Disclaimer: The world & Characters of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and not to me.
Rating: PG-13 for some violenceDescription: Action-Adventure/Drama/Mystery
Chapter 3 It's All in your Head
Part 1: Breakfast, the most Important Meal of the Day...or is it supper?
There were dark shapes moving just outside of his vision. He moved his head toward them, and they disappeared, but the moment he looked away, they were back. Slow moving shapes spotted out of the corner of your eye. There was no sky, or if there was it was dark and held no stars, no moon, no light. The air was light and cool and it made him feel as if he were floating. He walked forward, ignoring the shadowy forms, he had seen them often enough. His footsteps made no noise as he moved. He walked among the shadows. His presence accepted by the wraiths dancing just beyond his vision. He belonged there, he was one of them. There was a soft light which glowed a pale blue in the distance. He turned from it, it felt warm and he was looking for something cold. Another presence, one which was cold and dark and stank of blood and dust. He could feel it, just below the surface of his dream realm.
Feeling the familiar tug, he let himself be pulled toward the other presence. A wave of cold dread washed over him, assaulting his senses. He knew this feeling, he felt it every time he dared seek out this dark presence. The overwhelming stench of blood filled his nostrils. It was nauseating and stank of death and decay. The air was frigid and burned when he breathed. As if his lungs were filled with thousands of tiny chips of ice cutting with every breath. Blinking the shadows from his eyes, he watched as the darkness melted away. Flowing down like water, his vision slowly cleared.
He stood in a dimly lit room. Shadows played on the walls like wraiths, the flickering lights distorting everything. Dried blood stained the floor, stuck between the grooves separating the flag stones, creating a disturbing red black border. Lifting his gaze from the floor he turned his attention to the far wall. Sitting against the cold stones were several small shapes. They sat limply, their heads bowed toward the ground, tiny hands lying uselessly at their sides, their legs stretched out before them. The small forms looked like marionettes who's strings had been cut. There appeared to be seven of them. Stepping forward, he was startled by a shifting to his left. Pausing he turned slowly. Standing apart from the others was a small boy. He blinked large blue eyes and took an uncertain step toward him, "Can you help me?" his voice was soft and hopeful.
He smiled at the child, but felt a deep sadness. He was not a dream walker, nor was he a vision, which only left one possibility. "Yes."
The boy seemed to relax at this, he glanced toward the other children, "I'm scared." A tear fell from his right eye, followed closely by one from his left, "no one will move." He clutched his arms about himself and whispered, "and the scary man may come back."
"What happened?" his voice was soft and comforting.
More tears, "I woke up here." He slid to the floor, huddling in on himself. "I was with mum and then..." he sniffed, "I want my mummy."
He closed the distance between himself and the child with three flowing steps. Kneeling he drew the boy into his arms, "There there," he whispered, "let me see what happened, you don't need to be afraid anymore."
He was standing in a subway station, people bustled by quickly not paying each other any attention. The boy was following his mother, his tiny hand clutched safely in hers. They paused, his mother looking at the large subway map. Her finger trailed a line and then she glanced down at her son, "We'll be home soon sweetheart, mummy just has to get one more thing for daddy's party." They turned as a train came barreling down the tracks and passed through the tunnel. The wind whipped their hair and clothing as the speeding cars passed by. A dark shape moved from the shadows, a night black cloak held open with one hand. He was behind the boy, and in one swift flick had the cloak wrapped around him. Drawing the child backward and out of his mother's grasp he melted back into the shadows. It was over in seconds.
The subway slowly faded, a dark room filled with shadows replaced it. Sitting at the center of the room was Voldemort. He looked slightly distorted, the shadows seemed to cling to him masking him in a shroud of darkness. Directly before him knelt a masked wizard. He had his head bowed, his hands resting on his knees. He was whispering, but the words hissed past his ears, reminding him of the sound dead leaves made in the wind. Rising to his feet, the mysterious wizard stepped back. The hem of his robe was soaked in blood, and it brushed strokes of dark red on the stone floor as he moved. The mask he wore was not the mask of a Death Eater, it was cut differently and had strange red marks which seemed to move through the black like water. The strange wizard drew back his cloak and the boy fell to the ground.
