Chapter Seven
Harry was walking down a corridor. At first, his heart fell – but then he realized this was not the Ministry of Magic, not the same nightmare he'd been having all summer. This was Hogwarts – but it seemed oddly deserted. He heard an odd noise bouncing off of the stone walls...like someone shouting. Someone he knew.
Suddenly, he was in Potions class. Professor Snape was wearing Neville's grandmother's hat again, and the whole class was laughing. But Harry found it far from funny, as Snape was staring him down with murder glinting in his eye.
"I suppose you think this is funny, Potter?" he barked, "Let's see how funny you find this! [I]Leglimens![/I]"
And now Harry [I]was[/I] walking down the corridor of the Department of Mysteries. He struggled in his sleep, aware that he was dreaming, trying to wake himself up. Sirius's yells were coming from far down the corridor – he was being tortured. Harry turned around, closed his eyes, and ran.
Suddenly, he was back at Hogwarts, in front of Dumbledore's office. He stopped running abruptly, and felt his heart stop pounding. He straightened his robes, and walked up to the stone gargoyle.
"Ice Mice," he said, and stepped onto the stone staircase.
He entered Dumbledore's office to find several of the portraits smiling at him. Dumbledore stood from behind his desk.
"Ah, Harry!" he said amiably.
Harry looked about confusedly. He went to pinch himself.
"Aah – I wouldn't do that yet, Harry," Dumbledore said pleasantly.
"Am I dreaming?" Harry asked, befuddled.
"Yes and no," Dumbledore said, "Yes, you are dreaming, but no, this is not, strictly speaking, a dream." He smiled at Harry above the rims of his glasses. "Lord Voldemort is not the only Leglimens in the wizarding world, Harry."
"Oh," Harry said. He should have realized – he often had the feeling Dumbledore knew more than he let on.
"Hang on," Harry said, "Why haven't you done this before? Why haven't you visited my dreams? Have you read my mind before?"
"And what have you seen?" his conscience nagged anxiously.
"Well, unlike Lord Voldemort, Harry," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "I highly value the mental privacy of others. You'll note that rather than invade your dream, I directed you here, to my office. This is to ensure that I don't accidentally invade parts of your mind you would prefer to remain closed."
"Wait a minute," Harry said distrustingly, "How do I know it's you?"
"An excellent question!" said Dumbledore looking delighted, "I am quite pleased you asked, actually – though I shouldn't be surprised – your Defense scores always were quite high. I will simply tell you some information that no one else would know," Dumbledore said, "For example, that Sirius Black, and Buckbeak the steely gray hippogriff (who incidentally had orange eyes) was freed by you and Miss Granger during your third year through clever use of a time-turner. Another," Dumbledore said modestly, "Of my more brilliant ideas. Will that suffice?"
Harry thought about this for a moment. He knew that Lord Voldemort was a skilled Leglimens, but this information really didn't seem like something he'd have any way of knowing about – especially the small details, like Buckbeak's coloration. Then he remembered Kreacher – he had seen Buckbeak in the attic, surely, and might have heard the story of their escpae – he was about to speak when Dumbledore interrupted.
"I see...Hmm...this might prove more difficult than I'd expected. Ah yes. In your first year, Hagrid made a gift to you of a photo album containing wizarding photographs of your parents. I gave him time off of work to complete it."
Harry felt more confident now that this was information Lord Voldemort couldn't possibly possess. Morever, he [I]felt[/I] that this was Dumbledore – there was nothing about this visitation that reeked of Lord Voldemort – he didn't have the same cold, clammy feeling, or the uncomfortable sense that his mind was being directed somewhere against his will.
"Okay," Harry said, "It's you, but – err – this still isn't very safe, is it? I mean...Lord Voldemort could be watching."
"So far as we know, Harry," said Dumbledore, "He has had far more success putting things into your head than taking them out – you on the other hand, have had far more success taking things out of his head than putting them in. However, you are, of course, correct. So I will only say this – Please bring the Droobles Boy here to Honeydukes, and I'll give him something to Keep." He looked at Harry over the rims of his glasses, "You understand my meaning?"
"Yes," Harry said, nodding, "You approve, then?"
Dumbledore seemed lost in thought.
"I'd rather not discuss it here," he said, "The both of you should come as soon as you wake up...which should be right about—"
"Harry!" called Ron, and Harry felt someone shaking his shoulder.
"Ah," Dumbledore said smilingly, "Don't forget, now."
"Harry! Wake up!"
Harry blinked blearily, Dumbledore's office fading around him. Ron was smiling at him.
"Come on, then," he said, "Breakfast!"
"Sure," Harry said, groggily reaching over for his glasses. Ron came sharply into focus. Harry was suddenly seized with a slight panic.
"Neville," he said, "Neville's here, isn't he?"
"No," Ron said confusedly, "He went down to breakfast."
"Oh – okay. I just...had to ask him something."
"It's not about Ginny is it," Ron said frowningly, "Because he said something about needing to apologize to her this morning...something about interrupting you."
Harry laughed, "Neville doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't worry about it."
"Oh...alright then," Ron said. He sounded relieved, but Harry thought he could also detect a little disappointment in his voice. He shrugged it off, and pulled his feet into his uniform pants.
A short while later, they were sitting at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was obscured behind the Daily Prophet, Ginny was stabbing a grapefruit half rather viciously, and Neville was turning a Droobles Best Blowing Gum wrapper over and over in his fingers, with a melancholy expression.
"Err – everything alright?" Ron asked, eyeing his sister as though she might explode.
"Ruddy – Death Eaters – Ruddy – Prison," Ginny said, continuing to viciously murder her grapefruit.
"You'll want to read this," Hermione said, nodding at the paper even as she was reading it. Harry scanned the headline.
"Notorious Death Eaters Escape Yet Again. Ministry Infuriated and Embarrassed by Azkaban Guards."
"No need," Harry said glumly, "Suppose we know what it's about, don't we?"
"You [I]did[/I] tell Dumbledore about your vision, didn't you?" Hermione asked.
Harry realized guiltily that he probably ought to have – Dumbledore might have been able to stop the escape. Hermione look at him disapprovingly, and returned to her paper. He felt a little surge of anger towards Hermione.
He saw Neville folding the gum wrapper, and it jogged his memory.
"Err – Neville," Harry said, "I...wanted to talk to you about Luna," he said.
"Huh?" Neville said going a bit pink.
"I think I might have found her class schedule," Harry lied.
"Neville!" Ron said teasingly, "I'd no idea. Go for it, mate – saved my neck, and no mistake."
"Really, Ron!" Hermione said sharply, for Neville had gone bright red. Harry felt a bit bad for embarrassing him so badly.
"Come on," he said, flashing his eyebrows at him, hoping he'd understand, "Won't take a minute..."
Neville seemed to realize something was up, because he followed Harry out of the hallway.
"Oi! Don't you want breakfast?" Ron said, frowning, as he sat down to eggs, bacon, and toast.
"Bring me some toast to History of Magic," Harry said, "I'll eat it in back."
Harry and Neville made their way through the corridors quickly.
"Err, Harry where are we—"
"Shh," Harry said, "I'm sorry Neville, you'll find out in a minute."
Before they knew it, they were at the stone gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office. Neville made a timid noise in the back of his throat, but thought better of it, and didn't ask any questions.
