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The lesson that night goes much the same as the first. Afterward, Harry dreams of the corridor, the door dark against his mind, but as he approaches it, to open it, he gets scared and ducks down another hallway and finds himself in the first memory, and when he wakes up Ron is still asleep and he lays there, in bed, shivering. The lessons all seem to go the way of the first few--he gets there, he puts up a fight, but Snape always finds a way in and then he’s somewhere else, somewhere dark and muddled and frightening and never the same twice, a fact that seems to disturb Snape. Snape can’t navigate them as well as Harry, something which seems to frustrate the man, something that Harry is grateful for but also hates.
Harry can understand them better and better as nights go on, but he doesn’t tell Snape this. He doesn’t want Snape to know more than he has to, because at some point this neutral Snape will snap, has to snap, and he doesn’t want to leave him with any weapons for when things go normal again. He also wishes, desperately, that he could be like Snape and not understand what they were saying, what the sounds meant. The sight is still hopelessly tangled and fuzzy, but Harry can hear every word, and sometimes, like with the first memory, he can feel things...Those as the nights that he wakes up and he’s been biting his hands again, or scratching himself, and when he showers his skin stings and he doesn’t feel right.
Some of the DA are giving him trouble. Not trouble, but they don’t understand why they don’t meet anymore. He tells them he has lessons, that OWLS are coming, and Zacharias Smith sneers at him and asks him since when did he put his lessons first. It’s not just Smith, though, it’s Ernie and Anthony Goldstein and even Neville and Ginny and the twins. Not Ron, though. Not Hermione. They know something isn’t right, they know it’s bigger than just the DA, and sometimes at meals or in classes he can tell that they are watching him, and he knows it should make him feel better, that they care, but it frightens him, a little; what if, with all their watching, they figure it out?
He has been at the lessons for two weeks when, one night, it changes. He’s on the floor, again; somehow, he always ends up on the floor, though he’s stopped throwing up, at least. He’s gasping, pulling himself up, feeling clammy, when Snape slams his hands down on his desk.
It’s an act of temper that he hasn’t really seen Snape indulge in, and it scares him. It reminds him of that night that started all this, when he looked into the pensieve and Snape caught him, and he moves closer to the door, finds the handle, so that, if he needs to, he can get away.
“This isn’t working.” Snape’s voice doesn’t sound as angry as it should, which makes Harry even more on edge. “Clearly, another approach is necessary.”
“Can’t we just - forget it?” His voice is raspy. He clears his throat. “It - maybe it is just dreams, maybe - “
“It is not dreams, Potter. You know that just as well as I do.” Harry wants to tell him he knows it better, but what would that accomplish? And, Snape just keeps talking, so he wouldn’t have the chance anyway. “Tomorrow, we will use the pensieve.”
The word makes Harry’s blood freeze, and he shakes his head. “You - what? No! I won’t let you - ”
Snape looks at him and Harry pushes himself against the door, feels the handle dig into his back, because that was the wrong thing to say.
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Snape’s eyes are narrowed and he couldn’t stop the spite in his voice if he tried, and he’s not trying. “What - would it be an invasion of your privacy, Potter?” He takes a step towards the boy, tries to ignore the telltale twitch. “Heaven forbid we make you uncomfortable.” The boy ducks his head down.
“Sir, I’m sorry, only don’t - don’t do this. Dumbledore - ”
“Professor Dumbledore is the one who has leant me the pensieve. He has entrusted you to me in this matter, or have you forgotten?”
“I can’t - ”
“This is not about you, or your feelings, Potter.”
“Sir, please!”
Snape wants to slap the boy. How dare he plead, how dare he sound so desperate! Does he think Snape enjoys this? That he wants to see all this? Does he think this is a pleasure of his, that he is the kind of man who -
Night after night, Severus watches. Night after night, he immerses himself in these foul, polluted images, he makes himself pay attention, take notes, so he can figure out what’s happened, so he can understand. So that he can stop watching, so that it can end. Night after night after night, fourteen nights of this, and it isn’t for his own health, is it? It is for Potter, for a boy he hates, and the boy won’t appreciate it, the hours he gives up, not just in lessons, but in lost sleep.
Night after night after night, and every night the sounds get more and more garbled, the images are still jumbled, and while he cannot see the whole picture, he can see enough that, when he finally removes himself, he lets Potter go as soon as he possibly can, but even when the boy is gone, everything else stays behind, lingering in the air, and it is driving Severus mad. The pensieve is the only way. Can’t the boy understand that? He is stupid and selfish and blind, and Severus is sick of him. Once the boy puts his memories in the pensieve, he will unravel it and it will all be over and Severus will sleep again. He looks at the boy, feels the anger on his face and, with the last vestiges of his control, says one last thing.
“Tomorrow evening. Here. On time.”
