Rated
R for swearing, violence, and suicide (and/or suicide-related
issues). If this offends anyone, don't read. Thought I'd add that I
own nadda. All characters, names and related indicia are property of
J.K. Rowling. I am merely trying to share some of her goodness in a
non-illegal way. :)
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Chapter 9: Surprise
Occlumency
Hermione had left the Hospital Wing to tackle
her Transfiguration essay, apologizing up and down for leaving
Harry.
"I'm so sorry, Harry...I know you probably want
some time alone...but I really shouldn't be leaving you like
this..."
Harry's stomach had sunk like a stone. So that's
why she'd been staying with him all day...just to make sure he didn't
harm himself again.
"No, it's OK," Harry had said,
waving away her apologies with his hand. "You go on...I know how
important your schoolwork is to you...I'll sleep or
something..."
Hermione had given him a careful hug. "Take
it easy. I won't say anything to Ron about this, OK? I'll leave that
to you...whenever you feel ready."
Harry had watched her
go. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly. Wow. He had
never ever thought that she would be that intimate with him. Of
course, it wasn't attraction that had made her cuddle up with him for
hours...it was Hermione feeling guilty. He knew she wouldn't say
anything to Ron, and that made him feel a little better.
He
couldn't endure Ron's questions, the look he was so sure that Ron
would give him if he ever knew that Harry...well, what a true freak
Harry really was. Ron just didn't get it. He was his friend, but he
also had a streak in him that Harry had never gotten over. Like the
time during the Triwizard Tournament when he'd chosen to believe
everyone else in thinking that Harry was just trying to butt in on
Cedric's fame...that had hurt Harry beyond measure...
Hermione
was his friend too, and she was genuinely concerned about
him...right? Harry knew she wouldn't have done what she did if he'd
gotten hurt any other way...say in a Quidditch match. She'd only
stayed with him because...it was only because he'd...
Harry's
feelings of embarrassment and anger filled him once more. God. How
could he have been so stupid not to see the attack coming? He'd known
something was up the minute he'd walked into the Great Hall the
previous morning, but did he do anything about it? No, he had not.
He'd brought this upon himself and it was his own fault. He couldn't
stop anything. Couldn't protect anyone.
Except Hermione.
He'd
promised himself that he wouldn't utter a word about what the
Slytherin's had done. Hermione was too precious to risk getting hurt.
He could never let anything happen to her...nobody would forgive him
if he failed to do so. He would never forgive himself...he wouldn't
know what to do with himself. Draco's threat still rang freshly in
his ears. He gripped the blankets tightly to stop his hands from
shaking. He would kill him. One day, somewhere, he didn't care. He
would stand over Malfoy's body and laugh. Just the vision of it made
him relax a little. His bruises ached terribly.
Harry didn't
know anymore. Whenever he tried to tell himself that his friends
cared about him, Vernon's voice in the back of his head would speak
for him, answer for him..."You do know why they dump you
here, don't you boy? Because they hate you. If they cared about you,
you wouldn't be here now, would you? You wouldn't be here clogging my
house with your stench, your filth, your abnormality, your
worthlessness..."
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry
started. He hadn't heard anyone come in.
Professor McGonagall
stood at the foot of his bed. "Didn't you hear me calling
you?"
Harry timidly shook his head. "No,
professor...sorry."
The woman looked at him almost
irritably and walked round to the chair where Hermione previously
sat. Harry noticed she looked older somehow...much older than she had
ever looked before.
"Are you all right?" Harry
asked.
McGonagall chuckled softly and looked at the boy before
her with a slight glow in her eyes. "I'm perfectly fine, Potter,
don't worry," she replied. "I'm just...very tired. Ever
since last year I haven't been quite myself...but never you mind.
I've been to the Order and back three times today, and Flooing that
much for a woman of my age can be trying..."
Harry knew
she was really talking about her episode that had landed her in St.
Mungo's last year. His hate for Umbridge flared once again.
"You've
been to the Order?" Harry asked quietly. "Is there
something wrong? Where's Voldemort?"
McGonagall eyed him
dangerously. "He's lying low now that the Wizarding community
has been informed of his whereabouts," she replied, rolling her
eyes. Harry assumed that that was on Cornelius Fudge's behalf.
McGonagall cleared her throat. "The real reason I'm here,"
she went on. "Is to let you know that in light of recent events,
your detentions with Argus Filch are henceforth disbanded."
