Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
This chapter dedicated to Claire the Lurker Poet. ;)
Harry Potter and the Spirits Within
by Maven Cree (aka Gates)
Chapter Five: More Than Words. Stare As Long As You Like
Breakfast was a silent affair; at least for the famous trio of Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron each had wanted to say something, but what was there to say? A thought would come, one would open their mouth, and the thought would fly away. They would look at each other, then at Harry seated across from them, then back to their respective meals.
They had followed Harry not long after he'd left the dungeon room. He hadn't said a word to either of them, or even acknowledged their presence. He'd simply grabbed his Firebolt and headed out to the Quidditch pitch.
The Argumentum charm had taken so long that the Quidditch games were long over. The pitch was empty save for the setting rays of sunlight. Harry took to the skies and flew.
And flew.
And flew.
He flew till they could no longer see him, then the rushing of his broom back and forth was the only thing that let them still know he was still there. Three hours later, he landed. He walked past where they'd been sitting, a courtesy, they supposed.
Again, they followed him in silence back to the Gryffindor tower, where he retired.
The silence of the uncomfortable breakfast was broken with a sudden crash. Errol, the Weasley family's owl had landed in a bowl of apples tipping it over. The owl blinked in a dazed manner then passed out completely. Ron poked him, shaking his head, and once he was assured that the owl was still breathing, he retrieved the letter that was still clutched in its claws.
Reading the letter, Ron let out a groan, which caught Ginny's attention.
"What is it?"
"Percy's moved out."
"What?" George asked from two seats down.
"Percy's moved out. Mum says he left last night to take a Ministry flat near work."
"Does she say why?" Fred asked.
Ron shook his head.
"We know why," George muttered, just loud enough for the Weasleys plus two, to hear.
Harry's fork clinked loudly onto his plate. He was looking rather pale but before anyone could question, he picked up his bag and headed for the exit.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other momentarily before grabbing their own books and shadowing after their friend.
*~*~*~*~*
Sirius looked into the viewing cauldron. The person waiting on the other side of the door wasn't whom he'd been expecting.
He'd asked Professor McGonagall if she would direct Harry to go and see him after his Transfiguration class; his last course before lunch. But the person waiting on the other side of the door was decidedly not a fifteen-year-old boy.
He swallowed and removed the wards, as she was not keyed to them.
"Arabella? I wasn't expecting you."
"If this is an inconvenient time…"
"It is… I mean… It's not… I mean… I'm… I'm expecting Harry."
The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher nodded. "I see. Well, I'll only be a minute…" She paused. "…Was it… very bad, Sirius?"
"If the Dursley's weren't already locked up…"
"They'll get their's in time. …Can't believe how much that boy's grown…"
"Yeah… Er… Arabella…?"
"Oh! Yes. My reason for coming. Albus mentioned that you were working with blocking charms?"
"How to block blocking charms, yes."
"Yes, well, I have a book that I thought might be of some use." She withdrew a book from her pocket, no bigger than an egg. It was just as thick however, leading Sirius to believe…"
"It's too big to carry in its original size."
Sirius nodded reading the tiny writing on the cover: Proofreading: Finding Weak-points in Common Spells.
Arabella shrugged. "I figured if you can find a pattern in there, it might help with the heavier spells."
"Thank you," Sirius said. "Really, this should help us greatly."
She nodded again, and there was an uncomfortable silence.
"Well, I'd… best be off then." She turned and began to walk away.
"Arabella…"
"Yes?"
"…Th--Thank you."
"All for the cause," she smiled and then left the Order's chamber.
Sirius closed and re-warded the door to his chambers. He let out a deep breath.
*~*~*~*~*
Percy Weasley stared at the scroll in front of him. He had re-read the same line six times and could still not tell you what it had said.
That had been uncomfortable, he thought.
Ten minutes earlier, Arthur Weasley had stopped by his desk en route to see Crouch's replacement, Kalvin Smeeg.
They'd properly discussed the necessary requirements for polite conversation: the weather, work and home. All done with extreme civility.
And then there had been nothing.
Percy made some casual remark about having to finish reading a report on International Dragon-Hide Regulations. Arthur made his excuse about being not keeping Mr. Smeeg waiting.
And it had ended there.
Percy sighed and tried reading the line again. This time, he was interrupted by an owl fluttering in and landing on the stack of books on his desk. The brown bird was obviously a Hogwarts owl, even if you couldn't see the Hogwarts collar it wore. Hogwarts owls had a certain… look about them.
He retrieved the envelope from the owl's beak and tore open the Hogwarts seal.
Dear Mr. Weasley,
I would like to discuss the unpleasantness that was left between us.
If you could find the time to stop by the school, I would greatly appreciate it.
Until then,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster, HSWW
Percy scowled and balled up the creamy parchment. He tossed it into his empty out-tray. Pointing his wand at it, he set the thing on fire. He pulled out a fresh leaf of blank parchment and a quill, and with careful penmanship wrote:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Kindly sod off.
