Just a short chapter. Apologize about the wait. Chapter was meant to be longer, but I am stuck on an important part so I decided to just upload what was finished, to give you guys something to read.
***Canon Harry, Canon World***
Harry awoke late the next morning to sharp stabs of sunlight piercing his eyelids with the cushion beneath him dipping low and the sofa squeaking in protest. Harry squinted his eyes, only slightly startled to see Sirius' blurry form lowering down next to him.
"Hey, kiddo," Sirius said when he saw Harry awake, resting his hand on the back of the couch, his arm above Harry.
"Hey," Harry muttered sleepily back. The previous hellish night came back to him in scattered bits and he wanted to roll over and stuff his face into the cushion to block it all out, mortified by his wildly out of control emotions.
"It's over," said Sirius, looking down at Harry with tired eyes, halting Harry's anxiety.
"Over?" Harry echoed in mild confusion.
Sirius sighed, "I talked to Dumbledore. He's going to need to talk you later today, but he's already called for the aurors to take Umbridge away."
"Why…why didn't you wake me?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling wide awake by this bit of news. He sat up and Sirius had to pull his arm back to avoid getting bumped into.
"I tried to," Sirius said, his face pinched. "You opened your eyes for a few minutes, didn't respond to anything I said, and went back to sleep."
"Oh."
Sirius studied Harry, his brows pushed together, "Are you feeling all right? You were pretty out of it earlier."
"I'm fine," Harry said immediately. He took a moment to twist his upper body to one side than the other, stretching out his lower back. Sirius watched him, his expression suspicious. Harry continued, "Just tired—really."
Sirius accepted this after a moment, "After my classes, I'll take you to Dumbledore's office and this will all be finished." He glanced down at Harry's scarred hand, "That bitch will not touch you ever again. I swear it."
Harry nodded faintly, vaguely wishing he could be there to see Umbridge's toad face when the aurors came for her. It would've definitely been one of the most satisfying and amusing things to witness. His expression must have looked slightly off for Sirius chucked him under the chin.
"Hey, you sure you're all right?" his godfather asked. "I know last night was a lot to process."
Harry gave a half shrug, "I'm fine. Honest. I guess…I guess it hasn't hit me yet."
"All right, then," Sirius gently mussed Harry's hair. "Go back to sleep kid, you look like shit."
Harry nodded slowly and lowered himself back to the sofa cushions. "When will you be back?" he asked as Sirius stood.
"Around 4:00pm, so try to be ready by then, all right?"
"All right," Harry said as Sirius grabbed his bag. "See you."
Harry turned his face towards the back of the couch and let himself sink back into deep sleep, unaware the hands that tucked a blanket over or the fingers that brushed his cheek.
The following week past in somewhat of a blur. The school was a buzz from the disappearance of Umbridge and bizarre rumors had already begun to circulate as to what had brought this about. The only information that had been provided by the head of houses was that the position was going to remain open pending review, which only birthed more ridiculous rumors and stories. Only Ron and Hermione knew, and Harry trusted that they wouldn't tell a single soul.
The whole conversation with Dumbledore hadn't been as nerve-wracking as he thought it would be. It was more aggravating than anything else, given that Dumbledore refused to make eye contact with him, and that Sirius paced the office behind Harry's chair like a restless tiger through the entirety of the conversation, effectively putting Harry on edge.
Harry had a strange feeling that Sirius blamed Dumbledore.
Several photographs were taken of the scars by a thin-lipped Auror, and then Harry had been dismissed. It all felt rather anti-climactic.
Sirius had attempted to reassure him to trust the process, though the look on his face when he said that was unconvincing. Harry thought that maybe his godfather had been thinking about his own wrongful imprisonment and the failure of the justice system. The man's expression only made Harry uneasy.
The second week after Umbridge's departure, no Professor had yet been provided as a replacement which was making Hermione increasingly anxious. She voiced her fears multiple times to Ron and Harry, though neither of them had any way to calm her nerves, and it wasn't for a lack of trying.
"I'm going to fail my OWLS," Hermione declared that second Wednesday after classes in Sirius' quarters, as the three sat around the table. She waved her Defense book around in an apoplectic sort of way, "And this ridiculous book is not helping whatsoever!"
"Hermione, please shut up," Ron groaned as he furiously scratched out a sentence on his potion's essay. "What do you want us to do? Do you want us to hold interviews next Hogsmeade Trip? Will that make you happy?"
