Disclaimer: Much as I wish it weren't true, I still don't own Harry Potter. (This plot, though, is all mine.)

Preludes for Memnon
XIX

Watch long enough, and you will see the leaf
Fall from the bough. Without a sound it falls:
And soundless meets the grass… And so you have
A bare bough, and a dead leaf in the grass.
Something has come and gone. And that is all.

But what were all the tumults in this action?
What wars of atoms in the twig, what ruins,
Fiery and disastrous, in the leaf?
Timeless the tumult was, but gave no sign.
Only, the leaf fell, and the bough is bare.

This is the world: there is no more than this.
The unseen and disastrous prelude, shaking
The trivial act from the terrific action.
Speak: and the ghosts of change, past and to come,
Throng the brief word. The maelstrom has us all.

-Conrad Aiken

The Atrocity of Sunsets

Part II

The boy sat in the train compartment on the way to Hogwarts with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville. He was filling in for Harry on the train ride, just as he had always done. In general, Harry had too many conflicting emotions coming back after each summer—as well as too few answers prepared for his friends. Thus, a replacement was always needed to assuage their concerns.

After gentle prodding from Hermione and Ginny, and extremely unsubtle queries from Ron, he'd already told his friends what he was able to tell about his summer.

"Yeah, Dumbledore reckoned that I needed to know how to protect myself, so he took me from the muggles early to train…"

This, of course, produced very curious expressions on the faces of the group (mixed with a tiny bit of easily-overcome jealousy with Ron), and begat a flurry of questions from Hermione—which resulted in him promising to teach what he could to them and the D.A.

'Though when we'll have time to do this, I have no idea,' he thought to himself.

He continued chatting with his friends, and the trip was made as it usually was—complete with the standard visit from Malfoy and his cronies. They had apparently not yet learned their lesson about accosting him, but they were chased off quickly enough when they were threatened by the entirety of the compartment. Even Neville did not hesitate in standing up to them; fighting in the Department of Mysteries and then receiving his own wand had really bolstered his confidence.

So, all in all, the train ride was a success. Everyone got safely back to Hogwarts without incident, and he'd managed to reassure the Weasleys, Hermione, and Neville that he was alright without lying—well, without really lying. As they stepped off the train and loaded into a thestral-drawn carriage to Hogwarts, he only wondered how everyone was always so easily convinced that he was Harry—he didn't resemble him at all.

It was with a mask of bored indifference that Snape observed the sorting ceremony. In reality, he was closely watching which first years were put where—and making his own preliminary mental estimations of their character—and devoting the rest of his attention to keeping watch over Potter and his cohorts.

The Sorting Hat had once again infused its song with warnings of dire times for Hogwarts should its students not fully unite. Snape, of course, knew that the Hat had precedence in making these kinds of warnings—it had actually done so in his own seventh year. And, of course, he had reacted to its urgings the same way Potter and his friends had the year previously—that is, he totally disregarded them. With all the benefits of hind-sight, he hoped that his slytherins would heed the advice of the tatty hat.

Soon enough, however, he was drawn from his musings as the last student (Yeganegi, Alexandra) was sorted into Ravenclaw. As he began serving himself, Snape glanced briefly over at Potter. He was about to turn away when he noticed that the comfortable, if not slightly bored, look on the boy's face was swiftly turning to one of bemusement and confusion. Potter subtly tried to look around him—as if attempting to assess his situation—before relaxing and beginning to load food on his plate.

Curious… Snape had never seen the boy act in this way. The Potions Master could not think of an explanation for this behavior. He came to the conclusion that it was probably nothing, and went back to his meal. Even so, he filed it away for future consideration.

After the welcoming feast, Harry drowsily walked the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower with the rest of his house-mates. To all outward appearances, he was content, happy to be back at Hogwarts. Like the rest of the boys in his dormitory, he wasted no time in changing into his pajamas and crawling into his four-poster. He drew his curtains closed tightly around his, and if anyone heard the soft incantation of a silencing charm, they gave no indication.