Seeing the fleeting happiness in Harry's eyes, she added, "But
do not think you're getting off lightly about that little stunt with
Malfoy, Potter, because if you do, you are sorely mistaken. The
Headmaster meant every word he said."
"Yes,
Professor," Harry replied.
His teacher was looking him
over. Harry blushed. He needed to divert her attention. "So...how's
everyone in London?"
"Potter..."
There
was silence. Harry's throat began to tighten painfully and he was
suddenly horrified. He couldn't have the urge to cry now...why
now? Why was McGonagall making him want to start bawling all over
again?
The old woman shifted in her chair. "May I
ask...can you please tell me what happened?"
Harry went
numb. Hermione couldn't be harmed. "Nothing happened," he
lied. "I fell down the stairs." Merlin's beard, is that
the best excuse you can come up with?
McGonagall was
apparently thinking along the same lines. Her eyebrows rose
skeptically. "You fell down the stairs and ended up in a third
floor corridor with no stairs in sight. That's how it
went?"
Harry's thoughts were racing. "I fell down
the stairs and then started walking a bit...then everything went
black..."
"You passed out?"
"Yes."
"Those
are quite large bruises, Potter, from what Madame Pomphrey tells me.
Some of them look like they're weeks old."
"Do
they?" Harry's throat was dry. No, that is my secret. You
will never find out about that. No one knows except me...no one is
allowed to know. He wished she would go away.
Professor
McGonagall looked at him sadly. "Potter, whoever did this to you
will be expelled if you tell us who. That's all you need to do."
"I
told you!" Harry said loudly, gritting his teeth. "No one
did this. No one! I'm fine! Why does everyone ask me so many
questions?" He turned over in his bed and bit his bottom lip to
stop the tears. Behind him, McGonagall sighed. Stood up.
"I
can see you aren't in the mood to talk," she snapped. "But
sooner or later we will find out, Potter, for your own good
and for the good of the other students in this school. You are being
very childish. Perhaps I will send someone else up...or I'll come
back later. Either one. I am really not in the mood for this. Good
day."
Harry waited until she had left the room before he
sat up. Cried out in pain. His muscles were so stiff...his bruises
were so tender...but he didn't care. He wasn't going to stay there a
minute longer. One more interrogation and he might just blow up.
Nobody could ever find out.
He hated the Dursley's. He hated
them with every fibre in his aching body. He shook as he slowly
started dressing himself back into in his school robes. Why did they
do that to him, why? Ever since he was three they had started
hurting him... This was a secret he would take with him to the grave.
His Uncle had always told him not to tell. If anyone asked questions,
he was to say he'd fallen down the stairs. And that's how it went. If
he misbehaved, he would pay the price. If he trekked water or mud
through the house, if he burned the breakfast or the lunch or the
dinner, if he talked back, if he made Dudley mad, if he screamed in
the night, if he cried, if he talked out of turn, if his Uncle was
merely bored, if he ate too much one night, if he didn't get his
chores done...he would pay the price. And all those years he had
never told anyone.
Harry silently left the Hospital Wing.
Madame Pomphrey would be livid when she discovered the empty
bed.
-------
Harry limped down the corridors and held
onto walls for support when he thought he was going to fall over. It
was getting ready to storm outside. Apart from Hannah Abbott, who was
startled to see him limping so badly, and a seventh year Gryffindor,
he met no one on his trek back to the Tower, until, when he wasn't
far from the portrait hole...
"Potter!"
Harry
groaned as he recognized the voice. He was too tired and pissed off
to turn around, so he simply...kept walking. A rumble of thunder
tumbled through the sky as rain pounded on stone.
Footsteps.
"Potter!"
Harry hissed. Stopped walking. Waited for
the inevitable. He was actually surprised that Snape would even
bother to come up into the light just to seek him, the bane of his
existence, out. Snape was a bloody vampire as far as Harry was
concerned.
The boy turned around and leaned against a stone
pillar because his legs were about to give out on him. He would have
preferred just to collapse on the floor, but he didn't trust Snape
any farther than he could throw him; and he certainly wouldn't be
caught sleeping in the corridors.
---
Snape
had checked the damn Hospital Wing. Potter hadn't been there. He'd
harassed Pomphrey to no end, and when she had scuffled out to point
him to the bed that the boy supposedly was in, she just stared at it,
utterly flabbergasted. Apparently none of her patients had ever "run
away" before. And then she had had the audacity to yell at him
about her late order of Calming Draught.
She had yelled. At
him.
Snape was pissed. He couldn't believe that he was
bothering to come up into the light to seek Potter, the bane of his
existence, out. He was a bloody vampire, as far as he was concerned.