The room shifted, and he was staring at a group of small forms. The eight children sat listlessly behind the Dark Lord's seat. He walked to them, touching first one and then another. His hand moving from head to head, until he found himself before the small boy. Standing behind him he watched Voldemort and the bloodied wizard. A shuffling form entered the room and he recognized it immediately. Peter Pettigrew dropped to his knees before his master, his head touching the floor. Voldemort blocked his view, but he could see the other standing to the side. When Wormtail regained his feet, he looked to the other wizard. Raising a hand he pointed toward the children, his mouth moving. Pettigrew walked aimlessly toward the small figures, stopping before the boy he stood behind. The other moved soundlessly forward, red splattering the floor with each step. Leaning down he grabbed the boy and motioned for Wormtail to follow him.
They moved to the far corner, where the wizard set the boy down on a stone bench. Handing Wormtail a large wooden bowl, he proceeded to reveal the child's throat by pulling his head back by his hair. Pettigrew's hands began to shake, and he nearly lost the bowl. The dark wizard removed a thin bladed dirk from his robes, and placed it against the boy's throat. He looked to the shaking Pettigrew, lips moved soundlessly and then he drew the blade across. The boy remained perfectly still, his blood draining away to fill the bowl. The wizard's hands were drenched with dark red black blood, he took the bowl from Wormtail and sent the man back to Voldemort. Dropping back before his lord, the rat waited listening to his orders. Moving back to his feet he began to stand the children up, slowly ushering them out of the room.
When all of the children and Pettigrew were gone, the wizard carried the bowl to the center of the room. The small boy's body left abandoned in the corner. Placing the bowl on the ground he sat crossed legged before it. Drawing back his left sleeve he pressed the dirk against his skin, dark black blood oozed from the cut and ran down the blade to drip steadily onto the ground. Placing a finger within his own blood, the wizard began to draw an intricate design on the stone floor, branching out from the bowl. Moving backward as he worked he circled the bowl, the pattern surrounding it. Removing a small vial from his robes he let one black drop fall onto the pattern. Lifting the dirk he wiped it on his cloak and then turned to the Dark Lord. Holding out his arm, Voldemort watched as the other wizard pressed the blade to his abnormally pale flesh. Dark blood swelled around the blade and dripped from his arm to the other's waiting hand. He bent foreword, dripping the blood first amongst the pattern and then into the bowl itself. Drawing an ebony wand from his robes, the dark wizard stood over the circular pattern wand in one hand, dirk in the other.
Pointing toward the single drop of black he drew his wand above it, his whispering voice echoed throughout the chamber as he hissed what sounded like an incantation. Moving his wand slowly over the intricate pattern, thin tendrils of black shot from the single drop to branch out over the pattern. Covering the entire maze of blood, the black liquid threaded through the pattern, a dark line resting within the heart of every swirl of red. Gripping the dirk, Voldemort's blood still staining its surface, he crouched over the pattern. Holding the tip of the blade over the red black lines, his hoarse voice chanting thick guttural syllables, he drew it over the blood. Thin threads of red black blood split away from the rest of the pattern to pool below the dirk. His hand moved quickly, holding the blade a breath above the blood he began to write, the red black blood moving beneath him, matching the movements of the blade. Quick scratchy strokes, as if from a quill, meshed themselves with the maze of blood. Stepping back he repeated the same step within the bowl. Until one name was etched in flowing script upon both the pattern and the blood within the bowl, Harry Potter. The name glowed a pale and sickly gray and then disappeared within the blood.
The wizard lifted the bowl from the center of the blood circle. Careful not to smear any of the pattern, he carried the bowl to the Dark Lord. A soft whisper, and then he held it to Voldemort's lips, the blood glowing eerily. The Dark Lord drank deeply, blood dripping onto his robes and splashing the floor near his boots. When he had finished, the other wizard took the bowl and cleared away the pattern with a wave of his wand. Wiping the blade on his cloak once more, he returned it to its sheath. Bowing, he backed away.
The room swam and he was once again holding the small boy in the dark room. "It's time to move on," he whispered softly, "this is the realm between, you must search for your light."
The boy hugged him, holding on with tight fingers, "I'm scared."
