Chapter 1.

Our story starts on a day like any other at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – strange plants pulsated gently in the greenhouses, shining fluorescent in the dark; man-eating creatures loped happily around a field of hurriedly scattering school children as a half-giant tried to tame them; a short gnome-like wizard was standing on a heap of books teaching first years how to levitate feathers (and accidentally transforming his desk into a large, fluffy bunny rabbit); and a greasy haired, hook nosed, dark eyed man was stood, scowling as he surveyed the work of one Harry James Potter. The man, of course, was Severus Snape.

"Once again, Potter," he spat hatefully, an evil smirk on his features, "you have managed to make a complete mess of today's assignment. Perhaps your time would be better spent studying than playing foolhardy and dangerous games? Though, with your track record, it would be in vain. I do so wonder how on earth you passed your OWL Potions, when you hand this," he lifted the ladle from the cauldron, and spilled the thick, soupy mixture back into the simmering liquid, "in every lesson. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and an eighteen inch essay on precisely what went wrong."

Harry glowered at his teacher, his emerald eyes narrowed as he quickly poured the required amount of potion into his flask, giving it to Hermione to hand in. The bushy-haired girl gave him a sympathetic look, before taking their flasks to the front. Luckily, Snape was now berating a poor Ravenclaw over his shoddy cutting skills, and he didn't notice. Last time she had helped out Harry, they had had fifty points from Gryffindor and detention 'in case she had used her own potion for his mark by accident'.

About five minutes before the bell was due to go, there was a knock on the door. Most of the class found their attention drawn immediately – after all, who would dare enter Snape's class? When Snape barked at whomever it was to enter, they did so, and the door opened creakily to reveal Professor McGonagall.

As Harry and Hermione shared a worried look, everyone else started whispering at the new arrival.

"Silence!" snarled the Potions Master, before turning back to his colleague. "Was there a problem, Minerva?" Professor McGonagall pursed her lips, and answered from the door.

"Professor Dumbledore has asked for your presence, Severus." A startled look passed over his black eyes so fast no one saw it, before he rose stiffly.

"I'm sure the Headmaster will understand that I am teaching a class. Inform him I will be along shortly."

"Now, Severus. He was most insistent. It will not hurt you to let this class go early for once." Her sharp eyes passed over the class, pausing briefly on Harrys' face, her expression unreadable. "He wants to see you too, Potter." She said to him, and all eyes snapped onto the teen as his eyes widened slightly, and he cast a glance at Hermione, who shrugged slightly.

"Very well." Said Snape annoyed, and he turned to Harry with an icy glare. "Come, Potter."

Shouldering his bag, he followed the snarky black robed man as he swept out of the room, ignoring the stares they received. He had to jog to keep up with the older man's long strides (which he felt was at least partially the reason why the man did it – making him look daft), but when they reached the gargoyle that led to Professor Dumbledore's office, he smirked evilly at the panting Harry, muttering the password – Sherbet Shooting Stars.

Professor Dumbledore's office looked the same as ever, with silvery trinkets (a few less than last year, Harry thought guiltily) and the magnificent phoenix, Fawkes. The man himself was stood at the window overlooking the grounds, his back to them. When he turned, his eyes contained a mysterious sparkle that Harry couldn't help but feel suspicious about, and his lips were smiling as he offered them tea and a sherbet lemon. He asked them to sit, and popped a yellow candy in his mouth, reaching for three matching envelopes on his desk, and drawing them close. Finally, impatient and annoyed at having his lesson interrupted, Snape spoke.

"Albus, not that I don't sincerely enjoy this chance for a chat," his voice dripped sarcasm like treacle "I was interrupted in a very valuable and potentially dangerous Sixth Year Potions lesson by Minerva, who insisted I come here, Potter too. If I may ask, why?"

"I apologise my dear boy, I hadn't realised the Doxy Anti Venom Potion was so 'valuable and potentially dangerous'. I had always thought of it as rather a harmless potion, especially to trained sixth years." He said mildly, looking over his glasses at Snape. Harry stifled a grin. If Doxy Anti Venom Potion was 'valuable and potentially dangerous', then he was Snape's biological son. "How are you, Harry?"

"Fine, sir." Harry said, smiling slightly. The old man nodded, and turned his attention once again to the letters.

