A/N: Right, usual disclaimer applies. Thanks to those who have reviewed!
Now, as for this chapter, this is where we take a little look into how crap Harry's life is becoming, as we follow him into an odd detention with the slightly creepy Romulus Veron, and the first signs of wear and tear showing in Harry's relationship with Ron and Hermione. At the end of his tether by the end of the day, Harry receives a mysterious letter that might just be the answer to his questions…
Chapter 4: Curiouser and Curiouser
Harry looked down at the timetable before him, and sighed. Whoever came up with the idea of Potions on a Friday afternoon should have been shot. Preferably beforehand, he thought to himself, mixing and adding ingredients furiously.
Professor Snape had returned to his favourite pastime of picking on Harry, and had berated him for ten minutes about one ingredient he'd apparently ground wrong. Harry had held on to the vast, calming ocean of Occlumency, keeping his face blank and nodding contritely, which threw Snape off slightly. Hermione, frantically stirring her own potion beside him, had looked relieved that she wouldn't have to clutch at Harry's robe sleeve, and mutter her usual litany of "ignore him – ignore him". Harry smirked a little to himself, momentarily forgetting that he would be the last to finish his Heal-all Salve. He added a handful of the reground eye of newt, the last ingredient, and began to stir – clockwise once, counter clockwise three times.
Harry refrained from muttering the instruction to himself, feeling the sharp black eyes piercing into his back. He stirred as slowly as he could, remembering the instructions from the book – he'd read the relevant chapters last night in the common room, shocking Hermione and traumatising Ron – which said to finish the potion carefully, taking your time.
"That is no broth, Potter! Finish your slothful stirring and hand your potion in, this minute!" Harry gritted his teeth, keeping back the rude remark that always seemed to be ready at his lips these days. He speeded up a tiny bit, then began to painstakingly fill a vial to hand in. Although he'd progressed in keeping his temper around everything and everyone these days, it was still extremely difficult around Snape, who seemed hell bent on prying apart the growing, pulsing doors that shut in his residual anger. Breathe, Harry admonished himself, calmly stopping up the vial as Snape continued to make acerbic remarks concerning sloth-like humans. Show no fear.
Suddenly, as he approached the table, remembering at the last minute to cast a shielding charm on his vial, the potion cauldron exploded brilliantly, setting fire to his desk and many of the surrounding potions. Harry acted instantly, raising containment wards around the blazing fire as students scrambled hastily out of the way of the flames. A loud snicker could be heard behind him, and then, a muttered spell in the direction of the slowed flames that made Harry panic.
"Aqueus…" Harry started to shout in denial, but the spray of water had already hit his smoking, flaming potion, which exploded again, more violently than before.
"GET DOWN!" the voice of Severus Snape bellowed at the shocked students, as the flames ripped through Harry's already shaky wards. "Sabulum crea!" the professor incanted immediately, sending a wave of recognition through Harry. A sand spell – of course – the potion was flammable, and adding water only spread its flames, once ignited…a wave of dread washed over Harry, realisation dawning on him. Someone did this on purpose – with my potion… The flames died down immediately under the showers of sand, and a scene of utter devastation unfolded around Harry's desk. Hermione, who had dived for cover well away from his cauldron, was shaking and covered in soot and dust, as were most of the students nearest to Harry. Harry looked behind him, only to see the smirking visage of Draco Malfoy, who gave him a malicious wink, sidling off to his unharmed desk. He knew immediately, then, that he'd been set up.
"Sir," Harry began turning to his professor, insides churning with fear, but the livid Severus Snape cut him off.
"You stupid boy," Snape snarled, coming far too close for Harry's comfort. Almost on instinct, the ocean materialised in Harry's mind, and he detachedly noted that the Potions Master's hair wasn't so much naturally greasy as merely unwashed. A foolish sense of gladness rose in him – he'd been able to manage that, at least, washing his hair on time –
"It wasn't me, sir," Harry said, as calmly as he could, trying to prevent a note of fear from entering into his voice. "I didn't have time to do anything to my potion – or add an explosive to it – "
"You could have injured your class members, Potter! Destroyed school property – " Snape's voice steadily rose, his eyes glinting with malice and anger. Harry stoutly continued, determined to at least speak his case.