Percy WeasleyMinistry of Magic,
Department of International Cooperation
"Not many'd have the bludgers to write a letter like that to Albus Dumbledore."
Percy looked up and over his shoulder towards the low voice.
Gadrian Kern, a co-worker in the IC Department, had stopped behind him, his arms full of long scrolls.
"You're not actually going to send that, are you?"
"I don't see what business that is of yours," Percy replied, rolling up his response. He tied it to the owl's leg and sent the bird on its way. Kern observed Percy with an eyebrow raised in intrigue.
"Well, Weasley, I suppose there's something to you after all."
"Am I supposed to be flattered, Kern?"
The sandy haired man, ignored the comment.
"So what's the old bird done to set you off?"
"Old bird?"
Kern leaned in.
"You're not the only one not exactly a fan of the old headmaster," he said quietly. "So what's he done?" Kern leaned against Percy's desk.
Percy gave the man a searching look.
After a minute, he shrugged. "I don't know what he's done, exactly. Except for what he's always done. Sticking that great crooked, nose where it doesn't belong."
"He's asking something of you?"
"He's manipulating my family, somehow. Got them wrapped around his wand, he has. I don't know what he's doing to them, but they're blocking me out."
"I told him what I thought to his face. The knackered old fool as much as admitted it to me. But he still won't say what's going on. He's just sent me an olive branch," Percy said pointing at the smouldering letter.
"And you've swatted him over the arse with it."
Percy smirked. "I suppose you could say that."
"I heard of that little row the two of you had."
This time it was Percy who raised an eyebrow.
"It's not everyday Dumbledore gets a dressing down form a former Head Boy, you know. My sister's in her seventh year. She told me about it, though… the details were rather sparse."
"And you're dying to hear the rest."
"A little extreme, but I wouldn't be opposed… been wanting to tell off the ole' coot for years, myself."
Percy seemed lost in thought.
"Taken lunch yet?"
Percy shook his head. "Not yet. Wasn't really planning to today."
"Come now! Second most important meal of the day! There's a little place 'round the bend. People mind their own, down there."
"So, should I find myself with the sudden urge to say anything against the illustrious Albus Dumbledore, I needn't worry."
This time it was Kern who smirked. "Well, let's just call it a safety. Come on Weasley, I'll buy."
"I don't need charity," Percy said sharply.
Kern held his hand up defensively.
"None intended. Newly on your own, you can't be eating all that well."
"What are you on about Kern? Have you been watching, me?"
"Let's just say, you're a little more interesting than I'd first thought. Not easy to find friends who share certain… potentially confrontational view points…"
Percy took off his glasses and cleaned them on his robes before resetting them.
"…Just round the bend you say?"
Kern nodded.
"All right."
"Good," Kern said, straightening up. "Just let me drop these on my desk."
Percy grabbed his cloak intending to follow. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Percy."
"Father?"
Arthur Weasley looked from his son to the man standing behind him.
"Heading out? I was… hoping we could talk."
"Unless you've changed your position Father, I don't think we have anything to talk about."
It was obvious this comment hurt the elder Weasley. He looked over to Kern.
"I, er… didn't know that you and Mr. Kern were… friends."
Percy shrugged into his cloak.
"I'm afraid there's much you don't know about me, Father," he said. He turned and followed Kern, stopping after a few steps.
"Tell Mother I said hello," he requested, over his shoulder, then continued without waiting for a response.
*~*~*~*~*
Harry sat stonily in the in the soft chair. He refused to meet his godfather's eyes. He refused to speak. It had been ten minutes. Sirius was digging his fingers into his palms in an attempt to remain calm.
He'd known it wouldn't be easy to get Harry to talk (the boy had Lily's stubbornness in spades), so he'd started off light.
Quidditch. Always a subject of enthusiasm for both of them. He'd asked Harry how the team was shaping up, and more poignantly, how Ron was doing. Harry's best friend had been placed in the Gryffindor team's Keeper position, left vacant by Oliver Wood two years earlier. Sirius, in dog form had accompanied Remus down to watch the tryouts a few weeks before. Ron had been brilliant. Not a single Quaffle was allowed by him. No one else had even come close in the tryouts. Natural talent was key of course, but he was also helped along by an early Christmas present he'd received, surprisingly from Fred and George.
A second hand Nimbus 2000.
Harry had scoffed to Sirius about how he was affronted that a Nimbus 2000 could be considered 'second hand'. He loved his Firebolt with all his soul, but there would always be a warm place in his heart for the broomstick that had first lead him to Quidditch victory.
Harry told him that Ron and the team were still doing fantastically. It was difficult to squeeze in Quidditch practice along with all their homework and other training, but somehow they were managing. Their hectic schedules were made somewhat easier by the fact that the first match of the season (which would be held that coming Saturday), was Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. The first Gryffindor match (against Hufflepuff), wasn't until the end of November. They would have more time to practice.
