First Steps
by: Whomping Willow
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue.
Chapter eleven: Not Quite Like a Home
The remainder of Harry's stay in the hospital wing was far more tolerable than the first days had been. He only suffered one more difficult seizure before the potions finally purged the toxin from his weakened system, allowing him to resume the normal accelerated healing that he and Madam Pomfrey were accustomed to. The scrapes and bite-marks faded gradually, leaving only faint evidence of his painful flight to Hogwarts.
While his body healed, Harry's mind was preoccupied. The realm of possibilities seemed endless . . . what would have been different or could have been if he had known the truth . . . Harry was glad he didn't have access to a Timeturner, because the temptation would be almost too much to bear.
Remaining wary of the sensations in his scar, Harry diligently quieted his thoughts before he slept. He wasn't about to risk any further mockery from Snape or messages from Voldemort.
Visitors became a welcome distraction from his thoughts, especially Remus. The way Remus had stood up to Snape in his defense reassured Harry that his former professor truly didn't blame him for Sirius' death. Remus understood that Harry had been tricked while trying to protect those that he loved the same way that Sirius himself had been fooled while trying to protect Harry's parents. Despite their encouraging words arriving by owl daily, Harry had been concerned that his friends' families would blame him for the incident at the Ministry as well as the attack on his relatives, causing him to be ostracized once again when the school year began. Harry eventually figured if Remus was any indication of public opinion then he would be safe from scorn.
That theory was proven correct when Hermione dropped off an armload of newspapers, mostly back issues of the Daily Prophet from when he was "missing." It appeared that the public saw the attack on the Dursleys' home as retaliation for Harry having exposed Voldemort's return, to the public. He was never once accused, not even by Rita Skeeter.
Dumbledore had refused all requests for interviews with the Dursleys as well as Harry since his return, a fact to which Harry was infinitely grateful. The only thing Harry wanted to do less than recount the details of his escape for the press was to read the Dursleys' opinions on the events. Although he had been spared the public's scorn, didn't mean it would last.
Finally after many long days spent sleeping or immersed in his own thoughts the mixed blessing was upon him, the day that Harry would be released from Madam Pomfrey's care and sent to spend the remains of the summer at Grimmauld Place.
Before she would release her most frequent patient, Madam Pomfrey subjected Harry to a thorough check up as well as a stern talk that was more of a warning against engaging in any strenuous activities . . . such as battling Dark Lords or Death Eaters. Harry chuckled good-naturedly and promised he'd try to be good. Although Harry was happy to be leaving the hospital wing, he left little doubt that he was no happier to be heading to Grimmauld Place.
There was no packing to be done. All that remained of Harry's possessions could fit into the pocket of the jeans Mrs. Weasley had sent for the trip. Smiling, Harry bent down and rolled up the cuff of the jeans. Hand-me-downs were nothing new to Harry, and he was happy that Ron was at least closer to his size than Dudley ever was.
Madam Pomfrey smiled and gave Harry a brief hug before sending him on his way to meet with Dumbledore in his office.
Harry took his time, enjoying the way his borrowed oversized trainers broke the stillness of the otherwise silent corridors with a series of shuffling clomps. A few of the portraits eyed him curiously wondering what a student was doing in school during the summer while others greeted him kindly remembering the night they awoke to see his battered body being levitated past.
When Harry finally found himself standing before the gargoyle, he spoke the password and rode the spiral staircase to Dumbledore's office. Although the door opened before he could knock, the Headmaster was nowhere in sight.
The portraits looked down upon him with obvious disapproval, whispering amongst themselves but not daring to address him directly. Harry's eyes shifted around the room and he flashed a quick smile to Fawkes who was preening quietly. He then looked from the floor to the desk, half expecting to see them littered with the broken remains of the magical gadgets he destroyed on his last visit, but the floor was clean. The desk, although buried in paperwork, was also mostly free of reminders of his last visit. One gadget however, bent and twisted in his rage, remained on display on the heavy wooden desk. One mangled piece of silver still attempted to spin, now making the entire object wobble and hum randomly. It held his eyes, in much the same way morbid curiosity lures eyes to stare at the scene of a car wreck. Was the Headmaster unable to fix that one, Harry wondered?
Dumbledore entered the office, unnoticed, and observed its other occupant. He had likewise been held transfixed by the twisted metal many times. It once was an object of magical oddity with a purpose that no longer mattered, it had been transformed and now held a much more vital purpose, for one man at least.
