Disclaimer: Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and all you'd get from me is a fifteen year-old TV, a futon and some clothes that fit me better than you. The only way you would get my computer is by prying it from my cold, dead fingers.
A/N: Okay, I think I just barely met my ten day mark. I understand if anybody feels like ranting about the delay, though.
Numba1—I'm glad you've taken an interest in my story. Yes, I agree that there could be some major problems between Harry and Dumbledore in (the real) book six if they don't sort things out. I hate it in fanfiction when Harry either immediately forgives Dumbledore and goes back to trusting him completely or else absolutely loathes and disrespects him. Oh—and I'll remember to make Vernon puce for you next time.
Tansy1354—Best chapter yet? Thanks! I got mixed reviews on it, so I'm surprised (but happy!) that you liked it so much. I worked really hard on the will—trying not to make Sirius suddenly sound like a saint, yet still show how much he cared for Harry. Petunia's comments will sort of come into play at the end of the story, but I don't think I'll write from her point of view again. Don't worry; I won't compromise the emotional aspect of the story. It's often the most fun part to write for me!
LunaLovegood61—Don't worry; it made sense to me. I'm glad you liked that line—it just kind of popped into my head.
Wiccan PussyKat—Thanks for the sympathy; Grandma's fighting hard and doing as well as can be expected. You can badger me for updates if you like. It makes me work a little harder sometimes; other times, when I'm feeling especially lazy, I just shrug and ignore it. Oooh! What flavor popsicle do I get? (Crossing fingers and thinking "Strawberry! Strawberry! Strawberry!") Ack, it's late…it's always late when I update…Where was I…You pretty much got the gist of what I was trying to say about Lily and Petunia's relationship. Petunia liked being looked up to and admired, and couldn't take it when Lily found a place she felt she belonged in and didn't need to trail along after her anymore. As for Dudley, I haven't a clue. I find it hard to care as he has always been so cruel to Harry. I'd guess he probably endured memories of being teased about his weight or looks (or non-existent brains) or something at school. Can't imagine he has worse memories than that—that would imply he is actually a sentient creature of some sort, and I don't' know if I could believe that. Seriously, though, I hope J.K. reveals that answer in book 6. Sleep deprivation certainly is torture. I woke up this morning at six a.m. because it was so horribly hot and muggy and just couldn't get back to sleep. Glad you liked the will, I worked really hard on it to make it in-character. Hope you enjoy this chapter; pain and torture coming soon! (At this point, I probably sound like the girl who cried wolf saying that.)
Ootp-rules—It's okay, I'm not easily insulted. I appreciate honesty and getting a different perspective on what I write. I am extremely flattered that you check for updates so often! It makes me feel very guilty for not updating faster, though! I understand what you're saying about Petunia's ponderings being out of place. True, it probably won't be important to the plot, but it's what got me back into writing this chapter. I was feeling kind of bored with writing everything from Harry's P.O.V. Hmm…perhaps not a good enough excuse…Oh yes, and it wasn't supposed to make you feel sorry for Petunia AT ALL. I was actually trying to make her seem even worse, I think. Thanks for the compliments on the will, once again I am very flattered! Good news is that this chapter is longer than the last, but the bad news is that the end kind of just tapers off…let me know what you think—I value constructive criticism.
Thesteffis—The will did sound kind of fatalist; I thought about that too, but decided not to change it in the end because I think Sirius may have suspected he wouldn't be around too long. Actually, I think a lot of people in wartime accept the fact that they may not live much longer, and Sirius especially would feel that way, what with the depression of being a fugitive and locked away, unable to help. Just my opinion, though. I'd be grateful to have you as a beta, but I think I'll hold off till the sequel. It won't be long as there aren't many chapters of this story left.
Mooncinder, Siriuslyfun19212, heala, Kjkit, jbfritz, TheSilverLady, gaul1, BookWorm (thanks! I'm glad you enjoy the progression), Kerfuffle (thanks for reading! Yes, cheap thrills can be good sometimes, but I'm trying to keep away from them in this story), solar1, thanks for reading!
Chapter 12: Bigger Than My Body
Harry fiddled with his wand nervously and tried to come up with a calming thought. Whatever made me think I was ready to try my meager abilities in Occlumency against the most powerful wizard in the world? Dumbledore waited patiently for his permission, looking a little unsettled himself. What does he have to be worried about? Harry thought peevishly. As if sensing his temper, Fawkes let out a long, soothing warble from his perch by the headmaster's desk.
