Title: To Cast These Spells
Author: DragonLight
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/SS with a touch of HP/RL
Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to JKR.
Summary: Harry comes to terms with his destiny
Beta: Huge thanks go to my wonderful beta, Isis
Notes: TCTS is the 2nd in a three story arc, and is the sequel to To Dream These Dreams
---
Harry stared at his timetable. Optimistically he had added in Quidditch practice, but with that and the DA meetings and lessons with Snape there were no open spaces at all. He didn't know when he was supposed to do his schoolwork. There just wasn't any time. Something would have to give.
Tomorrow was his meeting with the Headmaster; he'd find out what was going on then. He still didn't know if the ban had been lifted and if it hadn't, he'd drop Quidditch. No reason to keep practicing. He was more curious about his extra-curricular lessons with Snape. He understood the need for the Occlumency, but everything after that was a mystery. Were they preparing him to go after Voldemort? He should have plenty of time. They couldn't possibly expect a seventeen-year old to defeat the Dark Lord.
On second thought, they probably did.
Harry turned to look out the window. What kind of life was he going to have after Voldemort? If there was an "after". There probably wouldn't be. After all, how could he defeat a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore? It was laughable, or at least it would be if it wasn't his life.
---
"The ban will be lifted at the end of this year, so you would be able to play for a club, if you so wish, after school."
He sighed; it wasn't what he was hoping for, but it was something, at least. Maybe he'd go to some sporadic practices throughout the year as he had last year. A nagging feeling that Dumbledore might not have tried as hard as he could have to get the ban lifted fluttered at the back of his mind. "Professor?"
Dumbledore motioned for him to continue as he sipped his tea.
"Why am I learning the Dark Arts?" There was no question that he was; the curses he had moved onto over the last few weeks were definitely classified as Dark. He just hoped that he wouldn't be asked to cast the Unforgivables and the other curses that made up the omega level.
"You're a very smart young man, Harry."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the comment. It was Dumbledore's usual non-answer, complete with placating sentiment. He both hated the Headmaster and loved him for it at the same time. The last thing that he wanted to know was that he was being trained to go up against Voldemort most likely single-handedly, but he wished that someone would just tell him what was expected of him in no uncertain terms. This indecision was bothersome. The only thing he was sure of was that if they did expect him to go up against Voldemort, then he wouldn't be able to do it.
They might as well sign his death certificate now, and wait to fill in the date.
"I know what you're thinking, Harry, and I suggest you stop right now."
Harry caught another sigh before it could escape. At least when Snape went to read his mind he used Legilimency, so Harry could keep him out. "That's what happens when you leave me in the company of a known pessimist," he muttered. It wasn't that he minded Snape training him -- well, he did -- but he wondered why Dumbledore wouldn't. If he was the only one that Voldemort feared shouldn't Harry be getting trained by him?
Dumbledore had the gall to chuckle at him. "Now, Harry, Professor Snape may take a more... realistic - as he would call it - viewpoint of the world, but he is by no means a pessimist."
"Of course, sir. I take it that my schedule for training with him shall remain the same?"
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly in his chair. "There have been some changes, Harry. I'd like you to go down to the dungeons at least once a week. Professor Snape has made a few provisions so that you'll be able to practice higher level curses."
He swallowed. The last thing he wanted was to spend more time studying deadly curses and hexes, but as usual in his life, he wasn't given a choice. He nodded. "I'll make the necessary arrangements, Headmaster.
---
"You will not be able to practice these spells until the next Hogsmeade weekend, Potter. At that time, you will be taken to the Order headquarters where Lupin," Snape paused there, his gaze hardening further, "will oversee your practice."
That was something that Harry would have to think about, being around Remus without it being awkward.
"There are a few things that we need to discuss first."
Harry turned his attention to what Snape was saying, setting aside his problems with Remus for when he was alone. "What is that, sir?"
"By allowing you to go to Grimmauld Place certain things are expected of you. The foremost being that you behave in a suitable way. The Headmaster has placed his trust in you." Snape was turned away from him, talking toward the wall instead of his face. "Such behavior as I have witnessed between yourself and Lupin is an example of inappropriate behavior."
He didn't want to talk to Snape about this. "It's none of your business."
Snape turned to look at him. "On the contrary, Mr Potter, it is very much so my business. You have no right to endanger the lives of-"
"I endanger lives by just existing. Or have you forgotten what I did to Hermione!"
"That is not what I'm talking about, Potter. You had little control over that situation. Ignoring what you're supposed to do because you choose to act on your unruly hormones is very much in your control."
"I haven't done anything with Remus."
Snape had on a mask of disbelief - one eyebrow was arched, and his lip slightly quirked up. The picture was completed when Snape crossed his arms over his chest. Harry had never wanted to hit him more. "Perhaps I have started to see things then."
"Perhaps you have." Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Sir," Harry spat.
Snape towered over him. Harry thought he saw something, maybe anger, flash through his eyes. "Do you really think so?"
Harry stood his ground. "Yes, sir. I know what I have and have not done."
The last thing he expected was for Snape to grab his arms and hold him there. "Don't do something stupid. Lupin was Black's lover."
"I am aware of that." Even though fury was written in every line of Snape's face, Harry wasn't scared. He didn't see any reason to be. "He told me the summer after Sirius' death."
Snape narrowed his eyes, and he didn't release Harry's arms, instead he tightened his grip. "You don't have time for such nonsense. You have more important things to do than fool around with a werewolf." Then he dropped his arms and turned his back to Harry, as quickly as he had bore down on him. "Get out, Potter. We will go over the spells tomorrow. I have things to do."
