35 (Angels from his Past)
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had spent the rest of their day going through interrogations with different teachers. They looked sort of suspicious to Hagrid, who didn't notice them at breakfast earlier on. He kept asking them about where they went to repeatedly until at last, Ron gave up and told him the whole story. Not only was he shocked, but he nearly broke the china he was holding in his trembling hand. As soon as he heard, Hagrid instructed them to stay in the castle and treated them like they were babies. He wasn't to be blamed, because they were like his children and he wouldn't let them get themselves hurt.
" 'Ya keep yer mouth shut, yer eyes open, and ya better stick to the castle… an' don' get into no trouble' " Ron imitated Hagrid gladly, which caused Harry and Hermione to giggle.
"Really, why's he just telling us to be good boys?" wondered Ron, annoyed by Hagrid's lecture.
"As a teacher, it's his duty to keep us safe," responded Hermione, grinning.
"Teacher or not," interrupted Harry, "He'd better start treating us like adults, now."
Hermione raised her eyebrows, staring curiously at him.
"Where did this sudden over confidence come from?" asked Hermione calmly.
"I'm not overconfident, it's just that…"
"Harry, Hagrid's our friend and a teacher; we want pick a row with him," scoffed Hermione.
"Whoever mentioned picking a row with Hagrid?" questioned Ron, perplexed by her thinking.
She said no more, but instead, kept on walking until she reached the Potions class room. Ten minutes later Harry and Ron caught up with her. Definitely, she was sad about Hagrid. Everyone except Harry, Ron, Hermione, and few others treated him like an ugly great brute, who was obsessed with gigantic and miniscule monstrous creatures. Despite the fact of being a half-giant, Hagrid was always a good friend. Whenever emotional problems suddenly appeared at Hogwarts, he was the best source for soothing words and comfort.
Throughout their awfully long period, the students were paying careful attention to Professor Snape, fearful of losing some points. Over the past few days, Professor Snape grew more determined, demanding and strict. All of that change came back to the subject of pre-N.E.W.T testing. Nowadays, he spent most of the time talking about pre- N.E.W.T tests, and how they freaked sixth year students for the last few years. It was in the nature of Professor Snape to sort of intimidate the students and get the clock going.
For the rest of the lesson, he had all of them write the main points needed for the pre-N.E.W.T test. Snape just kept on dictating them how to focus during the tests, for they could be harder than normal exams. In addition to that, he mentioned something about reading the text book thoroughly, and being capable of enduring of a heavy load of potions studied in class. Most of all, Professor Snape fixed his mind on the Gloomy Bubble Portion which happened to be at N.E.W.T level.
"But Sir," squeaked Neville, "we're not seventh years, and we don't know how to brew a Gloomy Bubble Potion."
"Never interrupt me, Mr. Longbottom," cried Professor Snape sharply, "ten points from Gryffindor. Perhaps that will plug in some manners and help you understand that raising your hand is vital before making a comment."
Poor Neville; he sort of crouched in his seat his head below the level of any others.
Fearful of facing the same consequence, everyone continued on scratching their quills on parchment, as quiet as fish. Harry didn't dare to speak a word, because he was too tired to have a go at Snape and get reported. Therefore, forced by the rules, he kept on writing.
With every word he wrote, the intensity of information increased, and his mind was crammed. As he continued moving his quill, unbearable boredom came by. Harry was getting drowsy and he found his eyes shutting automatically, as if curtains were being pulled down.
