Disclaimer: See chapter one and rest assured that I claim no rights.
A/N: Hello there! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. I know the prologue and the first chapter were both short and rather slow, and this one will be somewhat the same. Please understand that I'm setting the stage for this story, and next chapter will have some more action, and a bit more Drarry. I know you're waiting for it, but when it comes, I promise it'll be worth the wait. ;)
Another quick note - Narcissa Malfoy's character is giving me some trouble. I want her to be a bit pompous, but not prissy, and still holds some pureblood-supremacist views and tendencies. (Old habits die hard, after all.) However, I also want her to be very...motherly. A maternal figure in a way, but also a strict teacher. I hope I'm portraying her well, and if you have any suggestions regarding her character, I'd be happy to hear them. :) Now, enough of that and on with the story!
Masks and Shields
"Sit."
Her voice was in no way welcoming despite her invitation.
Harry sat.
The alabaster woman surveyed him coolly through her mask of indifference, and Harry flinched at her scrutiny, attempting to straighten up as subtly as possible.
"Have you thumbscrews in your seat?" inquired Narcissa lightly, but clearly indicating sarcasm.
"No," Harry replied stiffly.
"Than I see no reason for you to be squirming such," Narcissa said aloofly.
Harry couldn't hold back an indignant retort. "Say it was thumbtacks?"
"Silence, child. You will not speak to me as such," she snapped, but there was an odd twinkle in her eyes, as though he had somehow pleased her.
"Sorry, Ma'am," he muttered, ducking his head.
"Look at me when you speak to me, Harry. It is only polite."
"Yes, Ms. Black."
The pause that followed was heavy, and Narcissa's next question startled him: "Why do you not wear your father's ring?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "S-sorry?"
"Your father's ring - your family's signet," she elaborated somewhat impatiently, as though she thought he was being stupid on purpose.
"I - wasn't aware I had one," Harry admitted somewhat reluctantly.
Narcissa raised a dainty eyebrow and pursed her lips delicately. "Do you have any idea what the sole heir of an important family such as the Potters failing to wear his signet ring implies?" she inquired after a moment. Her tone was distant, but there was an underlying note of indignation that Harry identified quickly.
"Er, no Ma'am. Sorry," he added hastily as Narcissa's annoyance became more prominent.
"If I am correct, my displeasure is not directed at you. This time," she finished with one of her rare, small, almost-smiles that reminded Harry uncannily of Professor McGonagall.
"What, exactly, is a...a signet ring?" Harry asked carefully after a moment of observing Narcissa, who seemed to be considering something with slight anger.
"A signet ring is the seal and symbol of your family line. The Potters are a very...ah...prominent family, and I admit to being rather surprised that your failure to procure your father's ring has not raised more ruckus."
"What does it mean? That I'm not wearing it?" Harry asked softly, her severity making him fear her answer.
"It means, in short, that..." the fair woman hesitated here, before sighing softly and continuing, "That you have rejected your duties as head of the family, and that you denounce your name."
Harry started, his eyes widening. "It - what!" he cried, thoroughly taken aback.
Narcissa inclined her head. "I have a theory as to who has been withholding your inheritance, and I do not like it. However, it would do me no good to confront him now...Potter, we will speak of this at the end of our session. I do not want it clouding your thoughts any more than it already is. You are to put it out of your mind for the time being. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Harry replied a little meekly.
"Very good. Now, if you are to come into your inheritance any time soon, you must know of Wizarding customs and political etiquette. I shall include that in later lessons of yours, once you have an adequate grasp on the theory of Mind Arts, at the very least."
Harry nodded.
"Well, then, I see no reason not to begin our first session!" Narcissa announced with a look that seemed to inquire as to Harry's thoughts on the matter; Harry simply nodded again, albeit a little hesitantly.
Narcissa sat in the couch across from Harry and tapped her finger under her own chin, indicating that he should raise his head and look her in the face.
"For now, you are to look me in the eye when we speak to each other. Your instructions later may be quite different. Do you have any knowledge of Muggle sayings?" she asked. Her change in subject might have been abrupt for anyone else, but the transition rolled smoothly off her tongue in a way that could only stem from the discipline and cunning of a Slytherin.
"My neighbor who cared for me when my relatives couldn't was rather fond of them," Harry offered.
"Then you may know the one that indicates that the eyes are windows to the soul?"
"Er, yes," Harry said, rather confused by this reference.
"Well, I suppose Muggles aren't entirely oblivious," Narcissa remarked, "because while that statement is flawed, it does still hold some truth."
"How so?" Harry inquired with some curiosity, but mostly because it was clear that he was expected to.
"You see, the eyes might not be windows to the soul, but they certainly are windows to the mind. Not specific thoughts," she added quickly, "but your emotions, and your memories, and anything that you wish a person to see, and...anything that you wish them not to see."
Harry shivered slightly, recalling all the times he'd felt as though he was being x-rayed by Dumbledore or Snape, and the sudden realization that they had been delving into his mind both shocked and angered him.
