The End.
The flickering torches sent a strange light across the shadowed corridor. Harry stood at one end, a heavy weight on his chest, heart hammering. He felt absolutely no excitement unlike the previous times he had been here.
Despite the fear, Harry felt curiosity kindle in his mind, and determinedly he ran toward the black door. He could see the slice of light that shone through, which meant it was not locked. He ran until his breath ran out before he realised that the door was no nearer than when he had started. The fear mounted and Harry spun to watch behind him. He was sure he had
heard panting, and yet he could see nothing but darkness. He
wondered if his ears were tricking him.
He
spun back around and unexpectedly the door was right in front
of his face. It was not one of the heavy doors of the
Department of Mysteries that he had been chasing, but the plain
wooden door of his room at the Dursleys'. Harry heard the click
of the lock, and the door handle turned. He was sure — in
a visceral, unexplainable way — that something terrible
would happen if he was found in front of the door. He tried to
run, or at least get out of the way, but he couldn't move.
He
twisted, mouth open to scream, and fell off the bed with a
thump. After a few minutes of struggling, Harry was finally
able to free himself of the blanket he was tangled in.
Realising that he was still in Gryffindor Tower, he breathed a
sigh of relief.
He
pushed himself up on unsteady arms, a faint tremor shaking his
limbs. Outside through the windowpane, the stars were shining
brightly in the pitch dark — there was no moon.
Harry
ran his hands over his face. He had been hoping for a restful
night, as the following day was bound to be a bad one. To say
that the last Occlumency lesson hadn't gone well would be an
understatement, and he would have Potions in a few hours. Snape
was going to be his usual, snarky self, especially as Harry's
last work had been returned with a huge red 'D'.
Unable
to sleep, Harry decided to re-check his essay instead of
wallowing in his thoughts in hopes of avoiding another
detention. The ones from Umbridge sapped enough of his energy.
He
crept down the stairs quietly to avoid waking the others. The
fire had died down, and the common room was cold. Harry ignited
it with a quiet Incendio and
took out the rolled-up scroll from his satchel. He settled down
on the floor in front of the fire to re-read what he'd written
for 'The
properties of Mandrakes and three possible usages'.
It was
hours before Harry had finished scribbling corrections on his
first draft. The task was a welcome distraction from the
nightmare and Harry grabbed it with both hands. By the time he
was aware of the bustling sounds around him, he had paged
through two library books and found twelve mandrake properties,
sixteen potions it could be used in, three ingredients that
could counter its effects, and one that would make it acidic.
Harry realised with dismay that his original essay was ruined,
and he had to rewrite it all over again. He glumly started
writing it on a fresh parchment, his earlier peace destroyed.
Still, all the information was gathered and the essay was
completed within a quarter of an hour, well above the foot and
a half required.
Harry
had just finished packing the day's books into his satchel when
Ron came down, still half asleep with one sock inside out,
peeking beneath the trousers hanging above his ankles. Hermione
was half a step behind him, looking much more awake with her
bushy hair gathered behind her with a clutch clip.
"There
you are!" Hermione said in her usual hurried tone. "I'd
thought, for a moment…" she trailed off. To Harry's
surprise, she had a lost look on her face.
"Where
else would I be?" Harry asked, scrambling through the
portrait hole.
"In
your bed like the rest of us! What were you doing up so early?"
Ron demanded, looking at Harry like he was mad.
"Nightmare,"
Harry said shortly, his mood worsening by the minute. He wished
everyone would quit treating him like a child.
"Harry! You
know you're not supposed to be dreaming of the corridor! If you
had just—" Hermione began in a stern tone, but Harry
interrupted her.
"It
wasn't the corridor, it was something else," he said,
quite truthfully.
Hermione
didn't look like she believed him, but she let it drop. The
boisterous noise increased as they got nearer to the Great
Hall, and Harry's scar throbbed at each high-pitched sound that
rose above the chatter. Once they were sat in their usual
places, Harry pulled the nearest dish to serve himself, not
even noticing what it was. He ate mechanically, hardly aware of
what he was doing even as he got up and followed Ron and
Hermione to the dungeons. He abruptly came to himself at the
sound of raised voices.
"No,
I said I can't! It's our OWLs year, and if you had a smidgen of
care for your future, you wouldn't have any free time either!
Why don't you go back to pampering yourself and leave me
alone!"
"And
if you thought about anything other than yourself, you'd have
realised I invited you to study in the first place!"
Parvati shrieked back at her sister, impossibly louder. There
was a shrill ringing in Harry's ears. "What else would we
be doing in the library? But Genius Padma wouldn't recognise
common sense if it was held right under her nose!"
"Oh,
don't —"
Harry
had enough. His scar was throbbing, Professor Snape's angry
face kept looming in his mind, his eyes watered, his hand
faintly ached, and why wouldn't they just—
"SHUT
UP!"
It was
only once he heard the resultant heavy silence that Harry
realised his outburst.
Just
that moment Snape rounded the corridor and Harry groaned. Of
course Snape would have heard him with his bat-like ears..
"You
heard Potter," Snape drawled sarcastically. "He
doesn't want any noise, so naturally we
should cater to his needs." A few of the Slytherins
snickered.
They
quieted down when Snape turned his glare upon them, but smirked
at Harry maliciously. Harry clenched his fists, a burning anger
simmering in his mind.
Professor
Snape slammed the door open and pointed one crooked finger
towards the classroom. They filed in hurriedly, wanting to get
as far away from him as possible.
The
class had barely settled before Snape spoke. His quiet voice
captured everyone's attention immediately.
"You
have now reached the stage where you will begin using more
valuable ingredients. Accordingly, you will learn how to save
ingredients, how to correct damaged potions, and how to alter
potions' objectives if they are beyond correction. This process
is known as the Reconditioning
Process.
"You
have learnt to identify the different states last year. If you
had effectively completed your homework assignments —"
(he glared particularly at Harry) "— this should be
a revision.
"To
understand the mechanism that goes into repurposing potions,
you will be studying certain catalysts…"
Harry
let the words wash over him, taking notes in the blessed
silence of the class. Before he knew it, the two-hour period
had passed and his hand was cramping from the humongous length
of parchment he'd managed to use.
At
last, Snape came to the end of the lecture with the customary
collection of the assigned work. The silence had helped steady
Harry and he felt as calm as he had in the morning as he
collected his things to head to Divination.
The day
passed in similar ups and downs, with Harry's temper flaring at
unexpected intervals. Thankfully it was a blessedly short day
and it was soon dinner time.
However,
the impending Occlumency lesson made his nerves mount steadily
through dinner, and by the time it was time for him to begin
the trek to Snape's office, his scar felt red-hot. This
promised to be a dreadful lesson.
Harry
took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
The
sound reverberated through the hall. loudly.
"Come
in," Snape snarled, and Harry took a moment to calm his
frazzled nerves.
When he
opened the door, Snape was ready in his customary chair. The
Pensieve was standing on the table, Snape's memories emitting a
strange light. A draught seemed to be entering the room through
invisible cracks, and Harry pulled his cloak around him. Snape
didn't seem to notice the temperature — his face was as
blank as usual.
"Did
you practise?" Snape asked coldly.
"Yes,"
Harry lied, feeling a bit guilty. For the first time, it
occurred to him to wonder if Occlumency would help with
nightmares.
"Yes, sir,"
Snape said, his voice low with irritation. "We will see.
On the count of three – One… two…
three… Legilimens! "
Sirius'
face appeared in the fire… Dudley was counting his
presents… Hermione was sitting at the table opposite
him, scribbling furiously… Voldemort's face was
protruding out of Quirrel's head, red eyes glittering
maliciously…
Harry's
knees ached as he got up from the floor time and time again.
Repeatedly Snape broke into his mind, and Harry relived his
memories over and over; yet the hours of practice seemed not to
make the tiniest bit of difference. Harry was no closer to
learning Occlumency than he was to landing on the moon. Snape
got steadily more impatient until —
"Enough,"
Snape said forcefully. "You have obviously not practised
and you are not making the slightest effort — you are
wasting my time! Prince Potter's leisure is more important than
everyone else's sacrifice!"
Harry
tried to keep his anger at bay, he couldn't afford more
detention. Already Umbridge had hogged his evenings.
But his
scar sent a particularly nasty pulse and he snapped.
