The Birthday Present
by Excessivelyperky
Disclaimer: All belongs to Rowling and various assigns, including Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, and so on.
Chapter 36: Sweet Sunday
Severus SnapeDuring the first few days of teaching classes he was utterly exhausted. Without the rest periods mandated by the Ministry, Snape knew he would not have made it through without completely losing his temper. Even sleeping most of the nights instead of spending them patrolling the halls wasn't really enough to restore him. His first morning break was spent mostly sitting by the practice field holding the broom, though he made a few token circuits just to prove he could. He noticed footprints and bent grass in the screened private area, but since Madam Hooch had been serious about her Remedial Broom class, thought little of it.
He dreaded the first Potions class with the sixth years. Snape was relieved to discover it wasn't as bad as he'd anticipated. Even the sight of Harry Potter sitting next to the usual suspects didn't bother him as much. The boy watched him with only his normal wariness from years previous, and not the snarling antagonism from the last one. For his part, he remembered how his own fury had been seen by the boy, never mind the nightmares of his own father and the extra ones this summer of Vernon Dursley.
Only a boy, Severus thought, as he delivered the beginning of the year lecture. Only a boy, shorter and scrawnier than most his age from being half-starved whenever he's exiled to his relatives, he thought. No matter what else the Malfoys had done to him, he'd never lacked for anything to eat once they'd taken him in. He still had a hard time forgiving the Headmaster for continuing to send Potter back to those Muggles.
Only a boy. Even at the end of the class he had seen that Mr. Potter was worried about keeping up with his friends, now that Mr. Weasley was paying more attention, and Miss Lovegood apparently holding her own. The boy had obviously long given up keeping in step with Miss Granger. Well, very few could. Severus was glad to see Draco was still trying.
Only a boy. Was it really going to be this easy? For a moment he thought the Gryffindor was going to flare up after the end of class, but Snape watched with amazement as Potter actually thought about what he'd heard instead of just reacting. Once the boy was gone, Severus bowed his head over the papers. I used to snarl at anyone trying to help me, too, because I couldn't believe anyone really cared. In fact, I still do it. He understood how to deal with that. Potter was like so many he'd taught before. It had taken Dumbledore's nightmare hex for him to see it.
For once Lily's green eyes staring from Potter's face reminded him of his promise, instead of stabbing him through the heart with jealousy. He didn't care if it had been a hallucination brought on by impending death. He had seen her. I hope I remember, he thought.
He was still glad that Albus was going to teach Potter Occlumency first. He didn't know how strong his own walls were now, or even if they existed. Snape was afraid he would have to find out soon.
The first weekend he slept heavily. Though he suspected his potions had more sedative in them than usual, Madam Pomfrey denied it. "You're still catching up from years of not getting enough rest, Severus," she told him when he stopped in just after lunch on Saturday. "And frankly, you look tired yet. I'd tell you to go back to bed if you'd only listen."
"But I will be sitting out in fresh air when I watch the team practice," he said disingenuously. "And it is the first one of the year."
The mediwitch muttered something about men and sports that Snape was careful not to hear too well, and kicked him out of her office.
It was pleasant sitting in one of the bleachers watching his Slytherins fly about, though he became weary faster than he thought. He stuck it out for the usual time, though. Draco and the others would know if he left. From the way a few students looked at him, he knew rumors of his ill health had already circulated.
He made a point to talk to more of the team when they were done than normal, especially Vincent Crabbe. The large, muscular boy still looked lost. Snape was glad he was teamed with Miss Bulstrode this year. She was nearly his height already and dwarfed most others her age. Fortunately her parents had trained her out of slumping. Quidditch was good for her, too, since in her new position size was an advantage. If Mr. Crabbe should turn to the girl for comfort, as long as the proprieties were observed, Severus thought it would do them both good. Perhaps he should ask Miss Parkinson to keep an eye on things. He turned the occasional blind eye to the use of some potions as long as the parties were of age and discreet.
Snape was surprised and rather gratified at how pleased the students were to see him there. He'd never encouraged demonstrativeness in his Slytherins, since the world they would move in usually took advantage of it. Today, though, he enjoyed basking in their welcome, instead of quashing their high spirits for their own good.
After making evening rounds, he retired for the night a little earlier than usual. That night he indulged himself with a long bath instead of a shower. The endless grind of grading homework would not start till Monday, when the first weekend essays would come in. The physical exams had delayed the actual start of classes, but he was not complaining this time. Fortunately only a few of his students had been hurt over the summer. He had already made appointments to see them privately, while his first years were in unusually good shape this year. He didn't have to start the Wolfsbane Potion till the end of next week, with the dark of the moon.
As he prepared for bed, he vaguely wondered why he had yet to be awakened in the middle of the night for some emergency, especially with the younger students. It wouldn't last, of course, but he decided to enjoy it while he could.
