“Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. How are you doing?”
Harry shrugged. “I'm okay.”
“Just okay?”
“What's wrong with okay?”
Professor McGonagall smiled. “Alright then. Did you get the reading done?”
“Yeah.”
The Professor gave him a look.
“Errm...yes, Professor.”
“Good. Was there anything you didn't understand?”
“Not really. I've only ever tried 'basic' transfiguration, but it makes sense that it would be the most stable.”
“Makes sense how, Mr. Potter? Have you studied this before?”
“No, I just mean, dead things are meant to remain dead, not be turned into living things. It surprises me more that one can turn a living thing into something inanimate, and vice-versa, then that it's difficult or doesn't last long.”
“All right. That does not mean that all 'basic' transfigurations are the same difficulty, however. What makes different basic transfigurations more or less difficult?”
“Complexity and size.” Harry answered quickly, then added, uncertainly, “and – never mind.”
“Go on.”
“I was gonna say, 'and what it's made of,' but the book doesn't mention it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, it's easier for me to turn a coin into a toy car then to use an acorn, 'cause they're both metal.”
“Ah. Good observation, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin. I believe that falls under the 'complexity' category in the book, but you're right that it doesn't seem to fit there. Now, why is it that some wizards are better at more complex transfigurations, while other wizards are better at simpler, but larger ones?”
“Size is about power, while complexity is about – intelligence, maybe? You have to be able to understand what you're transfiguring.”
“Very good. What is a 'complex' transfiguration, then?”
“Like...like a watch, maybe. Something that's supposed to work somehow. Like when I first made the car, the wheels didn't turn 'cause I forgot about the axle.”
“Precisely.” McGonagall shook her head. “Now, was there anything in the reading that you didn't already know intuitively?”
“Intu-whatsits?”
“Intuitively. Was there anything in the reading that you didn't get just from having done it?”
“Errm...maybe the bit about liquids and solids and stuff?”
“Ah. Yes. That is important. You cannot transfigure substances across chemical phases.”
“Yeah, that helps,” Harry said sarcastically.
“Mr. Potter,” warned the Professor.
“Sorry. That really didn't help, though.”
“If you would wait for me to explain...” she said impatiently.
Harry stayed quiet.
“Hmm. Now. You studied chemistry in school, I imagine?”
“A little.”
“Good. Then you know the difference between a solid, a liquid, and a gas?
“Like ice, and water, and vapor?”
“Exactly. You can only transfigure a solid into a solid, a liquid into a liquid, and a gas into another gas.”
“You can transfigure a gas?”
“It is difficult, and rarely useful, but yes, you can.”
“How not useful? I mean, if you were to transfigure all the oxygen in a room into something else, then wouldn't everybody die?”
McGonagall regarded him soberly for a moment. “Yes, I suppose they would. And here I thought chemical warfare was a horror the wizarding world would never know. I do hope you never have to try that, Mr. Potter.”
Harry flushed. “It's not my fault everybody's gonna be out to kill me when I'm bigger.”
“No, I suppose it's not, Mr. Potter. I apologize. I just wish you didn't know that, just yet.”
“What'd be the use of that? I'd just die that much easier when it happened.” Harry said practically. Why wouldn't I want to know something that'd keep me alive?
McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment. “That, too, is probably true, Mr. Potter. But, to return to the lesson, if you wanted to transfigure a liquid into a solid, what could you do?”
“Freeze it.”
“Very good.”
After his lesson with McGonagall, Harry remembered the assignment for Snape that he'd shoved into his trunk, and headed to his dorm room to fetch it out. He'd appreciated having the two glow-balls in his trunk – they made it easy to find his pajamas at night – but now he looked at them in trepidation. He was supposed to get one of them to float, and the last time he'd tried had been a complete failure. Now he only had two days left to figure it out. I've tried all sorts of things. Harry grumped, sitting down on his bed with the ball in his hand. I know there are things at Hogwarts that float on their own. It's got to be possible. What am I doing wrong?
Frustrated before he even started, Harry bounced the glow-ball on the ground, then caught it in his hand. As he bounced it the second time he got a thought. After catching it once again, he threw the ball high, focused on it as it came down, and 'caught' it one more time – this time, three feet above his clasped right hand. Looking up at the ball floating in space, he smiled. Finally, some progress. When he took his hand down, however, the ball followed, remaining three feet above his hand like a balloon on a string. Damn. Keeping his hand down, he focused on the ball. Go back up...go!...please?... He lifted a finger, and the ball twitched higher – but only as high as his finger had gone. He lowered the finger, and the ball went down. Great. Well now it's attached to less of me...how do I get it off?
