Chapter 5: Crossing Boundaries
"Mentor assignments, everyone!" called Katie Bell cheerfully at breakfast Thursday morning.
"Honestly, Harry, that one you got sure looks like a bowl of raunchy porridge."
Harry glared. "Thanks for reminding me, Kate. I'll send him your love."
Katie shrugged and handed the three of them their in depth overviews. Silently, they began to read.
The Hogwarts Mentor/Mentee Program
Congratulations on being a part of the first ever "Hogwarts Mentor/Mentee" Program. The purpose of this new program is to help establish a more united student body, as well as to insure that all new incoming students have sufficient guidance in these new, troubled times. Should any new students have problems with classes, homework, other students etc. they should not feel anxious about seeking out their assigned mentor for guidance!
All sixth year students are to be assigned to a first year student, and spend no less than two (2) hours per week with their assigned partner. It is hoped that you will be able to learn many things from one another this year! These hours can be spent studying, talking, playing games- use your imagination! You and your partner have been chosen for each other, and are best suited for one another for many reasons!
Our older students will do well to remember that when times get rough, seeking the company of a younger student can be calming and helpful. This is also good practice for remembering rudimentary spells and theories for your upcoming NEWT examinations next year…
Harry found he didn't feel like reading much more. He got the basic points of the program- he had to spend at least two hours a week with this "Luke Vitiosus" bloke, doing whatever they felt necessary. As much as Harry wasn't looking forward to it (the scathing look his first year partner had given him across the hall only affirmed his suspicions that he was a 'Malfoy Junior'), he agreed that there needed to be more unity amongst the four houses.
Besides, nagged a small voice (sounding uncannily like Hermione) in the back of his brain, if he is potential Death Eater material, you should be the first to know and set him right!
Another two weeks passed, and Harry had yet to organize time with his "mentee" to fulfill the required two hours a week. Every time he had attempted to approach the young Slytherin, he seemed to suddenly disappear. It was the second Thursday of term, and he had no idea what he was going to do about his dilemma. After repeated harping from Hermione, Harry still was about to give up. If Luke wasn't going to nark to his Head of House that Harry hadn't been spending time with him, Harry had no plan of telling McGonagall, either. As far as the Boy-Who-Lived was concerned, it was two more hours a week that he could spend doing something enjoyable- like Quidditch.
Which brought up another sore spot- neither Dumbledore, nor McGonagall, had spoken to him, or any of the other beloved broomstick-toting school players about the year's Quidditch season. Harry had received his Firebolt the Saturday morning previous, having been brought to him by his new Phoenix in the wee hours of the morning. He, Ron and Ginny had even convinced Hermione to come with them on an afternoon fly this coming Saturday, the day of her birthday. With any luck they could get a few other people to come out with them, and have a go with Madam Hooch's set of Quidditch balls for fun.
This also had the benefit of keeping Hermione out of the common room while the rest of Gryffindor Tower's occupants set up for her surprise birthday party that he, Ron and Ginny had planned. Neville was organizing it all, and making sure everything went according to schedule. They had asked him if he would have liked to join them for a fly, but he declined. Harry shrugged, figuring that the memory of his broken arm in first year at flying lessons was still a little too painful for him to just hop back on a broom.
A glare from the Slytherin side of the Great Hall brought Harry out of his reverie. Sighing, he smiled at Luke, who was sitting a little too close to Malfoy for Harry's comfort, and turned back to his dinner. He and Malfoy had just barely kept their tempers in potions the past two weeks, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't last much longer.
'One more crack about my mother, and he's seriously going to get it, and I won't bother making it look like an accident,' Harry thought bitterly, shoving a roll into his mouth.
Having a good fly and Hermione's birthday party on Saturday were the only things getting him through the week at this point. Dunking another roll into his tomato soup, Harry frowned. His head was beginning to ache again. It was the third time in the past week (and the tenth in the past two), and it seemed to be getting steadily worse. His Occlumency had so far prevented any major attacks, but this headache was the worst yet, and he wasn't so sure he'd get off easily this time. A reassuring pat on his arm came from Ginny next to him, while a concerned glance from Hermione was shot his way across the table. Harry chanced a look over to his best friend- expecting to find him in complete concentration over his lunch- only to be surprised that Ron was giving him an even more concerned stare than Hermione.
