished for him.

Ron sighed. "If only!"

She stuck out her tongue. "Is that all you think about?" Then she laughed. "And who said, anyway, that you can't mix a little snogging and researching?"

He leaned toward her. "Hmm, I think I could learn to like researching, then."

She was just about to kiss him when someone pounded on the door. Hermione's head jerked up at the unexpected noise, and her nose slammed into his. "Ow!" Ron moaned.

"Hermione? Ron? Are you in there together?" Mrs. Weasley called from the other side of the door.

"Shit," Ron mumbled, scurrying off her bed and jumping onto Ginny's.

"Yes, Mrs. Weasely, we're just studying," Hermione called out.

"Hmpf! Then you won't mind if I come in? You do have all your clothes on, don't you dears?"

Both Hermione and Ron blushed hotly. "Mum!" Ron exclaimed.

The door opened and Mrs. Weasley grinned at them. "Studying, huh? Studying what?"

"Charms," Hermione said, offering the book to Ron's mother.

"Charms indeed." Her eyes quickly scanning the room, Mrs. Weasley sighed, apparently unable to find anything amiss. "Well, you can study in the downstairs."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "We, uh, don't want to disturb anyone," Ron said.

"I hardly see how studying will bother anyone, dear. Come on now." Mrs. Weasley put both hands on her hips. "I'm going out for a bit, and while I'm gone, I don't want the two of you in here alone."

This was too much for Hermione. "But Mrs. Weasley! We weren't doing anything ..." yet, Hermione added to herself.

"Of course you weren't, dear. But I, too, was young once, and I know how these things can go. I remember when Arthur and I were your age, we'd snog each other senseless..."

"Okay, okay, you can stop right there," Ron grumbled, getting off Ginny's bed. Then he glanced at Hermione. "I'm just going to get some books from my room," he said. "I'll meet you downstairs." His back was to Mrs. Weasley, so only Hermione could see the quick wink of his eye.

As Ron left the room, Mrs. Weasley came and pulled Hermione into a quick hug. Surprised, Hermione looked up at the older woman and offered a tentative smile.

"You're a good influence on him," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling kindly. "But ..."

I should have known, Hermione thought, groaning inwardly.

"But, I know you two have a propensity to get into trouble."

Hermione blushed. "I promise, Mrs. Weasley, we won't let things get, uh, too far."

"Of course not, dear," she said, heading to the door. Then she turned and said, "I'm not just talking about snogging, Hermione. You all need to be extremely careful this year. Your adventures ... well, we're in a war."

Hermione lifted her chin. "I know we are."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Then I'll trust you to do what's right," she said before leaving the room. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt. She had the sudden urge to call after Mrs. Weasley and explain to her what was on her mind, but she shook her head. If Mrs. Weasley found out that the Grangers knew nothing about the war, she'd insist on telling them immediately, and that was something Hermione couldn't risk.

"Ready?" Ron called from outside her room. She came out carrying several different books and saw that he had his bag thrown across his shoulder.

"What's that for?" she asked, surprised.

"My charms text." He looked down the hall to make sure they were alone. "And this."

She looked inside and saw Harry's cloak. "What ..." Her eyes snapped to his. "Does he know that ..."

"Of course! He loaned it to us. So that we could have some privacy." He paused. "Where should we go? We can't work in the kitchen; Harry and Ginny are playing exploding snap, and Snape's in the lab right next door. I just heard Mum leave, so she'll never know if we're working somewhere else."

"Maybe we can go to one of the empty rooms on the top floor? We can use the cloak if we need to sneak back downstairs for anything."

"Uh..." Ron paled. "Can't we go downstairs instead? Maybe in the drawing room?"

"Why? What's wrong with the top floor?"

"Mum made us search up there last year for blankets and useful furniture... there are tons of cobwebs up there ..."

