Author's Note: Sorry for the slow updates, again. School has been rather hectic. However, thank you all for the wonderful support. :)
In the matter of a few days, the house had been reborn with a new kind of life. Comfortable silence replaced an otherwise dreary atmosphere that had loomed over the domain for quite some time. Perhaps time could not heal all wounds, but it could certainly draw attention away from the initial pain. Days of walking through the still hallways had dulled any previous sense of mourning.
Harry had to admit that he could feel the crippling emotion of grief lifting its hold on him. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not Sirius would feel forgotten and abandoned if he allowed himself to move on. He knew it was silly to think that he should ever be denied the simple pleasure of laughing again and experiencing the joy that could still be found in the crevices of an unforeseeable future. After all, he was still just a child. Still, the thought continued to remain buried in the back of his mind, unwilling in being shoveled up anytime soon.
Having Snape around wasn't helping his internal struggle. If anything, it was making things worse. Through the process of hating the man, he was able to gain some sense of normalcy. However, now that the two were beginning to grow rather docile during their encounters, Harry wondered if the world had truly turned upside-down because this was, if nothing else, totally abnormal.
Yet, a silver-lining was still visible when he'd received a package via Hedwig one night from Ron, who had claimed to have received an herbal remedy from his older brothers (Fred and George to be specific) that allowed dreamless sleep without the need of ingesting a potion. Intrigued by this and willing to try one of Fred and George's new inventions, Harry decided that he would put it to good use later that night. He stowed it in the drawer under his nightstand and went back downstairs.
"Don't think that I've forgotten about your Occlumency lessons," Snape had remarked sternly that same evening, Daily Prophet at hand as he reclined in the sitting room. He planned on taking full advantage of the days during which he wasn't being completely incapacitated under the influence of his illness. He still had tasks to accomplish, regardless of whether or not he was feeling up to meeting the demands.
Harry groaned from his spot by the fireplace where he was currently stationed, trying to work on some of the summer reading that he'd been assigned for school. He was careful to avoid even making eye contact with his Potions book, knowing that Snape would immediately lecture him on the importance of concepts that he would never be able to comprehend, no matter how hard he tried. Potions was simply impossible for him to wrap his head around; the same conclusion could be drawn from his Occlumency lessons.
"Why bother? Our lives would both be a load easier if we just lied to Dumbledore and told him I mastered it," he huffed toward his professor, sitting up and stretching out his limbs in the process.
"Lie to the headmaster? I think not, Potter," Snape immediately replied in his familiar, disapproving tone. "Perhaps, if you weren't so dimwitted, you would've already managed to accomplish the task on your own time. But no, that's expecting too much from you."
Harry glowered, bringing his Transfiguration book to a close. "Your constant insults aren't going to solve the problem."
"You'd think they would have penetrated your thick-skull by now, causing you to at least make an attempt at some improvement," Snape murmured, dropping his newspaper on the coffee table and standing up. He crossed the length of the room and rummaged through a dusty bookshelf in the back. "It seems that, as usual, you are a special case, Potter. I think a different method of teaching is in order."
Harry didn't like what the man was suggesting; unsure of whether or not this alternative would be any less painful than the original method.
"I've been considering it for quite some time now. I think I may have finally found a solution that will prolong your attention span and teach you to follow instructions as soon as they are administered. Personally, I would've never thought that such a revolutionary idea existed," Snape went on mildly. "It's time to get you to work on mastering the wonderful skill of self-reflection."
Harry, with his back turned to Snape, swore under his breath, praying against all odds that his teacher was just being overdramatic in his description and narrative. He certainly didn't want to play any role in Snape's twisted ideas, especially not after they had made progress at acting civil toward one another.
"Follow me, Potter," Snape demanded, opening one of Sirius' old storage closets and brandishing his wand for a short moment.
Harry suspiciously did as he was told, standing up and abandoning his book to go and see what Snape was up to. He neared his professor and the closet hesitantly while his brain screamed for him to run upstairs and lock himself in his bedroom with multiple protection enchantments guarding his quarters. Against the temptations coursing through his mind, he stood by Snape's side, trying to snatch a peek at what his teacher had done to the closet.
