Harry Potter and the Year he Broke Free
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Peppermint
Exactly as the bell rang, Harry strode into the dungeons. Snape paused mid-sentence and threw him a withering look.
"Late, Mr Potter," he snarled, watching him slip over to his place quietly.
"Sorry, sir." Harry replied in monotone.
Snape surveyed him curiously, brows furrowed, until he turned back to the blackboard and began to speak again. Harry kept his eyes up, firmly trained on the space ahead of him although he wasn't looking at anything. He felt a bit deflated, any fight in him torn to pieces by Umbitch's threats and the reactions they stirred in him. He was sick of all the torment, and had half a mind to return to the shack.
A few minutes later, when he had finished his short piece on the effects of wormwood in a thickening solution, Snape set the class to work. Harry set up his cauldron and gathered his ingredients mechanically, not uttering a word to anyone around him. Not that they tried to initiate conversation. Even Neville was quiet.
Three counter-clockwise stirs, three daisy petals. Heat up, more stirring. It was mind-numbingly boring, but it was something to focus on, something to take his mind off his situation. Halfway through the lesson, another bag was dumped beside his own. Another cauldron placed beside his. Harry looked up in confusion to find a disgruntled Draco Malfoy in the seat next to him, and before he could even open his mouth, Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Calm down, Potter. I'm not here by choice." He muttered, shooting a dark look at the potions professor.
Harry blew out a breath and went back to his potion. Fantastic. As if this day could get any worse. He could swear Snape wanted him to leave.
As consuming as this work was, it wasn't enough to keep Harry from formulating a possible escape plan. After this lesson he could slip up to his room and gather his things, before heading to the Shrieking Shack through the passageway under the Whomping Willow. Nobody would notice he was gone until it was too late.
Harry bent low over his book to see the small text, and when he straightened up realised Malfoy was glaring at his potion. Then, he turned back to his own, clearly puzzled; his was a shade of buttery yellow, and Harry's could probably be considered orange. According to the instructions, they were both on the same section of the potion.
Malfoy slumped into his chair, motion devoid of the usual Malfoy grace. His face was screwed up, and from Harry's past observations he knew that meant he was completely bewildered and trying not to let it show. His steel-tinted eyes flickered between the two vastly different liquids bubbling away in each of the cauldrons, and made an odd noise.
"Potter, you've gone wrong somewhere. Yours is completely the wrong colour."
Harry brsitled. "What makes you think mine's the wrong colour?"
He laughed. "Well, for one, I'm much better at potions."
"So people can't make mistakes?"
"Oh, they can, it's just I don't." He paused, eyes travelling up and down Harry's stature, finally coming to rest on his vacant features. "You on the other hand, your entire life is a mistake."
Harry scoffed and shook his head, turning back to his potion to proceed on to the next section. Right - turn down the heat, let simmer for three minutes. Damn, there were a hell of a lot of threes in this recipe. The bubbles that had been erupting all across the surface slowed down, dissapating until the potion was calm. Smoke drifted up from his cauldron, smelling faintly of oranges. Harry scanned the entire recipe and found no mention of what scent it should have, nor colour. That was odd.
As he worked, he could feel Draco's eyes boring holes in the back of his head.
Snapping his head up suddenly, Harry said, "Would you quit staring at me? It's a little off-putting."
Malfoy startled, blonde hair catching in the light as he pulled back quickly. He narrowed his eyes. "Sorry," Draco shot at him coldly. Harry shook his head.
Within another minute, he was staring at him again. Harry sighed. "What?"
Draco chewed on his lip. "Nothing..." Harry turned back around, shaking his head again. "It's just- well, have you added the star anise yet?"
Huh? It was a moment before he realised Draco was on about the potion. "Um... no?"
"Well then how does yours smell like citrus? Mine smells like hazelnuts, and I haven't added them either!"
Harry grinned. This was funny - Malfoy's hair was all ruffled from him running his hands through it in distress, and his lips were puckered from chewing on them anxiously. He watched as Malfoy yet again nibbled them nervously. Merlin, he was going to ruin those lips if he kept doing it.