"Ice Mice," Harry whispered, and he and Neville stepped onto the stairway as it opened up.
As they arrived in the office, Professor Dumbledore was staring into his foe glass. Shadowy figures were moving about in it – Harry thought he recognized Cornelius Fudge's bowler hat flickering in the distance, but nobody was close.
"At least for now," he thought.
As though he had heard someone speaking, Dumbledore looked up, and smiled at them.
"Ah, good," Dumbledore said, "I was about to send you an OWL – I had hoped you wouldn't think it was just a dream."
"A dream?" Neville said, seeming to realize something.
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said, smiling, "I hope I didn't intrude."
"Oh...No, not at all. Err, Headmaster," he added nervously.
"Professor will do quite nicely," Dumbledore said smilingly, "Please, have a seat," and he drew up several squashy armchairs in mid-air with his wand.
"I took the liberty," Dumbledore said, indicating a portrait near the floor of a rather portly witch eating breakfast, "Dobby?" The portrait abruptly swung open, and Dobby the house-elf emerged, carrying tray of three plates, heaped high with steaming sausages, eggs, bacon, and toast.
"Dobby!" Harry said happily, "I got your note."
"You did, sir? Oh, Dobby is most pleased!" The house elf said, nearly dropping the tray as he stifled a little hop of excitement.
"Thank you very much, Dobby," Dumbledore said kindly.
"Oh, not at all, Headmaster, not at all. Dobby is most pleased to be of service."
"Thank you, Dobby."
"Any times at all that you is hungry, sirs, just call Dobby down the kitchen, he'll take care of you. That goes for you too, friend of Harry," Dobby said, nodding at Neville.
"Yes, Dobby, thank you," Dumbledore said a bit more firmly.
"You'll be excusing me, young sirs. Headmaster!" and with a final nod of his head, which was adorned with several of Hermione's knit caps, he was out the portrait.
"Tuck in," Dumbledore said, and Harry and Neville began to eat, listening attentively.
"Well, Neville, in case you haven't surmised the purpose of our meeting here, allow me to fill you in," Dumbledore said, "Harry here – well, more specifically his [I]family[/I], are in need of a Secret Keeper."
Neville's mouth hung open – an unpleasant sight as it was partly full of scrambled eggs. "You...you want...me?" he asked of Dumbledore. He turned to Harry, befuddled, "Why?"
"Well," Dumbledore said delicately, "Harry trusts you with his life. And has," he added, "if you'll recall. Plus, you are one of Harry's friends that He Who Must Not Be Named would be less liable to suspect."
Harry noted how Dumbledore avoided Voldemort's name for Neville's sake, and was oddly touched by it.
Neville thought about this for a moment, and his face fell slightly.
"I get it," he said, "I'm a bluff. You picked me because...because nobody would ever pick me."
"No!" Harry said quickly, looking to Dumbledore for help, "It's not that –"
"It's okay," Neville said, forcing a smile to Dumbledore, "I understand. I'm ready to help."
Harry felt his insides wrench with guilt. He was asking Neville to put his life on the line to protect his, and he had managed to do it in the most hurtful way possible.
"You do understand, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said seriously, "The implications of this decision? It is very possible that should Voldemort—" Neville's eyes went round, "—and his Death Eaters discover that you hold this secret, they will track you down and seek to...extract this information from you. You know yourself that they will stop at nothing," Dumbledore said gently.
Neville's hand strayed to his robes pocket. He turned to look at Harry, and Harry recognized the same fire in his eyes that had emerged during their D.A. training last year.
"I won't let you down, Harry."
Harry nodded, a lump in his throat, "I knew you wouldn't. [I]That's[/I] why I chose you, Neville."
"Yeah," Neville said, grinning shyly, "That, and I'm the last person Lord...You Know Who would expect...I guess being sort of hopeless worked out in the end."
"You are far from hopeless, Mr. Longbottom," smiled Dumbledore.
"Neville –" said Harry, searching for words, "I can't – I don't know how..."
"It's alright, Harry," Neville said grinning, "I can really help this way. I want to."
Harry nodded. He hadn't expected to feel quite so much this morning. He had been so used to looking out for himself, looking out for others, that putting his life in someone else's hands had quite an affect on him.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and began muttering the words of the incantation – Harry caught Neville's name in Latin, and the word "Fidelius." Dumbledore opened his eyes and nodded at Harry. Harry leaned over to Neville, and whispered in his ear.
"Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."
Dumbledore whispered a few more words, and suddenly, Harry was blown back into his chair, and Dumbledore stumbled into his, as a wave of powerful magic ripped in concentric circles from Neville's body. Neville's plate went clattering to the floor, as he gripped the arms of his chair. He looked quite pale.
"I – is it always l-like that?" he stuttered.
Dumbledore seemed to have a look on his face that was both surprised and knowing.
"No," Harry said, simply.
"Well, gentlemen, I suppose you had better get to class," Dumbledore said, simply. They were walking towards the door, when Harry remembered something.
"Professor! Could I have one more quick word?"
"Certainly, Harry."
"I'll tell Binns you'll be late, Harry," Neville said, stepping onto the staircase.
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said walking back to the armchair.
"Yes, Harry?"
"Well, I...Look, I don't know how to say this," Harry said squirming once more with guilt, "But the night we came back to Hogwarts, in the carriage, I felt...happy. I mean, Voldemort felt happy. And I think it was because –"
Dumbledore held up a hand, and smiled, "I have read the Prophet today, Harry. And please, don't blame yourself. It was only a matter of time, really – I am surprised that it has taken this long. But I would appreciate it," he added, "If you would let me know the next time a vision like this occurs – you see now just how important it is. I would prefer even moreso," Dumbledore said, "If you could close your mind completely. The risk of Voldemort invading your mind is far greater than the benefits of invading his, especially now that he is aware you possess that ability. Be sure to remind Professor Snape of that after class today."
Harry's face fell, and Dumbledore smiled, "Remember the Sorting Hat, Mr. Potter. Try. That's all I'm asking."
Harry nodded, "Something else – you seemed...I don't know. Confused when I picked Neville."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed, "Not confused, Harry. A bit worried perhaps. You will have noticed, of course, that your choice is very similar to your father's – a choice that proved catastrophic. Neville and Peter, for all their better qualities and their faults, are both followers rather than leaders, and neither a wizard of tremendous skill."
"Neville would [I]never[/I] betray me," Harry said, surprised that Dumbledore would even suggest it.
"No, of course not," Dumbledore said, "I think you have chosen someone quite trustworthy. I only wonder whether Voldemort will call your bluff."
Harry wasn't sure what to make of this, and furrowed his brow a bit. If Dumbledore thought choosing Neville was a bad idea, he might have said something [I]before[/I] performing the Fidelius charm.
"I thought," Dumbledore continued, "If the situation changes, or we receive new inelligence that Voldemort is wise to us, perhaps you could change...but that decision also proved unfortunate for your parents," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard and staring off into space. For a while, Harry contemplated Dumbledore's face, trying to read a bit into what was running through his head. Finally he looked down at Harry as though surprised he was still there.
"You're going to be quite late, Harry!" he said, "Nevermind – just tell Professor Binns you were with me. I doubt," he said smiling wryly, "he will notice. A treasure trove of information, Professor Binns, but not terribly observant."