"I was quite amazed this morning to see Fawkes return from his recent sojourn, with these in his claws." Albus said, all businesslike. "I was further surprised to find that they were addressed to myself, you, Severus, and you, Harry. I have already read the one addressed to myself, and Fawkes seemed in rather a hurry for you to receive yours, and so I had to interrupt your lesson." He handed the two letters to Harry and Snape, the older mans' eyes narrowing and his gaze flitting up as he recognised the neat handwriting. Albus returned his gaze levelly, and he swept out without being given permission to leave.

"You may go too, Harry. I dare say you are in rather a hurry to return to your lessons. What do you have next?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts." Replied Harry with a lopsided grin, tucking the envelope into his bag. Albus smiled at him.

"Ah, and how are you getting on with Professor Turner?" he asked calmly, taking a sip from his cup of tea.

"Oh, quite well sir." He smirked inwardly. Professor Turner was downright terrified of him, half-scared he was under the thrall of Voldemort (a result of last years' Daily Prophet reports) and half-scared of his success in class. In fact, it was clear to most, if not all of the Sixth Years that Harry could easily teach the class better than the short spindly woman. Whilst not full of the Ministerial spite of Umbridge, the insanity of Crouch/Moody, the big-headedness of Lockhart and the sheer Voldemort-possessedness of Quirrel, she was still a pretty poor teacher, leaving Harry to resume the DA to ensure at least some defence was being taught.

"We're studying Dark Detectors at the moment, and I think it rather upsets her when it goes off in class." Albus raised an eyebrow almost playfully, and Harry elaborated. "Well, it appears that my link to Voldemort has a quite adverse affect of many of the Detectors, and they go off randomly in the middle of the lesson. Sometimes I'm no where near them when they go off."

"Most odd." Said Dumbledore, smiling slightly, his eyes twinkling. "And now you must go, I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

"Yes sir." Harry stood and slung his bag over his shoulder as he turned to the door and left.

Ron and Hermione stood at the bottom of the staircase, arguing again as he walked down and he watched them for a second with a small wry grin on his face before they noticed.

"He is a snarky bastard! He may be a teacher, but I can call him whatever I want! Besides, teachers are supposed to be fair, and if you call taking twenty points off of Gryffindor for looking at him the wrong way, then, then –"

"I'm not saying it's fair, Ron! I was just saying that calling him what you called him is uncalled for!" Hermione cut in quickly as he floundered. At that minute, Ron looked up and spied Harry.

"Harry! Is everything ok?" Hermione looked up and he grinned at them both, walking down the remaining stairs quickly.

"Yeah, fine." They walked off to class quickly, Hermione urging them on as she checked her watch. As they slid into desks at the back of the classroom, Professor Turner eyeing them nervously, as if wondering whether or not to raise the matter, Ron muttered under his breath to Harry.

"So what was the meeting about?"

"Tell you later." He whispered back as Hermione took pity on the professor and raised her hand.

"Er, yes, Miss Granger?"

"I just wanted to apologise for being late, Professor. We were waiting for Harry, while he was talking to Professor Dumbledore." Professor Turner nodded. Harry sniggered. Even if they'd told her they'd been sitting in the Owlery taking muggle drugs, drinking absinthe and planning to skip the lesson, she would answer the same way. Sure enough…

"Thank you, Miss Granger. Now –" she was cut off again as the large matt silver instrument behind her trembled and spun, emitting a loud siren noise. It was mushroom-shaped, with tiny little grooves along the lid – an Adversary Locator, Harry recognised from the DA class he had taught on Dark Detectors; crude, inefficient and loud, Aurors and sensible people loathed them, the Ministry loved them.

The class watched as she turned, annoyed to turn off the alarm. Just as she looked at it, it stopped. It lay dormant, not moving, and if it had had eyes, its expression would've been one of complete and utter innocence. Turning back to the class, she sat on the edge of her desk, her booted legs dangling in the air. The whole picture looked ridiculous, Harry reflected for a second. He wasn't exactly a connoisseur of female dress, but this was wrong. Paper white face, bright red lipstick, black eyeliner around her mud brown eyes (she looked a little like a panda), a long black suede skirt, floppy knee-high boots and a red top that would look rather pretty on anyone with the right structure.

