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.”

Harry walked down the hall, being careful to avoid certain people. He strode ahead, thinking of everything that occurred. Harry pushed his hands deep inside the pockets of his robes. A hand grabbed his elbow.

“Hey, Harry!” Ron looked at Harry, concern evident in his eyes. “You seemed to be lost in thought; did you not notice me calling?”

“Sorry, Ron,” Harry said, in a subdued voice. “I was thinking about something.”

“Well, it must have been interesting. You were just powering along. I had to run to catch up with you.” Ron’s posture changed from concern to worry. “What did grease ball want?”

Harry snorted at the name. “Snape noticed I had left something in the classroom and gave it back to me.” No matter how small, lies never tasted good on his tongue and it made the air around him feel dirty. Nevertheless, Harry couldn’t tell Ron of the conversation. Ron visibly relaxed. He heaved his chest, probably for a sigh.

“Alright. Well, come on. Hermione wants us to study for the charms quiz tomorrow. She’s already threatened me twice.” Ron ran up to Gryffindor, dragging Harry with him.

~ * ~ * ~

Harry scratched his quill along the dry, crispy parchment. The faded yellow paper looked as if it would hold great thoughts of an ancient philosopher. It was instead the only parchment he could find for taking notes on. He carefully plotted out how to pronounce the charms next to the names. Written phonics had always been important to him, but now it was essential.

Cognitira (Reversing Confusion Charm): special emphasis ni of the word, lengthen Co, but do not make it the syllable of the word. “O” is like “pot,” “i” is like “ee,” and “a” is like “pot.”

On and on, the notes scrolled down the page. Hermione thought he was finally paying attention to detail in his work and had started also putting small pronunciation guides on her papers as well. Ron couldn’t have cared less.

A small shift in the upper, left corner of his vision caused Harry to look up. Hermione dropped her quill and leaned back in her chair. She popped her joints and looked at Harry (Ron was asleep on his textbook). “Done?” she asked.

Harry stretched a little and sighed. “Three more,” he answered. She nodded and looked over onto his notes. She bent over the page, looking for any errors, accidentally pushing some of her bushy hair into Harry’s face. She moved her mouth, but in profile, Harry couldn’t catch what she was saying.

“What did you say? I was thinking about something else for a moment.” Harry hoped she would accept the excuse.

“I was just commenting on how well you diagram phonetically. I usually just say ‘stress “o”’ or something of the same extant, but you—” She bent over the paper again, which made it impossible to understand what she was saying. Luckily, Ron saved him from responding.

Ron contorted his face, shifting his jaw side to side, in what had to be a painful manner. Harry leaned back in his chair so he could fully see what they were both saying at the same time.

“Ron. Why must you sleep during all our study sessions?”

“I just fall asleep easily. Now that Harry’s respectable, I can’t talk to anyone anymore.”

“So, it’s my fault now?” asked Harry, mock offended.

Ron smirked at him. “Why, of course.”

Hermione shifted, her body language betraying that she thought they both were idiots. Harry smiled and said, “I’ll finish up tomorrow before class. Are you guys going to the commons?” They nodded and led the way to Gryffindor.

~ * ~ * ~

Harry tried to make it sound like he was asleep, just incase Ron wanted to talk. When it was dark, he had absolutely no chance of recognizing the words. Harry shifted, the cottony sheets rubbing against his skin. He only wore pajama pants due to the unusual heat in the dorm. A small breeze blew across his exposed skin. The stale smell of warm bodies was seeping through the room. He had no idea whether or not anyone else was asleep, but he did not care. All his thoughts were on the day’s events.

After the near breakdown he had (how shameful was that? He hadn’t cried in years!), Snape had written down a couple more questions for him.

“How do you listen to people far away from you?”

That problem took a while to solve, Harry thought. “I have a magnifying charm on my glasses. They automatically focus to however far I need them.” Snape nodded appreciatively.

“What about safety issues? Like Malfoy and Voldemort?”

“I have tried to avoid all…uncomfortable situations and I also try to keep Hermione or someone next to me. If that can’t be done, I completely avoid the person It doesn’t always work, but it limits confrontation. I also don’t anger as quickly because I can’t hear insults.”