"Do you think I made the right choice, Professor?" Harry asked, point- blank.
Dumbledore sighed, "I wish I could tell you, Harry. But only time can tell. And speaking of time, hurry now!" he said, waving his wand at the staircase. It began to descend, and Harry trotted over.
"Thanks, Professor!" he shouted, as he sank lower and lower.
"Of course, Harry!" said Dumbledore, and Harry was left with the image of Dumbledore slowly rising out of his line of sight, as the office disappeared into the darkness of the stairway wall.
The sound of Harry's feet slapping on the stone floors echoed off the stone hallways as he ran to class. Professor Binns, Hogwarts' only ghost professor, hardly noticed when he entered the room and plowed on reading his notes, casually waving his wand at the board where the chalk scrawled of its own accord. Harry stood there awkwardly for a moment, and was just contemplating scrapping his apology and sneaking to his seat, when Binns' pearlescent frame floated in his direction, and he caught Harry's eye.
"Late again, I see!" he wheezed chalkily, "I sometimes wonder why you bother showing up at all, Mr. Potter!"
The class tittered, and Harry blushed a bit. Binns had never chewed him out quite like this...
"No cohort today?" Binns said dryly.
"Cohort? Oh –" Harry scanned the back row and found Ron giving him a mock thumbs up, as Neville blushed in embarrassment.
"No, err...Cohorts were on time today."
Binns looked up to the back row where Ron was sitting.
"Not him, you foolish boy!" he wheezed, "Young Master Black!"
Harry felt rooted to the spot. The class had gone very quiet.
"Hmmph," Binns chunnered, "No doubt up to some mischief, by the look on your face. Five points from Gryffindor for being late, and five to your miscreant friend for skivving off. And be glad it isn't more, Mr. Potter! Now up to your seat!"
Rather than walking, Harry felt he was gliding like Binns up to his chair. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and he seemed to be moving in slow motion. Sirius? What had Binns meant about Sirius? Was Sirius really a ghost at Hogwarts? But...how could that...
"Harry," Ron whispered.
He snapped out of it, and looked at Ron, who was eyeing him with a pained expression. Neville gave him a smile too, which somehow made Harry feel worse.
"It's not...he's just got it all mixed up mate," said Ron, "He thinks you're your Dad."
Harry suddenly feel with a bump back to reality. Of course. Professor Binns had been teaching God only knew how long...and he had a tendency to mix up students. The look on his face must have been awful, because Ron chucked him on the arm a bit harder than necessary and dropped a folded napkin onto his desk.
"We brought you some breakfast, Harry! Toast, and there's some bacon in between there..."
"Thanks," Harry said, shaking his head to clear away his funk, "Why do we have to take this stupid class anyway? We failed our OWL..."
"I know," Ron said, "It's a requirement. Hermione's got NEWT-level at a different time."
Harry nodded. He didn't really care at that point, but was glad the conversation had been redirected...
"Sirius is [I]dead...DEAD[/I]," he thought viciously, "and you should be paying attention."
Harry found that he was so intent on not thinking about Sirius that he completely forgot about Neville's awesome burst of power, about Secret Keepers, about Voldemort even, and launched himself into note-taking on the various developments throughout the 19th century in legislation pertaining to giants, goblins, elves and other non-human magical creatures.
After class, Hermione caught up with them in the hallway, and flipped idly through Harry's notes as he looked for his schedule in his school bag.
"Well done, Harry! I think that's the most notes you've taken in Binns class ever!"
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling a bit annoyed by her enthusiasm, "Great."
"Potions next," said Hermione, checking her schedule. Harry groaned mentally.
"Oi – that reminds me! Great news!" Ron said, beaming. Then his face fell slightly, "Well...sort of great. Sort of awful, really."
"What are you talking about Ron?" Harry asked.
"I found a loophole – well, Hermione did," Ron said, smiling at her stern glance, "Asked McGonagall this morning, after you left. I'm auditing NEWT level Potions."
"Auditing?!"
"Yeah," said Ron beaming, "Means I can take the class, only I won't get credit for it. If I get an E on the final exam this year, I can take seventh-year, NEWT level Potions for credit next year. It means one less credit for this year...that I'll have to make up...but I'll still have a shot at Auror if I ace my NEWTs!"
"That's great, Ron!" Harry said, his heart leaping in his chest. He remembered how disappointed Ron was when he hadn't gotten E's on his Potions Owl, and he caught Hermione smiling to herself out of the corner of his eye. He had to hand it to her – when she set her mind to something...
"Yeah...Great," Ron said, his smile turning slowly to a frown, "Don't suppose we could skive off our first class, eh?"
"What's that, Weasel-King? I hope you're not planning on missing Potions today...Because you know, it's my responsibility as Prefect to report any truancy to our head of House..."
Harry rolled his eyes. Great. Another charming addition to his first day of class.
"Hmm...that's funny, Harry. I could've sworn I heard the sound of a great ugly git flapping his gums, but there's only Malfoy here...How odd..."
"Hello, Draco," said Hermione briskly, "First day going alright?"
Harry and Ron stopped and stared at her. She gave them a funny warning sort of look, but Harry was mystified, and from Ron's appalled expression, so was he. Draco didn't seem much less surprised, and Crabbe and Goyle, who were, as usual, lurking behind Malfoy, had their customary befuddled scowl painted over their faces.
"Well, it [I]was[/I] going just fine," Draco said snootily, "What do you want, Granger?"
"Nothing," Hermione said, "Just making conversation."
"My left foot," Draco said eyeing her with mingled disdain and suspicion, "What are you up to?"
"[I]Nothing,[/I] Draco. We'd better go." And with that, she turned and started walking towards the Potions dungeon.
"Right..." Draco said, regaining his footing, "Right! Well, see you there then, [I]Mudblood.[/I]"
Hermione stiffened for a moment, and then kept walking. But Ron wasn't quite as forgiving, and began pushing up his sleeves slowly.
"Didn't I tell you?" he hissed. "Didn't I? Hope you're not afraid of the dark, Malfoy...'Coz I'm gonna put your lights out!"
"Ron," said Hermione quietly, as she stopped in her tracks again. Ron stared at her, cold fury written across his features.
Hermione turned abruptly and walked back to face Malfoy.
"I'm sorry I hit you in our third year, Malfoy," she said in clipped tones, "And I'm sorry if I was rude to you before."
Draco laughed out loud, "I don't need your apology, [I]Mudblood![/I]"
By now Harry felt his insides boiling as well, and he could hear Ron's teeth grinding. Just what on earth was Hermione playing at?
"Well, take it anyway. Excuse us." Hermione said, and she had to practically drag Ron away by his robes.
"You got [I]lucky,[/I] Malfoy," Harry hissed, "You better hope she sticks to Ron like glue, or you're gonna see hard days ahead."
"I'm shaking in my boots, Potty," Draco sneered, "She's got you lot well- whipped, doesn't she? Personally, I don't know how you stand the little trollop. Between her bossy attitude and the stench of her dirty blood...Tell me," Draco said leaning in close, "Do you think Weasel king has to hold his nose when they kiss?"
"HARRY!" Hermione shouted.
With supreme effort, Harry lowered his wand from Malfoy's chest, and put it back in his pocket.
