Another fine Saturday, but Harry sat alone in the Gryffindor dormitory. Ron was downstairs; most likely playing wizard chess with Dean. Hermione was revising. Probably. Neville had just come up to ask Harry if he wanted to go over the greenhouse with him to see his plants. Harry had fobbed him off saying he had an essay to finish. Why would he be interested in looking at Neville's plants?
The end of year exams were coming up. Harry didn't care. He had gradually begun to care less about most things, even Quidditch. Umbridge had not returned, the ban was lifted, and he had his Firebolt back. Ron was improving session by session. In fact, the more excited Ron got about the game, the less excited Harry felt about it. He had to drag himself out of bed for the practice sessions now.
The Spring practice sessions greeted the Quidditch players with many crisp blue skies. The mild weather had brought the leaves half out on the trees, and large clumps of daffodils were blooming all over the muddy, Hogwarts grounds.
Harry sighed, squinting at the other players battle it out way below him, while scanning for the Snitch. Ginny, Andrew and Jack were calling to each other, discussing tactics, working together as one. And there was Ron, happy, excited Ron - way down there guarding the hoop. The others whooped and roared as he made a save.
As a Seeker Harry used to enjoy being the one to win the game for his team. Winning a game? The first few times had sent such a thrill through him.
Though after being banned last year, and getting into the habit of not practising, somehow the excitement seemed dampened down. Even if he were to catch the Snitch, fall off his broom and break his arm, and have a crowd roar, What did it matter anymore? If they did roar that is - this year people had seemed rather awkward or jumpy around him.
It would make no real difference, really, to everyday life - a cheer, a jeer, or even a sneer. Another distant noise, from a lot of distant people.
Life was much more straightforward now, either become a murderer, or be murdered.
Ron saved again, the Quaffle whipped away by the tail of his broom. As Harry watched Ron being slapped on the back by the others, he failed to notice the small shimmering ball darting around next to him...
"You okay, Harry?" Came a nervous voice from the top of the stairs.
"Yeah," mumbled Harry. "Just want some time alone."
Seamus looked around the room awkwardly. This time last year Harry would have sneered, and snapped at him. "Well - eh - if yehr sure?" He faltered, glancing up at Harry's eyes. They were still staring blankly at the wall.
"I'm sure," said Harry vaguely. Seamus stood helpless for a moment before he turned, casting several concerned glances back at him as he went down the stairs.
It had been over ten months since his Godfather had disappeared. He had to use this word. Death to him meant a body. Sirius had disappeared. No more playful Snuffles. Even Phineas Nigellus still refused to believe it.
Disappeared or dead, both of them meant absence. Long days of silence. No supportive owls. Just memories of a black veil, and the whisperings.
And then there was the worry about Lupin.
Lupin had taken it badly. His hair had gone almost half grey, and his face had taken on a distinctly haunted look. Harry couldn't bear to imagine what it would be like to lose someone who would always offer to stand by you, even in your darkest state.
He had only seen him once over the summer holidays, then a few other times, like over at the Weasley's for Christmas, and that last time he had looked even sadder than ever. He had been supportive around Harry, but also quiet and detached. As if something was always trying to draw his attention away.
And then, there he was the other day having a friendly cup of tea and a chat with Snape! Harry wasn't sure if he would have been more hurt if Lupin wasn't his guardian. But he was. Or was supposed to be. But after that Occlumency lesson he had to dash off, leaving Harry with many questions, and nobody to answer them, as Lupin, like Hagrid, and most of the Order, was too busy to listen to him often.
Harry turned round as if in a trance, and pulled the photograph album Hagrid had once given him out of his trunk. Picture after picture waved at him happily. He had never met any of these relations. He must be the only Potter left alive. And this was why he ended up with Aunt Petunia.
Harry's visions had finally stopped as he began to master Occlumency. He couldn't know, of course, that his mastery of Occlumency had been aided by his gradual numbing of his senses. It wasn't as if he didn't feel pain, rather he didn't care that he could. He wanted to distance himself from it. He stared at the pictures, wondering if Voldemort may still be able to see what he was looking at. What he secretly wanted.
If he could, then he would probably guess that it might only take one more terrible vision to drive Harry to poison.
Poison. 'At least Snape would be happy,' Harry thought grimly. The last of the Potters out of his way, forever.
The git might even smile instead of sneer.