Severus warded his bedroom, lit a candle, and took the magazine Filch had found for him out of its wrapper. He looked again at the table with the tokens that everyone in Hogwarts had left for him. Just thinking of how Molly's hand had felt on his in Fortescue's nearly made him gasp with desire. The pictures he found of her, or the woman who looked so much like her a couple of decades ago, in the advertisements in the back turned the surge of lust into a blast of fire. Matters were over before they had properly started, as if he were a boy again, but it didn't hurt to know the potions regime hadn't ruined all his pleasures.
His potion at the evening meal this night had tasted slightly odd, but then they all did. As he cleaned up and climbed under the covers, Severus wondered if there had been a flask scheduled for Saturday nights, but knew Pomfrey would first turn bright red, and then lie to him about it. At this point, he was enjoying the afterglow so much he didn't care.
Snape stretched out and was pleased to have his muscles so relaxed. In a way, he was glad he had no hope. He was inoculated against the rage and despair that had nearly consumed him when Lily had decided to marry his chief tormentor. Yet loving Molly kept him safe from other temptations the Dark Lord might offer—and the ones that assailed any man when faced with female students, some of whom were quite frank about doing anything to improve their grades. Even he, ugly as he was, had been offered forbidden fruit at times over the years.
He was better off like this, armored with another love. Far better.
Severus slept later than he expected on Sunday as well, and discovered he'd missed the first 'committee' meeting. That could be for the best. His godson would have to learn to manage people without the backing of other authority, and now was as good a time to practice it as any. Snape stopped in the common room, bade a brisk good morning to those students already conscious, and ate more heartily than he was used to in the Great Hall.
Snape cornered Draco afterwards, just as the boy was on his way to the Quidditch pitch, and found the first meeting had gone well as they spoke in his heavily warded office. "I haven't found a way to invite Miss Edgecombe yet," the boy said. "I suspected why you chose the others, and when I asked Vince to go to the kitchen I confirmed it. It…it was a bit awkward at first, because we were all afraid of what would happen if any of the others discovered that we had been, er, weak like Greg. Once Vince was back, we started talking Quidditch, and when we could get together to practice the um, other spells we were taught over the summer."
"Good. Mr. Crabbe will have to be brought in once you're certain of him. People are too used to seeing a Malfoy with a Crabbe and a Goyle, and to break with him would be talked about. Also, I feel his loyalty is to you more than to anyone else."
"Can't you, um, tell?"
"Not with your friend. Most people leak their thoughts like the Wireless in bad weather. Mr. Crabbe, however, is one of those whose minds are a blank, at least from the outside. And yes, I know what you're thinking about that. I believe he is still upset enough about Mr. Goyle's death that he would be quite reluctant to betray you, or the others. People with his special talent are often the best choice for a Secret-Keeper."
He could see the wheels revolve in Draco's head. "I'll have to have a private talk with him," the blond Slytherin said. "It's going to be difficult to keep things hidden without one."
"We know the consequences will be if we don't," Snape said. He almost flinched when he saw the sympathy in the young man's eyes.
"I know," said Draco. "We all do. It's not a game any more."
"It never was." With that, Snape sent his godson off to the pitch and went to a small sitting room next to his office. He made up some hot chocolate. He suspected that Dumbledore did the same with one of his bowls of lemon drops. Some of his first year students, even at their age, would recognize the effects of a full dose of Veritaserum. But one drop per child only loosened the tongue somewhat, while essence of chamomile warmed the soul and helped the children trust him enough to tell him the truth without feeling they had been forced into it.
The first years filed in, one hour after lunch, just as they were supposed to. Some of them had older brothers and sisters who had told them about the ritual. How much of what they knew was the truth was anybody's guess.
He had them sit at the small table with their cups of chocolate and slowly drink them. He also sat down with his own cup. He didn't want them afraid of him for this.
"I know some of you are finding Hogwarts confusing, in spite of, or perhaps because of, what you've been told. You don't have to face it alone. Please sit with those in your assigned study groups now." Everyone rearranged themselves. "I will want you sitting like this at every meal from now on. I have noticed that most of you are moving from class to class this way, and I am very pleased. It is much more difficult to get lost when in a group like this. Has everyone met their assigned prefects yet?"
They raised their hands. Good. That part was going well, anyway. "Next Sunday, I want everyone to tell me if your group is all right the way it is, or some members are not getting along well. I will interview each of you privately then as well as today, so do not fear any problems from telling the truth. You will need to be friends with each other for the next several years, so I know how important it is for things to start out right."
He listened to them chatter. A few looked sullen or blank. Two of the groups hit it off right away, while the other two seemed in flux yet. He made mental notes of who looked the unhappiest.
Then Severus went to his office and called each student in for a private interview. The small amount of Veritaserum in each child's cup ought to be working by now.
Two of his students received extra attention. Pomfrey had already healed their injuries, which were of a suspicious nature, and had made records of what she could find out about previous ones. At least none of the first-years appeared to have been raped or other abused that way this time. He would have to make time to see one fourth-year girl, however, who apparently had not been so lucky. Snape always had nightmares after trying to deal with such students. There were many other ways to hurt children, and he'd learned a lot of them over the years.