Hermione managed to keep from rolling her eyes. She couldn't understand Ron's fear of spiders, but then again, she'd never met Aragog in the Forbidden Forest. "Okay, let's go to the drawing room. I guess that's better, anyhow. It will look less suspicious if we're caught working in there."

They tiptoed through the main hall and into the drawing room, which was, thankfully, empty. Sitting on an old, somewhat moldy-smelling sofa in the corner of the room, they spread out their books and began to work in what Hermione was pleased to discover was a rather companionable silence. Every once in a while, she or Ron would perk up with a, "Oh, look at this!" They each made a list of all the relevant pages in the few texts they had available. Finally, after nearly an hour of reading, Ron looked up and rubbed his eyes.

"You had to pick something difficult, didn't you?" he asked.

She grinned. "Ah, but the more difficult the challenge, the more pleasant the reward."

"Now, now," Ron said, waving a finger at her. "You're thinking impure thoughts, I know you are." Then with a flourish, he pulled Harry's cloak out of his bag and threw it over himself. "I must hide myself from such wickedness!" his disembodied voice said dramatically.

Hermione giggled. "Surely you don't think a little invisibility cloak is going to stop me, huh?" Stretching her hand out in front of her, she waved her fingers in the air. Then, with a gasp, she felt herself being pulled under the cloak.

"I think," Ron said, his arms firmly around her, "that we should do a little experiment. What are the effects of invisibility cloaks on snogging?"

"Hmm, a very good question," Hermione said. "I think we should find out."

"Yes, let's."

She'd just gone from nibbling on his lower lip to kissing her way up his jaw line when the door of the drawing room creaked open. Before she could stop herself, Hermione gasped.

Ron quickly covered her mouth with his hand, but Miss Richardson was already looking over at sofa, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. But after a few seconds of silence, she shook her head and went over to the piano. Luckily, she chose to play a loud piece, giving Ron the chance to whisper in Hermione's ear, "That was close!"

"Yeah," she whispered back. "Hopefully she'll leave soon. My leg is already falling asleep."

But after completing her first piece, Miss Richardson started on a second song.

"Urgh!" Hermione whispered in frustration. "How long is she going to play?"

"Maybe we should just tell her we're here?"

"Are you crazy? Your mum will kill us when she finds out we've been hiding out in here," Hermione said, thinking of Mrs. Weasley's speech an hour earlier.

"Maybe she won't say anything to Mum. She didn't mention the extendable ears to her, and I think she's figured out that we listened to the Order meeting."

Hermione sighed, then held her breath as Miss Richardson began to play so softly that she could hear the creaking of the piano pedal. When the music crescendoed, Hermione whispered, "Okay, I guess we'll have to take our chances. Ready?"

Ron was just about to lift the cloak when the door opened again. Hermione's mouth fell open.

"Bloody hell!" Ron whispered.

Hermione couldn't bring herself to scold him for his language. As she watched Professor Snape settle into one of the armchairs near the piano, she realized that she and Ron were going to be stuck under the invisibility cloak for quite some time.

*

One hand on the doorknob of the drawing room, the other clutching a small, stone basin, Severus closed his eyes and concentrated on pushing all emotion to the recesses of his mind. It was not easy thing to do; between his confrontation with Potter, the fight with Lupin, the rebuke by Albus, and his complete and utter lack of sleep, Severus's mind was a jumble of sentiments, none of them positive. Reminding himself that Charlotte was certainly no Voldemort, he opened his eyes and strode into the room, his face set in a cool, determined mask.

Still, when he saw her at the piano, her eyes half closed as she played, he almost wished himself at a summons.

She looked up when the door closed behind him. Continuing to play, she acknowledged his presence with only a slight widening of her eyes. He nodded curtly in her direction, then placed the Pensieve he'd been holding on a dusty coffee table. Settling into a stiff armchair, he waited for her to finish.

She was playing something he didn't recognize, something so soothing that his eyes closed involuntarily. Drifting into a half sleep, he found himself on the roof with her. She was leaning back against the shingles, her eyes full of contentment as she smiled at him. Then, quite suddenly, Dorcas was at her side, whispering into her ear. He couldn't hear what his sister was saying, but he could see the disgust creep into Charlotte's eyes.