Dumbledore fixed a small smile on his face then cleared his throat to announce his presence. Harry started and cast his eyes to the ground away from the evidence of his guilt. He had felt so hurt and angry that day, blaming everyone but the guilty party. Despite the mistakes that they each had made, Harry now understood the guilty party to be Voldemort despite the Headmaster's claim of guilt. He could see that Dumbledore had been trying to protect him, just as Dobby had in his second-year, unfortunately with similar results.
Finally, Harry met the sad blue eyes, ignoring the whispering portraits. "I am sorry this office holds so many bad memories for you Harry. I had once hoped . . ." Dumbledore's words faded as the Headmaster seemed to become immersed in his thoughts.
Harry gazed at the Headmaster, realizing how much older he now looked. Perhaps it was his own growing maturity that caused Harry to realize for perhaps the first time that he and Remus weren't the only ones who had mourned. Sirius' death had affected Dumbledore and others as well. He was not alone in his grief, though he hadn't initially been able to perceive their feelings of loss.
Harry's eyes once again locked upon the twisted metal teetering near the edge of the Headmaster's desk. Dumbledore followed his gaze and answered the unasked question. "I made a mistake . . . several in fact . . . that I dread repeating . . . I am leaving that particular object as is – as a reminder. The combination of age and wisdom do not make one infallible."
Throat constricting uncomfortably, Harry tried to swallow past the lump, but only managed to nod dumbly. Harry understood, although he didn't need any further reminder. Many of his mistakes had left their own reminders upon his flesh and in his heart . . . and on grave markers.
"However some mistakes cannot be avoided despite our efforts and warnings . . . I am sure Professor Snape has told you before that Occlumency is an obscure branch of magic . . . as such it is difficult to find one skilled enough to teach it, especially one who can be trusted enough to teach someone with secrets such as yours."
Harry swallowed nervously uncomfortable with where this conversation was leading. They had already discussed his lessons, and he had agreed to them . . . what else was there to discuss.
"I did look for someone else to instruct you despite what you may have thought . . . unfortunately the most skilled work for the Ministry or Voldemort. Your mind holds many secrets that we cannot risk falling into the wrong hands. Do you understand that is why I have asked Professor Snape to instruct you again? If there were any other way that wouldn't endanger your life I would choose it."
"You said that you couldn't teach me yourself . . . that it wasn't safe . . . but in the Hospital Wing you said you would both be teaching me . . ."
"I will merely be there as an observer, to ensure that Professor Snape is keeping his promise."
"His promise?" Harry was suddenly more alert.
"That is between Professor Snape and myself . . . now you'd best run along. Molly and the others have been eager for your return. We will visit after you have had a chance to settle in."
Harry nodded, no doubt in his mind about who the other half of "we" was. He would not be looking forward to their visit. He grabbed a handful of floo powder and cast it into the flames. By the time he arrived at number twelve Grimmauld Place covered in soot his thoughts of Occlumency lessons had been replaced by more pleasant thoughts. He could hardly wait to see his friends again.
When Harry stumbled out of the fireplace it became obvious that everyone was happy to have him back. Mrs. Weasley was the first to greet him with a warm hug or three, but the rest weren't far behind. "Harry, it's so good to see you again, but you are still looking too thin. Didn't Poppy feed you? Well I'll have dinner on the table for you soon." After all the commotion died down, Ron and Hermione ushered Harry to his room. They were afraid the smell of cake would give away their plans.
Harry looked around as Ron and Hermione led the way. Harry could see that an effort had been made to make it feel more homey, but Grimmauld Place still bore the marks of the Dark Wizards in its past. Overall it represented a gloomy version of the home that circumstances had denied him all these years.
Ron and Hermione strode past the umbrella stand and started up the stairs without pause, Harry however stopped and stared at the vacant wall that once held the portrait of Sirius' mother. Realizing that they had lost Harry, they both turned and found him, eyes fixed upon the empty wall. "While you were missing . . . just before you were found Professor Lupin found a banishing spell strong enough to rid us of her once and for all. He wanted her gone in time for your arrival. Even threatened to take down the wall if necessary . . ."