"The recipe doesn't say anything about scent, though," he pointed out, dragging his eyes away from the pale-haired boy sat opposite him. Draco himself scoured the recipe, and nodded.
"Yeah. I s'pose." Malfoy paused. "But it has to mention somewhere, right?"
The remainder of the lesson was spent flipping through the potions textbook, both of them searching for any word of what colour a strenthening solution was supposed to be, or what it was supposed to smell like. Harry was so ingrossed in the search that his potion nearly imploded, only saved by Draco when he remembered to turn down the heat in time. It meant that he got scolded quite a lot, but Harry enjoyed when he had to stretch over to tap his cauldron with his wand. Malfoy smelt... fresh. Like peppermint. As strange as it was to admit, Harry couldn't deny he liked the other boy's aroma rather a lot. He even found himself wishing Draco would need to lean over Harry again, just so he could get another note of that delicious mint.
By the time Snape swept round to check their progress, both of them had corked a bottle of their own solution.
"Sir, the colour... how is it?" asked Draco, his tone heavy with doubt.
Snape glanced at both of them, one eyebrow raised and Harry's and Draco's equally eager expressions. Harry snuck a peek at Draco, and was surprised to see him doing the same. Harry snapped his attention back to the grumpy git in front of him, a dull flush creeping up his throat.
Snape set both vials back on the counter. "Why should it matter? Surely you realised that colour, nor scent, affects the quality of the potion?" He shook his head at both of them. "Just look at everyone else's. Potter, ten points for your utter stupidity." With that, the potions professor swept away from them, arms crossed and cloak billowing out behind him.
Harry grumbled and begrudgingly looked around the room. Nearly everyone else's (excluding Goyle's, Crabbe's, Ron's and Neville's) was a shade of yellow. Some were deep, like his, and others were light, like Draco's.
"Merlin, I feel like a right twat," he murmured under his breath. Draco caught it and frowned at him.
"Don't say that. I was too stupid to look around me as well, you know." he said shortly.
"Yeah, but at least you didn't get points taken off you for it," Harry added.
The other boy began packing up his things, cracking a small smile. "That was a bit stupid. Maybe if you did that thing with the points again you could sort it all out?"
They both laughed and left the classroom, unaware of the sour professor watching them depart.
"Potter, where are you going? Arithmancy's that way," said Malfoy, confused, with one thumb jerked in the direction opposite to the one Harry was going.
Harry froze, head turning round to find Draco's curious gaze lingering on him. "Nowhere," he said, "Just grabbing my stuff."
"Well hurry up then; do you want to be expelled?" he grinned, and swept round, books in hand, down the path to the Arithmancy classroom. Harry watched his figure retreating, black robes with green and silver trim hanging round his feet, bright, blonde hair lightly ruffled and swept back off his forehead with a few tendrils hanging loose. The sunlight from the tall windows outside fell onto his figure, highlighting every beautiful feature of his, silver eyes glinting with joy. His lips tender from almost constant anxious nibbling.
Harry couldn't deny he had felt things. Feelings he had never really associated with a boy, least of all Malfoy with. Things he didn't feel with Cho at all anymore. Her constant chattering got on his nerves, prompting him to daydream. He really couldn't care less what she had to say. But Draco - oh, he could listen for hours.
His melodic tones were almost as seductive to him as his fresh scent. Peppermint breath whispered on his cheek whenever they had to lean close to the page together, certain thoughts misting into his head. What if he had brushed a hand against his cheek, muttering that he should please stop pulling on those tantalising lips with his teeth and kiss his troubles away?
But he couldn't. Harry could never kiss Draco. Ever, not under any circumstance. He was a Slytherin, he was a Gryffindor. He was on the light side, he was on the dark side. He was good, he was bad. They were both boys, and Harry could only imagine what the Daily Prophet, as well as the rest of the wizarding world, would think of his choice.
Many were supportive; Harry had heard about gay couples getting good publicity. But with the good also came the bad. Many wouldn't want the Boy-Who-Lived to be homosexual.
And was he even gay? Harry didn't like blokes. He wasn't some poof. But those feelings... they were much better than anything he'd ever felt with Cho. She was pushed to the back of his mind as all he could think about was Draco. He was absolutely mesmerising, the smoke from the potions wafting up from the cauldron and capturing him, swirling round the curves of his face.