"Legilimency is the art of entering anothers mind, though it does not delve very deeply. Often only the first few layers the mind are those affected. I am going to teach you to use Occlumency to protect your mind from intrusion and outside influence.
Now, the first thing you must do is learn to construct shields around your mind. These shields will be temporary defenses - for anyone who is not a Master Occlumens will not be able to hold them for extended periods of time, and certainly not while another is attempting to access your mind. They - the shields - simply use up too much energy."
"Than how do they help at all?" asked a nonplussed Harry. "Why waste energy on something that won't hold?"
"Think, Harry. Lower those walls of Gryffindor density and think like a Slytherin for a moment," Narcissa said with a shrewd look at Harry, as though she was of the same opinion of the Sorting Hat about his placement.
Harry frowned. "They...only help temporarily...so...it bides you time?"
"Very good, Harry," Narcissa praised. "And with that extra time, what would you do to protect yourself from further penetration of the mind?"
"Erm...I...don't know," he admitted sheepishly.
Narcissa's mouth creased in slight disapproval, but she did not scold her pupil. Instead, she said, "You will layer your mind."
"Er, sorry?"
"You will be spending the next few weeks, once you have your mental shields constructed and ready to be put to use, learning to layer your thoughts and memories in a manner that will bury the most important ones, the ones that only you and those you explicitly choose should know of, and with the most trivial ones at the top - the ones that don't matter. With someone attempting to sift through the idlest of your thoughts, you will have time to eject them from your mind."
"Why aren't I learning to do that first?" Harry questioned, not with impotence but with genuine curiosity.
"I will not be teaching you that first simply because your initial attempts at it will make your mind painfully vulnerable. I fear it would be rather counterproductive. If you have shields ready for use, however, and you know how to implement them, you will have at least some sort of defense while you are adding more layers of protection. Do you understand?"
"I think so," Harry said truthfully.
"Very well. We shall begin."
"Occlumency sounds positively fascinating," Hermione commented one evening after dinner when herself, Harry, and the four youngest Weasleys were sitting in the living room, warmed by laughter and a roaring fire.
"I s'pose," Harry replied faintly, scrunching up his face and glowering at the chessboard between himself and Ron.
"Just give it up already, mate," Fred said from his spot on the hearthrug with George where the twins were tormenting Crookshanks.
"Yeah, you know you're gonna lose," George added, tugging at Crookshanks' tail while Fred tweaked his ears. Hermione's cat merowed angrily and leapt onto the couch for his owner's protection.
"Oh, hush, and stop torturing my cat," Hermione snapped.
Ginny rolled her eyes as Ron cried, "Checkmate!" for the third time that hour.
"You must admit, Hermione, these games are getting shorter and shorter," snickered the redheaded girl. Hermione just shrugged at her friend.
"But how are your lessons?" Hermione pressed as Ron set up the chessboard, ignoring Harry's weak protests.
"They're...fine. Better than I thought they would be, that's for sure. Narcissa Black isn't all bad," Harry added with some reluctance.
Ron scoffed. "She's a Malfoy," he said with distaste.
"Not anymore," Ginny reasoned blithely. "There must be a reason behind that decision. Why must you be so stubborn?"
"Oh, you're one to talk! You didn't stop the twins turning all Malfoy's clothes to Chudley Cannons memorabilia the other day," he retorted with a smirk.
"Well, that's different. That's Draco Malfoy, the kid who's been a right git to all of us from the moment he set eyes on us."
"Wasn't to me," Harry said quietly. Everyone turned to him.
"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione asked gently.
"He offered me his friendship. I just can't help wondering how things would be different if I had accepted it. Sure he's a prat, but I wonder if he might've...turned out okay."
"He'd still be a Slytherin," Ron grunted with a dismissive wave of the hand, but everyone else watched Harry carefully for the rest of the night. Especially Ginny.
"Oopsy!"
"Tonks!" cried Ginny over the screeches of Lady Black.
"Sorry, oh, I'm so sorry Molly!" Tonks gasped as she tugged the hideous Troll leg umbrella stand back into place.
"Oh, honestly Tonks," smiled Molly.
"Dunno why we still have that wretched thing anyway," Ginny remarked fairly, hugging Tonks. "We have lots to talk about, and loads of planning to do. Those two gits still haven't wised up."
Tonks laughed. "I didn't think they would," she said ruefully.
Molly spared the two a vaguely suspicious glance, but when Tonks shot her a disarming smile, she returned it with one of her own.
"The drawing room is empty, I believe," Molly said offhandedly, and Ginny gave her mother a Cheshire grin. "I do hope whatever you're plotting is worth the wrath you will incur if it goes wrong."
"Yes Mum, thanks!" Ginny called over her shoulder as she tugged a stumbling Tonks down the hall and into the drawing room.
Shaking her head, Molly began a tedious tug-of-war with Mrs. Black's curtains.