They fell into a comfortable silence and Sirius felt there probably wouldn't be a better time for him to try to get Harry to talk.
He couldn't imagine things being more difficult. As casual as Harry had been only minutes before, that was as ridged as he was now.
"Harry, please. I know you don't want to talk about this, but you can't just keep things like this inside. It'll eat you alive."
Harry turned his head so quickly that Sirius started.
"Fine," he said. "You start then. Tell me about Azkaban."
The animagus went momentarily pale. He drew his mouth into a tight angry line.
"This isn't about me," he said steadily.
"Why not? Can't keep things like that inside Sirius. It'll eat you alive."
"For your information Harry, I haven't been keeping in. I did spend a bit of time living with Remus if you'll remember."
"So you can tell him, but not me."
"My experiences in Azkaban are not your burden."
"And my experience with the Dursleys shouldn't be yours either!"
"HARRY!" Sirius caught himself. "Harry… I'm you're godfather. So yes, what happened to you at the Dursleys is my business." He held up his hand to stop the boy's protest. "I know that for most of your life, you've had only yourself to depend on. You've never had any real parental figures to rely on. But now that I'm back in your life Harry, and I do mean to stay here, I'm going to take up the position that your parents bestowed upon me." He reached over from his position on the couch and place a hand on Harry's knee. "No matter how much you've gone through Harry. No matter how much you are going to have to go through in the near future… you're still just fifteen. And as mature as you are, and as mature as you may feel, you're not an adult yet. I'm not saying that I suddenly want to make all your decisions for you, you've been too independent for that to happen now, but we are going to have to learn to make decisions about you together. All right?"
Harry looked at the floor and muttered something in the affirmative.
Sirius relaxed somewhat and sat back.
"We don't have to talk about things directly today," he said in consolidation, "But there is something you should know. I'm afraid, what happened may not be a secret for much longer."
Harry looked up in question. Sirius made a face like he'd tasted something foul.
"Fudge," he said flatly.
"What?"
"Hermione was right. Argumentum Stones are hard to come by. The Ministry like to keep track of them. The witch Dumbledore received yours from was only able to keep it secret for a few hours. Fudge has to know about it by now and is probably looking into the Dursleys' case as we speak.
"The Aurors involved in the arrests were members of the Order. They were able to keep your name out of it. And as I understand it, the rest of the school wasn't aware of where you'd received your injuries. No word would have been sent back to their parents if your injuries were caused by a scuffle with another student. Fudge doesn't normally concern himself with menial little things like child assault cases, but since it's you, it's sure to get his feathers in a fluff. Dumbledore expects that he'll make an appearance any day now."
"Will I… have to show him what's in the Stone?" Harry asked timidly.
"If you did, you would have to record a new one all together. With that and Dumbledore working behind you, Fudge may try to order a viewing, but he won't succeed. He'll have to wait until the trial."
"But he'll still ask me."
"Tell him as little as possible Harry. Stay away from him completely if you can. Do you still have the Marauder's map?"
Harry shook his head no, and explained that it had been taken by the Alastor Moody impostor, Crouch Jr. the year before. He didn't know what had become of it. Sirius felt multiply sad at this, loosing a piece of his happier days at Hogwarts and not having it for Harry's present security.
"Well, just do the best you can then. Fudge will be concerned about you, but he'll be even more concerned about his career. He'll use you as much as possible for his benefit. Especially now that he's at odds with Dumbledore."
"So… Everyone will know soon…"
"…I'm sorry Harry."
The boy looked so crestfallen it caused a physical pain in the Marauder's chest. He pulled Harry from his chair onto the couch next to him and slew an arm comfortingly around his shoulder. Harry rested his head against his godfather's shoulder. Sirius rested his chin on the boy's head.
"Sometimes…" the younger wizard began, speaking just above a whisper, "Sometimes I just really, really hate my life. And I wish…"
"…What do you wish Harry?"
"…
"…Nothing. I don't wish anything…"
*~*~*~*~*
"So these bullets… they cut into you like a knife then?"
"Sort of. They're usually rather small. Only this big for a hand gun," Dean said, indicating with his fingers. "And they travel really fast. Almost faster than you can see. You might only spot a streak if anything. And they can go right through you or travel around inside of you doing all sorts of damage."
"And how many does it take to kill someone?" Ron asked, fascinated. Dean had leant him a muggle detective novel, and Ron was questioning him on some of the more interesting aspects of muggle culture.
"It's not how many Ron, it's where they hit. You can be hit with fifty bullets in your leg and still live. You'd probably loose the leg, but you could still live. Then again, one shot to the head would do most people in, though not always. And if you got hit in a non-vital spot, you could still bleed to death."
"Wow," Ron breathed.
Hermione sighed. "Honestly! You both have Potions homework to do! You shouldn't be wasting your time with such frivolous things."
"Oi, when you ask questions about the wizarding world, I don't make light of it, now do I?" Ron protested.
"You mean there are things that she doesn't know?" Dean asked incredulously.