Harry missed the furtive glance that Hermione shot him, for he had rested his head on the table in an attempt to alleviate the pain that throbbed behind his scar. Hermione and Ron were getting used to Harry's frequent bouts of headaches that had begun to plague him more often than not, especially the day after an Occlumency lesson. They stopped bringing up his spacey moments as well, and just merely stood with him until he was aware again.
Harry didn't know what he would've done without them.
"Do you need help with your essay, Harry?" he heard Hermione ask in a hesitant voice.
"No," Harry muttered against the wood finish. "I've finished."
"Can I have a look?" said Ron hopefully.
"I don't care."
"Ron, that's cheating!" Hermione instantly chastised as Harry heard Ron move to pull Harry's essay across the table.
"I'm only looking," Ron scoffed back.
Harry raised his head up then, feeling sluggish and tired. He replaced his glasses and reached reluctantly for his History of Magic book. They had a quiz tomorrow that he needed to brush up on. Fifth year was really kicking his ass.
"Has Sirius said anything about Umbridge?" Hermione asked him after several minutes of the quiet scratching of quill and movement of pages.
Harry felt Crookshanks curl around his legs, purring loudly, before leaping into his lap and settling down.
"He said he hasn't heard anything," Harry said grimly, scratching Crookshanks's ears with his free hand.
"I reckon they're having trouble replacing her," said Ron in a low voice.
"I'm surprised nothing's been in the prophet yet," Harry said. "Fudge is probably trying to keep it all hushed up since he had been the one to appoint her."
"They said she's pending investigation—that means she hasn't been charged yet. Nothing has come out because nothing's been decided," Hermione said, frowning. "Which I think is silly! They have all the proof they need and it's taking away from our education while we wait to have a new Defense Professor. Our OWLS are coming up soon—this is our future pick of classes next year we have to think about! If we can't pick the right classes, then we won't be able to pursue the career we want!"
Ron opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out and after a moment he closed it again in a defeated sort of way, as if accepting there was nothing to be done to quell Hermione's insanity.
"It's not like we were learning anything anyway," Harry scoffed. "Good riddance, I say."
"She's an awful woman," said Hermione in a small voice, peering at Harry in a tentative sort of way. "Awful." She hesitated another brief moment, "Harry…I was wondering whether…whether you'd thought any more about Defense Against the Dark arts."
"Course I have," said Harry grumpily. "Can't forget it with you bringing up the class every fifteen minutes."
"I meant the idea Ron and I had—" Ron cast her an alarmed, threatening kind of look; she frowned at him –"Oh, all right, the idea I had, then—about you teaching us."
Harry did not answer at once. He pretended to be perusing a page of his History book, because he did not want to say what was in his mind.
The fact was that he had given a great deal of thought over the past fortnight, even thought of it before Umbridge left. Sometimes it seemed an insane idea, just as it had on the night Hermione proposed it over a bowel of Essence of Murtlap, but at others, he had found himself thinking about the spells that had served him best in his various encounters with Dark creatures and Death Eaters—found himself, in fact, subconsciously planning lessons….
"Well," he said slowly, when he could not pretend to find the spies of the ogre wars interesting much longer, "Yeah, I—I've thought about it a bit."
"And?" said Hermione eagerly.
"I dunno," said Harry, playing for time. He looked up at Ron.
"I thought it was a good idea from the start," said Ron, who seemed keener to join in the conversation now that he was sure that Harry was not going to start shouting again.
Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"You did listen to what I said about a load of it being luck, didn't you?"
"Yes, Harry," said Hermione gently, "But all the same, there's no point pretending that you're not good at Defense, because you are. You were the only person last year who could throw off the Imperius Curse completely, you can produce a Patronus, you can do all sorts of stuff that full grown wizards can't, Viktor always said—"
Ron looked around at her so fast he appeared to crick his neck; rubbing it, he said, "Yeah? What did Vicky say?"
"Ho, ho," said Hermione in a bored voice. "He said Harry knew how to do stuff even he didn't, and he was in the final year at Durmstrang."
Ron was looking at Hermione suspiciously.
"You're not still in contact with him, are you?"
"So what if I am?" said Hermione coolly, though her face was a little pink. "I can have a pen pal if I—"
"He didn't only want to be you pen pal," said Ron accusingly.
Hermione shook her head exasperatedly, and ignoring Ron, who was continuing to watch her, said to Harry, "Well, what do you think? Will you teach us?"
"Just you and Ron, yeah?"