Harry nodded with a grim smile. There would be no more shrieking about Blood-traitors or Mudbloods at all hours . . . no more creeping up the stairs on tiptoe. It was just one more reminder that Sirius wasn't there.
Harry followed his feet up the stairs, not really paying attention to anything else until he entered his room. It hadn't changed much, but he was pleased to find Hedwig waiting there for him. He greeted her warmly and she shifted from her perch onto his shoulder nipping at his ear obviously pleased to have him back. Ron and Hermione watched the reunion quietly before Hermione decided to break the silence. "You can borrow my books till you get a chance to visit Diagon Alley . . . so you don't have to save all your studies till the last minute."
"What you mean is till they can find someone to escort me . . ." Harry rolled his eyes. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was his studies . . . the time he'd wasted this summer taking notes that no longer existed like the books themselves. He didn't have to say a word though, Ron obviously felt that was his duty. "Bloody Hell Hermione, don't you think Harry wants to think about something a little more interesting than his studies? I think he's earned a bit of fun . . . how's about a game of Chess or Exploding Snap?"
"Harry needs to focus on his studies if he is going to be an Auror," Hermione scolded.
"I'm not – I didn't make the grade in Potions . . . I'll have to figure out something else to do with my life."
"But that's not possible . . . I mean, if I made it in how could you not? After all I only got an E." Ron was looking at Harry curiously.
"An E?" Harry balked, "but Snape doesn't allow anything less than an O into his N.E.W.T.'s class?"
"I dunno Harry, but our equipment lists have a new Potions text on it. Of course I haven't made up my mind whether I want to take Potions this year or not . . . just cause I made it in doesn't mean I have to accept. Think about it . . . another two years of class with that greasy git."
Ron making it into Snape's N.E.W.T.S. level Potions class with an E didn't make any sense. Harry was suddenly eager to see his list. "Do you have my Hogwarts letter as well?"
"Of course . . . Mum is keeping it for you. I'm sure she'll give it to you at dinner." Harry nodded and then smiled brightly as a thought struck him. "Congratulations of being chosen as Prefects again."
"How did you know?" Ron was curious how his friend had found out, considering he hadn't expected a second year in the position.
"How could anyone follow you?" Harry teased.
"We all figured Dumbledore would give you a turn this year Harry." Ron looked to Hermione for confirmation and received it.
Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore knows I don't have the time to take on any more responsibilities this year."
"You will be allowed to play Quidditch again this year, won't you? They can't keep you banned . . ."
"I don't know. Dumbledore hasn't mentioned it. There is also the matter of my broom. It hasn't been found. I'm afraid it may be lost for good."
"Don't worry Harry . . . I'm sure Hagrid will find Grawp picking his teeth with it or something."
They laughed at Ron's attempt to lighten the mood and Harry was happy to have his friends there with him as he suddenly realized the ache in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with being back in that eerie old house. All his memories seemed to link back to Sirius. Harry knew that staying here was going to be even harder than he'd thought.
Although the rooms had been cleaned and in many cases fumigated, somehow it still didn't feel right. He knew his Godfather's house would never be comfortable the way the Burrow was. There had been worse than ghouls inhabiting these walls and Harry was even more aware of them in their absence. The empty frame for instance . . . Phineas Nigellus normally inhabited it and was now conspicuously absent. Had Dumbledore ordered him to leave Harry in peace remaining instead framed in the Headmaster's office, or was he waiting for Harry to drop his guard?
Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and was comforted by the feel of his wand in his pocket. Ron saw his brief smile and decided it was time to ask again, "Exploding Snap?"
Ron beat Harry twice before Harry managed to win one. It was getting almost as embarrassing as chess, but it gave them a chance to relax and talk about what everyone else had been up to, during the summer. Ron admitted to having headaches and a few odd dreams as a result of the brain encounter, which had gained him some extra pampering from his mum so he certainly wasn't about to make a fuss. A week of all his favorite deserts was a fine way to recover from his brief encounter with the brains.
Hermione had instead suffered from several long lectures encouraging her to think for herself and not follow along with the crowd just because everyone else was doing it. She giggled and admitted it sounded rather a lot like the lecture her parents had given her on the birds and the bees the year before. That led them to speculate about how Neville's grandmother handled the fact that he had played a part in the break-in at the Ministry. It was hard to guess if she would be more worried or proud, after all she had lost her son and daughter-in-law to Voldemort and Harry guessed she must know something about the Prophesy although he didn't mention that detail to the others. He would have to tell them about it but he wasn't ready yet.
