Hello, I'm extremely sorry for how long this took! Life has been overwhelming, so this story got put on the back burner a bit.
Once again, I don't own Harry Potter, and please enjoy Chapter 2. :)
Chapter 2
The patter of rain against the window of the Hogwarts Express caused Harry to open his eyes. Hermione was sitting across from him, leaning against the window much in the way that he had, but her eyes were open. Her face was pale and weary, and Harry wanted to reach out and grab her hand to reassure her. Her amber eyes turned to look at him, and she gave him half a smile.
Harry returned the vague smile. The leather seats of the train compartment were soft and comfortable, a stark contrast to the prickling and crawling of his skin. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened over break, and nausea reared its ugly head and threatened to make his miniscule breakfast of bacon and dry toast known to all.
Ron had sent him a letter a few days into break, his handwriting shaky as he informed him that his father had been attacked by a large snake at the Ministry and was in critical condition. Luckily, he had been found shortly, but the damage that had been done was still extensive, and Mr. Weasley had been in St. Mungo's for weeks now.
Hermione had received the same letter, and Harry knew that that was the reason that she looked so pale and distressed, her normally incessantly moving mouth closed for once. For Ron was not on the train for the first time, and it was a constant reminder to the both of them of the events that had transpired over break.
Harry tried not to think of the dream, but it forced itself into his mind anyway and he nearly vomited in the compartment again, his stomach convulsing slightly in both nausea and pain at the bruises that covered Harry's stomach. He would rather dwell on the beatings than the horrible dream, but unfortunately he was not quite so lucky.
He had been the snake. He had felt himself slither through the halls of the Ministry in pursuit of the Weasley patriarch. He had attacked Mr. Weasley and felt the warm rush of blood as it poured from the cut, felt the satisfaction at a job well done as he slithered away.
The satisfaction – the indifference – is what repulsed him, more so even than what he had seen and what he had done. He had nearly killed Arthur Weasley, and he had even liked it. The matter had weighed so heavily on him that he had nearly written a letter to Dumbledore. Nearly a hundred pieces of crumpled parchment lie in the waste bin by his rickety desk at the Dursleys'.
Professor Dumbledore, I'm so sorry to bother you but –
Professor Dumbledore, I know we haven't spoken but –
Professor Dumbledore, I need to tell you –
Frustration had caused Harry to finally settle on a letter to Sirius, pouring out his worries and concerns about the horrid dream. Sirius had responded immediately and had apparently informed the Headmaster himself, although Harry had yet to hear from the man.
He felt an unnatural surge of anger rise up in him at the thought of the Headmaster, a slight prickling in his scar making itself known, and he clenched his eyes shut.
"Harry?" Hermione was giving him a strange look, curiosity and concern warring in her amber eyes. "Are you okay?" Her voice was hesitant.
"Yeah, I'm alright, 'Mione. My scar is just hurting a bit." He flashed her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Her eyes flickered to the scribble of scar tissue before returning his gaze. "If you're sure. How were your holidays? Were your relatives alright to you?"
"Oh, yeah, they kind of ignored me, really. I didn't have much to do there." His tender wrist was throbbing, its steady pain beating a tattoo into his brain, reminding him viciously of his lie. His eyes burned with something like shame at the thought of his relatives. He was a worthless wizard. How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort when he couldn't even defend himself from a trio of fat, stupid Muggles? "What did you do over your holidays?"
Hermione smiled. "I'm glad to hear that! My parents and I went to visit France. It was brilliant! The architecture and the history are so fascinating! Did you know that the Arc de Triomphe – ?"
Harry cut her off with a laugh. "I'm sure that I don't."
When the train arrived in Hogsmeade Station and he made his way toward the carriages with Hermione by his side, he just looked at the thestrals with resignation. Surprisingly, the nightmares of Cedric's death and Voldemort's return in the graveyard that had plagued him over the summer had become far less frequent since the beginning of his fifth year. They had been replaced by a recurrent dream of a dark corridor with a locked door at the end, which he figured was frustrating but eternally better than nightmares.
Ron met them in the Great Hall for the Welcome Feast, and Harry noticed Ron's red eyes and pale face, his freckles standing out brightly against his skin.
"How–?" Hermione had barely gotten a word out before Ron cut her off abruptly.
"Fine. Still unconscious." His voice was dead.
Hermione flushed at the interruption but nodded in sympathy, reaching out a hand to touch Ron's. His fingers twisted around hers as he grasped her hand tightly, although his face didn't lose the pale, hopeless expression that seemed to be permanently there.