"If you can't say something nice, Malfoy," Harry whispered menacingly, "[I]Run and hide.[/I]"
"[I]HARRY![/I]"
And turning on his heel, Harry didn't wait for Malfoy to come up with some snooty retort.
Harry followed Hermione into Potions to find Ron furiously attempting to light his cauldron. There was a mild conflagration as he finally ignited it, which made Harry take a jerky step backwards, for fear of singing his eyebrows.
"Really, you two!" said Hermione, "Didn't you listen to the Sorting Hat at all, this year?"
"Let me get this straight," said Ron through clenched teeth, "You think sucking up to Draco Malfoy is going to make one bit of difference?"
"All [I]I[/I] know, Ron Weasley, is what I was told! And I think that after the Sorting Hat telling us two years in a row, and Dumbledore derailing the entire Sorting Ceremony to give us a lecture—"
"It's simple, Hermione," said Ron, "He's not allowed to speak to you that way. [I]Period![/I]"
"And what business is it of yours!" Hermione said, turning red, "It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything!" and Harry slowly began backing away, "What are you, my personal knight in shining armor? Well it's wearing thin, Ron, I don't mind telling you!"
Ron's face turned white, making his ears look even redder, and Harry felt quite afraid he'd throw something in a minute.
"If you don't mind me telling you..." hissed Snape silkily from the front of the classroom, "I'd like to begin class. But by all means, take your time."
The three friends looked up abruptly to see that Snape had swooped into the classroom while Ron and Hermione were rowing, and Malfoy was seated at his typical station at the front of the classroom, smirking an oily smirk. Indeed the entire class was barely concealing grins at the duo, whose faces now resembled Hagrid's after a few pints.
"You see," Snape said, "As entertaining as your sordid love lives are, I thought I might actually teach today. Five points. Each."
Wordlessly, the trio plunked into their seats.
"If you find yourselves sitting here," Snape said, "It either means you attained an E on your OWLS..." he looked over at Ron, "Or have found some other dubious means of attending. Either way, you are probably congratulating yourself at this very moment for being one of the few, the proud – the not-so-hopelessly-idiotic..."
Harry scanned the room, and noted that there were, in fact, fewer faces. Gone were Crabbe, Goyle, a few other Slytherins, and also Neville and Dean Thomas.
"However," Snape continued, eyeing Harry now, "Patting yourself on the back might be a bit – premature. As of this moment, the workload becomes increasingly difficult. If I find that you are unable to keep up," Snape said, his eyes flicking back to Ron, "I will have to ask you to transfer out of this class, and stop wasting our time here. And I certainly shouldn't need to tell you, Mr. Potter, to have your notebook out at the beginning of class."
Harry sighed inwardly and took out his schoolbook with a barely disguised look of reproach towards the front of the classroom. He'd gotten used to Snape's unfairness by now – annoying though it was, it didn't do much to rouse his anger anymore.
Snape waved his wand at the blackboard and a series of instructions appeared there – the list seemed never-ending.
"You recall working on Forgetfulness Potions. Ah," Snape said with a smile at Ron, "That is, [I]some[/I] of you recall...I'm afraid you'll find a Draught of Remembrance far more difficult. And, should you be hoping to cheat on your exams, you'll find it quite useless. The complete Draught only allows for the permanent memorization of one fact, and as it takes precisely two hours to prepare, a month to brew, and another three hours of final preparation, I imagine you'll find your time better served by studying. Though some of you, I'm sure," he continued with a smirk, "Would find your time better served playing Quidditch."
Ron's hand trembled as he squeezed his quill, and Harry nudged him with his knee.
"You have two hours. Begin."
At the end of class, when they had finally corked their flagons and handed them in (with Snape sneering with satisfaction at Ron's noxious concoction), and all the cauldrons were cleared and cooled, the trio was quite ready to steer themselves to the Great Hall for lunch. The class stood and began quickly shoving their notebooks into their schoolbags, but—
"Mr. Potter – if I may?" Snape called.
Rolling his eyes at Ron and Hermione, Harry turned around and walked back up to the front of the class.
"Yes sir?" he said quietly. He was sure this was about Occlumency.
"I'll need to set up a time for you to continue with your Remedial Potions." He had said it quite a bit louder than was necessary, and several of the class giggled quietly behind their hands, or nudged the person next to them. Harry felt his face burning, and eyed Snape's smug smile with loathing.
Harry waited to reply until most of the people had left. Malfoy was lingering by the door, on the pretense of tying his laces.
"Malfoy!" said Snape annoyedly, "I should think that even you had mastered the ancient art of tying your shoes."
With a sneer at Potter, Malfoy swept out of the room.
Harry was mildly surprised...he had never imagined that Malfoy got on Snape's nerves as well. Perhaps Snape was only so biased towards Malfoy because he was the Slytherin mascot, in a way, and Snape was head of Slytherin House...He had to hate Malfoy's father almost as much as he had hated James...and Crabbe and Goyle's as well – it was because of them, in part, that he was risking his neck every day spying. Maybe it was all just for show – and deep down he really found Malfoy just about as repellant as everyone else did.
"And come to think of it," Harry thought to himself, "What did make you cross over to our side?"
"Well, Mr. Potter," said Snape sitting abruptly, and picking up the first flagon, "It is to my great displeasure that the Headmaster has insisted that we continue our Occlumency lessons."
As he spoke, he swished the flagon around in the light, smelled it, and then jotted down a grade and some comments on a piece of paper.
"I have told him numerous times, you'll be glad to hear, that I had absolutely no intention of working with you ever again, and that I certainly didn't want you in my Potions class. He, being," he sneered, "Who he is, basically told me that I had no choice in the matter. And so we find ourselves in a quandary," he said, interrupting his grading to stare at Harry with deepest loathing, "Neither of us wants to be here. And yet here we are."
"Old news," said Harry bruskely, "Tuesdays fine for you?"
"What's this?" Snape said with veiled sarcasm, "No pained outburst? No desperately self-pitying rage against the cruel, cruel, world?"
"Are you going to teach me, or not?"
"Cheek, Potter. Tuesday is not fine. Monday."
"Fine."
"Fine what?"
"Fine, Professor," Harry forced himself to choke out.
"Good. I will see you in my office after classes today."
"Today!" Harry cried, woundedly. He had thought that at the very least they could start next Monday.
"Ah," Snape said, smiling to himself, "Here we are then. I knew you couldn't hold off for long without mourning the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that would cause you to endure an extra hour of lessons. I was beginning to wonder whether you were ill." Snape stood up abruptly and gestured to the door.
"I will be here. Whether you arrive or not is frankly, none of my business, and I will be able to inform the Headmaster with a clean conscience that I have held up my end of the bargain. Good day, Mr. Potter."
Harry grabbed his schoolbooks and was about to storm out of the classroom, when something made him stop. Snape had mentioned the Headmaster...Harry recalled his words, and the shine of his eyes..."Try, Harry...that's all I'm asking." He realized now just how hard it had been for Hermione to treat Draco civilly. He took a deep breath.
"I'll be here, Professor. Sorry to have troubled you."
"Ah, very noble, Mr. Potter. Our young hero valiantly battles with the chimera of his own pride. It has the makings of a novel. Now leave."
Burning with fury, Harry slammed the door behind him.