Although blood wasn't really his thing. He had blood, oh yes, bottles
and bottles of it in his private stores, but he'd never wondered what
it tasted like.
What the hell am I thinking about blood
for?
He didn't dare check the library. He and Madame Pince
weren't exactly on good terms since he'd accidentally destroyed one
of her best potion books when he was in his sixth year. The ruddy
woman held grudges that lasted centuries. Besides, he couldn't see
Potter actually taking time to study, so he went on.
If I
was Potter...where would I be?
Out breaking rules?
Sneaking into Hogsmeade and getting away with it? Battling mountain
trolls in the girls' loo? He shook his head and brushed a lock of
black hair out of his eyes as he neared the spot where the Gryffindor
Tower entrance was.
Ah, there was the little brat.
Snape's
eyes widened slightly as he stood and watched the boy stumble down
the corridor. Twice he looked like he was going to fall. He'd
resulted to gripping the walls now. He looked like he was drunk.
Snape snarled, suddenly furious.
"Potter!"
The
boy had certainly heard him. But he kept trudging. The insolent
little...! He would have to remember to deduct twenty house points
for his cheek. Snape began walking after him. "Potter!"
The
boy had stopped. Wise choice. Snape curled his lip.
"Where
were you?"
Harry's brow furrowed. "What?"
"Occlumency!"
Snape almost shouted. "You didn't show up, Potter! I told you on
Friday night to come to my room round noon. You weren't
there."
Potter looked incredulous. "I was in the
Hospital Wing, sir."
"That is absolutely no excuse!
You're up blundering through the school now, are you not?"
The
boy looked as though he wanted to murder him. Snape bared his teeth
in response. "Wait," Potter said suddenly. "You never
told me on Friday that we had Occlumency today. When did you say
that?"
Potter did not just say that. Snape was
rendered quite speechless. It must have been the wine talking to his
brain on Friday night as he marked those sodding essays. Perhaps he
really didn't tell the boy after all. Wait, that would mean that he'd
made a mistake. He hated making mistakes. He stared at the boy's
face, awed by the level of calm and carelessness in it. Potter was
asking for it.
"You must have had your memory jogged when
you fell down the stairs," Snape sneered, thinking
quickly (he hoped). He immediately felt a wave of bitterness wash
over him and wondered why the hell whoever was in charge up in the
sky had decided to torture him by placing him in the midst of this
snotrag of a child.
Potter suddenly looked very uncomfortable.
Snape's heart sang with victory. "Well," the boy said. "Did
you...are you here to...is Occlumency still on?"
"I
feel a coma coming on," Snape hissed. "I gather my
attention span, when in the company of one such as yourself or Mr.
Longbottom, suffers greatly if what needs to be said isn't said
directly and to the point. Yes, Potter, Occlumency is still on,
thanks to your dear Headmaster. Now, if you would follow me and soil
my classroom further, we will begin."
-------
Harry
was terrified. He hadn't been expecting Occlumency so soon into the
year. And with all that had happened...he desperately hobbled after
Snape as the man billowed down the hallways and out into the Entrance
Hall. Then he thought, of course, he should have expected Occlumency
this soon into the year, now that Voldemort was back. Wow. Was his
ability to think straight deteriorating along with the rest of his
mentality?
A
group of first year Slytherins passed by and with a stab of
realization, Harry yearned that he wouldn't run into Malfoy while
wandering about the dungeons.
The Entrance Hall wasn't packed,
thank goodness. A few people stopped to stare at Harry as he tried to
shamble his way behind the potions master with as much dignity as he
could muster, and was grateful enough to enter the cool of the
dungeon staircase that he breathed a sigh of relief.
Snape led
the way, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. He desperately
hoped that none of the Slytherins would see him in the company of
this sodding Gryffindor, and was almost remotely happy when he
reached the door to his classroom without meeting a single
soul.
Snape lit the candles and torches in the room with a
flick of his wand. He turned and conjured a log for the dying fire,
and soon got it roaring. Sometimes even he felt a little chilly down
there.
"You do have your wand with you, don't you
Potter?" he said smoothly as he whirled around slowly to look at
the boy. Potter rummaged in a pocket and his wand appeared, much to
Snape's distaste. He really was not looking forward to wasting a
perfectly good day with this child.
Harry was looking at him defiantly. A challenge?
"What are you looking at, Potter?"
"Nothing."
Damn him.