Harry rubbed at his upper arm and left, not saying anything. His reaction confused him. He should have been angered, disturbed, scared. Anything. But he wasn't. Snape didn't scare him at all, even when screaming or casting illegal curses at him. Harry kept himself from thinking why.
---
"Why are you casting these spells when it's obvious that you hate it?"
Harry looked up from the torn remains of what used to be a portrait of Sirius' great aunt. "I'm told to." He waved his wand in a very familiar pattern. "*Reparo!*" The picture put itself back together again, and the hag immediately started screeching. It was worth casting this spell just so he wouldn't have to hear the noise.
"Do you do everything you're told?"
Harry looked at Remus. "No, I don't. But this, I have to do. Just like I have to say 'Voldemort' and I had to learn Occlumency. If I don't learn how to cast these spells then I can't keep Voldemort away. And I know that next time it won't be just Hermione that suffers. Next time it could be the entire Weasley family, you," Harry sighed, "so many other people."
"Snape?"
"What?"
"You're naming people you care about, Harry."
He shook his head. "So where does Snape come in? This has nothing to do with him. He teaches me what I need to know and yells. A lot." He went to sit down, not quite feeling up to casting more spells at the moment. "More so than before."
Remus walked over and rested his hands on his shoulders. "Take a break. I'll rub your shoulders for you, you're tense."
Harry shook his head. "I can't. I really need to get these down. Snape will ask if I learned them."
"And I'll tell him you have." Remus' breath was brushing his ear with every word, his hands rubbing his arms, before resting on his shoulders again.
Harry shrugged and Remus' hands fell away. "I can't." He stood and faced the portrait again, lifting his wand to cast the hex, but Remus stepped in front of him. He lifted Harry's chin with two fingers, but before Remus' lips pressed against his own he turned his head so that Remus' lips landed on his cheek. "I can't."
---
Ever since the beginning of the year he kept one eye glued to Hermione. At first it was little things; the feather she was trying to levitate would vibrate for a moment before lifting, the fire would sputter a bit before jumping to life. Then it would take her a few times to cast a spell that she had done repeatedly; Alohomora would only work after being cast three times, or Serpensortia would only summon a garden snake instead of a python. At times, she would cast and nothing would happen, no matter how hard she tried, or how many times she repeated the spell.
He remembered her tears after getting an 'A' in Transfiguration for the first time. She hadn't been able to successfully change a mouse into a butterfly. She spent all her time in the common room, revising and casting and trying to get her magic to work like it used to. No one said anything. They all knew that she'd snap at them.
Harry kept back, not wanting to get too close. Afraid that she'd put things together. That she'd figure out that it was his fault she was losing control of her magic. Ron kept teasing him about always watching her, and he'd respond that if he didn't shut up he'd tell Lavender that he'd kissed him. Ron sulked for a week.
He wasn't worried about Ron. There was no reason to be; his life was going fairly well, being a prefect and Quidditch captain. It seemed that what Ron saw in the Mirror of Erised all those years ago was almost true.
It was Hermione he was concerned about. She was tearing herself up, and it was eating at him.
He'd return from having incantations drilled into his head by Snape at two, three o'clock in the morning, and Hermione would be sitting in her favorite chair by the fire, a book open in her lap, her wand clutched in her hand, and a pile of discarded parchment, covered in her theories about what was going on, by her feet.
But he never told her -- he couldn't. Every time he tried, his heart would clench in his chest, and he'd just stare at her. She'd hate him, really hate him.
He tried to tell himself that it was something else, something not related to Voldemort and Legilimency causing this lack of control, but he couldn't. Because he knew that it was. He couldn't stop thinking about it, especially when Hermione was sitting in Charms trying to cast a Healing Charm on a cat with a cut in its paw and she couldn't. "*Curatio Ictus!*"
Flitwick had floated over to her and set his hand down next to the cat. "Perhaps you've got the wand motion wrong, Ms Granger."
She shook her head, and cast the spell again. It backfired. Flitwick's sleeve caught on fire and he lost concentration, losing control of his levitation spell and falling the three feet to the ground.
"Oh, my god! Professor Flitwick!" Hermione knocked over her chair in her haste to get to where Flitwick was sprawled on the floor.
Harry couldn't move; it was as if his feet were glued to floor. He couldn't even turn his head to see if anyone else was moving, though he had the feeling they, like him, were frozen in place.
For the first time since he'd known her, Hermione had lost complete control of her magic. It scared him.
She landed hard on her knees next to the Charms professor, looking him over to make sure he wasn't scorched. Shaking, she sat on her heels, lifting her hands to cover her face. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before moving. He got to her side as quickly as possible, and pulled her up by her arm. Her arms snaked around him and she buried her face in his chest, still chanting how sorry she was, over and over. The only thing that he could think was that he didn't deserve for her to be so trusting of him.
He half-carried her out of the classroom, and into the hallway. He'd let the other students deal with Flitwick; he looked all right, if a bit singed. But where should he take Hermione? Dumbledore would just insist that he bring her to the hospital wing, and smooth things over with the explanation that teenage wizards and witches lose control of their magic on occasion. But that couldn't be right, it couldn't. Hermione always had control of her magic.
He turned toward the dungeons. Snape would help. He hoped.