Hermione ignored Dean and pressed her lips. "No. I suppose you don't. But you really need to study. And why do you want to know about such nasty things anyway. Guns are one of the worst things about muggle society, as far as I'm concerned."
"But don't the please-men have them. If the please-men use them, they can't be all that bad."
"Poe-lease, Ron. Policemen. And they only have them to protect themselves and others."
"How do they protect you? Is it like when two curses hit each other in a duel? Do the bullets have to strike each other?"
"No Ron. It's more of a mental thing," Dean explained. "If the police man has his gun out, the criminal isn't likely to pull his out, lest he get shot. Not if he's smart."
"So the police have their guns out all the time then."
"No, only when they're in a dangerous situation."
"So how do they protect themselves if they don't know they're in danger. They don't have sneak-o-scopes."
"Well, they have protective clothing, that helps."
"Clothing? I thought you said bullets could go through walls at times?"
"That's it!"
"What's it?" both boys asked.
"I can't believe I never thought of this before!"
"What's she on about?" Dean asked Ron.
"I don't know, but she's got that 'look' in her eye."
"Dean, you're a genius!" Hermione squealed. She jumped out of her seat, planted a quick kiss on Dean's cheek and ran from the common room.
Dean put a hand to his cheek, too stunned to notice Ron's glare.
"Woah… What was that all about?" He asked mistily.
"Hell if I know," Ron muttered bitterly and flipped open his Potions book.
*~*~*~*~*
Ron had never gone into specifics about his training.
He wasn't being held to secrecy; he just didn't know quite what to tell his friends. Harry was busy blasting Snape across classrooms and Hermione was learning more charms than he knew existed.
And Ron… he was playing chess.
Playing chess and talking. Talking and playing chess. That was all he and Dumbledore did. They didn't even talk about anything substantial. Quidditch. Friendship. Butterbeer… Dumbledore never even mentioned the fight he'd had with Percy.
It wasn't that Ron disliked the time he spent with the Headmaster. Quite the opposite in fact. It was just that he was beginning to feel that he should be doing… something of substance.
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The Headmaster had let him in and then disappeared, saying he had something rather urgent to finish up. A quarter of an hour later, the man had still not returned. The chess pieces on the Headmaster's desk were getting impatient.
A loud 'TOCK', echoed throughout the office. Ron looked around, startled. He rested when there was apparently nothing to be seen.
And then it happened again. An echoing 'TOCK'.
Ron turned around in his seat. His eyes immediately focussed on a large table-sized structure in the corner. Strange, he thought. He'd never really paid it any mind it before. The main part was flat and circular. There were five brass hoops circling around it at different trajectories, forming a tilted dome. The plate below the dome was also made of brass and had deep circular grooves cutting into it. There were tiny different coloured balls of slightly differing sizes, suspended at differing by tiny brass sticks beneath the dome. In the centre of the table, there was a large glassy red orb, larger than the other balls. A gold and brass frame covered the entire contraption.
Rising from his seat, Ron was drawn to the strange item. He could now see that the twelve little balls were actually planets. There was another 'TOCK' and twelve hands emerged from the centre-most groove on the brass plate, each hand different from the last, and each hand pointing in its own direction.
Ron narrowed his eyes.
"What in the…"
"Ah, Mr. Weasley. So, sorry to keep you waiting."
Ron looked up. "That's alright Professor," he looked back down at the object. "Professor, is this some sort of muggle clock?"
"It is indeed a clock, but not a muggle one."
"I've never seen anything like it. Has it been in here all this time?"
"Yes. Quite unobtrusive isn't it? But it makes itself known when it needs to."
Ron shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."
"There aren't many who can read this sort of clock."
"Well, I certainly can't," Ron said. " 'Cause what it seems to be saying doesn't make any sense."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he reached into his robes. He withdrew a small golden pocket watch. He flipped it open and held it out for Ron to see. This watch had no numbers. Instead, like the clock, there were twelve planets and again, twelve hands.
"And this?" Dumbledore prompted.
Ron squinted. "It says the same."
"What do you see, Ron?"
Ron looked uncomfortable. Dumbledore placed a hand on his arm.
"It… They both say," he began, "that for Harry to live…" Ron pointed at a green planet, which had a ruby coloured hand pointing at it. "he has to be able to get into Sn—Professor Snape's chambers..." he pointed at a purple planet heralded by a green arm. "…for the next three days… and Professor Snape can't know about it." he finished. He looked at the Headmaster. "See? No sense."
"Do you know what these items are, Mr. Weasley?"
Ron shook his head.
"These are an Arithmancer's clock and watch."
"Arithmancy? No wander I've been reading it wrong!"
"Actually, my dear boy, I believe you've been reading it right."
Ron crinkled his forehead. Dumbledore steered him back to his seat at the desk.
"Mr. Weasley," he said, settling into his own chair, "I believe that you are what is called a Natural Arithmancer."