So, if Draco was a guy (duh) and Harry was a guy, (also duh) that would make him... gay. Oh merlin, that just made the mess that was his headspace even more cluttered. He had Umbridge's laws, Dumbledore and McGonagall and Sirius, his argument with Ron... everything was so confusing right now. And then you add on the possibility he could be gay, and his... completely illogical infatuation with Malfoy. Harry felt like his head might explode.
For now, he would try to forget it. Insult and ignore Draco like nothing ever happened. That way it would be like Harry hadn't somehow found him attractive in the midst of a potions lesson. Sure, he had been flushing quite a lot and his heartbeat had sped up but that could just be from the excitement of potions.
As for Cho... well, he'd let her know when he reached a decision. Not going into specifics, just telling her he wasn't interested. Leading her on when he wasn't into it would just be cruel. But how did he know he wasn't into it? Ugh, things were just so confusing. Last year, he would've jumped at the chance to got to the Ball with her, but now he was busy thinking about someone else.
They could never date anyway, him and Malfoy. Never. Harry would only be hurt by him. Those fleeting flirtatious feelings weren't enough to overshadow years of taunting and teasing, years of quarrels and arguments and pain. Loving him would only end badly. Harry wouldn't let himself get fooled and hurt, not after Dumbledore and Ron and Hermione had done it so many times before. This time he would be sensible; and the sensible thing to do is to let this love die.
If only he could scrub the image of a flushed Draco tucking a stray strand of slivery blonde hair behind his ear out of his mind, that would make things ten times easier.
He barely made into the classroom on time, crashing into his seat just as the bell rung. Nobody gave him a single glance, and that suited him fine. Harry tugged out his textbook, oblivious to the stare coming his way from across the room.
Draco was completely head-over-heels for this boy. Harry Potter was all he could think about; his emerald green eyes and smoky black hair floating round his conciousness. Draco was sure he looked like some dopey, lovesick idiot. But he didn't care.
He had felt his heart stop when Snape paired him up with Dumbledore's golden boy (if he even still was). The lunatic had literally stuck him inside a quidditch hoop a few days ago? What was that sly bastard playing at? Sometimes Draco really hated his godfather.
So, he had begrudgingly banged his bag onto the floor beside Potter's, and sidled into the seat behind him. On cue his expression changed to 'are you fucking kidding me?' and Draco had put his mind at ease with a typical scathing remark. But soon he realised that their potions were very different, a matter that had prompted conversation. Malfoy had to admit he had a fun time attempting to figure out why they had completely different scents and colours. It turned out that it didn't even matter.
For a second, Draco could have sworn Potter felt something too. The way he just stared at him, eyes caressing his face gently. He had begun chewing on his lip; a nervous habit of his that of course made Potter's eyes zoom straight to his mouth, eyes going wide and a deep flush staining his cheeks. But he couldn't do that - no, if he let himself really believe, really imagine that there was something else going on, he would get ahead of himself.
Draco tended to do that. Craft entire relationships in his head, too focused on planning the wedding to realise Blaise had only winked at him because the sun was in his eyes. It had been hot and steamy in that classroom, so Potter blushing would not have been a stretch. And he might have only been drawn to his lips because of the sudden movement.
He could not let himself pretend that it would ever amount to anything, even if it wasn't the temperature that caused the sudden heating of Potter's face. Because he was resigned to his fate: join the death eaters, marry a pure-blood, produce an heir and die. That was it. His entire miserable life summed up in twelve words. It wouldn't matter if Draco was gay, or his very worst nightmare would be joining Voldemort; it would all still go according to plan. Lucius would make sure of that.
The sooner he forgot, the better. But right now he just couldn't bring himself to.
Bloody hell that was boring, Harry thought as he left the classroom, bag swinging against his hip. But he had to attend all his lessons again, or he would be expelled and sent to Azkaban. He also had to sleep in the dorms again, or guess what, he would be thrown in Azkaban. It was going to be so fun sharing with Ron again, whom he hadn't spoken to since the incident on Saturday. Oh well - it was only a week until the Christmas hols, and Harry was thinking of asking Sirius if he could leave Hogwarts. It was all stressing him out too much. The stares and whispers from nosy classmates, that bitch Umbridge making his life a living hell. Oh, and the whole confusing mess with a certain blonde-haired Slytherin. He could hardly take it anymore.