As Harry began piling turkey onto his gilded plate, he was interrupted by a beautiful tawny owl swooping through the window and onto the table before him. Harry took the letter that was being offered him and offered the owl a bit of stuffing in return, stroking its feathers and wondering whose it was. It certainly wasn't a school owl, for although the owls of Hogwarts were well cared for, their feathers often lacked the radiant luster of personal owls. Perhaps Dumbledore? A quick glance at the silver-haired old man revealed that clearly nothing had changed between them, as the man was pointedly looking at a particularly bright candle floating above the Ravenclaw table.
Harry wanted to laugh despite his frustration with the man, but he felt an unprecedented fury explode within his chest at the sight. He shook his head frantically to be rid of the unnatural feeling twisting in his gut, calming slightly as Hermione grasped his shoulder lightly in concern.
This time refusing to look at the Headmaster as well, he tore open the letter that was now clenched in his left hand. The owl flew away as Harry's stomach flipped as he read the contents of the letter.
Mr. Potter,
I require your presence in my office after the feast. Do not be late.
Professor Snape
Ron showed a surprising amount of interest in the letter, inquiring about the contents and eventually reaching a shaky hand across his untouched plate to grab ahold of the letter and read it for himself. As Ron read the letter, Harry's eyes sought out Ginny a small distance down the table. She met his glance quickly, her red-rimmed eyes betraying the sad smile that appeared on her face immediately.
He grinned back at her as Ron announced his obvious outrage across the table. Harry reluctantly looked away from Ginny as Hermione snatched the letter from Ron's hand and scanned it herself.
"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing, Harry. Probably just Order stuff," she reassured him, and Harry desperately hoped that she was right. But they had just come back from the holiday – surely someone from the Order could have contacted him then if they really needed to speak to him, right? He couldn't help the nervousness and dread in his stomach at the prospect of his meeting with Snape.
oOoOo
"It must be delightful to think yourself important enough to waste the precious time of others." Snape's voice was cold when Harry entered the man's office.
"The feast only just ended," Harry protested hotly, his hand gripping his bag tighter in irritation. Snape's eyes flashed dangerously from where he was sitting behind his desk.
"Don't talk back to me," Snape snapped angrily, his face settling in a deep scowl.
Harry collapsed into one of the man's uncomfortable straight-backed chairs with a glare.
Snape cut straight to the point. "I have been made aware of the events that occurred over your holiday," he bit out, and the blood froze in Harry's veins. Had someone found out about the Dursleys? He wanted to vomit at the thought, but forced himself to meet Snape's black gaze unflinchingly. "The Headmaster informed me that you saw the attack on Arthur Weasley?"
Harry nodded quickly, still feeling slightly sick. "I – "
"Don't interrupt me. As I understand it, you saw this event occur in a dream?" Harry nodded again, and Snape continued, "I see. Do you often have dreams like this, Potter?"
"Dreams where I watch my best friend's dad get attacked by a bloody snake?" Harry felt his face flush angrily.
"Language, Potter. Now the Headmaster is under the impression that the curse that rebounded years ago has caused a mental link with the Dark Lord. Quite unfortunately for the both of us, he has asked me to train you to close your mind."
Confusion knotted Harry's stomach. "So the dreams about Mr. Weasley and the old man from last year were – "
"Bleeding through from the Dark Lord's mind." Harry twisted the strap on his bag in irritation as the man interrupted him, but held his tongue.
"And so I'm supposed to learn to – what – close my mind?"
"I will be teaching you Occlumency, a very complex and difficult mind magic. Only the most disciplined of wizards can learn it properly, so I do not expect much from you, Potter. But at the Headmaster's request, I will nevertheless put my effort into a hopeless cause." Snape looked briefly frustrated.
Harry flushed angrily. "Why couldn't Dumbledore teach me himself?" He didn't want to spend extra time with Snape. What had he done to deserve this?
"Professor Dumbledore is a busy man, Potter. As such, he cannot spend his time babysitting young arrogant wizards, and the job fell to me."
"So these lessons – "
"Are secret," Snape interrupted smoothly once again. "No one can know of them, especially not Dolores Umbridge. If anyone asks, you will tell them that I am offering you Remedial Potions. I hardly doubt anyone will question." His face twisted into an ugly smirk. "We will begin Wednesday night at 7pm."