As he talked with these first years he was surprised, though he probably shouldn't have been, that a girl who seemed the most cheerful was worried about the way her older brother accidentally disturbed her when she was dressing.
That would stop. Snape knew the family, especially the father, and had witnessed the man's conduct with Muggles. The boy had been warned before about his attempts to enter the girls' side of the Slytherin dormitory. Perhaps I ought to ask his family if they've arranged his marriage, he wondered. Or allowed him to find out which waitresses in Hogsmeade are the most cooperative. The boy in question was a fifth year, but Orasmus Eddington was about to become the focus of more attention than he wished. Better a squalid little affair with oh, say, Mrs. Emmet at Madam Puddifoot's, than a scandal that would require letters home. Such things were easier to manage than when a parent was involved. Miss Eddington would also learn some special little hexes normally taught to older students.
As he spoke with the first year students, he remembered what Narcissa had told him about the Walshes. Miss Drusilla Walsh would require some supervision. She still mourned her father, dead in the Ministry raid, and didn't understand why her mother appeared to be celebrating instead. Snape could enlighten her, and would later on, but the girl's grief was still too fresh. He contented himself with generalities instead when he spoke to her privately. "Divorce is quite rare in the Wizarding World, especially among pureblood families. Rather than embarrass you or your brothers, she decided to bravely carry on though it's clear now that she was unhappy with her marriage. Of course you miss your father, Miss Walsh, but he may not have been as kind to your mother as he was to you. I am sorry she appears to neglect you, but she will likely settle down in a few months, and be glad to see you at Christmas and in the spring. The other members of your study group have also lost relatives recently. It would be wise to stay together, especially since other students may say ugly things about how some of them died. You can comfort each other, since you will all know how hard things are for you."
She blinked back tears. "I didn't think of that. I just knew that Mother was a Wilmington and Wilmingtons aren't supposed to like the Elfhams…"
Severus tried not to roll his eyes. Rose Elfham had probably been told the same thing about Wilmingtons. "At Hogwarts all family feuds are to be left aside."
"I remember, Papa told Mother that once when she was doing invitations for a party. He said that um, he said that too."
"And quite properly," Snape said. "Besides, you are a Walsh, and when you marry, you will become part of another family. I think I have a copy of the Prophet with the list from your mother's last party, and recall seeing an Elfham there, too. Now, isn't it silly to carry on a grudge when even your mother has given it up?"
Miss Walsh smiled a little then. "Is…is it all right if I make friends outside the House? There's a girl in Potions who's really nice, but she's a Hufflepuff and scared of Slytherins."
Sprout had asked to put some of her first years into the class normally reserved for Slytherins and Gryffindors, ostensibly to even out the numbers as the Sorting Hat had put more in her House this year than usual. Snape had been for a more even mixing for years, but of course the Headmaster wouldn't hear of it from him—however, Sprout had blackmail material of her own from years past she didn't mind using, or so she had told him just after school began. "My darlings are in no danger there except possibly from their own stupidity," she had said in Snape's hearing while talking to Albus. "There is absolutely no sense in making one class much smaller or larger than the others."
He should have expected at least one cross-house friendship out of the experiment, and perhaps he ought to be glad of it. Snape answered her question. "It's quite all right to make friends outside of Slytherin, Miss Walsh. To be honest, it's a trend I would like to encourage. There are pureblood families in all the houses."
'But she's a Mudblood!" the girl wailed.
"Ah." He tried to decide how to encourage the friendship without his words coming back to haunt him. "We need to learn more about the Muggle world, for obvious reasons. But don't leave out your study group. In fact, your friends here can help this other girl learn more about the Wizarding World. Do you know they don't have any house elves?"
Miss Walsh looked unable to comprehend such a thing.
"It's possible she might even be afraid of them," Snape said. "Your new friend might not know about a number of things which are common here. You could help her a great deal. In turn, she will likely give you much assistance in Muggle Studies in a year or so, which I believe is going to become a required class. Think of how much you and your group can find out about the Muggle world this way. Your grades will be much higher, I suspect."
The first-year looked much happier. "Oh, I thought you would yell at me," she said.
"If you neglect your Slytherin friends for others, I might talk to you rather sternly," he said. "Oh, yes, and one last thing. I'm certain your mother has done her duty with you, or perhaps one of the older house elves, but if you or any of the other girls begin to experience what is often called 'growing up', please go see Madam Pomfrey. She will be glad to help you find the proper supplies and has the potions needed."
Miss Walsh looked blank. He sighed. Not again, he thought. I should be used to this by now. "When you have any bleeding start, for instance," he ventured.
Her eyes went wide. "From where?"
"In your underwear. This is not a dread disease, though to hear some women one might think so, but a normal part of becoming a young woman." At least he'd done the Talk often enough he didn't actually feel like crawling under the desk now.
"Oh! The curse!"
"Yes. That's what many women call it. Again, please go to Madam Pomfrey when it starts. Please encourage the rest of your study group to do the same." Despite this exhortation, some of the girls still came to him for potions anyway. He supposed he was resigned to it after all these years.