He paused right outside the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He tried to remember if anyone had Defense Against the Dark Arts in this time slot, but couldn't. The last thing that he wanted to do was interrupt one of Snape's classes because that would practically guarantee that he wouldn't help Hermione. She was holding on to him as he tried the door, and it was making things difficult, but somehow he managed to get the door open and step inside. Class was in session. For a moment, he thought about the couch in Snape's office where he could have brought Hermione and just waited for Snape to return between classes, but he forced that thought out of his head. He was here now and would deal with the situation; after all, wasn't that what he was always doing, dealing with impossible situations. Swallowing hard, he caught Snape's gaze and held it, wishing that he could just explain what happened without words, but knowing he couldn't. It all became too much for him -- Hermione's weight at his side, Snape's glare, the curious look of a dozen younger students, the thoughts circling in his head -- and he sagged against the doorframe.
"Be quiet!" Snape slammed his fist down on the desk. Harry flinched as the cold eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared.
Perhaps Snape had been a bad idea all together.
"Since our resident celebrity is demanding my attention, you are all dismissed. Out!"
Harry moved Hermione so that she wouldn't be in the way of the students pouring out of the room.
"I suppose you have a reason for this unwelcome disturbance, Potter?"
Harry flinched, whether at the cold tone of Snape's voice or at Hermione's nails digging into his skin as she clutched at his robe, he didn't know. He tried to pull her away but couldn't.
"She lost control of her magic." He hoped that Snape would understand. He had to. This was Hermione.
"So bring her to the hospital wing."
Harry shook his head. "What's if it's because of what happened last year? What if it's something that I caused?"
"Bring her here." Snape pulled out his wand as he stepped around from behind his desk. Grabbing her arm, he pulled Hermione toward him before running his fingers over her face and hands. When Snape's fingers passed over her cheek, Harry had to turn away at the sight of the dried tear tracks that he saw there.
Snape passed his wand over her, muttering something that Harry couldn't quite make out. The fluctuating colors surrounding her made it painfully clear that he was measuring her magic levels.
"This can't be right." Snape did whatever he had just done again. "Her levels are extremely low. I'm surprised she's been able to control it as long as she has. What was she casting?"
Harry wished that Snape would stop talking about her as some experiment. "A standard Healing Charm."
"And its effect?"
"She set Flitwick on fire." He sank into the closest chair. "Is she going to be all right?"
Snape didn't say anything, and that bothered Harry more than if he had just said no. He vaguely heard a door bang open above them and footsteps on the stairs. Class had ended.
"Go to your next lesson."
He hesitated, then moved to Hermione. She must have passed out at some point during Snape's examination. He combed his fingers through her hair before turning away.
Snape's hand settled on his shoulder. "She'll be fine. Do not let this incident influence your performance during classes, Potter. You have to keep your head; you don't have a choice."
He nodded. "I know. Thank you." Snape's hand fell away, and he walked out of the classroom.
---
"Are you going to tell me what happened? You just grabbed Hermione and bolted."
Harry shook his head and continued to stare at the wall. McGonagall had come to inform him that Hermione had been placed in the hospital wing and that his lessons with Snape had been cancelled until further notice. She hadn't even given him a chance to ask anything, just turned and left. That had been hours ago.
It seemed that they had all finally given up on him. Who wouldn't? After all, there was no doubt in his mind that what had happened to Hermione was entirely his fault, stemming from his lack of control last year. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could until the inside of his eyelids burned red and bit his tongue until he imagined that he could taste blood.
"At least tell me where she is."
Would Ron ever shut up? He couldn't deal with this, not now. He stood, and the book on his lap skidded and spun, stopping a few feet away. He stood there staring at it and its slowing revolutions, his thoughts whirling in his head. He needed to get out. He couldn't stay here. Spinning around, he rushed toward the portrait hole.
"Damnit, Harry. Tell me!"
"Hospital wing."
Once down the corridor he started running, his shoes slipping as he took a corner. He didn't slow as he reached the stairs, and he stumbled down the last few that led to the dungeons. The echoing of his feet on the stone floor pounded against his skull.
Or maybe that was the pounding of his heart.
He didn't bother knocking on the door to Snape's office, just opened it; tripping over his feet, he fell to his knees.
He heard the door slam shut behind him.
"A slightly melodramatic entrance in my opinion, Potter."
Snape's cool voice washed over him, but he didn't stand, didn't say anything. He focused all his energy on just dragging in breath after breath, his lungs burning with the effort.
"Do stand up."
Harry forced himself to shake his head no. He couldn't, he wouldn't, he didn't want to. But then he was jerked up by his collar and shoved onto the couch. The couch that Dumbledore insisted be placed in Snape's office to give Harry a more comfortable place to work, the couch that Snape had fought to keep out every step of the way. A symbol of how much the Headmaster favored him. Useless, pathetic Potter.
"Stop blaming yourself. By doing so you're letting him win. It was always the Dark Lord's plan to break you, Potter."
"He's doing a damn fine job of it!" It was the first thing that came into his head, but the last that he wanted to say. Each day that passed, he lost more control, until finally, now, he had no control over anything, not even what he said. He clenched his fists into the upholstery of the couch. "I can't do this anymore. I can't. I won't. I..."
"You what?"
Harry pressed his lips together. I want it to stop.
"By killing yourself?"
For the first time since he entered the room, he looked at Snape. He wasn't where he had expected him to be -- near his desk, his arms crossed, his eyes glaring; instead, he was crouched down next to him, no sign of hatred on his face. Neither was there shock. Harry had expected something, anything. That lack of response store at his chest like fingernails. Not even his thoughts were his own.
Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "If I do that, he wins. Everything. I want to, need to beat him, but I can't. I don't know enough." He rubbed at his forehead with his hand. "I don't even know where to begin."
Snape settled a hand on his knee. "I don't know what to tell you, Potter. The Dark Lord will be expecting that you've been trained, but he's studied the spells longer, knows them better, and is utterly immersed in the Dark Arts. That's not including the wall of Death Eaters he has surrounding him."