Eyelids snapping open, he sat up straight in the chair and shook his head angrily.

"All right?" she asked, still playing.

"Fine," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. Though he would never admit it aloud, he was afraid of those eyes, afraid of what they'd see if they looked hard enough. He'd put his worst memories in the Pensieve, but the stone basin could only hold so much. There was so much she could find if she just looked in the right places. Good, some inner voice whispered. Let her find out, let her see that I'm not the misunderstood man she seems to think I am. The sooner she sees that, the better for both of us. Then he snorted softly and wondered if she wasn't already disgusted with him for upsetting Albus earlier that morning.

As she rose from the piano, he struggled to clear his mind. Still, the words came out, unbidden: "Your grandfather, is he ... was he unwell when he left?"

Sitting in the chair opposite him, she said quietly, "He was fine. Disappointed, but fine."

He scoffed. "Disappointed? Is that your word or his? He's known me too long to be disappointed any longer."

"He didn't say it, but I gathered ..."

"You gathered nothing. You were disappointed. You thought I was petty, cruel, arrogant..." When she said nothing, he jerked forward in his seat, grabbing the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles cracked. "Well?" he demanded.

"Well what? Do you actually want confirmation of that? Do you want to be scolded?" she retorted angrily. Then she laughed, though he could hear little joy in the sound. "You are one fucked up man, Severus Snape."

He blinked. That was not what he had expected her to say.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked suddenly, leaning forward in her seat. She extended a finger to touch the silver liquid swirling inside the Pensieve.

Grabbing her wrist, he glared at her and said, "Touch that and you'll find out just how fucked up I really am, Miss Richardson."

She had the temerity to smile. "Then why do you have it out?"

He dropped her wrist abruptly, saying, "Pensieves are generally considered useful when teaching Legilimency and Occlumency."

"You're going to teach me? That's great!"

"Great? You think the idea of invading one's mind is great?"

"Well, I ..."

Before she could finish, he'd risen from his chair and pulled out his wand. "Look at me," he said gruffly.

She lifted her chin and met his eyes.

"Legilimens."

She didn't even try to resist. Suddenly furious at her blasé attitude, he reached for something especially humiliating. She was on her back in a dark room, staring up at the ceiling as an inept young man moved on top of her. He grunted her name in pleasure while she continued to gaze at the ceiling, something akin to awkward disbelief flashing across her face.

"Enough!" she cried, jumping up from her chair. She stumbled forward, and he caught her by the shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she glanced up at him. "How much of that did you see?"

Releasing her, he said, "Enough to see that you're a late bloomer in more than just spellcasting."

"Bastard," she muttered, looking away. Then she managed a self-deprecating smile. "I did manage to get a little better at it."

His lips twitched as his anger faded. "Really."

She flopped back into her chair. "When I, uh, read you ... is it always that invasive?"

Sitting back down as well, he sighed. "No. You haven't learned to focus the magic. As a consequence, I don't think you do much more than skim the surface."

"Then why teach me more?"

"Worried you can't be trusted with this kind of power?" he asked dryly.

"Yes, actually. I am a rather curious person by nature. And, up to this point, I've never hesitated to use what untrained ability I have. I like to know what's going on in other people's heads."

"I've noticed," he muttered. "There is some debate about the ethics behind Legilimency, but not much, as so few people now bother to learn it. For most witches and wizards, it takes too much concentration, too much power. Even if they can complete the spell, they have to speak it, thereby tipping their hand. There are now much easier - and more subtle - ways to determine what is someone's head."

"Like slipping Veritaserum into one's drink," she said.

"That's the principle way, yes."

"But then one's limited by the questions one can ask."

"Yes, it's a trade off. Of course, there are some Legilimens who can see inside a person without saying a word."