Ginny knocked excitedly on the door and poked her head in. "Dinner's ready, best not leave mum waiting." She turned and quickly fled down the stairs without waiting for a response.
They made their way down the stairs giggling and teasing Hermione about the talk without fear of waking Sirius' mother's portrait now that it no longer stood guard. Its absence made the place slightly less oppressive despite the storm clouds that were rushing dusk. Ron paused at the kitchen door waiting for Harry to catch up. When they were all assembled Ron pushed open the door and they were bathed in the bright light of the kitchen. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light it was obvious that Mrs. Weasley wasn't the only one waiting for them. The table was ringed with smiling Weasleys and a few members of the Order. Tonks greeted him warmly, looking far better than when she was released from St. Mungo's and Remus motioned Harry to sit next to him. He gladly complied. It was like a warmup for the welcoming feast at Hogwarts; the table was overflowing with food and surrounded by Harry's friends.
Harry picked at the food mounded high on his plate and struggled to keep his mind from wandering to those who couldn't be with them, as it was meant to be a joyous occasion. Not comfortable being the center of attention, he struggled to divert the focus away from himself. He shifted the room's attention instead to the twins and was grateful to Fred and George for being so obliging. Harry needed only bring up the subject of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and inquire about their latest research to set their mother onto a tizzy. It seemed that experimentation hadn't been entirely limited to their shop, even leaving their products lying around for the unwary. Fred gave Harry a quick wink and he smiled wondering if Fred knew how grateful he was to be out of the spotlight.
Unfortunately it didn't last. The lights dimmed and a cake appeared lit by 16 candles. Harry extinguished the candles quickly and was relieved when no one asked about his wish. Harry was handed a knife. He felt awkward and tried to coax Remus into doing the honors but the others insisted it was tradition. It seemed that all present believed that crooked slices of cake would be even more delicious.
One by one, brightly wrapped gifts were passed down the table to Harry who shifted nervously in his seat. He looked uncomfortable until he was distracted by the antics of the pictures on the decorative wrapping.
He was thankful that the gifts were mostly practical things, such as quills and a new school trunk. Now that he knew his things had been destroyed by Voldemort he was anxious to replace them. He didn't think he could bear to give up hope of finding his old broom yet so that one item would likely wait as long as possible. Suddenly noticing Ron poking him in the side, he turned to ask what was wrong. "I left your present in our room. I'll give it to you later." This made Harry suspicious but since Ron hadn't whispered he assumed it couldn't be anything too bad. At least he hoped it wasn't.
After the cake had disappeared and all the guests were thanked, Harry made his way upstairs followed by Ron and Hermione soon after. Ron was eager and nervous in equal measures about giving Harry his present. He had thought long and hard about his gift this year. He had known Hermione was going to get Harry a book like she did every year and the twins would give him more samples from the store. He wanted to get him something better than Chocolate Frogs, something to help him cope with his time at the Dursleys. Now that Harry was not going to be returning to the Muggles again, Ron worried his gift would seem too sentimental.
Before Harry disappeared, Ron and Ginny went to Diagon Alley with their mum. He had wandered from shop to shop looking for something different, with Ginny helping when she wasn't distracted by an attractive shop clerk. What he eventually found was an object rather similar to a Rememberall with a distinct difference, instead of reminding you that there was something you had forgotten, it would show the bearer the happy times they didn't want to forget. It worked vaguely on the same principal as a Pensive, but instead of filling it with your memories it would seek out the ones dearest to you, and display them on its smooth surface.
It had been rather more than he wanted to spend having worked at his brothers' shop in order to make a few galleons, but Ginny had seen the item that had caught her brother's eye and immediately added her savings to his. At the time it seemed like the perfect gift for Harry who was still mourning and sequestered far from his friends.
Ron asked Ginny to join them and then turned his back to his guests while digging to find the gift he had hidden before Harry had arrived earlier. Ginny shifted nervously near the door and Harry wondered just what the two redheads were up to. He glanced at Hermione but she just shrugged. Whatever it was Ron had managed to keep it secret from her as well. A faint rustle of paper later and Ron was standing awkwardly in front of his friend with the small gift. "It's from both of us . . . Ginny and I."