"I raised a Containing Ward as quickly as I could – someone incanted water at it behind me – I couldn't do anything – the flames shredded my wards…" Harry felt himself babbling, but could not stop. Snape was staring at him with a hint of shock, which hardened into angry resolve.
"Detention, Potter." Harry closed his eyes, fighting down the anger with waves of cool water. "You will serve it with Professor Veron tonight at seven o'clock – I have more important concerns at that time than to watch you grind beetles for an hour. Class dismissed – not you, Potter. You'll stay behind and clean up the mess you made."
It was all Harry could do not to scream, as Malfoy passed by him, smirking victoriously. He suppressed the urge as best as he could, tersely waving away Hermione's consoling look and question.
"I'll meet you in Defence…go on without me…" She sighed and left the dungeon, leaving an even wearier Harry in her wake.
Without looking at the still-scowling, forbidding professor, Harry surveyed the damage – thankfully, it was nothing he couldn't fix – and began to clear away the sand and soot that remained in his cauldron and in the other battered, burned ones nearby. Snape sat down at his desk, scribbling something, but Harry refused to look at him, stubbornly facing his task, dread starting to fill his chest.
It's bad enough to have detention tonight, Harry thought to himself, silently accepting the notes to take to the Defence teacher, as well as the nasty comments that accompanied them, but to have it with Veron…He sighed again, jogging off down the corridors, hoping he wouldn't be too late. He then realised that, if he was late enough, Veron might not pick him again for a demonstration, and slowed his jog to a brisk walk. Romulus Veron had made a rather impressive showing in the first class, full of excited students from all four Houses (as was the case this year), until he began fawning over Harry. It had been nothing serious – just an overly bright smile and inquiries as to how his life was going, enough to set the eyes of everyone in the class rolling, but nothing too embarrassing. The problem, Harry thought, finally rounding the corner into the corridor where the larger, brighter Defence class resided, was that he did much the same thing the next lesson. And the next.
And the next. It was a maddening pattern, driving Harry to experiment with seating positions and various times of arrival. He'd sat in the most obscure corners of the class, wedged between a giggling Ron and Hermione – they always seem to do that now, he muttered to himself – and tried coming in at all manner of times. He'd even tried being silent the whole lesson, to no avail – the irritating man would simply smile his now sickening smile, and ask if Harry would kindly answer this question, or do us the honour of demonstrating that technique. Many students could be heard muttering in disgust and disbelief each time a flaming Harry rose to demonstrate or reply to a question again, and it only added to his embarrassment.
Harry had given up on ever being allowed to actually sit through the class and learn something without interruption when he'd been deliberately rude to the awful man, and nothing had changed. Hermione had given him a long lecture last night when he'd wondered aloud what would happen if he didn't show up, so, for now, there was no escaping Romulus Veron's odd attentions.
"Yes, Mr. Finnegan, but I'm afraid your answer is not quite correct – ah, Mr. Potter," Romulus beamed, his tone of bored irritation changing to one of pleasure on sighting Harry's reluctant entrance. Harry nodded curtly, ignoring Hermione's anxious look and making for a seat at the back of the room, before he was brought to a halt by the man's mincing words. "Would you be so kind as to tell us the difference between the shield spell, Protego, and its higher variants…?" Harry cringed, wondering why this man seemed to like him so much. He answered as shortly as he could, continuing to focus on the seat his sharp eyes had found at the back of the room.
"The higher variants of Protego require more magical strength and skill, and can protect you from a larger amount of curses, hexes and jinxes." Harry intoned, his voice in the monotone he now favoured in this lesson. He turned round, fingering the notes he clutched in his right hand, suddenly longing to be back in the dungeons, with someone who didn't like him. The smile on Veron's face widened even further, to Harry's disgust. "For instance, the highest variant, called Protego vitalis, uses a portion of the life force of the incanter to protect whatever object or being its caster desires. If performed wrongly, or hit by one of the upper levels of restricted curses, it can kill the caster. Protego, on its own, cannot harm the caster as much, if used incorrectly, and carries less risk, and only uses a small amount of its caster's magical strength. However, it cannot stop as many curses as its higher, more risky variants, which have a greater capability in that direction. Sir." Harry stepped forward against his own inclination, coming face-to-face with his smiling Professor, handing him the two notes. "My excuse for tardiness and the notice of my detention, from Professor Snape, sir," he added brusquely, disgusted that the man hadn't even so much as asked him why he was late. Harry moved swiftly to his chosen seat, wilfully ignoring the cheery nod Professor Veron gave him, and feeling angry at how bad the day was turning out.
