AN: The scene in the hospital wing is the first one that came to me. It wouldn't let me alone until I wrote it down; Harry made me. I felt a lot the way Harry did: I couldn't turn my back on Frank Longbottom's cry for help. I picked Neville's Gran's name out of the air; my father had an aunt named Lucretia. The Trempath is an original magical device.
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Chapter 1: The Trempath
Madam Pomfrey had tried several sleeping draughts on Harry to no avail. He kept jolting awake from nightmares of pain, sweating, moaning, and clutching his scar, unable to shake off the delusions from his dreams. At last she decided to send for Professor Dumbledore, and Harry made no objection. As their footsteps neared his bed Harry heard her exclaiming to the headmaster, "I can't make out what's wrong with the boy, and he won't tell me anything. He came into the hospital wing this afternoon with one of his classmates, saying he felt ill. He had a raging temperature and I put him to bed, but I haven't been able to do anything for him."
Madam Pomfrey pulled back the curtains around Harry's bed, and Professor Dumbledore sat down in a bedside chair. "I hear you're having a restless night, Harry," he said calmly. "Not just a touch of the flu, is it? What seems to be the matter?"
Just seeing the professor there, as friendly and interested as if he were simply paying a midnight social call, made Harry feel a little better. Madam Pomfrey's agitation, though she tried to pass it off as her usual fussiness, had been having the reverse effect.
"Sir," whispered Harry, "I couldn't say anything to Madam Pomfrey. It's a bit personal. But you're the one who told me about Neville's Mum and Dad."
"The Longbottoms? Did something happen, Harry?"
"I found out that Neville was going to visit them today, a bit by accident. I went to our dorm room and saw him tidying up, combing his hair and that, so I asked if he was going somewhere. When he didn't answer right away, I remembered about his parents, and I told him I knew about them." Neville had seemed relieved that he didn't need to explain. Frank Longbottom and his wife were at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, driven insane by the Cruciatus Curse when they had been tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after his disappearance many years ago.
"I'm glad it's all clear between the two of you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Neville needs a few people around him who know about his family."
Harry went on, "Then Neville suddenly asked if I would come with him. He knew it sounded odd, but he had a feeling I should see them. He was sure I wouldn't want to, in fact he backed off and told me to forget it, before I even said anything. But I said I would go."
Dumbledore sat quietly for a moment, stroking his long beard. "Do you know why you decided to see them, Harry?" he asked.
Harry turned his head away from Dumbledore's gaze and stared at the ceiling, pressing his scar with both hands. "I didn't want to go, sir. Neville was right about that. But I needed to know. Voldemort—this was my chance to see with my own eyes what Voldemort's followers had done for him." Harry's voice was bitter. "I didn't kill Wormtail when I had the chance. If I had, Cedric might still be alive. I couldn't keep Voldemort from coming back. But I thought that maybe I could learn something helpful by seeing the Longbottoms."
Dumbledore nodded.
"His Gran was surprised when I turned up, I can tell you, but when Neville introduced us and she took a good look at me, she just said, 'So you're young Potter,' and that was that. No whys and wherefores."
"Lucretia Longbottom knew your parents rather well, Harry," Dumbledore remarked. "Frank used to ask his friends to visit during holidays, and his mother made them all welcome. I expect she knows more than she lets on about what happened after James and Lily's death."
"I saw Neville's Dad in hospital," Harry remembered, seeing Frank Longbottom again in his mind's eye, looking too old and weak even to stand up, his eyes dead and dull and hopeless. He hadn't even seemed to see any of them. "He looked—worse than I ever saw Sirius look. But when Neville told him who I was, he seemed to recognize me, even though we've never met before. He stared at me for about a minute. Then he took something out of his pocket and showed it to me. It was a ball about the same size as a Remembrall, but the stuff swirling inside made me think of a Pensieve, except that it was all different colors."
"That's a Trempath, Harry," Dumbledore told him. "The Pensieve stores memories. The Trempath carries feelings, both sensations and emotions."
