"The Locket"
Friday was going to be wet and rainy, just like the previous days.
Harry cast a fleeting glance at the Professors' table in the hope of seeing Hagrid sitting there waving at him.
He was extremely disappointed to see Professor Grubbly-Plank eating breakfast instead.
After he sat down and began spreading butter on a slice of bread, he diverted his thoughts to more important matters, such as the fact that all the tasks he had accumulated would surely keep him awake until dawn. Or perhaps on how to solve the post-Umbridge problem without Snape's help.
Everything would have been easier if Hermione hadn't discovered his 'little' problem.
Hermione.
Harry shifted his gaze from the slice of bread to the place that was regularly occupied by his friend at breakfast. She was still not there. His mind began to race.
He began to whisper frantically, lost in thought. "Did something happen to her? Did I go too far by hugging her like that last night? I must have offended her for sure! I'm going now..."
"HARRY!"
The raven-haired boy was brutally roused from his thoughts. Ron, sitting on the seat in front of him, had jumped up and shouted his name at the top of his lungs. They had probably heard him all the way to Hogsmeade.
"Weasley, ten points from Gryffindor for damaging the eardrums of the vast majority of the students and Professors of the school, with your pathetic shouting," snapped Snape, who was leaving the Great Hall at that very moment. Before he stepped through the door, he gave Harry a dirty look.
The latter, having recovered from his surprise, stared incredulously at his friend.
"Are you dumb?" asked to the redhead, arching an eyebrow.
Ron, who had turned as red as his hair, replied irate when he sat down.
"Am I the dumb? Bloody hell mate, I've called you about ten times! But you, nothing! You were completely absorbed in your thoughts. What was on your mind?"
Harry looked at him sharply, continuing to stare at him with wide eyes as if he had just told him that Voldemort had done a somersault on the Professors' table. Then, suddenly, he started eating again as if nothing had happened.
Ron was stunned to say the least. "Let me tell you that you are not on our planet today, Harry... Anyway, have you seen Hermione? How come she's not here yet?" he asked starting looking all along the table for the girl.
Harry snapped like a spring. "You haven't seen her either? We have to look for her, something might have happened to her!"
"Hi, guys," said a female voice behind him.
They both turned promptly in the direction of the voice. Hermione was standing in front of them, but there was something... Different, about her.
"Hi, 'Mione," Harry greeted her, swallowing loudly.
The girl tousled his hair affectionately and sat down in her usual seat. Ron, meanwhile, had not uttered a single word. He continued to stare at the girl.
"Is everything all right Ronald?" asked Hermione a little worried.
"I... You... Yes... But what? When? Something's different about you," Ron finally noted.
"Oh, how nice Ronald, you noticed. I'm glad," smiled the girl happily.
"Y-yes, of course I noticed! How could I not have noticed how..." The boy was clearly grasping at straws. He made it clear to Harry, pointing with his eyes at Hermione, that he absolutely had to help him.
Harry rolled his eyes in a snort, but they met those of the girl, who looked at him almost as if awaiting his approval.
"You look very good, 'Mione. How come these extra details?" the boy smiled quietly.
The girl had put on a little make-up that morning. Not that she needed it, her face was very pleasant and beautiful even without any kind of retouching, but she had never done it since the boys had known her. With a bit of mascara and pencil, her eyes stood out particularly, giving her a more penetrating look.
He had also fixed his hair, which appeared much softer.
The girl blushed a little, slightly embarrassed. "Thanks, Harry. Let's just say I wanted to stand out a little more than usual," she said smiling, sneaking a look at him.
At that sentence, the boy's gaze for some reason darkened. He left the remaining breakfast on his plate.
During the day's lessons, while Harry's mood was darker than it should have been at the thought of having to spend more time with Umbridge, Ron was particularly taciturn.
When it was only a few minutes before five o'clock, Harry said goodbye to his friends.
"Well, go for it mate! Good luck for the auditions!," he said patting his friend on the shoulder.
"Ah, yes, the auditions. Sure!" said the boy, regaining the spirit he had lacked throughout the day. "See you later then, mate."
"Harry... Be careful," Hermione told him in a whisper, after approaching him.
The boy nodded to her as he began to make his way to Umbridge's office.
When he knocked on the office door, he was told to come in. The white parchment and the sharp black pen were already placed on the desk.