“What about Voldemort?”

“Well,” sighed Harry, “he appears whenever he wants, anyway. What could I do about it when I could hear?”

“Touché.”

After a promise to talk to Snape again the next day, Harry was dismissed, with the promise of course that he would be watched.

Flitwick floated above the class (he did this to avoid the brunt of Neville’s mistakes), directing them to start their demonstrations in charms. One by one the students would walk to the center of the room, charm a magical dummy, and then use the reversal charms they learned in the last chapter. The remaining students would sit and gossip a little until it was their turn. Harry and Ron were arguing about the twins’ latest adventure. The boys had successfully levitated greenhouse two. How they had done this exactly did this led to the current debate.

Ron seemed to be stuck on his idea that they had used one large levitating charm that they learned first year. “Harry, you know the twins don’t have the knowledge to do any other grand levitating spell needed to levitate an entire greenhouse, not just the glass, but the plants as well! How else could they do it? They just put a lot of power into the spell.”

Harry snorted and chuckled. “Have you ever lifted anything with heavier than a desk with the levitating charm? If you do, you drain yourself very quickly. Even if you do the charm with another person you can only levitate it for a couple of seconds. The greenhouse was still floating the next day!” Ron slapped his hands on his ears.

“I’m not listening!” Ron countered.

“Come on, Ron. They had to have used amplifying stones and set several different kinds of levitating charms into the stones. There are plenty of rocks that could do this job around the greenhouse.” Hermione, who was writing some notes, spun around in her chair.

“This may be an interesting topic for you two, but be quiet. You’re practically shouting!” Her expression showed annoyed fury. Both boys stopped immediately and sat back into their respective chairs.

Harry waited for his turn, looking at Professor Flitwick, his brow furrowed in thought. Was I really that loud? thought Harry. I thought I was only talking at a normal level. Was Ron yelling? I can’t tell really. He just looked like he was talking! What is going on?

Professor Flitwick then motion to Harry for him to come down for his own charms quiz. With reluctance, the deaf boy went down.

~ * ~ * ~

“Well, young Potter,” wrote Professor Snape, “had any adventures lately?”

“Nothing worth mentioning, sir,” Harry replied without emotion.

Snape quirked an eyebrow, but wrote nothing in response. “Any more nightmares? Or other nighttime specters?”

“None, sir.” With this, Snape sighed and leaned back in his chair. Harry sat across from him in the same chair as last time. Snape sat in his chair, not expressing any more emotion. They sat there, both stoic and unmoving. Harry slowly became uncomfortable in the unmoving atmosphere. The air grew stiff and uncomfortable. At first Harry messed around with the folds of his robes. Then, he picked at the ornate carvings in the chair. It seemed that the ornate carvings were actually words, but not in a language he could read. Finally, Harry drew his attention to Snape’s desk. He scratched his shoe against the bottom molding of Snape’s desk. Slowly back and forth, Harry pushed his shoe sole against the wood and metal.

Suddenly Snape jumped up from his chair. “Stop it!” he exclaimed, expressing obvious rage and discomfort. Harry sat there completely confused. Snape sat back down and then proceeded to take several deep breaths, trying to calm down. Once the red had drained from his usually sallow face, Snape scratched something onto the parchment.

“Your shoe is making screeching noises against the metal. Please don’t do that.” Harry’s eyes went wide, and then looked down in shame. Once more he had failed. It was like charms class. Did he really miss out on that much?

The last four months hadn’t been the easiest in his life, but just in the last couple days, he had started noticing more and more discrepancies in his actions and what he thought was going on. “Why?” he cried out.

Snape flinched for a moment, then wrote, “Why what?”

Harry’s eyes were on fire, but he ignored them. “I mess up so much lately, sir. In Charms today, I was talking to Ron and all of the sudden Hermione tells us to stop yelling! I didn’t even know we were! And then just now with my shoe and the metal! Who knows what else I’m missing!” With that last dejected cry, Harry slouched back in his chair, putting his hands over his eyes. A gentle tap made him remove his hands.