Snape's sharp glare sent him hurrying out of the Potions professor's office and out into the cold corridors of the dungeons. He shouldered his bag and hurried toward Gryffindor Tower, clenching his teeth in irritation.
He was frustrated with himself for the way that everything seemed to go wrong for him. He was frustrated with Snape for surely using these lessons – whatever they were – to torment him even further. But most of all, he was frustrated with Dumbledore for avoiding him, for forcing him to take extra lessons with the git.
He stomped into the common room and found Ron and Hermione sitting at a table on the side of the room. They were both appropriately sympathetic when he plopped down and growled out the details of his meeting with Snape, although Hermione's eyes had lit up with the prospect of learning the complicated magic.
"Harry, if Professor Snape is an Occlumens, that means that he's a very powerful wizard. It really is hard to learn – hardly anyone knows how to do it. Oh, you have to teach me," Hermione had begged.
Harry didn't care how rare Occlumency was, and he especially didn't care how powerful Snape's magic was. He just cared that he was stuck taking private lessons with Snape.
oOoOo
Seven o'clock on Wednesday night found Harry in Snape's office. He had taken the lone chair that sat across the room from the man's desk and dropped his bag on the floor just as Snape had stood and walked around his desk to face Harry. The door, which Harry had left open in hopes of being able to make a hasty exit, snapped shut with a crack.
"Occlumency," the Potions Master began, crossing his arms across his chest, "as I told you before, is a very complex mind magic that only the most talented wizards can master. I do not attempt to pretend that I think you will be disciplined enough to become even marginally skilled at the art, naturally, as you are an exceptionally mediocre wizard – regardless of what the rest of the wizarding world chooses to believe."
Harry bit his cheek forcefully to keep from snapping back at the man, and ground out, "And how will I learn Occlumency?"
"I do not care whether we are in the Potions classroom or not, but you will address me as 'sir' or 'Professor' at all times, Potter." Snape's mouth thinned into a hard line. "Now, I will attempt to teach you Occlumency by Legilimizing you. Legilimancy is another form of mind magic that allows the user to read the emotions and memories of another."
"You're going to teach me by reading my mind?" Harry gasped, horrified. He reached for his bag immediately; he hadn't agreed to let Snape pick through all of his memories at will.
"Sit down, Potter. The Headmaster requested that I teach you Occlumency, and that requires your presence in my office, so sit down," Snape snapped when Harry didn't move.
Harry dropped back into the hard chair and glared at the older wizard. "You're going to teach me by reading my mind, sir?"
Snape face twisted into an ugly sneer. "Legilimancy is not mind reading. The mind is not so simple as you seem to assume. It is very complex and layered, and requires much skill to interpret. Now, I will not be reading your mind, but I will be Legilimizing you so that you can learn to push me out – if your imbecilic brain can manage it."
Harry wanted to make an indignant retort, but Snape's eyes were flashing with a cold black fire, and Harry was convinced that the man was about to deliver him to Voldemort himself. He figured one jab from Snape wasn't worth the long and painful death that would surely ensue as a result, so he just replied, "How do I push you out?"
As Snape straightened from where he was leaning on the edge of his desk and moved closer, Harry caught sight of a large stone bowl sitting on the man's black desk. Harry recognized the Pensieve that he had seen – and invaded – in Dumbledore's office with a start. A silvery white substance swirled in the Pensieve gracefully, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what memory Snape would have hidden there and why he would have hidden it when Harry was the one who was about to have his mind ravaged.
Snape cleared his throat impatiently to draw Harry's attention away from the stone basin. "The most important step to Occlumency is to clear your mind and rid yourself of any emotion. Close your eyes and do it now."
Harry, although loath to close his eyes in the man's presence, forced his eyes shut and tried to drain the emotion out of himself. It was something that he had taught himself when he was younger and needed to keep Uncle Vernon happy, so it should have been an easy habit to fall back on, but Harry was finding it nearly impossible to clear his mind. Hate and irritation toward Snape were rushing through his veins and reminding him of why he shouldn't trust the man in the slightest.
Harry opened his eyes with a glare to find Snape looking at him intently.
"Pull out your wand. Your goal is to push me out with your mind, but for now, feel free to use any attempt to block me out. Ready, Potter? Legilimens."