"You know what to do, Mr Potter," Umbridge said, smiling at him in a way that Harry found revolting. His mood had plummeted exponentially.
From the window on his right he could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance, where there were figures hovering in the air. It was impossible to identify Ron among them.
By the time the parchment was glistening with drops of blood and the Quidditch pitch was no longer distinguishable due to the coming of the evening, Umbridge spoke.
"I think the message has finally penetrated sufficiently Mr Potter, you may go."
Harry gathered his things as quickly as he could and made his way to the Common Room. His eyes were throwing sparks.
"Mimbulus Mimbletonia!" he grunted to the Fat Lady, doing his best to cover his dripping blood hand.
A great hubbub greeted him, and Ron immediately came over to him, offering him a swig of Butterbeer. "I'm Keeper, mate!"
"Great," Harry replied dryly, without even looking at him. "Hermione?"
Ron, annoyed at his friend's lack of enthusiasm, replied a little offended. "Sitting there," he made pointing to one of the armchairs near the fireplace that they usually used. Hermione was dozing in one of them, a book dangerously tilted in her hand.
Harry suddenly changed his mind and decided to not disturb his friend. He hurried past Ron, feeling the blood slipping into his palm.
Angelina intercepted him. "I'm sorry I was a bit hard on you, Potter. I know he's your best friend, he's not a phenomenon, but with a bit of work..."
"I don't have time now, get out of the way!" growled Harry, starting to climb the steps two at a time.
"What manners!" she turned to Ron. "What the hell is wrong with him?" she huffed, going back to drinking her drink. The redhead watched as his friend's back disappeared up the stairs.
Harry slammed the dormitory door violently and then made sure no one disturbed him, "Colloportus!"
The room was still deserted, but he would not have long before the party downstairs ended and his companions found the door locked.
By now the blood was dripping all over the floor. The boy opened his trunk with a sharp blow, cracking the wood of it. He threw some clothes on the floor, they were hiding what he was looking for.
He began to leaf through the books he had taken from Grimmauld Place one by one, but soon realised that he did not recognise the language in which they were written.
"FUCK!" he roared, hurling the book he was holding into the trunk.
A metallic noise suddenly calmed his fury, prompting him to rummage around in the bottom to find what had caused it.
In his hand he now clutched the gold chain from the locket he had found in Kreacher's lair after his duel with Sirius. It reminded him that he had not had a chance to practice what the latter had taught him.
He smiled bitterly, wishing more than ever at that moment to be together with him. He would surely know what to do to lift his spirits.
He looked at the details, keeping it straight in front of him.
"You don't exactly meet my taste..." he said a little regretfully, knowing that he was talking about something that belonged to the Black family. Not that he cared that much about the family, but it was still Sirius's, even if he repudiated it. He took the locket in his hand, stroking the small emeralds that formed the letter 'S' on its surface with his thumb. He noticed that as he held it, his hand tingled slightly, but he didn't give it any relevance.
As he was about to rest it on the bottom of the trunk, his eye fell on the pages of one of the books he had been leafing through earlier. He could read it perfectly.
"What the..." he wondered in bewilderment, squinting as if to help him understand how this was possible. He left the locket on top of an old parchment, and grabbed the offending book. After reading a few words, he blinked for a fraction of a second, and it suddenly became unreadable again.
Harry's eyes widened and he soon realised the connection between what was happening to him.
"Harry, why is the door locked? Open it!", Ron's voice abruptly brought him out of his thoughts, he was trying -with a veiled insistence- to open the door.
"Holy..."
He threw everything he had taken out into the trunk in bulk, keeping only a T-shirt which he wrapped around his bleeding hand, like a sort of bandage.
"Scourgify!" He cleaned up the blood that had accumulated on the floor as quickly as possible, then almost threw himself on the bed. He isolated himself by closing the curtains of his bed. Just in time.
"Alohomora!"
The door was thrown open and he could distinctly hear Ron's footsteps approaching his bed.
"Harry, are you all right? What the hell are you doing?" said the annoyed redhead, sliding the curtain off the friend's bed.
Harry was lying on his back, his legs crossed, his hands behind his head and strictly hidden under his pillow. He turned to look at Ron.
"Oh Ron, sorry I closed the door, I was afraid someone other than you would come in and I wanted to be alone for a while. You know, the punishment with Umbridge... By the way, congratulations on being a Keeper, you deserve it!"