Unfortunately for him, it was about to get worse.
An hour and a half, fifteen answers (three of them wrong ones) and five demonstrations later, Harry was stomping down to the Great Hall for dinner, feeling decidedly bitter about his lot in life, and thinking up ways to kill both Veron and Professor Snape. A note from Dumbledore at breakfast informed him that his Occlumency lessons would be beginning this evening at eight – barely giving him enough time to extract himself from the fat clutches of Veron and get himself into the dungeon classroom of Professor Snape. Hermione and Ron hung back behind him a bit, chattering quietly about something, incensing him even more with their secret looks and sighs and giggles.
Harry plonked himself at the far end of the Gryffindor table, as near as possible to the double doors, bitterness welling up in him like a flood. His friends had still not seen fit to tell him about their burgeoning relationship, and still tiptoed about him spectacularly, the furtive glances in high evidence. They sat down on either side of him carefully, trying to make it appear that they did not want to sit together. Harry stabbed his slice of pork viciously, causing them to exchange yet another worried look.
Somewhere within him, he knew it might possibly be all just a huge misunderstanding, but right now, he could not care less. They owed it to him, should have trusted him enough to tell him to his face about an event he'd seen coming for a long time. The feeling of betrayal in him grew, feeding his anger.
"Harry!" Hermione's shocked voice brought him crashing back to earth, and he suddenly realised that the plates and cutlery around him were rattling with the force of his anger. Closing his eyes, he forced the anger back, using the lashing, tumultuous waves of his mind like a whip. Just a few hours – you'll let it out later, in the Room of Requirement. Just a few hours…
Harry's breath slowed from the quick rasp it had unknowingly become, and the plates around him ceased to rattle. Gulping convulsively, he looked at his friends. Ron's eyes were wide with astonishment and fear, and so were Hermione's. And, what was infinitely worse – the fearful expressions around him were overlaid with something else, that was like poison to Harry's seething self – pity. Even Ginny was looking at him – and Dean –
Harry got up shakily, grabbing the two remaining rolls on his plate, shaking his head as lightly as he could, trying to dispel the insidious thoughts that came to the fore.
They pity you – imagine what they're thinking, "poor bloke – gone crazy after losing his godfather – good for nothing now, poor chap"…
"I have to go," Harry said, surprised at the neutral, even quality of his voice. Breathing hard, he stepped back from the table, stumbling slightly over his chair, and was gone before either Hermione or Ron could say a word. Many students turned to watch his stumbling, jerky movements as he half-walked, half-ran from the Great Hall, bumping clumsily into Neville on his way. "Sorry," he muttered, over and over again, until he did not bump into someone – he tripped and stumbled – over something that seemed like a leg. Harry was down on the floor for an instant, and rearing up, wand in hand, exuding menace and something that could pass for blind rage.
The surprised, blinking visage of Malfoy came into view, directly in his way. Harry started to shake, and became afraid of what he could – and perhaps, would do if he didn't get somewhere and work out the swirling, seething anger inside him.
"Out of my way," Harry whispered, his eyes shining with such intensity that a slightly shaken Malfoy obeyed him, without thinking. Not giving the perplexed blond Slytherin any chance to compose himself and get back to the gloating he'd evidently been about to do, Harry strode off, turning sharply and bounding up the stairs, heading with a singular purpose for the Room of Requirement. He couldn't very well show up for his detention with Veron, frothing at the ears –
Thirty minutes of rather violent duelling later, a markedly more relaxed Harry Potter strolled down the corridor leading to the Defence classroom, and entered, knocking once. Stopping short, Harry stared at the class – tables and chairs lay here and there, bent with damage and blackened with soot and spellfire. The walls were marred with blotches of colour and soot similar to those he'd left behind him in the resourceful Room of Requirement, and the duelling platform at the front of the class lay, literally, in pieces.