"That's
it!” he yelled. “If Dumbledore thinks I need the
lessons so terribly, he can come teach me himself!"
Angrily, Harry turned toward the door.
"Sit. Down."
Snape's quiet voice was dangerous in his wrath, his nose
flared. Harry stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily, and
turned to face Snape. "You are not dismissed until I say
you are. Professor Dumbledore
has ordered you to learn Occlumency, and to learn it from me,
and that is what you will do. I. Do not.
Care. Whatever other obligations you think are important, you
will arrive here on time, and you will practise
each night. Is that clear?"
"Yes,
sir," Harry muttered resentfully. He dared not raise his
voice. The intensity with which Snape spoke scared Harry a
little — he wanted nothing more than to get away.
"Dismissed,"
Snape growled and Harry gladly fled.
Harry
had no time to rest his aching head. The lesson had taken an
hour longer than expected, and he was already late for his
detention. He groaned and hurried through the corridors, hoping
to be done quickly. He had his load of homework to do, and his
eyes were already drooping from exhaustion. He had no idea how
he would make it through the week.
Umbridge's
taunts barely registered as he sat down to do his lines. His
scar throbbed in time to the pain shooting up his wrist. The
effort to remain stoic took all his attention, and the hours
crawled slowly.
At
last, Umbridge's grating voice reached his ears. "That
will do, Mr Potter. Same time tomorrow."
Harry
muttered a surly "goodnight, Professor Umbridge", and
dragged himself to the Gryffindor tower. Settling on the
carpeted floor in the common room, he opened the first scroll
his hand found, but the words swam in front of his eyes. Harry
closed them to think… about… about… he had
forgotten the essay topic, he should read it again — in
just a moment…
He was
asleep before he knew it.. The scroll fell from his hand but he
didn't stir. Slowly,the fire ebbed and the coals turned grey.
Harry
was lying in his bed, staring at Hedwig. He had no energy to
even sit up, and black spots blackened his vision if he tried
to stand. His lips were cracked and bleeding.
A
nightingale sang loudly and Harry opened his eyes with a start.
For a moment the dream lingered and he blinked bleary-eyed,
confused. The sky was a few shades lighter, the window casting
strange shadows. In a panic, Harry realised it was nearly dawn
and hurriedly sat up to trudge through his homework. The scroll
at his feet read 'The
reason ouroboros tongue is harvested on moonless nights and has
no substitute — twelve inches'.
Harry
opened his book, Fantastic
Beasts and Where to find Them.
His mind was drowning in black sludge, and his thoughts were
slow. Unfortunately, the deadline was fast approaching and he
had no choice but to force himself to work through it.
The
weekend did nothing for Harry's exhaustion. The following week,
Occlumency lessons were as horrible as ever and Umbridge seemed
to get impossibly more repulsive. The OWLs loomed ever closer.
The one
thing that kept Harry from losing his mind was his unexpectedly
growing interest in potions. The catalysts they were studying
had intriguing properties and from reading ways they could go
wrong, Harry found that they seemed very temperamental.
That
was not to say that Harry was looking forward to his next
Potions class. The last one had only gone so well because they
were still at the theoretical stage, but somehow this year,
Harry managed to blow up even the simplest potions. The only
one worse than him was Neville and — Harry felt guilty
even thinking about it — that was not something to boast
about.
So on
Wednesday at breakfast, Harry was as anxious as ever. Yes, he
did know more about the current topic than he had ever before,
but that did not mean he would be able to put it into use.
Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed his plate away.
"I'm
going to class. See you guys later."
Hermione
hummed, engrossed in her book.
"There's
still loads of time, mate, what are you going so early for?"
Ron asked.
"I
want to go to the owlery, I haven't seen Hedwig in a while."
Ron
nodded in understanding and Harry set off.
The
owlery was dim and Harry squinted, trying to get used to the
shadows after the brightly lit hallways. An icy wind ruffled
his hair, and he pulled his cloak around him securely. He
wished he had a warm enough jumper that fit him.
Feathers
carpeted the floor and the air smelled musty. Most of the owls
were snoozing, but every once in a while, a hoot could be
heard. He spotted Hedwig roosting in a corner next to a tiny
gray owl. He whistled to her and she flew down, whooing in
welcome.
Harry
stood there looking out the large windows of the tower,
scratching Hedwig's crest. After a while, he spoke.
"I
shouldn't be so worried about Potions, right? If Snape can't
teach properly, it's his problem! I know I understand the work,
I've got nothing to worry about."
Hedwig
preened his hair in reply. Harry sometimes wished he could talk
to her, but he quickly shook off the fantasy. "It
does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry," a
tiny voice spoke in his mind.
With a
last pull, Hedwig took off, hooting as if to say, "Hurry,
it's class time!"
When
Harry reached the dungeons, Ron and Hermione were already
waiting in front of the classroom.
"Oh,
there you are! Why didn't you say anything, leaving like that?"
Hermione said, voice high with worry.
"I
did!" Harry protested.
"I
would've heard you," Hermione cried indignantly.
Ron and
Harry exchanged an amused glance as Hermione hurried through
the door when Snape opened it. She would never admit how lost
she could get in her books.
They
set up their cauldrons in the last row.
"If
you imbeciles have completed your essay, we might even survive
this class," Snape began, eyes narrowed. "As we
discussed, these ingredients are particularly volatile. That is
not to say that they are unpredictable. If you follow the steps
properly, you should get the expected results.
"Today,
you are going to brew the Costive Concoction, a potion that
slows down the digestive tract. The instructions are on the
board; the ingredients in the third cupboard from the left. You
have ninety minutes. Begin!"
There
was a pause as the order registered before the class broke into
a flurry of movement, each student pushing to get to the
cupboard first.
Ron
went to collect their ingredients, while Harry set up both of
their cauldrons. Ron was much better at elbowing through the
students, so they’d fallen into those roles early on in
their Hogwarts career.
Harry
was comparing the catalysts when Ron returned with the
ingredients. He muttered an absent-minded 'thanks', lost in
thoughts as he noticed that the effects of the Costive
Concoction could be reversed by putting the ingredients in the
opposite order. He felt quite proud of himself; Potions
wasn’t so terrible if you knew what you were doing,
Harry thought to himself
An hour
later, Harry had changed his mind. His potion was close to
blowing up even though Harry was sure he had done everything
correctly. Worse, the current state of the potion did not fit
any description in the book. In fact, the black tar that he had
achieved should not have been possible with the ingredients he
had. Unless — a preparation difference altered the base
of an ingredient? Harry got gradually more anxious as he
rechecked his remaining ingredients.
He wasn't
quite sure what made him look up, but when he did, it was just
in time to pull Ron down as his potion blew up. It had
miraculously turned white, and a smell of compost filled the
room. It was hot too, and Harry had to keep from crying out in
pain. He realised with a start that he had tears on his face
and his ears were ringing. Snape's hooked nose swam in his
vision as Harry passed out from the sudden vertigo.
Madame
Pomfrey refused to let him out of the infirmary and to his
dismay, Ron and Hermione agreed. Ron was looking a little pale
and even got angry when Harry pleaded to back him up.
"You
didn't see yourself, mate," Ron said, his face creased
with worry. "Well. We can play chess here if you want. No
need to go back to the common room."
"I
want to go to the library!" Harry argued impatiently. "I
don't understand what went wrong. The way that potion behaved
made no sense!"
"Not
you too!" Ron groaned. "One Hermione is enough! Er, I
mean…" he hastily backtracked, seeing Hermione's
furious look.
She
burst out in laughter after a few seconds. Ron and Harry stared
at her, mouth agape.
"Your
faces!" she gasped. "Oh, come on, Harry. I agree with
him! Normally, you'd have forgotten all about the potion by
now."
Harry
had to admit that it was strange. He felt his face warming up
and quickly changed the topic.
"When's
dinner? I'm hungry!"
Now Ron
and Hermione stared at him.
"What?"
Harry asked.
Ron
shook his head. "That's a first, mate."
The
latest Occlumency lesson had been a miserable disaster. Harry
still did not understand how to begin clearing his mind, and
Snape would not admit that he was a terrible teacher.
"That
will be enough for today," Snape said at last, and Harry
breathed a sigh of relief.
He had
just picked up his satchel and turned towards the door when
Snape spoke sharply. "Where do you think you are going,
Potter?"