Snape was standing over him, the parchment in his hand. “It’s not that noticeable, if you don’t know about it. It just makes you seem slightly—off.” Harry sniffed slightly at this. “Because of your lack of hearing, you don’t know how your voice sounds. Since you’re deafness has progressed since you came here, the odd inflections you do match how you’ve been.” Harry looked up at Snape. He stared at his potions professor. Suddenly, an important question came to him.

“Professor?” asked Harry, in what he hoped was timidly manner. (With the recent discoveries, how could he be sure now?) Snape sat down behind his desk and nodded at him to continue. “How did you figure out that I was deaf?”

Snape leaned over his desk once more, and interlaced his fingers. He reached out on his desk, grabbed the parchment, and started writing. After a minute, Harry realized that this question would be harder to answer and sat back in the chair.

He drew his wand and started muttering small charms. Sparks flew out of his wand, slowly morphing into shapes. First it was the date and time, and then morphed into different animals and people (even Snape appeared once). After a few moments, Harry muttered the counter charm and then started twirling his wand. Snape finally finished writing and handed the writing to him. Harry looked down on nearly a foot worth’s of writing.

“How did I figure out that you were deaf? I asked a question under the pretense that I was yawning. When you did not respond, I concluded that you were deaf. But I did this act of subterfuge on many suspicions that I have harbored.

“At first, I thought you just ignored certain questions or statements. After all, teenagers are famous for their selective hearing. But small things did not equate any more. The first instance was when Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley the younger were talking during breakfast. In the beginning of the conversation, you were fully participating, but you then turned your attention back to your plate. Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley asked you a question at one interval in their vociferous debate. You just continued to eat, completely ignoring any attention directed to you. Mr. Weasley, I believe, then said something about you being “obsessed with food.”

“The second instance was during my class. I was writing a few things on the board. I was explaining them to the class, when I asked a question without turning around. At first I asked Mr. Finnigan, then I proceeded to ask you. I found it odd that you didn’t respond, but I took it as an admittance of not knowing the subject at hand. At the end of class, I asked the question again. Mr. Finnigan still did not comprehend the material, but when I asked you you answered with the correct answer as if you had known the material your entire life. I found this highly odd, because Ms. Granger was ill that day, and we hadn’t used books during that class. I simply dismissed it as cheating of some sort.

“There were several more instances similar to these, but I didn’t think much of them. If anything, it furthered my idea that you were a slow-witted fool, who was only was passed because of you were the boy-who-lived. This semi-delusion of mine continued peacefully till the end of October. Lord Voldemort grew testy as the anniversary of his defeat grew close. He tried flaunting his new powers and started capturing more muggles and muggle-borns. One day he captured an entire school.

“It was an all-girls school for the deaf. It was a small school, no more than thirty students. Voldemort was pleased with them, except they couldn’t hear his taunting. Nevertheless, they were muggles and inferior to him. One by one, they were tortured and murdered. After the first one was killed, frenzy struck the remaining students. They started gesturing wildly. At first we all thought they were insane with fear, but then a few more intelligent Death Eaters realized that this was how they communicated with one another. This, unfortunately, led to more interesting torture. We tried telling them to stop; the fluttering noise of their hands was annoying some of us. (We were in a cavern that echoed horribly.) Some of them were staring at our faces while others had their backs turned to us. The ones who were facing us stopped, even though there was a small delay. The other ones kept on signaling.

“Another instance with you came up a few days later. I walked past you in the hall, as you were heading towards a class. Mr. Malfoy said a snide remark as you passed by him. You didn’t respond. My first thought was that you didn’t feel the urge to get yourself in trouble, but then Ms. Granger came up to you and gave a comment on what Mr. Malfoy had said. Your face had betrayed no emotion to what Mr. Malfoy had said, but when Ms. Granger repeated it, your face convoyed complete rage.

“I thought of the incident later that evening. As I was thinking of it, the October incident came to mind, though I wasn’t sure why. Then yesterday, everything fell into place. You didn’t respond right, and the delay between your responses. It fit. I just had to make sure.”