He was wandering down the corridors, no destination in his mind, just walking along with his hand trailing one of the walls. Harry didn't feel like going outside into the courtyard, where he was supposed to be since it was break.
"Potter, can I speak to you in my office, please?" Came the crisp voice of Professor McGonagall behind him. Harry snatched his hand back, and turned round.
"Don't suppose I can say no, really." he replied dryly. She nodded curtly, and turned to walk over to her office. He waited for a few seconds, and then followed her. Shortly after, they arrived in her office and she resumed her usual position at her desk. He hovered at the door, noticing Dumbledore standing there as well as Snape.
He froze. "What are they doing here?"
"We have to continue the discussion we had in the infirmary, I'm afraid." said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling.
Was this a set-up? Were they all going to arrest him now? Harry felt like a deer in headlights, standing warily by the door, muscles tensed to sprint away at a moment's notice. His hand was gripping the doorframe, fingers coiled tightly, reminding him of what happened in the bathrooms that morning. Thank god he knew that spell to fix bones otherwise he wouldn't have been able to write in his lessons.
Snape stepped forward, hands folded tightly together. "We know about what happened in the bathroom, Potter." Dumbledore glared at his accusatory tone. "Harry, sorry." He didn't sound the least bit apologetic whatsoever, and Harry frowned at him, mind racing anxiously underneath his scowl. Were- were they talking about his outburst this morning? But he'd been so careful, mopping up the blood off the floor, repairing the sinks. He had left everything as he found it, at least that's what he thought.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean." he said in a blank voice, devoid of the pure panic running through his veins.
McGonagall sighed. "Whilst you did a good job with the sinks, I believe the other cubicles slipped your mind."
He laughed. "Other cubicles? You're going to have to explain whatever it is you think I did."
Dumbledore shook his head and smiled kindly at him. "Harry, you can tell us what's going on. We won't hurt you."
"You're lying. Stop lying." said Harry through gritted teeth.
"I assure you, we won't hurt-"
"STOP LYING!" Harry shouted. His voice echoed through the office, making the professors widen their eyes in surprise. "I-I'm sorry, I just-"
"It's quite alright, Mr Potter," said Dumbledore, holding his gaze. Harry squirmed in the doorway, wanting the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Calm down, Harry! Do you want a repeat of this morning? He told himself, gritting his teeth and taking some deep breaths.
"You did try to arrest me yesterday," Harry pointed out.
"I was concerned for your safety as well as ours. You did destroy half of the hospital wing," Dumbledore replied calmly.
"And the entirety of boy's bathrooms," McGonagall added.
Harry looked at her in confusion. "What? No, it was only the sinks."
"So that was you, then," she said knowingly. Her eyebrow was raised suspiciously at him, and it unsettled him a little. Harry swallowed.
"Yes. That was me. I'm sorry, I just... well, I wasn't too happy about Umbridge and her new law." he said quietly, shrugging.
"That was quite obvious." Snape said scathingly. "Gryffindors are abysmal at keeping their tempers." Harry glared at him.
McGonagall huffed. "Nonsense, Severus. You saw in his mind. Harry was quite contained at the breakfast table."
"You WHAT? You used legilimency on me, without my permisssion? I could report you!" said Harry indignantly. How much did Snape see? Did he see... everything? Harry bloody well hoped not. He thought back to that morning, when Snape's gaze seemed to pierce his very soul. Well, it seems that was actually true. From what he could remember, though, they only held eye contact for a few seconds - just long enough for him to get what was on the surface. Essentially, just his inexpressible anger at Umbridge.
Snape's lip curled back, revealing his pointy teeth. "I'd like to see you try. You aren't exactly the Ministry's favourite person as of recently."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, do us all a favour and shut up, or I'll blow you up next."
McGonagall squawked angrily. "Never speak to a member of staff that way again, Potter," she hissed.