Snape stood then, pushing himself up using the hand on his knee as leverage. The pressure was reassuring, and when he removed his hand from his knee Harry found it disconcerting.
"Why has my training stopped?"
Snape turned away. "The Headmaster feels that it is futile for you to fight; that at the moment, it will lead to your death, and to the death of others. He has decided to keep you safe instead."
"But I'm going insane," Harry burst out. "That's not keeping me safe."
Snape froze in his pacing. "Don't be stupid, Potter."
He stood and walked two steps closer to Snape before stopping, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. Taking a deep breath, he tried -- in vain -- to keep his voice steady, calm. "What would you do? I've been watching Hermione slowly lose what has always been hers -- her mastery of spell work, her magic. I barely speak to Ron; he thinks that I've already gone barmy. I spend all my time buried in archaic texts, trying to find answers, or learning spells that I can't even practice."
"It's your lot in life." Snape turned away, looking at the door that led to his private storeroom.
"I don't want this life!"
"That's really too bad, Potter." His voice sounded distant and angry, and his fists were clenched at his sides. "Get out."
"What?"
"GET OUT!"
---
He couldn't sleep with the conversation with Snape running through his head. He tried not to think about it, focusing instead on his breathing. In... Out. In... Out.
The curtains parted, cooler air brushing against his exposed arm before a withered hand settled over it. He rolled over to look into the desolate eyes of the Headmaster.
"Come with me, Harry." The curtain fell closed as he pulled away.
He grabbed his robe, slipping it on before reaching over the side of the bed to pull his slippers out from under it. The dormitory was strangely silent; not even the quiet, steady breathing of his sleeping dorm mates could be heard.
He padded out of the room and down the stairs. Professor McGonagall was standing by the exit, wand raised. With her other hand she motioned him to go past. Behind him he heard her casting a spell under her breath, or rather lifting one.
The three headed toward Dumbledore's office. Harry didn't dare say anything, it was too quiet, his voice would be too loud; the sound of his breathing already seemed deafening. Remus was standing at the gargoyle and Harry realized that something had to be very wrong. It couldn't be a good sign that Remus looked so worried.
When the Headmaster's door opened he heard Fawkes squawk and was overcome by the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh and dried blood. He jerked back, but McGonagall pushed him into the room, the door shutting a moment later, the sound strangely final to his ears.
His gaze traveled around the room, not really taking in anything until it landed on the high-back, plush chair in front of him. He didn't want to walk around it; he didn't want to see the person sitting there. Stories he heard as a child of people spontaneously combusting started circling through his head. Is that what happened when someone lost control of their magic, when they lost their magic? Was it Hermione, burnt and bleeding beyond recognition?
The harsh sting of bile grew in his throat, and he reflexively swallowed it down, his stomach churning even more. The acrid stench was burning his eyes and he squeezed them shut.
"Harry?" It was Remus calling him, his hand pressing into his shoulder.
"Is she...? Is she going to be all right?" He opened his eyes, blinking away the moisture that had gathered in them and looked at the Headmaster.
"She?" He heard the breath catch in Dumbledore's throat as he realized whom he was talking about. "Ms Granger is fine. She's been transferred to St Mungo's where they can monitor her condition."
Harry released a sigh. It wasn't Hermione. It *wasn't* Hermione; it was someone else sitting near him. Had he dreamed again? Had he done something else? He was breathing too fast, his lungs stinging as he took in and then expelled too much air; his head was spinning and any minute he knew he was going to pass out.
"Mr Potter."
Harry inhaled sharply. He knew that voice; it sounded like sandpaper, but he knew it. "Professor Snape?"
"Shush, Severus. It won't do you any good to talk until Poppy comes back with some draughts; we don't want you to lose your voice."
"Then tell someone to calm the boy down, Headmaster."
Remus' hand settled on his shoulder again, but this time Harry struggled against it until he could move around the chair.
"Professor?" Harry fell to his knees at the sight of him. He was bleeding out of numerous cuts that lined his face and arms, the visible skin where his robes were burnt away was pink and raised, his eyes were closed and the bruise on his cheek stood out in sharp relief against his too pale skin. With each breath that he took, Harry could now hear a soft bubbling sound and see a slight flinch of his facial muscles; at least one lung must have had some measure of blood in it. "My god."
He turned his head to look up at Remus. "Why... what happened?"
Remus looked away.
"They know."
Harry snapped his head around to look at Snape who had answered him. "What do you... Why are you... Stop talking." Harry's head swam with what Snape could have meant. They know. Know what? Snape. Hermione. He brought Hermione to Snape during class. Shite. He destroyed what little cover Snape had as a spy. He caused this to happen. He-
Lifting his hand, he gingerly touched his cheek where someone, he wasn't sure who, had slapped him.
"Harry, Professor Snape will be healed. We brought you here for a reason. Hogwarts can no longer protect you."
Harry had already known that, had figured it out last year, but actually hearing it was like having the floor suddenly disappear from under him. A heated hand fell on his shoulder, and Harry heard a sharp intake of breath. Snape.
"Where am I supposed to go?"
"You're to go with Professor Snape. He has a small residence in East Devon." The fingers on his shoulder tightened, digging into his skin and causing him to flinch although he refused to move away. "You will be portkeyed there tomorrow."
Remus moved away from the corner and Harry turned to look at him. "I will be your Secret Keeper as well as taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."
"But my N.E.W.T.s-"
"You will take them when it is safe. Professor Snape will be training you in all of your subjects. It's the best I can do, Harry. For both of you."