"To
Gryffindor Tower, sir," Harry said, frowning in confusion.
"I
don't think so. Maybe a little pain made you forget about your
detention, but my mind is as sharp as ever."
Harry's
mouth dropped open.
"A little pain!
My whole front was burnt over!"
"Yes.
Learn to bear through the consequences of your mistakes,"
Snape drawled. "Nevertheless, the detention stands."
Harry
dropped his satchel to the floor with a thud, stopping himself
from rolling his eyes. "Alright, what do I have to do?"
he said testily.
"Redo
the potion."
Harry
perked up. Now he would have the chance to find out what went
wrong. He went to fetch the ingredients, feeling a lot more
cheerful.
When he
got back to the desk, Snape was watching him curiously. Harry
ignored him and set about dicing the pepperwings.
Sixty-five
minutes later, Harry relaxed. He had moved past the previous
mishap, though he still couldn't figure out what could have
gone wrong.
Evidently,
he had relaxed too soon. He picked up the lemon, squeezing
exactly thirteen drops. To his horror, his cauldron started
sparking immediately. Before Harry could of reacting, the
liquid boiled up — quite like milk — but thankfully
it went back to simmering after a few seconds. Smoke began
rising from the cauldron, alight with a million sparks. A
sugary scent spread from the sparking smoke. Yet again, Harry
had no idea what could have caused that effect.
"Fail,
again! Although without significant harm this time."
Harry
privately thought that Snape didn't need to look so
disappointed.
Snape
waved his wand over the cauldron, vanishing the contents. "An
essay listing your mistakes, and how you could correct them."
Harry
clenched his teeth to stop himself from protesting and picked
up his satchel to leave before Snape could change his mind
again. His thoughts raced and he wanted to get to the library
before curfew.
He
really was turning into Hermione,
Harry thought amusedly.
Another
fail in Potions.
Harry hated it, nothing made sense!
"Harry!
Harry!" Hermione called after him.
Harry
ignored her, racing towards the bathrooms. He reached a stall
and locked the door. Sitting on the toilet seat, he tried to
catch his breath as he heard Ron pacify Hermione and move away.
To his dismay, he realised his face was wet.
A
few minutes later Harry had calmed sufficiently to string
words together. It
should not matter,
he thought to himself. He had never cared before and this was
not the first time his potion exploded.
All the
same, Harry could not think of anything but the potion for the
rest of the day. McGonagall looked at his badly-transfigured
rat in disappointment and Ron and Hermione threw worried looks
in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking.
Harry
rushed to the library again after dinner to look for past
issues of Monthly
Potions.
He needed to know what had gone wrong with his potion.
There
were quite a few exploded cauldrons in this lesson, but all of
them, unlike him, had had complications mentioned in the books.
His
potion had formed a cloud which had burst over his head right
after he had added the moonflower nectar. His textbook did not
have any information as to what could have gone wrong as to
cause that particular reaction, and none of his extra knowledge
helped. Hermione didn’t know what went wrong either, but
she was nowhere near as invested as him.
Harry
decided to brew the Costive Concoction again. He sat up his
cauldron on his trunk, setting it alight to warm up the metal.
He poured in the whey, waiting for it to heat up so he could
add the seethed beans.
As
Harry stared into the cauldron, the liquid began to spin,
making Harry feel dizzy. As if from miles away, he heard
" Now! ".
With great effort, Harry looked away from the hypnotising sight
to get the beans, but he could not find them. Harry looked back
at the cauldron in confusion, and saw that it was turning red.
A metallic smell filled his nostrils.
As
he looked around to find the source, angry red eyes stared back
at him. There was Uncle Vernon, holding a match in one hand and
Hedwig in another.
"I've
had it with you, boy," he said in a high, cold voice. "If
you can't keep the bird quiet, you don't deserve it!"
Harry
could not move — his heart was struggling to leap out his
throat. With an enormous effort Harry opened his mouth.
"No!"
Harry
jerked up, groaning as his neck cracked, and looked around in
confusion. Where
were Uncle Vernon and Hedwig? He
shakily adjusted his glasses and signed in relief. He was in
the library; he had never left. It was just a dream.
Despite
that, Harry's heart would not stop thumping and the library was
eerie in the hazy light of a winter evening. The shelves loomed
over him like some ghoulish giants. The silence was stifling
and Harry thought he could hear whispers come from the shadowed
corners.
It's
just in my head, Harry
told himself firmly, trying to concentrate on Seasonal Potions.
A moment later, Harry jumped up and ran out of the library as a
book from the restricted section gave a loud hiss. Just as he
reached the portrait of the fat lady, he realised he had left
his satchel behind.
Harry
turned around to return, but no matter how hard he tried, he
could not lift a foot. Harry felt his face burn at how cowardly
he was being. Hadn't he won a duel against Voldemort just last
year?
All of
a sudden, exhaustion took hold of his limbs, and he crumbled to
the ground just outside the entrance with a bump. He rested his
face on his knees, feeling absolutely pathetic. Mercifully, he
did not have to think about it for long. He was asleep before
he knew it.
Severus
could not understand what had happened. He always watched the
classes more carefully when they were busy with
the Reconditioning Process,
and he was sure Potter had followed the instructions to the
letter. Now here he was, a cauldron-full of Potter's potion to
the side as he brewed his third attempt at replicating it.
So far,
he had tried mangling up the ingredients (thankfully the school
paid for those), mixing the stirs up, playing with the flame,
and once even tried to randomly throw an ingredient, which
would have had him rejected from the Potions community if they
were to see him.
He
groaned — his back was stiff as a board. He set the
cauldron in a corner with a wave of his wand and shuffled out
of his lab. Today was one of the rare days he longed for his
bed.
When he
reached his makeshift sitting room, he frowned in confusion.
Was sunlight streaming through his windows at six in the
evening? Maybe the charm which paralleled the external weather
had failed, Severus thought absent-mindedly.
As
he poured a glass of water, his eyes fell on the clock on the
mantelpiece. He hissed in alarm — it was six in
the morning!
The sunlight suddenly made sense, as did his exhaustion. He had
worked through the entire night!
There
goes my rest,
he thought sourly, before dragging his feet to make a cup of
tea. He mixed in a dose of Pepper-Up and relaxed on the
worn-out couch. His legs creaked, releasing the pent-up
tension.
An hour
later, Severus entered the Great Hall, glaring. Why Dumbledore
wouldn't allow him to dine in his quarters, he did not know.
What good did socialisation do to anyone?
Today
however, he had an additional reason to suffer through the
noise. He wanted to watch Harry Potter.
Severus
was quite perplexed at Potter's behaviour over the past week.
He had achieved new heights at blowing up his cauldron in
innovative ways, and yet he seemed to do everything flawlessly.
It was
as ludicrous as Draco blowing up his cauldron, yet that was
exactly what happened during their last Potions class. Not even
twenty minutes in and Severus had had to prevent a disaster,
raising a shield between Draco and the hazardous sludge he
called a potion.
No less
surprising was Granger's exploded cauldron. Severus' lips
curled up in amusement, recalling Granger's look of disbelief
at her splattered potion. Never made a mistake before, ha! He
snorted in derision even as he brought a cup of tea to his
lips.
However
much amusement it provided, Severus had to admit that the girl
was capable and her potion exploding so spectacularly was
certainly curious. Longbottom's potion had been less mangled
than hers or Draco's!
"Woke
up on the wrong side of the bed, Severus?" Severus jolted
at Minerva's amused remark. "What has got you worked up so
early in the morning?"
"Who
else but Potter!" Severus' lips pursed at the reminder of
the boy, who had yet to enter the Great Hall.
"What
about him?" Minerva asked with a long-suffering sigh.
"Where
is he? Breakfast will end in ten minutes."
"He
has been exhausted," Minerva informed him quietly. "His
friends found him passed out outside the common room early in
the morning. I have given him a pass for the rest of the day."
Severus'
eyebrows shot up. "What was he doing outside the common
room at night?" he asked scathingly.
Minerva
sent him a stern glare over her glasses. "Miss Granger
said he went to the library and never came back."
"And
they didn't go looking for him?" Severus raised an eyebrow
in surprise. "They are usually so wedged together that it
is impossible to separate them."
Minerva
smirked. "They were a little… ahem—
distracted."
"Distracted?