A silvery green shimmer caught his eye, "Don't be afraid, Baku has come to lead you home." The boy turned his face from his chest to peer at the strange dog-like creature beside them. He reached out a tentative hand, and smiled when his fingers met soft fur. Lifting the boy, he set him down on the large dog's back, and whispered in the creature's ear, "Keep him safe." Stepping back, he found himself enveloped within a thick cool fog and then...
His eyes opened. Sitting up, he reached to the table beside him, his hand seeking soft leather. Brushing against his quarry he grabbed the book and flipped it open. Finding the silver colored quill nestled safely between the books pages, he began writing. Copying everything into the book that he could remember from the dream, Harry wrote furiously. Adding a sketch of the blood pattern he sighed, it did not look quite right, but it was the best he could manage. Re-reading what he had written he added a couple more things in the margin and then nodded absently to himself, satisfied with what he had remembered. Returning the quill, he closed the book and set it back down on the table beside his bed.
Harry stared at the wall, not really seeing it, the more disturbing aspects of the dream replaying themselves in his mind. He blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, he could still see the little boy's face staring up at him frightened. So, he thought angrily,Voldemort has claimed another innocent's life. Hands clenched into fists he swore under his breath, the bastard, he closed his eyes. I should be looking for those children he thought frustrated,there are seven still alive. Seven children waiting to be.. he turned his face as if turning away from the thought. Harry wanted to break something, he felt completely helpless, there has to be something I can do? He bowed his head, resting it in his hands, his elbows against his knees. Fingers slipping through his hair, he raised his face with a sigh, I'll have to owl Higgs, that's all I can do.
Standing he walked slowly to his bathroom, a dull throbbing beginning behind his eyes. After taking a shower he dressed. Rubbing his temples he sighed,just what I need, another headache. Walking back toward his bed he paused before the mirror, "I'll never get used to that," he murmured softly, running a hand through his hair. Glancing around the room he frowned, his brain finally registering what he had seemed to know unconsciously. Hogwarts, he thought suddenly, I'm at Hogwarts,. Looking to the Grandfather Clock resting serenely against the far wall he raised an eyebrow,5:02? That's a record, he thought absently, nearly three whole hours of sleep. He shook his head sitting down on the bed. The room was just beginning to brighten with the early morning light, and he knew he would never be able to get back to sleep. Look at me, he thought disgusted, it's still summer, I'm not at Haven anymore and I still can't manage to get a decent night's sleep. He gave the clock one last frown and then stood back up. Reaching for his book he decided to head down to the Great Hall and try and do some thinking. Pausing, he grabbed a stack of loose parchment and stuffed it between the cover and first page of his book. Leaving the room he decided he would find himself a cup of tea as well.
Walking silently down the hall he found the stair and made his way down. Dumbledore had given him a choice in rooms, either the Sixth floor where most of the other Professors stayed or the room on the second floor just to the right of his gargoyle.
"Excuse me sir, but did you say to the right of your gargoyle?" Harry asked, wondering if he had heard the Headmaster correctly.
Dumbledore smiled, "Just to the right Harry," he corrected. "It really is a very nice room, a private bath and its own fireplace." His eyes twinkled, "And you would be closer to the Great Hall and staff room."
He thought for a moment, he would have a private place, no one else around. Not even at Haven had he been able to have a room separate from the others. All of their rooms had been on the same floor, in relatively close quarters. The other Professors would all be either on the sixth floor or like Snape in their own private area. "All right Headmaster, I think I would like the room just to the right of your gargoyle."
It really was more convenient for him. He could come and go as he pleased without worrying about waking anyone, and with his sleeping habits he was sure the Professors would thank him to stay away. Although he was also sure Dumbledore had wanted him to take the room, seeing as it was so close to the old wizard's own. I suppose this way he can keep an eye on me. Harry sighed, someone was always keeping an eye on him. This made him think of Draco. He scowled. Entering the Great Hall he paused to gaze up at the morning sky, and then made his way to the High Table. Sitting down he opened his book, taking out a blank piece of parchment he began his letter.
Higgs -Just had a "dream" need to say V is plotting something. He has kidnapped eight children, one has already been killed. Harry paused, unsure of how much he should write in the letter. Thinking of Draco now brought a smirk. I will send word through a reliable source soon. -Harry Let Draco explain it then, Harry decided. Addressing the letter he decided to send it right away.