As before, he ran a hand over the other one and 'cut' the line from him to the ball, and once again the ball fell. GRRR! Stupid thing! Go up, damnit! Following his mental command, the ball flew upward and stayed. It worked!! Maybe I just have to get angry? He started to walk towards the ball, but it moved away, still apparently attached to him somehow. Hmm. Damn. Getting a thought, he turned his body, moving the ball over on top of one of the bunk beds, and 'cut' the line again. As he'd predicted, the ball fell onto the bed. Now if I could just pick it up again... Gripping his pillow to keep his hands still, he focused on the ball and pictured himself picking it up. It wiggled. Focusing harder, he imagined himself gripping the ball – how it would feel, how heavy it was – and lifting it up. The ball lifted four inches off the bed. More confidently, Harry lifted the ball higher and brought it back to himself, finally reaching a hand out to pluck it from the air. COOL!! I'm telekinetic! Abruptly he got an image of Hermione, hands on her hips, lecturing him. “Telekinesis isn't real. You're not telekinetic, you're a wizard! Honestly, Harry, don't you know the difference?” He snorted, and responded to the Hermione in his head. And if wizard's magic sparked the ideas about telekinesis? Finally, he just grinned. Before, he'd just been able to throw things with his magic, or, at best, move them directly towards him or away. Now he could move things as he wanted.
Well, little things anyway. He realized, remembering the couch he'd tried to move the first time Snape had told him to practice his wandless magic. Big things are too heavy. Still, it was damned useful, especially because nobody other than Snape and maybe McGonagall would figure out that it was him doing it. Wands are annoying. He thought. All you can do are spells, and everybody can see what you're doing when you do it. Wandless, you just do it. Why did people insist on using wands? Snape said something about focusing power? He couldn't remember what is was, though. Damn. There's gotta be some reason. Even Voldemort and Dumbledore use wands, and they're supposed to be able to do wandless magic, too.
Experimentally, Harry looked across the room to Theo's bed, knowing that the other boy usually kept a teddy bear hidden behind the curtains. As usual, the curtains were closed. Harry got up from his own bed to see the other better, and focused in on the curtains, trying to push them as he had the ball. They waved a little bit, but didn't move. Remembering how he'd focused before on the feel of the ball, Harry gripped his own curtains, focused on their velvety texture, and their weight, and pushed again. The heavy curtains cracked open. Harry frowned, unsure whether to be glad of his success or disappointed at the mere half-inch he'd obtained. He was already getting the headache that he was starting to associate with his wandless magic. Maybe if I try it up close, first?
Focusing on the bed across from him, he gripped his curtains in a hand, and shoved on the other ones, moving them a whole four inches. MOVE damnit! Another four inches. SHOVE. Three inches. SHOVE. Two and a half inches, and his headache spiked. Okay, OW. No more of that, I guess. He tried to stand up, to go back to the common room, but quickly decided it wasn't worth it. I guess I'd better just sleep. He thought as he closed his curtains securely and curled up on his bed. Just the lack of light and being prone helped immensely. Definitely.
Three hours later, Harry woke up hungry, but no longer in as much pain. Then he looked at his watch and cursed. Dinner had ended half an hour ago. But I'm hungry... Then he smiled. “Kallie?” When she popped into the room, Harry smiled broadly. “Hi Kallie!!”
But the little elf frowned at him, hands on hips. “Master Harry, sir! Master is missing dinner! Master must not miss meals! Master is eating something!” She ordered.
Harry sighed. I called you, didn't I? Jeez. “Yes, Kallie.”
Apparently not expecting Harry to give in so quickly, Kallie was quiet for a moment, before finally saying, “Good. Kallie makes you some shepherds pie is good Master sir?”
“Umm...it's okay, Kallie. I mean, I like shepherd's pie, but wasn't today's dinner supposed to be some sort of fish thing?”
Kallie's hands went back on her hips. “Master does not like fish, sir.”
How did she know that? For that matter, how did she know he'd missed dinner? She's monitoring me... Somehow, he didn't mind, from her. “Umm...well, no, I don't, but it's okay, you already made dinner for everybody. You shouldn't make another one just for me. I'll eat the fish, don't worry.”
Kallie seemed to ignore that. “Shepherd's pie is okay? Or would Master prefer something else?”
Harry sighed. He would never convince Kallie that she didn't have to treat him so carefully. The idea of 'not liking' food still seemed strange to him. The idea that Kallie would cook something else because of it was just ridiculous. Still, he was starting to get used to it. Kallie was weird about stuff like that.
“Yeah, shepherd's pie would be great.”
Kallie beamed at him, and disappeared.
The next day Harry once again threw his brain at the problem of how to get the glow-ball to float. This time, though, he made no progress. He could get the ball to float in the air, and even to spin in the air, but he could not for the life of him get it to float without his attention on it constantly to keep it afloat. Even once he figured out how to get it to stay in one place while he moved, it fell as soon as his attention wandered. He even asked his friends, and a couple of the older years, if they had any ideas, but they had no idea how wandless magic even worked, and so couldn't help him. Maybe Snape or Dumbledore would know, but they were the only ones. Oh yeah. That's a great idea, Harry. Ask the Greasy Git! No. Fucking. Way. If he couldn't do it, he couldn't do it. Ignoring the fear that came at the thought of not finishing it, Harry threw the whole project back in his trunk and went to go find his friends. It wasn't the first time an adult gave him an impossible task to do, then punished him for it. Snape would either be fair, or he wouldn't, and Harry refused to care. Not my problem.