"Well," said Hermione, now looking a mite anxious again. "Well…now, don't fly off the handle again, Harry, please…but I really think you ought to teach anyone who wants to learn. I mean, we're talking about defending ourselves against V-Voldemort—oh, don't be pathetic, Ron—it doesn't seem fair if we don't offer the chance to other people."
"A chance to what?" a fourth voice suddenly asked and all three of them jumped and looked around to see Sirius had stepped through the entrance of his quarters.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all looked each other with varying expressions of being caught.
Sirius smirked slightly, dropped his briefcase onto the sofa, and joined them at the table. "What am I missing here? What are you three plotting?"
"We're not plotting anything," said Hermione rather loftily. "We were talking about our lack of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and how it's going to negatively affect our education."
Sirius raised his eyebrows slightly and Harry felt a pang of guilt, but he could understand why Hermione was lying since Sirius was now technically a Professor—even if the position was interim—and he could be liable to inform other Professors of their goings on.
"Didn't I tell you three not to worry about that? Two weeks is not going to set your future careers back, I swear it. I'm sure we'll hear something shortly. Now. Who's up for some hot cocoa?"
After Ron and Hermione left, Sirius sat on the sofa next to Harry and dropped an arm around his shoulder.
"All right, there?" he asked, mussing Harry's hair with a gentle hand. "You're looking a bit peaky."
Harry let his head fall back against Sirius' arm. "Just a headache," Harry muttered.
"Hmm," Sirius hummed, now carding his fingers through Harry's hair. The gesture was soothing and the ache in his skull eased slightly. "Any episodes today?"
"Uh…one, but it wasn't that bad…I just forgot where Herbology was…that's all," Harry didn't have to look at his godfather's face to know his pretend nonchalant attitude bothered the man. He could feel Sirius' arm tense up and his hand stilled in Harry's hair.
"I'm sorry," Harry said after a moment of Sirius not speaking.
Sirius sighed, "What the hell for?"
"Just…you know…everything," Harry raised both hands then dropped them helplessly back into his lap.
Sirius resumed running his fingers through wisps of Harry's hair, "That's a lot to be sorry for, kiddo."
Harry huffed out a laugh.
"Especially when the majority of it is out of your control."
"I could work on my occlumency harder," Harry said.
Sirius half-shrugged, "Maybe," he agreed. "How much are you doing it now?"
Harry shifted, hoping Sirius didn't see the guilty look on his face, "Not a lot," he admitted. "I just…how do I even clear my mind of all emotion?—It's just-it's stupid. I used to think…I don't know…I used to think I was pretty good about pushing things down—but now…I feel like I'm on edge all the time. One wrong word, one wrong move…and I just…I fall over, y'know?"
Sirius finally withdrew his arm—Harry felt a pang at the loss of contact—and turned to face Harry, face very intent. "Ok, there are multiple things I need to address in that sentence," Sirius pressed his lips together a brief second, "First off, you are fifteen—fifteen is an age where teenagers go nutters—I don't blame you for not being able to 'clear your mind' or whatever. It's the out of control hormones."
"So, you're saying I'm hormonal?" Harry asked, offended.
Sirius smirked slightly before his face became serious again, "You've also been through quite a lot this past year. PTSD is a pretty fickle thing—"
"PTSD?" Harry echoed.
"Post Traumati—"
"I know what PTSD is," Harry cut him off. "I don't have that—why would I even have that?"
Sirius studied Harry, expression unreadable. Whatever he was thinking, he apparently decided to move past it, "Anyways, the emotional bit is understandable—believe me—your dad was a hot mess in his fifth year."
"And you weren't?"
"Harry, I was the epitome of cool, calm, and collected."
Harry rolled his eyes, "I'm not sure I believe that."
Sirius only laughed and threw his arm back around Harry's shoulder, drawing him tight to Sirius' side. The return of contact eased that pit of anxiety ever present in his gut.
"That used to get me in trouble, you know?" it slipped out before Harry could second guess it. It had been like that more often now after Sirius had been expecting a bit of Harry's past life each day. It came easier now—words not as strangled, heart not as unsteady, his fear now just a hint teasing the edges of his thoughts.
"What did?" Sirius asked when Harry said nothing else, voice softer, obviously knowing where this was going. He hadn't had to prompt Harry to speak up for a week now. Some days were still harder than others, but today it was easy.
Maybe too easy.