Harry was walking down a corridor. At first, his heart fell – but then he realized this was not the Ministry of Magic, not the same nightmare he'd been having all summer. This was Hogwarts – but it seemed oddly deserted. He heard an odd noise bouncing off of the stone walls...like someone shouting. Someone he knew.
Suddenly, he was in Potions class. Professor Snape was wearing Neville's grandmother's hat again, and the whole class was laughing. But Harry found it far from funny, as Snape was staring him down with murder glinting in his eye.
"I suppose you think this is funny, Potter?" he barked, "Let's see how funny you find this! [I]Leglimens![/I]"
And now Harry [I]was[/I] walking down the corridor of the Department of Mysteries. He struggled in his sleep, aware that he was dreaming, trying to wake himself up. Sirius's yells were coming from far down the corridor – he was being tortured. Harry turned around, closed his eyes, and ran.
Suddenly, he was back at Hogwarts, in front of Dumbledore's office. He stopped running abruptly, and felt his heart stop pounding. He straightened his robes, and walked up to the stone gargoyle.
"Ice Mice," he said, and stepped onto the stone staircase.
He entered Dumbledore's office to find several of the portraits smiling at him. Dumbledore stood from behind his desk.
"Ah, Harry!" he said amiably.
Harry looked about confusedly. He went to pinch himself.
"Aah – I wouldn't do that yet, Harry," Dumbledore said pleasantly.
"Am I dreaming?" Harry asked, befuddled.
"Yes and no," Dumbledore said, "Yes, you are dreaming, but no, this is not, strictly speaking, a dream." He smiled at Harry above the rims of his glasses. "Lord Voldemort is not the only Leglimens in the wizarding world, Harry."
"Oh," Harry said. He should have realized – he often had the feeling Dumbledore knew more than he let on.
"Hang on," Harry said, "Why haven't you done this before? Why haven't you visited my dreams? Have you read my mind before?"
"And what have you seen?" his conscience nagged anxiously.
"Well, unlike Lord Voldemort, Harry," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "I highly value the mental privacy of others. You'll note that rather than invade your dream, I directed you here, to my office. This is to ensure that I don't accidentally invade parts of your mind you would prefer to remain closed."
"Wait a minute," Harry said distrustingly, "How do I know it's you?"
"An excellent question!" said Dumbledore looking delighted, "I am quite pleased you asked, actually – though I shouldn't be surprised – your Defense scores always were quite high. I will simply tell you some information that no one else would know," Dumbledore said, "For example, that Sirius Black, and Buckbeak the steely gray hippogriff (who incidentally had orange eyes) was freed by you and Miss Granger during your third year through clever use of a time-turner. Another," Dumbledore said modestly, "Of my more brilliant ideas. Will that suffice?"
Harry thought about this for a moment. He knew that Lord Voldemort was a skilled Leglimens, but this information really didn't seem like something he'd have any way of knowing about – especially the small details, like Buckbeak's coloration. Then he remembered Kreacher – he had seen Buckbeak in the attic, surely, and might have heard the story of their escpae – he was about to speak when Dumbledore interrupted.
"I see...Hmm...this might prove more difficult than I'd expected. Ah yes. In your first year, Hagrid made a gift to you of a photo album containing wizarding photographs of your parents. I gave him time off of work to complete it."
Harry felt more confident now that this was information Lord Voldemort couldn't possibly possess. Morever, he [I]felt[/I] that this was Dumbledore – there was nothing about this visitation that reeked of Lord Voldemort – he didn't have the same cold, clammy feeling, or the uncomfortable sense that his mind was being directed somewhere against his will.
"Okay," Harry said, "It's you, but – err – this still isn't very safe, is it? I mean...Lord Voldemort could be watching."
"So far as we know, Harry," said Dumbledore, "He has had far more success putting things into your head than taking them out – you on the other hand, have had far more success taking things out of his head than putting them in. However, you are, of course, correct. So I will only say this – Please bring the Droobles Boy here to Honeydukes, and I'll give him something to Keep." He looked at Harry over the rims of his glasses, "You understand my meaning?"
"Yes," Harry said, nodding, "You approve, then?"
Dumbledore seemed lost in thought.
"I'd rather not discuss it here," he said, "The both of you should come as soon as you wake up...which should be right about—"
"Harry!" called Ron, and Harry felt someone shaking his shoulder.
"Ah," Dumbledore said smilingly, "Don't forget, now."
"Harry! Wake up!"
Harry blinked blearily, Dumbledore's office fading around him. Ron was smiling at him.
"Come on, then," he said, "Breakfast!"
"Sure," Harry said, groggily reaching over for his glasses. Ron came sharply into focus. Harry was suddenly seized with a slight panic.
"Neville," he said, "Neville's here, isn't he?"
"No," Ron said confusedly, "He went down to breakfast."
"Oh – okay. I just...had to ask him something."
"It's not about Ginny is it," Ron said frowningly, "Because he said something about needing to apologize to her this morning...something about interrupting you."
Harry laughed, "Neville doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't worry about it."
"Oh...alright then," Ron said. He sounded relieved, but Harry thought he could also detect a little disappointment in his voice. He shrugged it off, and pulled his feet into his uniform pants.
A short while later, they were sitting at the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was obscured behind the Daily Prophet, Ginny was stabbing a grapefruit half rather viciously, and Neville was turning a Droobles Best Blowing Gum wrapper over and over in his fingers, with a melancholy expression.
"Err – everything alright?" Ron asked, eyeing his sister as though she might explode.
"Ruddy – Death Eaters – Ruddy – Prison," Ginny said, continuing to viciously murder her grapefruit.
"You'll want to read this," Hermione said, nodding at the paper even as she was reading it. Harry scanned the headline.
"Notorious Death Eaters Escape Yet Again. Ministry Infuriated and Embarrassed by Azkaban Guards."
"No need," Harry said glumly, "Suppose we know what it's about, don't we?"
"You [I]did[/I] tell Dumbledore about your vision, didn't you?" Hermione asked.
Harry realized guiltily that he probably ought to have – Dumbledore might have been able to stop the escape. Hermione look at him disapprovingly, and returned to her paper. He felt a little surge of anger towards Hermione.
He saw Neville folding the gum wrapper, and it jogged his memory.
"Err – Neville," Harry said, "I...wanted to talk to you about Luna," he said.
"Huh?" Neville said going a bit pink.
"I think I might have found her class schedule," Harry lied.
"Neville!" Ron said teasingly, "I'd no idea. Go for it, mate – saved my neck, and no mistake."
"Really, Ron!" Hermione said sharply, for Neville had gone bright red. Harry felt a bit bad for embarrassing him so badly.
"Come on," he said, flashing his eyebrows at him, hoping he'd understand, "Won't take a minute..."
Neville seemed to realize something was up, because he followed Harry out of the hallway.
"Oi! Don't you want breakfast?" Ron said, frowning, as he sat down to eggs, bacon, and toast.
"Bring me some toast to History of Magic," Harry said, "I'll eat it in back."
Harry and Neville made their way through the corridors quickly.
"Err, Harry where are we—"
"Shh," Harry said, "I'm sorry Neville, you'll find out in a minute."
Before they knew it, they were at the stone gargoyle in front of Dumbledore's office. Neville made a timid noise in the back of his throat, but thought better of it, and didn't ask any questions.