The sound was like a wakeup call. Dumbledore didn't have to clear time in his exhausting schedule to help him deal with his problems; he could have easily handed the job back over to Snape. He ought to be thankful the headmaster was willing to help him personally rather than leaving him at the mercy of that sadistic git again. Harry silently scolded himself for his ungrateful attitude and smiled thankfully at Fawkes.
Keeping the phoenix's comforting song in the back of his mind, he began preparing for the Legilimency attack. He stopped fidgeting, wiped his sweaty palms on his too-large pants, and closed his eyes. Thoughts of Dumbledore and Snape, memories of Fawkes and fighting the basilisk in Slytherin's secret chamber, and perceptions of Dumbledore's office all flurried noisily around in his head. As he had now gotten used to, Harry switched the focus of his concentration onto his breathing. After a few deep breaths, he felt clear-headed and ready to go.
Rather than open his eyes and allow the chaotic flow of memories associated with Dumbledore and his office to invade his mind again, Harry squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and nodded in the headmaster's direction. "Ready," he said, with more confidence than he felt. Harry waited in suspense until he finally heard Dumbledore's answer of "Legilimens," in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
He had been expecting a tidal wave of memories to come crashing into him as they had with Snape, but what happened was more like a ripple. He was seeing Hogwarts for the first time, glowing with candlelight and emanating a feeling of warmth and welcome of the likes he had never felt before. The memory was expertly replaced with an image of a perfect slice of French toast, lightly dusted with cinnamon and powdered sugar and garnished with a few plump raspberries. A moment later, his mind was blank again.
Harry's eyes fluttered open again, and he looked questioningly at his headmaster. "What was that?" he demanded in annoyance. "You reckon Voldemort is going to pick my brain to learn my top-secret first impressions of Hogwarts?"
Dumbledore looked like the proverbial kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "I gather you would like more of a challenge?" he asked, although it came out as more of a statement.
Harry wondered why he sounded so reluctant. "Well, yes. I need to be able to protect myself and what I know from Voldemort, so you may as well do your worst," he answered, hoping he wasn't asking for more than he could handle.
The headmaster nodded, looking resigned to his task. It suddenly dawned on Harry that he must not want to see the bad memories. A sense of gratitude for Dumbledore blossomed in him for the first time since the end of fifth year. All that talk about caring about Harry's happiness and well-being hadn't been complete rubbish, and it proved the prophecy obviously wasn't the man's sole motive for watching out for him. Before he could continue the thought, however, Dumbledore spoke the incantation for the curse again.
Aunt Petunia's sharp, manicured nails were digging into his arm as she dragged him, kicking and crying, to his cupboard and threw him in, locking him up in the dark. Harry quickly deflected the thought and ended the curse again, as quickly as the first memory. He recalled that as the time he had been locked up for three straight days when he was five for supposedly stepping on and killing Dudley's new pet hamster. Actually, Dudley had killed his poor birthday present by dropping it into the living room from the top of the stairs to see if it could survive the fall. At the time, Harry couldn't understand why his aunt didn't believe him, as his cousin's wailing was obviously fake and he had never liked the hamster anyway. It would be several more years before he learned the meaning of the word hate, or understood that the Dursleys really meant it when they said he should have died in the car crash with his parents.
Dumbledore was staring past him with his wand still raised. His eyes were hollow and unfocused as he weakly said, "Excellent job, Harry."
There was a moment of silence and Harry wondered if his headmaster would ask him about the memory. The aged wizard did not make a sound, though. He appeared to be in another world entirely, and a pained expression had settled onto his wrinkled face. "Sir, are you alright?"
Light blue eyes met deep green briefly before darting away again. "Yes, splendid, thank you. Are we ready to move on, then?"
"Actually sir, I was hoping to try one more thing," Harry pressed.
The headmaster folded his hands and bowed his head.
"I need you to try a memory of Sirius. To see if I can block him—er, it out," he blurted, staring fixedly at a crack in the stone floor.