Harry groaned inwardly- he hoped that the pain wouldn't rise to a state where he would have to run out of the Great Hall like he did the week before. Unfortunately, fate didn't seem to be favoring Harry at this point- his headache was worsening. If Ron had noticed he looked off-color, then there MUST be something amiss. But was there? This was another thing of the many that Harry had noticed in the past week- Ron seemed to be a lot more concerned about him than ever before, and seemed extremely sensitive when Harry's head began to ache, as if he was afraid that Harry might suddenly drop in a faint on the spot.
Yes, it was true; Ron had certainly been acting off lately… off, that is, for Ron Weasley any way. Harry knew that Ron had been sleeping about as frequently as he was lately, frequently being not really at all. Only this past Monday they had gotten their first Charms essay back, and Ron had gotten an A- acceptable- something Harry was quite proud of him for. As soon as old Flitwick had dismissed them, Ron had run from the third floor classroom all the way up to the seventh floor Gryffindor common room without stopping, Harry tailing him the whole way.
Upon entering the common room, Harry just saw Ron's robes whip out of sight into their dormitory, before he followed him up, and opened the door silently. Ron was there, sitting on the middle of his four-poster, the curtains only partially closed, and he was smiling. Smiling- and crying- at the same time. Harry had never known his best friend to cry over a BAD grade, let alone a good one, and so he silently walked back down the staircase into the common room to wait for Hermione. When he confronted her about it, Hermione had only bit her lip, shook her head, and told Harry that it 'wasn't her secret to tell'. Harry had searched her eyes inquiringly, but had resisted using Legilimency on her. After all, she was his best friend. He couldn't- he wouldn't- invade her privacy like that. Shrugging, he just asked her to mention it to Ron that he was concerned, but understood if the redhead didn't want to talk about it just yet. Harry recalled all too painfully how he had never wanted to share the Prophecy with them, and how long it had taken him to work up the nerve. When Ron felt the time was right, Harry would know. He was sure of it.
Shaken from his reminiscing by a rather painful twinge in his forehead, Harry clapped a hand to his head, as if he might be able to swat the infernal fly that was forever biting his skin. Taking his hand away, and attempting a sheepish smile at his worried friends, he saw them staring back at him in horror. Harry didn't have to ask what had frightened them. Looking down at the hand he had just removed from his forehead, he saw the reason- it was covered in blood. Gingerly, he touched a tentative finger to the scar on his forehead, only to pull it back immediately, feeling as though it had just been scalded.
Clenching his teeth, Harry braced himself, for what he knew was coming. He only hoped he could make it out of the Great Hall before he fainted. He had barely made it the last time. Attempting to rise, his legs gave way, and he clucked back into his seat. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville, who had also noticed the situation, all jumped up from the table as one. Ron and Neville grabbed each of Harry's arms, while Hermione and Ginny grabbed everyone's bags and books. In a rush of adrenaline, the two boys managed to lift the third clean out of his seat and walk hastily out of the hall, looking as though they were just walking with linked arms to turn in a late assignment they had all forgotten. Ginny and Hermione followed closely behind, feigning calmness. As soon as they cleared the doors (without too much attention being attracted, Hermione noticed thankfully), they paused for a brief second, to see if Harry was all right. Ginny bit her lip, praying to whatever Deity that existed for Harry to be honest, and not try to put up a brave front.
"Harry, are you all right?" whispered Ron, not wanting to attract any notice from people that might be leaving the hall early.
Meanwhile, Neville, in a stroke of brilliance whipped his hat from the bag Hermione had grabbed for him, and shoved it firmly onto Harry's head. Ginny stared, but Neville shrugged.
"The pressure might help stop the blood."
Ginny nodded and turned to Harry, who was breathing shallowly.
"Harry, love? Are you ok?"
The raven-haired boy attempted to catch his breath, and speak. He was unsuccessful- the only syllables they could make out were 'tal' and 'ble'. Ginny nodded.
"Ron, Neville," she ordered calmly, "take Harry to the hospital wing. Hermione, take the bags. I'm going to get Dumbledore."