Ron, a little surprised by his friend's sudden change of character, scrutinised him for a few seconds, evidently looking for something wrong. Then, due to his new role in the Quidditch team, he found himself explaining to Harry the incredible saves he had made during the tryout, exaggerating a little, as was his wont.
"... and that's how, with this last incredible feint, I tricked Angelina into shooting right where I wanted her to!" the boy concluded with great satisfaction, while some of his dorm mates were returning from the party.
"Great, mate! Listen... I'm a bit tired, it's been quite a long day. What do you say we rest up and talk tomorrow?" proposed Harry, hoping his friend would acquiesce.
"But sure... Don't want to undress you, Harry?" asked Ron with a hint of curiosity.
The boy realised he hadn't even changed his clothes in the rush he was in. "Oh, you know, maybe later! Now I couldn't even get up without falling asleep!" laughed Harry, hoping to be comical.
Ron suddenly looked at him seriously and Harry's blood ran cold. But then the young Weasley burst into a roaring laugh, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief.
"Ahh mate, I understand you... When we have Potions during all morning I'm in the same situation as you! Night then, Harry!" he greeted him happily, heading towards Neville, ready to tell someone else about his great skills.
"Good Night, Ron," Harry replied, pulling himself behind the curtains and waiting to hear the snoring of his companions.
More than a few hours had passed before Harry could quietly sneak out of bed and put on his pyjamas, retrieving a pile of those dusty black books and the gold locket.
Before he sat back down on the bed and closed the curtains, he noticed that the T-shirt he had used as a 'temporary bandage' was soaked in blood and that a few small drops had fallen on the white sheets.
His hand throbbed with excruciating pain and burned as if it was on fire. It wasn't bleeding as much as before, but not even a scab had formed. The wound was still open.
"Tergeo," whispered Harry, quickly wiping off the sheets and his t-shirt. He looked around, hoping that all his companions were asleep deeply enough not to hear his whispers. And considering they had been used to Ron's snoring, there wouldn't be too much trouble.
Once isolated from the rest of the room, he realised he was in complete darkness. He couldn't use Lumos, the light could certainly have woken someone up more likely than a few whispers.
Harry smiled imperceptibly, pointed his wand at his forehead and brought it down vertically between his eyes, to the tip of his nose. "Visibula Noctambulus."
Opening his eyes again, he realised that it had worked. He could see in the dark.
He took the locket in his hands, stroking it gently.
"What are you?" he huffed curiously. It was just one of the many questions hovering in his mind. He put it around his neck.
Suddenly a shock of energy surged through his body, feeling the power radiating till his fingertips. It was a fantastic. Almost as if he could cast magic even without the aid of his wand. He noticed how perfectly the locket clung to his chest, as if two magnets were attracting each other.
He began to leaf through one book after another, curious for what they might contain. Soon, a strange déjà vu assailed him. Every time he finished reading a spell - most of them were offensive spells intended to maim or create a major deficit in the enemy - it was as if he thought: "Yes, I know this one. I already know this spell."
He finally found what he was looking for. The spell Snape had used several times to cure his hand. At the bottom of the full description of the spell, a note had been added. Useful for treating wounds inflicted by Sectumsempra.
What on earth was the Sectumsempra? Who put that note there?
Questions that Harry could not, or perhaps did not want to answer at that moment. He soon realised that what he had got wrong that day, in the Potions professor's office, was the pronunciation and the movement of the spell.
"Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur... Vulnera Sanentur..." he pronounced with a grin, once again being captivated by the sensation. The wound was completely healed this time, leaving no trace. It had been a success.
Suddenly Hermione came to mind. The promise he had made to her. He felt like a fool and some sort of surrogate dark wizard. But still, he hadn't done anything wrong, he was just healing from injuries. He was just learning.
He was disappointed to learn that many of the spells involved Occlumency and Legilimency, things he knew nothing about. But it occurred to him that perhaps, with a visit to the library or better... To the Restricted Section, he could easily fill that gap.
When he had finished reading, suddenly neglecting to make any noise, he put the books back in the trunk and put it in order.
"...arry, 's all right?" asked Ron in a sleepy slurred voice.
"Sleep," huffed Harry, with a very thin veil of anger in his voice.