He could even do it right in the middle of his lesson, and have all the witnesses frame him for murder.The 'Lamentable Potion Maker,' getting the last laugh. It made sense. Not only would he be free from Voldemort, he would be free to join Sirius, and finally get to hug all the family he had never known.
He stared vaguely at the low stone ceiling. It reminded him of a sky filled with dark grey clouds, and when he used to stare miserably out the Dursley's window on those bleak, damp winter days before he knew he was a wizard. He smiled faintly.
"Up you get, Harry," said Lupin gently, easing him up from where he had fallen back on the dungeon floor.
Snape hissed impatiently. Potter was usually snapping at him by now. He had had the perfect insult ready.
"Potter, how am I supposed to teach you this, if you keep on drifting off into Laa-laa land?" he snapped.
"Sorry sir," mumbled Harry. He was imagining what it would be like to be nine, or ten, sneaking out to watch cartoons when the Dursleys went shopping on a Saturday morning. To be shut away in the dark again, talking to the spiders under the stairs, safe and ignorant. Out of everybody's way.
"...talking to the spiders..." muttered Harry vaguely.
Lupin cast a look up at Snape, and frowned. "What was he thinking about before he collapsed?" he asked, worriedly.
"I can assure that it was just childish self pity, Lupin," muttered Snape coldly. "Shut up pathetically in a dark room all by himself. Stand, Potter!" he ordered.
"I'm tired," whispered Harry.
"So am I, Potter," hissed Snape. "Tired of your attitude!"
"I'm bored of yours," returned Harry, wearily. "Sneer all you like, I'm not going to respond," he added quickly before Snape had the chance to do just that.
Snape paused mid sneer, pressed his lips together, and narrowed his eyes instead. "Very good, Potter - six whole years at Hogwarts, and finally you've learnt something!"
"Yes sir," replied Harry quietly.
"And would that be, perhaps, finally, not to walk round like a puffed up, insolent lord all day?" he said silkily, peering down his nose at Harry.
Harry failed to reply.
Snape's eyes glittered triumphantly as he raised his wand. A meek and submissive Potter? One he could drive to insanity without danger of backlash?
But, what if that were true? hissed a little voice in his head. Where would be the satisfaction?
"Now - where were we?" He muttered out loud, irritated for allowing thoughts to sidetrack him. "If you can clear your mind Potter, maybe we can get on with this infernal subject. You are almost at an acceptable skill level, which means I will not have to partake in this farce for much longer."
Harry stood up.
"Ready?" Snape warned. "One...Two..."
"For the last time, can't you see I'm not like he was?' blurted out Harry miserably. 'That was my bullying dad, this is me, okay? If I'm lucky enough to grow up, it's clear I'll only be a weirdo loner who everyone hates."
While Snape just stared at him, his wand still in the air, Lupin was visibly shocked.
"Harry! What on earth would make you say that?"
"Everything makes me say that!" Exclaimed Harry bitterly. "People have hated me since before I was born! - Most of the school does! – Every year, the new kids always line up to stare at the freak! - Innocent people always die because of me! - I hate myself - I hate my life, and - and - I hate my dad for leaving me to deal with it all!" He took a deep shuddering breath.
"Harry," said Lupin in a hushed voice. "Nobody hates you-"
"DON'T YOU BLOODY LIE TO ME!' yelled Harry suddenly, turning wildly on Lupin. 'I'VE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE! IN THE PAPERS, WHISPERING, GOSSIPING. THEY HATE, HATE, HATE!"
Lupin was unnerved. The look in the teenager's darting eyes seemed well beyond reason. "Harry - your father loved-"
"DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT!" screamed Harry. "IT' WON'T CHANGE ANYTHING - HE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF ME!"
Lupin had gone very pale. "Do you believe I hate you, Harry?" he asked carefully, reaching a hand out to him. "Did Sirius hate you?"
As Lupin's hand brushed his arm, Harry flinched away and shuddered.
"You're only hanging around because you think I'm like my father," muttered Harry cruelly. "And Sirius was the same, 'Oh, your dad would have done this! Your dad was so good at that! Your dad was much more fun!' Well I'm sick of it, so you can just get out of my life as well!"
"You don't mean that, Harry," said Lupin firmly.
But Harry had already raised his wand. "I do. Now – get...out..."
Lupin got up. As he reached as calmly toward the door as he could, he turned and opened his mouth, as if to say something.