Miss Walsh left in a much happier frame of mind than when she came in. The rest had their problems too. Unfortunately the sullen boy from Knockturn Alley didn't trust him yet. Snape hoped it wouldn't take till Christmas as it had for some students in the past.
For a brief moment he sat in the office after the last one had left before he returned to the group. He imagined a short, thin boy with dark hair, glasses, and green eyes walking in and gradually giving up his secrets about the Dursley household over several weeks' worth of Sunday afternoons with hot chocolate. I could have done so much, he thought regretfully. Instead he had wallowed in spite and malice without knowing the facts.
Well, he had made a beginning this week. For once the Potter boy had actually listened to what he'd said instead of automatically striking back. Perhaps he ought to content himself with that small victory for now.
Snape returned to the room as the sugar began to put the children into a hyperactive state, and dismissed the first years to run about the grounds and exhaust themselves. The good weather wouldn't last much longer, and they may as well take advantage of it while they could.
Once they left, he saw an older girl standing in the shadows. He wondered who it was this time. Many Slytherins remembered their time in first year as a safe haven compared to later, and dropped by to experience it again if only as an observer.
Marietta Edgecombe stepped out and shyly greeted him. He was glad to have permission from Madam Lestrange to help the girl, though he would have found some way without it. Snape knew better than to advise the girl to see her Head of House instead. Part of him was still unhappy that Flitwick had seemed so eager to wash his hands of her.
"Miss Edgecombe," he said courteously. "Is there a problem I can help you with?" Since she wasn't in Potions this year, she was going to have difficulty coming up with a reason to visit the dungeons.
"I don't know," she said, glancing around to make sure nobody was around. "I wish—I wish I hadn't come back to school. None of my old friends want anything to do with me, though Cho sent me a charm to take the boils off if I hadn't found another way earlier. The professor—I mean, Professor Flitwick—he must have known it, too."
"I cannot argue with his level of expertise," Snape said neutrally. "Sit down, Miss Edgecombe." He felt like fixing her a cup of chocolate as well. "I see you have found a way to wear short sleeves in this warm weather. However, your friends are likely to notice continual use of magic if you must use the same charm all the time."
She sat in one of the chairs. "It will fade, won't it?"
"Yes. But it will also darken. I suggest you research alternative methods. In Slytherin, it is common for students to conceal injuries from visits home, and thus few ask too many questions. In your house, especially after your visit to Madam Pomfrey at the beginning of this year, that isn't an option."
She brightened. "The new catalog from Zonko's has fake tattoos that get up and walk around. I heard the twins are going to do the same, only with house designs. If I can figure out how they work, or play with Padma's henna patterns…"
He nodded. "You might wish to encourage others to wear them first, so it appears as if you are only following a fad, rather than starting one. As for winning the others over…" He had to think about it. Snape didn't know the Ravenclaw social structure well. "Is Miss Lovegood still having problems with people taking her things?"
"I can't believe they're starting it so early! At least I'm not doing it this year." She hung her head.
"Then become her protector when others are cruel to her. When she's with the Gryffindors, her cousins will probably leave her alone, but they'll make up for it when her other friends aren't around." He knew how that worked. Next year should be easier for the strange girl, as most of her relatives were in seventh year.
"But…but she knows what I did!"
"She is also…unusually forgiving, I believe."
"But I'm a Death—"
"Miss Edgecombe, I think we both know how you truly feel," he said in a low voice. "Both on a Sunday morning and then again late on a Friday evening. You are in terrible danger if you cannot hide your true feelings, especially at meetings, but I'm certain you know that already. However, it will be easy to justify a friendship with Miss Lovegood to those same people. The Quibbler has a great deal of influence with a small segment of the Wizarding World. Becoming helpful to the owner's daughter will be seen as intelligent.
"Miss Lovegood is also friends with others that certain people would like more information about. Once they realize this, you will be asked many questions. I suggest you have appropriate answers. If you have trouble formulating them, you may come to me for advice.
"As to your own problem with other Ravenclaws, any assistance you give Miss Lovegood will shame most of the perpetrators and help them see you in a new light. You will have some unpleasant months ahead, but if you persevere, you will see an improvement in your social standing. Also, from the contact I have had with the girl, I suspect you will enjoy your association with her. She thinks oddly even for one of your house and thus will offer stimulation to your own intelligence.
"I wish you had made an O on your Potions OWL. You would have more reason to visit the dungeons. Mr. Malfoy wishes to form a dueling club, and would like to include people from all the houses in it. However, I commend you on finding your way here without making noise and being observed by others. Which hallway did you use?"
"The one by the portrait of the Crazy Nun," she said. "Everyone knows about that one, but when it splits we usually take the left hand one, because that exits right by the pear to get into the kitchens. The right hand way smells funny, but the big spider in it likes Ice Mice and lets me through whenever I give it one."
Snape knew about old Oswald, of course, since he used that passage whenever he needed a quick shortcut to Ravenclaw Tower, or as a student had simply wanted to hide from the Marauders when he'd first discovered it.