"Ice Mice," Harry whispered, and he and Neville stepped onto the stairway as it opened up.
As they arrived in the office, Professor Dumbledore was staring into his foe glass. Shadowy figures were moving about in it – Harry thought he recognized Cornelius Fudge's bowler hat flickering in the distance, but nobody was close.
"At least for now," he thought.
As though he had heard someone speaking, Dumbledore looked up, and smiled at them.
"Ah, good," Dumbledore said, "I was about to send you an OWL – I had hoped you wouldn't think it was just a dream."
"A dream?" Neville said, seeming to realize something.
"Yes, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said, smiling, "I hope I didn't intrude."
"Oh...No, not at all. Err, Headmaster," he added nervously.
"Professor will do quite nicely," Dumbledore said smilingly, "Please, have a seat," and he drew up several squashy armchairs in mid-air with his wand.
"I took the liberty," Dumbledore said, indicating a portrait near the floor of a rather portly witch eating breakfast, "Dobby?" The portrait abruptly swung open, and Dobby the house-elf emerged, carrying tray of three plates, heaped high with steaming sausages, eggs, bacon, and toast.
"Dobby!" Harry said happily, "I got your note."
"You did, sir? Oh, Dobby is most pleased!" The house elf said, nearly dropping the tray as he stifled a little hop of excitement.
"Thank you very much, Dobby," Dumbledore said kindly.
"Oh, not at all, Headmaster, not at all. Dobby is most pleased to be of service."
"Thank you, Dobby."
"Any times at all that you is hungry, sirs, just call Dobby down the kitchen, he'll take care of you. That goes for you too, friend of Harry," Dobby said, nodding at Neville.
"Yes, Dobby, thank you," Dumbledore said a bit more firmly.
"You'll be excusing me, young sirs. Headmaster!" and with a final nod of his head, which was adorned with several of Hermione's knit caps, he was out the portrait.
"Tuck in," Dumbledore said, and Harry and Neville began to eat, listening attentively.
"Well, Neville, in case you haven't surmised the purpose of our meeting here, allow me to fill you in," Dumbledore said, "Harry here – well, more specifically his [I]family[/I], are in need of a Secret Keeper."
Neville's mouth hung open – an unpleasant sight as it was partly full of scrambled eggs. "You...you want...me?" he asked of Dumbledore. He turned to Harry, befuddled, "Why?"
"Well," Dumbledore said delicately, "Harry trusts you with his life. And has," he added, "if you'll recall. Plus, you are one of Harry's friends that He Who Must Not Be Named would be less liable to suspect."
Harry noted how Dumbledore avoided Voldemort's name for Neville's sake, and was oddly touched by it.
Neville thought about this for a moment, and his face fell slightly.
"I get it," he said, "I'm a bluff. You picked me because...because nobody would ever pick me."
"No!" Harry said quickly, looking to Dumbledore for help, "It's not that –"
"It's okay," Neville said, forcing a smile to Dumbledore, "I understand. I'm ready to help."
Harry felt his insides wrench with guilt. He was asking Neville to put his life on the line to protect his, and he had managed to do it in the most hurtful way possible.
"You do understand, Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore said seriously, "The implications of this decision? It is very possible that should Voldemort—" Neville's eyes went round, "—and his Death Eaters discover that you hold this secret, they will track you down and seek to...extract this information from you. You know yourself that they will stop at nothing," Dumbledore said gently.
Neville's hand strayed to his robes pocket. He turned to look at Harry, and Harry recognized the same fire in his eyes that had emerged during their D.A. training last year.
"I won't let you down, Harry."
Harry nodded, a lump in his throat, "I knew you wouldn't. [I]That's[/I] why I chose you, Neville."
"Yeah," Neville said, grinning shyly, "That, and I'm the last person Lord...You Know Who would expect...I guess being sort of hopeless worked out in the end."
"You are far from hopeless, Mr. Longbottom," smiled Dumbledore.
"Neville –" said Harry, searching for words, "I can't – I don't know how..."
"It's alright, Harry," Neville said grinning, "I can really help this way. I want to."
Harry nodded. He hadn't expected to feel quite so much this morning. He had been so used to looking out for himself, looking out for others, that putting his life in someone else's hands had quite an affect on him.
Dumbledore closed his eyes and began muttering the words of the incantation – Harry caught Neville's name in Latin, and the word "Fidelius." Dumbledore opened his eyes and nodded at Harry. Harry leaned over to Neville, and whispered in his ear.
"Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."
Dumbledore whispered a few more words, and suddenly, Harry was blown back into his chair, and Dumbledore stumbled into his, as a wave of powerful magic ripped in concentric circles from Neville's body. Neville's plate went clattering to the floor, as he gripped the arms of his chair. He looked quite pale.
"I – is it always l-like that?" he stuttered.
Dumbledore seemed to have a look on his face that was both surprised and knowing.
"No," Harry said, simply.
"Well, gentlemen, I suppose you had better get to class," Dumbledore said, simply. They were walking towards the door, when Harry remembered something.
"Professor! Could I have one more quick word?"
"Certainly, Harry."
"I'll tell Binns you'll be late, Harry," Neville said, stepping onto the staircase.
"Thanks, Neville," Harry said walking back to the armchair.
"Yes, Harry?"
"Well, I...Look, I don't know how to say this," Harry said squirming once more with guilt, "But the night we came back to Hogwarts, in the carriage, I felt...happy. I mean, Voldemort felt happy. And I think it was because –"
Dumbledore held up a hand, and smiled, "I have read the Prophet today, Harry. And please, don't blame yourself. It was only a matter of time, really – I am surprised that it has taken this long. But I would appreciate it," he added, "If you would let me know the next time a vision like this occurs – you see now just how important it is. I would prefer even moreso," Dumbledore said, "If you could close your mind completely. The risk of Voldemort invading your mind is far greater than the benefits of invading his, especially now that he is aware you possess that ability. Be sure to remind Professor Snape of that after class today."
Harry's face fell, and Dumbledore smiled, "Remember the Sorting Hat, Mr. Potter. Try. That's all I'm asking."
Harry nodded, "Something else – you seemed...I don't know. Confused when I picked Neville."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed, "Not confused, Harry. A bit worried perhaps. You will have noticed, of course, that your choice is very similar to your father's – a choice that proved catastrophic. Neville and Peter, for all their better qualities and their faults, are both followers rather than leaders, and neither a wizard of tremendous skill."
"Neville would [I]never[/I] betray me," Harry said, surprised that Dumbledore would even suggest it.
"No, of course not," Dumbledore said, "I think you have chosen someone quite trustworthy. I only wonder whether Voldemort will call your bluff."
Harry wasn't sure what to make of this, and furrowed his brow a bit. If Dumbledore thought choosing Neville was a bad idea, he might have said something [I]before[/I] performing the Fidelius charm.
"I thought," Dumbledore continued, "If the situation changes, or we receive new inelligence that Voldemort is wise to us, perhaps you could change...but that decision also proved unfortunate for your parents," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard and staring off into space. For a while, Harry contemplated Dumbledore's face, trying to read a bit into what was running through his head. Finally he looked down at Harry as though surprised he was still there.
"You're going to be quite late, Harry!" he said, "Nevermind – just tell Professor Binns you were with me. I doubt," he said smiling wryly, "he will notice. A treasure trove of information, Professor Binns, but not terribly observant."