The next day, Harry was much less optimistic about not having his work done. It's not my fault it was too hard. I did try, he reminded himself as he stood in front of Snape's office door. A litany of tasks left unfinished in his life, and the consequences of not having finished them, ran through his mind before he shoved them ruthlessly away. That was different. Snape's an asshole, but he's not...like that. And if he is, well then it's nothing I haven't expected. I'll go and tell Blaise and Hermione that I told them so. No problem. He took a shaky breath. Damnit, Harry, you will not be this weak. Lifting his chin, Harry knocked hard on the door.
“Harry,” Snape greeted, opening the door for him. “Come in.”
See? No problem. Harry hunched his shoulders a little as he passed, unusually unhappy with Snape behind him. Oh get over yourself! He doesn't even know you didn't finish, yet! Harry thought, squaring his shoulders forcefully. You know he doesn't hit you. What is your problem?
But he wasn't mad, yet, and in it's absence he didn't know how to defend himself. Defend yourself against what, idiot? Snape? He's not even doing anything!
When Snape asked for his project, Harry lifted his chin in challenge as he had so many times before. “I didn't finish it.”
Snape frowned. “No? And why not?”
Though the response was calm, Snape sounded unhappy, and Harry was already worked up enough that his breathing started to pick up, and he found he had trouble answering. For once, he wished Snape would scream at him: as it was, he was having trouble mustering the anger he needed. Fighting down panic, he started to back up, glaring as angrily as he could at the Potions Master. “I just didn't.”
Severus watched the boy backed away from him, face a mask of anger and unusually obvious fear. What did I do wrong this time? I didn't even raise my voice. Hell, I'm not even angry. Usually he can read me better than this. “Harry.”
The boy look down, trembling badly. His breathing was still picking up. Damn. “Harry, look at me. Do I look angry, to you?”
The boy look down, and Severus tried again. Even the anger is failing. Damn. “Look at me, Harry, answer me. Do I look angry to you?”
Harry looked up again, and some of the anger had disappeared, revealing more of the fear. Finally Severus heard a pleading whisper. “I'm sorry. I tried, I just don't know how.”
Come on Harry, how can I help you? Maybe he should just keep talking. “Okay, Harry. What was difficult? Where did you get stuck?”
It didn't seem to help. “I tried, I really did. It just didn't work. I'm sorry!”
“That's fine, that's all I can ask of you. Why didn't you ask me for help, if you got stuck?”
Harry just shook his head. “Please don't be mad. I tried. I'm sorry. Please.”
“Come on, Harry. I am not angry. Explain to me what was difficult.”
Harry just stood there and shook, and Severus decided to try a new tactic.
“Harry, who am I?”
Harry just looked at him, frowning, but some of him seemed to return at the strange question. “What kind of a question is that?”
Snape smiled a little. “Humor me.”
Finally, Harry really looked at him, and more of him returned. “Snape. You're Professor Snape.”
“Yes, I am. And what do I do when I'm unhappy with you?”
“Detention.”
“Good. And what happens in detention?”
“Lines 'n stuff.”
“'Stuff'? That's articulate.”
Severus relaxed internally when Harry scowled at him. “You make me write dumb lines and scrub cauldrons and sometimes stand in the stupid corner.”
“Correct. Am I unhappy with you right now?”
Harry studied him, and his whole body posture relaxed. “No.”
“Good. How has your week gone?”
“Sir?”
“How has your week gone?”
Harry took a deep breath. “Okay.”
“Just okay?”
Harry relaxed a little more. “McGonagall asked that, too. What's wrong with okay?”
“I believe it is similar to 'nothing' in that it is a lie one says when the truth is personal.”
Finally, Harry smiled a little bit. “Well, right now it's just the truth. I'm okay.”
Severus smiled back. “Good to hear. Will you tell me what brought that on? What's going on?”
Harry's smile faded a bit, but then he said impertinently, “nothing.”
Severus sighed. It can wait. “Very well. I'll leave it for now. What happened with your project, then? Why didn't you finish it?”
Harry tensed a little, then loosened up again. “I can't get it to float like I want it to.”
“Alright. Did you bring it?” At Harry's nod, Severus continued. “Very well, show me what you have been trying.”
Harry slowly relaxed as the lesson went on – as it turned out, making objects float on a more permanent basis was usually done with repeated use of a 'lightening' charm to reduce an object's density until it matched that of the air around it- and by the end of the class, Harry was able to reproduce the charm wandlessly, and even really smile at his success. The approval in Snape's voice made him want to blush, scowl, and run, all at the same time, and when it was time to leave Harry was grateful to escape. Now if we could just pretend that that never happened...
Luckily, Snape didn't say anything more about it, saying only, “For homework, please finish this, then come up with a plan for another project. If you have trouble, I expect you to come ask me for help, understood?”
Harry would agree to anything if it would mean he could leave. “Yes sir. Can I go?”
“Go.”
Relieved to be away from Snape, but still really antsy, Harry headed for his favorite tree by the lake, but quickly found himself restless and bored out of his mind. He spent fifteen minutes messing with his hair, until that got boring and he settled on his normal weekend black-with-rainbow-sparks look. Now that he'd managed to get his 'sun' to float, the rest of the project should be easy. All he had to do now was figure out how to get the 'earth' to rotate around the 'sun' and he'd be done. Finally. He was getting thoroughly sick of his project. WHY did I want a little floating sun mobile in the first place? It made a neat lamp, but still. He would be glad when it was done. Bored, bored, bored, not thinking of Snape, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored – hey!