Making the journey to the Owlery, the young wizard felt a wave of nostalgia. He had not realized just how much he had missed Hogwarts until now. It had been three years since he had walked these halls, and his mind wandered back to the last time he had set foot in the school. He had come storming back to Hogwarts directly after graduation, his mind a blank rage. I was an idiot to think Dumbledore had known, he thought, still slightly embarrassed at how he had yelled at the Headmaster. He shook his head, and meeting Snape in the hall, at that moment no less. He sighed, remembering exactly why he had not returned to Hogwarts until now. I won't let Dumbeldore pressure me, he decided, I may have promised, but I never promised when.
He found himself nearing the top of the tower, and smiled. Hedwig would take great pleasure in being able to deliver a letter so soon, it always made her feel useful. Just like me, he thought,we both need to be doing something to feel needed. Walking past the many school owls, Harry made his way to the large snowy owl near the end. She nibbled his fingers in greeting, and he stroked her soft feathers. "I've a letter for you to deliver," he told her, tying it to the leg she held out expectantly. He scratched her neck, and smiled wickedly, "Be sure Nathair gives you a treat, don't leave him alone until he does." She cooed softy and then launched herself out the window. Harry snickered to himself,that should keep him busy for a while.
Heading back to the Great Hall, he made a slight detour to the kitchens, and asked Dobby very politely if he might bring him a cup of tea. After disentangling himself from the extremely happy house elf, Harry returned to the High Table, where a large pot of tea was waiting. Laughing, he picked up the cup sitting beside it and poured the tea. Along with the tea he found a tray filled with several tea cups, a bowl of sugar cubes, a pitcher of milk and even several slices of lemon. I'd forgotten how wonderful Hogwarts is, he grinned to himself, thinking of how Higgs and the others would be burning breakfast soon. Oh I do hope it's Draco's turn to cook today, he thought evilly. The man had nearly burned the house down the last time he had tried. After a long begging session, Harry had agreed to cook on his days as well. Of course, the rest of the house did not know this, Harry had promised not to tell.
Draco had not wanted anyone to know, something about his pride and all that. Harry snorted, more likely he knew they would have delighted in finding something they could make fun of him about. He was after all, a pompous git to nearly everyone. Harry had promised not to say anything, well because he really was the prat's friend, but also because he did not want to end up the house cook. If everyone found out he was doing Draco's cooking for him, they would want him to do the same for them, and he was not about to let that happen. They might claim it was unfair for him to do Draco's work for him, but in the end, it had been in everyone's best interests. Draco was just too dangerous in the kitchen.
Adding two sugar cubes he stirred the tea slowly. Sitting back he chuckled at the thought of his friend trying to cook breakfast and decided he wasn't angry about his strange intrusion any longer. But he was still annoyed. Drinking, he frowned slightly, his thoughts returning to the train ride several hours earlier.
He stood on the platform waiting for the Hogwarts express. It was dark out, but Dumbledore had not had a problem with sending it for him even this late. He knew he would not arrive on the school grounds until after midnight, but he also knew the Headmaster would be waiting for him. He was tired, and just wanted to rest. Higgs stood on his right while Douglas stood to his left and Harry knew Hideaki was hanging around somewhere behind them. He felt silly, the older wizards flanking him like body guards or over-protective parents. Draco had wanted to accompany them, but Higgs had forbid it. He was not allowed away from Haven unless absolutely necessary, and waving Harry off did not count as priority one importance. Besides, Higgs didn't trust him enough to not try and sneak on board the train. He was probably already pouting, the young wizard thought, I just hope he doesn't have a tantrum.
Harry glanced from one wizard to the other, Higgs looked as stern as ever, but Douglas just looked worried. He sighed softly, not even when he had been a student waiting for the train had he been guarded. Of course when he had attended Hogwarts there had always been a huge crowd of students boarding the train while their parents stood about waving them off. Right now the three wizards and he were the only people standing on the platform. Harry shivered slightly at the thought of actually having to stand alone and wait for the train, and was suddenly glad for the company. No matter how protective they had decided to act. A large hand on his shoulder told him Douglas had felt the shiver and was attempting to steady him. Harry sighed, over-protective was too weak a word to describe them.