"He handed to me very slowly. I could tell that he was warning me to brace myself for a shock when I took it." Harry had felt a tingling in his hand from the vibrations of the Trempath, and then a sudden burning in his scar. "There's something like a dementor inside his head. Not exactly a dementor. Something with no face, that keeps hitting him with the Cruciatus Curse over and over again. It's not as bad as the real thing," Harrry shuddered as he remembered the real thing, "but it's bad enough.
"The more I felt it, the less he did. But the most I could do was go halves with him. I can't imagine what his life must be like." Harry's first impulse had been to drop the Trempath as if it were red-hot, but he had held on to it and tried to think. The creature reminded him of a dementor, so he had tried the Patronus charm. It had taken him a few attempts to hit on the right happy memory—the time after the first task in the Triwizard Tournament when he and Ron had finally been friends again after not talking for weeks. "I got my Patronus working well enough to get this character to stop doing the curse, but only for a few seconds at a time. My Patronus wasn't very solid, but the dementor-thing wasn't exactly real either. So I kept trying again. But I was getting tired." Every moment of respite had been like a sip of water in the desert for Frank Longbottom, but Harry's vision had started fogging over and he had nearly fallen over in a faint.
"Harry, I can't allow you to see Frank Longbottom again," said Dumbledore. "It's far too dangerous for you."
"But I have to see him again." Harry sat up in bed, hot and feverish. "Professor, you don't know—after a while, he /stopped/ me. I was getting ready for another try, but he wouldn't let me go on, because he knew it was dangerous for me, so he broke the charm and took back the Trempath." He saw understanding in Dumbledore's face.
"Frank was always too brave for his own good," Dumbledore remarked. "Evidently that trait is still in working order."
"I noticed. He still couldn't talk, but he mouthed the words come back," Harry said. "I promised I would come back. I gave him my word." Harry didn't have to add that he had no intention of letting school rules or the threat of being expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stop him from keeping his word. "He's still there, sir. I mean, the person he was before he went insane. But he may not last much longer. Neville told me afterwards that he's never visited his parents over Christmas holidays, but this year his Gran took him because in hospital they think his Dad may not live through the spring."
Dumbledore drew a long breath. "I understand, Harry," he said gently. "We'll discuss this again in my office after you've had a chance to recover."
Harry settled back onto his pillows again. "I made it back to the lobby and waited there for Neville to see his Mum. I never saw her myself. My scar's been hurting me ever since, and Neville brought me up here. Every time I fall asleep I dream that I'm Frank Longbottom under the Cruciatus Curse. I can't shake it off. I ate some Chocolate Frogs, but it didn't help much."
"Don't worry, Harry. I'll drop a suggestion in Madam Pomfrey's ear without mentioning any names, and she'll be able to help you. Get some rest now. The password is Pumpkin Pasty." And Dumbledore left.
Soon Madam Pomfrey approached Harry with still another potion. She was obviously bothered that both Harry and Dumbledore were keeping something important from her. "You've been doing something foolish and dangerous, I can tell," she fretted as he drank the bitter stuff down, "but no one sees fit to tell me what I need to know. This is something I use only when nothing else works; I certainly hope it does the trick;."
Harry hoped so too, but he didn't have to wait long to find out. His eyes closed and he slept without dreaming until nearly noon the next day. He woke up to winter daylight feeling much better, but still wrung out. He didn't argue with Madam Pomfrey when she felt his forehead and insisted that he spend another night in the infirmary.
Ron and Hermione came to visit him in the afternoon. "We tried to see you this morning, but you were still asleep," Ron informed him. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You were okay yesterday morning."
Harry opened his mouth to say something about flu or food poisoning, but Hermione forestalled him by saying sternly, "I know what you're going to say. It's no use trying that on me, Harry. I saw you come back with Neville and his Gran, looking like something the cat dragged in!"
"You should be an expert on that," Ron told her.
"And Madam Pomfrey's giving you hellebore, Harry! That's for curing insanity."
"We always knew you were a complete nutter, Harry," Ron added with mock sympathy. "But you can trust us to keep it quiet."
"Seriously, Harry, we're your friends and you need to let us help you."
