CHAPTER 10

"Your nose is bleeding," Snape said. Harry passed his finger across his nostrils. It was red, and now he felt the drop travel down to his chin. He didn't notice the tears leaving his eyes. He managed to get up but had to lean against the free patch of wall which wasn't obscured by jars or books. A wave of dizziness struck him, and his knees threatened to give way again. Snape stepped forward quickly and supported him with an arm around his waist, steadying him. Another bolt of pain shot through Harry's head, though less sharp than the precedent one, forcing him to grimace and lean his face against Snape's chest. Snape stiffened immediately, but did not draw back. A wet patch appeared on the front of his black robes, a mixture of Harry's tears and blood.

"Sit on the couch, but do not lie down; the blood will flow down your throat otherwise,," Snape ordered, leading him to the couch near the fireside.

Harry obeyed, hastily wiping away his tears with his hand.

"It is not an unusual side effect of Legilimency, especially for people new to this branch of magic," Snape remarked expressionlessly, quickly summoning a clean towel and handed it to Harry, who pressed it against his nose. Harry wanted to say that the nosebleeds had already started before practical Legilimency, but he couldn't.

His hearing, however, seemed to have become even more sensitive during the nosebleed. The humming of Hogwart's magic, so difficult to hear even when all was completely silent, was louder. The towel seemed to rustle. And voices. Faint whispers of a whole lot of voices. Myriads of words. Harry's eyes darted around quickly as he listened closely. The sounds were so confusing.

"What is it? What do you hear?" Snape wanted to know.

Harry lowered the towel and folded it on his lap, then tried to explain in sign language what he could hear, but it was too complex. Two months were by far not enough to learn a new language of any sort. In fact, one spent one's whole life learning new words and new things. He pulled out his pen and parchment again and described in detail what he could hear. He also added that it was not his first nosebleed. Snape read it carefully and traced his mouth with his index finger.

"Your defences will be down until you have mastered Legilimency and the advanced non-verbal spells properly. You are more sensitive to everything right now, from your hearing to your skin. If someone pinched you now, Potter, it would hurt more than usual. As for your nosebleeds: they seem stress-related to me." His voice dripped with scorn at the word "stress-related", as if Harry had no right to be any such thing.

"Have you been to the hospital wing?"

No, I didn't think it necessary.

Snape laughed underneath his breath.

"Being the noble martyr you are, of course you wouldn't want to go down to the hospital wing. However, I am inclined to agree with you, Potter. I don't think it is necessary – not unless your nosebleeds continue or become more frequent or heavier. As I just said: they can appear with complex and practical non-verbal magic and after very tiring occasions. You started taking lessons immediately after your one-week sojourn in the hospital wing. On the other hand, knowing you, it is possible that you are making a mountain out of an anthill and trying to get some attention."

Harry was too exhausted to defend himself and stared resignedly at the arm of the couch.

Snape allowed him to occupy the couch until his nosebleed had stopped. After ten minutes, he sent him back to his quarters with the promise of even more demanding sessions in the future. Worn out and crushed, Harry returned to his rooms. He curled up his favourite sofa and was sobbing bitterly when a soft hoot made him look up. Hedwig landed on his shoulder and rubbed her head against his cheek comfortingly, bringing a smile and a little colour to Harry's chalk-white face.

She repeated her hoot, blinking at the parcel and note she had carried inside. Harry eagerly read the note.

Dear Harry,

I would like to write more, but I have to prepare for my job interview at the Ministry tomorrow – I recently received an offer from them. Ron hopes you're fine and sends you many regards – he is so excited about getting into the Auror program, he can hardly wait to start. He will write you soon. Ginny told me that you are still using a pen whenever you want to communicate. I am therefore sending you a quill which I ordered by owl post. It is the latest model, specially conceived for mute witches and wizards. Follow the instructions to activate it. Once you have done so, it will accept only you as its owner and establish a mind-bond with you. Just concentrate hard and think of what you would like to write – and it will write down all your messages on its own. I hope you like it. Take care of yourself and keep me updated via owl and e-mail.

Love,
Hermione

Harry unwrapped the parcel to reveal a handsome leather box. He opened it, and a beautiful eagle feather quill gleamed at him from a cushion of velvet. An animated leaflet was attached to the inner lid of the cover. It must have cost Hermione quite a few Galleons. Harry's lips quivered briefly with emotion as he removed and opened it. The instructions told him to take the quill and tap it once with his wand, then touch the nib to both his temples and think of something he wanted it to write down for him. It also reminded him to bring his pen to a wizarding stationary shop once a year for inspection and renewal of the charm. The last page listed all the features the pen contained, including mind-directed-correction to override the automatic spell-checking feature (especially in the case of word-games and puns) and an inbuilt auto-ink-replenishing charm.