Snape faced the boy suddenly and, not waiting for Potter to get ready, he raised his own wand and said, "Legilimens!"
Harry only had time to cry out, "Hey!" before the spell had hit him. No mind-clearing, nothing. Great. He suspected that this was Snape's way of spying for McGonagall, and his hatred escalated. Unless...
Harry was in the middle of a large group of Dudley's friends in a vandalized park, all were laughing at him...Hermione was curling up beside him on his hospital bed, tears streaming down her cheeks...A smirking Malfoy was backing away from him, talking to him as he leaned up against a dungeon wall...
Harry screwed up his face. He desperately did not want Snape seeing all this, even the memories he'd gotten the pleasure of viewing the previous year...Harry tried. His mind was flashing with pictures.
Harry was crawling under his bed in Privet Drive, terrified, as the door to his bedroom burst open...Ron was accusing him of keeping secrets...the razor blade was in his hands...Sirius was falling through the veil...
No, you can't see this! These memories are...mine...
Harry could see Snape standing before him, silhouetted black against the fire. He raised his own wand and cried, "Expelliarmus!"
Snape's wand flew from his hands and hit the wall behind Harry. Harry's mind stopped flashing and he clutched his head in his hands, biting his bottom lip so fiercely he was drawing blood. He would not cry. He wouldn't! He wouldn't' dare shed a tear in the presence of Snape...
But now it was his turn. Images that were not his were playing in front of his eyes.
Snape was yelling at Dumbledore across the table in Grimmauld Place...a man in a black cloak was kneeling at the feet of Lord Voldemort...Snape was seizing potion bottle after potion bottle and hurtling them at the wall after a dark-haired boy who was running from his office...
"Potter, stop it!"
Harry wouldn't show emotion in front of Snape. Easier said than done. S
nape cleared his throat, his eyes bright with anger. "You're embarrassed."
"You gave me no time! Why didn't you give me any time?"
"You didn't want me seeing any of those memories, did you?"
"You're sadistic."
Well, yeah...
"Potter, as I've said before, when facing a foe who decides to pry into your thoughts you won't have any time. I was merely trying to see how you would cope." He could push Potter's buttons too in the process, he added, as an afterthought.
Yeah, right. Harry raised his head. His face was blank. He studied his potions master for a moment. "You're angry," he determined.
"Of course I am, Potter."
The boy looked like he was going to cry. Snape was horrified. "I have a few questions to ask you, if I may." Since when did he start being polite?
Potter's shoulders slumped and he sat himself down on a chair. His muscles were crying out in pain. Harry knew this was bound to happen anyway, and said nothing.
Snape wanted to be sick. This was certainly a change from the things he'd seen in Harry's head the year before. He didn't know where to start. "You haven't been practicing, have you?"
Potter shook his head.
"Can you tell me why?"
The boy looked up at him, startled. "I, uh...I haven't really...had much...chance to, er...clear my mind, sir."
"No?"
"Too much going on..."
Snape groaned in frustration. "Potter, why do you think you are here, for god's sake? Do you think, if you wind up in the presence of the Dark Lord again, that there won't be too much going on? Occlumency is achieved in some of the most straining environments, Potter! The Dark Lord will not willingly step aside for a moment while you take your bloody sweet time to get yourself together. This is what I am desperately trying to get through your head."
He tried to get around that swollen thing in his mouth that was called a tongue. Teaching the boy Occlumency was, he was willing to bet, the hardest thing he had ever had to do while at Hogwarts. Perhaps the boy just didn't want to learn, and took joy in knowing that he was depriving Snape of an evening's worth of free time...
What was he talking about? He had no free time.
Anyway, he had had enough. Clearly this boy had issues, but until he was ready to talk them out, Snape wasn't going to bother wasting time trying to pry anything out of Potter. He also wasn't going to utter a single thing to Minerva, either. Some things were better kept out of staff meetings, and Harry's thoughts were a topic he would rather not discuss with his colleagues. He was just opening his mouth to dismiss the boy, and was terrified to see tears leaking down his face. Oh sweet Merlin, not now.
"Professor," Harry said, his voice raspy. "I'm sorry for looking in your Pensieve last year."
Whoa. Take that, Snape.
"Not now," the man hissed.
"At least say you except my apology."
"Potter, I said not now. I am very drained and if I have to sit here any longer discussing my memories with you, I might very well expel my breakfast."
Harry looked crestfallen, then suddenly livid. He picked up his wand and threw Snape a filthy look before storming from the classroom.
Snape put his head in his hands.
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