"Remus hates me!" Harriet continued in a soliloquy like fashion, not caring that Snape was sitting right there next to her. Yet even the mortification could not compete with stop the guilty tears, the sobs, the self-loathing.
"Lupin has no reason to hate you," said Snape, slightly taken aback at the wave of emotions coming out of the child. "You are not responsible for Black's death, Potter." The girl had not even noticed as he led her on the sofa and sat her down. She didn't notice when he sat down next to her either.
"But I am! I didn't try hard enough, I didn't…I should have focused more…." She hiccupped as fresh tears cascaded out of her eyes.
"Even if you had tried harder, the Dark Lord would have found a way past your defenses. Mastering Occlumency does not happen overnight, Potter, you need to get that into your thick head," he said angrily as the girl continued to sob in misery.
"He should just kill me already…" she said barely above a whisper and nearly jumped out of her skin when, in one swift movement Snape grabbed her arms and made her look at him. His expression was unreadable, the permanent frown between his thick eyebrows as deep as always. But when he spoke, Harriet almost flinched at the raw pain that he seemed to emit. "Your mother," he said in a poisonous tone, "did not die for this!" This. This. Pathetic melancholy, self-loathing, nausea inducing guilt. This. The anxiety monster living within her, eating away the last shreds of confidence. At first, she did not know what to say, for Snape's expression was unreadable. But then her eyebrows knitted together of their own accord and a ball of rage started forming inside her chest, one that she could not fully understand.
"I hate them!" she spat out at Snape. "I hate them both! They shouldn't have died like that, they should have hidden better." She knew she sounded childish but she did not care. All she could focus on was the sudden rage she felt towards her parents, people that she hardy remembered: rage at the stranger with red hair that brought her into the world and her four eyed husband. Oh how she hated them. Hated the way people always spoke of sweet dear Lily as though Harriet could remember her voice or her scent of the texture of her hair. As if she could remember anything but that abysmal green light. "It's just not fair," she concluded, more to herself than anyone else as her shoulders slouched as the rage dissipated throughout her body, leaving only faint traces of consumed anger and slight shock that she had opened up to the greasy dungeons bat in such a manner.
"Are you quite done?" asked Snape sardonically.
Harriet did not know what to say so she just sat there, trying not to look at him.
"Potter, look at me," said Snape in a commanding voice as Harriet reluctantly lifted her red rimmed eyes towards him. "Lupin is a moronic werewolf who is incapable of dealing with adult feelings without shutting away and blaming others. Your blessed dogfather was cretinously impulsive and, as such, ran into action without thinking. Were you not at the Ministry that night, he would have probably gone anyway just to make sure the prophecy was safe. He would have fallen into the Dark Lord's trap either way."
"But I couldn't save him—"
"Potter, you are fifteen years old! I know you think you may be the chosen one, the saviour—"
"I don't think that!" she spat back annoyed.
"Yes, you do!" Snape said, raising his voice. "What other reason would you possibly have for running into the most dangerous situations without a glimmer of thought beforehand? Your father may have been a bigger fool than Black, but I would have hoped you inherited at least one brain cell from your mother!"
Harriet could think of nothing to say back. Who was she to argue that her father had been smart and considerate? After all, Snape's pensive memory revealed a pathetic teenager who bullied those he considered inferior. She wished she had not seen that. She wished she could still think of her father as the Gryffindor Quidditch hero, the hero who died trying to protect his wife and child. And yet she still loved him so fiercely. She wanted to be held by him, her dad, she wanted to be told that everything will be okay, that she was not utterly alone and useless in the world. But his absence metamorphosed into anger, a mechanism of defense against wishful longing.
"You must not take responsibility for Black's actions, Potter. They were his alone. To do otherwise will make you weak. You must overcome your fears. He already used them against you..."
"I am not weak!" she said in an angry voice, furrowing her eyebrows and hating just how much his words stung. But they did not sting because she felt insulted, but rather because she didn't want them to be true. She didn't want to be weak; she didn't want to put anyone in danger because of her inability to fight. Snape was right, she should be trying harder.
