– CHAPTER FOUR –
DETENTION WITH A KISS
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If you don't know that, then read the website title, fanfiction
After Harry had eaten his dinner, he traipsed down to Snape's office. He knew exactly where it was, as he had taken so many useless Occlumency in there. He remembered coming down this corridor last year, seeing Cho, and shouting at her…
Talk of the devil Harry thought, as Cho came round the corner. Well, I might as well talk to her.
Cho seemed to be thinking along the same lines.
'Hi Harry,' she said.
'Hi Cho,' he said back; feeling awkward.
'Potter!' Snape called, and Harry turned glumly to Cho.
'I'll see you later,' he said, and he walked into the office.
Snape pointed at the jars, and Harry's heart sank; there were hundreds of them. Harry set to work, pickling the eels. It was hard work. The first one he got slipped from his hands completely, and went all over the floor. Harry soon devised an easier method of getting rid of jars: vanishing them.
'Evanesco' he muttered and jars disappeared. Harry had to make it look like he was muttering, so every now and then, he talked to himself.
After fifty minutes, Harry had vanished half the jars, and only filled a quarter of them.
'Evanesco,' he muttered, and, feeling Snape's eyes on him, added, 'I hate detentions. Stupid eels,' Harry could almost see the look of satisfaction on Snape's face, even though Harry could only see a slither of Snape.
It was past eight o' clock when Snape finally talked.
'I, unlike you, have authority. If I issue an instruction, I expect you to follow it. If you ever, ever don't listen properly again, you will not only find points for your house lost, but also points on your reputation. Get up. Now. You may leave.'
Harry dropped the eel he had been pickling, and strode from the door, not once looking back at Snape.
At the door, though, Harry felt Snape's hand on his shoulder. He shoved it off heavily.
'Careful, Potter,' Snape said.
Harry did not want to be careful. As he stared into Snape's cold eyes, he remembered how Snape had always taunted him, and how he had always mocked Sirius.
'Have you finished fault-finding me?' Harry snarled – his anger had risen up quite quickly.
'Have I what?' Snape said frostily.
'Ever look in a dictionary?' Harry retorted. He did not care about being rude, either. He hated Snape so much…he wanted to run at him…tear him…hurt him…
'Detenti – '
'No,' said Harry. He knew what he was doing, but he couldn't stop it. Harry caught sight of the Pensieve, and, for the second time that day, relived his horrible lessons with Snape. Snape just stood staring at him, his mouth open. Then Snape saw Harry glance at the Pensieve again, and a smile curled on his thin lips.
'Your father too was an interesting man. Remember his little jaunt under the tree? Remember what he was like?' he said tauntingly. Anger pumped through Harry's veins, and a reckless danger seized him. He ran past Snape, who flinched, and seized the pensieve. Snape's eyes flashed dangerously, but Harry hurled it at the wall, and then he picked up other containers with slimy things in them, and hurled them at Snape, who was too slow at reacting to do something about it.
The pensieve was erupting memories, and Harry watched them, as Snape struggled in slime. Harry saw a greasy-haired teenager in a corner, cowering over someone with hair that stuck up at the back…Harry wrenched his eyes from the shadow of the memory, and looked at all the others that were floating up…Snape was in the Ministry of magic…he was in the hospital wing with Fudge…he came into the Shrieking Shack, where Harry cursed him.
Harry could hear Snape stir, and Harry blasted him off his feet, out into the corridor.
Not wanting to be left alone with slimy fragments in jars, Harry walked quickly out of Snape's office, with the weight on his chest a bit heavier.
Harry barely noticed where he was going, he was thinking so quickly. As a result, he took the wrong staircase, and ended up near the North Tower.
Harry couldn't help but grin – he would never have to take another Divination lesson again. At that moment, a disgruntled Professor Trelawney climbed clumsily down the ladder from the Trap Door. She ignored him, and Harry's smile faded from his face quite quickly. Professor Trelawney wasn't too pleased with him for failing her subject, for she had most enjoyed predicting his death. However annoying this got, Harry felt a sense of loss – he and Ron had enjoyed laughing over Professor Trelawney's inaccurate predictions. Now Harry had more realistic subjects, and, to top it off, they were much harder by comparison.
Once again, immersed in his thoughts, Harry hardly noticed where he was going. Harry looked up, and found himself in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.
'Er…Commotus Haedus.' The password had been changed already.
'Correct!' Said the Fat Lady, and she swung inaudibly forwards. Harry clambered into the portrait hole, ready to tell Ron and Hermione what had just happened. Harry had just opened his mouth before he had spotted Ron; he was sitting in his favourite chair by the dying fire, his Transfiguration homework on the table. Hermione was also sitting near Ron. Too near Ron. This was what had made Harry silent.