---
TBC
Author: DragonLight
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: HP/SS with a touch of HP/RL
Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to JKR.
Summary: Harry comes to terms with his destiny
Beta: Huge thanks go to my wonderful beta, Isis
Notes: TCTS is the 2nd in a three story arc, and is the sequel to To Dream These Dreams
---
Harry stared at his timetable. Optimistically he had added in Quidditch practice, but with that and the DA meetings and lessons with Snape there were no open spaces at all. He didn't know when he was supposed to do his schoolwork. There just wasn't any time. Something would have to give.
Tomorrow was his meeting with the Headmaster; he'd find out what was going on then. He still didn't know if the ban had been lifted and if it hadn't, he'd drop Quidditch. No reason to keep practicing. He was more curious about his extra-curricular lessons with Snape. He understood the need for the Occlumency, but everything after that was a mystery. Were they preparing him to go after Voldemort? He should have plenty of time. They couldn't possibly expect a seventeen-year old to defeat the Dark Lord.
On second thought, they probably did.
Harry turned to look out the window. What kind of life was he going to have after Voldemort? If there was an "after". There probably wouldn't be. After all, how could he defeat a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore? It was laughable, or at least it would be if it wasn't his life.
---
"The ban will be lifted at the end of this year, so you would be able to play for a club, if you so wish, after school."
He sighed; it wasn't what he was hoping for, but it was something, at least. Maybe he'd go to some sporadic practices throughout the year as he had last year. A nagging feeling that Dumbledore might not have tried as hard as he could have to get the ban lifted fluttered at the back of his mind. "Professor?"
Dumbledore motioned for him to continue as he sipped his tea.
"Why am I learning the Dark Arts?" There was no question that he was; the curses he had moved onto over the last few weeks were definitely classified as Dark. He just hoped that he wouldn't be asked to cast the Unforgivables and the other curses that made up the omega level.
"You're a very smart young man, Harry."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the comment. It was Dumbledore's usual non-answer, complete with placating sentiment. He both hated the Headmaster and loved him for it at the same time. The last thing that he wanted to know was that he was being trained to go up against Voldemort most likely single-handedly, but he wished that someone would just tell him what was expected of him in no uncertain terms. This indecision was bothersome. The only thing he was sure of was that if they did expect him to go up against Voldemort, then he wouldn't be able to do it.
They might as well sign his death certificate now, and wait to fill in the date.
"I know what you're thinking, Harry, and I suggest you stop right now."
Harry caught another sigh before it could escape. At least when Snape went to read his mind he used Legilimency, so Harry could keep him out. "That's what happens when you leave me in the company of a known pessimist," he muttered. It wasn't that he minded Snape training him -- well, he did -- but he wondered why Dumbledore wouldn't. If he was the only one that Voldemort feared shouldn't Harry be getting trained by him?
Dumbledore had the gall to chuckle at him. "Now, Harry, Professor Snape may take a more... realistic - as he would call it - viewpoint of the world, but he is by no means a pessimist."
"Of course, sir. I take it that my schedule for training with him shall remain the same?"
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly in his chair. "There have been some changes, Harry. I'd like you to go down to the dungeons at least once a week. Professor Snape has made a few provisions so that you'll be able to practice higher level curses."
He swallowed. The last thing he wanted was to spend more time studying deadly curses and hexes, but as usual in his life, he wasn't given a choice. He nodded. "I'll make the necessary arrangements, Headmaster.
---
"You will not be able to practice these spells until the next Hogsmeade weekend, Potter. At that time, you will be taken to the Order headquarters where Lupin," Snape paused there, his gaze hardening further, "will oversee your practice."
That was something that Harry would have to think about, being around Remus without it being awkward.
"There are a few things that we need to discuss first."
Harry turned his attention to what Snape was saying, setting aside his problems with Remus for when he was alone. "What is that, sir?"
"By allowing you to go to Grimmauld Place certain things are expected of you. The foremost being that you behave in a suitable way. The Headmaster has placed his trust in you." Snape was turned away from him, talking toward the wall instead of his face. "Such behavior as I have witnessed between yourself and Lupin is an example of inappropriate behavior."
He didn't want to talk to Snape about this. "It's none of your business."
Snape turned to look at him. "On the contrary, Mr Potter, it is very much so my business. You have no right to endanger the lives of-"
"I endanger lives by just existing. Or have you forgotten what I did to Hermione!"
"That is not what I'm talking about, Potter. You had little control over that situation. Ignoring what you're supposed to do because you choose to act on your unruly hormones is very much in your control."
"I haven't done anything with Remus."
Snape had on a mask of disbelief - one eyebrow was arched, and his lip slightly quirked up. The picture was completed when Snape crossed his arms over his chest. Harry had never wanted to hit him more. "Perhaps I have started to see things then."
"Perhaps you have." Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Sir," Harry spat.
Snape towered over him. Harry thought he saw something, maybe anger, flash through his eyes. "Do you really think so?"
Harry stood his ground. "Yes, sir. I know what I have and have not done."
The last thing he expected was for Snape to grab his arms and hold him there. "Don't do something stupid. Lupin was Black's lover."
"I am aware of that." Even though fury was written in every line of Snape's face, Harry wasn't scared. He didn't see any reason to be. "He told me the summer after Sirius' death."
Snape narrowed his eyes, and he didn't release Harry's arms, instead he tightened his grip. "You don't have time for such nonsense. You have more important things to do than fool around with a werewolf." Then he dropped his arms and turned his back to Harry, as quickly as he had bore down on him. "Get out, Potter. We will go over the spells tomorrow. I have things to do."