It was none too soon when the train arrived. While Douglas loaded his things on board, Hideaki took the American's place beside Harry. Finding a compartment near the front of the train, Harry waited while Higgs repeated everything he had told him before they had left Haven. "Owl me if you have another dream," Higgs refused to call them visions, "or if anything changes." He handed him a wooden box about twelve inches in length and barely an inch and a half in both width and depth. "I'll know if you use it," he informed the young wizard, "so you'd better have a good excuse." He put a hand on his shoulder then, "You know the rules Mr. Potter," he said not unkindly, "you bent them the other night, but that's not why I'm sending you to Dumbledore." He sighed softly, "I want you to rest, and that means doing exactly as you've been instructed." He patted his shoulder lightly, "I'll be sending Hideaki in a few days, but nothing specific." He turned to leave, "And get some sleep you look as if you need it."
Harry nodded, reminded of Draco's goodbye from nearly an hour ago, "Well, I'll try and not kill the more asinine aspects of our group while you're away, but I'm not promising anything." He frowned slightly, "Goodbye Harry, remember what I told you about Snape and owl me tomorrow so I know you aren't dead yet." He stood watching as Harry followed Higgs and Douglas outside, and as if remembering something leaned out after them, "oh, and try to not get yourself killed," he yelled as they left.
Douglas patted him on the shoulder next, "Take care Harry, everything will be fine, you'll see." He patted him once more and then left the compartment. Hideaki nodded toward him, and then followed the other man out.
Alone at last, he leaned back and prepared to try and get some sleep. The train began to move and he frowned at the strange feeling he got from riding in the compartment alone. It was too quiet and terribly lonely. He sighed, and tried to push the melancholy feeling away. Resting his head against the back of the seat he closed his eyes, and "Harry," was immediately startled awake. Blinking he looked slowly around the compartment, he was alone. I could have sworn I heard someone say my name, he thought, feeling apprehensive. A shiver ran up his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He took a deep breath, and cleared his throat, "uh, hello?"
There was a long silence, and just when he was about to laugh at his own foolishness, "you heard me?" he jerked so hard he nearly fell out of the seat.
"What!" and then he realized he had recognized the voice as Draco's, "Nathair?" he asked confused, and then, "What the hell is going on?"
"You aren't supposed to be able to hear me," the annoying git announced.
Harry's eyes narrowed, "I repeat, what the hell is going on?"
"I cast a spell," he began, and then interrupted himself, "do I sound as if I'm speaking aloud or in your head?"
He blinked, and then, "I hadn't noticed, but I think more like your standing just behind me." Harry closed his eyes, "Now about that spell?"
"Yes, I cast a spell that should have just let me know how you were," he paused, "you know to be sure you hadn't died or anything." Harry snorted, so he continued, "I was supposed to use an object with strong ties to you, but I thought it would work better if I used some of your blood instead."
"How did- no wait, I really don't want to know."
"I guess I made the link too strong. I thought everything had gone correctly until I started hearing snatches of your thoughts." Harry was silent, he willed his mind to clear. Draco seemed nervous, "Are you angry?"
"Would it really matter?"
"But I can help you this way," he tried to reason, "if anything goes wrong you can just think of me and I'll know."
"I don't want to talk to you right now Nathair."
"Then stop thinking about me and I'll go away."
Harry dug his fingers into the seat, "And how am I supposed to do that?"
"Just stop thinking, it shouldn't be too hard for you."
He closed his eyes, and started to concentrate on the movement of the train. He felt the shifts and bumps, he could hear the engine and the, "That isn't working." Harry gritted his teeth and began to imagine Hogwarts. Would Hagrid be waiting for him when he arrived? Would he have to make the trip up to the castle on his own? "Stop whining Potter, I'm sure they'll have some poor sod waiting for you."
"Stop interrupting me! How am I supposed to get rid of you if you won't shut up?" he demanded angrily.
"I knew you were angry," he answered smugly, and then, "I'll just have to break our link then, since you're not strong enough."