He nodded in approbation. "One consequence of helping Miss Lovegood will be that word will get back to those in charge of the DA. Miss Granger won't believe it at first, but eventually she will if you pay no attention and keep on with it anyway. I do not suggest attempting to make friends with her again. But anything that makes her doubtful about what she did last year will be a help."
"As if I want to go anywhere near her again!"
"I don't blame you. But I have seen her champion the most unlikely people. Learning she is capable of being wrong and having to change her mind is something that she needs to experience. At present, she is in danger of developing a severe sense of self-righteousness. I would find that unfortunate." If the Granger girl could lecture the others at Grimmauld Place on their treatment of Kreacher, of all things, she was capable of much more than she was showing at present. It was frightening how he trusted a Gryffindor's sense of justice.
"I'll try, Professor," she said, then left. Snape glanced down the hall to make sure she was not observed, then forced himself to take his next potion along with the dish of pudding Winky brought him.
Maybe Poppy had been right about the mood enhancers. He had been less prone to rage lately, and under circumstances when he usually erupted, too. Normally he felt like hexing everything in sight after the first set of interviews with these children, especially when he learned how badly some of them had been treated. Instead, he felt some anger but was still able to think clearly. In fact, he'd done his best to give good advice to the Ravenclaw girl when in past years he would have ordered her back to her own Head of House.
Albus had been right, too. He did need this crutch. How annoying the old man's smug look would be when he finally admitted it, too.
Snape decided to take his dinner in his rooms. He was tired, and wanted to rest. Next week I'll start having Sunday dinner with Draco, he thought, looking forward to the treat. Besides, Albus won't complain too much when I present myself to his office later this eveningto have my walls tested. I've been lucky I haven't been summoned already.
Harry Potter
It was Saturday morning, and at last it was time for Quidditch practice—and freedom! Harry barely felt the crisp autumn breeze that announced the changing of the seasons. He soared through the air after the practice Snitch, and was pleased that boxing had apparently kept his reflexes sharp. It was delightful to see Ginny fly alongside him trying to grab the tiny golden creature before he could. She was good, almost as good as he was, and it was like they were dancing in the air with each other. He caught it first, but just barely, and then had to duck a practice Bludger as well. It hit Ginny instead, but she grimly hung onto her broom and landed properly anyway.
"Go to the infirmary, Ginny," Ron said.
"It doesn't hurt that much." Her face was flushed.
"Go anyway. I want you in top shape all year. What if you'd done this right before a game? Harry might get knocked off his broom and you'd have to go in against Malfoy or Chang. Crabbe and Goyle aren't a team any more, but we don't have Fred and George to keep them in line, either."
Ginny obeyed, but reluctantly. Ron was team captain as well as her brother. Then Harry did some Bludger-dodging practice of his own. He had fun catching them when he could and sending them back barehanded, just to see the others scramble. There was no rule against it he knew of.
They finished just before the Slytherins came on and went to lunch. Madam Hooch had decided to leave at least an hour between team practice times, even though that made for some interesting schedules. It made sense, though—some practices did run over, and in the past there had been lots of arguments about clearing the field for the next set of players. Harry thought it was overkill for Hooch herself to come out and make sure everyone left, but maybe it was a good idea. It would take less time for each team to get started if there weren't any scuffles over the last team hanging on.
The noon meal was good. He looked around for Hermione, though, and didn't see her. Parvati Patil said, "She went out somewhere with a broom in her hand this morning and I haven't seen her back yet. Maybe she's just riding around from here to the library and back to get used to flying again."
That could be. Harry worried that she was going to be on the screened practice pitch the same time that the Slytherins were out there, though, and muttered something about it to Ron. His friend looked worried, too. "I've got an idea," Harry said quietly. Then he spoke up. "Hey, Ron. Why don't we all stick together after this and work on our homework here at the table after it's cleaned off? That way we can have all of tomorrow for slagging off." Besides, this way he would have some of it done before his first Occlumency lesson with the Headmaster tomorrow morning—and they would all be together if Hermione needed help.
Ron grumbled, but thought it was a good idea. If nothing else, they could figure out what they didn't understand, and get more help on Sunday when they still had time to fix it. The rest of the team groaned out loud as well, but all of them came back with their books and papers to the Great Hall, though one of the elves asked them to use a different table. Not a single one skived off. Harry thought that was amazing.
Ginny came back from the infirmary, then rushed off for her schoolwork, too. "I'd be an idiot not to take advantage of this," she said as she arrived not much later than everybody else. "A lot of you have taken your OWLs already, and maybe you'll explain stuff to me. Nothing against Hermione, but she doesn't understand why I don't get things that are blindingly obvious to her."
Harry smiled. For a little while he could pretend the team was just one big family. He supposed he ought to think of Ron's sister more highly than he did, but he knew what he'd felt for Cho Chang. Though Ginny was far prettier than she'd been, he didn't look at her the same way. He'd been such an idiot around Cho! But how could he blame her for dumping him?
"Finite incantatem!" Ron whispered at him.
"What?"
"You looked like you had a Confundus on you, mate," his friend said.