What would drag their attention away from the Wonder Boy?"
Severus asked. A moment later he snickered too, as
understanding bloomed.
"Finally!"
he said gleefully, thinking of all the ways he could use to
embarrass the young couple.
"Don't
torture them too much, Severus." Minerva tried to act
stern, but she too was fighting a smile.
"Do
not act like you are any better." Severus scoffed.
Minerva
had no rebuttal.
Severus
went back to his porridge in a much better mood. Who cared how
Potter behaved? He was probably trying to get attention
anyway. As
if he did not have enough,
Severus thought rather spitefully.
Harry
felt anxious as he trekked the familiar path to the dungeons
for his Occlumency lesson. He always ended up with a terrible
headache — both his and Snape's tempers frayed.
The
trouble was that Harry was really trying. Every night he tried
to clear his mind, whatever that meant, and he even tried to
look for Occlumency books in the library. He dared not ask Mrs
Pince because he remembered how hard Snape had stressed to keep
the lessons secret.
Yet
nothing seemed to help. Snape got into his memories, flipping
through them like channels on a TV, and no matter what Harry
did, he could not get Snape to stop.
If that
was not bad enough, having his mind turned inside-out regularly
opened old scars. More often than not, Harry would relive
long-forgotten memories in dreams. There was a surprising
amount of traumatic events he had forgotten from his childhood.
And,
Harry thought angrily, if
Snape left my mind alone, they'd remain forgotten!
These
dreams were having other effects too. Harry had never been so
jumpy in his life and other people were noticing. Just
yesterday, Harry had climbed up a tree in a blink when Fang
bounded over to give his usual welcome.
When
Hagrid had tried to get him down, he had behaved so
irrationally that the half-giant had had to coax him out of the
tree like a cornered animal.
Taking
a deep breath, Harry raised a fist and rapped smartly on the
door. It swung open, a gust of cold air blowing out of the
room. Snape was scowling as usual and Harry glared back.
Whatever powerplay Snape had going, Harry was not going
to back down.
"Have
you been practising?" Snape asked coldly.
"Yes,"
Harry muttered. A second later he added 'sir' at Snape's
darkening face.
"We
will see," Snape said, moving into position.
Harry
tried to clear his mind, tense from Snape pointing his wand at
his face.
"One…
two… three… Legilimens!"
Images
rushed past Harry's eyes, making him dizzy. He tried to stop
Snape, pin down his presence, face screwed up in concentration;
but it was no use.
The
room came back into focus when Snape ended the spell. Harry
glared defiantly at him, feeling jittery because of his
thoughtful look. Snape suddenly let out a long sigh and sat on
the chair behind his desk. Harry watched him in confusion.
"Sir?"
he said tentatively.
"Sit,
Potter," Snape said, pointing at the chair opposite.
Harry
sat on the edge, his jaw tense. After a long pause, Snape let
out another drawn-out sigh.
"Tell
me, Potter, what don't you understand about needing to
practice?" he said at last, in a surprisingly patient
voice.
Harry
was feeling decidedly unnerved now. He remained silent, unsure
if he was supposed to answer. However, at Snape's fierce glare
he spoke.
"How
do I clear my mind?" If Snape was willing to answer, he
was not going to waste his chance.
"Sir!"
Snape said, a little of the venom returning to his voice. Oddly
enough, Harry relaxed a smidgen. He never wanted Snape to
behave that unnaturally again.
"How
do I clear my mind, sir?" Harry tried again, as politely
as he could. Snape could be as aggressive as he wanted, but
Harry was at his wit's end. He had not forgotten the idea that
Occlumency might help with his nightmares, and by this point he
would play nice with Voldemort if it got him a full night's
rest.
"Potter,"
Snape began in an increasingly frustrated voice. "If you
will not stop playing around —"
"I'm
not playing around!" Harry shouted. "I really don't
—"
"Do.
Not. Interrupt me!" Snape said sharply, but he looked
thoughtful. Harry waited, hardly daring to breathe, hoping that
Snape would finally explain properly.
"What
do you do when I instruct you to clear your mind?" Snape
asked after another long pause.
Harry
fidgeted. "Try to stop thinking? But it's really hard!"
Snape
stared at Harry. It looked like he was trying to decide if
Harry was joking. When Harry stared back at him with a nearly
hopeless expression, he seemed to take a deep breath to calm
down.
"Foolish,
dunderheaded boy!" he exploded. "Why didn't you say
so before? All these weeks —"
Clearly,
that did not work.
Snape
stood up suddenly and began pacing. Harry wished he had said
nothing. It took all of his resolve to not run out the door.
Snape
rounded on him sharply and enunciated slowly, "So all
these weeks, I have been wasting my time for nothing?
What good is practice when you do not even know what you are
supposed to be doing?"
Harry
cringed.
Snape
sat back behind his desk and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
He had not even noticed how tense he had been.
When
Snape next spoke, he sounded more composed and his face was
back to its blank state.
"As
long as a person is alive, it is impossible for them
to not think.
When you clear your mind, you stop pushing against your
thoughts. You do not direct them; but let them float past you.
Do you understand?"
"Not
really," Harry said, hoping it was not the wrong answer.
Thankfully
Snape did not get angry. He only nodded, a pensive look on his
face. After a moment of silence, Snape tried to explain in a
different way. "When you are on your broom, are there
different positions that make you buffet against the wind?"
Harry
nodded.
"Explain."
"If
I want to slow down and the brakes are not fast enough, I
stretch my legs to increase resistance."
"And
what would decrease resistance?"
"Lying
flat on my broom and folding my legs."
"So
imagine your mind having a wall, and in the wall, there is a
disk with holes," Snape said, leaning forward. This was
the first time Harry had seen Snape look at him without a
sneer. "When I enter your mind, memories escape from those
holes and I can get to them.
"You
are trying to block said holes, but the flow is too strong. It
is as if you are trying to contain a dam with scotch tape.
"Instead,
turn the disk in a way that provides the least resistance. Your
memories will rush through, and that is what is going to push
me out."
Harry
felt more confident now. "Wouldn't that mean that you'd be
able to watch the memories before you were pushed out?"
"Yes,"
Snape answered. "But it is preferable over not pushing me
out at all. Over time, you will learn to keep inconsequential
memories at the forefront and hide the important ones at the
back. First, however, you have to learn to push me out, or it
will make no difference where the memories are. With enough
time, anyone could get them all."
Harry
shuddered.
"How
do I do that?" Harry asked.
"You
have to figure that out. That is why I have been instructing
you to practise, Potter. Everyone's mind is too unique to have
set rules. Now that you know what you are supposed to be doing,
I want to see improvement. I might be expecting too much,
however."
Harry
scowled.
"You
have two days. Practise each night before bed." Snape
said.
"Dismissed,"
he added when Harry did not move.
Harry
picked up his satchel and left the classroom, mind racing a
mile per minute. Perhaps, his mind jeered, so quickly that
Snape might not even be able to read his thoughts.
When
Harry awakened the next morning, he felt more rested than he
had the entire year. To Harry's disappointment, it was not
quite light yet, but as he could hear birds, it was close
enough.
He sat
up, yawning. He wished he could stay in bed, but he had been
neglecting his homework in favour of potions.
While
he was showering and starting to feel like he was human again,
Harry realised something — he had had no nightmares. That
was exciting enough in itself, but for Harry it meant something
even more groundbreaking: his Occlumency lessons were finally
working.
He
was still feeling jubilant by the time he had dressed and
prepared to tackle his homework. Grinning wildly, he
opened Intermediate
Transfiguration to
remind himself of his last class. Sharpening his quill, he
settled down to write.
The
common room was bustling with noise when Harry finally
stretched. He had forgotten more than he had realised, and what
should have taken an hour took over three times the amount of
time. He made a mental note to catch up on his theory.
The
high of the success carried through nearly the whole day and
people were noticing. That, more than anything, told Harry how
out-of-sorts he had been. He could have sworn he saw tears of
happiness in Hermione's eyes when he actually ate his food at
breakfast. Ron dragged him off to play a game of chess in a free
period, and even Ginny had a few words to say during lunch.
"Hey,
Harry." the red-head slid in next to him, trying to shove
half a dozen books in her satchel at once. "Luna says the
Wrackspurts have finally disappeared."
Harry
looked up from his Shepherds Pie, distracted from the pea he
had been trying to get on his fork.