"Let me guess, Voldemort."

He shuddered. "Yes. But also your grandfather."

"And you?"

"No. I can sometimes touch the surface without speaking the spell, but I cannot go beyond that."

She was silent for a moment, and then her eyes widened suddenly. "If Voldemort is such a powerful Legilimens, you must be one hell of an Occlumens to have survived as a spy."

"Yes," he replied simply.

Her lips formed a half smile. "Then why are you so afraid of me?"

He sneered, though inwardly he was shaken by her perception. "You, Miss Richardson, remind me of a child who has gotten a hold of his parent's wand for the first time. The child isn't particularly powerful, but he is unpredictable."

"Please, do stop flattering me," she drawled. "So you're teaching me in order to make me predictable?"

"I'm teaching you because your grandfather ordered it."

"Whatever for?"

With a sigh, he leaned his head against the back of the chair and stared up at the ceiling. "Potter."

"Harry? Why does he need to learn Legilimency."

"Not Legilimency. Occlumency. He needs to learn Occlumency." Just thinking about the boy made his blood boil. Struggling to keep control, he asked in a tight voice, "How much do you know about Potter's history?"

"Only what's been published, so not much. That he survived the killing curse, which apparently backfired and hit Voldemort, leading most everyone to think that he had died."

"The scar, what do you know about it?"

She shook her head. "Harry's scar? Nothing, except that it's supposed to be a remnant of the curse."

"Not a remnant but a connection. When Voldemort created that scar, he forged a connection between them."

"A mental connection."

"Yes."

She released a long, slow sigh. "And Granddad wants me to help Harry with this? Is he crazy? I have no skills in Occlumency ..."

"You will after I'm through with you. Besides it's more important for you to be a strong Legilimens so that he can get some practice blocking you. There's very little 'teaching' to be done with Occlumency; the skill is acquired through training, not knowledge."

"And why don't you help him?"

"Why do you think?" He jumped out of his chair and began to pace. "Besides," he continued without meaning to, "I've tried. It ... didn't work."

"Hmmm, how surprising."

He stopped pacing long enough to glare at her.

She sighed. "What about Granddad?"

"Too dangerous. Should Potter, by some fluke, get inside Albus's mind ... he has too many secrets to hide."

"From Harry or from Voldemort?"

"Both."

"Isn't there anyone else?" she asked.

"As I said, few people have bothered to learn Legilimency, and even fewer have the skills needed to learn it."

"Well then ... I guess there's no choice."

At her defeated tone, he raised an eyebrow. "And I thought you, like the rest of them, adored the boy who lived."

She made a face. "Really, Severus, there's too much bitterness in your voice, even for you. And I do like Harry ... well, as much as I like any kid I've interacted with for fifteen minutes. But should I fail ...the stakes just seem awfully high, that's all."

"Believe me," he muttered, "it can't be worse than what happened in the spring."

She looked at him inquisitively.

Fantastic, he thought miserably. Just talk yourself right into a conversation about Potter and Black. "Never mind," he told her. "We need to get started."

She frowned but did not pursue the topic.

"We'll cover Legilimency first, as it should be easier for you to pick up, nosy woman that you are," he said with a sneer.

She clucked her tongue. "Now, now Severus, you're tipping your hand. But don't be too afraid," she said, grinning. "I'll be easy on you, I promise."

He glared at her, but her light tone relaxed him a bit. "You heard me use the incantation. Repeat it."

When she spoke the word, he shivered. Already he could feel the magic, and she wasn't even trying. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Fine. Now, do it."

She raised her wand, and he stared resolutely at her. As she muttered the spell, he concentrated on keeping his mind blank. For several moments, their eyes locked, but she couldn't seem to get past his mental wall. When finally she fell back in her chair with a frustrated sigh, he smiled grimly.