"Me? But I hate-- er… no offence Professor. But Arithmancy's Hermione's subject. All those numbers and equations make my head hurt."
"Well, of course it would," Dumbledore said in a matter-of-fact tone. "True Arithmancy is more than numbers and equations, Ron. What we teach here is Arithmancy for the general population of wizardry. It allows knowledge of probability through numbers and runes based in what the muggles refer to as 'Chaos Theory'."
The Professor leaned in. "But you, my dear boy, are a Natural Arithmancer. As was my own dear father. This was his watch. You do not need the graphs and numbers. You can practice Arithmancy without them. I dare say that those figures you dislike so much may actually hinder your ability… although you may find Runes rather helpful. And because it is a natural ability, rather than learned, your predictions should be much stronger."
"Are you saying I can predict the future, sir?" he asked, flashbacks of Trelawney's star charts and tealeaves running through his mind.
"Not exactly. More, you can determine what might most probably come to pass, by following certain key events. You may prove to be more adept at certain aspects of Divination than others, but only if the prediction is particularly powerful. You are not a seer after all. With your Arithmancy you can alter certain events, by changing a single moment or two. Indeed, this is very powerful, and might I add, rare, magic."
"Are… Are you one, sir?"
Dumbledore shook his head. Ron thought he looked somewhat deflated.
"Alas, no, I am not. I do what I can with my father's watch and Headmaster Winterwell's clock, but there is only so much someone without the gift can see. Were I more blessed, young Harry, may have been spared this summer's sufferings.
"When I looked at this fourteen years ago," he said sadly, looking at the watch, "I saw that Harry would be safest from Voldemort by staying with his blood relatives. I did not see that he would need protection from the Dursleys themselves."
"No one knew it was that bad, sir."
Dumbledore managed a weak smile and Ron found it extremely unnerving that it was he who was offering comfort to this man, instead of the usual other way around.
"What do you see in it now, sir?" he asked. "Do you see what I do?"
The elder wizard studied the face of the watch. "I see that Mr. Potter will indeed need to know where to find Professor Snape's quarters. I do not see the reason why, the time period, nor the fact that he must actually have access to those quarters."
"But… what if I'm wrong?"
"What if you're not?"
Ron pursed his lips.
Dumbledore placed the watch on the desk in front of Ron.
"I think this time piece would be best served in your hands, Ron."
Ron's eyes widened. "You… you're giving me your watch?"
Dumbledore nodded.
"Sir, I… I can't take this! This was your father's! I couldn't…"
The Headmaster smiled. "This watch was meant to be used by a Natural Arithmancer, Ron. It is not existing to its full potential in my hands. In yours, it could very well save many lives."
Ron gingerly picked up the timepiece. He was speechless.
"Mr. Weasley…"
Ron looked up at Dumbledore's soft voice.
"Use it well."
*~*~*~*~*
"Mr. Creevey…"
"Sir?"
"Are you particularly fond of the skin that covers your face?"
"Y-Yes, Professor…"
"Then would you mind telling me precisely why you are attempting to remove it?"
Colin Creevey remained frozen, eyes wide, his hand shakily holding three pine needles over his brewing cauldron.
Snape narrowed his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth. "Wolf's blood, before the pine needles, Mr. Creevey. Five points from Gryffindor for your carelessness."
Snape turned away from the boy, not bothering to take in his reaction. Fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins: the group which vexed him second only to Potter's fifth year class.
And his anger at Creevey was second only to his anger at himself.
He had nearly missed the boy's mistake. A melting cauldron was one thing. Melting skin was another.
His mind for the most part was otherwise occupied. It had been three days since Ash Warrington had made his appearance in Snape's office. Voldemort should surely have learned about the boy's defection by now. And yet, he had not been called. It was not that he was looking forward to facing the Dark Lord, but the longer the space between summonings, the fouler… and more sadistic… the wizard's temper would become.
A knock at the classroom door brought him out of his reverie.
"Professor Snape?" McGonagall began, "I'm afraid the Headmaster has asked to see Mr. Castle."
"Yes, yes, fine," Snape said with a dismissive wave of the hand.
McGonagall seemed to ignore his rudeness and turned to small, dark haired Gryffindor. "Mi—Derek… please gather all your things. You will not be returning to class."
Severus snapped to attention. He had heard Minerva McGonagall use that very same wording before. Too many times before. Years and years ago.
He caught the eye of the deputy Headmistress. Minerva held his gaze. Her lips had tightened into a straight line. She nodded minutely. Severus forcefully drew his eyes away and turned them to the small boy who was gathering the last of his books. Everything in its place, Derek Castle followed his head of house out of the dungeon classroom, without a word.
Completely clueless.
Snape ran his eyes over the rest of the class. Everything seemed to be progressing without significant trouble. He made his way to the podium at the front of the room and opened the large tome, which lay upon it. The page did not matter. To anyone observing, he was silently reading the potions manual. He even turned the pages on occasion for good measure.