"How will I know you've gone?" he asked, but there was no response, only silence. He waited, and when he was finally sure he was alone he closed his eyes once more, only to be rudely interrupted by the jerking of the train as it came to a halt. Eyes flying open he looked out the window, and was greeted by the sight of a familiar platform. I'm here he thought stunned, I'm here and I didn't get any sleep. If you can hear me Nathair, he growled softly, I hate you, you bastard.
Harry refilled his tea cup and wondered briefly if he should eat breakfast or wait and see how he felt later. The sugar he had added made his stomach churn sickly, later then, he decided. Flipping his book open, he took a blank piece of parchment and began trying to draw a better version of the blood pattern from his dream. I know he wrote my name in that thing, he frowned at the paper, it still looked wrong. He stared at the paper, he added my name last, he tapped the table absently, perhaps I'm going about this wrong. He took a drink of tea, maybe it wasn't a pattern, maybe the entire thing was a jumble of words. He sighed, if so, it wasn't in any language I recognized. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, that he failed to notice when someone else entered the Great Hall.
He had lost track of time again, hell, he had lost track of the day again. He often worked long hours, but during the summer, with no classes, his daily schedule became haphazard. There was no sun in the dungeons, and this caused his days to run together like water. If no one interrupted him, he would go throughout the day working until he was too tired to keep his eyes open. More than once he had found himself sleeping through most of the day and working at night. It was a bad habit, one he always swore to change the moment term started and threw him back into his normal routine. The beginning of term was always the worst, the first few mornings he would drag himself out of bed and skulk angrily to breakfast, ready to collapse by the end of the day.
Today was no different, term had yet to start and he found himself heading toward the Great Hall for supper, never mind that the rest of Hogwarts would be thinking of breakfast in a few hours. Not that there were many others still at the school, the other Professors did not usually return until the week before the start of classes. Hagrid was still at the school, as were Dumbledore and Filch, but aside from the Headmaster, Snape rarely saw anyone and the older wizard was often busy with the Order. He enjoyed his solitude, found it a welcome relief from forced conversations and social ineptness. No one wanted him at social gatherings, they cringed at the thought of sitting beside him at the table. He was not polite and he would not pretend to be. They disliked him and he liked it that way. No one bothered him, and he was happy with the arrangement.
His mind on what he would have for supper, Snape entered the Great Hall and stopped. There was someone already sitting at the High Table. He was bent over a mess of papers, the quill in his hand scratching madly back and forth. Severus frowned, the stranger was dressed casually in black trousers and a short sleeved shirt, his head down, making it impossible to see his face. Snape tried to remember if Dumbledore had mentioned a stranger arriving, but since he had not seen the Headmaster in several days left it to reason the old man had just not bothered to inform him. Narrowing his eyes he walked toward the table, the stranger still writing. The head bent over the table bore short black hair, as dark as his own. Standing across the table from him, Snape crossed his arms over his chest. Clearing his throat, he was about to ask the stranger exactly why he thought he could sit at the High Table, when the head jerked up. The Professor blinked in recognition, but it had taken a moment, "Potter."
The insolent boy raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. "What have you done to yourself?" That was an understatement, it was no wonder he had not recognized him at first. His hair lay against his head, no longer an unruly mess and seemingly darker than before. Of course the color could be his imagination, it had been three years since he'd seen the boy, and it did look familiar, just not on the annoying boy's head. The hair would have been enough to give him pause, but the absence of the boy's glasses made him look completely different.
"Eh?" his eyes narrowed slightly.
Snape snorted, "As vocally eloquent as ever I see." He waved a hand at his head, "Your hair, did you use a spell, or perhaps some sort of wizard hair treatment? I never thought you were vain Potter, but perhaps I was wrong. Not even your father worried about how his hair looked." The brat snickered at this, and Snape fumed, "Need to look good for your fan club? Did you get some of those muggle lenses for your eyes or have you invented a new spell to correct vision?" He sneered, "Now I know what you've been doing for three years, preening."
Green eyes narrowed, and then with a blink the anger was replaced with indifference. Something very useful he had learned from Draco. "Yes," he paused, "yes, no, definitely not, that's an understatement, no, no on both, and not quite."