"Hm?
Oh, Ginny! D'you need a hand?"
"No,
thanks. I've got it." Ginny straightened at last, pushing
her hair away from her eyes. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Errr."
Harry blushed in embarrassment.
Ginny
rolled her eyes. "Luna says the Wrackspurts have finally
disappeared," she repeated.
"That's
good, I guess? I hope they don't come back."
Ginny
giggled, and the spoonful of serving she was helping herself to
dropped in Harry's plate.
"Oops!"
Ginny said, sounding unconcerned. "You needed a little
more anyway. I have to say though, it's good to see you eating
— for once."
"Hey!"
Harry said indignantly, "I eat!" He shoved a mouthful
in to prove himself.
Ginny
clicked her tongue. "Sure, enough for a bird."
Unfortunately,
Harry could not answer; he was busy trying to swallow the —
admittedly delicious — morsel.
By the
time he had finally managed to choke it down, Ginny had turned
away, caught up in heated banter with the twins.
Fred
caught his eye and grinned. "What do you think, Harry? How
is Umbridge going to go? So far we have ten galleons for
strangulation from her cough, and five for getting eaten by a
toad."
Harry
laughed. "I say fifteen galleons for being chased out by
the students."
"Boring!"
"Hem, hem!"
They
all jumped.
"Betting
on school grounds?" Her smile was sickly sweet and the
back of Harry's hand burned. "I think you need another
week's detention, don't you, my dear?"
"Not
really," Harry muttered under his breath.
"What
was that?" Umbridge asked sharply.
Harry
winced as the twins and Ginny started objecting loudly. "I
said 'yes, Professor Umbridge'," Harry said over them. He
gave them a glare that plainly said 'Shut up, you idiots!'.
They
were not to be outdone, however. "Please, Professor! It's
our fault."
"Yes,
we were just betting on how to over-power a certain toad."
"I
said—"
"That
is enough!" Umbridge's face had gone purple and her eyes
bulged. She took a deep breath and pasted the disgusting smile
back on her face. "I will decide who is at fault, Messrs.
Weasley." She turned to Harry and glared. "The
detention stands."
Harry
picked glumly at the remaining food on his plate, appetite
dissipated.
The
twins looked guilty.
"We're
sorry, Harry," George began.
"Yeah,
we shouldn't have bought you into it," Fred agreed
sorrowfully.
"It's
okay, guys," Harry said, forcing a smile. "She'd have
found another excuse, anyway."
All the
same, Harry was loaded with assignments and even a good night's
rest could not help with that. He just hoped Umbridge would not
keep him too long.
By the
end of the week, the singular success was a long forgotten
dream. By the time Harry got back from his detentions, he was
too exhausted to even think about practising, and Snape looked
like he was regretting explaining anything to him.
Even
the castle was sombre. After Umbridge had sacked Trelawney, all
the teachers were walking around grim-faced. Harry was
especially worried for Hagrid, who did not seem to be able to
understand how much trouble he could get into.
On the
bright side, Gryffindor had won the Quidditch match even with
Harry out as a seeker. Harry felt a little guilty for being
jealous, but Ginny seemed to understand.
"I'd
rather you were there, Harry," she had said
sympathetically. "I know how much you love Quidditch."
And
wasn't that just the problem? Harry had always used flying to
clear his head. When he was up in the air, all his troubles
seemed to fall away. Nothing mattered but the snitch, and
avoiding bludgers and — Harry sat up straight in
excitement.
"Ginny,"
he said in a hushed voice. "I need to fly."
Harry
was trembling under his cloak, wand lit and trained on his map.
Whether it was from excitement or fear, he did not know. The
common room was loud and rambunctious. Everyone was still
celebrating the last win even though it’d been a week,
and it was nearing midnight.
Harry
had already pretended to go up to his dormitory, yawning
widely. Once there, he charmed a pair of pyjamas to look more
bulky, and transfigured a pillow into the shape of his face.
Putting on his Invisibility cloak, he came back downstairs.
He
had finished all his homework in case he got detention, and had
studied the potion for the following class while he was
waiting. He knew he was taking a terrible risk, but he had to
know.
Finally,
Ginny sent him the agreed upon signal (three taps on her thigh)
and Harry exited through the portrait, hidden under his cloak.
The common room was so crowded that nobody noticed the portrait
hole opening and closing by itself, and the Fat Lady's voice
was drowned in a screech of laughter from a group of
fourth-years.
Harry
reached the changing rooms without incident and found the broom
cupboard unlocked as promised. He picked the closest, not
confident enough to take the time to choose. Harry thanked his
paranoia when Filch rounded the corridor, muttering under his
breath. He had barely closed the door.
Ten
minutes later, Harry was up in the sky after what felt like
forever, grinning like a lunatic. The constant ache in his scar
fell away, as did the burn on the back of his hand. The wind
rushed around him and his invisibility cloak billowed around
his ankles. He had used a sticking charm to make sure he could
not be seen from below.
Harry
indulged himself for a moment, attempting a few manoeuvres,
rushing around the pitch as fast as he could go. At last a
little out of breath, Harry slowed down to do what he came for
in the first place.
Even
the thought of Occlumency did not bother him. He closed his
eyes, making sure not to go too fast. He imagined the sound of
the wind like the roaring in his ears when Snape Legilimised
him, and he imagined bludgers of memories rushing toward him.
Let
it all pass… he
thought, as he dodged the bludgers. They missed and Harry
imagined a groan as they hit Snape. Harry slowed down further,
and as the sound of the wind howled a little less, he imagined
Snape falling away.
Harry
landed with a thump, but the exhilaration of flying remained
with him. Quickly but silently, he returned the broom to its
place and nearly ran all the way to Gryffindor tower. His head
had barely touched the pillow when he was out like a light.
"Harry!
Harry! Breakfast is almost over!"
"Gimme
a minute," Harry muttered, trying to pull the sheets over
his head.
"You
don't have a minute. Do you want Snape to give you another
detention? And where were you last night? That was a very
clever piece of Transfiguration, by the way."
Harry
groaned and sat up. Hermione's grating voice would not let him
go back to sleep. Picking up his glasses from the nightstand,
he blinked his eyes to clear them.
Hermione
was sitting on Ron's bed, and Ron was digging through his
trunk, clothes and socks strewn around him. The sun was glaring
through the windows, and Harry could hear the sound of students
far below on the grounds.
"Wha's
the time," Harry said, swinging his legs over the side of
the bed.
"Quarter
to eight," said Hermione. "You have fifteen minutes
to get ready, have breakfast and get to class."
"WHAT!?"
Harry shouted, jumping up. He held onto his bed as the room
spun. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I
just did," Hermione said indignantly, but Harry was
already in the bathroom. He was ready in two minutes, having
used freshening charms liberally.
Thay
had had to run through the corridors (thankfully they did not
meet Filch) and gobble down their breakfasts, but they did
manage to reach class on time. Snape set them to correct the
Invigoration Draught, and Ron and Harry paired up.
Harry
lit a fire under his cauldron, and started chopping up the
Jacaranda leaves. It would take him a while, as nearly half a
cauldron was needed.
An hour
later, Ron put his stirring rod on the table, massaging his
arm. Harry was counting the minutes down to switch off the
flame.
"Three…
two… one…" The potion turned honey-coloured
from the murky brown it was, and Harry cheered under his
breath.
At
that exact moment Snape said, "Your potion should be
smelling like mildew, with a watery consistency. Pour your
attempt into a flask, label it clearly and
bring it to my desk."
Harry
poured his potion and labelled it, and proudly brought it to
the desk. He was so happy he could not stop beaming at Snape.
He quietly laughed at the suspicious look Snape sent him.
"What's
up with you, mate?" Ron asked while Harry began clearing
up their workplace.
"Just
had a good night of sleep." Harry smiled cheerfully,
"C'mon, Hermione's waiting for us."
Harry
whistled a jaunty tune under his breath on his way to
Occlumency. If his experiment worked the way he thought, he
might just be able to push Snape out.
Things
were looking up. During DADA, when Umbridge had tried to rile
him up, he had imagined his made-up scene and was able to calm
down successfully. Better yet, his scar had not pained at all
today, and Harry realised just how tense he had been because of
it.
He
knocked on Snape's door the minute he reached it, and waited
for Snape's 'come in' before pushing it open.
