Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize from the Harry Potter books.
Author's Note: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Thanks especially to Firemask, Eowyn of Ithilien, ckat44, GrimmyD and Maximum Poofy-Queen of AU for their continuous and enthusiastic reviews. It's for people like you who keep this story going! Well let the story continue!
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The next morning, Harry awoke for the first time in days feeling good. His injuries were almost all gone, his fever had gone down, his stomach no longer hurt. As he remembered the reason behind his newfound health, however, he mentally kicked himself. The whole episode was kind of blurry from the time of the first piece of glass coming out and the healing potion. He must've been only half-conscious. He did remember spilling his secret out to Snape, and in much more detail than he had ever intended to tell anyone, especially not the greasy-haired potion's master. He just hoped that Snape stayed true to his word and didn't tell anyone.
A few weeks later found Ron and Harry trudging miserably up the tower stairs to Divination. Harry now especially hated the class since whenever Professor Trelawney predicted his death, he couldn't help but realize that this time, she was finally right.
He therefore spent most of the class trying to block out her droning voice. They were learning how to palm read. After what seemed like an eternity of lecture, she finally let the students break off into pairs to practice their new lesson. Harry admitted to Ron that he had been spacing out while the lesson had been going on so Ron decided to go first in reading Harry's palm. He propped his book open on the desk next to him for reference.
"All right, er...this is your life line, I think," Ron said with a frown of concentration. He looked at the book and tried to match up the lines it was talking of to the lines on Harry's hand. "It curves so that means that your life is er...." He looked at Harry and shrugged. "...wavy? Well, anyways, I can't tell which of these two lines are which so you're either going to be popular and others will dislike you, or you'll have no friends but people will love you? Well that'll be interesting to see you pull that one off." Ron laughed turning Harry's hand from side to side as if waiting for the lines to suddenly all make sense.
"Well, either way, at least I'll have a wavy life," teased Harry. Unfortunately, Professor Trelawney must've overheard them talking and came over.
"Let me show you all how it's properly done. I'll use Mr. Potter as an example. Mr. Potter, no need to be dramatic, please scoot your chair back over here."
Harry reluctantly followed her orders. Professor Trelawney sat down facing Harry and grabbed his hand, staring intently at the palm for what seemed like hours. Just when people started whispering suspicions that she might have fallen asleep or something, she started tutting and sadly shaking her head.
"Oh dear, boy, you have the shortest life line I've ever seen. I fear you will not survive the year."
"Isn't the life line supposed to show your attitude toward life and the quality of your life rather than the length?" Harry asked, annoyed. It was the truth though. At least that was what their textbook had said.
Professor Trelawney frowned. "Lines have multiple meanings," she snapped. Then she calmed herself and continued in her mystical voice. "This jaggedness implies a long, painful death."
Parvati and Lavender gasped, shooting sympathetic looks at Harry.
Harry's blood began to boil.
"Wasn't I already supposed to die about twice already? Maybe you should quit expressing your death wishes for me before somebody starts wondering why your predictions never come true."
Professor Trelawney looked surprised, along with the rest of the class. Even Harry himself was a little taken aback by what he had just said, but the comment had rubbed him the wrong way and he was by no means sorry.
"The gift of the inner eye is a very delicate thing. I don't expect people without any talent in Divination, such as yourself, to understand its complexities," she huffed indignantly.
"Well I think your inner eye needs some glasses," he retorted. Professor Trelawney seemed to be at a loss for words, but suddenly, a look of understanding melted across her face. Harry was shocked. Was she actually beginning to realize that her harsh predictions might hurt people?
"Oh dear, I see it now. You're in denial. The anger you're feeling is totally natural. You've seen it too, haven't you? Listen dear, why don't you take the rest of the class off to go think about what you'll do with the remainder of you time among the living. Go on now, shoo."
Harry was still angry and glad for the opportunity to leave. He grabbed his bag and stormed out of the classroom, reminding himself a bit of Hermione in their third year.
He went to the dorm and threw down his books in frustration. He knew he shouldn't have reacted to Professor Trelawney like that. It would raise a lot of eyebrows. He began pacing around the room, trying to walk off his anger and sort his thoughts. All of a sudden, he felt really dizzy, his head beginning to throb. With a start, he realized this was a sign of the cancer. He flopped down onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.
