...in a white room, windowless, featureless, sitting before a desk, facing an expressionless man in formal robes of solid black.
It was their fourth day, on a Sunday evening. When you paid this much, you got your sessions any darned time you wanted, never mind the concept of weekends.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," the telepath said tonelessly, having cast the full suite of privacy spells.
"Hello, Mr. Bester," Harry said wearily. "Let's just get the initial shock out of the way, shall we?"
"You managed to surprise me?" the man said, now sounding slightly interested. "Well then." He pointed his wand and stared into Harry's eyes. "Legilimens."
There was a pause, and then the black-robed wizard jerked as if someone had touched him with a cattle prod.
"The Dark Lord is alive?" he choked. His eyes were suddenly wild. "Dumbledore turns himself invisible and sneaks into girls' dorm rooms?"
Harry sighed and looked down at his watch. In about another three seconds...
"So," the man said. He hadn't quite recovered his tonelessness. "You genuinely believe you're going to discover the secret rules of magic and become all-powerful."
"That's right," Harry said evenly, still looking at his watch. "I'm that overconfident."
"I wonder. It seems the Sorting Hat thinks you'll be the next Dark Lord."
"And you know I'm trying pretty hard not to be, and you saw that we already had a long discussion about whether you were willing to teach me Occlumency, and in the end you decided to do it, so can we just get this over with?"
"All right," said the man exactly six seconds later, same as last time. "Prepare yourself." He paused, and then said, his voice rather wistful, "Though I do wish I could remember that trick with the gold and silver."
Harry was finding himself very disturbed by how reproducible human thoughts were when you reset people back to the same initial conditions and exposed them to the same stimuli. It was dispelling illusions that a good reductionist wasn't supposed to have in the first place.
Harry was in a rather bad mood as he stomped out of his Herbology class the next Monday morning.
Hermione was seething alongside him.
The other children were still inside, a bit slow to assemble their things because they were gibbering excitedly to each other about Ravenclaw winning the year's second Quidditch match.
It seemed that last night after dinner, a girl had flown around on a broomstick for thirty minutes and then caught some sort of giant mosquito. There were other facts about what had happened during this match, but they were irrelevant.
Harry had missed this exciting sports event due to his Occlumency lesson, and also having a life.
He had then avoided all conversations in the Ravenclaw dorm, weren't Quieting Charms and magical trunks wonderful. He had eaten breakfast at the Gryffindor table.
But Harry couldn't avoid Herbology, and the Ravenclaws had talked about it before class, and after class, and during class, until Harry had looked up from the baby furcot whose diaper he was changing, and announced loudly that some of them were trying to learn about plants and Snitches didn't grow on anything so could they all please shut up about Quidditch. Everyone else present had given him shocked looks, except Hermione, who'd looked like she wanted to applaud, and Professor Sprout, who had awarded him a point for Ravenclaw.
A point for Ravenclaw.
One point.
The seven idiots on their idiot brooms playing their idiot game had earned one hundred and ninety points for Ravenclaw.
It seemed that Quidditch scores added directly onto the House points total.
In other words, catching a golden mosquito was worth 150 House points.
Harry couldn't even imagine what he would have to do to earn one hundred and fifty House points.
Besides, y'know, rescuing a hundred and fifty Hufflepuffs, or coming up with fifteen ideas as good as putting protective shells on time machines, or inventing one thousand five hundred creative ways to kill people, or being Hermione Granger for the entire year.
"We should kill them," Harry said to Hermione, who was walking beside him with an equally offended air.
"Who?" said Hermione. "The Quidditch team?"
"I was thinking of everyone involved in any way with Quidditch anywhere, but the Ravenclaw team would be a start, yes."
Hermione's lips were pursed disapprovingly. "You do know that killing people is wrong, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"Okay, just checking," Hermione said. "Let's get the Seeker first. I've read some Agatha Christie mysteries, do you know how we can get her onto a train?"
"Two students plotting murder," said a dry voice. "How shocking."
From around a nearby corner strolled a man in lightly spotted robes, his greasy hair falling long and unkempt about his shoulders. Deadly danger seemed to radiate out from him, filling the hallway with improperly mixed potions and accidental falls and people dying in bed of what the Aurors would rule to be natural causes.
Without thinking about it at all, Harry stepped in front of Hermione.
There was an intake of breath from behind him, and then a moment later Hermione brushed past and stepped in front of him. "Run, Harry!" she said. "Boys shouldn't have to be in danger."
Severus Snape smiled mirthlessly. "Amusing. I request a moment of your time, Potter, if you can tear yourself away from your flirtations with Miss Granger."
Suddenly there was a very worried look on Hermione's face. She turned to Harry and opened her mouth, then paused, looking distressed.
"Oh, don't worry, Miss Granger," said Severus's silky voice. "I promise to return your beau unmaimed." His smile vanished. "Now Potter and I are about to go off and have a private conversation, just by ourselves. I hope it is clear that you are not invited, but just in case, consider that an order from a Hogwarts professor. I'm sure a good little girl like you won't disobey."
And Severus turned and walked back around the corner. "Coming, Potter?" his voice said.
"Um," Harry said to Hermione. "Can I just sort of go off and follow him and let you work out what I should say to make sure you're not all worried and offended?"
"No," Hermione said, her voice trembling.
Severus's laughter echoed from around the corner.
Harry bowed his head. "Sorry," he said lowly, "really," and he went off after the Potions Master.
"So," Harry said. There were no other sounds now but two pairs of legs, the long and the short, padding across a random stone corridor. The Potions Master was striding quickly but not too fast for Harry to keep up, and insofar as Harry could apply the concept of directionality to Hogwarts, they were moving away from the frequented areas. "What's this about?"
"I don't suppose you could explain," Severus said dryly, "why the two of you were plotting to murder Cho Chang?"
"I don't suppose you could explain," Harry said dryly, "in your capacity as an official of the Hogwarts school system, why catching a golden mosquito is deemed an academic accomplishment worthy of a hundred and fifty House points?"
A smile crossed Severus's lips. "Dear me, and I thought you were supposed to be perceptive. Are you truly so incapable of understanding your classmates, Potter, or do you dislike them too much to try? If Quidditch scores did not count toward the House Cup then none of them would care about House points at all. It would merely be an obscure contest for students like you and Miss Granger."