Disclaimer for ARTF: Not mine.
Harry potter had never before feared the wrath of Albus Dumbledore.
Harry sat in Dumbledore's office idly tapping one of his worn shoe clad feet against the carpeted floor, trying to keep his mind off of what he knew was inevitably to come by counting the stitches in the carpet.
He had gotten to seventy-three when the sound of his own breathing had startled him. After beginning again he had gotten to fifty-seven when he had confused the whispering of one of the many pictures in the peculiar office for the sound of the headmaster approaching. His heart had nearly stopped in his chest.
Dumbledore had always had a soft spot for him. Harry had done things ten times as ridiculous and thousands of times as dangerous. He had simultaneously broken hundreds of rules and after he had finished his blatant disregard of authority Dumbledore would only smile, aid him, commend him, or give him a pat on the back for a job well done: encourage him. This time however, he knew that Dumbledore would let him have it. The headmaster had every right to simply flay him. And Harry knew it.
Before he had only been disobedient when lives were on the line; when the fate of the wizarding world itself hung in the balance.
"Of course he would not have been angry with me then, if I was not so reckless people could have died!" He muttered aloud before realizing the irony of the last statement. He almost smiled at it, before the eyes of the myriad pictures, all focused on him either accusingly or with intense interest, brought him back to reality.
"Oh, sod off." He groaned at the pictures and put his head in his hands. Attempting to shield himself from their gazes.
"Well I never."
"How rude!"
"To think, our young Mr. Potter, a bad seed."
"Oh, I quite agree."
"Shut up!" Harry cried and several of them took their last jeers and jabs at the distraught young man before either disappearing into obscurity or falling into silent observation.
With their silence Harry fell back into his thoughts, which were even more torturous then their scrutiny.
"Before when I rebelled, it was because I stood for what was right." He muttered aloud at an odd moment, nearly ten minutes later. "Now I deliberately disobeyed Dumbledore because I am-"
"Because you are what, Mr. Potter?"
Shite! Harry looked to see Dumbledore approaching him from behind. He suddenly felt the old man's presence like a thick suffocating fog. There was an electricity in the air that betrayed just how on edge the younger wizard was. He had never been claustrophobic, but the walls seemed to be closing in about him. He imagined that something in the headmaster's gait was predatory.
He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me. He's going to kill me! He's going to kill-"
"Speak Harry. Finish your thought." Dumbledore said, his tone betraying nothing; not anger, not impatience, and decidedly not the usual jovial or almost paternal attitude which followed Harry's usual antics and escapades. Harry's first impulse was to look at the headmaster to examine his countenance for inklings as to his underlying emotion, but after remembering who exactly he was dealing with he came to the wise conclusion that it would not help him in the least. This alone frightened him to a point where it took every last ounce of dignity and all of the strength he possessed not to crumble.
"Harry…" The entirely flat tone nearly sent Harry running out of the door. When Dumbledore rested a friendly hand on his shoulder he felt as if a particularly unrelenting dementor had sank its cadaverous claws into his flesh.
"Now I deliberately disobeyed Dumbledore because I am…" A liar.
"Harry."
"…because I am…" Hiding something.
"Yes, Harry?"
"…I am…" Deathly afraid of the consequences. "…Because…" If Snape were to find out I'm as good as dead. The greasy old bastard already hates me. He'd have a bloody fucking Christmas in…Jesus- I don't even know what damned month it is! "Petty." Harry spat out rather unconvincingly.
"Petty?" Dumbledore asked, moving behind his desk to face Harry, who nodded mutely.
"Care to elaborate, Mr. Potter."
He's calling me Mr. Potter again. He's even angrier with me because he knows that I'm full of it. "Snape and I hate each other, headmaster. It's no secret! You can ask anyone. If you ask me, he's the petty one, taking it out on me because my dad played a few tricks on him when they were students!"
"Three Occlumency lessons, all three ended short, Mr. Potter."
"Once he threw me out because it backfired and I got to see him a gangly greasy student trekking across the school grounds streaming toilet paper behind him!" The git!
"And the other two lessons ended with you fleeing from the room in near hysterics. Can you explain what prompted you to act so rashly, when you know that your very sanity and life may depend on honing and utilizing Occlumency skills against Voldemort?"
Shite! "Sir, he intentionally went through all of my worst and most secret memories! It was horrible!"
"Like what, Mr. Potter?"
"When I watched Voldemort kill Cedric! Seeing Hermione petrified by the basilisk for the first time and for that first split second thinking that she was dead and beyond the help of any potion! The Dementors and…and…my mother screaming…" Harry said and Dumbledore sighed.
"Professor Snape said that you withstood all of that, Harry." The older wizard replied. "He said that you fought, albeit unsuccessfully. He said that he could feel it, up until one particular memory would arise."
"He's lying. He nearly killed me!"
"And when this one particular face appeared you would run as far away as fast as possible."
"Sir, I cannot do this!"
"But you must Harry, you must fight." Harry only sat shaking his head sadly as Dumbledore continued. "I am scheduling your next Occlumency lesson for Monday following the evening meal. It will give you the weekend to rest."
Harry looked as if he were about to protest, but the stern look in his Headmaster's eyes stopped him. "Yes Sir." Harry replied sheepishly
"Now go to bed Harry, get some rest." Dumbledore said and Harry nodded before leaving his office. He headed straight to the crowded common room, ignoring all of the people who attempted to find out about his little sojourn to Dumbledore's office, and then to the dormitories where he collapsed on his four poster bed with his uniform and shoes still on. When Ron came to check on him he rolled over and feigned sleep. Ron returned to the common room.
Author's note: Since its been awhile, I'll go through this again.
You can hate the plot, the way I've portrayed the characters, the grammar, the style, the fact that I basically ditched this story on a whim, my style, my tone, the shortness of the chapters, and anything like that. I'm sure that its basically a free country wherever you are and I really appreciate constructive criticism. However, if you don't read the warnings and get offended by something I warned you about in the first place and want to write me a long review telling me what a perverse waste of flesh I am, shut up. In fact, go back and reread the warnings now just to make sure that there is nothing in there that will offend your delicate sensibilities. If there isn't, welcome to the twisted workings of my mind. I hope you like them.
And I am really sorry for basically ditching this for no apparent reason. I used to be RhiannonVega fyi, so I'm still the same sarcastic snape-obsessed writer, I just have a different penname.