"I'm going to die," his mind said in a depressed state of shock. For some reason, it never truly hit him before. Next year he wouldn't be able to get so frustrated with his professors. He wouldn't ever get to see his two best friends bicker with each other.
This last thought brought up another issue: when was he going to tell Ron and Hermione? He couldn't keep it from them forever, but he didn't want them to treat him any differently. Yet he knew that if he were in his friends' shoes, he'd want to know. But how to tell them?
Harry suddenly burst into a coughing fit, covering his mouth with his hand out of habit. When he stopped and could breathe normally again, he glanced at his hand to investigate why it felt warm and wet. He was horrified to see blood on it. He ran to the bathroom and washed it off, rinsing out his mouth as well.
"I'm dying." The thought crept into his head. It no longer felt like something of the distant future. It was starting now. "I'm fifteen years old and I'm dying."
He walked back into the dorm and sat down dejectedly on his bed, staring blankly into space. He was broken from his daze by the sound of other students entering the common room below. Harry took a few long deep breaths to calm himself and started downstairs to seek out his two best friends.
Luckily, nobody seemed to question his slight break down in Divination. Everyone constantly witnessed the spaced-out professor telling Harry he was going to die. They all agreed, spoken or not, that Harry was under enough stress as it is with Voldemort after him without a teacher constantly preaching about his demise.
Ron simply asked if he was okay (in reference to Divination), and when Harry replied positively, Ron went on a rant for twenty minutes about why Professor Trelawney should be fired and, as a general rule, kept away from any small, impressionable children.
He eventually changed the subject to the reasons why the same applied for Snape, only stopping as they approached the dungeons for Potions.
Harry was apprehensive for the class, as he had been for the last few ever since the night that Snape healed Harry's injuries. His first lesson after that night was the first time he had actually hoped that Snape would treat him the same as he always did. If Snape had looked worried or acted even slightly nice, people would definitely be suspicious (after they had gotten over the shock of course).
But Snape had acted as he normally did, much to Harry's relief. He now just hoped it would stay like that. Maybe he had even forgotten about the whole situation.
The two walked into the dungeon, taking their usual seats, Harry doing his best not to squirm with nervousness. As usual, Snape burst into the room with his robes billowing behind him and with a scowl on his face, looking like an overgrown bat. To Harry's relief, he took no side glances at his student and just jumped into his lecture which, as usual, went along the outline of:
1. Gryffindor insults
2. Actual instruction
3. "Why all students are complete morons" lecture
4. More actual instruction
5. Neville and Harry bashing
6. Orders to get cauldrons and ingredients out
7. Continuation of Gryffindor and Neville insults, with an occasional bark at Harry at any slight movement or noise
As the class went on as usual, Harry was joyfully surprised that he actually understood the lesson for once. He even figured out that Snape had left out some instructions on how to add the ingredients and warned the people around him while Snape had his back turned. Harry smiled when the Slytherin's potions began to explode or turn a sickly green instead of the purple it should be, while the Gryffindor's potions were turning out correctly. Snape was very suspicious as to why half of his students were actually able to do the lesson. Luckily, he asked the one person who knew the reason.
"Mr. Potter, can you explain to the class how your potion became purple? An explanation without any help from Miss Granger or a textbook, that is," he sneered. Harry smirked back.
"Sure Professor. I just followed the instructions you gave us, but made sure to crush the asp tongue since asp tongue cannot work in most potions without being in a powder form. I also made sure to let the bay leaf totally dissolve before adding the asphodel, since, of course, asphodel reacts explosively with bay leaf unless the bay leaf is first mixed with thiamin long enough to lose its acidity," Harry stated as if it was an obvious fact. He shot a meaningful glance at the Slytherins that clearly gave the message that any idiot would know this information. Snape seemed utterly stumped.
"And how did you know this?" Snape asked spitefully, obviously hoping to somehow accuse the Gryffindors of cheating. Harry thought quickly.
"Well Neville convinced us all to study a little more for your class and we all got together for a Potions study session." Neville looked taken aback at first, but quickly recovered when Snape looked at him, transforming his expression into one that made it seem as if Harry were speaking the absolute truth and that it was no surprise.
Snape looked around the Gryffindors who were all nodding in consent to what Harry had said. Harry could see an internal battle flickering inside the Potion's master.