"I can't do this!" she muttered angrily. He looked at her, ready to berate her lack of confidence. Suddenly, he felt her inside his head, searching almost triumphantly. Frantically, he worked to control her, but she had already grabbed onto a memory, calling it before his eyes. It was his first day teaching, and he could see his students gaze up at him with fear and awe in their eyes. She tried to move to another memory, but he shoved her out of his mind.

"How very underhanded of you," he murmured.

"So, I suppose this means you'll now have to be on your guard around me."

He glared at her. "Don't look so smug. That trick will only work once, believe me. Tell me," he said, instinctively going into teacher mode, "what you did and why it worked."

"When you looked at me, I guessed that you had probably stopped using your Occlumency. So, I concentrated on the spell and was inside your mind."

Full-fledged, wandless Legilimency, he thought with some admiration. But to her, he said only, "How did you pick that particular memory?"

She shrugged. "You were teaching me something. I suppose I latched onto the idea of you as a teacher."

"Alright, let's try again. This time, no tricks, use your wand, and decide before you speak the incantation what it is you want to see."

Quickly, she raised her wand and spoke the spell, and again she seemed stuck behind his mental barrier. Giving up, she looked away and said, "Is this normal? Should I be able to do this without a wand, but not with one? What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing." A smile crept onto his lips before he could stop it. He'd forgotten just how good he was at Occlumency, even having used it for years as a spy. With Voldemort, he'd had to hide his skill, to make it seem as if he wasn't using any power at all. Occlumency had been a tool for survival, and he'd felt no joy in using it. In this room, however, he was not a spy, he was not a minion, he was, quite simply, a powerful wizard.

"When you're finished stroking your ego, would you mind actually teaching me how to do this?" she asked huffily.

He raised an eyebrow. "Not a very gracious loser, are we?"

"I didn't realize this was a game."

"Of course it is. Legilimency and Occlumency are all about power and who can win the most of it."

"I think we've already established your superiority in this area, so, moving on ..."

"This, Miss Richardson, is your most annoying flaw."

"What is?"

"Your propensity to crumble so easily in the presence of an obstacle. I'd say it's quite... cowardly."

Her face flushed. "Fine. Again." She took a deep breath, stared at him for a moment, then said, "Legilimens."

He sensed her mind pushing at his, and he felt as if his Occlumens would hold her back. But then, suddenly, the pressure was gone, and he was in his classroom, staring at a young boy with unkempt black hair and bright green eyes. "Ah yes." He heard his own voice, which sounded distant and cold. "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity."

He shoved her out of his mind with such force that she stumbled backwards onto her chair.

"That was ... better," he admitted quietly, falling back into his own seat. "What did you do differently?" His voice was dispassionate, academic, but he felt curiosity bubbling inside him.

"Before, I felt as if I were staring at a blank wall. But this time, I did as you said: I thought of what I wanted to see before I cast the spell, and once I had said the incantation, your mind was more of a fog than a solid wall." She shook her head. "I don't know ... I'm using all of this visual imagery, but it's not like seeing at all. It's as if I'm ..." Her voice trailed off.

"Feeling my thoughts," he finished for her.

Her eyes snapped to his. "Yes, exactly."

"The few who study Legilimency agree that its most basic definition is magic's ability to transfer the brain impulses from one mind to another. In the process of that transfer, I, as the originator of the impulse, relive the thought, and you, the receiver, experience it in your own brain as you use the Legilimency."

She considered this for a moment, then said, "But that means that you and I may not experience the same things, even if we're sharing the same memory. I'm limited by my own expectations if I have to rely on my brain to translate your thoughts."

He nodded. "Exactly. And as an Occlumens, I can use that to my advantage. If I know, for example, what you're looking for, and I know how you think, I can choose or alter certain thoughts so that you're seeing what I want you to see and not what I've really experienced."

"So just a minute ago, when I saw Harry ..."

He frowned. "That was real. I didn't have time to alter it."

"Yes, but did we experience the same things?" She pinned him with her eyes. "When I saw him, I felt a wave of jealousy."