If anyone had thought to look in on him hours later, just past midnight, they might have been surprised at what they'd have found.

Instead of the content—if somewhat subdued—teenager of a few hours before, Harry's figure now appeared smaller, almost drawn in on himself. He was curled tightly in a fetal position, as if unaware of the large bed he lay on, and his fist was stuffed in his mouth in an attempt to stifle his sobs, as if unaware of the silencing charms surrounding him.

However, he was not completely muffled. If one were inside the confines of the four-poster, they could have easily heard some of the boy's words.

"Sorry… I'm sorry…didn't mean to… my fault… freak…"

If anyone had thought to look.

Harry yawned as he sat down to breakfast with Ron and Hermione the following morning. It was strange, he felt completely exhausted and unrested, but he knew for a fact that he'd gotten lots of sleep the previous night. He tried to shrug off his fatigue as he started in on his kippers.

Halfway through breakfast, the trio received their schedules. Looking his over, Harry was relieved to note that he'd be starting out the year with Charms, and wouldn't have to worry about NEWT Potions with Snape until Thursday afternoon. He was about to set down his schedule and resume eating when Hermione grabbed his attention.

"Harry," she said, "what's that note on the back?"

Curiously, he turned it over, and saw that there indeed was a piece of parchment spell-o-taped to the back. He removed it and saw that it was a note from Dumbledore. After reading it over, and checking to make sure nobody was listening in on the conversation, he quietly answered her.

"It's from Professor Dumbledore. He says that I'm to resume my—extra lessons—next week. I'm to work with Snape every Tuesday night, and on Sunday nights, I'll either be working with Dumbledore, McGonagall, or Lupin."

Ron whistled under his breath. "And on top of that, you'll have Quidditch, the D.A., and schoolwork. I don't envy you, mate."

Hermione looked sympathetic to Harry's schedule, but couldn't hide the fact that she was excited at the prospect of extra lessons. "Oh, but imagine all the things he'll learn!" she exclaimed. "I don't suppose…"

Harry chuckled lightly at his friend. "Don't worry, Hermione, I won't mind teaching you some of what I learn."

She smiled brightly before glancing down at her watch. "Oh! We'd better get going, we don't want to be late for Charms our first day back!"

Harry took a couple more bites of food before stuffing his schedule and Dumbledore's note into his bag and setting of to charms with his friends.

The first week of classes had passed by without incident—though Harry had heard the same "this is a NEWT level course, so be prepared for lots of work" speech several times over—and much sooner than he would have liked, he found himself in Snape's dungeon bracing himself for another occlumency lesson.

Though many people who only had the image of him as the boy-who-lived would be surprised to find this out, Harry tended to be a pretty timid person. He put himself forward when the situation warranted it, of course, but most of the time, he really just wanted to fade into the background. While he tried to distance himself as much as possible from the Dursleys, one lesson ingrained into him living at Privet Drive was to avoid attention—he reflected that it wasn't really a problem, as he mostly recalled being ignored by them, but usually when his aunt, uncle, or cousin paid attention to him, it wasn't a good thing. In Harry's mind, he'd made great strides in opening up to people—Ron and Hermione being case-in-point—but being around Snape, especially having lessons one-on-one with Snape, never failed to put him on edge.

He would never admit it to anyone (least of all the snarky git himself), but Snape made him nervous. What was worse was that he didn't even know why he always got so nervous, because it was nothing conscious. Most of the time, he placed that mystery in the same area as his constant black-outs. It just happened.

Harry was drawn out of his musings as Snape entered the dungeon in a flurry of black robes.

"I'm glad to see that you're on time, Potter. We will continue where we left off at our last lesson. I hope you've been practicing; if you haven't, I'll know, and I won't be pleased."

"I have been practicing, sir," he said tensely.

"We'll see," Snape sneered. "Legilimens!"