Harry rubbed at his upper arm and left, not saying anything. His reaction confused him. He should have been angered, disturbed, scared. Anything. But he wasn't. Snape didn't scare him at all, even when screaming or casting illegal curses at him. Harry kept himself from thinking why.
---
"Why are you casting these spells when it's obvious that you hate it?"
Harry looked up from the torn remains of what used to be a portrait of Sirius' great aunt. "I'm told to." He waved his wand in a very familiar pattern. "*Reparo!*" The picture put itself back together again, and the hag immediately started screeching. It was worth casting this spell just so he wouldn't have to hear the noise.
"Do you do everything you're told?"
Harry looked at Remus. "No, I don't. But this, I have to do. Just like I have to say 'Voldemort' and I had to learn Occlumency. If I don't learn how to cast these spells then I can't keep Voldemort away. And I know that next time it won't be just Hermione that suffers. Next time it could be the entire Weasley family, you," Harry sighed, "so many other people."
"Snape?"
"What?"
"You're naming people you care about, Harry."
He shook his head. "So where does Snape come in? This has nothing to do with him. He teaches me what I need to know and yells. A lot." He went to sit down, not quite feeling up to casting more spells at the moment. "More so than before."
Remus walked over and rested his hands on his shoulders. "Take a break. I'll rub your shoulders for you, you're tense."
Harry shook his head. "I can't. I really need to get these down. Snape will ask if I learned them."
"And I'll tell him you have." Remus' breath was brushing his ear with every word, his hands rubbing his arms, before resting on his shoulders again.
Harry shrugged and Remus' hands fell away. "I can't." He stood and faced the portrait again, lifting his wand to cast the hex, but Remus stepped in front of him. He lifted Harry's chin with two fingers, but before Remus' lips pressed against his own he turned his head so that Remus' lips landed on his cheek. "I can't."
---
Ever since the beginning of the year he kept one eye glued to Hermione. At first it was little things; the feather she was trying to levitate would vibrate for a moment before lifting, the fire would sputter a bit before jumping to life. Then it would take her a few times to cast a spell that she had done repeatedly; Alohomora would only work after being cast three times, or Serpensortia would only summon a garden snake instead of a python. At times, she would cast and nothing would happen, no matter how hard she tried, or how many times she repeated the spell.
He remembered her tears after getting an 'A' in Transfiguration for the first time. She hadn't been able to successfully change a mouse into a butterfly. She spent all her time in the common room, revising and casting and trying to get her magic to work like it used to. No one said anything. They all knew that she'd snap at them.
Harry kept back, not wanting to get too close. Afraid that she'd put things together. That she'd figure out that it was his fault she was losing control of her magic. Ron kept teasing him about always watching her, and he'd respond that if he didn't shut up he'd tell Lavender that he'd kissed him. Ron sulked for a week.
He wasn't worried about Ron. There was no reason to be; his life was going fairly well, being a prefect and Quidditch captain. It seemed that what Ron saw in the Mirror of Erised all those years ago was almost true.
It was Hermione he was concerned about. She was tearing herself up, and it was eating at him.
He'd return from having incantations drilled into his head by Snape at two, three o'clock in the morning, and Hermione would be sitting in her favorite chair by the fire, a book open in her lap, her wand clutched in her hand, and a pile of discarded parchment, covered in her theories about what was going on, by her feet.
But he never told her -- he couldn't. Every time he tried, his heart would clench in his chest, and he'd just stare at her. She'd hate him, really hate him.
He tried to tell himself that it was something else, something not related to Voldemort and Legilimency causing this lack of control, but he couldn't. Because he knew that it was. He couldn't stop thinking about it, especially when Hermione was sitting in Charms trying to cast a Healing Charm on a cat with a cut in its paw and she couldn't. "*Curatio Ictus!*"
Flitwick had floated over to her and set his hand down next to the cat. "Perhaps you've got the wand motion wrong, Ms Granger."
She shook her head, and cast the spell again. It backfired. Flitwick's sleeve caught on fire and he lost concentration, losing control of his levitation spell and falling the three feet to the ground.
"Oh, my god! Professor Flitwick!" Hermione knocked over her chair in her haste to get to where Flitwick was sprawled on the floor.
Harry couldn't move; it was as if his feet were glued to floor. He couldn't even turn his head to see if anyone else was moving, though he had the feeling they, like him, were frozen in place.
For the first time since he'd known her, Hermione had lost complete control of her magic. It scared him.
She landed hard on her knees next to the Charms professor, looking him over to make sure he wasn't scorched. Shaking, she sat on her heels, lifting her hands to cover her face. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before moving. He got to her side as quickly as possible, and pulled her up by her arm. Her arms snaked around him and she buried her face in his chest, still chanting how sorry she was, over and over. The only thing that he could think was that he didn't deserve for her to be so trusting of him.
He half-carried her out of the classroom, and into the hallway. He'd let the other students deal with Flitwick; he looked all right, if a bit singed. But where should he take Hermione? Dumbledore would just insist that he bring her to the hospital wing, and smooth things over with the explanation that teenage wizards and witches lose control of their magic on occasion. But that couldn't be right, it couldn't. Hermione always had control of her magic.
He turned toward the dungeons. Snape would help. He hoped.