He took the locket off with great regret, noting that it seemed to have suddenly become heavier. Much heavier. He hid it in the bottom of the trunk, under the books, clothes and parchments.
A boulder of tiredness fell over him, he could hardly keep his eyes open on his own. He let himself fall on the edge of the bed, falling asleep instantly.
Ronald Weasley would not have remembered dreaming of two scarlet eyes staring at him with hatred in the middle of the night.
The next morning Harry was the first one in his dormitory to wake up. His scar was throbbing. He lay in bed for a few seconds, disturbed by the unexpected pain and trying to savour the pleasure of Saturday morning. It wasn't supposed to be very early, but as there were no classes, the students could recover their energy from the week that had just passed.
He rose from his bed and began to dress. He looked at his hand, which had been bloody the night before and scarred by his hours of punishment with Umbridge, but now was simply perfect. He retrieved his books, parchments and ink from his bag and headed for the Common Room.
He curled up in his favourite chair by the dying fire and uncorked the ink bottle. He had to catch up on all the homework he hadn't been able to do because of his... commitments.
It was going to be a long morning.
All that was missing was the Potions assignment when Hermione's voice distracted him. "Good morning Harry."
"Hello, 'Mione," he replied, giving her a brief smile and then turning his head back to his duties.
"Aren't you coming down for breakfast? Ronald should be here soon too," the girl told him, stopping to look at him when she was next to the portrait of the Fat Lady.
"Maybe later, right now I want to finish what I left behind during this hell week..." he sighed.
"Who did you get to help you heal your hand yesterday?" asked Hermione, a veil of fear in her voice.
Shit. It was obvious that such a detail would not escape Hermione's notice.
Harry stood looking at her in complete silence.
"Harry, you said..." began Hermione.
"I know what I said, Hermione," the boy stopped her immediately. "Indeed, it was the last time. I hope I don't need it again, or at least I don't have to be reduced to that. Would you have preferred me to spend a sleepless night in excruciating pain?" he asked her sourly.
"I didn't say that," the girl scolded him. "I would have preferred you to get someone to help you, but you obviously want to be able to do it all by yourself. See you Harry" and she walked away, leaving the boy with a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Yeah, I'll see you..." he huffed and kicked the small table in front of him, knocking it over and causing ink to splatter everywhere. He imprecated loudly.
"What's going on?" asked a voice coming from the stairs leading to the dormitories.
Ron was walking towards him.
"Bloody hell, are you doing your homework already? Do you know what day it is? Have you seen Hermione? If she won't let me copy her notes I'm doomed," the boy began to grumble, running a hand through his hair.
"Hermione has already gone. I'll catch up with you later," Harry repeated himself again.
"Um, all right then. I'm hungry! Maybe afterwards you can help me practice as Keeper... You know, in preparation for trainings?" asked Ron, looking like a hangdog.
"Should be no problem, see you later," Harry closed the speech.
"Yeah, see you later mate," waved Ron at him.
It was not long before Harry was interrupted again, this time permanently.
"Mr Potter."
Harry turned upon hearing that voice call out to him.
Minerva McGonagall watched him from the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room, her hands clasped together and her usual stern bearing.
"The headmaster would like to see you in his office," the professor announced.
It was like hearing thunder on a sunny day. Dumbledore had not exactly behaved well with him during the summer holidays, and seemed to be doing his best to ignore him. But now it was he himself who had requested a meeting.
"Lead the way, Professor," smiled the boy slightly, still a little taken aback by the revelation.
McGonagall smiled slightly at him, then started towards the Gargoyle statue that hid the staircase leading to the headmaster's office, followed by the boy.
"A bit unusual to be studying on a Saturday morning at this time Potter, have you been piling up assignments?" the Professor asked him.
"Unfortunately, that is indeed the case, Professor. I've had a most unfortunate... Inconvenient, which has forced me to procrastinate more than I should. But I'll be on time, don't worry," Harry explained.
"That's what I wanted to hear, Mr Potter," nodded McGonagall. "You've had some very good results over the last few months and I'd hate for you to spoil them. If you need anything, my office is always open. Lemon sorbet," she said. They had finally arrived.
The boy smiled slightly and refrained from asking her why he had been summoned. He would not have to wait much longer to find out.
After climbing the stairs, as the boy was about to knock on the door, a voice behind it called out to both of them. "Please come in."