"Well then, five points to Gryffindor for the extra effort," he said in a strained voice. He stalked off to record this, looking appalled at himself. The rest of the room was frozen with their mouths hanging open. This was the first time Harry had ever seen Snape give Gryffindor points.
"Well, get back to work or I'll take away ten points from each of you!" Everyone finished up their potions and put them into corked vials, placing them on the storage shelf.
Finally, class was over and everyone made for the door.
"Mr. Potter, stay after class," Snape stated firmly, not looking up from the papers he was grading. With the natural way Snape had been treating him, Harry figured it was about doing the potion correctly, nearly forgetting about his initial fears.
Once the last person was out the door, Snape finally looked up.
"How are your injuries?" he asked, sounding very unsure of how to phrase this question. Harry was only momentarily surprised.
"Er...fine sir. They don't hurt at all," he said, looking at the desk.
"And have you told anyone yet?"
"Er...not exactly sir."
Snape heaved a sigh. "I take it you're not planning to."
Harry didn't say anything. Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure why this had been plaguing his mind for the last few weeks. He just wanted his student to tell someone else, to transfer the problem onto someone else's shoulders. It was too much of a burden being the only one with such dangerous knowledge.
"Potter, you need to tell someone. Otherwise, what will you do come summer?"
Harry actually didn't know the answer to this question. It was true that he didn't want to spend his last few months of his life around people who hated him, but he just couldn't tell anyone.
"I-I just can't," he murmured.
"Why not?" Snape asked exasperated. "I assure you that the headmaster won't go selling the story to Rita Skeeter. He'd be able to help you."
Harry just picked up his things and started toward the door. He grabbed the doorknob and paused. He kept his eyes down.
"I just couldn't let him down like that," he said barely above a whisper, and then left without looking back.
Snape simply stared at the door closing behind the student he had loathed for the past four and a half years.
'How did I get myself into this?' he asked himself with a heavy sigh.
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A/N: Hmm...why is Harry all of a sudden understanding Potions? I bet you all can guess!! Trust me though, this is the tip of the iceberg for Harry's powers. What am I telling you guys for, you'll just have to stick with my fic! Please review. It means so much to me when I get them. So take a few seconds and make me happy!
Author's Note: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews. Thanks especially to Firemask, Eowyn of Ithilien, ckat44, GrimmyD and Maximum Poofy-Queen of AU for their continuous and enthusiastic reviews. It's for people like you who keep this story going! Well let the story continue!
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The next morning, Harry awoke for the first time in days feeling good. His injuries were almost all gone, his fever had gone down, his stomach no longer hurt. As he remembered the reason behind his newfound health, however, he mentally kicked himself. The whole episode was kind of blurry from the time of the first piece of glass coming out and the healing potion. He must've been only half-conscious. He did remember spilling his secret out to Snape, and in much more detail than he had ever intended to tell anyone, especially not the greasy-haired potion's master. He just hoped that Snape stayed true to his word and didn't tell anyone.
A few weeks later found Ron and Harry trudging miserably up the tower stairs to Divination. Harry now especially hated the class since whenever Professor Trelawney predicted his death, he couldn't help but realize that this time, she was finally right.
He therefore spent most of the class trying to block out her droning voice. They were learning how to palm read. After what seemed like an eternity of lecture, she finally let the students break off into pairs to practice their new lesson. Harry admitted to Ron that he had been spacing out while the lesson had been going on so Ron decided to go first in reading Harry's palm. He propped his book open on the desk next to him for reference.
"All right, er...this is your life line, I think," Ron said with a frown of concentration. He looked at the book and tried to match up the lines it was talking of to the lines on Harry's hand. "It curves so that means that your life is er...." He looked at Harry and shrugged. "...wavy? Well, anyways, I can't tell which of these two lines are which so you're either going to be popular and others will dislike you, or you'll have no friends but people will love you? Well that'll be interesting to see you pull that one off." Ron laughed turning Harry's hand from side to side as if waiting for the lines to suddenly all make sense.
"Well, either way, at least I'll have a wavy life," teased Harry. Unfortunately, Professor Trelawney must've overheard them talking and came over.
"Let me show you all how it's properly done. I'll use Mr. Potter as an example. Mr. Potter, no need to be dramatic, please scoot your chair back over here."