He didn't read a word of it, however. His mind was too far away.
Almost twenty years in the past…
*~*~*~*~*
Severus Snape leaned heavily on his arm as he tried to feign interest in the Potions lecture. He loved Potions, there was no mistaking in that. However, Severus's level of Potions competence had long ago surpassed that of the school's syllabus. He was ages ahead of his sixth year class. Syllabus aside, he was positive that he could do a better job teaching the course than Professor Rorre. The man often made mistakes in his teachings, but as his choice of potions were often rather frivolous, no great damage was ever done. The errors were small oversights usually, but they often had humorous results. Especially since the mistakes most often happened to those pathetic Gryffindors. His fellow Slytherins had long ago learned to turn to Severus for confirmation of their actions in that class. Through pride alone, the Gryffindors would never dare.
"…and remember, after the ginger, add one breath of fairy dust."
Essence of fairy dust,, Snape corrected mentally. Any Gryffindors who hadn't read their textbooks properly would be sporting green hair in a half hour. Severus smirked at this. He would correct the Slytherins once the practical lesson began.
There was a knock at the Potions' room door. Professor McGonagall opened it and stood stiffly in the frame. The entire class held its breath. A head of house interrupting a lesson was becoming rather frequent these days. The news was never good.
"Professor Rorre," she began. "I'm afraid the Headmaster has asked to see Mr. Potter."
Potter?
"Mi-James… please gather all your things. You will not be returning to class."
The entire class had turned to face the skew-haired boy. James Potter, 'king' of Hogwarts. Quidditch star. Popular among all the houses, (save one). Treasure of all the staff. He was receiving the call?
The boy sat stiffly in his seat. His mouth opened and shut silently for a moment.
The dark haired boy next to him placed a hand on Potter's shoulder.
"Professor McGonagall, can I—"
"No, Mr. Black. You remain here."
Black looked crestfallen for a moment, but gathered himself quickly. He appeared to squeeze the other boy's shoulder in support. James blinked and rose from his seat. He clumsily began to gather his books. The brown haired creature in front of him put one of his paws on top of James's hands. Snape scowled at the creature.
"We'll take care of your things," Remus Lupin told him.
James nodded and followed his head of house out in a daze.
*~*~*~*~*
It was completely by accident.
There were certain times when he just felt the need to be alone. The dungeons, with their many dark and twisting corridors, provided a safe haven of sorts for him. It was easy to become lost there, if you didn't know what you were doing. Most students avoided the dungeons, in fact. Even the Slytherins, when not in their common room, would venture up to brighter regions of the castle.
That was why it was so peculiar for him to hear the sound of voices coming from an un-used dungeon classroom. Voices, and heart wrenching sobs.
Severus had taught himself as a child to walk without sound. It had made it much easier to avoid his father, if the man couldn't hear him coming. He crept along the stone wall, keeping to the darkness, until he could hear the voices more clearly.
"James… James please… Tell us what happened. We want to help."
Black.
"Here, Peter's brought some water. Have some."
Lupin.
There was a silence of the sobbing followed shortly by a sputtering and cough.
"Easy, there mate. It's going to be all right."
"No," came James's abused voice. "No, it won't…"
"Was it… Was there a letter?"
Silence.
Snape assumed Potter must have given a physical response, as there was a sympathetic tutting and signing from the others in the room.
A letter. A black envelope from the Ministry of Magic, adorned with a thin silver ribbon and a white wax seal. The first few had arrived with normal post. But the upset they had caused in the Great Hall caused Dumbledore to have all letters of that type delivered to his office, so that the students may receive them in private.
"Your… Your father?" Lupin asked softly.
There was another sob.
"All of them."
"What?!"
James sobbed again, then his voice rose in anger.
"All of them! My father! My mother! Angel! Merlin, they killed Angel too! She was nine years old! They're gone! They're all--"
Potter broke down again.
Snape had at times heard Potter bragging about his younger sister's skills.
So Potter's family was dead.
Severus wasn't certain how he felt about that.
*~*~*~*~*
Snape blinked and looked back over his fourth years.
It was starting again.
The Gryffindors were mindlessly tending to their potions, happy it seemed that their Professor's attention was focused on something other than them.
They had no idea.
None of them were old enough to remember.
Snape sighed inwardly and closed the tome. He'd best teach them what he could while they still possessed what little wits they had about them.
There would be great grieving in the Gryffindor tower tonight.
*~*~*~*~*
Percy pointed his wand at the fireplace grate and a warm fire sprang to life. He shut, locked and warded the door behind him.
His new home small enough that this sole grate was sufficient to brighten the entire room. There was a single couch and cushioned chair. A small breakfast table with two seats. There was a small kitchenette off to one side and a bed against the opposing wall.
And aside from the cracking fire in the hearth, that was it.
No explosions coming from Fred and George's room. No ghoul in the attic. No Molly Weasley bellowing to her flock…
Just silence.
The cramped quarters he could live with; after all, the Burrow hadn't been exactly spacious.
