"At any rate, I would expect you to be fully at ease with your facility in snake language, by now," Snape went on. "Since second year you've known, haven't you? It shouldn't still be troubling you."
"Ha, and wasn't that fun, having everyone think I was the Heir of Slytherin out to cleanse the school of Muggleborns."
"An unlikely scenario," Snape concurred, smiling slightly as he folded his hands across his waist.
"Except for a python at the zoo when I was ten," Harry volunteered, "I've heard Parseltongue only from Voldemort's pet snake, the Basilisk, and that serpent Malfoy conjured in a duel. Not exactly a catalogue of heart-warming experiences."
"Well, then chat with Sals more," Snape suggested. "You might as well get used to your talents, Harry. They are part of you, whatever the headmaster may have said."
"Lets just get on with the lesson, Professor," Harry sighed, tired of talking about it.
"In a moment. Do you actually know what your father did for a living, Harry?"
Harry snorted, thinking that Snape had heard a good deal more than he'd let on. "Did he do anything?" he retorted. "I mean, considering the Potters have more wizard gold than the rest of the world thinks decent?"
"That sounds like Lupin talking. I won't deny that James was rich, or that I didn't appreciate the way he treated me during our school years. The fact that you looked so much like him at first glance certainly influenced me . . . for years, Harry. But the picture you've built up since looking in that pensieve? It's not a good one."
"You don't have to tell me that!" Harry hotly disclaimed. More uncomfortable by the second, he scooted to the floor where they'd worked the night before, and prompted, "Occlumency?"
Snape stood, and reaching down, pulled him up to stand, then leaned down slightly to speak face to face. "I do have to tell you this," he vowed. "The pensieve is not objective, Harry. What you saw was a reconstruction of my perceptions of that day. No doubt they have their truth, but they also have their flaws. And what you saw was but one day out of your father's entire life."
"Sirius told me they were always picking on you!" Harry objected.
"True, but that day was exceptionally grim," Snape informed him. "James does not come out of it well, but you have apparently decided that he was entirely without worth. That . . ." The Potions Master cleared his throat. "That is not so."
Harry huffed. "Next you'll be saying that when all was said and done, you ended up liking him!"
"I did not like him," Snape denied. "I never liked him. By the time we were grown, there was too much . . . water under the bridge, if you will." A moment of indecision, and Snape was settling his hands atop the boy's shoulders. "But Harry, he wasn't fifteen forever. He became a fine man, and though we could never have been friends, in the end I did respect him. He and Lily thrice defied the Dark Lord, you know that. James was in the Order, a dedicated wizard doing all he could to protect probable victims and bring Death Eaters to justice. He did the work of an Auror, though he refused all pay. That was not just due to his family wealth; the Ministry then was not much more competent than it is now. James preferred to remain unaffiliated with official policy, which was unfortunately all too apt to bend to political whims."
Not knowing what to say to all that, really, Harry admitted, "Nobody's ever told me that much about him at once, Professor."
"When people say you are like him, they are thinking of the man he became, you know," Snape answered, "not the one you saw in my pensieve."
Harry drew in a deep breath, then released it. It shouldn't matter to him that Snape had practically admitted that in the end, he'd forgiven James. It shouldn't matter . . . but somehow, it did. He felt better. Not about everything, but at least about some things.
Still, he shrugged off his teacher's hands to say, "Can we get to the Occlumency, now?"
"You're still nervous," Snape observed.
"Well, I can't not be, can I?" asked Harry. "I mean, it was great and all, but having you fill my head with . . . stuff, was still pretty weird. Honestly, I do think some whiskey would help."
Snape stepped back a measured pace. "You must be able to achieve a cleared mind without such aids. And without me, Harry. Tonight we will go about things a little bit differently. We'll try it without physical contact."
"And then, without you even entering my mind, I bet," Harry guessed. "And then what? Is that it? I think it'd help me to know the whole plan, if you don't mind. I mean, if it won't be counterproductive or something."
"It shouldn't be," Snape commented. "Your being able to repress all thought, and to do it without external aid, is the first critical step, but it is by no means the last. You must be able to maintain your calm even in the face of attack. Beyond even that, however, is the fact that the Dark Lord is a far more skilled Legilimens than I. What you truly need is the ability to convince him not to attack you with all his strength."
He motioned for Harry to sit, then sank to the floor facing him, his robes billowing out as he knelt.
"How am I going to convince Voldemort of anything?" Harry questioned, hands lightly gripping his own knees at the sound of the question itself. "I can't see him backing off on my say-so."
Snape raised an eyebrow in unmistakable challenge, and drawled, "Oh, come now, Mr Potter, surely you see the way?" When Harry just shook his head, Snape's voice grew slightly more biting. "Only part of you is a pure and honest Gryffindor, you know."
Cunning . . . Slytherin cunning . . . "Oh, you're talking about . . . misdirection, aren't you?"
"Why are you afraid to call it what it is?"
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, not knowing what to say.
"Lying is no more evil than are the very Darkest Arts, Harry," Snape remarked in an entirely conversational tone. "It all depends upon the purpose to which the misdirection is put."
"Right," Harry answered, feeling more confident. "Voldemort is stronger than me, so I have to be smarter than him--"
"The Dark Lord is not stronger than you. He marked you his equal."
Harry stared at his teacher, feeling like all the blood in his body was rushing away from his brain to make him remarkably stupid. Snape couldn't have meant what he'd just said. He couldn't. It was ridiculous. He wasn't even Snape's equal, let alone Voldemort's!
"Look, I told you," Harry began. "Everyone thinks I've bested him, but it isn't true. I had help, every time, I told you that!"
Snape waved a hand as though none of that was of any import. "Nevertheless, the Dark Lord has no more power than you do; the prophecy speaks to that. What he does have is a far better grasp of how to channel his magic. You have virtually no such grasp."
"I have virtually no magic, Professor," Harry argued, his thoughts roiling. "I should have listened to you and Hermione, and stayed well clear of Muggle doctors! It's my own stupid fault I've lost my powers, I should have left Aunt Petunia to her fate, as you said. It's not like I ended up helping her any, is it? And now if the whole Wizarding world falls, that will be my fault, too! I'll be responsible for every last thing that dark bastard does--"
"Much as it gratifies me to be classed with Miss Granger in anything," Snape smoothly interrupted, "you should not forget that your motive was to safeguard your wards. You were trying to protect yourself until such time as you were ready to face the Dark Lord. I know this, as does Albus."
"Yeah, well fat lot of good my pure Gryffindor motives do us now," Harry bit out, chewing the inside of his cheek, he was so agitated. "I should have let the damned hat put me in Slytherin."
"Well, at least you named your new friend Sals."
The remark relieved some of the tension gripping the room, as did Snape's quirked smile. "As for what is past, Harry, you must let it be past. Even the most unfortunate decisions can turn out well, when one takes a longer view of matters."