The lights faded, and he found himself in a familiar place. He was meandering around a corridor that seemed to have along path. Harry was looking behind his shoulders, above his head, and beside him carefully. A door came to his sight. It was a tall door, made of mahogany. The door handle was silver, but rusty. Instantly, Harry unlocked the door and pushed it open. Pitch darkness came to his sight, and no sound emerged. The room was vacant, and Harry pointed his wand forward. Suddenly, tiny icicles formed on his nose. The air slowly became frosty, torturing Harry gladly. With every breathe he exhaled, he saw the cold air wrapping it. Then, Harry heard noises. They were the noises that he feared most in his life. Dementors were crawling near him, stretching out their hideous hands. Harry was nearly paralyzed that he dared not to move. He had a firm grip on his wand, but the muscles and nerves within didn't move. And then it came… the cries and shrieks of his mother, pleading for mercy. Another voice interfered; it was cold and evil. Voldemort was laughing, and with pleasure killed Harry's mother. Harry felt the intense cold take over him. He had no other chance but to surrender. The Dementors clutched his hands and grabbed his legs, painfully; he was being lifted in the air, approaching what he dreaded more than the Dementors. He was beginning to discern green light outlining the air. An image of a wolf appeared. Harry desperately tried to move his hands, getting out of the Dementors' grip, and then struggling to run away. Still, the wolf was haunting his mind, and a mouth opened at last. From the inside came a cold voice. It was deep and scary, nearly petrifying Harry. He felt his soul being sucked out, his heartbeats increasing their pace, his body so helpless and frail. He was falling…falling…passing on to the other world…
"Harry! Harry!" he suddenly heard a soft whisper, waking him up, and an elbow nudging him gently in the ribs.
He opened his eyes, though still wild. Harry was still feeling the frigid air surrounding him, and had a desire to cry out loud.
After several blurs, he found Professor Snape keeping direct eye contact with him. His eyes were determined, and his lips curled.
"Stay after class, Potter," muttered Snape indignantly through gritting teeth, "I would like to have a word."
Harry wished that he would be released before he heard another cruel complaint or comment from the twisted twit.
Ron and Hermione were glancing at him wondering if he was allright. But he spoke no word, and his fingers recalled their strength by holding on to the quill. Harry's fingers were virtually numb, and his breath was heavier than usual.
At last, the bell was sounded, and Professor Snape dismissed the class with the exception of Harry. He tried to sneak out unobtrusively; however, unfortunately, the Potions Master quickly locked the door with a deft wave from his wand, while Draco and his cronies left.
"Sit down, Potter," instructed Snape grimly, pointing at the table nearest to his desk.
Obediently but reluctantly at the same time, Harry scooted to that specific table and sat down, a dull expression on his face.
Shortly after that, Professor Snape approached him slowly, banged his fist on the table. Automatically, Harry jumped up with fury.
"Give me one good reason why you weren't paying attention in class!" mouthed Snape, enraged.
"I…I didn't mean to…"
"Don't you start stuttering now, boy," interrupted the Potions Master rudely.
"I dozed off," responded Harry, hesitatingly, tightening his fist.
"Why so?"
"I don't know!" yelled Harry irritably. "It just happened! No wonder how boring your lecture was!"
At that very instant, Professor Snape's eyes widened, as if symbolizing a threatening to kill.
"Boring? I suppose you should listen more carefully to my boring explanation, because your future depends on it, as if I give a damn about it! At least it's better than lagging behind your friend Granger yearning for notes!" spluttered Snape.
"My future isn't going to depend on a repulsive, boring, dull subject! And if I need help from Hermione, she'll offer it kindly!" shouted Harry, stumping his foot on the ground.
"Pity, like father, like son," spoke Snape, grinning wickedly.
Harry ignored him, still burning from the inside.
"Enough of this nonsense," prattled Snape coolly, "tell me Potter…what did you see?"
"I was just dreaming," muttered Harry, "and it's none of your concern, by the way."
"Don't you mess with me, boy!" he shouted, exasperated.
Harry froze in his seat. He's never seen Professor Snape act as insane as this before. Although, he knew perfectly well how Snape loathed him just like his father.
Within some hasty heartbeats, the enraged Potions Master flicked his wand, summoning a small vial, containing a clear vivid liquid.
Veritaserum- thought Harry. Deep down, he knew its function. Once drank, Veritaserum would force one to speak the truth, and maybe even spill out his innermost secrets.
"Perhaps one sweet drop of Veritaserum would be enough to make your tongue speak the truth," mumbled Snape, taking off the lid.
"No…stop," whinnied Harry, his heartbeats pacing quickly.
