---

Severus stood, a little dazed, in the headmaster’s office, cradling his wand with trembling hands. Holding it again after three defenseless days, was like having a missing hand reattached. He blinked and gulped as Professor Dumbledore finished dropping thoughts into a Pensieve and turned back to address him.

“Have you ever heard of Legilimency or Occlumency?”

Severus shrugged. No, not exactly, but he wasn’t stupid.

"Legilimency is what your Auror friend did to me. And I suppose Occlumency,” he declared, recognising the spell he’d heard. Latin roots occludere, block, and mens, mind, “is how to stop it. Why would you want to teach me that?” How could they check his reports if he could block them? Or did the headmaster actually trust him? His heart flip-flopped and began thudding against his ribs. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself.

“Riddle is an expert Legilimens -”

“Who’s Riddle?” Severus burst out, then flushed and bit his lip. “Sir,” he added belatedly. This was shaping up to be a lesson. It was a relief to settle back into classroom habits. He could almost pretend the last few days hadn’t happened.

Dumbledore sighed.

"Tom Riddle was a student of mine about thirty years ago. He prefers to be known as Lord Voldemort now.”

Black eyes grew round with awe.

“You taught the Dark Lord?” the boy breathed. Everyone knew of course that Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald, collaborated with the alchemist Nicolas Flamel and discovered the twelve uses of dragon’s blood; it was on the Chocolate Frog cards. But this – this was unbelievable.

“He had to study somewhere.” The man stroked his silver beard. “He was a brilliant child, Head Boy too, but lost to the darkness even then.”

He hadn’t said which house Riddle was sorted into. 'I bet it was Slytherin,' Severus thought, scowling. 'That’s why he doesn’t give us a chance.'

Suddenly, his breath caught and his chest felt squeezed and small. He tried to gulp, swallowed the wrong way and wound up coughing. The Dark Lord is a Legilimens?

“He’ll know,” he breathed numbly when he could speak again. “If he looks at me, he’ll know straightaway. Are you sending me to die?”

The headmaster’s long-fingered hand clenched around his wand and his mouth firmed. Every time he sent anyone on a mission it might end in death. He’d sent too many, but what choice did he have?

“No, not if I can help it. That’s why you must master this as soon as possible.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed to slits. And if he couldn’t?

“You promised me a choice that wasn’t even in your power to give!” he accused.

“The gift was in my hands. The choice whether to utilise it is yours.” Dumbledore’s voice was slow and measured. “If he looks before you’ve learnt to shield, he’ll know, yes, but who’s to say he’ll look? If he’d looked at you before, would you even be here?”

Severus gulped and his brow furrowed. One long pale finger rubbed up and down his large nose.

“Maybe. I was still telling myself I’d learn to like it,” he admitted, then shuddered. His pale face grew paler and his breath came short and fast. “But maybe he’s just waiting till he’s in the mood. Maybe I’m to be their holiday treat.”

“Do you wish to draw back?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

“And go to Azkaban?”

Severus had been too locked in horror and self-disgust to think it through when he turned himself in, but he’d had time for reflection since then. He was no safer in Azkaban than at a meeting. He was no safer anywhere. He straightened his shoulders. Better to go fighting than hiding. At least, he’d have his wand. His hand tightened unconsciously on the slender stick.

“I – I’d rather be here now preparing for this.” His face screwed up. “Do I have any chance?”

“I wouldn’t send you if you didn’t. You’ll have time to grow more expert in the future,” Dumbledore reassured him. “For now, you only need to create a substitute memory of this last week to hide the real one behind. If you have any aptitude and you work at it, you should be able to get there.”

“But my absence from Hogwarts is suspicious, isn’t it? He’ll be sure to grill me within an inch of my life.”

“Everyone believes that you’re lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing with a Dormis bite, after having been found in the Forbidden Forest. He won’t expect you to remember much of anything.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as merrily as ever.

“The Forbidden Forest? Why on earth would I have gone there?” Severus protested.

“I can’t imagine. Listening to Sirius again, perhaps?”

Severus flushed brick red. 'I’m not that stupid,' he wanted to yell, but he’d been stupider, hadn’t he? And branded to prove it.

“Are you going to expel me?" he muttered. That was supposed to be the penalty for venturing there.