Dumbledore looked as if he had been expecting—and perhaps dreading—the request. "Remember, you do not have to put yourself through this yet. Occlumency is a very difficult skill, and it takes some wizards years to master. Still more wizards do not possess the will power to advance past the weakest levels of it. While I believe that you could certainly become a very strong Occlumens given enough time, you can hardly expect yourself to learn it in several weeks. I asked you here tonight to tell you about an alternative way of dealing with the dreams—"
"But it only works for the dreams, right?" Harry interrupted. "Please. I need to do this; what if Voldemort tries to possess me again, and I can't stop him in time? I'll try your new idea, but I need to know Occlumency too. After all, what makes it any less important now than it was just a few months ago?"
Defeated, the headmaster slumped back in his chair and raised his wand again. Harry took a few seconds to clear his mind, then nodded fiercely and waited for the onslaught.
He and Sirius were laughing together at the near-miss of the knife that was imbedded in the table right next to Sirius' hand after Fred and George's attempt to set the table using magic. Harry tried to clear his mind, but his want to see more slowed him down. Sirius disguised as Snuffles, up on hind legs at the train station, trying to hug him in dog form. He couldn't quite manage to bring up his anchor-thought, still feeling too drawn to the memories. Sirius' face floated in the Gryffindor common room's fire place…Sirius laughing while battling Bellatrix Lestrange...It was like trying to summon his Patronus in his first lesson with Remus—the memories were flooding his consciousness too rapidly to control. Sirius was falling through the archway…Remus was holding him back… "There's nothing you can do, Harry…He couldn't remember how to fight back at this point, and his breathing was coming in short pants as he relived the battle in the Department of Mysteries. He was chasing Bellatrix through the Ministry of Magic… "Aaaaah…did you love him, little baby Potter?"
Somehow, through his muddled mind Harry knew what was coming next. A bit of the haze cleared as the fear of Dumbledore bearing witness to the upcoming memory replaced it. Despite his recent fallout with the headmaster, he still respected the man enough to not want to have to see the disappointment in his eyes once he saw what Harry was capable of. He didn't want Dumbledore to see him in his moment of terrible weakness, trying to cast a dark curse that he knew caused pain too unbearable to describe…even if it was Sirius' murderess he had aimed it at.
The pain from his palms and knees slamming into the floor jolted him fully into awareness. He was hyperventilating, gasping desperately for breath. The room was blurry, which could have been a result of his glasses having fallen off or the tears still accumulating in his eyes. He scrabbled blindly on the ground and located his glasses a few feet away. When he finished wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his T-shirt and replaced his glasses, he found Dumbledore kneeling in front of him. One frail hand returned his dropped wand while the other rested comfortingly on his shoulder. Harry averted his eyes in embarrassment, but did not move away.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of. Give yourself more time to grieve and come to terms with your loss," Dumbledore advised.
"I don't have more time," Harry responded shakily. "It was luck that kept Voldemort from hearing the rest of the prophecy in my dream, and my luck's bound to run out soon."
Dumbledore stood and helped pull Harry back to his feet. Straightening his clothes and glasses, he locked eyes with the headmaster. "Give me one more try." Dumbledore looked like he was about to argue, but Harry cut him off. "If I can't do it this time, I swear I'll leave it for now."
Ice blue eyes regarded him with worry and indecision. "Once more, then," he decided. He gave Harry a few seconds to prepare, then spoke the incantation for the last time.
Dream-Sirius was crushing his throat and demanding to be told the prophecy. Harry reminded himself that it wasn't really Sirius, and forced his breath to flow in and out in a calm, steady rhythm. Recalling his godfather's own words from the will helped discredit the monster from his nightmare. He was entering Dumbledore's office after the Third Task, and Sirius was rushing up to him, worried and relieved …An emaciated Sirius in his Azkaban rags climbed onto Buckbeak—"You are—truly your father's son, Harry…" Let it go… "Although I did not show it well, know that I did love you…" Enough. He let the thoughts go, and the familiar French toast flickered back in place.
Seconds later, Harry had thrown off the attack altogether. Panting slightly but feeling strangely serene, he glanced up to see Dumbledore's eyes twinkling and lips turned up into a small, proud smile.
….
The headmaster's new plan to prevent Voldemort from gathering valuable information from Harry in his sleep turned out to be both clever and simple. He explained the spell as being somewhat similar to a portkey, except rather than transporting a person's body, it transported them back to consciousness. The trigger to the sort of mental-portkey was set to react to programmed words or phrases.
"Prophecy", "Order", "headquarters", and other words that could reveal anything of importance Harry knew were set to wake him up if spoken to him in his dreams. Worried that Voldemort may continue to use his godfather's image to torture him, he suggested that "Sirius" also be added to the word list. Dumbledore, however, struck the idea down immediately.