"Harry!" a voice exclaimed, the excitement in it making the owner of the name cringe and shudder. The man was worse than Colin Creevy –
"Professor Veron?" Harry ventured, eyeing the damage. "I'm here for my detention…" The fat man appeared in the doorway leading to his office, looking visibly rumpled.
"Yes, yes…I thought the task of cleaning the classroom would suit – just finished a particularly strenuous practical lesson with my seventh years…" Veron mopped his brow, looking rather tired. For a moment, Harry felt sorry for him – he imagined having to supervise more than fifty eager teenagers at duelling, and shuddered. If it was anything like what he did to the dummies in the Room, which went far beyond the cheerful chaos of the D.A., he could justifiably feel pity for the man. "…only use minor spells…that should stretch it out…careful…" the man was saying now. Harry nodded and got to work with a will.
Forty-five minutes later, all of Harry's small sympathy for Veron was gone. The man was behaving so oddly – following him around and giving hints, instead of doing something like marking tests and homework, or whatever it was that he did normally. Harry gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the man's irritating advice on how to properly move a desk – did he think he was stupid? Weak? Wilting? Harry moved the last desk wearily into position, straightening its legs with a flick of his wand, keeping his face as stony as possible as an almost giddy Romulus Veron congratulated him yet again.
It had been fine at first, him telling Harry how to repair the duelling platform – he had had no idea how to go about that, and had been grateful for the help, thinking it would be short-lived. Now, Harry was ready to scream in frustration, and decidedly ready for the clock to strike the hour, and for his escape from the overly familiar man. At least twice, when he was moving a particularly stubborn or heavy desk, Veron's hand had appeared miraculously on his arm, aiding him and leaving behind a niggling discomfort.
"Well, I suppose that's it…" Romulus Veron trailed off the end of the sentence almost unhappily. Harry crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping against hope. "I suppose you can go…"
"Thank you, Professor Veron," Harry said immediately, fetching his now rather dusty schoolbag – he'd taken it with him to the Room of Requirement, and utterly forgot to dispose of it in Gryffindor before getting here – and was out of the door before the now despondent Veron could change his mind.
Harry, for his own part, felt relieved, even as he rapidly descended the stairs leading to Professor Snape's dungeon for the upcoming Occlumency lesson. Surely, it would be better than that awkward, horrid detention with Veron…
It turned out that, for the third time that day, Harry was absolutely wrong. It had begun shakily, a tense energy roiling in the air between them, Professor Snape tersely acknowledging his receipt of the apology Harry had sent him, his lip curling as he surveyed Harry's dusty, battered robe and schoolbag, which both looked worse for the wear after his angry, solo duel and cleanup of Veron's battlefield of a classroom. Harry had kept a straight face, reminding himself not to sneer, knowing the highly observant professor – who had been giving him a few strange looks in lessons already – would not notice the strengthening likeness to himself that Harry was now showing, with no solution to his mystery in sight. The Professor, as always, had dived into Harry's mind with little warning, and had emerged quickly, sneering his congratulations that Harry, as he said, had mastered the "basic foundations" of Occlumency.
The ensuing lesson worsened after each spell, Harry gradually ending up pinned between two opposing forces – that of Snape's strong mind, and that of the rapidly building anger and sense of unfairness within him. By the end of the lesson, both Harry and Severus were breathing hard, Harry fighting back roiling waves of anger, and Snape shocked at what had just happened – this boy – Potter had just done something very odd, and very worrying – the swirling ocean-like mass of his thoughts had seemed boiling hot, and had somehow gripped Severus and begun to drag him in, deep into that swirling, hot mass…
He shuddered inwardly, smoothing his robes, staring at the shaking, pale, slightly mad-looking lad before him.