Harry didn't have it in him to prevaricate in the face of such persistence. He was still too tired. "Look," he said, "I'll tell you about it as soon as I can. I have to talk to Professor Dumbledore again, and Neville too. But if I hear that you've been trying to screw anything out of Neville"—Harry paused and glared at each of them in turn, giving particular attention to Hermione—"I might change my mind and not tell you after all." It was the direst threat he could think of.
"I hoped you'd think better of me than that," said Hermione with a hint of reproach.
"He'd like to, Hermione," said Ron, "but it's hard when you were snooping in Madam Pomfrey's office less than ten minutes ago."
"Maybe you could convince Ron to get down off his high horse, Harry," retorted Hermione, now definitely sounding offended.
"You should be an expert on that too," said Ron.
"Listen, you two," Harry interrupted them, "I really do want your help with this. It's more than I can handle on my own, that's for sure. But I /will/ have to trust you to keep it quiet. Hermione, you can start by going to the library and doing some research on—let's see—insanity, and you might look up hellebore too, and Ron, why don't you, erm, well …"
"Borrow your Firebolt," Ron prompted him.
"Borrow my Firebolt," agreed Harry, "and …"
Madam Pomfrey came by then and shooed Ron and Hermione away. "Enough visiting. This patient needs rest," she said firmly.
"'Bye, Harry. Can I really use your Firebolt?" called Ron as they left.
"Go ahead," answered Harry, not adding any cautionary warnings. He knew that Ron would treat his racing broom like a precious treasure, or else.
* * * * * * * *
The next day, released from the hospital wing, Harry answered a summons to Dumbledore's office. The students who had left for the Christmas holidays were returning to Hogwarts for the winter term. Cho Chang waved to him as he passed her in the hall on his way to Dumbledore's tower. He said, "/Pumpkin Pasty/," to the stone gargoyle at the tower's foot, and the door opened onto the moving spiral staircase that led to the headmaster's office. Soon he found himself being invited into the round room full of intriguing objects and creatures he remembered from years past, including Fawkes the Phoenix, the Sorting Hat, and the Pensieve.
"How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him, with his friendly but piercing stare. The question was not a formality.
"Much better, sir," Harry answered. "The hellebore sent me right off, and I never looked back."
"Did Madam Pomfrey tell you what it was, Harry?" Dumbledore asked in surprise.
"Er—no, sir," Harry stammered, turning red. But the headmaster smiled knowingly and didn't pursue the subject. Instead he said, "Yesterday I went to see Frank Longbottom myself. I questioned the hospital staff and they told me that not much had changed, but that he seemed a little stronger after your visit. When I saw him, I got no response until I mentioned your name, Harry. When I told him 'Harry Potter will be back,' I saw something like hope in his eyes. He's waiting for you, holding on until the next time you come."
"Then you are going to let me see him again, Professor," Harry exclaimed.
"I cannot in good conscience do otherwise, Harry," Dumbledore said heavily, "but I do so with great reluctance, because I am responsible for your safety and well-being, and you will be in great danger, danger that would test even a wizard grown to his full powers. But I can see that it's too late for you to turn back now. In some ways it would be just as dangerous."
"Professor, why has no one ever been able to help Frank Longbottom in all the years he's been in hospital?" This question had been eating at Harry for the past two days.
"That, Harry, is another sad story," replied Dumbledore. "At first the witches and wizards at Mungo's were confident that they could cure his insanity. Many potions, spells, and charms with healing powers were tried. A few of the staff found spells that seemed to be working, but the better they worked, the harder they were on their users. One very old witch died after working with Frank. Several others fell seriously ill; they all recovered eventually, but there were some close shaves. After a while Frank just shut himself down. He must somehow have realized what was happening, and he no longer let anyone come close enough to help him. The Trempath had been given to him for therapeutic purposes, but he refused to let anyone else touch it. That put an end to the illnesses.
"It's my belief, based on what you have told me, that Frank Longbottom has been waiting all these years for a witch or wizard with the resources to lighten the terrible burden he carries. And, strange as it may seem, he has found what he sought in you, Harry."
Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't feel like a tower of strength. He seemed to attract danger and special attention without trying, and although after more than four years he was getting used to coping with it, he still didn't know quite what to make of it.
