Harry stared at his teacher, paying attention to the lecture. Every now and then he would scribble something, not really looking at his paper. The lecture on the restorative properties of common thistles and nettles did not encourage most students to pay attention, but one at Harry would have made it seem as if it was the word of God, following the words of Professor Snape with undying devotion. A slight tap on his right arm brought him back to reality. Harry snapped his head into the direction of the offending appendage.

“Harry,” whispered Dean. “Does the chlorophyll counteract dragon’s blood or aid it? He went really fast.”

Harry sighed and responded, “It aids the blood in healing, except—”

“Mr. Potter,” drawled a voice. Dean snapped his head to look at the speaker. Harry followed suit. “What at this moment, Mr. Potter has more importance than paying attention to the lecture? If Mr. Thomas has difficulties, he can wait until after class. Ten points from Gryffindor.” Harry nodded and went back to listening to the lecture, no complaining.

After Snape completed the lecture, he commanded the students to begin working on the project he discussed. Each student grabbed their supplies and began brewing the potion with their partners. Harry and Dean worked together.

Harry worked quickly and efficiently in front of his cauldron, with Dean following suit. The students in NEWT level Potions knew how to properly brew potions by this point. A surprising amount of Gryffindors had made it into the class, much to Professor Snape’s chagrin, but Neville and Ron both had not made the cut-off. But Harry did not focus on his classmates. Instead, he chopped seven stinging nettles and slowly dropped the pieces into the boiling liquid. A quick check in his book proved that the potion had all the correct characteristics. All of a sudden, the temperature grew cold. Harry looked up. A Hufflepuff had dumped the dragon’s blood into the cauldron too soon. The boy just started backing away from his cauldron, in fear it would explode as chunks of ice flew throught the air. Snape swooped next to the scared Hufflepuff, complaining about his ineptness. The tempterature of the room slowly went back to normal.

The bell rang and the students stormed out of the classroom, like freed prisoners escaping. Harry gathered his supplies and followed them. A hand grabbed his left shoulder from behind. The face of Professor Snape loomed down. Harry shrugged the hand off, defiance flashing in his eyes.

“Potter,” the man said, indicating Harry to come over to his desk. Snape sat down and looked at Harry for a moment before speaking.

“The school year has gone on quite well, but Dumbledore will no longer be able to offer you your Occlumency lessons, due to additional constraints on his time.” He grimaced before continuing, “The headmaster…commanded me to re-assume the role as your occlumency teacher.” Holding up a hand, Snape preempted any complaints that Harry might have had. “I am not pleased with this duty myself. You will respect my privacy, or else you will be severely punished. Is that clear?”

Harry glared at his shoes, angry Dumbledore had foreced him into another class with Snape, but he had no choice. “Yes, sir,” he said grudgingly.

Harry began to turn to leave when Snape started asking him one more question. “Potter, when should—” Snape covered his mouth, as if yawning. Harry stood there, waiting for Snape to finish his question. Snape lowered his hand and looked deep into Harry’s eyes as if searching for the meaning of life in them. Harry slammed whatever walls of occlumency he had developed up, so Snape could not break into his mind, but Snape just looked at him.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Snape leaned back in his chair and wrote something on a piece of paper. He slid the paper forward to Harry. Harry looked puzzled for a moment, but then looked at what the paper said.

How long have you been deaf?

-

A shiver went down Harry’s spine as he sat down in front of Snape in the professor’s personal office. Harry felt emotions swirl through him: fear, anger, horror, disgust, but fear was easily the worst—fear. He should not feel afraid; prophecy had made him invincible, so why did he feel fear? Scuffing the front of his shoe against the stone ground, Harry fought the inner battle.

Snape sat as still as a marble statue, watching as Harry tried to figure out everything going on inside of him. The battle seemed to be over when Harry suddenly snapped his gaze up at the potion master. Snape grabbed a roll of parchment and wrote, “I want to write to speak to you, just so we don’t miss anything. Alright?” Harry nodded once he read the message. Snape started the conversation.

“Potter, how long have you been deaf?” Snape wrote.

“My hearing started fading since I turned eight, sir. I completely lost my hearing the beginning of this school year,” Harry said stoically.

“You’ve managed the entire school year so far, the last four months, without hearing a single thing?”

“Correct, sir. I read lips, as you probably assumed. I have to pay special attention to lectures and I learned to take notes while not looking. If a teacher turned his or her back to me, I would just have to catch up later on in the lecture.”

“What about transfiguration and where you don’t know words they are saying?”

“I…I have to improvise. Hermione would repeat it to me. She likes to make sure we are saying everything correctly, so I just make it seem like I want the extra assurance. But no one knows, except for you, sir. The only time I hear anything is in my dreams.” Suddenly Harry broke off, staring at his shoes again, slowly scuffing his shoes on the ground. “But, sir, now the noises in my dreams are starting to fade.” Distressed eyes shot up to look at Snape. “I can’t even remember what you sound like.”