"Now, today we –" she was cut off again as the detector went off again, whirring around very fast and whining loudly. She nearly fell off the table in her surprise, but quickly controlled herself and turned to the device, which suddenly fell dormant. A few of the class were starting to smirk by now, realising what was going on and not saying a word. In the past few lessons the sudden animation of detectors in one way or another (it was quite a memorable lesson the day one of them had actually spat fire at them all) had given them a lot of entertainment, so they just watched and waited.

The detector had resumed its innocent expression, so she just turned her back on it again.

"Today we are studying the Adversary Locator. Get out your quills and write that down, you're going to be writing notes on it this lesson." Barely anybody actually bothered to get out their quills and parchment, and those who did where probably getting out their homework from another lesson, or doodling as Harry could see one person was doing. When he craned his head curiously, he saw it was a rather detailed and beautiful sketch of a bird in flight, the clear lines making it almost jump off of the page. Unfortunately, he couldn't see who had drawn it, and his attention was once again brought to Professor Turner as she belatedly instructed them to get out their textbooks.

"The Adversary Locator is –" The detector went off again, almost as if the mere act of saying its name had caused it to go off. She turned back to it, and it settled innocently, as if to say 'Noise? What noise? I didn't make any noise.' Her thickly painted lips were pursed together in a comic attempt at the 'McGonagle Look'. She glanced around the room, but, unable to find the source, she resumed her lesson.

"The Adversary Locator is –" With the timing of a champion, the alarm went off again. Even Hermione was smiling now, her hand covering her mouth and a faintly guilty look. Ron was grinning and giggling sporadically despite trying to do his Charms homework, and Harry was openly smirking, leaning back on his chair, his hands behind his head and his feet on the table – the picture of casualness. The alarm quickly stopped without her turning this time, and half the class was sitting in anticipation of when it would go off next.

"The Adversary Locator is –" The device whined into life, then died quickly.

"The Adversary Locator –"

"The Adversary –"

"The –" The entire class was openly laughing now, and a random parchment aeroplane flew rings around the classroom, guided by a hidden wand Ron had under his desk. Hermione had given up trying to take notes and, to Harrys' surprise was actually charming a piece of parchment on her desk into the shape of a frog, which jumped around the room, croaking loudly. A few seconds later, a paper-fly joined it, buzzing around almost life-like and darting to and fro.

Next to join it, taking life from a snapped quill on the edge of Harrys desk, was a lopsided squirrel, the feathers moving to form its tail. It scurried along their desk and performed a flying leap onto Parvarti's desk at the far end of the room, where she and Lavender spent the next few minutes cooing over it. He was sure Hermione's new paper-animal menagerie would've been extensive if that hadn't been the moment that Professor Sprout entered, obviously wondering why it was so noisy in this classroom. All activity ceased immediately, and the room fell silent, even the detector.

"What is going on in here?" she exclaimed, glancing wide eyes over the messy classroom, where students still stood frozen in position, some sat on tables, others with wands and quills in their hands played with pieces of parchment, most sitting in the act of chatting with their mates. Justin Finch-Fletchley was even asleep, snoring lightly with his head resting on a plump pillow he had transfigured earlier in the lesson from a Bertie Botts sweet wrapper. It wasn't a very good transfiguration – the pillowcase was bright blue and read 'Bertie Botts Waltzing Walnuts' in large yellow letters, but Professor Sprout immediately pulled out her wand and reversed the spell, causing Justins' head to hit the desk with a thunk!

"Ah, Professor Sprout." Said Professor Turner, a sickly smile appearing on her lips. "How can I help you?"

"I was just wondering why there was so much noise coming from this classroom, Rachelle. It was disturbing me in the staff room."

"It's quite alright, Professor. I have everything under control." Sprout's eyes narrowed dubiously as she spotted Seamus, sitting, flicking through a magazine with magical headphones pumping music through his ears. Dean, sitting next to him, saw Sprout first, and prodded him quickly. Seamus meekly removed the headphones and wilted under her glare, his eyes on the table.

"Well, then, I shall leave you to your lesson. Sorry for having disturbed you, Rachelle."