"So what've you got?" Tonks asked Ginny as they entered the rather drab drawing room. Its previous splendor was clear, plush emerald sofas and mahogany cabinets with silver handles rusted to a dull near-black and moth-eaten white-and-green window dressings. The couches were velvet and the Slytherin-green carpet was so deep you were buried up to your ankles with each step you took.
Ginny sat down at an old grand piano that she'd tuned and more-or-less taken over during their stay. Nobody else seemed to mind - it wasn't like they knew how to play. She had discovered that Harry had a lovely voice, and they'd taken to holing up in the room on rainy days and doing duets for fun.
Tinkering a Muggle tune, her fingers trailing over cracked keys, Ginny said, "Harry's gay."
Tonks' eyes widened. "You were right!" she gasped. "I thought maybe, but...how do you know for sure?"
"He told me," she said simply. "Well, sort of," she added with a slight frown. "We were in here the other evening and..."
Ginny stole a sideways glance at the boy who had quickly become her new best friend, what with Ron and Hermione's incessant flirting. (They called it bickering, but Ginny knew better!)
Harry was scowling slightly at the keys under his fingers. Ginny had taught him a few songs, and she was pleased to note that he was quick to pick up on the nuances of a tune.
"Harry?" she prompted gently. "What's bothering you?"
Harry sighed. "Gin, you've gotta promise not to tell anyone," he began with an uncertain little hitch in his voice. "It's really important."
"Gryffindor Honor," she said, mockingly crossing her heart. It did the trick - Harry grinned slightly.
"But really - I don't want anyone to know."
"Okay," she assured him. "I'll keep it private," she said carefully.
"Well, you know Cho Chang?"
"Of course," Ginny said with a raise of her eyebrow, flicking her fiery bangs out of her dancing honey-brown eyes.
"She kissed me after the last D.A. meeting," he admitted, almost sounding ashamed.
"Well...that's great!" Ginny enthused. "Er...isn't it?"
She held her breath. Was her theory about to be confirmed? This easily?
"I dunno," he sighed, swinging his long legs over the bench to turn away from the piano and propping his elbows on his knees. "I don't know. It didn't...feel right. I felt...Ginny, I felt dirty," he said, wrinkling his nose and looking away in shame.
Mentally doing a victory dance, Ginny smiled gently.
"Harry, do you love her?"
"Well...she's awful pretty, I guess," he stammered a little uncertainly.
"Hmm...Harry, I have a question. And you have to promise not to get upset before you think about it a little more. Okay?"
Harry nodded jerkily.
"Harry, do you ever think about...boys in that way? In the way that Ron thinks about Hermione, or...or...you used to think about Cho?"
Harry balked immediately.
"What?" he hissed, paling? "I - I don't - I'm not -"
"Harry, you promised," Ginny reminded him softly.
Slowly, Harry stood and turned to face her, his eyes holding an unspoken fear.
"Yes," he whispered.
Ginny nodded triumphantly. "You're gay," she stated.
"I'm gay," he confirmed with a grimace. "Are you upset?" he asked in a very small, very childlike voice.
"I - no, of course not Harry!" Ginny said adamantly. "Why in Merlin's name would I be upset?"
"I don't know..." he muttered, turning away.
Ginny stood and slowly, as though she didn't want to spook him, circled his waist with her arms.
"Oh, Harry," she laughed quietly. "Oh, Harry..."
Soon, his arms were wrapped around her and he was holding on as if he never wanted to let her go.
Soon, though, she pulled away and placed a tender kiss on his cheek.
"Hey, Gin?" Harry said hesitantly.
"Hmm?"
"I know you have six brothers already, but do you think you could make room for one more?"
Ginny giggled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "I think I can manage with one more," she said with fake reluctance. Her newly-christened brother grinned.
Harry flopped back onto the sofa behind them and draped his lanky frame over one of the arms. Ginny sat back at the piano bench and joined the symphony of the raindrops on the roof.
With a sigh, Ginny pulled herself back to the present, where Tonks was waiting impatiently for an explanation.
"Well, the conversation was kind of private, and technically he didn't want me to tell anyone at all, but since you sort of already knew, I don't think this counts," Ginny said with a coy smirk.
Tonks grinned. "You should've been a Slytherin," she snorted.
"Oi!" cried Ginny. "I take offense to that. But...honestly, sometimes I think so myself. The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I desperately wanted to be anything but," she confided with some reluctance.
Tonks smiled and shrugged. "Well, I'd quote whatever Dumbledore is always saying about choices and abilities, but I really don't remember it. Half of what he says is rubbish and half is deep wisdom, and sometimes the rubbish seems like the wisdom and the wisdom seems like the rubbish," she said with a cute scowl.
Ginny laughed. "That was uncharacteristically deep, Tonks...I think Moony is rubbing off on you!" And then she couldn't say anymore, because she found herself being pinned to the carpet and tickled mercilessly as Tonks proclaimed once again that she had no feelings what-so-ever for the scholarly werewolf.