Fortunately, the beginning of the year also heralded the beginning of a new Quidditch season, one in which Gryffindor's star seeker was able to play again. Katie Bell had been appointed Gryffindor captain, as she was the team's senior member. The second Saturday back at Hogwarts, the remaining team members made their way to the Quidditch Pitch in order to hold try-outs for new members.

When a good number of hopefuls had made their way onto the pitch, Katie clapped her hands to gain everybody's attention.

"Alright," she said, "here's how try-outs are going to work this year! We are looking primarily for two chasers; however, as we usually find ourselves…er… lacking one or more regular team members each year, we will also be holding try-outs for a reserve keeper, chaser, beater, and seeker."

At this announcement, the black-haired seeker found himself on the end of amused glances from Katie, Ron, and Ginny (who was here to try out for a chaser position). Knowing his propensity for getting into trouble, he only shrugged. It was never his fault.

After Katie gave instructions to all the prospective players, the try-outs began in earnest. As the priority was finding two new first-string chasers, those trying out for the position took to the air first, each one attempting to get the Quaffle past the hoops that Ron was guarding. Next, Katie and two other constantly changing chasers tested out those trying for reserve keeper, while potential beaters were put through their paces doing drills on the other side of the pitch.

For most of the try-outs, the black-haired seeker stayed on the ground, carefully watching the proceedings and making mental notes of each of each prospective player. Finally, after the keepers, beaters, and chasers were finished, those wishing to become reserve seeker were sent over to Harry, and he took a more active role.

In reminiscence of his first training session with Oliver Wood, each of the three seekers was first sent into the air to chase after golf balls. After this, all were put above the pitch at the same time, to chase an actual golden snitch (albeit one that was charmed to be slightly easier to spot). Lastly, Harry instructed them to follow him around the pitch and do their best to mimic his maneuvers—Hermione would be recording them with omnioculars, which would be reviewed later.

Everyone was watching the seekers being put through their paces, but their attention was not exclusively on those hoping to make the team. As Gryffindor's star seeker took to the air, it was easy to see his expression change into one of euphoria- an expression only ever seen when he was flying. To Harry's closest friends, he was almost like a different person when he was on his broom.

After much deliberation and discussion, the new Gryffindor team members and reserve players were duly chosen—and then announced in the midst of a raucous party.

It was no surprise to anyone that Ginny Weasley was chosen as the first new chaser; her stint as seeker last year had clearly shown her skill on a broom, and from her try-out, it seemed her skills would be even better put to use as a chaser. The second new chaser was a tall and broad Fourth Year named Tom Collins, and the spot of reserve chaser had gone to a Third Year boy known as 'Sharma' (his first name, Jonathan, was never used by his peers).

Victoria Frobisher, a now Third Year who had tried out for the keeper position the previous year, gained a spot as the reserve keeper. An energetic Fourth Year by the name of Devin McClanahan—whose Irish accent was tame most of the time, but invariably seemed to intensify in his excitement—was given the position of reserve beater. Finally, the reserve seeker spot was given to a slight Second Year girl by the name of Adele Houghton.

All members of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team—new and old, main and reserve—were constantly being toasted to by the rest of the Tower; most of the students raised their butterbeer bottles in these toasts, but a fair number of Sixth and Seventh Years were having a grand time with the Firewhiskey Seamus had managed to smuggle in. The party lasted well into the night, and everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves (even Hermione, who generally tried to maintain a scowl of disapproval aimed towards the more exuberant party-goers).

At around half-past midnight, Professor McGonagall marched up to Gryffindor Tower to put an end to the festivities. She stood in the portrait hole, unnoticed for a minute or two, as she observed the festivities with a slightly softer expression than one might have expected. The happiness of everyone, Harry Potter notably included, was very easy to see. McGonagall had lately been noticing strange mood swings that Gryffindor's star seeker had been having, where he ranged from hostility to obstinance to an unsettling impassivity. Never, though, had the Deputy Headmistress seen Potter so happy and seemingly carefree. The sight was almost enough to persuade her to let the celebration go on uninterrupted. However, she had responsibilities that she had to keep in mind, and she couldn't let them go to the wayside simply on the account of one student.