Harry couldn't fathom why Ron was acting all nervous, but he guessed the answer lay under a thin layer of brown wrapping. He could feel their eyes upon him as the paper fell away and the small object was revealed. Ron worried as the emotions began to play across Harry's face.
Harry was startled . . . the smooth glass sphere reminded him immediately of the orb from the Ministry of Magic that had shattered at his feet . . . that quietly spoke his destiny unheard as the fight went on, but as images began forming on the surface Harry knew it was different. A relieved sigh escaped him when he realized it definitely wasn't another Prophesy. Lost in the images, Harry smiled unguarded and his eyes misted over. When he looked up at his friends, they were smiling back at him suddenly looking less nervous. "You like it then?" Ron asked, looking like he wanted to say more.
Harry swallowed thickly and nodded as he struggled to find his voice. Hermione decided to offer a distraction. "May I see it, Harry? I've never seen a memory sphere before . . ."
Harry handed it over without argument but looked sad as it slipped out of his grasp and into hers. The smile that lit Hermione's face was fair compensation. When she finally looked away from the object cradled in her palm, she looked right at Ron. "It looks like your tastes are improving. You won't be getting away with giving Chocolate Frogs anymore I think," she teased.
Ron groaned, "What have I done?" And the room filled with laughter that warmed their hearts. Perhaps Hermione thought Ron possessed the emotional depth of a teaspoon, but Harry now held proof that his friend was growing up.
Later after the room had gone quiet and they were tucked safely in their beds Harry mused that losing nearly everything he had was perhaps not so bad as everyone thought . . . after all now everything that he possessed was as precious as those that they had come from.
Ron's sleepy voice startled Harry out of his musings. "It's good to have you back mate."
Harry bolted upright in his bed trying to figure out what had awakened him so abruptly. His scar didn't hurt and Ron was sleeping soundly in his bed across the room. The house was quiet. Listening carefully for any sign of what disturbed him Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as the room lit up, a loud clap of thunder braking the silence. A few calming breaths later, Harry noted Ron was still sleeping and was grateful his friend wasn't awake to tease him for being a baby over a little storm. He supposed his own frazzled nerves were to blame for not sleeping through as well. He felt unworthy of Gryffindor getting jumpy over a little storm.
He settled back on his pillow. He wasn't sure that he'd be able to fall back to sleep, but figured it was worth a try. The wind howled and rain began to tap lightly on the window panes. The storm was soothing, until lightning cut across the sky illuminating the room followed shortly by the echoing thunder, startling Harry from the illusion of sleep. Harry didn't know how long he drifted between sleepless thought and wakeful dreaming, but he knew the moment that another sound besides the storm startled him to full consciousness. A voice in the hall . . . Harry knew it was late and wondered who it could be. Curiosity getting the better of him Harry eased himself quietly out of bed and approached the door, being careful to avoid the squeaky boards.
He listened a moment trying to identify the voice, but it had faded behind the ruckus caused as the wind rattled the old window. His hand stretched out toward the doorknob, but pulled back sharply when the room lit up again. The low rumbles of thunder followed making Harry feel incredibly childish. The knob felt cool against his palm, but the voice returned before he had a chance to turn it.
". . . Nasty ungrateful swine finally dead . . . scum replaced by more blood traitors and scum . . . what would Mistress say . . ."
Harry's heart froze in his throat as his hand froze on the doorknob. Kreacher was in the house – come to kill them all . . .
Summoning his courage despite his rising grief and anger, Harry wrenched open the door and froze at the sight of the wrinkled house-elf standing hunched at his feet . . . "Broke his mother's heart, but got his due didn't he Kreacher . . . " the elf muttered to himself.
"REMUS!" Harry cried, his voice echoing down the hall. The elf looked startled, but simply stated, "Harry Potter has returned . . ." while wearing a far from benevolent smile.
Remus appeared a moment later, sleep rumpled and clutching his wand. He spotted the source of Harry's distress immediately. "Kreacher! What do you think you're doing?" Remus demanded.
Harry opened his mouth to speak but Remus held up his hand to stop him.
"Kreacher is closing windows from the rain," The elf said answered.
"Go to the kitchen and stay there." Remus' eyes flashed dangerously in the direction of the house-elf.
"Kreacher lives to serve," he muttered to no one in particular as he turned and headed back down the hall toward the kitchen.
"Remus?" Harry's eyes were wide asking far more than his mouth could manage.
