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“Shut the door behind you, Potter.”
.
Harry reached up and, in a motion meant to be seen as fixing his hair, subtly checked his pulse. It was racing. Funny, because he felt rather numb.
He hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning. Or, as it reached the afternoon, lunch. His stomach had been churning relentlessly ever since his nightmares woke him up.
Harry was exhausted. He could barely keep his eyes open in class; he most certainly didn’t have time for whatever this would turn out to be.
“I am about to attempt to break into your mind,” Snape was saying, in that soft tone that was somehow leagues more terrifying than a raised voice, “And we are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse.”
A shred of fear slipped through the numbness. (Yes, that must be the cause of my pulse, thought Harry absentmindedly, and I’m just now feeling it. Inconvenient.)
Harry had a sickening feeling that if someone case Imperio on him right then, he would be more than happy to let go of his mind.
He caught himself. That was a dangerous thought; true, yes, but he couldn’t afford to let it be. Harry took a second to steel himself -- he needed the mindset to throw of the Imperius, so he would have to be more stubborn than Snape, what even was his luck -- as his professor sneered and suggested that he take out his wand.
“...giving you the advantage,” the man was saying. “Perhaps you’ll surprise me and manage at least a poor defense. If you can’t… well.”
No one will be surprised, Harry finished dryly. He did not want to be here, he did not want to be doing this, he wanted to sleep --
Harry pushed those thoughts to the side, blinking hard and calling forth the will to learn that he felt with halfway decent teachers.
“Legilimens,” Snape hissed, and Harry quickly took note of the incantation and wand movement -- it looked still, but there was possibly a bit of a jab in there, though that might just be Snape --
Flickers of thought and memory flashed through Harry’s mind. The sensation was uniquely horrifying; he couldn’t feel Snape digging around in his head, but he could tell that his thoughts were jumbled, out of order, just like when --
the dementor drew closer and the woman kept screaming his name and he knew that it wasn’t real but it was, it was
Nope, Harry thought decisively, Snape does not get to see that one. Or any one, for that matter, but images were flowing more clearly now --
the stupid mutt was chasing him up a tree, and he couldn’t think he didn’t know how to get away why was it always him
I don’t even like these memories, Harry thought sullenly, and then they were gone and Snape was glaring at him and rubbing his knee.
“Did you mean to case a Stinging Hex?” His professor snarled. Harry bit back the instinctive, Well it worked, didn’t it, and instead muttered a quick negative.
“Of course not,” Snape said, his lip curled in disgust. “Repel me with your brain, this time, instead of resorting to your wand.”
Harry did a quick check-in with himself, the way he did when he was facing a particularly difficult Transformation that Hermione, of course, had already done on the first try. It happened too quick. You don’t know how to put a defense together in the first place, much less erect one in so little time.
First instinct: Ask for help. Unfortunately, Snape won’t do shit, the sadist.
Second instinct: Wing it. But you don’t even know where to start. That certainly complicates the situation.
Third instinct: Ignore problem entirely and come back to it later when you’re better mentally prepared. Not an option. It has to happen now.
He was trying to deny Snape access to his mind. That was it. Snape wanted in, and Harry wanted him out. In duelling, Harry would cast a shield. But that only really worked if his opponent was weaker or slower than he was, both of which Snape wasn’t.
Harry wouldn’t be able to keep Snape out of his mind. He could exhaust himself trying, but he would never measure up, especially since the dour man had no intention of actually teaching him how.
He couldn’t ask for help and he couldn’t rely on pure power. It seemed hopeless. He didn’t have a single advantage, nothing to even the playing field, and he would just have to sit there and take it until Snape had had his fun.
A strong feeling of revulsion overcame Harry. He had to win. Somehow. He didn’t have time to think --
-- but what would he do if this was any other project, that everyone else could do but him? Easy. He would go off on a tangent until his mind worked it out for him. His brain was a tool , and he would use it.