He paused right outside the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He tried to remember if anyone had Defense Against the Dark Arts in this time slot, but couldn't. The last thing that he wanted to do was interrupt one of Snape's classes because that would practically guarantee that he wouldn't help Hermione. She was holding on to him as he tried the door, and it was making things difficult, but somehow he managed to get the door open and step inside. Class was in session. For a moment, he thought about the couch in Snape's office where he could have brought Hermione and just waited for Snape to return between classes, but he forced that thought out of his head. He was here now and would deal with the situation; after all, wasn't that what he was always doing, dealing with impossible situations. Swallowing hard, he caught Snape's gaze and held it, wishing that he could just explain what happened without words, but knowing he couldn't. It all became too much for him -- Hermione's weight at his side, Snape's glare, the curious look of a dozen younger students, the thoughts circling in his head -- and he sagged against the doorframe.
"Be quiet!" Snape slammed his fist down on the desk. Harry flinched as the cold eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared.
Perhaps Snape had been a bad idea all together.
"Since our resident celebrity is demanding my attention, you are all dismissed. Out!"
Harry moved Hermione so that she wouldn't be in the way of the students pouring out of the room.
"I suppose you have a reason for this unwelcome disturbance, Potter?"
Harry flinched, whether at the cold tone of Snape's voice or at Hermione's nails digging into his skin as she clutched at his robe, he didn't know. He tried to pull her away but couldn't.
"She lost control of her magic." He hoped that Snape would understand. He had to. This was Hermione.
"So bring her to the hospital wing."
Harry shook his head. "What's if it's because of what happened last year? What if it's something that I caused?"
"Bring her here." Snape pulled out his wand as he stepped around from behind his desk. Grabbing her arm, he pulled Hermione toward him before running his fingers over her face and hands. When Snape's fingers passed over her cheek, Harry had to turn away at the sight of the dried tear tracks that he saw there.
Snape passed his wand over her, muttering something that Harry couldn't quite make out. The fluctuating colors surrounding her made it painfully clear that he was measuring her magic levels.
"This can't be right." Snape did whatever he had just done again. "Her levels are extremely low. I'm surprised she's been able to control it as long as she has. What was she casting?"
Harry wished that Snape would stop talking about her as some experiment. "A standard Healing Charm."
"And its effect?"
"She set Flitwick on fire." He sank into the closest chair. "Is she going to be all right?"
Snape didn't say anything, and that bothered Harry more than if he had just said no. He vaguely heard a door bang open above them and footsteps on the stairs. Class had ended.
"Go to your next lesson."
He hesitated, then moved to Hermione. She must have passed out at some point during Snape's examination. He combed his fingers through her hair before turning away.
Snape's hand settled on his shoulder. "She'll be fine. Do not let this incident influence your performance during classes, Potter. You have to keep your head; you don't have a choice."
He nodded. "I know. Thank you." Snape's hand fell away, and he walked out of the classroom.
---
"Are you going to tell me what happened? You just grabbed Hermione and bolted."
Harry shook his head and continued to stare at the wall. McGonagall had come to inform him that Hermione had been placed in the hospital wing and that his lessons with Snape had been cancelled until further notice. She hadn't even given him a chance to ask anything, just turned and left. That had been hours ago.
It seemed that they had all finally given up on him. Who wouldn't? After all, there was no doubt in his mind that what had happened to Hermione was entirely his fault, stemming from his lack of control last year. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could until the inside of his eyelids burned red and bit his tongue until he imagined that he could taste blood.
"At least tell me where she is."
Would Ron ever shut up? He couldn't deal with this, not now. He stood, and the book on his lap skidded and spun, stopping a few feet away. He stood there staring at it and its slowing revolutions, his thoughts whirling in his head. He needed to get out. He couldn't stay here. Spinning around, he rushed toward the portrait hole.
"Damnit, Harry. Tell me!"
"Hospital wing."
Once down the corridor he started running, his shoes slipping as he took a corner. He didn't slow as he reached the stairs, and he stumbled down the last few that led to the dungeons. The echoing of his feet on the stone floor pounded against his skull.
Or maybe that was the pounding of his heart.
He didn't bother knocking on the door to Snape's office, just opened it; tripping over his feet, he fell to his knees.
He heard the door slam shut behind him.
"A slightly melodramatic entrance in my opinion, Potter."
Snape's cool voice washed over him, but he didn't stand, didn't say anything. He focused all his energy on just dragging in breath after breath, his lungs burning with the effort.
"Do stand up."
Harry forced himself to shake his head no. He couldn't, he wouldn't, he didn't want to. But then he was jerked up by his collar and shoved onto the couch. The couch that Dumbledore insisted be placed in Snape's office to give Harry a more comfortable place to work, the couch that Snape had fought to keep out every step of the way. A symbol of how much the Headmaster favored him. Useless, pathetic Potter.
"Stop blaming yourself. By doing so you're letting him win. It was always the Dark Lord's plan to break you, Potter."
"He's doing a damn fine job of it!" It was the first thing that came into his head, but the last that he wanted to say. Each day that passed, he lost more control, until finally, now, he had no control over anything, not even what he said. He clenched his fists into the upholstery of the couch. "I can't do this anymore. I can't. I won't. I..."
"You what?"
Harry pressed his lips together. I want it to stop.
"By killing yourself?"
For the first time since he entered the room, he looked at Snape. He wasn't where he had expected him to be -- near his desk, his arms crossed, his eyes glaring; instead, he was crouched down next to him, no sign of hatred on his face. Neither was there shock. Harry had expected something, anything. That lack of response store at his chest like fingernails. Not even his thoughts were his own.
Closing his eyes, he shook his head. "If I do that, he wins. Everything. I want to, need to beat him, but I can't. I don't know enough." He rubbed at his forehead with his hand. "I don't even know where to begin."
Snape settled a hand on his knee. "I don't know what to tell you, Potter. The Dark Lord will be expecting that you've been trained, but he's studied the spells longer, knows them better, and is utterly immersed in the Dark Arts. That's not including the wall of Death Eaters he has surrounding him."
