Disclaimer: Characters and places are the Intellectual Property of Ms Rowling. I'm just borrowing some of them for my own amusement and, hopefully, the amusement of others. No money is made out of this. (…as if somebody would pay)
WARNING: Contains spoilers from all books and major spoilers for PoA and OOTP. Will possibly contain some slash in future chapters (or not, I don't know yet). Will NOT contain teacher-student romantic pairings. PG-13 to be on the safe side.
NOTE: this was originally posted as chapter one. For reasons of internal timing of the story, and not to confuse people, this has become chapter two. The new chapter is actually number one.
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Chapter 2: Birthday Resolutions
Number 4, Privet Drive. July 31
In the eve of his 16th birthday, Harry Potter was feeling so despondent that not even the owls bringing his presents were enough to cheer him up. He had sent them all back to their owners with perfunctory 'thank you very much, I loved it' letters. Lupin, Hermione, Ron, the Weasley twins, Mr and Mrs Weasleys… even Tonks had sent him something. What they had sent he didn't know, because the pile of parcels lay unopened at his desk.
He was missing the only one that really mattered to him, and somehow the fact that Sirius wasn't sending him anything made his loses so real, that for the first time in the summer he found himself reviewing what had happened at the Department of Mysteries and the chain of events that lead there. Of course he had been reliving the fight at the Ministry almost every night, but those dreams only had made him angrier and angrier. At Dumbledore, for not telling him the truth from the beginning; at Umbridge for having kept him in her office and delaying everything; at Lupin, Tonks and the rest for having been there and not preventing Sirius' death; at himself for allowing Voldemort to deceive him and of course at Snape, for being so unpleasantly himself, for goading Sirius and for hating all things Potter. In his worse moments he felt angry at Ron and Hermione for having good families that loved them and for not bearing the burden of a prophecy that either made him a killer or a corpse. But tonight it was different. For the first time he would try to think about all that in a rational manner. He owed it to Sirius. He could not let all his sadness and anger bring him down, at least not before he had brought down Voldemort himself. Sirius would have hated seeing James' son feeling sorry for himself instead of trying to do something. Had he heard Sirius whinnying at his lost life in Azkaban? No. He came out and despite everything he fought. And so would Harry Potter.
But the problem was how? He was locked in Privet Drive, a place he hated even though the Dursleys now basically left him alone. The threats issued by the Order at the beginning of the summer had made effect. Of course, thought Harry, anybody who meets Alastor Moody thinks twice about crossing him, so they left Harry to his own devices, which consisted in reading his school books, doing some of his homework (not Potions, though), and moping. There was nothing else he could do as he was not allowed the use of his wand and that meant he could not practice charms, hexes, curses and all those things that were really necessary for his fight and had to content himself with writing some silly essay on Potions, Herbology or something equally useless. Sighing in frustration, Harry went to look out of the window. It was getting dark, and though the summer evening was pleasant there was nobody in the streets as far as he could see. There was nothing useful he could do, and that was the worst feeling of all.
He felt one of his angry moods coming again and the only thing he could think of to avoid it was opening the presents. If this doesn't get me into a better mood I'm lost, thought Harry.
First he got Ron's: some sweets (how predictable) and a small device he had never seen before. Opening the letter he found out that it was the magical equivalent of a CD player: 'Owan's Portable Music Box' It had several songs stored, and Harry began to listen. He would figure out later how you could store the music you liked and things like that. He felt his mood lightening and grabbed the next package. Tonks had sent him a wand holster: plain and simple but it kept wands from falling from your pockets at the worst possible time. His mood was improving very fast, and he got the next one: the twins. He opened it up very carefully, feeling a mixture of excitement and dread at whatever idea those two dangers on legs might have come up with. It turned out to be a selection from their own 'best and bestest': A pair of Extendable Ears, an experimental Extendable Finger, a box labelled 'Faulty Potion Calmer' (which was some dust you dropped into the cauldron when things were going wrong. It usually kept the mess from exploding. Harry didn't want to think what could happen the rest of the times) and Personal Glue (it was an extra-strength glue with a password. If you said the password, the glue dissolved and became inert again). His mood was getting so better that it could almost be described as good, considering. Ok, Harry thought, next the Weasley Parents: they had given him a book called 'Great Tales of Wizardry in Britain'. Maybe he could learn some History of Magic without falling asleep on the book. Next came Hermione's, and Harry felt his mood plummeting again. A BOOK OF OCCLUMENCY!!?!!? How DARED she? He flung the book hard against a wall, as all the bitter memories from his lessons with Snape crashed down on him. The sneering, the insults and above all, the Pensieve Incident and all the hurt it brought up. How dared Hermione to remind him of the Greasy Git? How could she be so insensitive? Harry felt tears welling up. She was supposed to be his friend, and all she did was poke and hurt him in places he wanted left untouched. He got up shaking badly and turned to go to bed, all his good feelings vanished. As he started to undress he caught sight of the last package: Lupin's. He debated with himself whether to open it or not. His mood for the night was ruined, and Remus Lupin had a way for getting under his skin. At last he decided to open it and out of the box came a delicate set of two pendants, each wrought in the form of a golden lion set with small red stones.
'Dear Harry
Rummaging through my house I found these forgotten inside a cupboard. Sirius must have left them the last time he came. They were to be a present from Sirius and myself to your parents. We wanted to give them to James and Lily as soon as they could came out of hiding. I thought Sirius had taken them, but after he returned I never thought of asking him. I want you to keep them, as a reminder of your parent's bravery and love for each other.