The boy was insane. Snape stared at him as if he had turned purple. He would have left, except he was still hungry and was not about to let the horrid child chase him out of the Hall. He had come to eat and that was what he was going to do. His mouth set in an angry line, black eyes blazing he swept around the table to sit two seats down. Organizing his mess into a pile, the boy stuck it under the cover of a large leather bound book. Snape snorted, as if he cared what the fool was writing, probably letters to his silly friends. The boy held up a pot of tea, "Do you want any?"
He opened his mouth to snap no, but the prat had already begun to pour him a cup. "Do you want it plain or do you take something in it?" The older wizard gave him a look, "Plain it is then." He held the cup out by the saucer, Snape took it, but not before noticing a nasty looking bruise along the boy's inner elbow. He pointedly ignored it. "Do you always get up this early?" he asked suddenly.
Snape put the cup down, and turned a dark frown on the annoying boy, "Do you always ask so many inane questions?" His answer was a shrug. Snape glared, and then glared a little more for good measure, "no, do you?"
Harry grinned, "Oh no, I'm usually up much earlier." Severus blinked, trying to determine if he was serious or not, and then pulled a watch from his pocket. It read 6:23. The Potions Master frowned, he had flipped his day again. "Did you want breakfast? I can have Dobby send some."
Snape scowled, did he never shut up? "No I do not want breakfast. I came for supper, and I am quite able to request my own food."
The boy frowned and then laughed, "You're not up early are you? You've never gone to bed." Perhaps if he ignored him. The Professor glanced at him through the corner of his eye, no, he was still there. Harry rested his arms on the book before him, "Do you do that often?" His only answer was a grunt. "Well what do you do when term starts?" His eye twitched. "You know, that could be the reason you're always so..." he trailed off seeming to have finally run out of things to say.
Harry stopped himself, realizing just who it was he was talking to. He glanced at the other wizard, oh he was mad. Now I've done it, he thought, and I was actually trying to be polite this time. "I ah," he sighed, "sorry."
Snape glared, "Perhaps it would be best if you left Mr. Potter." He dropped the 'before I kill you' from the statement.
Harry was about to argue that he was supposed to stay through the entire term, when he realized the man meant the table. "Oh," he stood picking his book up. He looked as if he were going to say something else, but must have changed his mind. Turning he left the Great Hall, black eyes boring hatred into his back.
Part 2: A Spoonful of sugar...helps turn the stomach
After walking aimlessly around the school, he ended up returning to his room. He was extremely bored, but did not feel like seeking out company. He had seen Hagrid the evening before and had promised to visit him later, but that was hours away. The only other people in the school besides the ghosts and house elves, were Dumbledore, Filch and Snape. He was to see Dumbledore in an hour or so anyway, and of the later two one already wanted to kill him, no sense in pushing his luck any further. So he settled on reading instead. The book was one Hermione had sent him on ancient spells, they were mostly protective in nature, but there were a few rather nasty ones he found himself book-marking. Frowning he sighed, it had become second nature to him, his obsession with studying every curse he found within the dusty tomes he had collected.
It was a good thing he lived at Haven, otherwise his library might have caused a great deal of trouble. Endless books on long forgotten curses and studies on those still in use. He probably knew more about the Dark Arts than most if not all of Voldemort's Death Eaters. He finally understood Moody's doctrine, 'Constant Vigilance!' and had begun to put it to use. If he knew the curse before it was spoken he could counter it that much faster. It had helped the night they had retrieved the Mar family. If he had not known a Shadow Guardian would protect against most curses, Snape might have been dead or at least badly hurt. He knew which curses were best to simply dodge, which were best to counter, and which were necessary to counter with protective spells. If you did not know the curse, use protection and attempt to dodge it. He had learned you could never be too careful.
Putting the book down he looked to the clock. It was nearly time for him to see the Headmaster. Deciding he would rather be early than sit still any longer, Harry left his room. Being just to the right of the gargoyle which led to the Headmaster's office did have its advantages. Not only did he not have far to go, but he also had no worries of running into someone he did not want to see. Stepping up to the stone guardian he cleared his throat, "Pepper Imps." The gargoyle slid to the side granting him access to the stairs beyond. Climbing the steps, he hoped the older wizard wouldn't mind him being a few minutes early.
Knocking, he smiled at the greeting, "Come in Harry, you're early."