Flashes of memories were flying past his vision so quickly that the room around him blurred. The memories began to slow down and suddenly Harry found himself in the Shrieking Shack brandishing his wand at Sirius. Before he could focus too intently on the memory, it switched to a scene of him sitting on his bed and talking to Dobby before his second year. Suddenly the cake was falling from the ceiling as Harry watched on with horror. He was giving Hermione a thin grin across the train compartment just a week earlier. He was sneaking lotion from the Dursleys' cabinet for his sunburns from working in the garden. He was grabbing the goblet together with Cedric, the Portkey whipping them away and tossing them in the old graveyard.
"NOOO!" Harry screamed with an anger that bordered on desperation, and he suddenly found himself on his hands and knees in Snape's office again. Snape was looking down on him with distaste.
"You let me get too far. You lost control. I told you to clear your mind!"
"It's not that easy," Harry growled out, pushing himself up from the stone floor and gripping his wand tighter.
"Until you master your emotions, you will never master Occlumency. Now rid yourself of your anger and try again."
Harry badly wanted to hex the man, but he closed his eyes again and tried to reach for the familiar numbness that permeated his home life. He was finding it elusive once again, so he let the anger course stronger through him and opened his eyes.
"Legilimens!"
He was standing in the courtroom and watching Dumbledore sweep in dramatically from behind, refusing to meet his gaze. He was opening his first chocolate frog card and wondering why Dumbledore's face wasn't in the tiny portrait on the card. Gilderoy Lockhart was lecturing him on fame and making him sign his fan mail. The dementors were drawing nearer and nearer to him and Sirius and as a woman began screaming, 'No, not Harry! Please not Harry!', Harry found himself in Snape's office once again.
He collapsed onto the chair a couple feet behind him and pushed his sweaty hair up. Snape was looking oddly pale and disturbed, his eyes flickering to Harry's scar as his fringe was pulled away. It seemed that Snape had been the one to end the connection this time, for he seemed slightly off-balance as he turned back toward his desk.
Harry's head was pounding viciously, and he raised a hand to rub his aching scar as he recovered. Snape turned around almost immediately, and the scowl was fixed on his face once again.
"Get up," he bit out, his hands clenching the edge of the desk so tightly that his knuckles were unnaturally white. "You are not trying hard enough. Your attempt at defense is weak and pathetic, letting me peruse your mind and find any memory I desire."
Harry felt a pulse of fear down his spinal cord at the thought that Snape really did have full access to his memories. "Don't call me weak," he spat.
"Then prove to me that the Boy-Who-Lived is more than just a fool getting by on his fame alone. Legilimens."
Harry was angry. He was so angry that it was coursing through his body like white-hot fire, scorching everything it touched. Snape seemed only to feed on that anger as he pushed and prodded Harry's mind, pulling up memories here and there.
Harry was ten years old at the zoo and the anger vibrated his bones as the glass to the snake's tank disappeared and Dudley fell in. He was thirteen and angry and devastated as Hagrid told him that Buckbeak had been sentenced to death. He was watching Dumbledore at the Head Table and feeling that unnatural rage rise within him just at the sight of the bearded man.
The theme of the memories shifted slightly as Harry found himself thrown into the Black Lake, the gillyweed not quite working yet and fear permeating Harry's mind. He was twelve and lying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, feeling the burn of Basilisk venom in his veins and fearing whatever would follow once the venom had run its course. He was running down the street from the dementors in Little Whinging, scrambling for his wand as Dudley punched him in the face and praying to Merlin that this wasn't how it all ended. He was watching Voldemort rise from the cauldron in the middle of the graveyard, horror mixing with the most fear he had ever felt in his life. Cedric was lifeless on the ground beside him, and –
"Did you notice anything about those memories, Potter?" Snape was asking, though Harry could barely hear him over the screaming of his brain as it tried to recover from the overload of fear.
"Aside from you intentionally looking for my worst memories?" Harry spat. "No."
Snape raised an eyebrow in warning. "I was drawing up memories linked to a particular emotion, like anger or fear. It is extremely easy to follow chains of memories if they are linked by emotion or even the small associations that you naturally form between memories. The Dark Lord will search for your worst memories and use them against you in an instant, which I can assure you is much worse than your Potions professor seeing you attacked by dementors."
Harry glared at the man, trying to mentally prepare himself for another mental attack.
"I think we are done for the day. I will see you next week at the same time, Potter." As Harry grabbed his bag and scrambled for the door without a second thought, Snape called, "Make sure you clear your mind every night before you go to bed. If you do not, I will know."
Snape gave Harry an unsettling smirk, and Harry ran from the classroom and back towards Gryffindor Tower, grateful for the ability to keep his thoughts to himself for the first time all night.
Please let me know what you think :)