Harry slumped back in the chair. The parchment drifted out of his hand. He was a fool, and was thought of as such. He remembered the first two incidents. So, Hermione and Ron thought he was “obsessed with food?” The rest of the class snickered at him that day in potions, Malfoy particularly. He had wondered why, but now he knew. He was the buffoon. The guy they laughed at. They thought he was slow and stupid, probably the way he did Crabbe and Goyle. Harry just stared at the ceiling, wondering if he could just disappear.

As he stared at the ceiling, words were scrawled on them. Snape had put a spell on the ceiling to spell words, so he could talk like he did on the parchment.

“Potter, relax. I only guessed because I’ve had contact with deaf people. The only other people who have the intelligence to connect the two haven’t had contact with deaf people, or at least not enough to truly notice.”

“Are you sure no one has had contact? Do you go into the lives of every student.?” sighed Harry.

“No, Potter. The only people who have contact with deaf people are muggle-borns, as wizards rarely go deaf by natural causes. Ms. Granger would be the only person of that group who could figure out the problem, but she has no need to, unlike the werewolf incident. As I know she has limited contact with deaf people, she will most likely take an extremely long time to figure that out.”

Harry sat normally in his chair, taking deep breaths. Finally, it occurred. Harry choked a little, and the walls burst. Tears streamed down his face. He didn’t sob nor did he get over emotional. The tears just flowed. From behind his desk, Snape summoned a handkerchief and sent it over to Harry.

“I’ve failed! I am weak and I don’t deserve anything!” With that, Harry burst out of the room. Snape called after him before he realized that wouldn’t have any effect.

Harry dashed through the school, flying past students and teachers. He ran up the stairs as quickly as he could. His breath shuddered in and out and sweat streamed up his eyes, mixing with the tears he had cried earlier. Finally, he reached his destination. In the tallest tower of the school, right below the high observation room, there was a smaller art gallery. He had been coming to the room in secret for years, because no one else ever came up there. The paintings were generally cheerful and were glad to have the company. Harry learned history and some obscure magic from the paintings.

His favorite painting was a small girl in a blue frock. She was the newest of the paintings, finished in 1912. Her name was Alicia. They used to talk for hours when Harry couldn’t sleep, but since he became fully deaf, conversations had become harder. With paintings it was harder to read lips, but he could gather the general idea. But Alicia wasn’t the only painting he talked to; there was Oscar the Alchemist (he knew some older charms), Zoraster the Pious (he knew history), and many others. The oldest painting was of Zoraster; he was painted in 430 B.C. They had all been in different parts of Hogwarts at various times, but now they were considered highly valuable and had been placed in the tower for “safe keeping.” None of the paintings fully agreed with this, but they had little choice.

Harry sat down under the one window and leaned up against the wall. “Hey, guys,” he whispered, not bothering to look up. He could feel their eyes on him. “I don’t really want to talk right now.” He dared a quick glance up; Alicia was writing on a desk in the painting next to hers, Oscar was brewing a potion, and Zoraster was flirting with the two girls in the painting across from him. Harry looked down at his palms and then rubbed his face.

I’m a fool, he thought. Do my friends even care for me? Or do they think that I’m the class clown and good for fun? Or do they not like me because of all the trouble I bring? How long have people laughed at me? But not only that…

“I’ve failed,” he whispered. “I’ve been weak. I mean, look at me! I cry the moment I learn something isn’t the way I thought it was. I’m supposed to be strong and be able to defeat Voldemort. I didn’t defeat him, my mother did. And I brought him back! Cedric died because of me.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to clean them off. “My hands are dirty, dirty with blood! Many people die because of me. My parents, Quirrel, Cedric, even the deaf school for Merlin’s sake! I don’t even have the courage to off myself.” Harry started picking at the calluses on his hand, causing them to bleed. “I’m a waste…a waste…”

A quick motion caught his eye. Harry looked up. Leaning against the wall was Professor Snape, looking somewhat irate, but also—human. “Well, Mr. Potter,” he said. “I think we’ll have another chat, won’t we?”

~ * ~ * ~

Snape sat across from him on the floor, muttering small healing charms on Harry’s hands. Once he had finished, Snape examined the palms to make sure they fully healed. He then withdrew his own hands. “Potter,” he said slowly and carefully. “Why do you believe you are a waste?”