"We must be careful not to abuse magic where it concerns dreams. Although we may not have a thorough understanding of it, dreaming is theoretically a key tool the mind uses to sort out internal conflicts and feelings. Certain people play important parts in our lives, and occasionally the mind finds it necessary to let them play a part in our dreams as well. It is a part of being human, and the body's natural way of dealing with our vast range of emotions. Indeed, tampering with dreams has proven dangerous in the past. Do you know why Dreamless Sleep potion must not be taken for more than two consecutive days?"
Harry shook his head.
"When the potion was first patented nearly a century ago, a wizard who suffered nightmares from his horrifying experiences in the war against Grindewald began taking it every night. Not even a week had passed before his friends and family started noticing frightening changes in his personality. After seventeen days on the potion, he had to be admitted to St. Mungo's where the healers pronounced him incurably insane. A few similar cases presented themselves and finally it was discovered their disturbance was caused by the restricting of their minds by the Dreamless Sleep potion. Unfortunately, the findings were too late to save the poor souls already affected."
It was almost enough to turn Harry off of Dreamless Sleep potion for life. Come to think of it, the potion hadn't been preventing the dreams about Voldemort anyway…
"I forgot to mention, sir—I had taken Dreamless Sleep potion both of the nights I dreamed about Voldemort. Why didn't it work?"
The headmaster's eyes narrowed in thought. "You know, I'm not quite sure." He tugged lightly on his wiry beard. "All I can give you is an idea. Do you remember the conversation we had in your second year after you returned from the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry arched an eyebrow. "It's a bit hard to forget hearing that the reason you have unusual traits and abilities is because you sapped power from a Dark Lord as a baby."
Blue eyes twinkled with humor before sobering up again. "Yes, I suppose it is. If I were to guess why the potion did not work on those particular dreams, I would once again blame the connection you have to Tom Riddle through your scar."
"If we share this connection, why is it that it seems to affect me so much more than him?"
"Once again, I cannot be certain. Your case is very unique; since no other person has ever survived the killing curse, I have nothing to compare it to. It could be that the caster has more control over the connection that was forged that night, or it could be that Mr. Riddle is simply more knowledgable in such areas. There is no way to know for sure." With that, he went back to casting the charms.
Dumbledore finished with "cieo statim Grimmauld" and slid his wand back into the deep purple folds of his luxurious robes. He assured Harry that the trigger-words were all in place now, and he would no longer have to worry about accidentally exposing the Order of the Phoenix to Voldemort.
"Occlumency should provide you ample protection most of the time, but as you have learned, it is a skill that often depends on your emotional state. Even the most powerful wizard can find himself overwhelmed sometimes. The cieo statim charms will serve as a back-up measure should Occlumency fail you."
The reassurance that for once it wasn't all left up to him released a lot of the stress that had been weighing him down for days. Unfortunately, along with the tension in his muscles, his caffeine high was fading as well. He longed for his lumpy, small, tattered bed at the Dursleys', and lost the fight to restrain a yawn.
A sympathetic smile graced Dumbledore's face. "I do believe it is much past your bedtime, dear boy. If you will pass me the portkey that brought you here, I can reprogram it to take you home."
With a flick of his wand and a quickly muttered incantation, the portkey was reset to return him to his bedroom in five minutes.
As he waited, Harry had time to survey the old wizard's mysterious office. Although still missing most of the fragile, spindly items he had destroyed at the end of term, the room was far from bare. The many, different-sized portraits on the walls didn't need any help to make the office look cluttered. Several plush, but mismatched armchairs had been added—probably to accommodate visiting Order members or Ministry officials. Harry felt quite guilty when he spotted an empty space on a tabletop where an object he had ruined once sat. Apparently magic couldn't fix everything. He had already asked the headmaster when he first arrived if he could replace the items or reimburse him, but had been met with a flat-out refusal.
With two minutes to go before the portkey activated, Dumbledore broke the silence. "I can't tell you how proud I am of the progress you have made this summer. You have shown amazing dedication to your studies in the past few weeks to have strengthened your Occlumency skills so much. Do tell; which of Professor Snape's books did you learn from?"