"Oh. Erm. Thinking about Cho."
"Same thing," Ron replied.
Harry paid more attention to his work after that. There was a lot of talk and a few paper airplanes magically enhanced to sail further than usual, but almost everyone kept on track.
"Who knows three uses for lungwort?" Dean Thomas asked out loud. Several people shouted answers, though Harry wasn't sure any of them were right.
An hour or so later, Hermione stopped by and joined the mob. Harry was glad to see she was all right, and moved over so she could sit between him and Ron. "How's the flying going?" he asked.
"Could be worse. I can make it to the library in much less time. Madam Pince was a little upset at first, but I just asked her where I could put the broom where I could get it back later, and she showed me a little closet with a broom-rack in it. Apparently there was a fad for flying to classes and such, but they put a ban on it when things got out of hand. But she told me that it might be lifted for the Remedial Broom class."
"That's neat," Harry said. "I thought you might have gone to that little practice field at the same time the Slytherin Quidditch team was there."
"I did, but Professor Snape was in the stands keeping an eye on things, so I didn't worry. I wasn't there that long anyway."
Harry gave up. Hermione was always so careful, except about Snape. He'd never understand it.
She looked around at the academic chaos. "This is a really good idea."
Then people started asking her questions, and Harry wondered how long she would stick it out. She began looking tired after only a half hour or so of being on the hot seat.
Ron said loudly, "Hermione, aren't you supposed to be on patrol today? Not that we hold being a prefect against you, but how can we plot mischief with you sitting right here?"
She flashed him a smile and left to a mixed chorus of cheers and boos, probably to go lie down. "Maybe she should take some of that potion she had this summer," Ron said once she was out of the Great Hall.
Harry nodded. It hurt him every time he was reminded of the raid on the Department of Mysteries. How many of his friends still had nightmares about it? Or were still sick at times because of the trap he'd led them into?
After an hour or so longer, Seamus announced, "I don't know about you, but I'm done, at least till tomorrow. My brain is oozing out of my ears—"
"Which is actually pretty normal for you," Ginny quipped.
"Ok, that's true enough, but I just don't care about Fluxion Charms any more," he retorted.
There was general agreement and a mass departure. It was still light enough to get a little time in the air, and the Slytherin practice should be over by now, so Harry spent the last hour before dinner up on his broom.
That night he had a peculiar dream. He stood in the Forbidden Forest in the light of a full moon. Harry glanced about cautiously, as centaurs, giant spiders, or even Dementors could find him there.
Then he heard a wolf howl, answered by the bark of a dog. Oh! Harry thought. Maybe there's a memory I didn't find! I want to see them in the moonlight, I want to see Prongs and Padfoot and Moony, and even Wormtail when it's like this. Maybe it's in the pensieve and trying to get in my memory through a dream.
He eagerly walked towards the sounds. A stag bounded past, as glorious as the Patronus he'd called in his first third year. It was followed by a wolf, and then by a black dog with a rat grimly clinging to the collar. It is them, it is, he thought through tears of grief. But they're almost all gone now. They weren't as wonderful as I thought they were, but it's just so wrong for them to be gone.
As if the horrible memory he'd seen about Snape had come into his dream, he saw the Marauders were chasing a bat. It was barely staying ahead, somehow unable to fly high enough to escape its enemies. Then a huge eagle owl swooped down at the other animals and gave the bat time enough to get away. The Marauders backed off, except for the stag, which fought the huge pale owl's beak and talons with his prongs. After a bit of this the eagle owl wheeled off into the forest. Harry breathed easier when he saw the other animals run off in some other direction.
Then he looked up into the sky when he heard a high, squeaking sound. The owl had rescued the bat only to seize the dark creature for himself, and now carried it off towards a monstrous serpent further off in the forest.
Harry was afraid he was beginning to understand. If Snape is the bat, then who is the owl? His heart sank as he realized Malfoy always received his letters and packages from home from the same kind of bird.
He rooted for the bat, especially when it escaped from both the owl and the serpent that nearly devoured it. The owl, now rather obviously upset, flew at him, while the giant snake began to slither in his direction. Harry grabbed his broom just in time to get away. He didn't realize he had the Firebolt with him till he needed it, but wasn't complaining.
He woke up, his head pounding, though his scar didn't bother him that much this time. The owl was different than regular ones, he realized. The one in his dream had icy grey eyes and silver feathers. If owls had canes, I bet I know what his would look like, he thought.
Harry dressed, ate some breakfast, and went up to the Headmaster's office after fetching his pensieve.
Dumbledore seemed happier than he was the last time, and offered him a lemon drop right away. He told the older wizard about his dream.
The Headmaster looked sad for a moment. "Don't talk about this with your friends, Harry. Some secrets belong to others."
The Gryffindor gazed down at the floor. "I remember Mrs. Weasley saying it didn't matter if Snape had to do the can-can last year to find out what the Order needed to know, and Black shouldn't have ragged him about it." He paused. "I remember the way Malfoy—the older one—looked at Snape at Mum and Dad's wedding." It was beginning to dawn on him what kind of relationship the Potions Master and Draco's father could have had, and his breakfast threatened to come up.