“Oy, Baywatch Boy!”
Malfoy paused on his way up to the castle, before apparently deciding to ignore him. When he started walking again, Harry tried again.
“Yeah, you, Malfoy! What, there other people about with hair that glows like yours does?”
Finally, Malfoy got annoyed enough to stop and approach Harry. “What is your problem, Potty? Your little gang of mutts getting boring already?”
“Oh, because your trolls are capable of such fascinating conversation, I'm sure,” Harry retorted sarcastically, quieting down some as Malfoy got closer.
“I'll have you know that they are actually quite intelligent. Just because they don't yap as much as your lot...”
“Oh, sure, intelligent. Put enough of them in front of enough computers with enough time and they'll write Shakespeare. Of course, they have that in common with your average gorilla... Out of curiosity, is it true that you purebloods are screwed up because you all marry your siblings too often, or is it just coincidence?”
Malfoy's cheeks reddened, and Harry almost grinned. See? This is fun...
“We're not stupid, we just don't waste our thoughts on those incapable of understanding them.” Malfoy tried, arrogantly.
“Oh, so that's what you're doing in front of the mirror every morning? I'm so terribly sorry. It looked so much like a little pampered princeling trying out his 'look' that I wasn't sure. But since you say so, I guess you're just thinking deep thoughts.”
Malfoy's voice got nasty. “I suppose when you're the bastard child of a mudblood, then the image you portray doesn't matter. Is that it, Potter? You don't care how you look or act 'cause no-one's ever going to see you as anything but dirt anyway? It could be nice to be that relaxed, I suppose, but then I'd rather people think I was worth something.”
Harry bit his lip. The cut had been unexpectedly painful. Bastard. “Careful what you say, Malfoy. You wouldn't want to have to apologize to the 'dirt' again, after all.”
“He didn't make me apologize for telling the truth, Potter. He made me apologize for hurting your feelings,” he said in a sicky-sweet, sentimental tone, “poor baby Potty got his feelings hurt?”
Harry snorted. “You can't hurt me, Malfoy. You can hardly expect your words to hurt when even your fists are ineffective. Maybe you should call your Daddy and ask him to beat me up for you? Or do you think you and your trolls'd be sufficient? Are you worried you might break a nail?”
“More that I'd get your filth under them, Potter.”
“I didn't realize you were going to scratch me, Malfoy. Should I be scared?”
That was enough. Will a yell, Malfoy threw a wild punch towards Harry's head, and the brawl was on. This time, no-one broke them up, and the two rolled around in the cold mud until they were good and tired. Harry had a split lip and a bruised cheek, but he'd blacked Malfoy's eye and rubbed copious quantities of mud into his hair and fancy robes, so he figured he was better than even.
There. Much better. I think I'll go to supper. He rolled up to his feet and looked down at Malfoy.
“All right there, Malfoy?” He asked cheerfully, “I didn't hurt you, did I? That would be terrible.”
Malfoy glared up at him but rolled to his feet. They gimped back to the castle together, too tired to exchange more that the occasional glare. When they got there, Malfoy turned towards the dungeons, presumably to wash and change his clothes, while Harry walked straight to the Great Hall. He didn't even get to the table before he was approached by Prefect Stone.
“I don't think so.”
“Hmm?”
“You heard me. Go take a shower and change your robes. You're not eating here like that.”
“It's just mud!”
“Exactly. You're filthy, and Slytherins do not come to table filthy. You've been here for two months, you know better than that. Now go wash and change.”
“But-”
“Now, firsty!”
Harry's shoulders slumped, and he grumbled. “I'm hungry.”
“And the food'll still be here when you get back. Go. And don't forget to take your shoes off before you step onto the carpet.”
Still grumbling, Harry shuffled back to the Slytherin dorm. Stupid prefects. Both of the Slytherin prefects had been on edge since Snape'd sharpened his tongue on Rosalind Monday night. He'd've probably not let me anyway, though. Stupid Slytherin standards. He never had to worry about the mud on his clothes and shoes in the Gryffindor common room. Slytherin's lots better if you want quiet, though.
It didn't help that Malfoy was smart enough to go to the dorm first: Harry passed him just as he was removing his shoes to enter the common room, and the Malfoy heir gave him a smug smile.
“Got sent back out again to change, did you Potter? Did no-one ever teach you how to dress properly?”
Harry just sneered at him and dragged himself up the stairs for his own shower. Why do they put us in the dungeon anyway? Down the stairs to the dungeon, then up the stairs to the dorm...
Back in the Great Hall, this time clean, Harry met Prefect Stone's eyes and spread his arms. Okay, now? Stone frowned at him, and touched his own lip inquiringly. Harry shrugged and smiled before sitting down with Blaise to eat. Blaise acknowledged him absently, then went back to eating, apparently absorbed in his own thoughts. Harry tucked into his own food, grateful himself for the chance to just relax and eat without being expected to socialize.