The boy opens his mouth again, then shuts it. His hands are shaking, and Severus does not stop him when he flings open the door and races down the corridor, not waiting for the forty five minute observation time to pass. Severus does not care. He gets up, closes his door, and seats himself at his desk. There is a pile of essays in front of him, but he does not read them - even on a good night, the first years spelling drives him to distraction, and his nights for the past two weeks have never been good. The fire is crackling; the sound is almost clean, and he closes his eyes and lets himself listen to something that isn’t scrambled, something that doesn’t hurt.
Tomorrow. It will get better, after the pensieve. For him, and for Potter. It will be over, then. He just has to wait until tomorrow.
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The next day, Zacharias Smith throws a taunt at him in the hallway as he leaves the Great Hall, and Harry takes out his DA coin in History of Magic and sets the time and date of the next meeting for that night. He feels a flare of guilt as he does it, and fear. Snape already hated him, skiving off would only make him angrier, but on the other hand, the idea of going to Snape’s office after dinner makes him more scared than the idea of missing it.
Ron and Hermione, sitting next to him, feel their coins go off in the pockets, and look at him. Ron gives him a relieved grin, while Hermione looks worried at him; not wuite frowning, but not the same pleased look Ron has.
What about REMEDIAL POTIONS? she scribbles at the top of his parchment.
Harry scowls, and scratches underneath her note taking a night off. Hermione reaches over to try and write another question, but Harry tugs his parchment away, and Hermione lets him, still with the worried look, but even she looks excited after dinner, sneaking away to the Room, seeing everyone again. Harry feels his shoulders loosen, for the first time in weeks, feels a smile crack his face. He’s back, now. He’s defending himself, he’s okay, there’s nothing wrong with him. Everyone is happy to be there, even Zacharias Smith, and Cho smiles at him, and it’s all right. There’s nothing wrong with him. He almost wants to go to Snape’s office and yell it in his face, but that would mean leaving, and he doesn’t intend to leave the Room for a while, not when everything suddenly feels okay again.
Umbridge has other plans. Everything is going well, they are practicing, Neville has cast a patronus for the first time, when suddenly Dobby shows up squealing, ‘They’re coming, they’re coming!’ And for a moment Harry thinks it’s Snape, but it’s not, it’s Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad, and he’s not sure which is worse, so he yells for everyone to run and they all scatter. A spell takes him down in the hallway, someone is touching him, he’s not okay, everything is crumbling. Malfoy’s got a grip on his shoulder before he passes him off to Umbridge and Harry feels like he’s about to hyperventilate, the hallways are a blur and he’s not okay he’s not okay he’s -
In Dumbledore’s office, Marietta’s there and so is the Minister and everything is going to hell, nothing is all right, and Dumbledore still won’t look at him. He’s not okay, there’s something wrong with him, because Dumbledore still won’t look at him, he’s trying to do what Dumbledore says but the man won’t look at him, he hears Kingsley whisper something that makes him almost scream, he feels about to leap out of his skin, he doesn’t like what that sounded like, someone is touching him and he can’t breathe he’s not okay he’s not -
Everything is suddenly different. Someone’s tackled him to the ground and he is clawing at them, pushing them away, trying to get them off him, and Professor McGonagall is saying ‘Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!’ and it’s her, she’s pinned him and Marietta down and everyone else is out cold. Dumbledore is asking if they’re all right and Harry just wants to scream, because he’s not all right, he’s not, but Dumbledore isn’t looking, Dumbledore can’t see. He’s talking to McGonagall quickly, urgently, and he still won’t look at Harry.
“ - I had to hex Kingsley too - remarkably quick on the uptake, modifying Miss Edgecombe’s memory like that - ”
Harry feels himself shiver at that, has to swallow, his mouth gone all dry, his head is racing. How did all this happen? How did everything suddenly move so fast?
“ - soon wish he’d never dislodged me from Hogwarts, I promise you - ”
“Professor - ” he whispers, and amazingly, Dumbledore is looking towards him, and he almost cries. He doesn’t know what to say first; how sorry he is, that he started the DA, that Dumbledore had to take the blame, that he’s so disgusting, that there’s something wrong with him and he’s sorry only won’t the man look at him, please - But Dumbledore doesn’t want to listen, or look, Dumbledore is just talking, quick and fast and urgent, but never quite meeting Harry’s eyes.
“You must study Occlumency, Harry, as hard as you can, do you understand me? Do everything Professor Snape tells you and practice it particularly every night before sleeping so that you can close your mind - you must promise me - “
Someone was waking, Dumbledore lunges forward, seized Harry’s wrist, and the very feel of his hands makes Harry’s skin crawl, makes his scar burn and his hands shake and he just wants everyone to stop touching him, stop touching him, he pulls himself away -
And Dumbledore is gone and McGonagall is taking him and Marietta away, and the first person they see in the hallway, looking very angry indeed, is Professor Snape.
Everything is wrong.
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