Harry drew in a shuddering breath, but then looked into Snape’s onyx eyes. “I’m…I’m a waste because I’m not doing what I’m supposed to.” He shamefully looked at his hands. Snape reached under his chin and tilted his head up.

“How are you not doing what you’re supposed to? Do you have a task?” Harry looked down once more before replying.

“I’m to kill Voldemort,” he said sadly. Snape gazed at him coolly before speaking once more.

“It’s not your task alone. You have friends—”

“Friends!” screamed Harry. “Friends that laugh at me, friends that think I’m a dunce! How do they help me?” Harry tucked his knees under his chin and rocked back and forth. “They like my popularity,” said Harry mournfully. “If I had died that day…” Snape forced Harry to look at his face.

“You weren’t meant to die. What if you have a different task? What if you’re supposed to discover something? Maybe Voldemort isn’t your problem. But either way, you must survive! Why squander something as precious as life?” Snape paused, but then continued. “I was a Death Eater, Harry. A Death Eater! I was supposed to strive for immortality. I was supposed to counter death, to eat of it and come out stronger. But life doesn’t work like that. You can’t destroy a life and expect to get life in return. The only way to receive life is to live it to its fullest.”

“You’re the greatest example of that, aren’t you, Snape? Living holed up in you dungeon?” Harry said snidely.

Snape cocked his head to the side with a sighed. “I know I’m not the greatest role model, but the choices in my life are mine. How do you know that for me, living life to its fullest isn’t brewing potions that help people? Those dungeons allow me to think unobstructed. I have found my purpose. I hope you can find yours, Harry.”

Green, yellow, brown, red, all swirling together. Images slowly formed: his seventh birthday “party,” the time he broke his ankle, his first memory—fixing breakfast for Duddley. The sounds were there. But then some newer memories came along. He was fixing dinner for guests during the summer. He relived the end of fourth year. Things seemed more muffled, the newer the memories were. Something changed suddenly.

It was his birthday. During the middle of reading a card from Ron, a chilling silence filtered through the room. He looked around, expecting to hear at least something—a car slam from the street below or an insect in his room. But he heard nothing. Adrenaline started pumping through his veins. Was it a Death Eater attack? What was it? He swallowed heavily. Then he paused. He didn’t hear himself swallow. He couldn’t hear anymore.

The colors swirled again. A glance of a class at Hogwarts, a piece of a book, fragments of all kinds flew through his mind. The colors didn’t appear sharper nor did touch seem more acute. There were no sounds. Nothing at all.

What did he sound like? What did his friends sound like? He tried to dredge up older memories, but they too had faded. Finally, he sunk back into darkness, accepting the emptiness that he would always hear.

The Sound of Silence.

~ * ~ * ~

Harry sat in his bed gasping for breath. He hoped no one would hear him, but casting a silencing charm caused too much noise. His insomnia was becoming more and more intense. He had always been a light sleeper, but this was getting extreme. It was bad for his health to continue this. The potions that he had gotten from Snape didn’t help him much. They blocked out Voldemort related dreams, but that didn’t stop his own personal hell from being. Oh, what he’d give to be normal.

Slowly his breathing calmed down. He lay back down on his bed, remembering his childhood. Even that wasn’t normal by any standard. He was belittled, unloved, and tormented. He was emotionally as well as physically starved. Nothing seemed to go his way. Even weh he was sick…

Harry broke the train of thought immediately. He breathed in slowly, trying to clear his mind. Breath in…1…2…3…4…5…6…7…hold for another seven and release on seven. Over and over he did the breathing technique. Finally his mind calmed and he drifted to sleep once more.

~ * ~ * ~

“Speak,” wrote Snape in what had become their ritual meeting. It had been two weeks since Harry’s secret had been discovered. Christmas break had just begun. “Discuss any issues you’ve had lately.”

“Nothings really happened.. The only thing lately was the finals so there was very little lecturing. I did fine on my finals, except for yours, sir,” Harry ended with a smirk. Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to distract me, Harry? We discussed it yesterday that we would talk about how you started losing your hearing. You can’t avoid the topic forever. If you don’t want to talk to me, you can talk to Dumbledore.”