Professor McGonagall hardened her expression and frowned—she must be wearing the proper disciplinary expression, after all.

"What is going on here?" she demanded.

All noise ceased.

"You will go up to your dormitories at once. I'm sure you've all had quite enough celebrating for tonight," she declared, eyeing the empty Firewhiskey bottle in Dean Thomas's hand. "And twenty points from Gryffindor."

Several students groaned, but everyone finally began heading up to their dormitories. McGonagall left the common room shaking her head.

Exiting a dungeon classroom after a particularly trying Double Potions session, a certain black-haired, Sixth Year Gryffindor was very irritated. Where the hell did Snape get off being so… Snape-like? It was all insufferable condescension along with never-ending insults about Harry, and James Potter, and Gryffindors in general.

The boy scoffed at the thought of the huge nosed git. Even without the insults and the condescension, his ugly face was distracting enough, what with a nose that looked like an elbow affixed to the middle of his head, and hair that had probably never been free of the grease that smothered it.

Everyone was always telling him to ignore that antagonism that the greasy bastard was constantly throwing at him, but he was fed up with it, and what if he didn't particularly feel like ignoring it?

'Hell and damnation!' mused the Gryffindor, 'And a large supply of heavy-duty shampoo.'

And that was how inspiration struck. Snivelus was long overdue a good prank, and this mischief-maker knew just what to do.

"Hey, Ron," he said casually, but with a bit of a smirk on his face, "I just had a great idea…"

Though Ron was a bit wary of the plan—if it was out of fear of Snape's retribution, or Hermione's disapproval, it was impossible to tell—he eventually agreed to help out, and the prank was swiftly set in motion.

This was how, a few days later, most of the school was watching curiously as a non-descript owl (rented from the Hogsmeade Post Office) dropped a fair sized, plainly wrapped package in front of the resident Potions Master. No sooner had the parcel landed with a thunk on the table did the plain brown paper fall away, revealing the contents to all the professors surrounding him, along with a good number of students who were sitting closer to the staff table.

Sitting boldly in front of Snape was an economy-sized bottle of shampoo, stamped with huge, bold lettering: Pamela Pretty's Wildflower Hair Potion: Heavy Duty Shampoo for Stubbornly Oily Hair. (Just below that, in only a slightly smaller font was the apparent slogan, "Wash away that dirt and grime, and your new style will be sublime!") Cheekily spell-o-taped to the bottle was a note that simply said, "Use Me!"

Snape, apparently trying to keep his dignity in tact, carefully and deliberately lowered his fork before leaving the Great Hall—though many observant students noticed his hands were clenched at his sides and his eyes were twitching.

When everyone was sure the Potions Master was safely out of hearing range, the Hall burst into boisterous laughter, and order was not restored for several minutes (with much sputtering and pointing at the shampoo bottle, still sitting in front of Snape's plate, in the mean time). Naturally, once everyone had once again settled down enough to be able to speak in full sentences, there was much speculation about who it was that had just pulled a fast one on Snape. It seemed that nobody knew who it was, and if anyone had any information, they weren't talking.

However, Hermione had suspicions as to the culprits the moment that she glanced over at Harry and Ron and saw their matching innocent, bewildered expressions—quite reminiscent of Fred and George, and painfully obvious in meaning to anyone that had spent any prolonged amount of time with the Twin Terrors.

Right as Hermione was about to open her mouth in order to give them the third degree, the pair glanced at their watches and announced that they had better be getting to class. They were already walking through the doors of the Great Hall before the bushy-haired prefect regained her bearings and raced after them. Much to her annoyance, she only was able to catch up to them just before the bell rang, and was not given the chance to scold them before class began.