But before he could get a clear look at the space, Snape had snapped the door shut once more. "Close your eyes," he commanded.
Harry blinked owlishly, a look of pure skepticism plastered bright-as- day across his face. "I'd prefer not to," he spoke, trying to keep his voice steady and confident as Snape's eyes burned through his own irises. He had a feeling that if he didn't do as he was told very quickly, he was going to suffer serious consequences. So, with a deep breath, he let his eyes fall shut, clammy hands resting by his sides.
He tried to persuade himself that he could trust Snape by this point. After all, the man had not tried to murder him yet, why would he bother doing it now?
Satisfied, Snape opened the closet once more and stepped inside, dragging Harry along with him. He ordered the teen to keep his eyes closed before casting a Silencing charm around the area.
"Hmm, it seems that you can follow direction when you sacrifice a little effort, Potter. Now, there is just one, simple thing that I want you to accomplish. If and when you do as I say, I will allow you to continue wallowing in your mindless, adolescent activities," Snape promised in a firm voice, making sure Harry's eyes were still closed.
"And what is it that you exactly want me to do?" Harry growled through his teeth in frustration at having to listen to Snape like a disobedient puppy.
Snape scowled slightly, heading back toward the entrance of the closet, unbeknownst to Harry. "Clear your mind."
And with that, Harry heard the closet door smack shut with a click.
His eyes popped open, wide and confused as he took in his surroundings and realized that Snape had left him in the room alone. For the first time, he realized that Snape had transfigured the dusty, little closet into a large, dark room that had been stripped completely bare. The only light in the room was flickering from a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. With a sinking sense of discovery that was suffocating him, he rushed to the door, pounding on it with his fist upon realizing that it was locked.
"HEY! LET ME OUT!" he commanded, tugging on the doorknob frantically. Then, out of nowhere, the door vanished into thin air, leaving him in complete solitude with nothing to settle his high-strung nerves aside from the dim light source. "You call this a revolutionary method?" he called out into the nothingness.
With a groan of disbelief, Harry plopped himself onto the floor and sprawled out, knowing that there was no use in wasting his energy by shouting. Knowing Snape's devious mind, he was probably going to be stuck here for a sizeable chunk of time. He may as well get comfortable with his environment.
Clear your mind.
How on earth was that supposed to be possible while he was imprisoned in this fortified closet? The last thing he wanted to do was meditate! Sighing angrily, Harry made a check-list of reasons to hate Snape and how he could possibly get back at him in the future for pulling this torturous trick. After that, he considered what he would tell Dumbledore after this little adventure was over, and how he would avoid Snape at all costs once classes were back in session.
But after about half an hour of plotting revenge, Harry grew tired, wishing Snape would just let him out already. He flopped onto his back and stared at the light above him, allowing it to blind his eyes while he reminisced on his friends and the upcoming year of Hogwarts. He couldn't wait to be back in the familiar common room, looking for trouble with Ron and Hermione during late nights. He settled his arms behind his head and eventually gave up his daydreaming, seeing as it was becoming grueling.
Thus, he had no choice but to involuntarily clear his mind, eyes fatigued from looking at the light and mind feeling lethargic after fantasizing for an hour about the near future. He emptied the remainder of the contents in his train of thought, training himself to focus on one spot on the floor and listening to his own breathing. He would do this for short increments of time, eventually breaking away and thinking about other things after a few minutes. After the first five minutes, he interrupted himself by brooding over hunger and thirst. Therefore, he would restart the routine of deep concentration every time that he interjected himself.
Eventually, the time between each interruption grew more stretched. On his second try, he managed to go ten minutes without thinking about anything in particular. On the third try, he made it to twenty minutes. By his fourth and final try, he had made it to a whopping forty minutes without thinking about a single thing.
But now, he was hungry, thirsty, mentally exhausted, and drowsy. His frustration had dissolved along with his disbelief at having spent nearly two hours in the makeshift room.
Thankfully, the door materialized not five minutes after he was done with his mind-clearing session, already open and inviting him back into the real world. Not wasting a mere second, he rushed to the exit, relishing in the sight of the well-lit sitting room greeting him.
"Welcome back," said a smug voice from the side.