The atmosphere was almost tense, and the sound of their muffled voices made Harry feel uncomfortable. Harry knew he shouldn't be here, yet he couldn't move his legs for curiosity. Harry only too well remembered a situation like this in his forth year, but Ron was next to him on that occasion.
Looking over at Ron, he saw that the back of his neck was almost as red (although he didn't know it) his face. He glanced at Hermione's face, and saw that she, too, has a pinkish tint on her cheeks.
Eavesdropping on Ron was in Harry's least things to do, but Ron not telling Harry something was a rarity – what had Ron not told him?
A surge of anger rose up in Harry, and just before he could unbolt his mouth and say something, Ron gently held Hermione's chin up, and looked into her eyes. Hermione blinked once, and then she lent in, closer and closer…
Harry had the sense to reopen the portrait, and go, quickly. He didn't know why he felt this upset; he didn't like Hermione like that, after all, did he?
Or do you? said a sly voice in Harry's ear. Won't the tension be awkward?
Yes, Harry said to himself, it would be.
For the third time this evening, his legs carried himself away to an unknown place, his own conscious battling with him. Harry just kept on seeing Ron reach out to Hermione, as though watching a film in his head, over and over again.
After what seemed like hours, he opened his eyes, he saw, with one glimpse that he was by the Lake. Harry felt even lonelier then before, as he watched one of the giant squid's tentacles touch the lakes edge.
When he got back to the common room, he found, not a blushing Hermione, or a bashful Ron, but a shaken Neville.
'Neville?' Harry called through the common room. Neville jumped, and turned his head. 'Are you all right?' Neville hiccoughed, and turned slowly around.
'Harry.' It wasn't a question, but a statement. Harry strode over to Neville, and saw that he was pale, and that his eyes were red and puffy.
Harry stared back at Neville, and, for a while thought of nothing to say. Then, as the feeling grew back in his head, he softly said,
'Where-where've you been?' Harry sat down newt to Neville, feeling uncomfortable, and he found his voice reached a tone of more urgency; 'We've been worried.'
'Me?' Said Neville, finally,' I-I've…Sh-she oh…oh...' Neville dissolved into more fresh tears, his face hidden by his chunky arms. Harry noticed that he seemed more diminished then usual, and that Neville sat next to a cut-out from the Daily Prophet. Harry reached for the crumpled piece of paper, which was entitled: AZKABAN BREAKOUT. Feeling this could be no good; Harry soothed out the piece of paper, and read on, under his breath:
'Yesterday, the 13th October was indeed unlucky for some, Writes Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter. The newly appointed guards of Azkaban confirmed that the rumours are true: Half the recently found Death Eaters (You-Know-Who's supporters) have escaped the Wizard Prison, yet again. Among these are (Lucius) Malfoy, (Bellatrix) Black, Crabbe and Goyle. Although the ministry believe to have 'tabs' on the majority of escaped You-Know-Who supporters, Bellatrix Black seems to have escaped from the hands of the ministry.Flying rumours suggest that she is going to finish off the work she supposedly started – Killing Frank and Alice Longbottom. Long ago…'
Harry stopped reading there. He knew why this subject meant so much on Neville – Frank and Alice were Neville's parent, and they were now in St. Mungo's, for permanent insanity.
As Harry gradually moved his arm to put the cutting back down, creaking sounds behind both of them made Neville's head jerk up.
'Wha-?' Neville said quietly.
Crookshanks fled jauntily down the stairs; Neville gave a small shriek as he jumped on his lap, purring. Neville relaxed, and stroked the cat's head.
Harry felt like he was not needed anymore. He would get a confession from Neville later.
Harry was just at the topmost step, when he turned round to face Neville one last time. He turned his head, and saw that Neville had one hand on Crookshanks, and one on his head. One, solitary tear was running down his face.
Not for the first time that evening, Harry felt his throat close up, as he trudged into his Dormitory, and, fully clothed, leapt onto his bed, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Harry woke up late on the next morning, with his stomach churning. It took him a while to remember what had happened last night. He crept over to Neville's bed, and then Ron's. Both were empty.
Harry felt another up rise of anger for Ron in the last 24 hours – why couldn't Ron have woken him up? He shook his head; he was being stupid. But his conscious disagreed…
Did Ron prefer Hermione to him? Don't think about that, He told himself. But then why…? Harry stopped the conflict there. Not wanting to think about it, he headed from the common room to look for Ron and Hermione.
Harry found Ron at breakfast – he was sitting on the Gryffindor Table, near a working Hermione. Harry marched down to both of them, ignoring the heads that turned; he was making a lot of noise. Hermione's head jerked up from the long scroll on which she had been writing.
'Harry!' She cried in a muffled squeak. 'Where were you?' But then, before he could answer, she added, 'you've been gone for ages, what happened with…' she lowered her voice, 'you know, Snape … he wasn't too bad was he? And I'd really like to talk, but I have to finish my essay' and, without further ado, she buried her head down again and started scribbling furiously.