She took notes dutifully through the period, just as always, but also sent a good number of irritated glances at her two best friends. When the bell signaling the end of the period finally rang, Hermione was all set to pounce on her friends, but she was denied the opportunity once again—they were able to slip away once again. They managed to evade her for the rest of the day.

Unfortunately for them, the guilty party wasn't able to escape the wrath of Hermione for long; the next morning, Ron had found himself cornered and being a stern talking-to ("You are a prefect, Ronald Weasley, so start living up to the responsibility and act like it!"). Immediately afterward, the prefect went off in search of her other friend for the same reason, but when she found him at least, she was surprised enough to forget her mission altogether.

The black-haired Gryffindor was immersed in a large tome, stacks of other books piled around him, and he couldn't have looked more content.

"Er… Harry?"

He looked up and smiled at her, "Hey, Hermione."

She took a seat after he had cleared a spot on the table in a clear invitation to join him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, curiously.

After quickly looking around to make sure no-one was listening, he leaned forward, and spoke in a hushed voice. "You know how I'm taking extra lessons? Well, McGonagall is teaching me the animagus transformation, and I've gotten to the point where I know my form. Before I go any further, she's assigned me to do research on my animal—it's natural characteristics and habits, along with myths and traditions associated with it—so I can better understand why I have the form I do."

Hermione nodded in understanding, and took a closer look at the books, noticing that while many had broad titles like Traditional Animal Symbolism of the Far East, the more specific titles all had to do with birds.

"It's really interesting, actually," he continued earnestly, "the natural characteristics are pretty much straightforward, but the myths are so varied that they seem contradictory, but oftentimes just reinforce the personality of the animal.

"For instance," he said, after flipping through the pages of the book he was currently reading, "ravens are known in myths around the world as shape-shifters, and are known for their wit, creativity, and insight—which they use in legends for the good of others, and as devious tricksters both. They're also associated with solitude, though some cultures tell of them as a benevolent guide and they are symbolic of gratitude and affection."

"That is rather paradoxical," she agreed. Smiling at her friend's excitement, she continued, "I don't know that I've ever seen you this enthusiastic about research of any kind."

"Don't get too used to it," he said teasingly, "I'm almost done, and then you'll have your bibliophobic best friend back."

True to his words, he scribbled the last of his notes five minutes later and then set about putting all of the books away. Hermione helped him, and soon the pair was heading back up to Gryffindor Tower. It wasn't until much later, just as she was crawling into bed, that she realized that she had been successfully distracted from rebuking her black-haired friend.

"Too right, 'devious tricksters,'" she muttered before pulling closed the curtains of her four-poster.

At the close of the next day, Snape was to be found stiffly removing strands of memory and placing them in a pensieve in preparation for the impending occlumency lesson with Potter. The fact that the Potions Master still had to suffer the indignity of tutoring the boy still grated on his ever-taught nerves, never mind the fact that Potter actually was showing promise this time around. It was the principle of the thing; everyone else catered to the brat's every whim and weakness, and Snape bristled at the notion that he was expected to do the same.

Sneer firmly in place, Snape recalled a conversation he witnessed between McGonagall, Albus, and Lupin earlier that week. The werewolf—who had traveled to the castle for the express purpose of tutoring Harry—anxiously expressed his concerns over the boy's emotional well-being and the fact that he hadn't seemed to mourn his godfather's passing. While his two colleagues appeared concerned and anxious over this admission, the Potions Master simply felt indifferent; he certainly didn't want to witness any histrionics on behalf of the mutt, and told himself that it wasn't his responsibility to deal with any problems might have outside of schoolwork and occlumency.

And in any case, there was no doubt that Potter was surrounded by sympathetic ears, ready and willing to listen to his every complaint.

Shaking the conversation from his mind, Snape quickly finished removing his more guarded memories. After doing so, he settled himself behind his desk, and let he eyes rest firmly on the clock. At exactly nine o' clock, there was a firm knock on the door.