"What was that?" he demanded. Harry made no answer, gulping away, like the fool he was showing himself to be. "Are you a fool, Potter? You drew me into your mind! If you do that with the Dark Lord – "
" – he'll have me for tea, I know!" Harry snapped back, feeling the presence's rotting breath at the back of his mind. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he grimly raised his wand again. "Wait – he's – he's here – " Harry could dimly sense Professor Snape's fearful tone calling in the background as he sank down to the ground, clutching his head, calling up the ocean with everything that was in him. Snarling, the presence broke away, stung by the memories Harry fed it – memories of soothing love, of laughing with friends. It soothed Harry now, bringing him back to his surroundings, back to the dim, dank dungeon around him, and the frantic Professor that stood above him.
"POTTER!" Snape was shouting at him, from rather too high above. Harry blinked, rising up wearily, keeping his features from twisting into a grimace of pain. Mustn't let him see… he numbly reminded himself. He'd fallen hard on his left foot, and lain heavily on it, and the pins and needles of his returning circulation stung. Snape paused in his rant, evidently realising that his student was rising before him, unharmed. "What happened?"
Harry was surprised. "Oh, that wasn't so bad – it was just because I was angry that it took so long…"
Snape stared at him incredulously. Harry continued, starting to babble partly with relief and partly with the overwhelming desire to leave.
"…anyway, it's nine now – almost curfew – got to go – " Harry began to back wearily away.
"Potter! You will stand still, and explain. Properly." Harry stilled, and continued, still babbling slightly.
"It was just Voldemort – "
"Just the Dark Lord, Potter?" Snape shouted at him. "Are you INSANE? HAVE I TAUGHT YOU NOTHING!" Harry's weary figure straightened, his green eyes suddenly clouding over with anger.
"I KNOW!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with anger and frustration. "Bloody hell, I KNOW! I'm sick with knowing he'll get me, ALRIGHT? GO ON – BLAME ME FOR EVERYTHING! Blame me for having bloody VOLDEMORT decide I'm his nemesis! BECAUSE IT'S SO OBVIOUSLY MY FAULT!" Harry's hands balled into fists of their own accord, as he leaned forward, shaking and spitting in his near rage. The two men glared, chests heaving, at each other, for a long moment.
Harry swore, violently, jerking Professor Snape into action. Harry's shoulders sank with weariness.
"Don't say it – "
"Language, Potter." The last two words were said in such a cold, menacing tone of voice that Harry stared. Surprisingly, he shook his head, and continued.
"You have no idea, do you?" a strange smile crossed Harry's face for a fleeting moment, and was gone. "Goodbye, Professor." He slipped out of the dungeon rapidly, leaving a shocked Severus Snape behind him.
Severus Snape sat down at his desk, and put his confused head in his hands.
Harry swung his leg violently through the open portrait door, not caring who saw him. He'd acted like a madman in Professor Snape's office just then, first giving into his anger and following in on the malicious desire to smother the dour Professor with the boiling waters of his angry mind, then shouting and screaming his voice out about all sorts of nonsense. He'd slipped out as quickly as he could, too angry and embarrassed to stay another minute, looking at the man he was so mysteriously becoming. The desire to sneer – just to see the realisation blooming on Snape's angry, disturbed features – had nearly overpowered him, not for the first time. Harry laughed a little wildly to himself, startling the Gryffindors around him in the common room.
What would I have said? Harry wondered to himself, avoiding the dark looks Hermione and Ron sent him, making a beeline for the stairs leading to the boys' dormitories. 'Hello, father'? 'By the way, Professor, I'm your son'? Nephew? Second cousin? Harry laughed again, his laughter tinged with bitterness.
That was the worst thing – he didn't know what the hell he was – all he knew, every morning, was that something had changed, and something else would change the next day, and the next…Harry's breathing speeded up as he forced his way through the packed common room, uncaring of what everyone was chattering about. He'd begun to darken his skin with concealing spells – they didn't seem to affect the changes, he'd tested it on one hand – and cut his still-growing hair every night. He'd even begun to wash his hair regularly, almost maniacal in the desire not to let the slightest bit of grease remain in it. It was getting harder to laugh off, harder to hide – he'd need to chance a glamour of some sort, soon, and find an easy paternity test, or something.
I just want to know, Harry said to himself, silently, as he began to strip off his dirty robes in the empty dorm.