"It's far more complicated than you imagine," Dumbledore said.
Harry thought for a moment. In the memory in the pensieve, Malfoy was looking at Snape. According to Aunt Petunia, Snape was eating his heart out over Lily. How far had the Slytherin gone to get information? Had his godfather been right with his nasty cracks? It gagged him to think of the dark man as some kind of victim, but he was having trouble avoiding it. "I bet my friends and I aren't the only ones who're glad Malfoy is in prison," he hazarded.
The Headmaster sighed. "I can't say anything about this, Harry. Again these are secrets that you do not need to know, nor to circulate rumors about in school. Lives hang on this, and not just Professor Snape's. I know you can be trusted. There's a certain nickname you found out last year, and which I have yet to hear around school, despite your godfather's fondness for it. We were all pleasantly surprised under the circumstances, frankly."
"What my father and his friends did was wrong," Harry said, blinking back tears knowing Sirius was gone. "But I miss thinking of him the way I used to. Why didn't anyone ever tell me? I thought for years Snape was out of his mind to hate my father the way he did. That made me believe he was wrong about everything else, too, and so I didn't listen when he tried to tell me stuff, especially last year. He was right about a lot of things. It wasn't fair to either one of us."
Dumbledore bowed his head. "We only wanted to let you have some happiness, Harry, after all you'd been through."
"But it didn't work. He thought I was an idiot and I thought he was crazy. And he's been right all along. No wonder he gripes about favoritism and me being pampered, because here it's true. You have let me break the rules when anybody else would have been expelled. You do it for other Gryffindors like Fred and George. I thought Hermione was nuts when she yelled at us over Montague, but maybe she was right about that, too.
"I've done some really stupid things because I keep thinking I'm always going to be rescued. I never backtalk Uncle Vernon the way I did Umbridge or Snape last year. I took my friends to the Ministry last year to rescue Sirius. I didn't say it to myself out loud, but I guess I expected you or somebody to show up when things went bad. My godfather is dead because I was stupid. Hermione almost died.
"I don't know, it's like that goose Hagrid fattens every year on anything it wants to eat, because it's going to be part of a feast…"
"Harry…" The old wizard looked alarmed.
"No, wait. It's not just me. Snape's done things that would get most teachers sacked, but you've kept him on anyway. Are we both going to be served up to Voldemort?"
The Headmaster smiled sadly. "I hope it's not going to be like that. I am tired of burying people I love. You've endured things no child should to make you strong enough to survive. Professor Snape knows the risks and is willing to pay the price. Believe me when I say there will be a time when Tom Riddle is no longer a menace. You will be able to just be Harry Potter and decide for yourself what your life will be."
Harry noticed Dumbledore hadn't said anything about Snape. No wonder the Potions Master was bad tempered, knowing he was being sacrificed for people who didn't give a Knut for him. Maybe Snape knew a prophecy about him, too, and didn't like it. But Harry nodded, and pretended to believe what he was told about his own survival. Sometimes sugarcoating things didn't help. At least his pensieve had only happiness in it. He ran his hand on the smooth lid, gaining comfort just by its presence.
"You need to learn to use one properly," the Headmaster said, obviously happy to change the subject. "Having one is part of being an Occlumens, especially when facing someone like Tom. Memories he can use to hurt you or force you to do what he wants can be stored there. Professor Snape did try last year, Harry. That's why some memories about your father were tucked in mine, because he really did want the lessons to go well. Clearly his methods did not suit your level, but he did try."
And I didn't, Harry finished.
The older wizard continued. "Unfortunately, having to find that sort of memory forces one to relive it, so the process wasn't as helpful as either one of us hoped. This morning I'll show you how to place a memory in yours and how to retrieve it as well."
"That's something I wonder about," said Harry. "Once you've let go of a memory like that, how do you know you have it when you have to go looking for it?"
"You still remember that whatever it was actually happened, but you just don't have the details any more," Dumbledore said. "It's not like an Obliviate or other Memory Charm." Then he demonstrated how to take a thought or memory already inside and then pull it back.
It turned out to be a simple process. Harry just hadn't known the proper spell. He chose a few meaningless memories to store elsewhere, took them out, put them into his pensieve, and then brought them back into his mind without much trouble.
That was it for the first lesson. He'd expected a bit more, really. "If it's so important that I learn this, shouldn't we go a bit faster?"
"We tried that last year," the Headmaster said.
"Oh." Harry knew it was his own fault he was being treated like a child now. So this is what Remedial Occlumency is about, he thought flippantly as he left the office.
There was still time till lunch, so he went to Hagrid's, passing by the Quidditch pitch where Ravenclaw was practicing. He waved at Cho, but she didn't see him.
As it turned out, the groundskeeper hadn't given him the pensieve either. "You know I can't do that kind of magic, Harry," the giant said. "But it must be better than the photo album! Oh, the memories I have of them!"