Harry reverently extracted the quill and proceeded to follow the instructions. He concentrated hard and thought, Thank you, Hermione.

The quill leapt into the air, trailing glittering sparks of gold in its wake and dipped down to Harry's parchment. In less than two seconds, Thank you, Hermione was written in cursive characters.

Harry was so delighted with this invaluable gift that he lost no time in writing a glowing thank-you mail to Hermione. He would, however, continue using a pen for his diary entries and letters because it was much more personal to see it all in his own handwriting and to have his own hand writing all of it down. And, of course, his homework for Snape would also have to be handwritten. He played with the quill for an hour, sending it different mental messages of varying length which it promptly scribbled down with the speed of lightning. He finished with the message, written in flourishing capitals:

SNAPE IS AN IDIOT.

Snape, on spotting the new quill, sneered and remarked:

"You will not be doing any homework with that, Potter. You are lazy enough as it is. However, I am flattered to see that you actually listened to my suggestion for once."

The quill danced across the parchment and Snape's mouth thinned dangerously as he read:

Hermione happened to send me that quill on the same day you suggested that I replace my cheap ballpoint pen, so she was first. And me being lazy is wishful thinking on your part.

"Ah. So the credit goes to Miss Granger, doesn't it?"

Harry nodded fiercely, proud of having a friend like Hermione.

"I see."

I am glad you do, the quill scribbled enthusiastically. Snape looked as if he would have liked to snap it in two. They glared at each other before Snape tested Harry on sign language and on non-verbal spells and finally proceeded to the moment Harry dreaded.

"Practical Legilimency, Potter." A malicious look appeared on his face as he transferred some memories to the Pensieve.

"You first, Potter," he said, stretching out his hand in a mocking gesture, "and I hope you are faster than last time and do not break the connection."

It took Harry about twenty-five seconds to penetrate into Snape's mind. He felt a jolt as he recognised a memory of his father, James, and Sirius.

Snape was about sixteen years old, carrying a heavy tome in his arms. James and Sirius were hiding behind a statue. As Harry watched, James pointed his wand at Snape and summoned the tome to him. Snape turned, swearing.

"Oh, poor Snivellus. Got your book? I can see the grease marks all over it," James laughed.

"Give that back to me, it's mine, it belonged to my mother!"

"You have a mother, Snivellus?" Sirius laughed. "Poor woman."

With a flick of his wand, James made the book hover in the air above Snape. Sirius made a downward movement with his wand, and the tome crashed onto Snape's head, making him fall onto his knees, and fell apart, scattering pages everywhere. The memory went black. Harry felt sick to his stomach. Why had his father and Sirus done this? He withdrew and looked into the unreadable black eyes.

I can't do this, I can't bear it, he said to Snape in sign language.

"Oh, you can't do it, you can't bear it, Potter?" Snape spat. "You should be dancing with joy."

Harry shook his head vehemently.

Please don't-

"Legilimens!" Snape said, pointing his wand at Harry.

Images in Harry's mind raced past until Snape seized one for his scrutiny…

Seventeen-year-old Harry was lying in bed. The curtains of his four-poster bed were drawn. His pyjama top was unbuttoned, his eyes were closed and his lips parted as he caressed his upper body. Horrified, Harry watched as his memory-self slowly slid a languid hand into his pyjama pants – and Snape was still refusing to withdraw from this intimate scene. Occlumency, Harry, Occlumency! he said to himself fiercely, trying to force the terror and embarrassment aside; hadn't Snape told him repeatedly during their Occlumency lessons that he had to control his emotions? With an enormous effort, he raised his wand and bellowed Protego! in his mind. There was a thud as Snape slammed against his desk and onto the floor. Panting silently, Harry knelt next to his teacher. Snape rubbed his back for a moment and stared at Harry, whose anxious face was close to his. Harry expected to see boiling fury in them, but he was mistaken. There was a gloating triumph in them.

"How touching that you care about my well-being, Potter. Obviously, you are capable of Occlumency if only you are pushed enough."

Harry managed to convey to him in sign language:

Would you have continued watching?

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Do you think I did not know what you were doing? Exploring your body? Your sexuality? Ah, Harry Potter, so enamoured of himself, so obsessed with himself." His voice became silky and soft as he uttered the last sentence.

Harry flushed. Snape rose gracefully and Harry straightened up. Their eyes locked. Then a blaze of pain shot through Harry's head, like last time. He knew what was coming and cupped his palm around his nose.

Snape watched him silently for a moment before picking up a towel lying, neatly folded, on his desk. He was evidently well prepared.

"Lie down, Potter," he said, pointing at the couch. Harry walk towards it slowly, clutching at a shelf now and then whenever his knees threatened to give way. He collapsed onto the couch, wondering how he and Snape would ever survive the year Dumbledore had thrust upon them.

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