Harry reluctantly followed her orders. Professor Trelawney sat down facing Harry and grabbed his hand, staring intently at the palm for what seemed like hours. Just when people started whispering suspicions that she might have fallen asleep or something, she started tutting and sadly shaking her head.
"Oh dear, boy, you have the shortest life line I've ever seen. I fear you will not survive the year."
"Isn't the life line supposed to show your attitude toward life and the quality of your life rather than the length?" Harry asked, annoyed. It was the truth though. At least that was what their textbook had said.
Professor Trelawney frowned. "Lines have multiple meanings," she snapped. Then she calmed herself and continued in her mystical voice. "This jaggedness implies a long, painful death."
Parvati and Lavender gasped, shooting sympathetic looks at Harry.
Harry's blood began to boil.
"Wasn't I already supposed to die about twice already? Maybe you should quit expressing your death wishes for me before somebody starts wondering why your predictions never come true."
Professor Trelawney looked surprised, along with the rest of the class. Even Harry himself was a little taken aback by what he had just said, but the comment had rubbed him the wrong way and he was by no means sorry.
"The gift of the inner eye is a very delicate thing. I don't expect people without any talent in Divination, such as yourself, to understand its complexities," she huffed indignantly.
"Well I think your inner eye needs some glasses," he retorted. Professor Trelawney seemed to be at a loss for words, but suddenly, a look of understanding melted across her face. Harry was shocked. Was she actually beginning to realize that her harsh predictions might hurt people?
"Oh dear, I see it now. You're in denial. The anger you're feeling is totally natural. You've seen it too, haven't you? Listen dear, why don't you take the rest of the class off to go think about what you'll do with the remainder of you time among the living. Go on now, shoo."
Harry was still angry and glad for the opportunity to leave. He grabbed his bag and stormed out of the classroom, reminding himself a bit of Hermione in their third year.
He went to the dorm and threw down his books in frustration. He knew he shouldn't have reacted to Professor Trelawney like that. It would raise a lot of eyebrows. He began pacing around the room, trying to walk off his anger and sort his thoughts. All of a sudden, he felt really dizzy, his head beginning to throb. With a start, he realized this was a sign of the cancer. He flopped down onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.
"I'm going to die," his mind said in a depressed state of shock. For some reason, it never truly hit him before. Next year he wouldn't be able to get so frustrated with his professors. He wouldn't ever get to see his two best friends bicker with each other.
This last thought brought up another issue: when was he going to tell Ron and Hermione? He couldn't keep it from them forever, but he didn't want them to treat him any differently. Yet he knew that if he were in his friends' shoes, he'd want to know. But how to tell them?
Harry suddenly burst into a coughing fit, covering his mouth with his hand out of habit. When he stopped and could breathe normally again, he glanced at his hand to investigate why it felt warm and wet. He was horrified to see blood on it. He ran to the bathroom and washed it off, rinsing out his mouth as well.
"I'm dying." The thought crept into his head. It no longer felt like something of the distant future. It was starting now. "I'm fifteen years old and I'm dying."
He walked back into the dorm and sat down dejectedly on his bed, staring blankly into space. He was broken from his daze by the sound of other students entering the common room below. Harry took a few long deep breaths to calm himself and started downstairs to seek out his two best friends.
Luckily, nobody seemed to question his slight break down in Divination. Everyone constantly witnessed the spaced-out professor telling Harry he was going to die. They all agreed, spoken or not, that Harry was under enough stress as it is with Voldemort after him without a teacher constantly preaching about his demise.
Ron simply asked if he was okay (in reference to Divination), and when Harry replied positively, Ron went on a rant for twenty minutes about why Professor Trelawney should be fired and, as a general rule, kept away from any small, impressionable children.
He eventually changed the subject to the reasons why the same applied for Snape, only stopping as they approached the dungeons for Potions.
Harry was apprehensive for the class, as he had been for the last few ever since the night that Snape healed Harry's injuries. His first lesson after that night was the first time he had actually hoped that Snape would treat him the same as he always did. If Snape had looked worried or acted even slightly nice, people would definitely be suspicious (after they had gotten over the shock of course).
But Snape had acted as he normally did, much to Harry's relief. He now just hoped it would stay like that. Maybe he had even forgotten about the whole situation.
