For those who are interested, the 2nd chapter of Conscienceness is up and running.
Please please please review it. Please. I may not write another chapter of it. Please please please.
Harry slowly opened his eyes.
Immediately, he was hit full on by the happy sunlight that blasted in through the window. Harry frowned.
Everything seemed different. The forest, the earth itself... had there been a magical overflow? As Harry looked out of the window, he noted that everything seemed... glad. Glad that there was a new day, glad that the white, dead blanket of snow was all part of... well, everything. Nature had its cycles. The plants did not resent the snow; it was a calm break from the constant struggle of trying to be better than its peers.
Strange.
Harry shifted position slightly, uncomfortable with the feeling within him. It was neither optimism, nor happiness... it felt warm and earthy, like soil which has seen a few hours of sunlight. It felt attached to the earth itself.
Had there been a magical explosion? It was the only way Harry could have seen so much happiness in a few square feet of earth he picked randomly from his window.
Harry stood and stretched. Placing his hands on the windowsill, he carried on looking at the sunlit grounds. There was too much to look at.
He heard the footsteps coming down the steps. However, he did not turn his head. Let Snape come down in his own time. Let him see that I'm here and well -
Well? Yes, all trace of the fever was gone. Harry rubbed his forehead, shrugged, closed his eyes and let the light coming in through the windows turn that amber-red colour only ever seen behind the privacy of eyelids. It was peaceful; it was calm. It was all he needed for the time being. He slowly tried releasing the tension from his shoulders, felt it stretch the web of muscle between neck and shoulder blade. It was not a pleasant sensation, but it was different from the stress.
"Well, well," drawled a voice behind him. Harry didn't rise to the challenge. He was feeling too calm. "Trust Harry Potter to judge when he is ready to leave the Hospital Wing."
"Fever's gone. Nausea's gone. Dizziness is gone. Why would I want to stay?"
"Because sometimes the effects of viruses hibernate."
"I don't think it was viral."
"Really." Contempt.
"Professor," said Harry, delicately biting off the word like it was something unpleasant, "Do you remember back to our Occlumency lessons? Every time, I would come from them feeling like I had come down with some sort of illness. My guess is that my body does not react too well to a mental attack."
It was the longest sentence so far. Harry didn't say anything else. The ball was in Snape's court now.
Harry could feel the contempt burning through the back of his skull, but he didn't even allow himself to tighten his knuckles on the windowsill. He had spoken everything in a bored, I-have-better-things-to-do voice, and with quite a formal use of language. Now it was Snape's move.
Harry stared resolutely out of the window. It had begun to snow again, a gentle flurry of fluffy white flakes.
"And do you know that for sure?"
Harry gave it a moment's thought.
"Yes," he said simply. He pushed himself away from the windowsill, circumnavigated Snape and hunted through his trunk for clean clothing.
"What time is it?"
"Half past eight."
He pictured Snape arching an eyebrow in his mind, and allowed himself a wry smile as he twisted his neck right around, catching a glimpse of the man's expression.
Harry glanced at the pile of presents, and decided they could wait for him. Digging out some clean clothing from his trunk, he waited until Snape had retreated upstairs again to get changed. Swinging his cloak about his shoulders, he beat a path to the outside world.
llllllllll
The world looked like an amazingly tacky Christmas Cake decoration.
The snow was powdery, glittery, and crunched underfoot. The trees, once so dark and menacing, now begrudgingly wore little mantles of stark white which gave them a comic appearance. The mountains were no longer snow-capped but snow-covered, and the castle itself looked like a quite astonishingly cheap Lego model.
The wind was totally still, and Harry didn't like that. It lent the atmosphere an insanely cheerful mood, the land a Christmas-card type of look and the air a strangely dead quality. There were surprisingly few sounds; few bird calls, not very many animal noises... Harry didn't like it. The happiness in the air seemed to have become slightly tainted. There seemed to be no… solemnity.
Still. Whatchagonnado.
Harry retreated back inside. The cool air had slapped some sense of reality back, and he returned to the Common Room.
llllllllll
Harry dumped his cloak and hooked his foot around the nearest present. It was for him and bore Ron's scruffy handwriting. It was quite large, and very heavy.
Don't open this in company, the label read. This stuff isn't on the market yet. Fred and George say hi...