"It's quite alright." Professor Turner simpered as the dumpy Herbology teacher left. As soon as the door closed, the noise and activity resumed, Seamus slipped his headphones back on and turned a page, and Hermione thoughtfully conjured a soft, fluffy red pillow for Justin, floated it across the room, and, lifting his head gently with another spell, slipped it under. He slept on, burrowing his head into the soft material, sending a small smile onto Hermione's face, and a scowl onto Ron's as he caught this exchange.

Turning suddenly, Ron's aeroplane, which had, meanwhile, landed on top of the blackboard, took flight again, heading straight for Justins' desk. It had a much more purposeful look about it now, and quickly dived to hit the top of the sandy-haired boys' head, blowing apart in a shower of parchment as it hit skin. Unfortunately, this did not have the desired effect for Ron, as Justin, woken by the action, looked down, saw the pillow, and grinned at Hermione across the room. She grinned back, blushing slightly, and turned her attention onto her next animal – a salamander.

Harry hid a smirk as he saw the tops of Rons' ears flush red, and lounged back in his chair, catching sight of the sketch of the bird again. It was finished now, the wings delicately detailed, its single eye staring out beadily and its beak almost shining. It was so lifelike as to be unreal, but Harry still couldn't see who the mysterious sketcher was. Half tempted to fly a note over there, his attention was drawn back to the lesson as he realised Professor Turner was actually talking. Time to remedy that.

With a sudden burst of noise, the alarm went off again, and this time, when the annoyed Professor turned, it kept going, almost falling off the desk in its enthusiasm. After several minutes of careful and not so careful tinkering, the detector was still spinning and emitting its siren noise, so she gave up and turned her back on it. It immediately stopped. She stood, her arms folded, waiting.

It whined once, almost questioningly, then stopped, and still she didn't turn. It whined again, louder, with a certain quality that seemed to suggest pictures of pathetic little animals. Still, she didn't so much as start. When it next whined, it seemed almost subdued, and she whirled around, clasping her fingers over it. It stopped.

"Right," she said. "Homework – I want all of you to write four feet on Adversary Locators, their uses and history. That's for tomorrow, sixth years –" Everyone groaned, and Hermione started whispering furiously about how she needed at least a week to find all the relevant information and data.

"Stupid cow." She spat.

"Tut tut, Hermione." Harry said with an easy grin. "Isn't that a little uncalled for?" She flushed, but snapped hotly.

"No, it isn't. She's worse than that idiot Umbridge." Harrys' expression set, and all traces of a grin disappeared from his face.

"No she isn't. At least Turner doesn't cut into our hands." Hermione looked up, a guilty expression on her face.

"Oh, sorry Harry, I forgot. I'm so sorry." She blurted as Harry rubbed at the thin scars on his hand. At that second, the device flared into life, louder than ever before, causing most to clap their hands over their ears. Professor Turner gave up at this point, and fled the classroom. As soon as the door was shut, the noise stopped, and Harry relaxed. As the class leisurely packed away their stuff, Ron turned to Harry with a wide grin.

"Good one Harry! That bit where she couldn't get a word in edgeways was pure genius! What's the score now?"

"Twenty-seven nil to us." Harry said, copying his grin and giving his best friend a high-five. Hermione shook her head with a grin.

"Twenty-eight." She said calmly, summoning her zoo of animals from across the classroom and lovingly packing them into a separate container. A half-finished rhinoceros on her desk was added as well, blinking its sole beady eye at her before she closed the lid.

"Twenty-eight? Were did we get the extra one?" Hermione shouldered her bag and stood up, Harry and Ron joining her.

"You forgot last lesson, where you were making it sing pop songs. That makes it twenty-eight. Honestly, you could be damaging rare and valuable equipment!"

"Yeah, who cares?" Harry said casually. "Any ideas on what I do next lesson? I was thinking maybe something to do with it spontaneously turning into a pot of Petunias. What do you think?"

"Hmmm," said Hermione thoughtfully, giving up on school rules in the face of adversity. "Making you could trial different types of potted plant…"

A solitary figure watched as they walked down the corridor to lunch, laughing and joking, Hermione reaching across to swipe Ron's shoulder as he mentioned Justin and the Pillow. His keen eyes were thoughtful and sad, but he turned away from them and went down another corridor. He wasn't ready.