Take good care of yourself. I know this summer must be the hardest of your life. I would love to go and visit you often, but the Order is afraid that the Ministry would try to use the presence of a werewolf on the house as leverage against you, Dumbledore or the Order itself. I hate it, but they are right. Fudge is a blasted idiot more interested in undermining Dumbledore's authority than in putting up a real fight against Voldemort. As for the rest, business at the Order is pretty much waiting and trying to discover and foil as many plots of the Death Eaters as we can. We are still too few, though we are getting some trustworthy new people.
You are not alone in missing Sirius, Harry. Do not be afraid of sharing your feelings with me if you wish. I won't tell anybody.
Happy Birthday
Remus'
This time the tears fell for real. Harry picked up the small lions and cried freely. Snape's damned pensieve had left a stain in the beautiful image he had from his parents. He wanted to think of his parents as the good, honourable and devoted couple everybody said they were, and to see his mother-to-be yelling at his father-to-be because he was being a bully made him gag. Those two little lions were a symbol of what he always had believed about his parents. Why, oh why did he have to stick his nose into Snape's private thoughts? He should have known that nothing good could come out of his greasy head, but curiosity had got the better of him, as usual. Harry began to feel sick again as he relived that dreadful evening. He couldn't get out of his head that Sirius death began that day. As he sat on the floor, cradling the small lions to his chest, he remembered that he had decided to think rationally about all the events of the past year. His parents' sacrifice demanded that he, Harry Potter took the bull by the horns.
Or better, he thought rather grimly, tackle the snake by the fangs. Snape. Slytherin bastardness personified was in the middle of all his troubles. He started writing down what he knew about the greasy bastard.
Fact one: he was marked as a Death Eater, so at some point of his life he must have been a loyal follower of Voldemort.
Fact two: he is a spy now working for Dumbledore. Or so Dumbledore thinks. When did he turn? At the trial he witnessed in Dumbledore's pensieve, it was mentioned that Snape had already been working against Voldemort before his first downfall. Harry made a quick calculation that left him shocked: either Snape had been marked while at Hogwarts (something he couldn't believe) or had been a loyal Death Eater for one? two years at maximum? And had turned at about twenty years old. Or younger. A treacherous voice inside Harry's head said 'not much older than yourself or Malfoy'.
Fact three: He hated The Marauders and, Harry thought bitterly, not without reason. He called his mother a Mudblood (no excuse for that). He hates me. No reason for that, at least not a reasonable reason. I haven't done anything to him but hate him back. And he started it.
Fact four: he has saved my life. And …
Harry's hand started to tremble. He could live owing his life to Snape, even though he had never given thought to the fact that he owed the Slytherin a life debt just like the one Snape owed his father. That was not the problem. But everyone on the Order agreed on one thing, and that was simply staggering. He gathered his courage and wrote on
… he seems to really have done his best to keep Sirius from getting into big trouble. Goad him mercilessly? Yes, but Sirius gave as good as he got. But if Snape had really tried to find out whether Sirius was Ok and tried to find me afterwards…
Harry went on musing about the relationship between his beloved Godfather and his hated Professor, and found it more and more puzzling. Snape had been quite willing to send Sirius to the Dementors back in third year, and he was sure that Snape wasn't grieving at all over Sirius fall, but he seemed to be able to put his feelings behind when it came to the real business of making sure a member of the Order of the Phoenix stayed alive. He would make endless snide comments about it, but do it. Harry found himself banging his head on the table for the umpteenth time. If he had been able to actually think of Snape as 'one of us' he wouldn't have got into that mess with Umbridge. What would the greasy git have done? It seemed that the painful answer was that Snape would have made an insulting speech AND try to find out if Sirius was safe. Damn and blast. Couldn't the man be thoroughly evil? How could somebody so unpleasant, ugly, prejudiced and nasty NOT have the decency of being one of the bad guys?
Harry was running out of facts, so he started with the questions, which boiled down to two:
Is he really working for the Order of the Phoenix or is he doing a superb double act? And if the answer to question one was that he was really a spy for Dumbledore, why did he turn from the Death Eaters? Was it fear? But back then Voldemort seemed to be winning. All his friends (do Death Eaters actually have friends?) are on the other side, and everybody in the side of Light save Dumbledore hates him. Like Wormtail, but the other way round. Wormtail wanted power. What did Snape want?
Thinking about Snape was giving Harry a bad headache and he felt he was getting nowhere. He got up from the desk and went over again to the window. Night had fallen completely and there was an almost unearthly feeling of calm in the air. As he stood gazing outside his feelings of restlessness and frustration began to rise again.
He almost could hear Snape's voice sneering at him 'Of course, the Golden Gryffindor Hero thinks that the only worthy thing to do is rush about madly wand in hand'
He was about to get into a heated argument with the little voice inside his head when he remembered Hermione's book. His lessons in Occlumency had gone so badly that he hated to be reminded of them, but he grudgingly had to concede that 'Mione, as usual, was making some sense. Maybe without Snape's jeers he could learn something about it, enough to make a head start. 'The head start you would have got last year if you had put the slightest bit of effort'. Harry was beginning to hate the little voice.
Harry turned from the window and picked up the book. It was called 'Basic Occlumency Techniques: A Guide for the Beginner'. He flopped on the bed and started reading. After an historical introduction, the first chapter was about the most basic aspect for the Occlumens in training: learning to clear your mind. A couple of hours latter he was still awake, reading. It seemed that Occlumency was very difficult to learn alone, though not impossible, and your best bet was to find a good trustworthy teacher. Great, thought Harry, what do I do now?