"Showing emotion," Harry toyed with the fraying edges of the couch throw. "One of my earliest memories is…is my Aunt smacking me for crying after I fell down the stairs."
Sirius' fingers stilled and fell lightly on the back of Harry's neck, maybe trying to be soothing, maybe something he did unconsciously. But he had gone unexpectedly rigid, saying nothing, and the silence between them stretched so thin that Harry felt something in him crack.
"And just…my head hurts," Harry whispered, his voice cracking through taut silence.
"I know," Sirius murmured vaguely.
"All the time," Harry added after a moment, voice becoming even more strained. He wanted to say it—he wanted tell Sirius that each day was getting harder and harder, and that his hope was getting thinner and thinner.
"I know, kid."
Another silence—a buzzy, itchy, abrupt sort of silence. Harry knew Sirius didn't mean it, knew he wasn't trying to come across as suddenly withdrawn over this new tidbit of information—not even a mind-bending one. Harry wasn't sure what caused the unexpected change.
"I'm just…tired," Harry broke the silence again, hoping Sirius could hear the underlying message.
Sirius immediately glanced down at his wrist watch, jaw noticeably clenched, "Well, it's getting late. You got classes tomorrow morning." Sirius withdrew his arm and stood up with a grunt.
"I also don't want this particular life."
Harry didn't look up, keeping his eyes on his knees, feeling the weight of the words he spoke and wondering if Sirius' shoulders felt heavier after Harry finished the sentence. The pain in his head increased again, pounding it's own rhythm against the beat of his heart.
"Let's just go to bed, Harry," Sirius whispered, voice rough. "Thing's'll look better in the morning."
Harry let Sirius pull him to his feet. He felt wobbly, unsteady, unsure—a man on a tightrope, wavering in the air, hundreds of feet above the earth. He better not misstep.
Why did he say anything? Was Sirius upset? Did he think Harry was weak?
"Night Harry," Sirius said before he quietly shut the bedroom door, plunging Harry into darkness. Harry climbed into bed, jeans and shirt still on. He curled up under the blankets and stared at the cracks in the wall illuminated by silver moonlight, wishing for anything and everything that could change the trajectory of his life. He wished Sirius had stayed until Harry fell asleep.
He wished for a lot of things.
The next morning when he woke up, he knew it was getting bad when the only thing he looked forward to was going back to bed that night.
"Hey," Sirius stopped Harry just as he about to leave. He stood there, already dressed, mug in hand. His expression startled Harry—strained, sad, hollow.
Harry let his bag drop back to the stone. "What?" he asked, dreading the answer.
Sirius took in a deep breath, "My parents were the same way, y'know?"
Harry blinked and gave no response, trying to process what Sirius was trying to say.
"What you said last night," Sirius elaborated. "About how expressing emotions got you into trouble…my parents were the same way. I…I learned the hard way—and then got really bloody good with pushing everything down.
Cool. Calm. Collected.
"I'm sorry," was all Harry could think of to say.
"Yeah," Sirius coughed. "Me too."
The rest of week slithered by slowly, with Harry's days still punctured by painful headaches and nights frequently interrupted by nightmares of his relatives and flickering blue corridors. He was grateful for Sirius' presence in the school and, even though he very much missed Hagrid, dreaded the day Sirius was no longer needed. Having Sirius around was probably the best thing to ever happen to him.
He wasn't sure how he would get through each week without his godfather.
The third Tuesday after Umbridge's departure found Harry in Potions, quill tapping table and knee bouncing nervously as he followed Snape's form as he moved amongst the brewing tables. Snape was passing around the written portion of a test and relaying instructions when the room suddenly vanished from around Harry. It was like he had been deeply submerged into a cloud of black fog and he couldn't see, couldn't hear. But he could feel—and it was a loathing that was not his own. It filled every cell of his being and he wanted to reach for his wand so he could torture, so that he could kill—and suddenly it vanished and Harry returned to his body. He nearly fell from his chair from the abruptness of the feeling.
All concise thought had left him. He sat there, hands clenching the edge of his desk with mild panic, surrounded by people he couldn't remember the names to, in a place he couldn't remember ever being, and with a smell of boiled animal and plants hanging putridly in the air.
Don't vomit. Don't vomit. He silently coached himself, trying to quietly gulp in air. He felt someone shift next to him, but he didn't look. My name is Harry. And I am in…
He looked around with sluggish eyes, sweat slipping down behind his ear. The room seemed to be vibrating ever so slightly. Where am I?