I get caught way too often. Harry thought absently. So often, in fact, that he was surprised that he hadn't been this time. Before, it had never been a surprise when nobody caught him for things like fighting or being disrespectful to teachers – nobody cared. Even Vernon could find plenty of things to blame Harry for without listening to his teachers' complaints. Snape noticed everything.
Maybe he's listening in the common room, or something? But then, his pranks generally succeeded – Snape just knew it was him because Harry didn't bother to hide it. It was only when he wasn't careful that he didn't get caught. There's a way to test it...it might even be fun. I just have to talk in the common room about doing something Snape doesn't like...like going into the Forbidden Forest, maybe. If Snape heard him, then Harry would get caught. Not necessarily by Snape – he might send somebody else or something - but he would get caught. Snape would not be able to let him do something that outside of the rules without consequences. If he didn't get caught, it would be because Snape had been clueless. It's been too long since I've done something stupid and dangerous. Taunting Snape didn't count anymore, and it had been a whole month since he'd discovered the dog on the third floor. I wonder what it's guarding...
Whatever. Pulling one over on Snape would feel really good. The man seemed almost omnipotent sometimes. But he's not omniscient. I'll prove it.
Then Harry noticed something out of the corner of his eye and turned abruptly. Snape had walked down the Hall towards him, and was now fifteen feet away and walking right towards him. What now? Harry wondered. Unless he can read my mind, too. Suddenly Harry remembered the memories Snape had shared with him weeks before. Maybe he can. He could know exactly what I'm planning without me even talking about it!
“What happened to your lip, Mr. Potter?”
Okay. That takes care of the reading my mind bit, at least. “Nothing.”
“Contrary to popular belief, Harry, I am not an idiot. Try again.”
“Didn't think you were. A bast-” Harry 'caught' himself and continued innocently, “something else, maybe, but not an idiot.”
Snape seemed less than amused. “Answer the question, Harry. What happened to your lip? And 'nothing' is not an answer.”
“Nothing important, then.”
“It was important enough to give you bruising on your face. Out with it.”
Harry scowled. You want to know the truth, fine. “I rammed it into somebody's fist.”
Snape raised an eyebrow. “And this you call nothing important.”
“Sure. All in good fun.”
“Older than you or the same age?”
“Hmm?”
“Your opponent, Mr. Potter. How old was he?”
“'Opponent' implies that I got into a fight.”
“Didn't you?”
“Not that you know of.”
Snape seemed more amused at that. “How old was the person whose fist you encountered, then?”
“My age.”
“Mr. Malfoy or one of your friends?”
“Does it matter?”
Snape shook his head. “I suppose not. You are uninjured?”
“Yup.”
Snape scowled at him briefly, then shook his head. “Very well, Mr. Potter. I'll stay out of it.”
Harry grinned. See? He's clueless.
Harry sat in his common room, staring down at his map and plotting. Okay, looks like McGonagall's patrolling tonight, so I don't want to be her...hmm. Maybe Flitwick? He didn't know Flitwick well, but the disguise had the advantage that the Professor was his size. He'd be better at acting Snape, but he wouldn't be able to hold it. Even more importantly, Flitwick never patrolled, so there was virtually no chance he would run into him by mistake. Definitely Flitwick.
He'd considered bringing Blaise into his escapade, but quickly realized that he'd be much more likely to get caught. There were serious advantages to being a metamorphmagus, sometimes. So he'd used Blaise in the 'talk about it in the common room' stage of the operation, meanwhile picking his brain for ways to avoid getting caught, and then explained why he had to go alone. Blaise hadn't minded too much once Harry promised to tell him about it when he got back. It was a way for Blaise to assuage his own curiosity without either of them taking the increased risk of getting caught. Harry really did work best alone.
I could make a great thief, if I wanted to. For the moment, though, he just wanted to take a quick stroll in the Forbidden Forest, just so he could say he did. The most important thing, though, was to not get caught. For once, he wasn't trying to piss off Snape, and as such really didn't want to get caught. He just wanted to get a look at the Forbidden Forest, and then come back safely with the knowledge that Snape wasn't spying on him. That was all. Putting the last touches on his 'Flitwick' costume, and paying careful attention to the map in his hands, he left the dorm.
Predicting that his exit this long after curfew would set off an alarm – when he'd snuck out during his grounding he'd gotten caught way too fast to be coincidence - Harry ran flat out until he was halfway across the castle from the dungeons before slowing down. The last time he'd looked at the map, Filch was over on this side of the castle. Now he was a corridor over, and headed in the wrong direction. Good. Then Harry heard a meow. Shit! I forgot Mrs. Norris doesn't show up on the map! Luckily, he'd come prepared. Taking out a napkin-wrapped bit of fish from dinner, he showed it to Mrs. Norris. When he got her attention, he held a finger up to his lips and begged with his eyes. Apparently mollified, the cat ran over to rub her side against his legs and purr. Smiling, he put down the fish and went on his way. I love cats. Harry thought. Especially magical ones.
When Harry got out of the castle, he heaved a sigh of relief. It was rare for anybody to leave the castle after dark: he was much less likely to get caught now. Checking on the map that Hagrid wasn't in the vicinity, Harry headed for the Forbidden Forest.