"Then prove it!" spat Snape with a mixture of determination and disgust at the sniveling brat before him. "Stop running away. Face your fears. Control your emotions!" For a moment, Harriet felt anger run through her body like water through a sieve. She wasn't entirely sure at whom her anger should be directed; at Snape, the unbearable bastard who took pleasure in making her life a living hell, or at herself for slipping in such weakness and worthlessness.
"Fine!" she blurted out as she stated playing with the elastic band around her wrist like the nervous wreck she was. "I'll learn Occlumency!" she spat the word as though it were a bitter tasting bean. She would think about hiding Vernon from Snape later. But he knew he had been right. She couldn't hide from her fears. She had to face them, it was the only way.
Snape had not expected that to come out of the brat's mouth. He stared at her for a moment, seeing flickers of the Gryffindor stupidity (that others insisted to call stubborn bravery) that had been her trademark since she cursed his days by coming to Hogwarts. His stoicism never faltering, Snape stood up and, looking down at the scrawny teenager sitting down on his sofa, he said: "Then I suggest you get some sleep. We will re-commence your lessons in the morning." Harriet simply nodded in misery as she started making her way back towards her room, making a mental note not to ever open up to Snape the way she did. She was till flabbergasted at the fact that just twenty minutes earlier her emotions had been sprawled all over the dark man like some sort of emotional tornado. Her face became involuntarily crimson at the though.
"Oh and Potter?" said Snape just as Harriet was about to disappear inside her room, crawl under her bed and never come out again. "Should you ever steal from my stores again, I will not hesitate to the proper punishment that you deserve. Am I understood?"
Harriet's cheeks became so hot that she could swear her entire face burst into flames at Snape's choice of words. Giving him a discomfited nod, she attempted to slip into the darkness of her room, when Snape's sharp voice stopped her in her tracks.
"I expect a verbal answer. And look at me when I'm talking to you."
"Yes sir." she blurted out automatically and disappeared into the safety of her room as soon as Snape gave her a curt nod.
She dreamt of nothing that night.
Harriet felt rather intimidated, sitting on a wooden chair before a standing Snape, deep down in the dungeons of Hogwarts, about to face the ministrations of a mind torturer. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. This could not be worse than in her fifth year, could it? All she had to do was hide Vernon as deep down into her subconscious as possible and think of everything else instead. Voldemort in the graveyard, sneaking up on Ron and Hermione kissing in the library after curfew, Cedric kissing her before the Yule Ball…no…not that one. Snape could not see that.
"Prepare yourself!" Snape stern voice broke her out of her mild daydream as a million memories ran to the forefront of her mind. "Clear your mind," he continued in a silky voice, readying his wand.
"Wait!" she blurted out almost desperately, the walls of the classroom suddenly seeming to gang up on her. "I just wanted to say that…err…I didn't mean to…lookintoyourpensivelastyear!" said Harriet as her cheeks turned crimson red. "It was wrong of me and I am sorry." She really did feel sorry and hoped that her apology would save her from Snape being too harsh. She had had no business looking into the man's memories.
"Articulate as ever," said Snape with a sneer. "Didn't like seeing your father as a bully, did you Potter?"
"No sir," she said and Snape raised his eyebrows at her apparent sincerity. "I'm not sorry because I saw my father doing that to you…I'm sorry because he did. I don't see him in the same light any more…" she said awkwardly wondering why she would tell Snape of all people that last part.
"Very well. Apology accepted," said Snape coldly. "Now clear your mind, Potter!"
She tired. She really did and at first a strange fog enveloped her mind, making faces blurrier, unrecognizable.
"Legilimens!" he said and her foggy defense dissipated away far too easily, making her mind the open book that Snape had constantly reproved the previous year. She tried to block him out, but her pushed past her feeble defenses far too easily as she started panicking. She could hear her own heart beating louder and louder in her mind, she could see Snape sneering in disgust at her weakness. And then she saw Ron and the Burrow, Fred and George kicking about a garden gnome as if playing muggle football. The scene then changed as she saw her twelve year old self helping Hermione brew Poly Juice Potion in Myrtle's bathroom; she saw her eleven year old self throwing up before her first Quidditch match; she saw herself riding the Firebolt that Sirius had given her at the end of third year; she saw Sirius falling through the veil as Bellatrix hit him flat in the chest with the killing curse…
"NO!" she screamed and pushed Snape out of her mind. Her eyes filled with tears at the last memory but she refused to let them fall. She could not show Snape her weakness any more. Not after the previous night.