"Do you think I made the right choice, Professor?" Harry asked, point- blank.
Dumbledore sighed, "I wish I could tell you, Harry. But only time can tell. And speaking of time, hurry now!" he said, waving his wand at the staircase. It began to descend, and Harry trotted over.
"Thanks, Professor!" he shouted, as he sank lower and lower.
"Of course, Harry!" said Dumbledore, and Harry was left with the image of Dumbledore slowly rising out of his line of sight, as the office disappeared into the darkness of the stairway wall.
The sound of Harry's feet slapping on the stone floors echoed off the stone hallways as he ran to class. Professor Binns, Hogwarts' only ghost professor, hardly noticed when he entered the room and plowed on reading his notes, casually waving his wand at the board where the chalk scrawled of its own accord. Harry stood there awkwardly for a moment, and was just contemplating scrapping his apology and sneaking to his seat, when Binns' pearlescent frame floated in his direction, and he caught Harry's eye.
"Late again, I see!" he wheezed chalkily, "I sometimes wonder why you bother showing up at all, Mr. Potter!"
The class tittered, and Harry blushed a bit. Binns had never chewed him out quite like this...
"No cohort today?" Binns said dryly.
"Cohort? Oh –" Harry scanned the back row and found Ron giving him a mock thumbs up, as Neville blushed in embarrassment.
"No, err...Cohorts were on time today."
Binns looked up to the back row where Ron was sitting.
"Not him, you foolish boy!" he wheezed, "Young Master Black!"
Harry felt rooted to the spot. The class had gone very quiet.
"Hmmph," Binns chunnered, "No doubt up to some mischief, by the look on your face. Five points from Gryffindor for being late, and five to your miscreant friend for skivving off. And be glad it isn't more, Mr. Potter! Now up to your seat!"
Rather than walking, Harry felt he was gliding like Binns up to his chair. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and he seemed to be moving in slow motion. Sirius? What had Binns meant about Sirius? Was Sirius really a ghost at Hogwarts? But...how could that...
"Harry," Ron whispered.
He snapped out of it, and looked at Ron, who was eyeing him with a pained expression. Neville gave him a smile too, which somehow made Harry feel worse.
"It's not...he's just got it all mixed up mate," said Ron, "He thinks you're your Dad."
Harry suddenly feel with a bump back to reality. Of course. Professor Binns had been teaching God only knew how long...and he had a tendency to mix up students. The look on his face must have been awful, because Ron chucked him on the arm a bit harder than necessary and dropped a folded napkin onto his desk.
"We brought you some breakfast, Harry! Toast, and there's some bacon in between there..."
"Thanks," Harry said, shaking his head to clear away his funk, "Why do we have to take this stupid class anyway? We failed our OWL..."
"I know," Ron said, "It's a requirement. Hermione's got NEWT-level at a different time."
Harry nodded. He didn't really care at that point, but was glad the conversation had been redirected...
"Sirius is [I]dead...DEAD[/I]," he thought viciously, "and you should be paying attention."
Harry found that he was so intent on not thinking about Sirius that he completely forgot about Neville's awesome burst of power, about Secret Keepers, about Voldemort even, and launched himself into note-taking on the various developments throughout the 19th century in legislation pertaining to giants, goblins, elves and other non-human magical creatures.
After class, Hermione caught up with them in the hallway, and flipped idly through Harry's notes as he looked for his schedule in his school bag.
"Well done, Harry! I think that's the most notes you've taken in Binns class ever!"
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling a bit annoyed by her enthusiasm, "Great."
"Potions next," said Hermione, checking her schedule. Harry groaned mentally.
"Oi – that reminds me! Great news!" Ron said, beaming. Then his face fell slightly, "Well...sort of great. Sort of awful, really."
"What are you talking about Ron?" Harry asked.
"I found a loophole – well, Hermione did," Ron said, smiling at her stern glance, "Asked McGonagall this morning, after you left. I'm auditing NEWT level Potions."
"Auditing?!"
"Yeah," said Ron beaming, "Means I can take the class, only I won't get credit for it. If I get an E on the final exam this year, I can take seventh-year, NEWT level Potions for credit next year. It means one less credit for this year...that I'll have to make up...but I'll still have a shot at Auror if I ace my NEWTs!"
"That's great, Ron!" Harry said, his heart leaping in his chest. He remembered how disappointed Ron was when he hadn't gotten E's on his Potions Owl, and he caught Hermione smiling to herself out of the corner of his eye. He had to hand it to her – when she set her mind to something...
"Yeah...Great," Ron said, his smile turning slowly to a frown, "Don't suppose we could skive off our first class, eh?"
"What's that, Weasel-King? I hope you're not planning on missing Potions today...Because you know, it's my responsibility as Prefect to report any truancy to our head of House..."
Harry rolled his eyes. Great. Another charming addition to his first day of class.
"Hmm...that's funny, Harry. I could've sworn I heard the sound of a great ugly git flapping his gums, but there's only Malfoy here...How odd..."
"Hello, Draco," said Hermione briskly, "First day going alright?"
Harry and Ron stopped and stared at her. She gave them a funny warning sort of look, but Harry was mystified, and from Ron's appalled expression, so was he. Draco didn't seem much less surprised, and Crabbe and Goyle, who were, as usual, lurking behind Malfoy, had their customary befuddled scowl painted over their faces.
"Well, it [I]was[/I] going just fine," Draco said snootily, "What do you want, Granger?"
"Nothing," Hermione said, "Just making conversation."
"My left foot," Draco said eyeing her with mingled disdain and suspicion, "What are you up to?"
"[I]Nothing,[/I] Draco. We'd better go." And with that, she turned and started walking towards the Potions dungeon.
"Right..." Draco said, regaining his footing, "Right! Well, see you there then, [I]Mudblood.[/I]"
Hermione stiffened for a moment, and then kept walking. But Ron wasn't quite as forgiving, and began pushing up his sleeves slowly.
"Didn't I tell you?" he hissed. "Didn't I? Hope you're not afraid of the dark, Malfoy...'Coz I'm gonna put your lights out!"
"Ron," said Hermione quietly, as she stopped in her tracks again. Ron stared at her, cold fury written across his features.
Hermione turned abruptly and walked back to face Malfoy.
"I'm sorry I hit you in our third year, Malfoy," she said in clipped tones, "And I'm sorry if I was rude to you before."
Draco laughed out loud, "I don't need your apology, [I]Mudblood![/I]"
By now Harry felt his insides boiling as well, and he could hear Ron's teeth grinding. Just what on earth was Hermione playing at?
"Well, take it anyway. Excuse us." Hermione said, and she had to practically drag Ron away by his robes.
"You got [I]lucky,[/I] Malfoy," Harry hissed, "You better hope she sticks to Ron like glue, or you're gonna see hard days ahead."
"I'm shaking in my boots, Potty," Draco sneered, "She's got you lot well- whipped, doesn't she? Personally, I don't know how you stand the little trollop. Between her bossy attitude and the stench of her dirty blood...Tell me," Draco said leaning in close, "Do you think Weasel king has to hold his nose when they kiss?"
"HARRY!" Hermione shouted.
With supreme effort, Harry lowered his wand from Malfoy's chest, and put it back in his pocket.