“No, but the detentions all next term will be splendid cover for your training,” the headmaster said placidly. “We’ll begin now. I’m going to enter your mind and you may resist me however you choose, with your wand or without it.”

Severus looked at him sidelong under lowered brows. He’d always been keener on Dark Arts than Charms, though he was competent at both. Was that an invitation?

“Even with Dark spells?”

“Not if you can stop yourself, but if you let me too deeply in, you may not be able to control what you cast. Face me now. Are you ready? One, two, three, Legilimens.”

Memories flashed past, like riffling through a deck of cards. Father was collapsing onto the road coming back from the Ministry. Lucine was mocking his grease-pot hair. A werewolf howled at the end of a passage. Black was showering him with cowpats outside Honeydukes. Potter was striping his face red and gold at a Quidditch match. Potter was dangling him upside down as Lupin pretended to read. Potter, with Head Boy badge, was transfiguring his homework into a swarm of bees –

Then he was blinking at an old wise face framed by silver hair and beard. His heart was racing and his knees buckling under him, but his mouth almost twitched into a smile. He’d known Dumbledore wouldn’t want to watch his precious Potter misbehaving.

“You wanted me to see those. You directed me there.” The headmaster looked him over with mingled admiration and reproach.

‘You never believed me,” Severus grumbled.

“You hexed them just as often.”

Severus glowered, staring sullenly at the floor. Everyone always assumed he’d thrown the first hex. As if he’d been stupid enough to start a feud when he was so outnumbered.

“This time, try to throw me out yourself, so I can assess the baseline you’re starting from. One, two, three, Legilimens.”

Mother was coughing blood. Father was hoisting his belt. Lucius was speechifying in the Common Room. His Transfiguration teacup grew long arms instead of legs and reached out to strangle him –

He scrunched his eyes shut but it didn’t break the connection.

- Throwing up in the Great Hall at the Graduation Ball, Black’s fist breaking his nose on the train, Lily Evans telling him to wash his – Get out, get out, Expelliarmus!

He opened his eyes, breathing heavily, his wand raised in white-knuckled defense. Dumbledore’s left hand was stretched out, grasping his wand by the middle as if he’d grabbed it in mid-air.

“Not bad,” the man approved, adjusting his half-moon spectacles that were knocked askew and twinkling over them. “Now close your eyes and clear your mind. Let your emotions go. Be blank and calm.”

Black eyes in a white face flickered and closed. Severus gulped. How to be blank and calm when his very bones were shivering?

Start with breathing. Slow, steady, slower, longer. Now imagery. He rolled up all his fear, anger, mistrust and shame like rolling up blankets, packing each one into a box then placing the boxes one by one into a Vanishing Cabinet. Just as he picked up the last one, the Cabinet turned inside out, exploding its contents back into his head.

He clenched his teeth. Breathe. Long deep breaths, loose, calm, let it flow. Let it flow out calm as the ocean on a summer’s day, clear blue sky, gentle swells, gravel crunching underfoot. But the wind rose and the waves began to crash into thunderous foam. That wasn’t working either.

Let your emotions go. Be blank and calm. Blank. An idea niggled at the back of his head.

“Give me a moment, sir,’ he muttered to forestall an interruption that might derail his train of thought.

Blank. Blank like unused parchment. Not quite. Blank like his third year History essay after Pettigrew had Accioed it and flung it in the lake. By the time he’d reached it, all the ink had washed away.

Yes, that was it. He wrote the emotions in large spiky letters, all the rage and despair he’d felt that day, the half-triumphant hope overlaying today’s sick terror, all the shame, loneliness, embarrassment, resentment, everything he’d ever felt. Then he dropped it into the water and watched it fade away. Fade, fade, fainter, fainter, all gone. His breathing slowed to match and his hands and teeth unclenched. He opened serene black eyes.

“I’m ready, sir.”

---

Teaser: He hadn’t been as ready as he thought…

A/N On the assumption that Snape tried to teach Harry as he himself was taught, the similarities with Harry’s first Occlumency lesson are deliberate. The difference is less the instructor’s patience than the student’s attitude. In canon, Snape answered all Harry’s questions with a minimum of insult, warned him before every attempt and kept his temper, whereas Harry was rude and obstinate, too angry to even try calming himself.