"Stop? But you refuse to speak, Potter," chattered Snape, a grin of satisfaction showing on his greasy white face.
"Fine," squabbled Harry indignantly, "I nearly saw myself getting killed."
"Not nearly enough," argued Professor Snape," how?"
"I entered a murky room which was located on the eighth floor. It was so pitch dark that I couldn't see anything at all. Therefore, I lit my wand and…"
He stopped instantly, hesitating.
"Carry on," directed Snape, still holding Veritaserum in his greasy slippery hands.
"Dementors…everywhere," mouthed Harry heavily, "I couldn't move a single muscle, and then they carried me up in the air…"
"Interesting , continue," commented Snape, his eyes looking serious.
"I saw flashes of green light, and I heard Voldemort's voice," murmured Harry, afraid of the inevitable reaction.
"Do not speak the Dark Lord's name!" panicked Snape, giving Harry a usual chastisement.
Harry fell into silence, crossing his legs under the table.
"That's all…but I've had this dream before," confessed Harry solemnly, "there was more to it than just this."
"Really? Tell me about it," scowled Professor Snape, intrigued.
"I can't remember, exactly," lied Harry at once, for Snape was unbearable.
"Cease to lie!"
"I told you I can't remember!" acknowledged Harry, greatly enraged.
Moments of dead silence and suspicion passed by.
"Very well then," he mentioned," does anybody else know about this?"
"Ron and Hermione….and Firenze," answered Harry instantly, yearning to get out.
"Firenze? Oh yes, that must be the centaur. He's handy for fortunetelling, you know," muttered Snape, pushing up his black oily hair.
Momentarily, he ordered Harry to leave, which made him glad.
"Potter," quacked Snape in his cold voice for one more time.
"Yes, Professor?" he responded, patronizingly.
"My eyes will be watching you," he mentioned in a mysterious tone of voice, "I, too, am a member of the Order, Potter."
"Yeah, whatever," murmured Harry softly so that he was the only one who could hear himself talking.
Desperately, he grabbed the doorknob, pulled it down, finding his way out of the dungeons, slamming the door behind him. He was so sure that Snape would come cursing at the moment, but he was wrong.
As Harry left, thoughts flooded to his already troubled mind. Why was Professor Snape keen to know what he dreamed of? He gave up last year when Harry accidentally saw his thoughts of the past in his Pensieve. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore told him to be more careful around Harry and act as worthy as a guard. After all, there may come a day where the Headmaster is no longer among the living. Who then will be able to stop the evil powers and greed of Lord Voldemort?
Again and again, Harry's mind got full of exhausting thoughts and wonders. He was in dire need of a Pensieve.
"Hello, what was the old hag up to?" chattered Ron, as soon as Harry entered Greenhouse two.
"Nothing," he responded, hesitatingly, "just telling me off for not paying attention in his stupid class."
"Oh come now, Harry," whispered Hermione, "there's got to be more to it than that."
"Well, he questioned me about my dream," admitted Harry, putting his dragon hide gloves on.
"And?" interrogated Ron impatiently.
"What? I told him what I saw and that's that," explained Harry, slightly annoyed.
"What did you see, Harry?" asked Hermione, feeling a strong urge to know what he dreamed of.
"It was the same horrific dream I had a couple of months ago," pointed out Harry, "the one in which I get killed…"
There was silence for some moments under Professor Sprout's unceasing chattering.
"The one about what?" queried Ron.
"I'll tell you later," sighed Harry, exasperated, focusing on feeding the baby Toxiblossom some amber.
After the dreadful class was finally over, Harry cheered up by seeing some effective results of his, Ron, and Hermione's plan. They were clearly watching Crabbe and Goyle presenting Malfoy with the badge they bewitched to change the original letters; Crabbe and Goyle yearned for a higher reputation. Paradoxically, Malfoy was on flames. At first, when he took the badge from Crabbe's shaky sausage-like fingers, he grinned. But then, he smirked at the pair of them, enraged. When the huge Goyle bent down to squint at the miniscule writing, he was utterly stunned. Draco chased them like a chicken that had just lost her eggs, owing the need to beat them up and severely injure them.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione threw great fits of laughter and giggles that were practically incessant, had not Professor Sprout came by and reminded them to leave before they would be late for the next lesson.