"Not good enough Potter. You let me see fat too much!" reproved Snape icily. "Forty points from Gryffindor for brewing dangerous potions unsupervised!" he said with a sneer.
"What? That was in my second year! You can't punish me for something that happened three years ago!" she retorted angrily, furrowing his eyebrows and wising that looks could kill.
"I assure you Potter, I most certainly can. Must be hard, knowing that Gryffindor will start the new school year with negative points because of you."
"You bastard!" she couldn't help but say.
"Language, Potter or I will wash your mouth out with soap!" he said silkily, giving her a stern look that made her drop her eyes to the floor. "Prepare yourself," he said again, as he pointed his wand at her.
This time the fog lasted a little longer. Snape walked in her mind, looking at memories that had become foggy. "Honestly Potter, this is pathetic. I told you to clear your mind, not cover it with fog." As soon as Harriet registered his harsh words, the fog dissipated, leaving her vulnerable yet again. To her mortification, Snape saw how Cedric leaned in and kissed her before the Yule Ball. She felt her stomach turn upside down at the memory and Snape snickered, saying "How romantic." She tied to push him out of her mind, but he only pushed harder in, picking up random memories and looking though them as though an insignificant magazine. Ron and Hermione kissing when they thought no one was looking; Arthur Weasley punching Lucius Malfoy in the face in Diagon Alley; Hermione punching Draco during their third year; Voldemort casting the Cruciatus curse on Harriet. She shuddered as she heard her own agonizing screams. Once again, she tried to push Snape out, but he only insisted harder. She saw herself hugging Sirius the previous Christmas; she saw her eight year old self running from Dudley and his bully gang; she saw Petunia smacking her head with a newspaper for burning breakfast when she was ten. By this point, Harriet was breaking into a sweat as she tried to push Snape out, but he would not budge. She saw herself throwing smashing things around Dumbledore's office after the incidents at the Ministry; she saw Aunt Marge flying like a balloon over Little Whinging; she felt cold and lonely as she re-lived her fist encounter with the Dementors on the Hogwarts Express; she saw bright green lights as she heard her mother screaming as Death was begging to hug her down. She was pushed back against the chair as Snape left her mind.
"What was that?" he asked a little hoarsely, looking at Harriet's pale, sweaty face. The girl looked as though she was about to vomit at the last memory.
"Nothing," she said defiantly in a small voice.
He only had to raise his eyebrows at her to make her speak, but she did not look at him as she did so. "The Dementors make me hear her dying when they're near me. She's…she's screaming my name," she said shakily.
Snape said nothing. He turned around and filled a glass of something, then handed it to Harriet. "Drink," he ordered and she was surprised to see it was water. Snape was offering her water. She stared at the glass for a rather long time. She was never surprised when he handed her a foul tasting potion, but giving her water…she found that oddly strange. She drank it quickly, not having realized just how thirsty she was. As soon as she was finished, the glass disappeared and Snape said: "Again!"
This time, she did not even have time to register him entering her mind, for before she knew it, she saw herself wincing in pain as the words I must not tell lies appeared on her hand in crimson red. Snape was out of her mind as quickly as he had invaded it, looking at her strangely. "Potter," he started, but she interrupted him impatiently, saying, "It was nothing."
"Let me see," he ordered approaching her.
"Really, it's fine—"
"Now!" he ordered sharply. Harriet allowed him to take her small hand in his, examining the scarred words as his frown deepened. "She used a Blood Quill," he said more to himself than to her. "Potter, why, in Merlin's name, did you not tell anyone about this?" he asked annoyed, and for the first time in her life Harriet was surprised that his annoyance was not directed at her. "Blood Quills are illegal," he continued, letting her hand drop as he went towards hid desk to retrieve something.
"I didn't know that," she said lamely, not wanting to enter a discussion about how Dumbledore had avoided her the entire year and how she had felt lonely and disgruntled. "It wasn't just me, anyway. She punished the entire DA like this when she found out about us."