Professor Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, but all Harry could see of him was his back. He wasn't looking at him.
Professor McGonagall stood behind the headmaster's desk so that she could look him in the eyes.
"Harry, I'm glad you've come," the headmaster began. "It pains me to have to talk to you about certain matters, but Severus has been very considerate in making sure that certain actions you seem to have taken lately at school do not go unnoticed by me," Dumbledore said quietly. "While we're at it, you might as well talk about what happened this summer, if you agree of course," the headmaster add.
The whole time he spoke, he kept his back to the boy.
"Wasn't it enough for you to ignore me during all summer? Can't you even look me in the eyes when you talk to me?" the boy spoke disrespectfully.
"Mr Potter!" McGonagall scolded him in an irritated manner.
"And you didn't call me to find out if I'm alright or if I've been hurt," he huffed, making a veiled -but not even too much- reference to Umbridge's methods, "but because Snape acted offended!" now the boy was showing clear signs of anger, the air was beginning to heat up in the office.
"Mr Potter! This is enough!" now the Professor was furious, she looked like she was about to have a heart attack at any moment.
"Professor Snape, Harry. Come now, Minerva, more placidly," Dumbledore replied. "Harry has a valid reason to be angry."
Even if he showed him his back, it was as if Harry had seen a smile on the headmaster's lips. He wondered if he didn't know exactly what kind of sadist Umbridge was.
"Mr Potter," McGonagall resumed more calmly, "Professor Dumbledore has been worried sick about you. And if he's not looking at you, it's only because..."
"He's afraid I'm possessed by Voldemort, of course," he suddenly realised.
Evidently this was not what McGonagall or the headmaster wanted the boy to understand, because they both froze and silence fell in the room.
"It was so clear, yet I still didn't understand..." said Harry, reasoning out loud. Then he stared earnestly at his two professors, pondering his choice of words.
"Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall... We may have some unfinished business to talk about, but it doesn't matter now. I imagine you got there well before me, but I think it's time for me to learn Occlumency," he said with conviction in his voice.
"Excellent Harry. I'm glad to find you with a renewed cunning and sense of judgement... Just a few days ago Minerva was going on and on about you and how you are the pride of Gryffindor lately... Along with Miss Granger of course," Dumbledore said with a slight chuckle, seeing the dirty look he saw coming from the Professor.
"Professor Dumbledore, about this summer..."
"Sirius has already taken care to tell us only and exclusively what you have reported to him. Perhaps even less than that. He shows you the same loyalty he had to your father, James," Dumbledore nipped the boy's response in the bud. "So I doubt there's much to talk about, in that regard."
"On the other hand," he resumed in a tone that admitted no reply, "although I do not doubt your newfound learning abilities, I do wish you to take Occlumency lessons from Severus, one of the best in the field," he concluded seriously.
"Professor, you are well aware of my history with Sn... Professor Snape. Are you aware that it might not end well if you put us in a room together for that long?"
Harry allowed himself to try and lighten the tension in the air with a little joke which, judging by the headmaster's slight laugh and the veiled smile on the Professor's face, had worked.
"I am aware of that, but it pains me to insist. Severus has told me of a certain penchant you have for particular subjects, I would hate for you to end up admiring something that is anything but admirable. I need not to tell you who, at your age, had a penchant for such things," Dumbledore said, a bitter note in his voice.
"You have nothing to worry about, Professor," the boy said coldly. "It was just a minor bump in the road, nothing worth discussing."
"I'm sure of it, my boy. If you have no further questions, I think you can finally go and have some breakfast. Your lessons with Severus will begin as early as this evening, if you agree. I hope to be able to look you in the eyes again soon, Harry."
"No doubt about it professor. Have a nice day," the boy said to the headmaster. "Professor," Harry greeted McGonagall with a nod. He headed out of the headmaster's office, closing the door behind him.
"What do you think, Albus?" asked Minerva. "Was Severus right?"
Dumbledore took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses. "No, dear Minerva," he replied gravely, looking tired. "Severus was not right. He underestimated the situation. The risk is becoming, with each passing moment, greater."
"Did we lose him?" asked the Professor, shocked.
"Not yet. But if something doesn't deviate its course... The magical world may have a not-so-bright future ahead of it," the headmaster concluded, looking at Minerva with his crystalline irises.