Entering the cheery office, he took a seat opposite the white haired wizard, "I hope it's all right, I just couldn't sit still any longer."
"Of course, you know you are welcome to come and see me anytime." Dumbledore held a candy dish out, "lemon drop?" he took one out of politeness, "How is the room?"
Harry leaned back in the chair, "It's perfect, thank you."
"Have you spoken with Severus yet?" Harry frowned, he had thought this would come much later in their conversation. Blue eyes studied him thoughtfully, "The longer you wait-"
"I know Headmaster." He did not want to discuss this right now. "But it's not hurting anything."
He sighed, "You are wrong there Harry." Dumbledore poured a cup of tea for him, adding two sugar cubes, "perhaps if you let me speak to him."
"We went over all of this before," Harry picked up the cup that had been set before him. He stared into the dark liquid, "I don't think he'll be very pleased to find out anyway." He set the cup back down, "Besides, there's still the whole Voldemort thing to worry about," he glanced up at the Headmaster, "or had you forgotten that?"
"You need to tell him, for both of you." The younger wizard frowned,he isn't even listening to me.
There really was no way around the Headmaster, I promised I wouldn't let him bully me, but he is just so- he sighed, "All right Headmaster, I'll tell him, I already told you I would."
"When?"
Harry frowned, so he isn't going to let me get away with that again, "In a month or so, is that good enough?"
The older wizard nodded, "All right Harry, but if you decide you want me to speak with him instead, I will." He nodded, his stomach churning angrily. "Good, then we will discuss some less stressful issues now shall we."
"Yes sir," he answered quietly, drinking his tea.
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor Professor Hart will be returning to Hogwarts sometime next week. I'm sure you will get on fine with him, he is a very easy going fellow, Severus doesn't even seem to be able to faze him." Harry was impressed with this news, "Now we need to find you an office of sorts, Professor Hart's is much too small to accommodate both of you."
"You could just stick a desk in my room," he suggested hopefully.
Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes twinkling merrily, "Severus suggested the exact same thing." Harry snorted, the Headmaster laughed, "No Harry, I don't mean about you, I mean when he first started teaching."
The young wizard made a face, "You can put me wherever you like Headmaster, just don't compare me with him."
The older wizard shook his head sadly, "I think we can find someplace without much difficulty, do you have any specific requests?"
Harry frowned, he had not thought about that, "A window perhaps?" he asked uncertainly, "so that Hedwig might fly in if she likes."
"That can be arranged, anything else?"
He bit his lip in thought, is there anything else? What am I going to be doing anyway? Professor Hart is teaching, I'm just an assistant. Then an idea came to him, as long as I'm here I might as well make myself useful. "Sir, would it be all right if I offered the students help if they need it? I could set up a sheet with all of the times I am available during the week and they could fill it in." Harry smiled, he really would enjoy helping the students, "and not just in Defense either sir, I wouldn't mind talking to them if they need it," he sat forward, "I'd of course keep you informed of their problems if there were any."
"That sounds like a wonderful idea Harry. I'll have to find you a comfortable room for your office, we want the children feeling at ease." He smiled happily, "I'm sure you will do a fine job." The Headmaster stood, "I will have your robes and the things you will need for the term sent up to your room. As soon as I have a suitable room for your office I will send for you."
He nodded happily, "Thank you sir, I'm actually looking forward to the term now." Helping new witches and wizards learn at Hogwarts, perhaps making a difference for them. Harry smiled, yes he was actually looking forward to it.
"I'll see you at dinner then?" Harry nodded, heading for the door, "oh and Harry," the young man looked back, "do tell Severus." His smile faltered. The Headmaster really did know how to turn his stomach. He nodded silently, and then began his journey down the stairs, his stomach sick once more. And to think, he had actually been looking forward to the new term.
TBC
Just how does
Morte's spell involve Harry?
And what does it do for that
matter?
What does Dumbledore want
Harry to tell Severus?
Will Draco ever learn to
cook[probably not
Exactly what rule was Harry
supposed to have bent?
And what is up with Harry's
hair?
Join me next time where "Nothing much Happens" and once again, none of these questions will be answered. Although, an earlier question's answer will be found among its pages!