Harry snapped his head around and managed a wistful glare in his teacher's direction, shoulders slumped and sore from lying on the floor for two hours. "Your alternative method was locking me in the closet for two hours?" he exclaimed hoarsely, eyes still adjusting to the light.
Snape cocked an eyebrow in amusement, a pompous smirk toying on his face. "It was."
"You locked me in the closet!" Harry repeated accusingly, florid-faced.
"I did," Snape admitted, taking out his wand and restoring the closet back to its previous state as casually as humanly possible.
"You're completely mental!" Harry sputtered, throat dry and pleading for some replenishment.
Snape shrugged ever-so-slightly. "Perhaps… But you cleared your mind, didn't you?"
"I-I," the boy was at a loss of words, struggling to speak.
"I thought so," Snape stated complacently, sauntering into the kitchen.
"What… How… Why?" Harry frowned at his inability to make a sly comeback.
"Traditional methods never fail. I regret that it took me such a long amount of time to put them to good use," Snape added remorsefully as Harry trailed behind him into the kitchen like a lost child in a mall.
Thankfully, Harry's needs were met as Snape handed him a cup of tea and slid a porcelain plate accompanied by a sandwich down the kitchen table. He gobbled down the food immediately, relieved to finally be out of that wretched room. He had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he had finally accomplished the rigorous task of fully clearing his mind for prolonged amounts of time.
When Harry was halfway through his meal, Snape delivered his next instruction. "Go straight to bed after you're done."
Too tired to argue or to question the man's motives, Harry nodded as he finished his tea, feeling out-of-sorts after that terrible session of practicing self-control and the idea of his mind overpowering the wants of his body. Maybe—just maybe—Snape knew what he was doing after all. He supposed it was really for the best that he should go to bed early.
"It's astounding how docile you become after a few hours of utter isolation, Potter. What a reassuring improvement from your devastatingly poor performance last year," Snape commented mockingly before leaving Harry on his own once again.
Perhaps, that was the closest thing to a compliment that Harry was going to get for his efforts, though he didn't really mind. Proving to himself that he could center his thoughts had been self-validating in and of itself.
And with that, he sprawled out onto his bed, gaze directed at the moonlit sky grinning back at him. He felt the need to get up and begin to write some letters to his friends, rueful that he hadn't done so previously but decided against it due to his lack of proper concentration. Besides, he was still at a standstill as to what he should tell Ron and Hermione about his current living status. He could already picture their horrified expressions and overreactions.
Then, there was always the option of never telling them a single word. His "vacation" with Snape would be over in a little over a week anyway, so was there any reason to tell them? Truth be told, he didn't want to have to conceal anything from his closest friends, thinking it to be cowardly, but he supposed that, eventually, they would find out for themselves whether he was the one to inform them or not. After all, they were obviously already aware that he was in Grimmauld Place, seeing as Ron had been able to send him a package.
How he had survived almost two weeks with Snape, he would never know for sure, but it was certainly something that he wouldn't soon forget. July had come and almost gone without much of a warning, and seeing as Harry wasn't very intent on going back to the Dursleys for the remaining two weeks after he was to leave Snape, he supposed he would spend some time with the Weasleys (after he had explained the situation, of course).
But until then, he had some more time to endure in Snape's presence, which was his main concern at the moment. So, he decisively took the vial of herbal essences that Ron had sent him and rubbed the solution into his hands as the directions had stated before allowing himself to fall asleep, looking forward to riding out the rest of the summer so that he could get back to school as soon as possible.
The sun had been impossibly bright when Harry had risen the next morning, rubbing his eyes and dragging himself out of bed to start his day. He changed out of his sleepwear before making his way to the kitchen for some breakfast, hoping there were still a few bags of tea left in the pantry.
Surprisingly, Snape was already awake and perched at the kitchen table, his own mug of tea at hand. Even more stunningly, Harry discovered that another cup of tea had been prepared and set out for him, waiting by the seat he usually occupied each morning.
With a slightly forced and awkward half-smile, Harry thanked Snape and made himself his usual toast with marmalade before sitting down. Snape nodded from across the table, already consumed in another newspaper. Perhaps, Harry would sneak a peek at it later when the man wasn't looking to keep updated on what was going on in the Wizarding World.