"Or you'll what? Report me to Umbridge?"
"Yes, I will!" Her nostrils were flaring and her lips were pursed haughtily. Harry blinked at her, surprised. Then, he moved his gaze to the other members of staff.
"Oh, yeah. I did want to talk to you about that. Did you really approve that?" he laughed. "But really, what else did I expect?"
McGonagall sighed heavily. "Yes. We had to. All of us were sick and tired of your behavior recently. You can't just keep breaking rules and expect to get away with it." She paused, watching him frown at her. "You are a pupil of Hogwarts, and therefore, you must follow the rules. Also, you are fifteen. We have to take care of you."
"No, you don't! I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself! I have been for months, after you lot decided you didn't want to be responsible for me anymore!"
"Harry, we never did that. We entrusted you in the care of the Dursleys', and it was your choice, one we did not agree with, to run away out of our care." said Dumbledore firmly.
Harry glared at all of them. "You can hardly call the Dursleys' suitable guardians."
"What does that mean?" said McGonagall.
"Ever notice my Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs?" Harry replied sharply. "Also, you refused to give me any information about what was going on! After I left Hogwarts, you just left me in the dark all summer. I didn't have a clue what was happening. Didn't you think I'd want to know what Voldemort was up to? What if he'd gone and fucking murdered everyone? Didn't you think I worried about all of you?"
Dumbledore looked uncomfortable. "It wasn't secure over letter-"
"There are other ways of communicating with me. Such as coming to see me in person." Harry sighed. "I was unhappy there. Miserable, actually. And since you decided to ignore me all summer, I decided to leave. Find another, better, place to stay. I was, and still am, mightily pissed off with you all. So after all that brushing me aside for six months, now you decide you would like to care again. Can you see why I'm angry?"
Nobody said anything for a while, until Snape cleared his throat. "Minerva, the boy does..." he looked over at Harry uncomfortably, "have a point."
Harry blanced. Wait a minute, Snape was agreeing with him? What the fuck? Did he drink a dodgy potion or something?
"Oh, someone owl the Prophet! Snape's agreeing with me!" Harry sniggered. "Are you feeling alright?"
Snape grimaced. "Simply because I see your point of view does not mean I support your running away."
"Of course you wouldn't."
McGonagall sighed. "Stop. You're going to give me a headache. Anyway, Harry, I suppose I can understand your anger too. But that doesn't mean we gave up on you. We all searched for months, never stopping. Sirius especially was relentless. Do you know how worried he was?"
Harry said nothing, just folded his arms.
"Harry," began McGonagall slowly, looking at him solemnly. "Now that you're back, we can tell you whatever you need to know. Just let us keep you safe - tell us what's going on. Let us in."
Although he could feel his face heating up from her earnest words, he could also feel something in his chest loosening. His breathing had slowed, heartbeat steadied. Harry didn't want to - he didn't need anyone else, but he spoke.
"I don't know why this is happening. Why I keep destroying things, I mean," he added at their slightly confused looks.
McGonagall nodded. "Go on."
"When- when I was by myself, it still happened, but not very often. And it wasn't so... powerful. Like I could put it up to coincidence or just something breaking on its own."
Snape huffed impatiently. "Eventually, Mr Potter, you are going to have to tell us something we don't already know." McGonagall shushed him testily, and murmured, "let the boy speak."
Harry swallowed, and went on. He wasn't exactly sure when to stop. "I- um, it happens when I get too stressed, like when Ron was saying all those things to me."
"Right. So stress triggers it. We had already guessed that. Anything else?" Now she looked like her patience was wearing thin.
He felt heat rising to his cheeks, and shame coiling deep in his stomach. Were they getting annoyed by his presence? Well, the Dursleys' had always said he was a waste of space. Harry just felt completely tongue-tied. Suddenly, something rose into his mind.
"Dumbledore, you said you had a theory. What is it?" he asked curiously.
"Potter, are you trying to change the subject?" said McGonagall.
Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But I wanted to know anyway."
Dumbledore let out a slow breath. "Professor Snape and I... theorised that the ritual performed on you the previous summer had its repurcussions. However, we weren't sure what those would be. It seems your extra magic is one of those repurcussions. Have you noticed anything else?"