Half an hour later, Harry was already regretting his little excursion. He'd gotten into the forest without mishap, and for fifteen minutes or so it had been cool – creepy, but in a fun way. Then he'd turned around and realized that he couldn't see his way out. He'd tried to retrace his steps, with no luck. He was lost. And getting cold. And he couldn't hold his 'Flitwick' costume anymore, so anybody who found him would immediately know he had no business being in the Forbidden Forest at night.
Could be worse. He thought. There could be a Cerberus. Then he heard a noise behind him, and turned rapidly. There was nothing there. A sound behind him and he turned rapidly again. A centaur was walking out of the woods towards him. I thought centaurs were supposed to be pretty and gentle? This one was huge, with strangely flat and expressionless features, and a spear. As it (he?) regarded Harry, its pointed ears flattened back into its hair.
“Intruder. What business have you in our woods?”
“Got lost.”
“Get out.”
Harry lifted his chin. “I'm not doing anything. I'm just lost.”
“Perhaps you misunderstood. Your status does not concern me. You are in our territory. Get out.”
Harry looked over his shoulder at a noise and noticed suddenly that he was completely surrounded by the strange, unfriendly creatures. His breathing picked up, and he leveled the centaur in front of him with a cold glare.
“How am I supposed to do that when you've got me surrounded?”
“Galrok, Miraz. Escort the interloper out.”
“Hey! I didn't even say I wanted to-” a spear thrust under his throat decided him. “-umm, okay. Yeah, good point...errm...if you'll excuse the pun.” A sharp poke let him know that they didn't appreciate his sense of humor.
“All right, all right. I'm going. Jeez.”
He turned around and the spear moved to the small of his back. “You know you could have just given me directions – ow! Quit the poking! Didn't I say I was going?” He started walking and the spear receded a bit. “You are taking me back to Hogwarts, right?” No response. At least they didn't poke me. Stupid horsies.
When they got out of the forest a half-hour later, Harry was terrified to realize that he had no idea where he was. Some town at the bottom of a hill, but it was too dark to make out any signs. He looked up at the silent centaurs desperately, but neither showed any sympathy. Then the one with the spear jerked his thumb a tiny bit towards the hill, and Harry saw the lights. Maybe? “Thanks,” he whispered.
“Miraz! Come!” Barked the second centaur, abruptly angry about something.
“We don't hurt young. Even those of other species, Galrok. If this one stays lost-”
“He'll find his way back. Now come!”
Harry saw Miraz give the tiniest smile before Galrok continued, “unless you wish to give the boy a pony ride first?”
The smile, if it had existed, morphed into a fierce scowl as Miraz turned and plunged back into the forest ahead of Galrok. In ten seconds Harry was alone, staring up at the lights of what he could only hope was Hogwarts.
An hour later, Harry was certain that the lights were, in fact, the lights of Hogwarts. There was even a path directly from the village he'd walked through up to the castle. All that didn't matter to Harry. He was cold, and exhausted, and looking up that path to the castle made him feel even worse. I could stay in the Inn and go up tomorrow, he considered briefly, before realizing. Seriously? Leave the castle overnight? Really? Snape would murder him. Literally this time. Harry had expected to be murdered for not telling Snape when he was beat up. This would be worse. Worse than the corner for an hour every day? Harry imagined Snape waiting for him in the common room and shuddered. Serious strangled-with-own-intestinesness. I don't think so. And so he kept on trudging upward towards the castle, finally making it back to his room at 5:00 in the morning. The fact that he hadn't, finally, gotten caught was barely comforting. He was rolling back his curtains when he heard a sleepy inquiry from Blaise's bed.
“What took you so long? You okay?”
“'M fine. I'll tell you tomorrow.”
He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
“Centaurs? Real centaurs?”
“Yup. And they are mean, too. I swear the leader didn't give a damn whether I made it out of there alive or not. I was 'in his territory' and therefore the enemy. Like I was going to be able to hurt one of them!”
“Worth it?” Blaise wanted to know.
“Not sure. Ask me when I've had a couple good nights of sleep. Then I might tell you it was an interesting experience.”
“What're you gonna do about the bruise?”
“Bruise?”
“Left cheek.”
Harry felt for it and, sure enough, his left cheekbone felt quite sore. Great. 'Cause I needed more bruises on my face right now. He concentrated for a bit. “How's that?”
Blaise looked impressed. “It's gone. I didn't know you could heal.”
“Can't. I'm just good at covering up inconvenient injuries, is all.”
Blaise frowned thoughtfully, and Harry spoke up warningly. “Don't even mention it.”
Blaise held up his hands. “Wouldn't dream of it.”
“Good.”
Frowning again, Blaise got up and went up into the dorm, coming back with a partially-filled jar of bright blue bruise balm and holding it out to Harry.
“That's yours.”
“I don't care. Use it.”
“I don't need-”
“Use it or I tell Snape to check you for glamours.”
Harry glared at him, but took the balm. “Some friend you are.” Blaise just snorted.