"I feel as if I could do something for Neville's Dad, if I had some help," he said at length. "Why else have I spent all these years training to be a wizard?"
"I just wish it could have waited until you're a bit older, Harry," Dumbledore sighed.
"Sir, it happened when it happened for a reason," Harry pointed out. "When I'm older, it might be too late for Frank Longbottom."
Dumbledore nodded. After a moment he said, "Harry, you have good reason to know that I am not infallible. I have done what I could for your safety since you first came to Hogwarts, but with less than outstanding success. Perhaps it is better to send you into danger with as much help and knowledge and preparation as I can give you, than to allow danger to take you by surprise again."
"That's how I feel, sir," Harry agreed. "I wish Professor Lupin was still here. He taught me the Patronus charm, and it almost worked with Neville's Dad."
"There is one teacher here who can give you just what I think you need," Dumbledore concluded. "His experience has given him valuable skills he can pass on to you."
Harry waited. Did he catch a twinkle of amusement?
"I'm going to ak Professor Snape to tutor you, Harry."
Harry opened his mouth, but could find no words. How could he and Professor Snape possibly work together? Snape could hardly stand the sight of him. The Potions master had made his dislike for Harry obvious on many occasions.
"Neville will join you to give any help he can, since Frank Longbottom is his father," Dumbledore went on, "and I will be there long enough to get the three of you started. Instead of using a regular classroom, you will meet in a secret chamber for greater privacy. I will show you all how to find it and give you the password. You'll be using Secret Room Number Eight, designated for advanced work in Dark Arts Defense Mentality."
Harry tried to picture how a session with Snape, Neville, and himself might turn out, but couldn't quite manage it.
"There's no need for the whole school to know about this, so I'd like you to keep it as quiet as possible. But I know you will want to share it with Ron and Hermione."
"Hagrid, too, sir, if it's all right. We could meet at his house sometimes."
"All right, Harry, that seems reasonable. That's all for now, but before you go …"
"Yes, sir?"
"Good luck, Harry."
AN: In chapter 2, "The Opposition Verse," Harry, Neville, and Professor Snape embark on their first of many tutoring sessions in Secret Room Number Eight.
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Chapter 1: The Trempath
Madam Pomfrey had tried several sleeping draughts on Harry to no avail. He kept jolting awake from nightmares of pain, sweating, moaning, and clutching his scar, unable to shake off the delusions from his dreams. At last she decided to send for Professor Dumbledore, and Harry made no objection. As their footsteps neared his bed Harry heard her exclaiming to the headmaster, "I can't make out what's wrong with the boy, and he won't tell me anything. He came into the hospital wing this afternoon with one of his classmates, saying he felt ill. He had a raging temperature and I put him to bed, but I haven't been able to do anything for him."
Madam Pomfrey pulled back the curtains around Harry's bed, and Professor Dumbledore sat down in a bedside chair. "I hear you're having a restless night, Harry," he said calmly. "Not just a touch of the flu, is it? What seems to be the matter?"
Just seeing the professor there, as friendly and interested as if he were simply paying a midnight social call, made Harry feel a little better. Madam Pomfrey's agitation, though she tried to pass it off as her usual fussiness, had been having the reverse effect.
"Sir," whispered Harry, "I couldn't say anything to Madam Pomfrey. It's a bit personal. But you're the one who told me about Neville's Mum and Dad."
"The Longbottoms? Did something happen, Harry?"
"I found out that Neville was going to visit them today, a bit by accident. I went to our dorm room and saw him tidying up, combing his hair and that, so I asked if he was going somewhere. When he didn't answer right away, I remembered about his parents, and I told him I knew about them." Neville had seemed relieved that he didn't need to explain. Frank Longbottom and his wife were at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, driven insane by the Cruciatus Curse when they had been tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts after his disappearance many years ago.
"I'm glad it's all clear between the two of you, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Neville needs a few people around him who know about his family."
Harry went on, "Then Neville suddenly asked if I would come with him. He knew it sounded odd, but he had a feeling I should see them. He was sure I wouldn't want to, in fact he backed off and told me to forget it, before I even said anything. But I said I would go."