"GET OUT!" bellowed Harry at the top of his voice, sparks crackling up and down his wand.
Lupin did.
His ears ringing from the shouting, Lupin stood awkwardly in the chill corridor. He was supposed to be Harry's level-headed guardian; and he should have seen this coming, had words ready to comfort him. He smiled wanly. And he thought he would be better at it than Sirius?
Lupin decided to loiter in the corridor a while. He felt quite uneasy about leaving Harry alone with Snape. Lupin had expected a backlash sooner or later, on account of Sirius' death. But he hadn't planned for this. He'd always thought Harry would be tough and fair. But what he'd just heard had been bitter, and very cruel. Lupin bit his lip. And - it had been definitely unlike James.
Lupin strained his ears. He expected to hear the row continuing. The Potions Master wouldn't tolerate such a spectacle in his office, surely? He was Snape! He would drag Harry out by his ears!
He smiled grimly, and inched closer to the door. Harry sounded like he was demanding something from Snape. A little nearer.
Lupin's face drained of colour as he pieced together what they were saying. He ran to the door and tried to force it open. It was jammed! No: it was a sealing charm. A very strong one, too. Too powerful for him to break.
Lupin gave up, and turning swiftly, ran out of the dungeons. He had to get Dumbledore - very quickly.
Harry let his wand fall from his hand. Lowering himself down in Lupin's chair, he stared dumbly at the floor, shaking in a mixture of rage and horror at what he had just done.
Snape lowered his wand. He knew full well that Occlumency had a tendency to depress people who were vulnerable, but Dumbledore had expressly ordered him not to mention it to Harry, as it would only make him even more difficult to teach.
His black eyes flashed. Damn Dumbledore! He knew! Knew all along that it would end up in an emotional scene like this!
Snape snarled and clenched his fists. He viciously struck out at a pile of books on his desk, sending them flying across the dungeon. Why was it always him, and not anyone else, left looking like the fool? Seething and bitter, his thin hands curling like claws, he leered maliciously at Harry,
"Going a little, insane, are we, Potter?"
The boy either ignored him, or had not heard. He was still breathing heavily, his eyes still glaring at the floor. Snape's gaze darted madly toward the dungeon ceiling.
"Well, well, Potter Senior!" Snape leered to the air, an odd gleam in his eyes. "See how the tables turn? Oh yes, you may have had your fun - But see how justice finally finds its way back, all on its own...rather twisted....path?" His mouth curled into a horrible leer. "To think - your own son, Potter, in your old school rival's office. Your son, screaming at your friend, and telling me how he hates you!"
Harry let out a strangled sob as Snape's, dry, mirthless chuckle echoed round the dungeon. His father was being mocked, but he would ignore it. He might get to see him, soon anyway.
"Sir," he said suddenly, looking up. Snape ignored him.
"Sir!" he said more urgently, "I'm thinking of poison."
"What are you muttering about, Potter?" the Professor spat. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Sir – Please give me some poison."
"Oh, what else can be wrong with you now, boy?" Snape sneered sarcastically, turning a twisted face in Harry's direction. "Don't you want to die like a famous, legendary Potter anymore?"
"Why should you care? Let me do it now!" threatened Harry.
"PLEASE - let me do it now - SIR!" spat back Snape. "Where are your newfound manners now, Potter? Did they disappear with your sanity?"
"N-No sir!" stammered Harry.
"Don't be an idiot, Potter! You're bluffing! You may be rash like a Gryffindor, but the Slytherin in you should never allow it!"
'N-No! I want to - I need to - I can't stand-'
"- Being on the edge?" cut in Snape, his eyes glittering. Harry stared back, his mouth open. "Well good!" came the jeering reply. "I hope you are suffering for it!"
The boy's face seemed to crumple as the Potions Master crossed his arms, and stared defiantly down at him. Then, before Snape could even blink, let alone react, Harry had swiftly taken a very small phial out of his pocket, uncorked it, and dripped the black contents on his tongue.
The Potions Master froze in horror as he watched a glazed expression relax his student's face. As Harry crumpled to the floor, Snape felt the powerful wave of a familiar nausea creep over him. The worst ever - in fifteen years.
Steadying himself against the table, Snape watched the room lurch in front of his eyes.
He had threatened to do the very same thing himself when he was sixteen. But he had never been quite stupid or reckless enough to actually do it.
"Gryffindors!" He bellowed madly at the ceiling.