The two walked into the dungeon, taking their usual seats, Harry doing his best not to squirm with nervousness. As usual, Snape burst into the room with his robes billowing behind him and with a scowl on his face, looking like an overgrown bat. To Harry's relief, he took no side glances at his student and just jumped into his lecture which, as usual, went along the outline of:
1. Gryffindor insults
2. Actual instruction
3. "Why all students are complete morons" lecture
4. More actual instruction
5. Neville and Harry bashing
6. Orders to get cauldrons and ingredients out
7. Continuation of Gryffindor and Neville insults, with an occasional bark at Harry at any slight movement or noise
As the class went on as usual, Harry was joyfully surprised that he actually understood the lesson for once. He even figured out that Snape had left out some instructions on how to add the ingredients and warned the people around him while Snape had his back turned. Harry smiled when the Slytherin's potions began to explode or turn a sickly green instead of the purple it should be, while the Gryffindor's potions were turning out correctly. Snape was very suspicious as to why half of his students were actually able to do the lesson. Luckily, he asked the one person who knew the reason.
"Mr. Potter, can you explain to the class how your potion became purple? An explanation without any help from Miss Granger or a textbook, that is," he sneered. Harry smirked back.
"Sure Professor. I just followed the instructions you gave us, but made sure to crush the asp tongue since asp tongue cannot work in most potions without being in a powder form. I also made sure to let the bay leaf totally dissolve before adding the asphodel, since, of course, asphodel reacts explosively with bay leaf unless the bay leaf is first mixed with thiamin long enough to lose its acidity," Harry stated as if it was an obvious fact. He shot a meaningful glance at the Slytherins that clearly gave the message that any idiot would know this information. Snape seemed utterly stumped.
"And how did you know this?" Snape asked spitefully, obviously hoping to somehow accuse the Gryffindors of cheating. Harry thought quickly.
"Well Neville convinced us all to study a little more for your class and we all got together for a Potions study session." Neville looked taken aback at first, but quickly recovered when Snape looked at him, transforming his expression into one that made it seem as if Harry were speaking the absolute truth and that it was no surprise.
Snape looked around the Gryffindors who were all nodding in consent to what Harry had said. Harry could see an internal battle flickering inside the Potion's master.
"Well then, five points to Gryffindor for the extra effort," he said in a strained voice. He stalked off to record this, looking appalled at himself. The rest of the room was frozen with their mouths hanging open. This was the first time Harry had ever seen Snape give Gryffindor points.
"Well, get back to work or I'll take away ten points from each of you!" Everyone finished up their potions and put them into corked vials, placing them on the storage shelf.
Finally, class was over and everyone made for the door.
"Mr. Potter, stay after class," Snape stated firmly, not looking up from the papers he was grading. With the natural way Snape had been treating him, Harry figured it was about doing the potion correctly, nearly forgetting about his initial fears.
Once the last person was out the door, Snape finally looked up.
"How are your injuries?" he asked, sounding very unsure of how to phrase this question. Harry was only momentarily surprised.
"Er...fine sir. They don't hurt at all," he said, looking at the desk.
"And have you told anyone yet?"
"Er...not exactly sir."
Snape heaved a sigh. "I take it you're not planning to."
Harry didn't say anything. Snape rubbed the bridge of his nose. He wasn't sure why this had been plaguing his mind for the last few weeks. He just wanted his student to tell someone else, to transfer the problem onto someone else's shoulders. It was too much of a burden being the only one with such dangerous knowledge.
"Potter, you need to tell someone. Otherwise, what will you do come summer?"
Harry actually didn't know the answer to this question. It was true that he didn't want to spend his last few months of his life around people who hated him, but he just couldn't tell anyone.
"I-I just can't," he murmured.
"Why not?" Snape asked exasperated. "I assure you that the headmaster won't go selling the story to Rita Skeeter. He'd be able to help you."
Harry just picked up his things and started toward the door. He grabbed the doorknob and paused. He kept his eyes down.
"I just couldn't let him down like that," he said barely above a whisper, and then left without looking back.
Snape simply stared at the door closing behind the student he had loathed for the past four and a half years.
'How did I get myself into this?' he asked himself with a heavy sigh.
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A/N: Hmm...why is Harry all of a sudden understanding Potions? I bet you all can guess!! Trust me though, this is the tip of the iceberg for Harry's powers. What am I telling you guys for, you'll just have to stick with my fic! Please review. It means so much to me when I get them. So take a few seconds and make me happy!