The three nodded like obedient soldiers, and raced off as fast as they possibly could without making a scene. It was only when Ginny reached the Gargoyle, panting, that she realized she didn't know the password to the Headmaster's office. Cursing, she impatiently brushed her hair out of her face, wondering what she could possibly do.
"Fuck!" she cried, her eyes brimming with tears. How could the Headmaster be gone at a time like this? She had never seen Harry as bad as this before.
"Dumbledore, where the hell ARE you!"
"And what, pray tell," hissed a deep voice, "would upset a Weasley so much to use such colorful language? Especially the female Weasley?"
Ginny turned, gasping with what was surprisingly relief to find Professor Severus Snape standing before her.
"Professor, please!" she cried. "It's Harry! His scar again! This time it's bleeding! He barely made it out of the Hall, and that was with Neville and Ron carrying him!"
Snape's eyebrows raised in unmistakable surprise. "The Headmaster is not here, Miss Weasley. He had to head to the Ministry to finalize the paperwork on Umbridge."
Ginny bit her tongue forcefully- she had almost sworn again- and whimpered at the Professor that was her only hope. She was torn. Next to Dumbledore, she knew Snape was the one that could most likely find a potion to help Harry, or a reason as to what was wrong in the first place. The only drawback- she honestly couldn't stand the man. She had no reason to trust him, even if the Headmaster did. Heart won over mind, though, and though Ginny couldn't speak, she could certainly act.
Grabbing the Professor's hand, she raced down the corridor, through two secret hallways hidden behind tapestries, and to the Hospital Wing's door. The Potions Professor was gasping the entire way behind her, apparently too shocked to cry out at what she had done. Pulling him through the door, she dragged him to Harry's bedside, earning shocked gasps from not only Hermione, Ron and Neville, but the school nurse as well.
"What do you make of this, Professor? I've never seen anything like it before," asked Poppy Pomfrey, as she waved her wand over Harry's forehead, looking for signs of damage.
Severus Snape said nothing at first, but then looked down at Ginny and the other three students, who were kneeling around the boy's bedside, whispering comforting words to him.
"Please move, Miss Weasley, Miss Granger."
They simply stared at him in shock.
"I said, please MOVE. If you want me to help Mr. Potter, I need you to move out of my way."
As if they had been cracked with a whip, all four students cleared from Harry's bedside and moved to the foot. Harry's head had congealed blood on it, although thanks to Neville's quick thinking and his hat, it was no longer bleeding freely. Not bothering to sterilize Harry or himself, the Potions Professor placed a hand on the boy's forehead. Madam Pomfrey continued her examination to look for any normal causes of damage, and the students stared on. A minute passed in what felt like an eternity, and Snape suddenly let go, his face furrowing into an expression of the utmost concentration.
Robes billowing dramatically behind him he strode purposefully to the fireplace, threw in a handful of glittering floo powder, and disappeared. Almost as instantly as he left, he reappeared with five different bottles of potions in his arms. Whipping out his wand, he conjured a cauldron, lit a flame and began mixing furiously. Smoke and sparks billowed and flashed, until all that was left was a shocking green mixture.
"Granger! Flask this!"
Hermione obediently conjured enough glass bottles to encase the remaining potion, but watched, awed, as Snape walked over to her best friend, carefully sat him up, and gently worked a flask down his throat.
"Come on, Potter," he said, softly, "drink up."
Sputtering and coughing, Harry suddenly awoke, gasping for air and clinging to the Professor's black robes, and staring at him as if trying to see the depths of his soul.
"P-pro-professor!" he cried, still clinging to the Potions Master's chest.
"Yes, Potter," Snape replied briskly. "I'm a Professor, and don't you ever forget it."
Ron couldn't be too sure, but he could have sworn he saw a smile pulling at the corners of Snape's mouth. Snape struggled to stand up, but Harry wasn't letting go.
"Professor," he whispered, "he knows."
Snape's expression changed instantaneously.
"What do you mean, Harry?"
"He knows there's a traitor in his ranks. He doesn't know who, but he knows. Oh, sir- what if—sir, what if he?
Snape raised his head in affirmation, and Ron saw what was definitely a smile on his lips.
"I see. Well, the Headmaster's plan is working then."