Snape
was standing in position, his memories already stored in the
Pensieve off to the side.
"Did
you practise, Potter?" he began with his customary
greeting.
"Yes,
sir," Harry said, and beamed again. He pursed his lips to
stop himself from laughing at Snape's glare.
"Get
ready in three… two… one, Legilimens!"
Harry
did his best to concentrate on his strategy and forget about
the memories playing in his head. At first nothing seemed to
change, but after a while, the memories seemed to move faster
and faster until they all seemed to merge together. He could
not differentiate one memory from another, and the roaring in
his ears got quieter. With an immense effort, Harry broke the
connection and Snape's face swam into view.
Unfortunately,
his success had no mercy on his knees as he found that he was
on the floor again. Once he had caught his breath, however, he
could not stop grinning. He jumped up, crowing,"I did
it!", then covered his mouth in embarrassment when he
remembered that Snape was still there.
Snape
rolled his eyes.
Harry
stared.
Snape
smirked, his eyes lighting up in amusement.
Harry's
mouth dropped open.
"Close
your mouth, Potter, you will catch flies."
Harry
pulled himself together with difficulty and closed his mouth.
Snape's passive expression was back, as he stood back in his
place, lifting up his wand.
"Again.
Three … two… one … Legilimens! "
This
time, Harry managed to push Snape out faster. He felt less out
of breath, anyway. He was not exactly looking at a clock.
And
again. And again. And again.
With
each success, Harry's confidence grew, and the ever-present
anger in Snape's eyes seemed to dim. There were hardly any
insults uttered by the time the hour was out, and Harry felt
nearly content.
"Enough.
Continue with what you are doing, and maybe it will stick into
that thick skull of yours. I am not brimming with hope,
however."
Harry
was feeling too exhausted and content to be bothered and only
nodded. "Yes, sir. Can I go, then?"
"Yes,
Potter. Straight back to Gryffindor Tower. No detours, you
understand?" Snape looked disappointed for not having a
reason to keep him.
Harry
nodded and left, dragging his feet. It seemed that not even
managing to push Snape out lessened the exhaustion from the
Occlumency lessons.
"What
are you doing here, Mr Potter? Surely your common room is not
in the dungeons?" Umbridge's simpering voice grated on his
ears.
Harry
blanked his expression and turned around to face Umbridge. He
really was not feeling up to a confrontation
"Just
finished with Remedial Potions, Professor."
"Really?
If we were to go ask Professor Snape, he would corroborate your
story, I trust?" Umbridge frowned disbelievingly.
"Yes,
Professor," Harry said.
Umbridge
grabbed Harry's arm tightly, going back towards Snape's office.
Harry bit his lip to keep from crying out from the sting of her
nails.
They
were standing in front of Snape's door a few minutes later, and
Umbridge banged her hand. The door flew open to reveal a
thunderous Snape who had to quickly dodge to avoid Umbridge
stumbling into him.
Gathering
herself up to her tallest, she said with dignity, "Potter
claims he was getting back from Remedial
Potions. "
The sarcasm in her tone was so thick, Harry could almost taste
it.
"As
difficult as it is to believe, in this case Potter is telling
the truth." Snape looked bored.
"And
who, may I ask, gave approval," Umbridge said shrilly.
"For him to get extra classes?"
"Headmaster Dumbledore,
obviously." Snape seemed to take great pleasure from
saying those words.
"Of
course, of course." Umbridge calmed herself down. She
released Harry's arm and smiled at him. "Off you go, then.
Goodnight."
Harry
felt a shiver run down his back. "Goodnight, Professors,"
He muttered, and hurried through the corridors. He did not want
to meet anyone else today.
Inside
the common room, Harry barely paused to wave at Ron and
Hermione, going straight to his dormitory. He was already in
pyjamas when Ron came up.
"What
happened? Was Snape being a git again?"
"Umbridge,"
Harry said sourly.
"Tough
luck, mate," Ron said, giving his shoulder a friendly
bump. "What about the Occlumency thingy?"
Harry
brightened. "I did it! I really did it!"
"That's
great! Maybe Hermione will get off your back now. When are you
telling her?"
Harry
yawned. "You tell her, I'm knackered. Occlumency is still
exhausting." He laid down, pulling the covers up.
"Right
then," Ron said, standing up. "G'd night."
Ron
looked back when he didn't get an answer, but Harry was already
asleep.
Harry
regularly went out to fly with Ginny's help. It seemed to work
well for clearing his mind, and the Occlumency lessons were
going smoothly. He managed to avoid detentions with Umbridge,
and a good thing too. She was going around the school like a
raging rhinoceros after the stunt the Weasley twins had pulled
— flying away from Hogwarts and insulting her on their
way out — and Peeves was not helping matters.
The DA
was going well too, and Harry was especially proud of Neville
who was growing in leaps and bounds. Harry was not getting any
strange dreams or nightmares, and as a result, he was feeling
very well rested. He was keeping on top of his homework and
managed to study ahead for potions. He thought that last win
was kind of a breakthrough, because he had managed to get each
potion perfect or close enough ever since.
It was
all too good to last, however. Two weeks later, Harry was
nearly paralysed with fear. His invisibility cloak had caught
onto a hook just when Filch had rounded the corridor. He had
pulled it up quickly, but he clearly had not been fast enough.
"Aha!"
Filch pulled the cloak triumphantly. "So that's how you're
going about unseen, you are!"
Harry
shook his head, unable to speak. He remembered with horror that
Umbridge seemed to have papers that gave permission for
whipping. He gulped.
"We
will see what the headmistress says about that, yes we will. I
reckon she might let me use the manacles hanging in my office,"
Filch muttered the whole way and Harry was ashamed to admit it
was creeping him out. He was almost glad to reach Umbridge's
office until he remembered who was behind the door.
Umbridge
looked especially vile in the light that spilled from her
office behind her when Filch explained the situation. "Where's
the cloak, then?"
Filch
handed it over.
"I
will keep it. Little bad boys should not be walking around
invisible, should they? People would wonder what they are up
to."
"You
can't!" Harry yelled.
"I
certainly can," Umbridge said.
Harry's
temper snapped at Umbridge's self-satisfied look.
"Give
it back!" Harry shouted. "It's mine!"
"Now,
Mr Potter, don't go making things worse for yourself,"
Umbridge said, looking like she hoped Harry did the opposite.
Filch
couldn't remain silent any longer. "Headmistress, should I
bring the whip?"
"No,"
Umbridge said quietly. "You can leave it to me. Go now."
Filch
looked disappointed but shuffled away. Umbridge waited until
his footsteps faded before she pulled Harry into her office and
pushed him roughly in a chair. She looked excited. Harry felt
sick.
"You
have had it coming for a long time," Umbridge said,
pointing her wand at him. "Will you explain yourself?"
"I
was just going to fly," Harry forced through his tight
throat. He was afraid if he didn't say something,
Umbridge would get it in her head that it was Order business
and find out about Sirius.
"Is
that so, Mr Potter?" Umbridge said gleefully. "Did
you forget that you are banned from flying?"
Harry
said nothing.
Umbridge
smiled wider. "Very well. I have heard enough. Get up!"
Her voice was so sharp that Harry jumped up at once. The look
in her eyes reminded him of Uncle Vernon and he could not stop
a shudder.
Umbridge
noticed and fell on the sign of weakness like a pink vulture
pouncing at the smell of meat. "Are you afraid, Mr Potter?
You should have thought of that before deliberately
disobeying."
She flicked her wand and Harry gasped. He felt a burning stripe
over his arm and hand, but when he looked, there was nothing.
"Turn
around!" Umbridge shrieked, "It is time you felt the
consequences of your actions!"
"Professor,
I —"
Harry
cut off with a cry as Umbridge flicked her wand again. He bit
his lip and turned around, knowing it would hurt less. He
squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe deeply.
"That's
better, isn't it? You will take your punishment quietly, won't
you?"
Harry
kept silent and Umbridge flicked her wand again. Harry's breath
hitched. Umbridge, bolstered by the reaction, flicked her wand
again, and again.
Harry
tried to ignore the pain. He barely felt his cheeks getting wet
from the tears that escaped his tight shut eyes. He barely felt
the pain in his lip when he bit hard enough for a bead of blood
to escape. The stripes of fire on his back took all of his
awareness. He was certain they were bleeding.