"Did you see his face? Just like his mother's…like dung was underneath his ungrateful nose!" chuckled Ron.
"It's about time, too," commented Harry, still giggling.
"Yeah, that was a fairly good repayment for all he had done throughout these years…there maybe more to think of," agreed Hermione, heading to the girls' bathroom.
"We sound just like the Marauders, don't we Harry?" asked Ron, a grin running up his beaming cheek.
Harry was still grinning, but quiet. The Marauders happened to be three of his beloved ones, in addition to a traitor, Peter Pettigrew. James Potter was none other than his father, who had died fighting Voldemort, trying to save his wife and son's life. Sirius Black, his passionate godfather, had been convicted for a crime he never committed; now he was gone. Remus Lupin, a fantastic teacher, was driven out of school due to Snape's prejudice of werewolves.
Later that day, Harry had explained his dream to Ron and Hermione. They have both remembered Harry informing them about it some months ago, but perhaps they needed to refresh their memory. Hermione, out of the goodness of her soul, had suggested seeing Firenze about the dream for advice when Harry last told them about it. Consequently, Firenze ceased to uncover Harry's future. In an abrupt manner of way, he cut off short, letting Harry's mind grow with apprehension.
"Last time you had this dream, you died…didn't you?" asked Hermione earnestly. Harry nodded.
"Funny, why would you die at first, but live this time?" wondered Ron, amazed.
"Perhaps you should…"
"I'm not going to Firenze again," muttered Harry irritably, causing an interruption for Hermione.
"Maybe you should see Trelawney; she's still living in that old hot room of hers in North Tower, you know," pointed out Ron sarcastically.
Of course, for all these months, Harry had completely forgotten the residence of Trelawney in the castle. Only last year, when the mad Professor Umbridge sacked her, Professor Dumbledore amicably asked her to stay in the castle, for she had intended to leave to somewhere else. Even so, why would he seek her advice? Long has she pleasantly told him of his approaching death; she found it very amusing, indeed.
By nightfall, which made Harry relieved, he crept into his bed, stretching out his hand to pet Hedwig for the last time before she took off to the Owlery. He was overwhelmed with feelings and thoughts. Madly, he thought that if he ever stepped into the incredible Room of Requirement, he would find a nice little object with silvery wisps above it, a Pensieve.
Through his light sleep, Harry' thoughts carried him back in time. He saw his mother and father smiling fervently at him and beside them was young handsome man that Harry didn't recognize instantly. He was carrying Harry, throwing him joyfully into the air, and then catching him again. There was always a childish grin on that face. In the dream, Harry noticed how familiar the eyes were. And then, he knew it. That man with a childish grin happened to be Sirius, his godfather. He also was an unforgettable school menace, and a dear friend of James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.
Harry was so glad to see three of them, his mother, father, and Sirius. He was in such desperate need of them to sooth his pain and demolish his anguish. He wanted to meet his parents for one last time. Simultaneously, he blamed himself for Sirius's death. If Harry hadn't ignored him, and reached for behind the veil, Sirius would've still been living.
As the night sky grew blacker and starrier, Harry calmed down in his bed. He was mumbling vague words and phrases of greetings, love, and friendship.
You can do it son- Harry heard a voice in his head, his father's.
Don't give up to evil- there was another warm voice, his mother's.
Let the power of sacrificed love, care, and good will be at your aid when desperate to survive- he heard Sirius's voice this time.
You will vanquish the Wolf of the Eighth Floor, and sooner or later Voldemort will face the same fait- spoke James's urging and encouraging voice.
If you are destined to die, you shall die with pride- interfered Lily's warm voice.
Good luck, Harry- came a final voice, Sirius's.
After those last words, Harry fell into a completely blank world of only empty space. He was positively sure that a smile appeared on his face.