Harry shrank back into his chair in typical adolescent behavior. He snorted and was about to comment, when Snape wrote something else. “Since your down here already, you can clean all my specimen jars.” Harry snarled at his potions teacher.

“Fine, I’ll talk. But I’m warning you now, this will destroy any preconception of my life.”

“My life has never been an easy one. I was dropped off at my aunt and uncles house after my parents died. They always made sure that I knew this. My first real memory was that I was making breakfast for my fat cousin Duddley. I was two at the time. All my life I was forced to do chores. I was to clean, cook, and handle the garden. I thought this was normal until I went to school

“My aunt and uncle couldn’t care less about me. My room was the cupboard under the stairs, even though there was another bedroom just for my cousin’s toys. I wasn’t fed much, and if I did anything wrong, that food would be taken from me. I was ignored and mistreated, but I was never beaten. I only went to school because it was the law. I only got shots, or muggle health treatments, if the school required it. I got my glasses for free at the school. I never got new clothing, only my fat cousin’s remnants. If I was sick, then I would just have to tough it out. The only time I went to the hospital was when my cousin jumped on my ankle while I was working outside and broke it. My life was not happy in any sense.

“When I was eight, I got sick, really sick. Since I wasn’t well nourished, my immune system was weak. I had a high fever that wouldn’t sink. I had hallucinations and horrible chills. For a week I was like this. Finally, my fever broke. But the damage was done, my hearing started fading. I didn’t notice it at first. Then I noticed I couldn’t hear people coming like I used to. It got worse as the years progressed, but I still could hear pretty well. It didn’t make much of a difference in school, though.

“My cousin was the bully of the class. He was fat and stupid and would chase kids around and beat them up. I was his favorite target. The class never wanted to cross Duddley, so they would never help me. If I did better than my cousin in school, he would beat me up. The teachers just assumed that I was “slow” and needed to be spoken to very slowly and softly. Because of these teachers, I developed my lip reading abilities. My cousin would sometimes call me deaf and dumb, but none of them ever guessed that I was really going deaf.” Harry leaned back in his chair and watched Snape’s expression carefully.

A bit of anger fluttered through his eyes, then some shock and dismay. A burst of something unidentifiable followed, but then the cold stare of no emotion came through. Snape looked at his desk then wrote something on his paper. Harry didn’t even need to look at the paper to see what it said.

“You couldn’t have known. No one did.”

The breeze blew through his hair, cooling him down during the oppressive afternoon. The humidity made his hair stick to his forehead. It was odd for this time of year to have such heat, but weather was firmly out of his control. With a simple swish of his robe sleeve, he wiped the trickle of sweat off his face before it reached his eyes—Harry Potter’s link to the world.

As he flew on his Firebolt, a simple peace came over him. The stress of the last few months fluttered away like the edge of his robes. Quidditch practice had become a lifeline to him, and he was very grateful the life-long ban had been lifted, but he hadn’t tested his abilities in a game. But at the moment he didn’t care—he was focused on the snitch. He had caught it and released it several times already in practice, but he didn’t mind. Catching the elusive snitch was always a challenge.

Suddenly seeing a tiny shadow flitting across the ground near his own shadow twenty feet below him, Harry looked up. There it is, he thought before extending his hands and grabbing flying ball. A rush of joy pumped through his body, filling him with elation. He flew a victory lap around the pitch. He looked up at the sky. The humidity had transformed into thunderclouds; it slowly began to drizzle.

Harry soared above the pitch, feeling the air swirl around him, with the little pricks of the wind and water stinging his exposed skin. He then angled to the ground and came in for a landing—and nearly stopped in mid-air.

They were all glaring at him! The entire team was glaring at him. Really glaring! But why? What did he do? He landed in front of Ron, the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain. “Harry!” Ron said (probably loudly, seeing how wide his mouth was). “We’ve been waiting for you to come down. We’ve been calling forever.”