Dumbledore sat quietly for a moment, stroking his long beard. "Do you know why you decided to see them, Harry?" he asked.
Harry turned his head away from Dumbledore's gaze and stared at the ceiling, pressing his scar with both hands. "I didn't want to go, sir. Neville was right about that. But I needed to know. Voldemort—this was my chance to see with my own eyes what Voldemort's followers had done for him." Harry's voice was bitter. "I didn't kill Wormtail when I had the chance. If I had, Cedric might still be alive. I couldn't keep Voldemort from coming back. But I thought that maybe I could learn something helpful by seeing the Longbottoms."
Dumbledore nodded.
"His Gran was surprised when I turned up, I can tell you, but when Neville introduced us and she took a good look at me, she just said, 'So you're young Potter,' and that was that. No whys and wherefores."
"Lucretia Longbottom knew your parents rather well, Harry," Dumbledore remarked. "Frank used to ask his friends to visit during holidays, and his mother made them all welcome. I expect she knows more than she lets on about what happened after James and Lily's death."
"I saw Neville's Dad in hospital," Harry remembered, seeing Frank Longbottom again in his mind's eye, looking too old and weak even to stand up, his eyes dead and dull and hopeless. He hadn't even seemed to see any of them. "He looked—worse than I ever saw Sirius look. But when Neville told him who I was, he seemed to recognize me, even though we've never met before. He stared at me for about a minute. Then he took something out of his pocket and showed it to me. It was a ball about the same size as a Remembrall, but the stuff swirling inside made me think of a Pensieve, except that it was all different colors."
"That's a Trempath, Harry," Dumbledore told him. "The Pensieve stores memories. The Trempath carries feelings, both sensations and emotions."
"He handed to me very slowly. I could tell that he was warning me to brace myself for a shock when I took it." Harry had felt a tingling in his hand from the vibrations of the Trempath, and then a sudden burning in his scar. "There's something like a dementor inside his head. Not exactly a dementor. Something with no face, that keeps hitting him with the Cruciatus Curse over and over again. It's not as bad as the real thing," Harrry shuddered as he remembered the real thing, "but it's bad enough.
"The more I felt it, the less he did. But the most I could do was go halves with him. I can't imagine what his life must be like." Harry's first impulse had been to drop the Trempath as if it were red-hot, but he had held on to it and tried to think. The creature reminded him of a dementor, so he had tried the Patronus charm. It had taken him a few attempts to hit on the right happy memory—the time after the first task in the Triwizard Tournament when he and Ron had finally been friends again after not talking for weeks. "I got my Patronus working well enough to get this character to stop doing the curse, but only for a few seconds at a time. My Patronus wasn't very solid, but the dementor-thing wasn't exactly real either. So I kept trying again. But I was getting tired." Every moment of respite had been like a sip of water in the desert for Frank Longbottom, but Harry's vision had started fogging over and he had nearly fallen over in a faint.
"Harry, I can't allow you to see Frank Longbottom again," said Dumbledore. "It's far too dangerous for you."
"But I have to see him again." Harry sat up in bed, hot and feverish. "Professor, you don't know—after a while, he /stopped/ me. I was getting ready for another try, but he wouldn't let me go on, because he knew it was dangerous for me, so he broke the charm and took back the Trempath." He saw understanding in Dumbledore's face.
"Frank was always too brave for his own good," Dumbledore remarked. "Evidently that trait is still in working order."
"I noticed. He still couldn't talk, but he mouthed the words come back," Harry said. "I promised I would come back. I gave him my word." Harry didn't have to add that he had no intention of letting school rules or the threat of being expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stop him from keeping his word. "He's still there, sir. I mean, the person he was before he went insane. But he may not last much longer. Neville told me afterwards that he's never visited his parents over Christmas holidays, but this year his Gran took him because in hospital they think his Dad may not live through the spring."
Dumbledore drew a long breath. "I understand, Harry," he said gently. "We'll discuss this again in my office after you've had a chance to recover."