Harry looked at Ron; this would be one of the situations where they exchanged exasperated glances, but Ron's head was down, and he was staring at his porridge, as though fascinated by the oats in it.
Harry didn't think he could spend another moment with both of his best friends acting oddly. Taking a deep breath he sat down and Hermione mover her papers over by a mite. Leaning in, and speaking quietly, so that no one could hear them, Harry spoke.
'Er, Ron, Hermione…um…' It was turning out to be harder for Harry than he expected, 'I thought you should know that I, er, saw you both, er, you know what, um…'
'What?' said Hermione, spilling her ink bottle down the table, 'you what?'
'Er...' Harry could tell by the way that she was talking that she didn't misunderstand him. Hermione had now gone rather red.
'I'm – I'm sorry, Harry,' she said
It was Ron's turn to be stunned.
'WHAT?' Said Ron loudly, and heads flicked towards them. His ears reddened, and when the faces had turned away, he said in an angry undertone, 'you're what? Did you just say…what did…you feel what?
Hermione's head finally flicked up from her work.
'Well,' she said slowly, as though weighing each word, 'He's going to feel a bit…' Hermione paused, as though thinking for a word that fitted, 'bothered about it. Oh, come on, Ron, use you head. He's not really going to be overly pleased, is he?'
Ron looked round at Harry.
'You're all right. Right, mate?' He asked, sounding suddenly worried.
'Er.' Harry repeated. In truth he was worried, but he couldn't bear saying this in front of both of them, especially when Hermione's round eyes were looking at him so expectantly. 'Er…yes,' he said firmly, crossing his fingers under the table. He would get a chance to tell them properly, but just later. 'I'm fine.' He finished.
Later on, when they walked to their Transfiguration class, Harry was uncomfortably aware that he was walking in the middle of them, as though separating them. None of them said anything, and as they opened the door, they took their usual seats, and opened out their work.
Even though Harry was pretending to listen on what Professor McGonagall was saying about human transfiguration, he couldn't help noticing Hermione's head glancing his way, as though to check if he was alright. Ron just stared glassy-eyed at Professor McGonagall, though Harry could see that he, too, hadn't made any notes.
It almost came as a relief when the bell rang, and Harry nearly ran out of the Classroom in spite of himself, thinking to himself again. He walked up to his dormitory, picked up a fresh quill and scroll, and headed strait for the Owlery. He was thinking a letter through his head as he went. He needed to tell some one how he was feeling – he thought his head might burst if no one else knew.
As soon as he got up to the Owlery, he whipped out the parchment, lent against the wall, and had finished writing 'Dear Sirius' when he remembered, as though it had happened yesterday, that he no longer had a Godfather. He saw a sullen Sirius fall backwards into a veil for the umpteenth time.
Harry dropped the letter as though it was contaminated, the ink still shining on it. Leaving his belongings on the floor, he pulled himself together and promptly sank down on the floor. For weeks, he had wanted to talk to Sirius. He felt ashamed to admit it, but he needed to talk to someone about how he felt.
With everything weighing so hard on his mind, he considered (not for the first time) just running away. As he sidled up to the window of the Owlery, he looked over the top of the Forbidden Forest; he reminded himself that this was where he belonged. He was meant to be here, and, he dully reminded himself, running away from Hogwarts, and especially from Dumbledore was very stupid. He would only make more of an easy task for Voldemort. His mind started reeling as he thought of Voldemort on top of everything else. Just as he remembered the night in the graveyard, and saw Cedric's blank, grey eyes open in front of him, he slumped down onto the floor, in a deep sleep.
… Harry dreamt he woke up in the Owlery.
He looked automatically around for Hedwig … she came soaring in … Harry looked outside … the sky was velvet black, and the Forest looked like a big silhouette on the starry sky … Hedwig was on his shoulder … she looked hurt …
'Hagrid,' Harry muttered, and he clambered down the ladder … He had got to the bottom, where he saw Ron … he was oddly pale, and his eyes gleamed in the moonlight …
'Harry …' he whispered, 'where've you been?' … He moved towards Harry, but he moved back … he found himself shouting at Ron … Hedwig left his shoulder in alarm … feet were scuffling nearby … he had little time … he hollered another taunt at Ron, and sped off down the Corridors … running towards the grounds…
Harry kept on running until he got to the Forest…he stopped, and regained breath… he could hear voices calling after him…he ran into the forest…he heard more voices calling after him, and he yelled a insult at the abnormally shaped bodies…he ran more…more footsteps followed him… he felt a kick in his back…he could smell mud and grass through his nostrils…another jab rolled him over onto his back…he saw two hooves rear up, and come, slowly, down on him…but before they could reach, another lash got him in the side…he heard someone shouting…he knew no more.
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