"Yes. I had them before, but they've gotten a lot worse. I have... strange dreams." They all paused, Dumbledore staring at him, eyes widened. "Some are about the Graveyard, and other stuff, but then... a lot of them are about this corridor I've never seen before, or me talking to a load of people in cloaks. Or- or hurting people. A lot of my dreams have some sort of.. um... well, they're quite unpleasant."
"Potter, could you be more specific?" said Snape curtly.
He groaned. "It's hard to explain."
"So, what you're saying is you have a lot of nightmares?" said Dumbledore, brushing aside Snape's comment with a firm glare. "How many would you say you get a week?"
Harry shifted his foot around, scuffing it on the wooden floor. "Ususally a few times every night. Sometimes it's worse, and sometimes it's better."
"Can you give us an example of your average night? Perhaps, last night?" said McGonagall earnestly, gesturing for Albus to hand her a quill off her desk. After adjusting her glasses, she sat there waiting patiently with parchment on her desk in front of her. Snape and Dumbledore had also summoned themselves chairs, and the headmaster had also summoned a third. He stretched out a hand toward it, raised eyebrows saying everything.
Harry picked up his feet and went and sat in the chair, looking at the floor. He flickered his gaze over to the adults who all sat watching patiently.
"So, last night?" prompted McGonagall.
"Right." said Harry, tucking his hands into his lap. "Well, I went to bed around eleven-ish, and then woke up around an hour later, I think."
"How did you wake up? Screaming? Similar to the dream you had previously, where Sirius had you admitted?" He nodded, and her quill spun across the page quickly. It felt odd; like he was being interviewed by Rita Skeeter again. The scratching of the nib against the page brought him back to the previous year, where they were both huddled in that broom closet.
He felt a sudden sharpness in his chest, almost like a tightening sensation. Harry could feel his chest closing in on itself. Desperately, he clawed his mind away from distant memories and back into the present. Everyone was staring at him, and he suspected they were waiting for an answer. Trouble is he didn't have a clue what the question was.
"Sorry, what?" he asked blankly.
McGonagall huffed. "Well, what happened after that? And what was the dream about?"
"I... it was about Voldemort." Oh, he could remember it so well. Harry was walking down to the Great Hall for dinner, when Voldemort crashed through the doors, pale skin and dark robes clustered in the doorway. His red eyes had lit up with menace as they feasted on all the fresh victims in front of him. Colin Creevey was first; Harry could still see his crimson blood smeared up the flagstones, mangled corspe laying feet away. The lens of his camera glinted from where it was partially concealed in his pocket.
Neville had died protecting him. The brave Gryffindor had dived in front of the fourth-year, giving everyone else a chance to escape. It didn't matter though - he all got them in the end. Only Harry was left, a desolate figure amongst the mountains of lifeless forms. He had seen the faces of his professors, fellow students, and people he didn't even know be tossed aside, screaming out for someone to save them. Harry had tried, but in the end all his attempts proved futile. They all still died.
Voldemort had turned to him then, long slender fingers curled round his wand. His cloak billowed out behind him, and he breathed in deeply, revelling in the smell of fresh blood. It made Harry want to be sick.
"It's your turn now," he had said, mouth twisting into a petrifying smile, curving oddly and making his high cheekbones jut out strangely. It was a horrible expression, one that Harry thought humans weren't capable of making. He was wrong. Harry had turned and run, pushing his legs to run further and faster. He wished he had practised more.
The stony hallways of Hogwarts soon turned into those familar dark corridors he had been running down since the beginning of the summer. Was Voldemort even behind him anymore? All that Harry could hear was the slapping of his footfalls on the cobbled floor. He paused, ears trying to pick out the telltale voice of the Dark Lord in the overlapping layers of suffocating silence surrounding him.
He blew out a breath, trying his best to control his rapidly heaving lungs. Dammit, why hadn't he practised more? He couldn't be this out of breath every time he was chased away by an evil lord.
"Found you," a voice whispered, and then he was gone.
*I don't own any characters, all rights to J.K. Rowling.
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