He nearly flushed. "That's ridiculous. We both saw a boy who was showing an arrogant disregard for authority."

She shrugged, stood up, and without pause, said, "Legilimens."

He was ready for her, however. She wanted to see more images of Potter, so he provided them. But, instead of watching as Potter clutched the snitch triumphantly in his hands, she saw him taunting Malfoy with the little gold ball. Rather than listening respectfully to Albus at an opening-year feast, Potter began a food fight. Just to trick her, Severus threw in an authentic memory: Potter, at the end of last term, glaring at him as if he'd murdered Black with his own bare hands.

She broke away from his gaze. "You're trying to trick me," she said, but somewhat uncertainly.

"Am I?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "What seemed off?"

"The food fight didn't feel right," she said. "He doesn't seem like the type to do that."

"Ah, but did you see the kitchen this afternoon? Fish, all over the place," he said with disgust.

She grinned. "Hmm, yes. Maybe ... but no," she decided, shaking her head. "In your memory, he was throwing sweet potatoes at a crying girl. That seemed excessively cruel."

His lips twitched. "Maybe I did get a little carried away with that one."

"So, were all of those memories fake?"

"You tell me."

She shook her head. "I can't be sure about the other two. They weren't detailed enough for me to be sure."

"Exactly. I fed you just enough information to make you wonder."

"So, I should tell Harry, when I'm teaching him, to keep it simple."

Shrugging, he said, "If you ever get to that point with him. It'll be a miracle if he can simply learn to block a Legilimens, much less to create believable false memories."

"You don't have much faith in him. Or in my teaching abilities."

"Gryffindors are notoriously bad at Occlumency. You wear your hearts on your sleeves, to borrow a muggle phrase. It'll be enough to teach Potter to shut the Dark Lord out. You don't need to be much of an Occlumens yourself to teach him this; you just need to know the basics and force him to practice."

"All right, so how does Occlumency work?"

"It's very simple. Just clear your mind of all thoughts and emotions."

Charlotte laughed. "Oh, that easy, huh?"

"I said simple, not easy."

"And do you find it either simple or easy to turn off your brain?" she asked him. "I can't imagine that you would."

"It's not about turning anything off," he retorted. "Occlumency is recognizing that up here," he said, tapping his forehead, "one has ultimate control. Still, I don't expect you to be able to achieve that, not on your first try at least. That's why I've brought the Pensieve. You can store the memories you'd rather not relive in here."

"What, tired of rummaging through memories of my sex life?" Her tone was light, but a muscle in her face twitched.

He stared at her for a moment, uncertain of her mood. She was agitated, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. She seemed more than embarrassed; she seemed frightened. And then he realized what she was remembering. "I would think," he said, quietly, "that there would be certain memories you would not want to relive."

"I, uh, thought your memories were in there," she said, pointing at the Pensieve.

"They are. I'll empty the Pensieve, then you can use it."

She looked away from him. "I ...I don't want it."

"What?"

"I said, I don't want to use it. What I'd put in there ... my mother ...I need to remember that night, Severus. I put her out of my mind enough as it is."

"Charlotte." He said her name without thinking, and as soon as her eyes met his, he felt his gut twist. "Miss Richardson," he revised, looking away. "You won't forget about her simply because you put that memory in the Pensieve for a few minutes. Don't be childish about this."

"I'm not being childish!" she snapped, standing up and turning away from him.

"You are being childish! Just use the bloody Pensieve. You're not honoring your mother by watching her die over and over again!"

She rounded on him. "If you're so concerned, then don't access that memory. Just let it be."

"It doesn't work that way. You may have thought you were being kind by only reaching for the neutral memories in my head - teaching class, Potter ..."

She scoffed. "I hardly think Harry Potter is a neutral subject for you! Jealous of a 16 year old orphan? Really, Severus, I pity you."