"I suppose I'll have another Occlumency 'lesson' today, won't I?" Harry commented for the sake of light conversation, picking at his food and scratching at a spot around his eyes absentmindedly.
Finally casting his attention elsewhere, Snape lowered the newspaper and looked at Harry for the first time that morning, eyes apathetic for a few seconds before widening in astonishment.
Feeling self-conscious, Harry rubbed at his face again, wondering what on earth Snape was doing. "W-Why are you looking at me like that?"
Snape blinked slowly, trying to stay calm for Harry's sake as he examined his face from afar with bugged-eyes.
The teen made another move to touch his face but—
"Stop! Merlin's beard, don't rub it!" Snape barked before he could stop himself, reaching across the table and grabbing Harry's wrists.
"What are talking about?" the boy queried frantically, heart beginning to swell with fear.
Wordlessly, Snape stood from his seat and pulled Harry across the hall and up the stairs into his bedroom, ordering him to sit down before scouring cabinets and drawers full of various potions. Other than dishing out instructions, he said nothing else.
Feeling fed up, Harry rushed into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, only to discover that the upper part of his cheekbones and the lids of his eyes were bright red with an ugly, spotted rash. In some places, he had broken out into numerous, tiny boils. Upon closer inspection, he found that the palms of his hands were also rather red and stinging uncomfortably.
An irritated Snape came in behind him a few seconds later, carrying a few potions. "Don't. Touch. Anything," he warned, before turning on the water in the sink and ordering Harry to wash his hands thoroughly. Once that was done, the man took a clean washcloth and drenched half of it in a blue potion before pressing it firmly onto Harry's face.
"Agh! Damn it, that stings!" he howled, trying to pull away.
"Hold still," Snape growled under his breath, covering Harry's face with the blue concoction. A terrible, burning sensation pinched at his sensitive skin as the boils made contact with the liquid. "This is the second time that you've managed to self-inflict injury on yourself, Potter. What in the world did you put on your face?"
"Nothing! I didn't put anything on my face, I swear!" Harry argued, sighing with relief as Snape removed the cloth from his face. With his swift reflexes, the man snatched Harry's hands upward and turned them over with a groan of aggravation. "What did you put on your hands, for that matter?"
With a growing sense of dread, Harry sprinted off to his room and picked up the solution he'd received from Ron, trying to find some sort of warning label or side effects that may have been included in the note he had sent.
Eventually, Snape took the vial from him and opened it, sniffing its contents as he always did in these types of situations. "This is bubotuber pus, Potter. I've no idea from where you have obtained it, but I assume you were using it for its known healing properties. However, this hasn't been diluted enough, and will cause the formation of boils when in contact with skin."
"But I put it on my hands, not my face!" Harry explained himself, wondering if this was another prank that Fred and George had thought would be funny to play.
"Yes, but you've been rubbing your face," Snape noted, taking the solution and stowing it into his pocket. "Next time, don't be so daft as to try anything experimental. There is much information that still hasn't been discovered about this pus."
"I can't believe I put pus on my hands and face," Harry moaned in disgust, feeling awfully sorry for his poor face.
"The potion has already begun to remove the boils, but I'm afraid you'll be flaunting that lovely rash for another day or two before the redness goes down," Snape smirked in amusement. "Happy birthday," he added, finding this predicament extremely humorous.
"B-Birthday? It's my birthday?" Harry asked, wondering how he could have forgotten such an event. Time had really flown right before his eyes, and he had stopped keeping track of the days as of late.
"Indeed it is. Believe me; I would have completely ignored it had your friends not been sending letters and atrocious cards every two minutes. The Headmaster has been ever so kind enough to redirect every letter that has been sent to you straight through the kitchen window," Snape glowered, reminiscing on how he had been pelted with at least two birthday cards before he had finally had the decency to close the window.
Feeling thoroughly downtrodden now, Harry sulked and collapsed onto his bed. "Well, happy, bloody birthday to me."
With a sardonic smile, Snape left the room, deciding to allow the boy to brood for a little while before ordering him to snap out of his depression.
His plan would have worked perfectly if, at that moment, the doorbell hadn't rung. With a long sigh, he recognized the man through the peep hole as Remus Lupin with a large gift at hand.
Just his luck…