"I will inform the Headmaster about this. Umbridge will have to answer for this," he said in a dangerously low voice as he approached Harriet again, holding a little jar of…
"Do you know what this is?" he asked holding up the jar to her face. For a moment, Harriet felt as though she was being interrogated for something. Snape seemed like a harsh muggle detective, holding out bits of evidence, asking the accused what they were only to make her feel she was under scrutiny.
"Liquid Cruciatus?" she asked with a sneer, unable to help herself. For a moment, Snape look as though he was about to smile.
"Don't be an idiot, Potter, there's no such thing. This," he said handing her the little jar, "is what every second year knows to be Essence of Dittany. Apply it three times a day and it will reduce the visibility of your scars," he said coldly as Harriet mumbled a small thank you, her cheeks reddening at his reference of her seemingly lacking second year potions knowledge. "Prepare yourself," said Snape barely a minute after Harriet applied the first dose of Essence of Dittany. "Legilimens!"
Focus, focus, focus, Harriet thought to herself. At first, nothing happened; her mind remained vaguely empty. But then Snape pushed harder, much harder than the previous few times, as though he was actively looking for something. No, no, no, thought Harriet as Snape managed to extract a memory of Aunt Marge hitting her seven year old self with Vernon's decorative 18th century walking stick. Harriet had kicked Marge's dog after it bit her leg. Vernon was laughing in the background, mumbling something about the freak getting what it deserved. The memory shifted to her eleven year old self being pushed inside her cupboard for attempting to steal one of the hundreds of letters from Hogwarts that had infested the Dursley's lounge through the fireplace. No, no, get out, whimpered Harriet in mortification as the flood gates opened and she found herself involuntarily showing Snape several scenes of abuse from her childhood, scenes that drowned her before she could attempt to block them. Petunia hitting her head once again for burning breakfast, this time with an oily frying pan; her fifteen year old self ducking as Vernon hit her with his belt buckle for causing Marge's car accident with her freakishness; Vernon grabbing her hair and pushing her inside her room for a whole day without food for not finishing the garden in time; Vernon's backhand as she cried out in her sleep for Cedric and Sirius; Petunia burning Harriet's freakish moving pictures of her freakish dead parents before her second year; fifteen year old Harriet wincing at the bruises and cuts on her body before a bathroom mirror, several days before Snape collected her. No, please, stop, she cried, but Snape would not budge. He said nothing, standing stoically in the corner of every memory she was forced to re-live, his eyes darkening after every scene with what Harriet presumed was disgusted rage. She saw herself coming out of the cold shower she was allowed to have once a week, a mangy old towel covering her bruised, frail figure, before she collapsed on her bed out of sheer exhaustion and starvation; Vernon becoming enraged at her "freakish laziness", kicking her, perhaps harder than ever; the sound of a rib cracking, agonizing pain as he kicked her kidney; spending almost an entire day in the fetal position on her floor, cold and hungry, covered by a bloody towel, crying for her mum. Her mum not coming. GET OUT! She screamed at Snape as she fell off the chair to her knees, holding her head in her hands, tears running down her cheeks, wishing for Snape to end it all because she did not have the power to push him out of her mind.
And yet still he would not budge. He pushed deeper into her agonizing mind. She saw him looking at her three year old self, cold and hungry in her cupboard, not fully understanding what she did for her aunt and uncle to hate her so. An eleven year old Harriet cried bitter tears as a result of Snape's admonishment of her lack of knowledge in her first Potions class; Vernon ripping apart the form he needed to sign in order to allow Harriet to go to Hogsmeade in her third year; Cedric's body cold and lifeless in the cemetery as Pettigrew cut her arm to get the blood needed to bring Voldemort back; the nightmares after her first experience of the Cruciatus Curse, the slight tremor in her arms when eating; her father bullying Snape; Vernon almost running her over with his car as she opened the garage door for him; Vernon pressing her palm on the hot iron for ruining his shirt; the agonizing pain that remained for days.