Ron quickly stopped talking as if he was interrupted. Harry glanced at the other team members. Ginny had interrupted her brother and now was speaking, “…maybe not forever, but Harry, we were all about to climb on our brooms and try to wake you out of you day dream. We were trying to tell you practice was over because of the thunderstorm. Didn’t you notice it was thundering?” Ginny shot him a quizzical look. Harry quickly squashed any facial expressions that might betray that, no, he didn’t hear the thunder.

Ron began speaking again. “…Harry. Go see Madam Pomfrey and get your ears cleaned or something. That was ridiculous.” The team then began walking back to the Common Room. Harry lagged back, staring at the ground, dismally thinking to himself. I can’t hear any instructions or anything. I can’t follow the Quidditch game. How will I know if I need to hold off on getting the snitch or do I just go ahead and get it? Ron is always going on about getting the snitch at the precise moment when it would be most advantageous. But how will I now it is? He says he plans to say a pre-determined word. I’ll ruin it all! Suddenly a pair of feet entered his vision. He glanced up. Ron was standing, leaning on his broom.

“Welcome back, Harry. I mean, seriously, where is your concentration today? You’ve been out in your own world since practice began. I know you like to fly, so do I, but you must remember our tactics. You messed up two plays today. You still made great catches, but in the practice scenarios, you could have gotten better scores if you had been paying attention,” scolded Ron, his face turning slightly redder.

Harry looked away ashamedly again. He looked at Ron with downcast eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I don’t know. I just haven’t been feeling right. It’s not my scar or anything or forced visions, Dumbledore’s Occlumency helps, but I feel funny.” This wasn’t a lie, but Harry still felt guilty for not telling his best friend the whole truth. Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, sympathizing. “Hey, Ron,” Harry began, “I gotta go get something from Dumbledore’s office, go on ahead okay?”

Ron nodded and headed up the stairs that led to the Gryffindor tower. Harry watched him go and headed not to Dumbledore’s office, but to Snape’s. The path to the dungeon was empty as usual. Harry assumed that the Slytherins had a secret passage in the dungeon that most other students didn’t know about, since he never saw them go down this way to the their dorms. After taking the familiar route to the Potions room, Harry knocked on Professor Snape’s office door. He knocked twice and then once more in a rhythm. The door opened and Snape stood before him, with a faint flicker of surprise passing through his eyes, before being replaced the usual look of determination. Snape waved him in.

Soon words filled the air, like in all their meetings. “What can I do for you?”

Harry looked at his shoes. “I need advice.”

“I realize this. What do you need help with?”

“Quidditch,” Harry responded sullenly.

“I believe I cannot help you there. I think your friends are more apt in showing you how to fly.” Even though Harry was deaf, he heard the sarcasm in those words.

“I can’t hear instructions for the game. I mess up.”

“Ignore the instructions and just catch the snitch.”

“But I can’t do that! I do that now and Ron gets mad at me! I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Harry mumbled into his robes.

“You wanted my advice and I gave it. You may do as you wish.” The air was getting tense, as Harry realized that he had offended his teacher.

The words “Go back to your Common Tower to your Quidditch pals” were imprinted in the air. Harry quickly stood up and left the office without looking back.

~ * ~ * ~

Two days later, the Quidditch team was on the pitch again. Harry was determined to read Ron’s lips and pay attention to his instructions. His eyes were straining against the afternoon sun as he flew around the pitch. Every time Ron turned around to catch the Quaffle, Harry was mortified that he might miss an important instruction. This went on for an hour, deciphering which instructions were his and which weren’t his. Finally, Ron said the “magic” phrase, and Harry flew around, searching for the Snitch. But he had been so focused on paying attention to Ron that he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of the Snitch the entire practice. He glanced furtively around the pitch, looking for the fluttering wings. His heart raced as he began to panic. Suddenly, Ginny flew up in front of him, holding the Snitch in between her fingers.

“Harry, Harry…” she began, “the snitch was so obvious today. I don’t know where you mind has been, but I caught the Snitch after it flew past Ron and me three times. I don’t know what you have been doing, but when a Chaser catches the Snitch, that usually means something is wrong with the Seeker. I know I was a Seeker last year, but still. I don’t want to be mean…” She paused, looking at the ball in her hand. When she looked up, concern was evident in her face. “Harry, you got to get out of this crazy little mood you’ve been in the last couple of practices. If you need something, just ask.” Ginny threw one more glance at him, and then flew back down to the ground. He followed.