Harry wanted to teach Hagrid, but knew his friend wasn't supposed to have a wand, and didn't want him to get in trouble in case that little pink umbrella was still around. "You don't have to pretend all of the memories you have are that great," he said. "I know Dad wasn't always nice to people. Mum tried to stop him once I know of. Even Sirius admitted it when I asked him, and Remus, too."
He'd been so sure that Snape had asked for what he got, but his godfather hadn't mentioned anything the Potions Master had done when confronted, and Harry knew Sirius would have if there had been anything. The year before, Sirius had made comments about Snape and 'that nasty little gang of Slytherins', but when Harry had asked about the incident, nothing like that had been said at all. "My saying how great Dad was all the time—no wonder Snape always looked so upset, if he thought I knew what really went on."
Hagrid looked sad. "I don't like remembering stuff like that. Even if it was Snape, it still wasn't right. If he could make it here, though, he was safe enough. You'd think his own mates would have stood up for him, but they didn't lift a finger till he finally gave in…oops. Shouldn't have said that."
Harry sipped his tea. If his dad and his friends only got a slap on the wrist for trying to kill him, even if they changed their minds at the last minute, why should the greasy git trust the school about anything? Why not go with the people you knew? It's amazing that he's against Voldemort at all. If he is, of course. But why make people hate him all the time?
He promised Hagrid to bring Ron and Hermione with him next time, then went back to the Great Hall to eat. Hermione was lost in a book again while she ate, but Ron was full of Quidditch strategies. "I want to bring Ginny in as Keeper every once in a while, Harry," his friend said. "I talked to Madam Hooch and she said that she should go in as a substitute every once in a while in a real game, and not just when the reserves are playing each other."
"As often as I'm in the infirmary anyway, she'll get all the time she wants, probably." He was glad to eat real food instead of pretending to chew on Hagrid's rock cakes. "But we'd better have someone trained to play Chaser then, for when she does go in for me."
"Good point," Ron said around a mouthful of food. He swallowed. "Say, Hermione, ready for some more broom practice? I promise we'll take it easy."
"You'd better. This stuff doesn't taste nearly as good coming up as going down," she said, turning a page, then going after another forkful of pasta. "After that I have to study. With this stupid Remedial Brooms class and practice, and Madam Pomfrey wanting me to rest more, I don't have as much time as I thought I was going to, even though my schedule's easy this year."
"Have you ever considered doing just the assignment and not three times as much?" Ron asked with a cautious air.
Hermione gave him a Glare of Death, almost as good as one of Snape's. Then she sighed. "If I could write what I know in the feet assigned, I would! If only I knew how to boil it down."
"I dunno. Mum said if I said what the question was, what the answer was, and then showed why it was right before the end, then I'd have better grades. She said it looked on my essays like I threw random bits of knowledge at the wall and hoping some of it would stick."
Harry almost had pumpkin juice go up his nose. He would have laughed out loud, except Ron's method sounded suspiciously like his own whenever he was running late or would rather be doing something else.
Hermione sighed. "I hate not to explain everything when I write an essay. There's always so much more to the question than it looks at first. But you're right, I need to shorten some of it or I'll never manage it all. Maybe your mum is right. And maybe this stupid broom class wasn't such a bad idea after all. I end up with some good ideas going around the practice course. Flying doesn't bother me so much when I'm thinking of something else."
Ron looked concerned. "'Mione, you have to pay more attention! I swear, if you could think of a way to read while on a broom, you would!"
She just grinned.
Harry said, "Don't give her any ideas, Ron! We'd better go while the weather is still decent. Those clouds look like they might move in tonight."
They all went to the practice course behind the trees and ran Hermione through a few drills. Harry was glad to see she was a bit further off the ground than before. As much as Ron obviously wanted to turn Hermione into another player, Harry thought helping her not to be afraid of flying was the best they'd probably do.
As they walked back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione asked, "Have you found who gave you the pensieve?"
"No," said Harry. "It wasn't Hagrid, either. Was it one of you?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Mum would have given it away somehow if it'd been her or Dad."
"Well, it probably wasn't any of the Marauders or a student," Hermione said. "You would have had something from the common room or maybe even the bedroom. It wasn't from your parents, because they would have had something from when you were a baby. You already told us it wasn't the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, or Hagrid.
"And it probably wasn't a teacher anyway, since some of the memories are in different classrooms or the library. Were there any memories from the infirmary?"
"No," Harry said, and wondered why she asked. "Oh, wait. So it probably wasn't Madam Pomfrey, either," he said as he figured it out.
"Hey, what about Filch?" Ron joked.
They all had a good laugh over that one. "The only thing I can think of, Harry," said Hermione, "is to go through each memory and see if there's one person in all of them. You can make a list."
"That makes sense," he said. "I wish I'd thought of it." It wasn't going to be much of a sacrifice to look at them all like that.
Ron and Hermione talked some more as they walked, while Harry thought. Memories. It would be fun to have extra happy ones to look at whenever things were bad. Maybe I ought to add some of mine to the pensieve as part of my practice.
He looked at his friends as they walked up the steps to their tower. This moment, now, could be one of them.