Coldly he asked her, "Did that little jab make you feel better?" She looked away from him, and he continued. "Legilimency is meant specifically for finding thoughts and memories that others want to keep hidden. When you're working with Potter, you should go for the memories he least wants you to see ... that's what Voldemort will do, and you need to train Potter to expect it!"

"Fine, then access the memory of that night, I don't care. I'm not using the Pensieve," she said, staring defiantly at him. "I deserve to see what I did to her."

Something inside him broke. "Do you think I want to see myself torturing you, Charlotte?"

She paled. Falling into her chair, shoulders rounded forward in defeat, she whispered, "I'm sorry, I didn't think ..."

He turned away and stared at the opposite wall, willing himself to regain control of the situation. Jaw clenched, he went to the end table and picked up the Pensieve. Tapping his wand on the liquid surface, he watched as silver goo began to wrap itself around his wand. Then, with a deep breath, he put the wand to his ear and braced himself. It was the thing he hated most about Pensieves, this process of reintroducing the memories into the brain. The old thoughts seemed angrier, harsher, more hurtful as they slid down the ear canal. When they seeped through his skull, he could feel flashes of those moments that he least wanted to relive. It was the price one paid for removing them in the first place, and he could suddenly understand why Charlotte would rather keep that night tucked away in her head where she could ignore or remember it, as she wished.

Turning to her, he held out the Pensieve. "Do you know how to use it?" he asked quietly.

"I think so," she said, her voice equally soft. Closing her eyes, she rested her wand against her ear. Then, with the long, silver strand wrapped around her wand, she touched the Pensieve and sighed.

"If you will permit," he said, his voice unnaturally formal, "the Order would like to examine your memory."

She glanced up at him. "Why?"

"You said at the meeting that Voldemort spoke to you, but you couldn't understand all of what he said. It might be useful to know exactly what words he used."

"Yes, I suppose so. It's been over a month now since that meeting ... why not do this in June, when the memory was still fresh?"

"That's what Moody wanted, but your grandfather wanted to give you some time."

"Moody - was he the one with chunks of his face missing and the revolving eye, or was he the old geezer who accused me of being an agent of dark magic?"

Severus smiled. "He's the one with the eye. The geezer is Elphias Doge. Very apt descriptions, by the way."

She smiled back at him. "Makes you wonder how I'd describe you, doesn't it?"

Relived that they'd fallen back to bantering, he said, "I'd think something along the lines of sadistic bastard."

Her eyes clouded. "No, I wouldn't say that."

Cursing himself for notching the tension up again, he took the Pensieve from her and said stiffly, "I'll hand this over to the Order."

"Who will study it?" she asked quietly.

"I ... I don't know. Is there someone you'd prefer?"

"Not Granddad, it would be horrible for him. I ..." She paused, then met his eyes. "If I were honest, I'd say you. I hate the idea that some stranger will see me... well, I don't remember exactly, but I just know I don't want ..." Her voice trailed off. Then in a rush, she added, "I'm sorry. I know it's selfish of me, just give it to anyone except Granddad..."

Severus stared down at the Pensieve. Voldemort had spoken those words to her before Severus had used the Cruciatus. He'd still have to see himself groveling at that monster's feet, but at least he wouldn't have to watch himself cast an Unforgivable on her. Feeling as if he owed her at least this small favor after what he'd done to her that night, he said, "Very well. I'll study it." Then with a burst of determination, he added, "Now, I'll study it now."

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. "Thank you," she said instead, looking away. "I know how selfish I'm being, childish, you're exactly right, I just, I'm not very rational about this, I don't want anyone else to see me like that, I don't want anyone to see Mom like that, I ..."

"Shh," he said, reaching out and touching the tip of his finger to her lips.

"Thank you," she said again, her breath tickling his finger. He pulled quickly away from her and set the Pensieve back on the table. Before he could talk himself out of it, he touched his wand to the surface of the Pensieve and watched as the liquid swirled. Staring down into that oddly sunny room in Guinevere Dumbledore Richardson's house, he lowered his face into the basin and prepared to face Voldemort once again.