Memory -- what was memory? Memory was a tangled mess of senses and emotions. He could remember touch well enough to feel ghostly fingers traveling over his skin. He could remember sound until he thought he heard something for real. He could remember pain, oh yes, he could remember pain --
-- no. He didn’t want to think about that, not while Snape was here.
And just like that, Harry had an idea. Third instinct: Ignore problem entirely. Unfortunately, a loud mental LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALA would only irritate Snape, and then his professor would try harder, and Harry already had the beginnings of a migraine.
But if Harry did what he always did, what he did with his normal thoughts, because that’s all Snape’s mind was doing, really, bringing out his memories, and what were memories if not thoughts --
Harry was trying to deny Snape access to his mind, but he couldn’t.
There it was. The problem and the solution, all wrapped up in one.
He was trying, but he couldn’t. And that’s how he would.
“Ready, Sir,” Harry murmured, and looked Snape in his dark, glittering eyes. With a quick spell, his memories were flashing once again, and Harry felt them being brought to the surface, and no, Harry couldn’t let that happen, no --
But by focusing on keeping the memory away, Harry was inadvertently thinking about it, so he stopped trying. He let the memory float by, not bothering to identify what it was, and felt his mind move on.
Harry was completely honest to himself. It was a personal policy of his. For as terrible as life would get, and it seemed to be getting worse by the year, he would never pretend that anything was anything other than what it was.
With that said, Harry lied to himself every second of every day.
And that was how he would do it. He couldn’t deny Snape the access itself, but he could very well make sure there was nothing to find.
Harry knew himself well enough that he had no trouble with lying. (Well, no, he did have trouble, but that was sort of the process too, because if he lost himself, oh, how scared he was of losing himself --)
Pink elephants, Harry thought mildly, and that particular train of thoughts dissipated.
And then another memory came forward --
mistletoe, dark and green, hanging above them as Cho --
Harry thought of the burning fire in the Gryffindor common room, warm and wonderful and --
-- it would seem that Snape had locked onto that image too, interesting, he could --
Harry quietly dismissed thoughts as quickly as they came. His mind was chaotic, jumping from here to there, never staying --
And his mind was calm.
-- raging, back and forth, memory after memory in quick succession --
Calm.
And Harry felt better than he had in --
Hello, there, something within him crooned, and he moved to dissipate the thought but something stopped him, because this voice wasn’t a memory, something about it rang different --
He listened, patiently, before reaching the quiet revelation that that, that was him --
Harry pushed that thought away, too, before it could even form, because his mind worked faster than it could rationalize itself into words and concise concepts --
Hello, there, the something whispered again, sounding dangerously malicious as it found the traitor, the presence in his head that was still ordered --
His brain was a tool, faster than Harry ever was, and now it seeked Snape out.
Intruder, his mind sang. I can hear you. I can smell you.
The words reverberated through his thoughts, and distantly, Harry realized that he was still in the classroom, still facing Snape who looked so deeply into his eyes --
-- and then that thought was gone too, replaced by clear, ringing words.
You can stay, his mind purred. I’ll make a spot. There's plenty of room in here, I promise.
The organized presence pushed father, harder, and Harry stepped back and let his mind be --
-- Stay with me, whispered his mind --
And then the other presence left, and Snape was left panting, his lip curled father than Harry had thought possible, less than a sneer and more of a growl.
He left, Harry’s mind pouted, and his thoughts came crashing back full force.
Harry stopped. Closed his eyes. Breathed. He was exhausted, but he felt calmer than he had in weeks.
His head lolled. He smiled.
“What,” hissed Snape, “was that?”
“Hm?” Harry hummed, not quite up to talking yet, but no, he needed to get back to thinking, now, so he wrestled with the idea of pink elephants before replying. His voice was nothing more than a murmur, but it echoed through the room. “Self-induced Imperius, I suppose.”
“That is not --”
“Not what, Professor?”
Perhaps he shouldn’t have interrupter, Harry mused, as Snape’s face turned an alarming shade of red, reminiscent of the largest Dursley. But there was something in his head, something floaty that he hadn’t quite yet brought to heel --
“I don’t know how one’s supposed to do Occlumency, Professor, considering I was given no instruction and no time to prepare, but I did what I could. And I think what I could turned out rather well, don’t you agree?”