Harry carefully slit open the paper with a poker for the fire. He found a handsomely carved wooden box. He cracked open the lid carefully, shut it even more so and very gingerly placed the box on the floor below him. Dear God, that box probably had enough explosives, practical joke equipment and prank stuff to blow the roof off of Hogwarts.
He checked the next present. It was from Hermione. He weighed it speculatively. It was book-shaped. This did not bode well...
He slowly slit the paper down the side, and slid out a plain-covered book. Opening the first page, his eyes stared.
How to become an Animagus, it read. Harry closed the cover and placed it next to Ron's present. Were all of his gifts going to be illegal?
Evidently not. Mrs Weasley's were a black jumper with a single white lightning bolt down the left arm, and a stack of home-made mince pies. Harry grinned and pulled the jumper over his head, feeling the static making his hair stick up even more.
Hagrid's present turned out to be rock cakes and a satchel made out of some strange, flexible, silvery-blue material. Harry prodded it carefully. When it failed to move, snap, bite or in any other way attempt to remove a limb, Harry deemed it safe to investigate. There was a note tucked into the bag:
Harry
This bag is made from the skin of a Swedish Short-Snout dragon skin (witch died of old age), with a bit of Augury feather powder aded. This means it shoud be protected agenst asid, fire, water and ink. Think you mite need it for seventh year!
Hagrid
Harry was impressed. His dragonskin gloves had been dear enough. How much had this cost?
The only other feasible explanation was that Hagrid knew the location of a Short-Snout that had died and had... well, it was plausible. Occasionally the school needed dragon-based supplies.
Harrygrinned and set the gift aside. There were a couple more left, which contained the usual sweets from some of his classmates.
Harry turned back to his pile, and noticed something he had missed.
It was a white muggle envelope with his name on the front. Interested, he slit it open with a finger and pulled out the white sheet of A4 paper inside, folded into thirds.
Boy, you'd better bloody well stay at that freak school this Christmas. We don't want you back, not now, not ever. If it wasn't that you have those freaks protecting you we'd kick you out right now. We want you to stay out of our lives until you have to return to our house. We had a visit from one of you people a few days ago, and we have NEVER been so embarrassed. This is all your fault, boy, and you'd better bloody recognise it. Tell your kind to stay away from my family and away from my house. I don't give a damn about Dementoids or Voldymort. You just stay away.
Harry stared at the letter in shock for several seconds. The sheer vitriol with which it had been written came something as a surprise to Harry, who had not expected to hear from the Dursleys. Normally, Harry could let such talk go straight over his head, but the fact it had been sent on Christmas... and the hatred behind the letter was unmistakable. It was meant, with every cruel word and taunting phrase.
Harry kept his face steady, and doubled his grip on the paper. He brought his knees up to his chest, and stared as hard as he could out of the window. This made him feel worse, so he stared at the wall opposite, breath calming.
Tears blurred his vision, and he buried his face in his knees, trying desperately to regain some composure.
A lump rose in his throat, and he recognised it. It was an oooooooold friend. He'd felt it quite a few times before.
No-one wants me, it said. I'm just a distraction. I'm not needed. All I need to do is kill Voldemort, then I won't exist. My purpose is over as a human being. Everyone else gets to choose their own destinies, or else fate takes care of it for them. Me, I have to commit murder in cold blood in order to save the millions of gallons of warm blood around the globe. Once I've done that, or failed, I have nothing left.
Through this, Harry allowed himself a wry smile. He'd turned into a typical angstly teen. Hooboy.
He raised his face a little, and cleared his face in concentration.
...lock all the memories away, lock the emotion away in a little box and store it away... make sure he will not have to look it in the face... it can wait, HE rules his emotions, not the other way around, he is weak, he will not wear his heart on his sleeve like Snape has said so many times before...
Harry shook his ahead a little to clear it, feeling better already. He tossed the letter indifferently aside, and glanced at the stairs... Snape was coming down them, engrossed in a thick letter.
Snape finished reading it and looked at a vivid green parcel under the tree somewhat suspiciously.
"It won't open itself," drawled Harry, sounding to his own ears a bit like Draco Malfoy. "I daresay Mrs. Weasley has forgone the usual jumper, in your case."
Snape's eyes slid with distaste over the black one Harry was wearing. It wasn't as knobbly as it usually was, but it still bespoke Weasleyness with every stitch.