"If you can't say something nice, Malfoy," Harry whispered menacingly, "[I]Run and hide.[/I]"
"[I]HARRY![/I]"
And turning on his heel, Harry didn't wait for Malfoy to come up with some snooty retort.
Harry followed Hermione into Potions to find Ron furiously attempting to light his cauldron. There was a mild conflagration as he finally ignited it, which made Harry take a jerky step backwards, for fear of singing his eyebrows.
"Really, you two!" said Hermione, "Didn't you listen to the Sorting Hat at all, this year?"
"Let me get this straight," said Ron through clenched teeth, "You think sucking up to Draco Malfoy is going to make one bit of difference?"
"All [I]I[/I] know, Ron Weasley, is what I was told! And I think that after the Sorting Hat telling us two years in a row, and Dumbledore derailing the entire Sorting Ceremony to give us a lecture—"
"It's simple, Hermione," said Ron, "He's not allowed to speak to you that way. [I]Period![/I]"
"And what business is it of yours!" Hermione said, turning red, "It's not like you're my boyfriend or anything!" and Harry slowly began backing away, "What are you, my personal knight in shining armor? Well it's wearing thin, Ron, I don't mind telling you!"
Ron's face turned white, making his ears look even redder, and Harry felt quite afraid he'd throw something in a minute.
"If you don't mind me telling you..." hissed Snape silkily from the front of the classroom, "I'd like to begin class. But by all means, take your time."
The three friends looked up abruptly to see that Snape had swooped into the classroom while Ron and Hermione were rowing, and Malfoy was seated at his typical station at the front of the classroom, smirking an oily smirk. Indeed the entire class was barely concealing grins at the duo, whose faces now resembled Hagrid's after a few pints.
"You see," Snape said, "As entertaining as your sordid love lives are, I thought I might actually teach today. Five points. Each."
Wordlessly, the trio plunked into their seats.
"If you find yourselves sitting here," Snape said, "It either means you attained an E on your OWLS..." he looked over at Ron, "Or have found some other dubious means of attending. Either way, you are probably congratulating yourself at this very moment for being one of the few, the proud – the not-so-hopelessly-idiotic..."
Harry scanned the room, and noted that there were, in fact, fewer faces. Gone were Crabbe, Goyle, a few other Slytherins, and also Neville and Dean Thomas.
"However," Snape continued, eyeing Harry now, "Patting yourself on the back might be a bit – premature. As of this moment, the workload becomes increasingly difficult. If I find that you are unable to keep up," Snape said, his eyes flicking back to Ron, "I will have to ask you to transfer out of this class, and stop wasting our time here. And I certainly shouldn't need to tell you, Mr. Potter, to have your notebook out at the beginning of class."
Harry sighed inwardly and took out his schoolbook with a barely disguised look of reproach towards the front of the classroom. He'd gotten used to Snape's unfairness by now – annoying though it was, it didn't do much to rouse his anger anymore.
Snape waved his wand at the blackboard and a series of instructions appeared there – the list seemed never-ending.
"You recall working on Forgetfulness Potions. Ah," Snape said with a smile at Ron, "That is, [I]some[/I] of you recall...I'm afraid you'll find a Draught of Remembrance far more difficult. And, should you be hoping to cheat on your exams, you'll find it quite useless. The complete Draught only allows for the permanent memorization of one fact, and as it takes precisely two hours to prepare, a month to brew, and another three hours of final preparation, I imagine you'll find your time better served by studying. Though some of you, I'm sure," he continued with a smirk, "Would find your time better served playing Quidditch."
Ron's hand trembled as he squeezed his quill, and Harry nudged him with his knee.
"You have two hours. Begin."
At the end of class, when they had finally corked their flagons and handed them in (with Snape sneering with satisfaction at Ron's noxious concoction), and all the cauldrons were cleared and cooled, the trio was quite ready to steer themselves to the Great Hall for lunch. The class stood and began quickly shoving their notebooks into their schoolbags, but—
"Mr. Potter – if I may?" Snape called.
Rolling his eyes at Ron and Hermione, Harry turned around and walked back up to the front of the class.
"Yes sir?" he said quietly. He was sure this was about Occlumency.
"I'll need to set up a time for you to continue with your Remedial Potions." He had said it quite a bit louder than was necessary, and several of the class giggled quietly behind their hands, or nudged the person next to them. Harry felt his face burning, and eyed Snape's smug smile with loathing.
Harry waited to reply until most of the people had left. Malfoy was lingering by the door, on the pretense of tying his laces.
"Malfoy!" said Snape annoyedly, "I should think that even you had mastered the ancient art of tying your shoes."
With a sneer at Potter, Malfoy swept out of the room.
Harry was mildly surprised...he had never imagined that Malfoy got on Snape's nerves as well. Perhaps Snape was only so biased towards Malfoy because he was the Slytherin mascot, in a way, and Snape was head of Slytherin House...He had to hate Malfoy's father almost as much as he had hated James...and Crabbe and Goyle's as well – it was because of them, in part, that he was risking his neck every day spying. Maybe it was all just for show – and deep down he really found Malfoy just about as repellant as everyone else did.
"And come to think of it," Harry thought to himself, "What did make you cross over to our side?"
"Well, Mr. Potter," said Snape sitting abruptly, and picking up the first flagon, "It is to my great displeasure that the Headmaster has insisted that we continue our Occlumency lessons."
As he spoke, he swished the flagon around in the light, smelled it, and then jotted down a grade and some comments on a piece of paper.
"I have told him numerous times, you'll be glad to hear, that I had absolutely no intention of working with you ever again, and that I certainly didn't want you in my Potions class. He, being," he sneered, "Who he is, basically told me that I had no choice in the matter. And so we find ourselves in a quandary," he said, interrupting his grading to stare at Harry with deepest loathing, "Neither of us wants to be here. And yet here we are."
"Old news," said Harry bruskely, "Tuesdays fine for you?"
"What's this?" Snape said with veiled sarcasm, "No pained outburst? No desperately self-pitying rage against the cruel, cruel, world?"
"Are you going to teach me, or not?"
"Cheek, Potter. Tuesday is not fine. Monday."
"Fine."
"Fine what?"
"Fine, Professor," Harry forced himself to choke out.
"Good. I will see you in my office after classes today."
"Today!" Harry cried, woundedly. He had thought that at the very least they could start next Monday.
"Ah," Snape said, smiling to himself, "Here we are then. I knew you couldn't hold off for long without mourning the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that would cause you to endure an extra hour of lessons. I was beginning to wonder whether you were ill." Snape stood up abruptly and gestured to the door.
"I will be here. Whether you arrive or not is frankly, none of my business, and I will be able to inform the Headmaster with a clean conscience that I have held up my end of the bargain. Good day, Mr. Potter."
Harry grabbed his schoolbooks and was about to storm out of the classroom, when something made him stop. Snape had mentioned the Headmaster...Harry recalled his words, and the shine of his eyes..."Try, Harry...that's all I'm asking." He realized now just how hard it had been for Hermione to treat Draco civilly. He took a deep breath.
"I'll be here, Professor. Sorry to have troubled you."
"Ah, very noble, Mr. Potter. Our young hero valiantly battles with the chimera of his own pride. It has the makings of a novel. Now leave."
Burning with fury, Harry slammed the door behind him.