“I don’t know what you did, Potter, but it should never happen again --”
“But it worked,” Harry murmured. He swayed in his seat.
“Explain to me what exactly you did,” Snape said, something alight in his eyes, something almost resembling concern. Harry fought a giggle; that would not help his situation.
“Have you ever read a book aloud, Professor?” Harry asked rhetorically. “If you read word by word as you see the, you stumble. You never get the right inflection, never know where to pause or keep going --”
“Your point, Potter ?”
Harry ignored him. “The trick is, you always read a couple words ahead. You’re always farther in your thoughts than you are in your spoken words, because your mind works faster than your mouth could ever hope to.”
“Pott --”
“But say you read those words in your head and cut them off before you say them aloud, because really, you don’t need those words, you know their symbolism well enough to ignore the pronunciation, you don’t need to spell out each and every letter to get across meaning, if it’s all in your own head.”
Despite himself, Snape almost looked interested.
“And really,” Harry continued, his voice rising and flowing in a sort of sing-song melody, “if you’re reading a book and you have the thoughts in your head and you can cut them off before they ever reach the page, well.”
“Resulting in a sub-par Occlumency barrier, but only if the definition is being stretched… obscenely. ”
Harry hummed his agreement. “And that, I suppose, if you really want to know, is what I did first -- before I realized that thoughts, thoughts are just as tedious, thoughts can give just as much away, because you’re not up against another person, you’re up against another mind.”
“And the logical next step is to self-cast the Imperius,” Snape continued dryly.
“You said yourself, the barrier is sub-par. If the thoughts can give you away, you change the thoughts.”
“By eliminating them entirely? ”
“Of course not. By leaving them unfinished.”
“Pott --”
“What’s two plus two, Professor?” When Snape only raised a single eyebrow, Harry forged on, even as a bit of him was doubtful that it was smart to give so much away to an enemy. “If you asked me that five minutes ago, I would have to tell you ‘I don’t know’. But, if I was being equally truthful, I could also say ‘three’ or ‘five’.”
“Clever, until you lose yourself in your own mind.”
“If you ask me now, I can tell you in full confidence that two plus two equals four. Five minutes ago, you could have tried to ferret out that answer and never get close, because it’s not there.”
“But something was. You spoke.” The man sounded disgusted.
“To keep you out I had to keep you in,” Harry sang, drawing out the last word into two syllables. “But you’ll never understand, will you, because it’s so easy to understand that it’s impossible,” his words began to slur together, “when really, this is how I’ll end up winning this war, I’ll win this war because I lost, because I’ll learn how to think without thinking --”
“Potter. Stop.”
Harry’s thoughts were running away from him again, and it was getting harder and harder to keep track of himself, and --
“Oh,” said Harry, frowning. “I think I just gave away my plan. That wasn’t very smart.”
Snape started to speak, but Harry never heard what was meant to be said, as he lazily raised his wand to his professor’s forehead and murmured, “Obliviate.”
Harry was thinking now. Snape was a self-proclaimed Occlumency master; he’d surely discover a gap in his memories. But stronger than that, stronger than that was his absolute loathing for the boy known as Harry (James) Potter.
“I was emotional and insolent, and did not give effort to learn. You saw embarrassing memories; I stormed out in an impressive display of teenage immaturity. You went back to grading essays; the overwhelming incompetence of the first-years gave you a headache, and you were right about to take a Potion for the pain.”
Harry walked out, arranging his smile into an indignant scowl. He deepened his breathing -- more air -- then shortened it -- faster --, conjuring feelings of anger, and hurt, because he had trusted Dumbledore and he hated Snape for all he was worth, the slimy git.
How could he, but no, Snape was just that sick, enjoying his pain and humiliation wherever he could get it, of course he could, but how dare, Harry should go to Dumbledore, he should do something, he just felt so trapped --
Perfect, Harry almost thought, but banished the notion before it could take form.