"Please stop…" she whimpered out loud as Snape extracted himself from her mind and looked down at the shaking, crying child at his feet with such rage that he could feel the magic within him making the potions vials nearby shake a little. Those bastards, he though. Lily's child had been treated worse than a house elf. How could he have not seen it before? The signs had always been there, but he had been too blinded by his hatred for James Potter to see a suffering child. He hated himself more than ever in that moment. Turning his attention back to Harriet he did not know what to do. The girl seemed ready to rock to and fro like a St Mungo's patient; she was holding herself, on her knees, shaking, her eyes tightly shut. He slowly kneeled down before her; it would be a mistake to speak to an abused child while towering over her. Once closer to her eye level, he didn't know what to say or how to react. "Potter," he tried, but she recoiled at his harsh tone. "Look at me," he tried in an uncharacteristically softer voice. The girl made no motion that she would. She looked small, vulnerable and terrified, lost in her own world, cold.
Without further ado, he uncertainly helped her up to her feet, placing an arm around her frail shoulders as he made her sit down on the sofa. She was still hugging herself, her face hidden by her dark hair, tears falling on her lap. Before sitting down awkwardly next to her, he grabbed a vial of calming draft and placed a few drops in a small cup of tea. He was surprised when the girl accepted the cup, with slightly shaking hands, and brought it to her lips. The effect was almost immediate. Her breathing calmed down and her shaking subdued. But she could still not look at him. She felt nauseous at the thought that Snape had seen everything.
"Harriet," he started softly, and she was so surprised that he had uttered her first name that she actually looked at him, with big, red rimmed green eyes. "Why didn't you tell somebody?"
"Surprised I'm not the spoiled brat you though I was Professor?" she asked with a sneer of her own. "The Chosen One, treated like a princess at home, spoiled rotten!" she spat at him.
Snape did not interrupt her, partly because he didn't know what to say and partly because he knew she was right. It was better for the girl to let her emotions explode before he attempted to speak to her. She stated crying again, a soft cry, not a ragged one like before. The calming draught had clearly worked; she was calm, but the suffering was still the same. To Snape's surprise, as she cried softly next to him, her appearance began to change. Several bruises started appearing on her arms, some new and angrily purple, some faded and yellow. Her left palm was scarred all over from the hot iron. He did not even want to imagine what her back and legs looked like. There was an angry bruise, no longer swollen underneath her left eye and a small cut on her bottom lip.
"Concealment charms" he said rather shocked at the sight before him.
"I wasn't going to come back to Hogwarts looking like this," she said bitterly.
"Potter, I'm going to have to report this to Dumbledore," said Snape cautiously.
"It won't make a difference," she said defeated. "I already tried telling him…and McGonagall."
"Professor McGonagall," corrected Snape. "And what do you mean you tried telling them?"
"Well…I didn't tell them in exact words, but…."
"So you played it down. Why?" he asked poisonously?
Harriet didn't say anything at first, but then her eyebrows furrowed together as she said: "Why do you care anyway?"
"Despite popular belief, I am a human being. It is my job, as a teacher, to ensure that my students are not mistreated or abused."
"You'd have fooled me," she said bitterly. "Dumbledore explained the blood wards to me. Voldemort can't find me while I live with the Dursleys."
"But the blood wards collapsed. Why now? Why not the first time your deplorable relatives abused you?"
Harriet flinched at his choice of words but didn't respond. She simply ducked her head as far into her chest as possible, her hair concealing her face. She focused on breathing in an out.
"I didn't see everything," Snape said as comprehension began to settle in. "There's more. Harriet, look at me," he ordered softly.
"No," came a muffled reply.
"I won't use Occlumency," he reassured.
"I can't," she said merely above a whisper. "I can't look at you," she cried.
Snape felt his blood beginning to boil at the thoughts and possibilities of what Vernon Dursley could have done to Lily's child. He wanted to go to Little Whinging and torture the man into madness before finishing him off in a painful manner. Just once, he wanted to live up to his reputation as a Death Eater. Taking a deep breath, he reassured himself that the pig was going to pay sooner or later. "Harriet did he rape you?" he asked gravely after a few moments.
Without looking at him, Harriet shook her head. "He tried," she said merely above a whisper and Snape let out a sigh of relief that Vernon had not succeeded in completely breaking Lily's child. "But my aunt came home sooner than he expected." At that point, she broke down into sobs, her shoulders shaking, wishing that she were safe in her dead mother's arms. Instead, she felt a strong arm around her shoulders and, without thinking about anything else, she buried her head in Snape' chest as he held her protectively close. For the first time, ever, someone was there to comfort Harriet Potter as she sobbed bitter tears.