Every occupant of the hospital wing gaped at him, as if they had suddenly been turned into fish out of water. Hermione blanched- how could Snape be so calm?
"Let's just say that our attempt to feed false information is working. I shall say no more. Rest assured, Mr. Potter, I am in no more danger now than before you lost consciousness.
"The flasks that Miss Granger has filled will remain here for you, should you ever need them again. I would let you take them with you, but I know what you and your foolish Gryffindor pride would do with them."
"He would take them if he needed them, or he would throw them out, but then he wouldn't tell the Headmaster, or Madam Pomfrey," supplied Neville. "He would keep it to himself."
Snape raised an eyebrow at him, and Neville clasped a hand over his mouth, as if he couldn't believe what he had just said.
"Quite right, Mr. Longbottom," Snape said, stiffly, and then rose to leave the wing. "You should be fine to leave, Harry. …That is, as soon as Madam Pomfrey will let you out of her sight."
Harry nodded at the Professor, and thanked him with his mind, hoping against hope that Snape was reading it again at that time. Snape nodded, and turned to leave the ward when he suddenly lost his breath, as none other than Ginny Weasley was tightly squeezing it out of him. She hugged him tight, with tears in her eyes.
"Thank you, sir. You have no idea how frightened I was. Thank you so much for taking care of him."
Snape's jaw wasn't the only one in the room that dropped, and he stared blankly at the small redhead that was clinging to him in an embrace as though they were long separated friends. His eyes widened in shock, before his facial expression turned to its normal passive state. Awkwardly, he patted her with one arm on the back, and then gently pried her off. Regaining his stiff composure, he stared stonily down at her.
"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley, for deliberately crossing over the Professor/Student relationship boundaries."
Ginny shrugged, "It doesn't matter, sir. Harry's all right- YOU'RE all right- you're safe from Volde—" Snape twitched—"You-Know-Who," Ginny corrected herself quickly, to spare the Professor from anguish. "You're safe, and that's worth five points any day."
Snape's face visibly softened, and the right corner of his mouth rose ever so slightly in a half smile.
"In that case, Miss Weasley, twenty points to Gryffindor."
She raised an eyebrow questioningly at him, smiling all the while.
"For deliberately crossing over the undrawn boundary lines between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and trusting me."
In one graceful, fluid movement, he turned and was gone.
"Wow," whispered Neville. "I guess now I understand why he gave you that Phoenix. I didn't believe it before, but now I do, Harry."
Hermione and Ginny raised their eyebrows questioningly at Harry, as if asking why he hadn't told him where the present had come from. Harry could only shrug, but apparently they seemed to get the message- that they wouldn't have believed him any way, if he had told them.
"It was a lovely gift Harry," said Hermione, nodding her approval at his unspoken reason.
Ginny nodded, rumpling his hair. "You're right, though, Harry, as much as I hate to admit it. We never would have believed you."
Ron scoffed, attracting their attention. "Oh come on- that's not half as weird as other stuff he's done!"
Everyone turned to look at him, even Madam Pomfrey, who paused in her final examination of Harry.
"What are you talking about, mate?" Harry asked.
"He said PLEASE."
"What!"
"When he asked Ginny and Hermione to get out of his way- he said 'Miss Weasley, Miss Granger, please move'."
"No way."
"Way. He also called you HARRY. Didn't anybody notice that? Not 'Mr. Potter', or 'Potter', or 'Our New Celebrity'—but HARRY."
Harry grinned, and Hermione pecked Ron on the cheek.
"You're right, Ron. He did. That is pretty amazing."
Ron laughed. "Yeah- AND he gave Ginny twenty points to Gryffindor!"
They howled with laughter, Madam Pomfrey included.
"Well," Ginny giggled, "fifteen really, after the five he knocked off, but still. Points are points!"
Madam Pomfrey reluctantly dismissed them all, giving Harry strict instructions to go straight to bed, and come back immediately if anything felt amiss.
"After all," she warned, "the only reason I'm letting you leave at all is because Professor Snape assured me that you would be all right. You come straight back here if you feel even so much as a mosquito bite of pain, do you understand me, Mr. Potter?"
After profusely reassuring her that he did, the five headed up to Gryffindor Tower.