On Monday, Harry went to his “talking session” with Snape with no little trepidation. The man had seemed a bit 'off' in Potions class that morning, giving Harry a suspicion of what he wanted to talk about in the afternoon. No way. It's over, he can leave it alone.
Sure enough, after an awkward five minutes of silence, the Potions Master spoke up.
“I need to ask you a...rather difficult question, Harry. Would you answer it?”
Harry's hackles immediately went up. “That would depend on the question.”
Snape hesitated. “I need to know what set you off on Friday.”
Not that question.“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don't want to.” Haven't you figured out by now I don't want to talk about that sort of stuff?
“Harry, I need to know. I cannot understand this without your help. I never even raised my voice and you-”
“I know!” Harry cut him off. I acted like a weak fool. You don't think I know that?
“What do you know?”
Harry closed his eyes in humiliation. You were supposed to forget all about that, damnit! “I know that I...overreacted. Can we drop it now?”
“You haven't answered my question.”
“And I'm not going to.”
“Why not?”
“I already answered that.”
"'Because I don't want to' is not sufficient reason."
"Would you want to talk about it?"
"No, and in other circumstances I have tried not to pry, but Harry I can't understand what happened. I need to know how to not frighten you again.”
“I can cope."
“I don't want you to 'cope.' I want you to be happy.”
"Then leave me alone." Memories that he'd been avoiding all week were starting to come to the surface of his mind again. Please. Just leave it alone.
“Was it something I did?”
“No.”
“Some previous experience then.”
Harry didn't answer, already regretting answering the one question, and Snape continued to talk. “You seemed nervous even when you came in, come to think of it. Like you already thought you were in trouble. Did something happen before you came in?”
Harry still didn't answer. Leave me alone. Please just leave it. “Or was it the situation itself? You didn't have an assignment done...”
This was getting too close, and Harry felt a bubble growing in his chest as he tried to maintain his stubborn silence and resist the onslaught of unpleasant memories. “Back. OFF.”
“Have you gotten in trouble for not finishing something in the past?”
Harry remained silent. “That's it, isn't it? You didn't manage to finish some – some chore or assignment or something and-”
“No! Shut up that's not what happened!”
“Until you tell me all I can do is guess, Harry. What happened? The best I've got is that the situation reminded you of something from home-”
That was enough. “Shut up! Do you not understand me when I tell you to back the fuck OFF? Or do I have to spell it out for you? I don't want to talk about this, and I'm not gonna start just because you keep poking at it! Get off my fucking back!"
“Language!”
“I'll say whatever the fuck I want! You wanted me to bloody talk, I'm talking. Learn to cope with it.”
Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I told you to say what you please in here, but you're just trying to anger me.” He winced. “Say what you like, but please answer the question.”
Harry stayed silent, anger not abating. How dare he ask this?
“I'm not going to just let this go. Most of the time I know what I did to bother you. I need to know how to avoid this, next time. I don't want to continue to hurt you.”
“It wouldn't be a problem if you'd just leave me alone.”
“I'm not going away.”
Harry's head snapped up and he met Snape's eyes furiously. Why the hell not? What is wrong with you that you can't mind your own business?
“Fine. You really want to know, asshole? Then watch.” With that, Harry shoved the memories that had been swirling around his head for the last week into Snape's, haphazardly using will alone to tell his magic what to do.
I'm going to have a hell of a headache, was Severus's last thought before he dropped his shields and let himself be sucked in.
It was the summer just before coming to Hogwarts, and Harry was outside trying to paint the shed. Unfortunately, he was too short to reach as high as he needed to. He went into the shed to get the ladder, carefully lifting it so it wouldn't mess up the lawn. But the ladder was too heavy, and it seconds it had twisted in his hands and pinched over two of his fingers. He gasped and cursed at the intense pain as he dropped the ladder, cradling his rapidly-swelling fingers to his chest. Realizing that the lawn was already torn up, and he wasn't going to be able to lift the ladder anymore anyway, he dragged it the rest of the way and set it up against the side of the shed. Painting with his left, he dripped white paint all over himself and the lawn. When his hand swelled too much and he couldn't hold onto the ladder anymore, he went to hide in his cupboard, leaving the job partially unfinished.
Two hours later, his uncle came home and opened the door to his cupboard, and Harry noted with horror that he was drunk. And that it was the weekend. The man would be drunk for the next three days. “Thought you could get away with that, did you, boy? Think you'll just hang out in there and I'll go away? Not a chance. You'll need to eat eventually, you little cocksucker, and when you do...”
Harry sneered at him, and lifted his chin. He was right: he'd have to come out to eat, and Vernon would only get drunker. What's more, he'd been rude, so his aunt wouldn't rescue him. I don't need rescuing. I am not that weak. Trembling, he stood up and walked to his uncle, ignoring the man's triumphant leer. As soon as he got close enough, the man's hand shot out to take his neck in a crushing grip. Gagging, Harry curled up around his sensitive abdomen and prepared himself.
He ended up painting the shed again with two severely swollen fingers, two broken ribs, and crosshatched belt marks on his back.
“Good enough for you, asshole? Curiosity appeased? 'Cause I'm done sharing for about the next three weeks.”