The flash of an image of a blue stone pricked through his fog. Pocket. Pocket. He plunged his hand in the pocket of his robes. Nothing. The other pocket—and nothing again.
"Potter!" a voice from across the room barked suddenly. Harry jerked with surprise. "Eyes on your own test or it'll be a zero for the day!"
Harry looked down at the parchment in front of him, the questions slightly blurred. I'm at Hogwarts. His brain suddenly supplied for him. Hogwarts. I'm in class. I'm in…
Nothing. Nothing came up for him. He could feel his right leg beginning to quiver. Fingers twitching, he hesitantly picked up his quill and read the first question.
List five different Asiatic Anti-Venoms and what they are good for:
The hell? Harry pressed the tip of his quill to the page and then didn't move. The ink spot grew bigger and bigger and yet his mind remained as blank as his test. Shit. Shit. Shit. Harry looked up again, confusion swamping through him and saw the man in the front was watching him with a nasty sneer on his face.
Snape. Professor Snape. He suddenly remembered. That disgusted look the man was giving him made sudden sense. Then this is potions.
Harry hurriedly looked back down at the parchment, heart thumping, exhaustion sweeping through him like a drug. He was tempted to lay his head down upon the desk and sleep, but he knew Snape would not approve.
The end of the hour was called sooner than he thought it should've been—how much time did he lose?—and the students gathered up their tests to bring to the front of the room. Harry shakily copied them, still feeling slightly out of touch and unsteady. He waited until most of the students had filed out before approaching Snape.
"Professor," he swallowed hard. Snape watched him with glinting eyes. "I couldn't…I couldn't…remember anything…"
Snape lips curled back, "And why is that my problem?"
"No…I mean…I wasn't able to…to do the test. My head—" Harry tried to elaborate, fighting to keep his voice level. Words failed him.
"Then perhaps you will study harder next time," Snape said scathingly. He snatched the parchment from Harry's hands, and dropped it straight into the rubbish bin. "Do not be late tonight."
Feeling too hollow to process what Snape just did, Harry turned and unsteadily walked out.
Someone grabbed him as he exited the classroom. "You all right, mate?"
Harry looked at the other student with incomprehension.
"Mate, it's Ron," Ron said when he saw Harry's confused expression. "I could tell you went out of it for a bit. Were you able to do the test?"
Harry shook his head, "I couldn't…I couldn't remember anything."
"Snape will let you retake it," the girl standing next to Ron insisted, looking very concerned. "Hermione," she reminded Harry, who nodded faintly as things began to clear a bit.
"He threw it away," Harry said after a moment.
"What? Bastard!" Ron snarled angrily. "He can't do that!"
Feeling frustrated and achy and not sure of how to handle the situation, he rubbed his eyes and said, "I'm just going to go lie down."
"We'll walk with you," Ron said, brow furrowed, studying Harry with his blue eyes.
Harry nodded vaguely and let Hermione lead the way.
That night, feeling sufficiently clear-headed and more like himself, Harry entered Snape's classroom with equal trepidation and indignance. Snape was at his desk and didn't bother to look up upon Harry's entrance.
"Sit down," Snape barked.
Harry immediately obeyed, hand clutching the strap to his bag. Back erect and eyes narrowed, he watched Snape bent over his work, stringy hair hanging over his face, only his hooked nose visible.
Harry shifted in his seat, unsure of what he was expected to do. He kept on high alert, thinking that Snape would suddenly point his wand at Harry and dive into his mind. Harry's own wand was sticking out of his pocket and his fingers twitched towards it, at the ready for Snape to make a sudden move.
It was a good five minutes before the Potion's Master stood, parchment in hand. He eyed Harry with black eyes, scowl twisting his face. He approached, his boots the only sound on the stone floor. Harry unconsciously clenched his fist around his wand, chest hitching as the professor neared.
Snape smacked the parchment down in front of Harry, making him jump in surprise.
"You have precisely one hour," Snape said flatly. "Occlumency will resume next Tuesday."
Harry looked down at the parchment and immediately jerked his head back up, "Sir, what—"
"One hour, Mr. Potter," Snape snapped. "Time started thirty-eight seconds ago."
Still gaping, Harry fumbled quickly in his bag for a parchment and quill. He glanced at Snape one more time before leaning over his desk to read the first question.
List five different Asiatic Anti-Venoms and what they are good for:
He bent over and began to write.
Until Next Time and Happy Literacy,
Maegyn