Harry settled back onto his pillows again. "I made it back to the lobby and waited there for Neville to see his Mum. I never saw her myself. My scar's been hurting me ever since, and Neville brought me up here. Every time I fall asleep I dream that I'm Frank Longbottom under the Cruciatus Curse. I can't shake it off. I ate some Chocolate Frogs, but it didn't help much."
"Don't worry, Harry. I'll drop a suggestion in Madam Pomfrey's ear without mentioning any names, and she'll be able to help you. Get some rest now. The password is Pumpkin Pasty." And Dumbledore left.
Soon Madam Pomfrey approached Harry with still another potion. She was obviously bothered that both Harry and Dumbledore were keeping something important from her. "You've been doing something foolish and dangerous, I can tell," she fretted as he drank the bitter stuff down, "but no one sees fit to tell me what I need to know. This is something I use only when nothing else works; I certainly hope it does the trick;."
Harry hoped so too, but he didn't have to wait long to find out. His eyes closed and he slept without dreaming until nearly noon the next day. He woke up to winter daylight feeling much better, but still wrung out. He didn't argue with Madam Pomfrey when she felt his forehead and insisted that he spend another night in the infirmary.
Ron and Hermione came to visit him in the afternoon. "We tried to see you this morning, but you were still asleep," Ron informed him. "What's wrong with you, anyway? You were okay yesterday morning."
Harry opened his mouth to say something about flu or food poisoning, but Hermione forestalled him by saying sternly, "I know what you're going to say. It's no use trying that on me, Harry. I saw you come back with Neville and his Gran, looking like something the cat dragged in!"
"You should be an expert on that," Ron told her.
"And Madam Pomfrey's giving you hellebore, Harry! That's for curing insanity."
"We always knew you were a complete nutter, Harry," Ron added with mock sympathy. "But you can trust us to keep it quiet."
"Seriously, Harry, we're your friends and you need to let us help you."
Harry didn't have it in him to prevaricate in the face of such persistence. He was still too tired. "Look," he said, "I'll tell you about it as soon as I can. I have to talk to Professor Dumbledore again, and Neville too. But if I hear that you've been trying to screw anything out of Neville"—Harry paused and glared at each of them in turn, giving particular attention to Hermione—"I might change my mind and not tell you after all." It was the direst threat he could think of.
"I hoped you'd think better of me than that," said Hermione with a hint of reproach.
"He'd like to, Hermione," said Ron, "but it's hard when you were snooping in Madam Pomfrey's office less than ten minutes ago."
"Maybe you could convince Ron to get down off his high horse, Harry," retorted Hermione, now definitely sounding offended.
"You should be an expert on that too," said Ron.
"Listen, you two," Harry interrupted them, "I really do want your help with this. It's more than I can handle on my own, that's for sure. But I /will/ have to trust you to keep it quiet. Hermione, you can start by going to the library and doing some research on—let's see—insanity, and you might look up hellebore too, and Ron, why don't you, erm, well …"
"Borrow your Firebolt," Ron prompted him.
"Borrow my Firebolt," agreed Harry, "and …"
Madam Pomfrey came by then and shooed Ron and Hermione away. "Enough visiting. This patient needs rest," she said firmly.
"'Bye, Harry. Can I really use your Firebolt?" called Ron as they left.
"Go ahead," answered Harry, not adding any cautionary warnings. He knew that Ron would treat his racing broom like a precious treasure, or else.
* * * * * * * *
The next day, released from the hospital wing, Harry answered a summons to Dumbledore's office. The students who had left for the Christmas holidays were returning to Hogwarts for the winter term. Cho Chang waved to him as he passed her in the hall on his way to Dumbledore's tower. He said, "/Pumpkin Pasty/," to the stone gargoyle at the tower's foot, and the door opened onto the moving spiral staircase that led to the headmaster's office. Soon he found himself being invited into the round room full of intriguing objects and creatures he remembered from years past, including Fawkes the Phoenix, the Sorting Hat, and the Pensieve.
"How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked him, with his friendly but piercing stare. The question was not a formality.
"Much better, sir," Harry answered. "The hellebore sent me right off, and I never looked back."