Harry sat on the floor where he was and rested his forehead on his knees, trembling and breathing hard and not looking at Snape. He hadn't realized that in forcing his memory on Snape he would be reliving it himself. I will not hide. I will stay here, and be bloody angry. I will not hide.
Barely aware that Harry was still in the room, Severus stumbled over to the wall, at first just leaning on it as he tried to process what he'd seen, but then his anger built quickly and his fist drew back and snapped forward to put a hole in the wall. It wasn't enough, and Severus stood up and hit harder, driving his fist through the wall again in a different spot. It still wasn't enough; nothing he could do was enough. He wanted to go and crucio every member of that family until they didn't have enough brain left to scream with. For the first time since he'd killed his father he fantasized about the destruction and pain and death he could cause, and it still wasn't enough. He couldn't care less that he'd end up in Azkaban for it, he wanted to kill. And he'd promised Harry he wouldn't. Damn that boy. Finally, Snape heard what Harry had said, and brought himself back together while still facing the wall.
“You cannot think that I would enjoy seeing that, Harry.”
“Why not? You wanted to.” Harry's anger seemed to have fallen some while Severus had his...temper tantrum...and Severus tried to calm down.
Severus turned around. “'Why not?' I need to know what you've been through, Harry, but that doesn't mean that I am by any means 'okay' with it. Nothing would make the way they have treated you 'okay.'”
“They never wanted to get landed with me in the first place.” Harry said practically. "Of course they hate me."
“You never wanted to get landed with them, either, and yet you insist that I not harm them.”
“I don't have to feed them, either.”
“So you think the pathetic measure of food and clothing that they have given you gives them the right to beat you?”
“They never wanted me. If I weren't such a freak I would be grateful.”
The wording gave Severus some hope, and he decided to answer the comment rather than call him on the 'freak'. “Would be?”
Harry looked down, ashamed for a moment, before lifting his chin and showing only pride. Now he'll see. “I try to be, sometimes, but I'm not. I get mad too much. I can't be good even when I try, so I don't try.”
“On the contrary, I think your behavior entirely appropriate.”
“I cut their electricity and cable wires once. I plugged all the toilets and put holes in the roof.”
Severus heaved an internal sigh of relief. Difficult the boy might've been, but he wasn't broken. “Excellent.”
Harry looked at him strangely. “You're always tryin' to make me be good, too. Why's it okay, now?”
“I much prefer to see you fighting back when attacked, then giving in, but I have not attacked you.”
“Sure you haven't.”
“That first day-”
“-and every day after it. You haven't left me alone since I got here.”
“That's not an attack.”
“It is when I've told you I don't want you around. If I were an adult it would be considered harassment.”
“You needed protection.”
“You want to control me.”
“Only to keep you safe.”
“We've been through this. Correcting my language doesn't keep me safe. Making me study doesn't keep me safe.”
“There are other types of health.”
“What do I care?”
“I do.”
“Exactly. All that matters is what you want.”
“What have I done to you, Harry? What makes you hate me, so much?”
“You told Dumbledore I was a Freak.”
“I told Dumbledore that I thought you needed help.”
“It's the same.”
“It's not, and I felt I had no other choice.”
“You could have left me alone!”
“No, I couldn't've. If I had, you would be going back there, and I won't have that.”
Harry's eyes went wide, finally hearing what Severus had been saying for several weeks. “What are you talking about? Of course I'm going back.”
“Over my dead body.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “I'll kill you, then. If I want to go home, I'm going home.”
“Why would you even want to?”
“Where else am I gonna go?” They're my family. I've lived with them for ten years. You want me to just up and leave?
“I will come up with something.” The Weasleys, maybe? Minerva?
Oh, so you want me to just up and leave and live on the streets. Fantastic. “No, you won't, 'cause I'm not going. They don't like me much, but they're all I have. I'm not going to leave them.”
“You will not return to a home that is that dangerous to you!”
“Try and stop me. You'll fail.”
Harry walked out quickly, slamming the door behind him as Severus stood and stared. Merlin, let him be bluffing. Snape knew that if Harry really tried to leave, he would succeed. It was simply impossible to keep a close enough watch, and he would not keep Harry prisoner. I can't force him. He realized with horror. If he wants to go back there, he will, and there's nothing I can do. The headache he'd been expecting chose that moment to descend, and Severus gave up on other thought and headed for his office.
I could just kill the bastards off. Then they wouldn't hurt him. And he would lose all chance that Harry would ever trust him.
Before allowing himself to take a pain potion and take a nap, Severus pulled out a scrap of parchment and wrote a quick note to Dumbledore:
'I gave my word to Harry that I would not harm his...relatives, but lately I find the promise difficult to keep. If you wish the Dursleys to survive the week, I suggest you move them. SS'
The End.
Summary: Before Harry arrives at Hogwarts, the faculty have a meeting and decide that Harry will need a mentor to help him adjust, keep him out of trouble, and make protecting him easier. They decide that this person should the Head of the House into which Harry is sorted, presumably Minerva McGonagall. But things, of course, don't turn out as planned, and Harry is harder to deal with than anyone expected. Nobody asked him if he wanted a mentor, after all...