It was chaos in the staff room that lunchtime.

"She had no control of the class whatsoever!"

"-could hear the noise all the way down in my Arithmancy classroom!"

"It was destroying the tenuous atmosphere in my tower, my aura was severely-"

"-students come out of her lessons like pixies!"

"Disgraceful, absolutely disgraceful!"

"Professors, please, let us have some order!" called Professor Dumbledore through the din, his hands held out calmly. Gradually, the hubbub quieted down, and he could speak. All of the teachers, with the exception of Professor Turner and Professor Sinistra who had stayed to make sure the school stayed in some semblance of order (the Astrology Professor had sent her apologies and own complaints to the meeting), where gathered in the staff room, some standing, most sitting.

"Now, can you please remain calm as we discuss this. Pomola, I believe it was you who called this emergency staff meeting, would you care to go first?"

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore." Professor Sprout stood and looked across at her colleagues. Even Snape and Trelawney were here, the former standing in the back corner of the room like some sort of scowling shadow, a mass of greasy hair masking his features. The dozy Divination professor was perched on a spindly wooden chair, smelling strongly of incense. "Now," she started, clasping her hands together worriedly. "I'm not normally one to criticise a co-worker, but in this case I feel I really must insist.

I was sat in here just before lunch, marking some of my third years' essays on the properties of hellebore, when I heard the most almighty racket. I went to go and investigate, and what did I find in her classroom but a gang of sixth years acting like hooligans! There was paper all over the floor, some were even asleep, and when I ask her if she needs a hand, she dismisses me as easy as you please! It has to stop!"

There were shouts and murmurs of agreement at this, and Professor Sprout sat down, her face flushed.

"Perhaps it is the students themselves, as opposed to their teacher." Snape said silkily, drawing everyone's attention. "After all, it is well known that Potter and his gang are in that class, and I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't the leader in this."

"Mr Potter knows better than to do anything of the sort!" Professor McGonagle cut in furiously, her eyes narrowed. "Myself, I find it strange that whenever something is mentioned going wrong in this school, you raise his name."

"Strange? Hardly. In case you hadn't noticed, Minerva, it almost certainly is his fault every time something goes wrong. First year, we were all led on a wild goose chase after him and his little friends, second year, the same, third year I myself am put in danger by Potter gallivanting around without any thought of danger. Fourth year –"

"This stops now." Dumbledore said sharply, giving Snape a hard look. The Slytherin bit his tongue obediently, but looked smugly around, having made his point. "I too doubt that Mr Potter has played in any part of this, no more than any other at least. I believe the topic of this meeting was Professor Turner?"

"Professor, I must insist you remove that woman! She is entirely disturbing the powerful clairvoyant energies in my class by causing such a racket! One's Inner Eye needs peace and tranquillity to gaze into the depths of the future, and I cannot teach and train my young Seers whilst that is going on!" Professor Trelawney was white, with tiny spots of red on her cheeks. It was to many quite a shock to see the normally dozy teacher actually get worked up about something, and she was actually receiving a lot of attention. Even Professor McGonagle was faintly interested, but that may be more due to the subject matter than the messenger.

"Enough." Said Professor Dumbledore gravely, getting to his feet. "I will talk to Professor Turner if you are adamant about this, but I beg of you, please remain calm. She may just be getting used to the idea of having thirty other people in the same room that she has to keep control of. It could just be a bad start."

"Albus, she cannot teach!" Minerva said impatiently. Professor Dumbledore shot her a look.

"I believe it is time for us to be getting to lunch. Professor Sinistra may require some assistance in the Great Hall, and I myself am looking forward to a spot of lunch. Coming, Minerva?" he asked the woman calmly as she regained control of her temper. She nodded, her lips still pursed, and swept out of the staff room behind the venerable headmaster.

Later that evening, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat in the library, poring over textbooks and reams of rolls of parchment, doing their homework. Hermione was scribbling away, a slight frown on her face as she quickly read, thought, and wrote, Ron was writing lazily occasionally, pausing now and then to question Hermione on something or other. Harry was sitting with a blank sheaf of parchment in front of him, his quill tapping his lip as he wondered whether or not to actually do the homework. She never checked anyway, especially not him – famous wizard and all (not that he liked it) – and he had a really bad headache. With a sudden sick feeling, he leapt up and looked at his watch.