But he didn't think he was ever going to get used to the silence.
He hung his cloak up neatly on its hook and sat down on the sofa, running his hands over his tired face.
It had been an interesting day.
Kern had stopped by his desk again. There were some friends he wanted Percy to meet. He'd agreed to join them on Saturday. He wasn't really sure what he should expect.
Lunch with Kern had been interesting.
They had talked about many things. He'd had his first taste of Firewisky.
And his second.
And he'd ended up telling Kern about his difficulties with Dumbledore. Kern had apparently had some difficulties himself. And he knew of others.
It was good to find people who didn't place Dumbledore at the right hand of God.
Perhaps it was the Firewisky (Kern seemed to think it amusing that Percy had never had any before), but Percy had rambled on about everything from Dumbledore to his family. He loved them. There was no mistaking that. But, as Kern so accurately put it:
"They don't really seem to appreciate you Weasley. I mean, Head Boy, all the hard work you've done at the Ministry, and what do they do? Make you the brunt of jokes. Exclude you from whatever it is the old man has planned. It's not right, Weasley."
Percy promptly made it known that while he detested the way he was belittled by his kin, he wouldn't hesitate to hex anyone into the ground who acted… or spoke ill against them.
Kern had held his hands up defensively.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Weasley," he explained. "What I was getting at, was that you should surround yourself with people who would appreciate you for what you are and recognize you talents. Love your family all you want, but you've just told me you don't get that at home."
Rather than respond, Percy had ordered another Firewisky.
And this coming Saturday, he would meet some of Kern's friends. People whom the man described as those who recognized greatness when they saw it. People who apparently worked in different departments of the Ministry, and, should they be pleased with him, could prove rather advantageous to his career plans.
Percy leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.
Making proper contacts was an intriguing thought.
Still, something of a warning was buzzing around in the back of his mind.
Too tired and too much to think about, Percy lay back on the small couch. He kicked off his shoes and was soon fast asleep.
*~*~*~*~*
He'd never been able to see anything within black depths of his own eyes. His piercing glare into the mirror this time was no different. They were dead, as far as he was concerned. Two soulless orbs, sharp and biting to whomever crossed their path. Older, he thought, than they rightfully should be.
Severus sighed and released the edge of the high burrow, colour returning to his overly white knuckles. He turned and leaned his back against it, the mirror atop it now reflecting his shaky hand running through his not so greasy hair. He did wash his hair, despite popular opinion. He'd like to see the others, his colleagues included, spend at least eight hours a day in a fuming Potions classroom and not have greasy hair.
He didn't often spend time observing himself in the mirror. Just a quick glance in the mornings to make certain that he was prim, pressed and presentable. Alternatively, it was times like this, when he wanted to remember what he looked like… before…
He moved to the wardrobe and ran his hand over the smooth, polished finish.
His mind absently flickered to thoughts of Harry Potter and the meeting they'd had only a few hours earlier.
It had been the first time he'd seen the boy (aside from meals), since the Argumentum charm had been performed.
The charm had unnerved him, to say the least. He'd never been party to an Argumentum recording before and he wasn't particularly looking forward to experiencing it again. He'd secretly been rather surprised that Potter had agreed to him being one of the anchors, but kept his stoic expression, despite Weasley's wide-eyed protest.
Once the spell had been cast, everyone else in the room had seemed to disappear. He found himself on a quaint little street in Little Whining: Privet Drive. The Harry Potter in his wizarding school robes had disappeared. In his place was a much thinner, and slightly bruised Harry Potter in clothing that was much to large for him. He was attempting to wash a muggle car and being caused no end of trouble by an impossibly fat youth and his rat-faced friend. He was just far enough away so that he could see the entire scene without even turning his head, which was good, as he didn't really feel that he could move all that freely. For experimentation, he'd taken a step, and found himself in the exact same spot. It was obvious that he could have no control or influence in this situation.
He soon began to regretfully wish that that he were more than a mere spectre in this little montage. Severus found that he was aware of the boy's feelings and emotions as Potter felt them. He wasn't actually feeling them himself, more like an immediate echo. He was also aware of the boy's thoughts. He could hear them bouncing around in his own head.
And what he'd heard, cemented what he'd been beginning to realize since the start of term. Before he'd seen the bruises, Snape had been positive, despite Dumbledore's assurances, that Potter had been just as pampered and spoiled at home in the summer time as he was at school. But Harry's thoughts in this memory, both conscious and not told of a boy who had been virtually ignored for the majority of his life. And when he did receive attention, it was usually abusive… physically, mentally or emotionally. Often all three. The child only wanted to be cared for. A feeling Snape had not been stranger to in his own youth.
He, like the other anchors were then forced to play witness to the violence torn into young Potter that day.
It had made him sick.
It had made him angry.
Snape hated being wrong.
However, seeing the events of that day had brought to light an issue which he had been forced to discuss first with the Headmaster, then with Potter himself, during their meeting earlier.