Harry looked pointedly at the parcel, and back to Snape's face.
The thought came to him as calmly as you please.
Snape isn't used to opening presents.
Harry made no outward movement to show his surprise. Master actor as Snape was, Harry recognised touches of unease in Snape's demeanour and in the way he slowly slit the green paper down the side and let it fall to the floor.
It was a fairly regal black leather cloak. Harry raised his eyebrows, thoroughly impressed.
It was plain, without trimming or any kind of adornment, which was unusual for a cloak. It seemed quite heavy, and he saw as Snape stood up and tried it on that it had a black lining of some kind of silky material.
"I'm impressed," said Harry frankly. "You know you're not a real member of the Order until Mrs Weasley sends you a Christmas gift."
Snape shot Harry a look of vitriol, leaving Harry wondering what he said wrong. He said the thought out loud.
"I did not ask for commentary," said Snape silkily, taking the cloak off again.
Harry allowed himself a smile as he turned to pick up his letter. Moving towards the fire, he was about to throw it in when -
Pop.
Dobby flung himself at Harry.
"Merry Christmas, sir! Merry Christmas!"
Harry lay gasping for breath on the ground as the elf hugged him tightly about his neck, and then released him. Harry sat himself up and risked a glanced at Snape, who had a single eyebrow raised.
Harry reached into his trunk and pulled out three presents.
"Ron, me and Hermione."
Dobby's eyes filled with tears, and he produced a carefully wrapped package as well. Harry opened it suspiciously to find a pair of gloves; one red, and one black. Harry pulled them on for Dobby's sakes, and the House elf broke into a huge smile.
"Dobby must return to the kitchens, sir!" squeaked the elf. "Merry Christmas Harry Potter!"
"They're great, Dobby. Er, Merry Christmas."
Dobby disappeared with a crack.
Harry stood up, brushed himself down, removed the gloves and threw them onto his trunk lid.
Snape was still staring at him.
"It's a long story," mumbled Harry, turning red.
"Indeed."
Harry turned away. He heard the rustling sounds of paper being discarded, and an empty silence. Harry reread the Dursley's letter. Strangely enough, it didn't hurt him anymore. He had channelled all the hurt and anger into a box inside him, and in the box it would stay. It was controllable. He was controllable.
His eyes scanned the letter. It seemed more ridiculous, more flustered than venomous now.
There was the sound of rustling again, but Harry didn't risk a glance upwards. His silence would betray him of course, but... never mind.
Hell, it was Christmas.
What's Next: Chapter 21
Harry lowered his hands, and stared into the sky as the realisation poured into him. He gave the evening sky quiet contemplation for a moment, then stood up, and smiled.
It was the brilliant smile of a boy who has just been given the gift he'd always wanted. He had, in a sense; he'd just been granted what he'd wanted for so long. He'd just been granted insanity.
pureinsanity: Yes, to answer your question.
Athena Keating-Thomas: I'm not a depressive, and I don't take classes (thank God about the depressive bit, at least). I'm just good at visualising, I guess.
Oh, yes,m shiny gold star... I'd like to thank...
Okay. Less speeches, more replies.
I'm glad you think I've expressed these things well. It makes for a happy writer. : )
Yes, on hindsight it may have been more IC to have Snape follow Harry at a distance... but I prefer to have Harry on his own, and besides, when it comes to writing things, I'm not particularly logical. Downside of a good imagination.
I haven't real 'The Fall' - I'm currently finishing 'I Am Legend' by Richard Matheson and starting 'The Shrinking Man', swiftly followed by thesix Stephen Kings I got recently. I'll try to make room for it.
Mind control potions... yeeeeeessss... could make for an interesting subplot... a form of cannabis, perhaps, to make Harry let his guard down? Or just cinnamon? Hmmm...
Shadowed Rains: cut you off? Evil scum of the earth, grr.
Snape's little soliloquays are fun to write... best part of Conscienceness, actually. And you can NEVER be too philosophical.
ShadowedHand: Poeticism, hmmm. Fun fun.
The mud may last a while, but it WILL come to an end.
And I hope you had a very Merry Chrimbo too.
Leggylover03: Reaction will be fun...
chip: Snape is naturally cranky. Fun, isn't it?
SapphirePhoenix: Well done!! Parades and trumpets!!