"Enter," he commanded.

The door opened and Potter—stone-faced, as he always appeared to Snape these days—entered. The Potions Master motioned the door closed, and stared narrowly at the boy waiting at attention.

"I trust you don't need instructions on what to do now," he said.

"No, sir."

"Very well, then. Legilimens!"

To the Slytherin Head's slight dissatisfaction, he was not able to gain access to the Golden Boy's mind for the entirety of the lesson. It was not an unforeseen occurrence; for the past few lessons, he'd only broken the boy's barrier once per night, and even then only with the most subtle of intrusions when the brat was clearly losing energy. Even so, he was irked at the Gryffindor's success—it would no doubt swell his head to an even more unbearable size.

At the end of two hours, Snape was forced to let Potter leave with the warning that this did not mean he had mastered occlumency, and that he had better keep up practicing, for there would be harder tests coming his way.

Irritably, the Potions Master placed his memories back in his head and stormed off to his quarters.

Following his best friends, a certain sixth year Gryffindor shuffled moodily into the Potions Dungeon. He had not had the best of days; though he had no nightmares last night, he still felt exhausted—and had also managed to oversleep. As a consequence, he completely missed breakfast, and found himself losing his house ten house points from McGonagall as he skidded into Transfiguration five minutes late. While he managed to keep himself awake through all of his classes, he was frequently called out by his Professors for not paying attention. The fact that he had a dull throbbing headache persistently located in the area of his left temple didn't help matters.

Gracelessly sliding into a seat and dropping his books, he ignored the slightly concerned looks of Ron and Hermione. Harry thought one of them might have been about to comment—again—but luckily, they were prevented from doing so when Snape swept into the classroom and, as was his custom, demanded the class's attention.

If he thought Potions would be any better than the rest of his day, he was sorely mistaken. Harry couldn't force himself to focus any more than he could in the rest of his classes, and it was clear that Snape was taking vindictive pleasure in punishing him for every lapse in attention. By the end of the lesson, he was on his last nerve.

This being the case, it is no surprise that as he was putting away his potions ingredients, his thoughts were solely focused on the fact that, in less than a minute's time, the bell would ring and this horrible excuse for a day would be over.

As such, he was not prepared when Snape sent a nearly silent Legilimens in his direction.

Instantly, his mind was flooded with his memories—he saw himself approaching the Fat Lady; himself tossing and turning in bed; and, quite incomprehensibly, himself looking back and forth between his arm and a razor.

Suddenly, Snape was out of his mind, and Harry found himself once again in the Potions classroom. The Professor was sneering malevolently at him, and when the bell rang a few seconds later, he was profoundly grateful for the chance to escape. However, this gratitude was short-lived, as Snape caught him before he could reach the door.

"Mr. Potter," he said coldly, "you will remain after class."

Ron and Hermione sent him questioning looks, but they were forced to leave by the force of the Potion Master's glare.

When the last student was gone, Snape swiftly motioned the door shut and locked it with his wand. He stared at Harry a moment before ordering him to sit.

"I would like an explanation, Mr. Potter."

For reasons he couldn't quite understand—reasons that went beyond failure at Occlumency—Harry felt very scared.

Author's Notes:

I'm so sorry for the delay in this chapter. I wanted to get certain things fine-tuned and worked out, and didn't feel I could write this well enough without having all the elements right. Also, as is not uncommon with me, I ran into a small bit of writer's block. Finally, as I'm sure you know, HBP came out, so I needed a bit of time to digest that and decide how it was going to impact the fic (if it was even going to). In the end, I decided that I would basically keep to my original outline.

Thank you SO much to everyone who has reviewed! Feedback is awesome. It made me very happy, and I'm very glad you all seem to like it so far.

Molly Morrison- I was so excited to see your review (I love your stories!). As to your question… how can I possibly answer that without giving something away?

Tanydwr- Hehe, don't worry, there is no slash planned for this fic.