"I know this is hard for you Harry, but the house and its servant were passed down to Tonks. As long as the property is inherited by a blood relative, the rest of Sirius' relatives cannot contest it. Kreacher . . . despite all out wishes comes as part of the package."
Harry was poised to speak, but Remus pressed on feeling the approach of the other occupants. They were all dressed in nightshirts and pyjamas rubbing sleep from their eyes.
"Kreacher has been given explicit orders . . . he will not be allowed to hurt any of us that enter or reside in this house or speak to or with anyone who doesn't reside here about its occupants or the activities that go on here. We all try to be as good to him as we can manage and I would appreciate you doing the same."
In shock, Harry stood staring without responding. His body grew more tense with every word. This must be a nightmare, he thought.
"Harry?" Remus tried to get his attention and regretted it once he had it. Harry's eyes hardened and his fists shook at his sides.
"That traitor . . . he . . . if it wasn't for him . . ." Harry's voice kept breaking as emotion stole his words. Finally, "He should be dead like Sirius is . . . aren't there rules against killing your master?!"
"Technically Kreacher didn't kill Sirius, despite his involvement." It pained Remus to have to defend the elf but he couldn't risk Harry doing anything he would regret later.
Harry simply couldn't believe the others had accepted the presence of the elf that had helped Voldemort kill his Godfather. He took a determined step in the direction the elf had traveled despite the fact that his wand still lay on the bedside table and was stopped by several pair of strong arms. "Killing a house-elf not belonging to you would mean a one way trip to Azkaban." Mr. Weasley's voice was calm as it echoed Remus' thoughts and Harry knew he was serious.
Harry tried his best to fight away from the hands that held him wanting to rage against anyone trying to stop him though he was still weak from his healing injuries. He would have sworn he heard a whisper accompanied by the tingle of magic before Remus addressed him again.
"Please, calm down. I don't want to have to give you a Sleeping Potion. Try to get some rest. We will discuss this more in the morning."
Harry relaxed, knowing he wouldn't feel safe taking a sleeping potion with Kreacher in the house. He yielded his struggles and was allowed to return to his bedroom where he locked the door behind him and doused the lamp.
"Sorry mate. I didn't think to warn you about Kreacher . . . I try to ignore him mostly."
Harry nodded though he wasn't sure that Ron could see it. He waited until he was sure his roommate was sound asleep before he lit a lamp and opened Hermione's Potions text. It wouldn't do to spend the night tossing and turning when there was something he could do to relax.
Mrs. Weasley had given him his Hogwarts letter and like Ron's it also listed a new Potions text. Whatever strings Professor McGonagall had pulled to allow him entry to the sixth-year Potions class Harry wasn't going to mess it up by being unprepared. He knew Snape would be waiting for any excuse to kick him out of class.
It was two days later that the Headmaster and Professor Snape visited Grimmauld Place for his first Occlumency lesson. Harry was thankful that they had allowed him some time to settle in before resuming the lessons. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Dumbledore had been there when he learned Kreacher was still occupying Grimmauld Place. As it was, he had managed to show some restraint, with Lupin's help, waiting till the treasonous house-elf was no longer in the area before he vented his rage. Remus and then later Mr. Weasley tried to explain again that Kreacher along with the house had been passed down to Sirius' cousin Tonks, but in his pain Harry couldn't fathom why the elf's head wasn't hanging on the wall beside his predecessors. Despite their claims that Kreacher had received far more specific restrictions, disallowing nearly everything not clearly defined as housework, Harry couldn't find it in his heart to trust the house-elf. He even went as far as having one more rule imposed, one that prevented Kreacher from entering or remaining alone in any room with him. It may have been a small measure of security but it made him feel a bit better all the same.
Harry did his best to avoid Kreacher, often spending the hours between lunch and dinner locked in his room reading. The time gave Harry a chance to study the book Hermione had bought him for his birthday: The Secret Keeper's Guide to Occlumency by Ima Nott-Telling. The author had some interesting theories he hoped would help.
Once they were in the parlor behind locked doors Snape prepared to use his old tactics of attacking Harry before he was ready, but Dumbledore stopped him before the curse could leave his lips.
"Did you meditate in order to prepare your mind Harry?" The Headmaster asked.
"Yes Professor." Harry's calm facade did not fool Dumbledore.