Potter had arrived to their training room, a look of defiance on his face, as though he was daring Snape to even mention the Argumentum charm.
And Severus was only too happy meet with his expectations.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter. There are a few things we need to discuss."
Severus was used to conjuring different furniture (or lack thereof), depending on what he was planning to teach the boy that day. That evening he had conjured a teacher's desk and two chairs. Harry took the seat opposite the Professor.
"I'll get right to it then," he'd begun. "It appears Mr. Potter, that you are indeed far more powerful than we had first thought. As such, the intensity of your training will be increased. I will no longer curtail to your pathetic performances. You will meet my expectations, or you will sorely regret it. Is that understood?"
Harry had looked at him with a perturbed expression.
"N—No, sir. Actually… I don't understand. What do you mean, I'm more powerful?"
Snape had closed his eyes wearily. The boy could still be rather dim at times. With a sigh, he began to explain.
"The strongest form of wandless magic is that used for protective purposes. It lessens in time as Wizards become more accustom to defending themselves with their wands. It is believed to be a natural failsafe to protect small children who have no other means of defence." He paused.
"You, Mr. Potter seemed to have retained that power to a more than impressive degree. In fact, you seemed to have surpassed normal wizarding defences."
"I still don't know what you're talking about, Professor."
"Firstly, Potter, your leg. It was broken by your uncle. You should not have been able to walk on it and yet you did. Only a medi-witch, wizard or Healer should have been able to mend your limb to that extent by the next morning."
"But how is that defenc—"
"You knew, consciously or otherwise that if you did not leave the Dursley's before your uncle's return, that you might very well never leave." Snape let the implications of that hang in the air. "And you could not have left with your leg in the condition it had been in. When Madame Pomfrey examined you, your leg still had a fracture in it, yet it was strong enough for you to traverse on." He leaned closer to Harry. "You healed yourself just enough to get out of there alive. Defensive magic without a wand is almost always is restricted to an actual attack or impending injury. If you were to fall out a window, you might float or bounce. If you were about to be stabbed, the blade might bend. Action and reaction. That is the limit of personal magic… at least, it was."
Severus didn't let Harry question. He continued with his explanation.
"Secondly, this ability of yours seems to have expanded to non-lethal protection. The Headmaster questioned you about your injuries when you were released from the Hospital Wing," he stated. The boy nodded. "I take it, reliving the events of the summer was not something you particularly wanted to do."
Harry did not respond, but his green eyes had confirmed his suspicions. The boy was frighteningly easy to read. They would have to work on that.
"You vehemently did not want to repeat the story to the Headmaster. However, Albus Dumbledore has a way of pulling tales from you regardless of your wishes." He grumbled the last part. He was all too familiar with Albus's talent for making a person bare their soul whether they wanted to or not. "And so your wandless ability prevented you from revealing your personal pain to the Headmaster, despite his best efforts."
"But I was trying to tell him…"
"Consciously, perhaps, but the unconscious can be an extremely powerful entity, especially among wizards."
He'd waited then. There was one more question, if the boy had any intelligence at all, that he would need to ask."
The Gryffindor's breathing had become uneven. He'd looked worried. He should considering that which was running through his mind.
"But why--" he finally stammered, "Why, if I'm able to use wandless magic to defend myself, even without thinking about it… Why… How was Vernon able to… I mean… Why didn't… Why didn't the magic kick in?"
"I would have thought that answer to be obvious by this point, Potter. Clearly I've given you too much credit." He'd paused. "The reason that your defences did not 'kick in' as you so eloquently put it, was because part of you, did not want them to."
He had ended that particular conversation there. Let the boy mull what that meant on his own time. He moved immediately onto the training, and worked the boy until he was ready to drop. He'd been serious when he said he would increase the intensity. The famous Gryffindor would be sore tomorrow.
Normally, and perhaps before the evidence of abuse, that would have brought a smirk to his face.
But not tonight.
Not with what he himself was facing.
Snape removed a hooded black cloak from the wardrobe and put it on. A white mask he hid within the folds of outfit.
The Dark Lord was calling.
TBC…
A/N: So ends the great, bloody chapter from hell!
Erm… 'Headmaster Winterwell's' Arithmancy Clock, for those who would like to know, can be seen in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. It is in Professor Dumbledore's office, near the door. I don't know what this actually is, but to me, it seemed like a Arithmancy clock. I had at first just had Ron discovering Dumbledore's watch on his desk, but I felt the scene needed more. Then I saw an on-line image of Dumbledore's office and thought there ya go! Arithmancer's clock! I've altered it slightly for my purposes, but if you'd like to see it, here's a link to the official site and a 360-degree view of the office. You can't miss it. it's the large object to the right of the door (when you're facing the door).
http://harrypotter.warnerbros.com/vr/cos/dumbledore.html
Or, you could just go to see the movie again. :)
Also please note that my next update will be listed under the name Maven Cree, not Gates. See ya!