Just the mention of that name made Harry's teeth grind. How did Dumbledore still manage to maintain the delusion that Snape would actually try to help him accomplish anything? "Until this summer, I wasn't aware there were books on Occlumency, Professor. Snape'sonly advice of 'clear your mind' wasn't taking me very far, so I decided to take a new approach. The book I learned from was sent to me by Hermione."
It was probably childish, but he felt an irrational satisfaction watching the headmaster's jaw slacken. A tug at his navel signaled the activation of the portkey, and the last thing he saw as he was sucked out of the office was the surprised and displeased look on Dumbledore's face. He landed facedown in his bed several moments later, grinning and hoping beyond hope that Snape would finally get his due. Judging by the headmaster's reaction to his admission, maybe he should be feeling sorry for the poor git…but Harry was simply too tired to spare any sympathy for the cruel professor.
…
Harry was approaching a deadlocked iron door in a dark hallway. When he reached it, it unlocked on its own accord and swung open with a clang. Inside was a courtroom, the same courtroom his hearing had been in last summer.
He nervously made his way to the uncomfortable chair with the dangling chains as he had for his previous questioning, but as he got near, saw that it was already occupied. A warm hand fell lightly onto his back and directed him to the bench where the Wizengamot was seated. He took a seat between Madam Bones and Dumbledore, but as he was about to ask what was going on, Cornelius Fudge stood up to make an announcement.
"This is the disciplinary hearing of one Professor Severus Snivellus Snape."
This drew Harry's attention to the middle of the room, where the Potions professor was indeed seated and shackled. Wow! Is Snivellus really part of his name? The man's hair was as greasy as ever, and he was sneering and scowling at every wizard in the Wizengamot, one after the other. When his eyes rested on Harry, the scowl deepened. Snape opened his mouth to let loose some insult, but instead of words, red and gold bubbles poured out and floated off into the musty air. His jaw closed again, but his face turned beet red with rage.
Fudge continued the interrogation unfazed. "Mr. Snape: You have been accused of being an insufferable, lying, pitiless, prejudiced, cruel, self-loving, unbearable git. What have you to say in your defense?"
Chin held high in self-righteous defiance, the greasy-haired man replied, "Your claims are ridiculous. How do you expect to prove these baseless accusations?"
Looking affronted, Fudge puffed out his unimpressive chest and pointed across the room to a crowd of people standing in the shadows. "Why, we have at least three hundred witnesses eager to testify against you!"
Harry gleefully looked on to where an antsy Neville Longbottom stepped out of the darkness. "He's always making fun of me in front of the entire class and taking points off Gryffindor for no reason!"
From behind Neville stepped a figure with bushy brown hair, which Harry recognized immediately to be Hermione. "Professor Snape gives his own house special treatment and belittles the other students. He even goes so far as to sabotage the class work of certain students just so he can give them bad grades!" she said, with a pointed look at Harry.
Next came a semi-translucent, pale figure with scraggly hair and shabby gray robes. It was Sirius Black. "Snivellus is an unbearable, grudge-holding prat who never learned the meaning of 'pick on someone your own size'," he stated, giving the prat in question a cocky grin.
Harry snickered, and made to stand up to give his own testimony. Unfortunately, Dumbledore tugged his sleeve and pulled him back to the bench before he could.
A thin, cloaked figure emerged next. Beneath the hood, all that was visible was a pair of piercing crimson eyes. "Snape is a backstabbing spy who is not to be trusted!" it announced in a strange, high-pitched voice.
Several more people made their complaints, and finally Ron Weasley stepped up.
"He's an awful bleeding git—what more proof do you need?"
Fudge stood to speak again. "Well, there you have it. Raise your hand if you believe Severus Snivellus Snape to be guilty of the aforementioned crime."
Every wizard and witch in the Wizengamot raised their hands. As he was seated with the Wizengamot, Harry figured he was supposed to vote too. He enthusiastically raised both his hands.
Surveying the row, Fudge smiled happily. "My, my! That is a first! It would appear that there is one hundred percent agreement! Mr. Snape, you are hereby sentenced to be transformed into a house elf upon your return to Hogwarts. There you will reside peacefully to serve the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff houses for the next thirty years, after which you will be up for parole. Off with you now, and be on your best behavior!"
…
A/N: This chapter has been changed since it was first updated. Those who had read it previously will notice that the last part has been cut out. I decided I didn't like ending it there and used the last bit as the beginning of chapter 13 instead. I apologize for any confusion this caused.