"How do you feel? Calm?"
"He cannot be taught to protect his mind from the Dark Lord with you coddling him. He must prepare his mind for attack at all times." Snape could see that the Headmaster had no intention of allowing the lesson to proceed without interfering.
"I believe, Severus, that it will be easier for Harry to resist once he has experienced what a successful block is like. Your attack on an unprepared mind will not assist that. First, I would like Harry to experience the proper technique while prepared before having to block with less preparation."
"As you wish Headmaster."
Snape huffed impatiently and prepared to cast the curse but was interrupted once more by the Headmaster. "Harry, take a deep breath and let your thoughts escape with each breath, clearing your mind . . ."
Harry nodded absently, grateful for the additional moment to prepare.
The Professor looked coldly upon the Headmaster in askance of permission to continue and received a nod. "Legilimens!"
Harry shuddered briefly as he felt the other man's mind brush his . . . push his. At first all was quiet, the meditation having done its job, and Snape's mind moved back when Harry successfully fought the curse. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. As he tried to refocus for the attack he knew was sure to come, he heard Kreacher murmur in the hallway, "Mudbloods, Werewolves, disgusting . . ." The fine hairs stood on the back of his neck, just then the curse was cast again.
Harry could feel the memories begin pushing to the surface of his distracted mind starting as faint shadows and whispers as the room fell out of focus. He felt powerless to stop them . . .
He felt the cold chill of dementors as they surrounded the Leaky Cauldron . . . The joy of a summer flight stifled by the events that made it necessary . . . His own voice echoing in the atrium "Crucio!"
Snape jerked back abruptly and Harry hit the floor on his knees. The sudden withdrawal left him disoriented but aware of his failure. "You little fool! Do you know what you have done?!" Snape's voice was bitter as he berated his fallen student.
"Severus?" Dumbledore looked to Professor Snape, his eyes warning and questioning in equal measure.
"Do you think you are SAFE . . . that it will not CHANGE you . . . if so, you are even more a fool than I dared suspect!"
"Severus, what is it?"
"You mean your Golden Gryffindor didn't tell you? He attempted to cast the Cruciatus curse on Bellatrix Lestrange that night at the Ministry." Snape was glaring at Harry despite the fact he was speaking to Dumbledore.
"Harry is this true?"
"It didn't work," Harry croaked feeling ashamed. "She said I didn't mean it enough . . . didn't want to cause pain – to enjoy it . . ." His voice trailed off.
"I should certainly hope not." Snape spoke disdainfully at Harry as he picked himself up off the floor.
"A bit hypocritical of you, isn't it?" Harry blurted out the words before he could stop himself, which earned him a sneer from the Potions Master.
"Harry . . ." The Headmaster spoke with a calm he didn't feel. "Unforgivables are more than just another spell . . . they come at a cost, casting them changes the caster. Voldemort would relish those changes more than you can know . . . promise me that you won't attempt another."
Harry didn't want to break down in front of the Headmaster and even worse, Snape, but he felt his voice waiver slightly just the same. "I just . . . didn't know how else to fight her – to make her pay . . ." Harry's mind filled with memories of that night. That singsong voice taunting and goading him as he fought with his grief. A slow burn settled into his scar that he pretended not to notice.
"Vengeance is a bitter task for bitter people. It will stain your soul. I strongly advise against such pursuits in the future." Harry nodded as he stared at the floor. "I believe your lesson is through for the day. We have matters to discuss. If you see Remus, tell him I would like to speak with him." Harry took that for the dismissal it was and quietly exited the room.
He was grateful for the empty corridor as he turned and pressed his ear to the cool wood of the door.
". . . As much as I loath the idea of providing weapons to reckless Gryffindors, I see no other choice. Teach him something more appropriate for battling Death Eaters than Jelly-leggs hexes or Unforgivables . . ." There was a pause filled only with the sound of Snape's pacing.
"It is unfortunate when a sixteen-year-old boy must learn hexes more powerful than those customarily employed to prank their classmates."
There was another pause, a long one. Finally, "Then there is also the matter of his punishment – " before the sentence was finished, Harry heard footsteps approaching and had to leave or be discovered spying on the two professors. He desperately wanted to know what they planned to do as punishment for his attempt to cast an Unforgivable. Surely they wouldn't send him to Azkaban . . .
tbc . . .
Whomping Willow