Harry
did not notice when Umbridge stopped the spell. He only
straightened when her voice dragged his concentration. "That
will do. Detention tomorrow, at lunch."
"Yes,
Professor Umbridge," Harry mumbled dejectedly.
"Get
straight back to your dormitory, you understand? We wouldn't
want you to get lost now, would we?"
"No,
Professor Umbridge."
Harry
fled the office, running to the seventh floor. Just before the
corridor to the common room, Harry turned toward an alcove,
squeezing through. He bit his lip to stop crying from the
sudden pain that pulled at his muscles.
Only
when he was completely hidden and still did Harry allow himself
to break down. Angry tears leaked from his eyes at remembering
how helpless he
felt, how powerless.
No one, not even Voldemort had managed to get him so afraid.
Harry
was seriously considering telling someone, but who?
Dumbledore was gone, but he would not look at him anyway, and
McGonagall had told him to keep his head down. Harry laughed
bitterly to himself. Who was he kidding? No one had interfered
when Umbridge had threatened to whip the twins, no matter how
much they celebrated when they had escaped. Why should this be
any different? The
fame is getting to my head,
Harry thought, half hysterically.
Half an
hour later Harry felt composed enough to leave his hiding
place. He went to the bathroom and washed his face, hoping he
would not be asked any questions, but red-rimmed eyes looked
back at him from the mirror. Giving it up as a hopeless cause,
he returned to Gryffindor Tower. He would not put it past
Umbridge to check if he had done as she said.
When
Hermione caught sight of his face, her smile dropped. She got
up and started trying to reach him but Harry ignored her,
getting to the dormitory as soon as possible. He went to his
bed and pulled the curtains shut. Taking off his shirt, he
strained his neck to look around.
There
was nothing to be seen.
Even
so, it felt like the spell had left real wounds. Each movement
sent sparks shooting up his back and over his shoulder and
every now and then, a hiss escaped through his clenched teeth.
"Harry?
What's wrong?" Hermione's voice sounded uncertain.
Harry
hurriedly put his shirt back on.
"Nothing,
everything's okay." To his horror, his voice was hoarse.
He groaned under his breath. Now Hermione would never believe
him.
"Harry
James Potter! Do you think me stupid?!" Hermione's voice
was high pitched in her worry.
"I'm
not okay," Harry amended. "But I don't want to talk
about it."
Hermione
sighed. "You will come to me if there's anything seriously
wrong, won't you, Harry?"
"Of
course," Harry lied. "But now I really want to sleep.
"
"All
right, I'll be in the common room if you need me."
Harry
heard the door closing softly as she left, and he laid down on
his front tiredly. He did not know how he would keep it from
her longer; not when he flinched with every movement, but that
was a problem for later. For now, he just wanted to escape in
the darkness of unconsciousness.
He
was standing in a dark, curtained room lit by a single branch
of candles. His hands were clenched on the back of a chair in
front of him. They were long-fingered and white as though they
had not seen sunlight for years and looked like large, pale
spiders against the dark velvet of the chair. Beyond the chair,
in a pool of light cast upon the floor by the candles, knelt a
man in black robes.
"I
have been badly advised, it seems," said Harry, in a high,
cold voice that pulsed with anger.
"Master,
I crave your pardon..." croaked the man kneeling on the
floor. The back of his head glimmered in the candlelight. He
seemed to be trembling.
"I
do not blame you, Rookwood," said Harry in that cold,
cruel voice.
He
relinquished his grip upon the chair and walked around it,
closer to the man cowering upon the floor, until he stood
directly over to him in the darkness, looking down from a far
greater height than usual.
"You
are sure of your facts, Rookwood?" asked Harry.
"Yes,
My Lord, yes… I used to work in the department too after
all..."
"Avery
told me Bode would be able to remove it."
"Bode
could never have taken it, Master... Bode would have known he
could not... Undoubtedly that is why he fought so hard against
Malfoy's Imperius Curse…"
"Stand
up, Rookwood," whispered Harry.
The
kneeling man almost fell over in his haste to obey. His face
was pockmarked; the scars were thrown into relief by the
candlelight. He remained a little stooped when standing, as
though halfway through a bow, and he darted terrified looks up
at Harry's face.
"You
have done well to tell me this," said Harry. "Very
well... I have wasted months on fruitless schemes, it seems...
But no matter… We begin again, from now. You have Lord
Voldemort's gratitude, Rookwood."
"My
Lord… yes, My Lord," gasped Rookwood, his voice
hoarse with relief.
"I
shall need your help. I shall need all the information you can
give me."
"Of
course, My Lord, of course… anything."
"Very
well... you may go. Send Avery to me."
Rookwood
scurried backward, bowing, and disappeared through a door.
Left
alone in the dark room, Harry turned toward the wall. A
cracked, age-spotted mirror hung on the wall in the shadows.
Harry moved toward it. His reflection grew larger and clearer
in the darkness.
A
face whiter than a skull... red eyes with slits for pupils…
Harry
walked like a zombie through his classes the next day and
hardly even noticed Hermione's concerned glances. He did not
answer Snape's insults, or Ron's teasing, or Umbridge's
attempts to rile him up. At lunchtime he felt the apathy fall
away for the first time, replaced with dread. Harry was beyond
scared.
He did
not know why last night's punishment scared him so much. It was
over and done with. Wasn't carving lines into his hand for
hours objectively worse than a whipping that went on for a few
minutes, at most?
Harry
ignored the voice in his head that whispered that
it was different,
he wasn't so powerless when he was writing lines. Shaking it
off, Harry tried to summon the bravery he was known for.
His
hand trembled when he knocked on the disgustingly pink door.
"Come
in!" Umbridge's sugary voice floated through, and Harry
entered. A piece of parchment sat with a quill beside it in
front of a chair, and Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Only
lines, then,
he thought. He took up the quill, much calmer now, and began
writing. An hour later Umbridge dismissed him, saying he needed
to go to class. Harry thankfully escaped her stifling presence
and made for Charms.
"Where
were you, mate?" Ron asked while they were trying to
banish their feathers.
"Detention,"
Harry whispered back.
"You
missed lunch."
Harry
nodded; he was not hungry anyway. Ron saw he was not in the
mood and turned back to his feather. Harry practised
listlessly, scarcely concentrating.
The
rest of the day passed in a similar manner. Harry picked
through his food and ignored Ron and Hermione whispering
furiously over his head. The minute dinner was over, Harry went
to the dorm and closed the curtains. The pain was sapping his
energy and his scar was throbbing. Everything was too
much.
He kept on looking over his shoulder, expecting narrowed eyes
and little coughs. With a heavy heart, he fell asleep.
Things
went from bad to worse in the morning. By the time Harry had
stirred, breakfast was long over. When he tried getting up from
bed, his entire back seized up and he had to take deep breaths
to compose himself.
He did
not understand how the spell worked. His back was unblemished
but it felt like any other wound. Harry hoped it wasn't just
glamoured because then it would be too hard to make sure it was
not infected.
By the
time Harry reached potions, he was five minutes late and
everyone had started brewing. Harry ignored Seamus' glare when
Snape took five points. Dismissing Hermione's worried looks, he
went to his work station. He sent a grateful glance at Ron; his
ingredients were already laid out.
From
the get go, things went wrong. He had barely added the
Thunderbird feathers when the potion turned green, the opposite
of what it was supposed to be. Stirring did not help matters; a
cloud of purple smoke rose up which sent everyone coughing.
Snape
was livid. "Everyone out! Potter, what are
you doing? I said, out! Out! Out!"
Once
everyone was standing in the corridor outside, Snape closed and
warded the door.
"Potter,
what did you do? That could have killed us,
you imbecile!"
Everyone
looked at Harry accusingly. He wanted to sink through the
floor.
"Nothing,
I'd barely started!" he defended himself feebly,
trembling.
"Exactly!
Are you truly so inept that you destroyed a potion in the first
five seconds or was that your idea of a joke?!"
"That
wasn't a joke, I don't know what went wrong!" Harry
shouted.
"Keep
your voice down!
Detention after dinner."
Harry
gave a mutinous glare and stalked off.