"Did Madam Pomfrey tell you what it was, Harry?" Dumbledore asked in surprise.
"Er—no, sir," Harry stammered, turning red. But the headmaster smiled knowingly and didn't pursue the subject. Instead he said, "Yesterday I went to see Frank Longbottom myself. I questioned the hospital staff and they told me that not much had changed, but that he seemed a little stronger after your visit. When I saw him, I got no response until I mentioned your name, Harry. When I told him 'Harry Potter will be back,' I saw something like hope in his eyes. He's waiting for you, holding on until the next time you come."
"Then you are going to let me see him again, Professor," Harry exclaimed.
"I cannot in good conscience do otherwise, Harry," Dumbledore said heavily, "but I do so with great reluctance, because I am responsible for your safety and well-being, and you will be in great danger, danger that would test even a wizard grown to his full powers. But I can see that it's too late for you to turn back now. In some ways it would be just as dangerous."
"Professor, why has no one ever been able to help Frank Longbottom in all the years he's been in hospital?" This question had been eating at Harry for the past two days.
"That, Harry, is another sad story," replied Dumbledore. "At first the witches and wizards at Mungo's were confident that they could cure his insanity. Many potions, spells, and charms with healing powers were tried. A few of the staff found spells that seemed to be working, but the better they worked, the harder they were on their users. One very old witch died after working with Frank. Several others fell seriously ill; they all recovered eventually, but there were some close shaves. After a while Frank just shut himself down. He must somehow have realized what was happening, and he no longer let anyone come close enough to help him. The Trempath had been given to him for therapeutic purposes, but he refused to let anyone else touch it. That put an end to the illnesses.
"It's my belief, based on what you have told me, that Frank Longbottom has been waiting all these years for a witch or wizard with the resources to lighten the terrible burden he carries. And, strange as it may seem, he has found what he sought in you, Harry."
Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't feel like a tower of strength. He seemed to attract danger and special attention without trying, and although after more than four years he was getting used to coping with it, he still didn't know quite what to make of it.
"I feel as if I could do something for Neville's Dad, if I had some help," he said at length. "Why else have I spent all these years training to be a wizard?"
"I just wish it could have waited until you're a bit older, Harry," Dumbledore sighed.
"Sir, it happened when it happened for a reason," Harry pointed out. "When I'm older, it might be too late for Frank Longbottom."
Dumbledore nodded. After a moment he said, "Harry, you have good reason to know that I am not infallible. I have done what I could for your safety since you first came to Hogwarts, but with less than outstanding success. Perhaps it is better to send you into danger with as much help and knowledge and preparation as I can give you, than to allow danger to take you by surprise again."
"That's how I feel, sir," Harry agreed. "I wish Professor Lupin was still here. He taught me the Patronus charm, and it almost worked with Neville's Dad."
"There is one teacher here who can give you just what I think you need," Dumbledore concluded. "His experience has given him valuable skills he can pass on to you."
Harry waited. Did he catch a twinkle of amusement?
"I'm going to ak Professor Snape to tutor you, Harry."
Harry opened his mouth, but could find no words. How could he and Professor Snape possibly work together? Snape could hardly stand the sight of him. The Potions master had made his dislike for Harry obvious on many occasions.
"Neville will join you to give any help he can, since Frank Longbottom is his father," Dumbledore went on, "and I will be there long enough to get the three of you started. Instead of using a regular classroom, you will meet in a secret chamber for greater privacy. I will show you all how to find it and give you the password. You'll be using Secret Room Number Eight, designated for advanced work in Dark Arts Defense Mentality."
Harry tried to picture how a session with Snape, Neville, and himself might turn out, but couldn't quite manage it.
"There's no need for the whole school to know about this, so I'd like you to keep it as quiet as possible. But I know you will want to share it with Ron and Hermione."
"Hagrid, too, sir, if it's all right. We could meet at his house sometimes."
"All right, Harry, that seems reasonable. That's all for now, but before you go …"
"Yes, sir?"
"Good luck, Harry."
AN: In chapter 2, "The Opposition Verse," Harry, Neville, and Professor Snape embark on their first of many tutoring sessions in Secret Room Number Eight.