As if by sheer dint of his desire, a small tap-tap began to make itself heard at the window nearest to him. Harry stared at the window, almost unable to believe his eyes.
It was an owl, carrying a small envelope. Harry lunged for the window excitedly – hoping desperately –
The grumpy, bedraggled owl flew into the dorm wearily, dropping the letter onto his blanket, and perching on one of the four posts to his bed. Harry stared at the small envelope, almost unable to believe his eyes. It was dirty, and rather old, and stamped with fading red ink that read, in smallish letters:
TIME DELAYED
Harry began to breath faster again, reading the unfamiliar hand that spelled out the oddly vague address.
Harry James Potter,
Gryffindor Tower,
Hogwarts.
Harry flicked his wand, turning the letter over and over in the air, examining the scratches and pits on the surface of the slim parchment envelope as he tested it for residual magic. The seal – it looked like the one on some of the things he'd spied once or twice in his vault…. Suddenly, he heard what sounded like the bounding, heavy footsteps of Ron on the stairs, and made a split second decision. Summoning his invisibility cloak and stuffing it in his pocket along with the Marauder's Map – which was nearly always on him now – he frantically searched out and dragged on a tattered jacket and hid the letter in its pocket, so that, by the time the head of messy red hair poked round the door, he was casually trying to coax the stubborn owl down.
"Harry – what's an owl doing in here?" Ron entered the room, sounding almost relieved. Harry spared his relief no thought – his very being focusing on the letter that lay so casually against his chest within his torn, old jacket.
"No clue, Ron – I was thinking – try to take it to the Owlery…" Harry made yet another unsuccessful grab at the owl, and stared at it in disgust, mind whirling. "Listen – I want to go out for a walk, just before curfew…"
"Cool, I'll come with – "
"No, that's okay, Ron," Harry said quickly, edging towards the door. His friend's blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he kept talking as casually as possible. "I'm supposed to meet someone now – won't be long – don't wait up for me…" Harry slipped out of the sixth year boys' dorm, moving as fast as he could.
"Harry!" Hermione appeared beside him, smiling nervously. "Where have you – "
"Sorry, Hermione – meeting someone – walk – can't stay," Harry said, almost incoherently, pushing past her rapidly. Ron appeared at the top of the stairs, behind him, as Harry threaded his way easily through the thinning crowd in the common room.
"But, Harry – "
"Was there a letter with that owl, Harry?" Ron asked suspiciously, calling after him.
"No!" Harry retorted, over his shoulder, not caring whether he was believed or not. "Excuse me, Dean – just going out for a quick walk…" He shoved past a confused Dean, who looked like he'd just come in with a flushed, smiling Ginny. Harry's heart burned with jealousy as he forced himself to climb out of the common room, but he ignored the wrenching, tearing desire to hex Dean, and set off quickly instead, consulting the map as he ducked into a broom closet to cover himself with the invisibility cloak.
Knowing his friends might look for him here, he slipped out as silently as he could, making use of a short passageway he'd never had any cause to enter to get to the floor beneath the entrance to Gryffindor tower. During his search for a suitable spot, he met rather a lot of students on their furtive way to their various houses just after curfew, and was hard pressed to find an empty spot to sit down and read his letter in silence.
Harry had started to give up hope of finding such a place when Peeves came along, bouncing merrily, cackling fit to burst over some prank or other. Harry desperately dodged the poltergeist's stinging pellets, ducking behind an interesting, stern statue of some wizard, only to find a cleverly hidden door there that was not on the Marauder's Map. Growing increasingly desperate, he began to mutter unlocking spells under his breath.
The door remained stubbornly locked. Harry's heart sped as he racked his brain. If he was found here…He began to incant again.
He had to open this door.
A/N: Hi people! I know the scene with Snape towards the end might've been a bit confusing, but it couldn't be helped, and I don't feel like changing it now. How do you like old Romulus? Odd chap, eh? (Secretive grin) I'm thinking of taking off those two teaser chapters I posted on my group, just so I don't spoil the story for you all... Also, don't worry – I'm not cruel enough to leave you with such a cliff-hanger for too long – Chapter 5 – A Very Gryffindor Tragedy, will soon follow this one. It's half finished, actually…Till then…