By the
time Umbridge allowed him to leave her mid-day detention, lunch
was over, and Harry was feeling decidedly unsteady. Black spots
danced in his vision and his head was pounding. His back felt
like it was on fire. If there were any real wounds, Harry would
say they were infected. As it was, all Harry could do was wait
it out.
Harry
skipped out of Herbology and hid out in his dorm. He had
absolutely no energy to even try doing any heavy work. History
of Magic was a bonus class to get some much needed rest, and by
dinnertime, Harry felt much better.
Still,
he could only force down a quarter of what was on his plate.
Feeling better didn't mean much when he was feeling absolutely
wretched before, and his stomach was protesting each bite. The
minute he saw Snape stand, he gave up and followed Snape slowly
to the dungeons.
"Come
in!"
Harry
gave a start. He had not even known he had reached Snape's
class, let alone knocked. It took all of his strength to open
the heavy door, and he stumbled through sluggishly.
"Were
you just going to stand there, expecting the door to open on
its own?"
"Hmm?
Er…" For some reason the voice seemed to take
forever to reach his brain. "I didn' know."
"Did
not know what?" It registered in Harry's mind that Snape
sounded impatient.
"You
shouldn' get so angry, 'fessor."
"Excuse
me?"
"Yeah,
you get scary."
"Potter,
are you drunk?" Snape was looking strangely at him. Harry
did not understand why — he was telling the truth.
"'m
drunk. I drunk at dinner."
Snape
stood up, going around his desk. Harry felt a sudden panic
seize him.
"No!
Stay 'way! Stay 'way, please!"
Snape
stopped in his tracks and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
"Potter,
what has happened to you?"
"Don'
feel so good." Harry said, seeing the room spin. He sat
down on the floor with a bump.
"May
I come closer? I need to check you over."
At this
point Harry was past listening. The only things that mattered
were the fire racing through his body and the pressure that was
threatening to explode out of his eyes.
Potter's
erratic behaviour was worrying Severus too much for him to keep
his composure. The child had pressed the heel of his hands to
his eyes and kept mumbling 'don' feel so good'. He kneeled by
the boy, ignoring his increasingly hysterical cries. He waved
his wand in a complicated motion and his eyes widened upon
seeing the hazy diagram floating in the air. Picking Potter up
in his arms, he raced to the hospital wing, ignoring the few
students still struggling in the corridors after dinner. The
doors opened before he reached them, and he hurried inside.
"Poppy,
blood poisoning!" he shouted, almost frantic.
Madam
Pomfrey came out the side door, her face white. The minute she
saw Potter, she started casting her own spells. At last she
turned to face him. "Any chance you have got Septicemal
Serum in your stores?"
"I
will brew it immediately," Severus said, voice tight.
Turning sharply, he left.
Harry
peeled his eyes open. His throat was parched like a desert that
hadn't seen water in years.
Sitting
up, he blinked. He was not in his bed in GryffindorTower.
The
hospital wing was silent. No one was there apart from him.
Moonlight shone on the blurry cabinet opposite, and the air
smelled sterile. Placing his glasses on his face, Harry looked
around in confusion. What had happened?
The
tickling in the back of his throat demanded attention and Harry
remembered what woke him up in the first place. Climbing out of
bed, he nearly jumped out of his skin, hearing Snape's low,
irritated voice. "Potter! What are you doing out of bed?!"
"Er,
I just need to get a drink."
"Do
you not have your wand?" Snape looked at Harry like he was
stupid.
Harry
blushed in embarrassment.
Snape
took a deep breath, walked over and filled a glass with a quiet
"Aguamenti".
Harry gulped it greedily. Remembering his manners, he blushed
again and muttered "thanks". Snape acted like he did
not hear him.
"There
is something we need to speak about. We might as well do it
now, seeing that you are awake."
Without
waiting for Harry's answer, he conjured a chair and sat down.
Harry climbed back on the bed and waited.
"Why
did you not tell anyone?" Snape asked quietly.
Harry
looked up, startled. He had not expected that question. "Tell
what?"
"Do
not act dense, Potter! That Umbridge used the Hablunnaar on
you."
"The
what?" Harry asked, blinking in confusion.
Snape
sent his gaze upward, as if asking for help. "The whip!"
"Oh,"
said Harry eloquently.
"Yes,
oh."
They
stared at each other.
"Well?"
Snape added when Harry did not answer.
"Er,
I thought you knew?" Uncertainty made the statement sound
like a question.
"What
on earth gave you that idea?" Snape looked so baffled that
in another circumstance Harry would have laughed. Nothing was
funny about this conversation, however.
"Because,"
Harry mumbled. "Of, you know… before —"
"Speak
up, Potter," Snape said. "Before what?"
"Well,"
Harry gathered his courage. "When Umbridge had the twins."
"You
think we would have let her
torture them?" Harry flinched. "Are you daft? We
would have stepped in if she had gone that far!"
Harry
got tired of everyone acting
like Harry did
something wrong. It lit the spark on his volatile temper.
"Yeah?
After she drove the Great Professor
Dumbledore out? When I complained to McGonagall, she said I had
to keep my head down! Umbridge has been giving detentions left
and right but all of you are turning a blind eye! What was I
supposed to think?"
Snape
seemed lost for words. "You told Professor McGonagall? And
why should we pay any attention to her detentions? We do not
make a habit of doing that, not even for Prince Potter!"
Harry
exploded. "See, I knew you wouldn't listen! What is the
point?!" With that, Harry shut his mouth and would not say
more.
Snape’s
jaw was tense. He looked like he was about to say something —
but he did not speak.
After a
few moments, Snape moved on. "That was not what I came to
discuss," he leaned forward. "Tell me, have you been
feeling strangely emotional? Depressed, perhaps, or angry?"
Harry
said nothing, but his face must have given him away.
Snape
gave him a knowing look and continued, "The ingredients we
have been using are particularly volatile. What is not well
known, however, is that they react to emotions. When you were
able to clear your mind and felt relatively stable, your
potions went well. On the other hand, if something happened
that caused an emotional upheaval, your potions exploded.
"The
reason we are discussing this is that unstable emotions are
normally not enough to cause the effect you had on the potions.
Do you have any notion of what else it could be?"
It
pained Harry to speak, but he was too curious. "You're
asking me?" he said, a note of shrill disbelief in his
voice.
Snape
rolled his eyes. "It is your
mind, Potter. Now, the answer if you please?" he sneered.
"Why
should I say anything to you?"
"Potter!"
Snape burst out. "This is not a
game! Get over your tantrum and answer the damn question!"
Harry
felt insulted — he was not a
child! "Fine! If you must know," he said mulishly.
"It's my scar. It’s been burning a lot this year."
"Now
is not the time to lie!" Snape’s lips were white
with anger.
"I'm
not lying! Why would I lie about that?"
"Your
scar hurts?" Snape asked for clarification. "Are you
sure it is not your head?"
"It's
not in my head," Harry said shortly, annoyed at not being
believed.
"I
asked if your head was hurting, not if it was in your head,"
Snape said crossly.
"It's
not my head," Harry reiterated.
"Is
it hurting right now?"
Harry
shook his head.
Snape abruptly stood up. "Get some rest, Potter."
"Wait!
Aren't you going to tell me what's going on? What about the
potion thing?"
"How eloquent," Snape sneered. "You will know what you
need to, and at the moment you need to know nothing more.
Goodnight." Snape said in a firm voice, and Harry knew he
would not budge.
"G'night,
sir," he muttered sullenly, laying back down. He was sure
he would not be able to sleep with the thoughts racing in his
head, but minutes later, with Snape's silent presence watching
over him, he was snoring.
By the
next week everything had changed. Umbridge had disappeared and
Dumbledore was back. He had given a speech about 'unforgivable
mistakes' and 'safe places', but Harry was still feeling too
angry at the Headmaster to give him much attention.
Harry
had gotten a note saying that Occlumency lessons were put off
for a week to 'give him time to process things in that
minuscule mind of his'. Harry was too happy about the respite
to be too bothered about the insult.
Harry
did not stop practising, however. Occlumency really did seem to
keep his nightmares away, and there was the added benefit of
explosion-free Potion classes.
Harry
noticed that trying a rudimentary Occlumency exercise during
Potions helped too, and also made him more focused. With his
increasing success, Potions was firmly fixed as Harry's
favourite subject. If a minuscule nod from Snape sent a warm
feeling inside Harry's chest, no one would ever need to know.
The End.