"Shit!" he swore, getting a hard look from the stern librarian. He quickly swept his books and parchment into his bag, hastily screwed the lid on his pot of ink and threw that in too, quickly followed by an assortment of other items.

"What?" said Ron, looking up.

"Occlumency! I'm going to be late!" Harry whispered fiercely, shouldering his bag and getting up from his chair.

"Oh great, run mate. Snape's not in a good mood, apparently, the fifth years accidentally blew up his lab again earlier." Ron said, his face sympathetic.

"Good luck Harry!" whispered Hermione as he ran out, giving him thumbs up. He waved at them as he dashed out the door, narrowly missing a first year, who squeaked and fell into a bookshelf.

He was panting by the time he reached the dungeons, his tie askew, his face flushed and his hair in his eyes. 'Really, people ought to look where they're going' he fumed as he rubbed a spot on his arm where he had hit the wall dodging a band of giggling seventh year girls. After waiting a few seconds to get his breath back, he knocked, the sound echoing slightly down the empty stone corridor.

"Enter!" a harsh voice snapped from inside, and he did so, opening the door cautiously. Snape was sitting at his desk as usual, a sheaf of parchment scattered across the surface as he marked, red ink curling across them all like shining blood.

'Don't think about blood.' Harry told himself as he stepped inside. Lately, he had found that if he tried to not think of anything Voldemort/torture/vision related, he was less likely to get yelled at by an irate Professor. Muggles were fine, all would happen if he saw one of the many painful memories of Harrys' childhood was that he would sneer and patronise, and he could live with that.

"Hurry up, I haven't got all night!" Snape grated out, piling up the unmarked papers on a spare bit of desk, laying down his quill, and standing.

"Yes sir." Harry replied as politely as possible. After last year's incident, Harry had returned to Hogwarts steadfast that he would do anything and everything to stop the snake-faced bastard that had ruined his, and other countless lives. That, unfortunately, had included apologising and pleading with his least favourite Professor for Occlumency lessons. After all, what was the point in being able to defend yourself if your attacker could read your every move?

He dropped his satchel near to the door and drew his wand, moving to stand in the centre of the room, Snape moving to stand in front of him.

"Let's see if you can't do any better than last week's appalling attempt." He sneered, drawing his wand and pointing it nastily at Harry. Harry braced himself and tried to forget any thoughts of Vol- you know what out of his head, even as Snape called out.

"Legillimens!" Immediately, he knew he had failed. Images and fluttering memories passed along his eyelids as he tried vainly to resist. Golly, Snape really knew how to hit him hard, he thought, gritting his teeth as he relived his worst memories…

The sounds of someone stumbling from a room – a door bursting open – a cackle of high-pitched laughter…

…"Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything –"

"Stand aside – stand aside, girl –"…

…"Come on, you can do better than that!" he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room.

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest.

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock.

Harry released Neville, though he was unaware of doing so. He was jumping down the steps again, pulling out his wand, as Dumbledore, too, turned towards the dais.

It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil hanging from the arch.

Harry saw a look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind, then fell back into place…

Harry emerged from his memories sweating and panting as though he had run a marathon. He was on his knees, his head bowed from person he hated most (bar Voldemort, Bellatrix and Pettigrew). He could feel the tears on his face mingling with his sweat as he tried to regain his breath and control, before standing weakly.

"Not good enough, you handed them to me on a plate!" Snape snapped at the student as he lifted the spell, ignoring his own thoughts on the memory of Lily's voice. "How can you expect to win against the Dark Lord if you are handing your thoughts to him, weapons he can use against you!"

Harry gritted his teeth and brushed the sweaty hair out of his eyes, forcing down his anger. 'Deep breaths, that's it,' he thought to himself as he attempted to clear his mind, before he was attacked again…

... He was in the graveyard. A cold wind blew through his hair as he glanced round fearfully.

"Kill the spare." hissed a voice all too familiar to him. Chest constricting in fear, Harry realised to his horror he couldn't move. He was stuck.