Ron finished up practice with the normal closing remarks, but he added something. “Our first game of the year is going to be against Ravenclaw. They usually have a strong team and the team really didn’t change from last year. Only one player graduated. Harry, the seeker is still Cho Chang. Remember our strategies and wait for my mark. Keep her away from the Snitch till then. Okay? Good practice, let’s go.”

Harry didn’t stay back like last time; he went straight down to Snape’s office, not caring about his teammates for the moment. He almost ran down to his office, but when he reached the door, he just stared at it.

Snape was angry yesterday, Harry thought. I wonder whether or not he will talk to me. But with the luck that Harry was known for, the door opened. Snape looked down at Harry. Harry looked down at his shoes, stuttering, “Oh…I’m…I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t want to bother you. I…I wanted to talk to you again and apologize for yesterday…” Snape stood there for a moment and Harry wasn’t willing to look at his face. Then Snape took a step back. Harry looked up in surprise. Snape’s inviting me in? Harry questioned.

Snape sat behind his desk, with Harry sitting in his normal chair. Harry began relating what had happened in practice. Snape steepled his fingers, beforing writing in air.

“As I said yesterday, ignore the instructions and play the game. It has been successful so far. How many games have actually come down to how many points were scored before the snitch was caught?”

Harry thought a moment. “Two,” he responded. “The Quidditch World Cup and winning the Quidditch Cup third year.”

“Two out of how many games? Your strategy is efficient and effective for what you do. Now go. I have work to do.” Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the intense look given by Snape shut it again. With that, Harry went to Gryffindor Tower.

~ * ~ * ~

The whistle blew, probably causing the crowds to cheer. Harry shifted on his broom, his eyes focusing on nothing, but still being attentive to all the actions around him. Each movement on the pitch caught his attention. The minutes crawled by as Harry glanced from one direction to another, straining for glimmers of gold. During his pass over the middle of the field, a quick mass moved in the corner of his eye. He turned to it and discovered that Ravenclaw had just shot a goal. The quaffle headed towards the hoop and looked like Ravenclaw would receive its first goal of the game, but Ron quickly dropped down and blocked it. Harry would have released his celebration in previous years with a loop or a stunt, but he no longer had the luxury. He continued to gaze around the pitch with fervent determination.

The game continued with several goals for both sides, but nothing spectacular. Harry turned to face the direction of the Gryffindor hoops. He looked over at Ron, who gesticulated wildly. Instructions! thought Harry. Ron is brewing a strategy. Harry flew in closer to see what Ron had said.

Harry continued straining for the instructions Ron threw to the rest of the team. Just then, Cho Chang zoomed across his vision. She had seen the snitch! It floated near the edge of the pitch near the Hufflepuff section. Harry tried to catch up to her, but she had received a head start. But just as quickly as it appeared, it flew away.

Harry fumed at himself as he scanned the pitch for the snitch. Fool! This isn’t practice when it’s only you trying to get the snitch! There is another team here! Harry glared at the air around, causing Cho Chang to back off of Harry’s tail in fright, before glaring at her ex-boyfriend.

Your strategy is efficient and effective for what you do. Now go. The words that Snape had written earlier came back to him. Determination filling his body, Harry began to do what he did best, search for the snitch.

His eyes trained for the golden ball, he ignored the rest of the game. The wind around him began picking up. A large gust of wind blew right past him. As the wind swirled around him, a globe of gold swirled right along with it. Recognizing the snitch, Harry reached out and began chasing his prize. Cho Chang closed in on him, but he paid no attention to her. He stretched his hand and caught the smooth object with the tiny wings. A triumphant yell ripped through his mouth. He zoomed towards the ground and rolled off of his broom, giving the snitch to Madame Hooch as the Gryffindor team crowded around him, patting him on the back. Harry looked up at the clouds, a grin plastered to his face. As he looked back down, he glimpsed Snape in the seats. A slight nod of his head recognized Harry’s accomplishment, and with a swirl of his cloak, he left.