Snape stood then, pushing himself up using the hand on his knee as leverage. The pressure was reassuring, and when he removed his hand from his knee Harry found it disconcerting.
"Why has my training stopped?"
Snape turned away. "The Headmaster feels that it is futile for you to fight; that at the moment, it will lead to your death, and to the death of others. He has decided to keep you safe instead."
"But I'm going insane," Harry burst out. "That's not keeping me safe."
Snape froze in his pacing. "Don't be stupid, Potter."
He stood and walked two steps closer to Snape before stopping, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. Taking a deep breath, he tried -- in vain -- to keep his voice steady, calm. "What would you do? I've been watching Hermione slowly lose what has always been hers -- her mastery of spell work, her magic. I barely speak to Ron; he thinks that I've already gone barmy. I spend all my time buried in archaic texts, trying to find answers, or learning spells that I can't even practice."
"It's your lot in life." Snape turned away, looking at the door that led to his private storeroom.
"I don't want this life!"
"That's really too bad, Potter." His voice sounded distant and angry, and his fists were clenched at his sides. "Get out."
"What?"
"GET OUT!"
---
He couldn't sleep with the conversation with Snape running through his head. He tried not to think about it, focusing instead on his breathing. In... Out. In... Out.
The curtains parted, cooler air brushing against his exposed arm before a withered hand settled over it. He rolled over to look into the desolate eyes of the Headmaster.
"Come with me, Harry." The curtain fell closed as he pulled away.
He grabbed his robe, slipping it on before reaching over the side of the bed to pull his slippers out from under it. The dormitory was strangely silent; not even the quiet, steady breathing of his sleeping dorm mates could be heard.
He padded out of the room and down the stairs. Professor McGonagall was standing by the exit, wand raised. With her other hand she motioned him to go past. Behind him he heard her casting a spell under her breath, or rather lifting one.
The three headed toward Dumbledore's office. Harry didn't dare say anything, it was too quiet, his voice would be too loud; the sound of his breathing already seemed deafening. Remus was standing at the gargoyle and Harry realized that something had to be very wrong. It couldn't be a good sign that Remus looked so worried.
When the Headmaster's door opened he heard Fawkes squawk and was overcome by the sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh and dried blood. He jerked back, but McGonagall pushed him into the room, the door shutting a moment later, the sound strangely final to his ears.
His gaze traveled around the room, not really taking in anything until it landed on the high-back, plush chair in front of him. He didn't want to walk around it; he didn't want to see the person sitting there. Stories he heard as a child of people spontaneously combusting started circling through his head. Is that what happened when someone lost control of their magic, when they lost their magic? Was it Hermione, burnt and bleeding beyond recognition?
The harsh sting of bile grew in his throat, and he reflexively swallowed it down, his stomach churning even more. The acrid stench was burning his eyes and he squeezed them shut.
"Harry?" It was Remus calling him, his hand pressing into his shoulder.
"Is she...? Is she going to be all right?" He opened his eyes, blinking away the moisture that had gathered in them and looked at the Headmaster.
"She?" He heard the breath catch in Dumbledore's throat as he realized whom he was talking about. "Ms Granger is fine. She's been transferred to St Mungo's where they can monitor her condition."
Harry released a sigh. It wasn't Hermione. It *wasn't* Hermione; it was someone else sitting near him. Had he dreamed again? Had he done something else? He was breathing too fast, his lungs stinging as he took in and then expelled too much air; his head was spinning and any minute he knew he was going to pass out.
"Mr Potter."
Harry inhaled sharply. He knew that voice; it sounded like sandpaper, but he knew it. "Professor Snape?"
"Shush, Severus. It won't do you any good to talk until Poppy comes back with some draughts; we don't want you to lose your voice."
"Then tell someone to calm the boy down, Headmaster."
Remus' hand settled on his shoulder again, but this time Harry struggled against it until he could move around the chair.
"Professor?" Harry fell to his knees at the sight of him. He was bleeding out of numerous cuts that lined his face and arms, the visible skin where his robes were burnt away was pink and raised, his eyes were closed and the bruise on his cheek stood out in sharp relief against his too pale skin. With each breath that he took, Harry could now hear a soft bubbling sound and see a slight flinch of his facial muscles; at least one lung must have had some measure of blood in it. "My god."
He turned his head to look up at Remus. "Why... what happened?"
Remus looked away.
"They know."
Harry snapped his head around to look at Snape who had answered him. "What do you... Why are you... Stop talking." Harry's head swam with what Snape could have meant. They know. Know what? Snape. Hermione. He brought Hermione to Snape during class. Shite. He destroyed what little cover Snape had as a spy. He caused this to happen. He-
Lifting his hand, he gingerly touched his cheek where someone, he wasn't sure who, had slapped him.
"Harry, Professor Snape will be healed. We brought you here for a reason. Hogwarts can no longer protect you."
Harry had already known that, had figured it out last year, but actually hearing it was like having the floor suddenly disappear from under him. A heated hand fell on his shoulder, and Harry heard a sharp intake of breath. Snape.
"Where am I supposed to go?"
"You're to go with Professor Snape. He has a small residence in East Devon." The fingers on his shoulder tightened, digging into his skin and causing him to flinch although he refused to move away. "You will be portkeyed there tomorrow."
Remus moved away from the corner and Harry turned to look at him. "I will be your Secret Keeper as well as taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."
"But my N.E.W.T.s-"
"You will take them when it is safe. Professor Snape will be training you in all of your subjects. It's the best I can do, Harry. For both of you."
---
TBC