"Avada Kedavra." another voice called. There was a flash of green light, and all of a sudden Harry could move. He twisted just in time to see the spell burrow into Cedric's body, his face pale, his eyes widening and rolling into his head. He was dead. Dead, and it was all Harry's fault ...

"Are you truly incompetent?" Snape sneered as he pulled his mind out of the younger mans'. 'Are you?' Harry thought fiercely in response, biting his tongue hard to keep from retorting. 'Can't you see this is getting nowhere?' He was on his knees again, and stood quickly, nearly staggering back in exhaustion. Blimey, that headache was getting worse.

Snape eyed his student distastefully. The idiot wasn't even trying, that much was obvious. If it wasn't for Albus having intervened, he would've ignored him when he had come to apologise. He had endangered the entire Order and the Ministry, heck, the Wizarding world again only last year, and it was only his own fault that he got his mutt of a godfather killed. If he had done what he was told…

"Again?" he asked sarcastically as Harry blinked to clear his thoughts. The younger mans' face set, and he nodded.

"Legillimens!" he yelled, immediately beset by another myriad of images. Not even a smidgeon of a barrier…

…"Get him, dearie. Get that nasty boy for knocking over your bowl. Then Mummie will get you some more, won't she, diddums?" Aunt Marge called out to her large, slavering bulldog. Harry, five years old, was sitting, trembling in a tree in the back garden of 4 Privet Drive, desperately trying to get away from the dog, which barked and scratched up the tree at him.

"I'm sorry Aunt Marge, please, I'll come and clean it up for you. I'm sorry." The increasingly nervous boy called as the dog narrowly missed his elbow.

"Oh no, you little brat. You're staying there all night!" the large woman yelled, before turning to her dog. "Keep an eye on him, diddums. You can't trust that boy as far as you can throw him!" …

… "See what I have become?" the face said. "Mere shadow and vapour… I have form only when I can share another's body… but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds… Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks… you saw faithful Quirrel drinking it for me in the Forest… and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own… Now… why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

So he knew. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backwards.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better to save your own life and join me… or you'll meet the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy…"

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly.

Quirrel was walking backwards at him, so that Voldemort could still see him. The evil face was now smiling.

"How touching…" it hissed. "I always value bravery… Yes, boy, your parents were brave… I killed your father first and he put up a courageous fight… but your mother needn't have died… she was trying to protect you… Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."…

Once again, Harry felt Snape slip out of his thoughts, and found himself on the floor. He was panting rather hard, and the sweat was making his glasses slip down his nose. His head throbbing, he pushed them back up and dragged himself to his feet, feeling faintly dizzy as he did so.

"No better than before." Snape said coldly. "You are hopeless at this task, and you do not try at all. More effort, Potter, or the lessons will stop, and this time you cannot come crying back begging for forgiveness. Now go, I have work to do."

"Yes sir." Harry mumbled, lifting his bag with difficulty and stumbling from the room. 'Bastard,' he thought dimly as he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, 'sadistic bloody bastard.'

"Harry! Are you alright?" Hermione cried as he staggered into the mostly empty common room exactly two minutes before curfew. He groaned as her voice cut through his head like a saw, dropped his bag on the floor, and nearly collapsed into a leather armchair.

"Hey mate, bad lesson?" Ron asked concernedly, leaving his Quidditch magazine and coming to join the other two. Harry nodded carefully, wincing as pain lanced through his brain. Hermione sighed sympathetically, and produced a vial of pain relief potion Harry and she had brewed up in secret earlier that year. Harry was immensely grateful of his best friends' skill in potion making as it dulled some of the pain after swigging the lot.

"Thanks Hermione." He yawned, barely covering his mouth with a limp hand. "I think I'll go to bed."

"Good idea, mate. At least it's a Friday, so you don't have to get up tomorrow." Ron said as Harry picked up his bag and stood shakily.

"Yeah." He muttered. "'Night."

"'Night Harry." Hermione said, patting his arm before going back to her book.

"'Night." Said Ron, scowling at Hermione's concern over her best friend.

Within minutes of lying down in bed, barely getting into his pyjamas, Harry was asleep. Strange images of birds and fire and water, along with faces of people he knew or felt he should recognise passed through his dreams, but when he awoke late Saturday morning, he couldn't remember any of it.

FireOpal.