Chapter 9

A slight brush against his arm is all it takes to yank Severus from fretful sleep and straight into action, his muscles instantly rigid, his teeth instinctively bared.

His eyes shoot open, greeted by blinding darkness. But that is no matter, he doesn't need the light.

With a growl, he launches himself out of the bed, throwing all his weight into his assailant. His body smashes into the intruder, pinning them to the wall. His forearm jams into the soft flesh of a throat. His other hand snakes into his pocket, securing his wand, and ramming its tip into the figure's temple.

He lights his wand wordlessly, showering the intruder's face with a beam of bright white.

Then he curses. Loudly.

Potter!

He glares down at the girl, his dark eyes still blazing with fury.

She's dressed in a tee-shirt at least six sizes too large for her and her feet are bare. Tendrils of her dark hair jut out uncontrollably in every direction, even more of a mess than usual. Her mouth is frozen in a silent gasp. Though her body is rigid, the girl's eyes are wild. Those eyes, so like Lily's, are full of fear. They flail in their sockets, terrified and unfocused.

He pulls away from her abruptly, removing the weight from her neck.

The girl stays frozen, pressing herself against the wall and letting out an involuntary whimper of fear. She looks even smaller than usual.

"What are you doing in here, Potter?" he growls, his voice much colder than he intends.

But the girl can't answer. She's hyperventilating so severely that she has to be near fainting.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Severus yanks open the drawer beside his bed and retrieves a calming draught.

In her state of panic, it's unclear whether Potter even recognizes him. She's shaking like a leaf. He approaches her slowly, hoping she won't flee.

Potter doesn't move from her position against the wall; she just withers under his gaze.

"Potter. Look at me," he instructs firmly.

He's slightly surprised when she does. Still struggling to suck in a breath, her emerald eyes lock onto his, pleading for mercy.

"I'm not going to harm you," he assures her, and lifts the vial toward her mouth. He grips her jaw firmly and tilts the vial so the potion flows into her mouth.

She swallows, and then most of the tension flees from her body. Severus backs away and lets her compose herself.

Soon she's breathing more normally.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," she whispers.

Now that he knows she's okay, some of the anger comes flooding back.

"Have you ever heard of knocking?"

At his question, she seems to remember something. The fear on her face is clear.

"I… I did. But you didn't say anything, and I was worried, and I didn't know what to do. I didn't mean to startle you. I'm sorry." The words tumble from her mouth quickly and clumsily. She's obviously still terrified; none of her Gryffindor attitude is showing.

"You're lucky I didn't hex you."

She was extremely fortunate that he'd responded without shooting off a fatal spell. Startling him from sleep was a dangerous game.

"Professor, I think…" she pauses, choosing her words carefully this time. "I think I heard him."

"What are you talking about?"

"Voldemort. I heard him in my room."

Severus can't help himself. He rolls his eyes at her.

"Ms. Potter, that is impossible. There is no way that the Dark Lord could make it into the castle, and even if he had, you'd already be dead."

She appears to think this over, still looking distressed.

"But I heard it," she insists. "I swear. He said my name."

"You must have imagined it. Perhaps you were dreaming."

She shakes her head furiously.

"No... I mean I was, but I woke up. I heard it after that." She crosses her arms across her chest and hugs herself tightly.

"You are certain?"

She nods earnestly.

He knows she's wrong. There's no way her claims are true. It's impossible. But a part of him really wants that fear on her face to disappear. He hates timid Potter. He'd rather have bratty and defiant Potter any day, no matter how infuriating she is.

"C'mon then," he says, waving her toward the door. He glides down the hall, glancing back to see if she follows. She does, but she lags a fair bit behind, shuffling clumsily in the dark.

Severus spots her bedroom door, still hanging wide open, and enters, tightening his grip on his wand. They amble forward until a slight rustling at the corner of the room catches his attention. He turns sharply, holding his free arm out, so that Potter stays behind him.

"Harriet Potter," a raspy voice breathes.

That's not the Dark Lord. Severus would recognize his voice anywhere. But Potter was right. They are not alone in this room.

He feels a swish of cold air as something in the room shifts.

His eyes scan the area, but he doesn't see anyone. Then he hears the same words ring out behind him. Severus pivots and Potter stumbles backward, her small form slamming into him. She's trembling again.

A shrill giggle rings through the room.

Peeves.

The poltergeist materializes in front of him, cackling wildly.

"Oh, wee Potty is afraid!" he shouts with glee, zooming in close to Potter and sticking out his tongue.

Severus growls, baring his teeth at the menace. "If you do not leave my quarters at once, I'll summon the Bloody Baron. I think he would be most displeased to learn that you've invaded his territory," he spits.

The Slytherin ghost is normally intimidating enough to keep Peeves from even entering the dungeon. Severus isn't sure how the Baron had managed to frighten the poltergeist into submission, but he hopes that his threat will be enough to keep Peeves away for good.

The poltergeist's eyes go wide with fright.

"Just a bit of fun, Snapey. That's all Peeves wanted. No harm done," he says, raising his hands in submission, before vanishing backward into the wall.

"Damned Poltergeist," Severus mutters, shaking his head and lowering his wand. He glances over at Potter. She's biting her lip and staring grimly at the floor.

"Sorry," she mumbles, still not looking at him.

"No need to apologize."

"I should have realized," she says, her voice trailing off. "Was stupid."

After a moment of silence, he gestures back toward the bed. "You should rest," he tells her.

"I don't think I can," she admits. "I can never go back to sleep after a nightmare." Her tone is bitter, but there is also a shyness to her voice that he rarely hears.

She's embarrassed, he realizes.

"Do you have nightmares often?"

"Every night."

He's a bit dumbstruck. He'd believed that giving the girl calming draughts at dinner would have been enough to help her rest. It was a versatile potion with no adverse side effects, nor any potential for addiction, however it must not have been powerful enough to keep the girl's mind at peace.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She raises an eyebrow at him. "You don't care."

"Whether I care or not, is beside the point. I'm acting as your guardian, and your sleep is directly tied to your health."

"Fine," she huffs.

"Would you like a dreamless sleep potion?"

"I thought those were dangerous."

"If taken often, they can be," Severus explains. "However, it's clear that you could use several hours of uninterrupted sleep."

Potter nods in agreement.

The potion must work wonders because Potter is still fast asleep when Severus checks on her in the morning. He shuts the door gently and wonders out into the hall.

The girl is definitely making progress. She's finally following his rules. She's eating enough, taking her potions, and answering all the questions he asks her. If only he could find a permanent solution to her nightmares.

The dreamless sleep potion is a useful tool, but it's meant to be used sparingly. Taking it too often can have dangerous side effects and it's highly addictive. He won't be able to give her any more for at least a week. He suspects that she'll at least be well rested for today.

His suspicions are proven correct when Potter bounds out of her room at lunch time, her face fresh and her eyes brighter than he's seen in a long time. Her wild hair is somewhat contained in a long plait that hangs down her back and swings when she walks. Lily used to wear her hair like that, he thinks sadly. She plops down at the table and peers up shyly at him.

"Thank you for the potion, sir."

He nods in response, somewhat thrown off by her new, respectful attitude.

"I take it you're feeling better?"

"A bit," she says, scooping up a pile of potatoes.

He nods approvingly, moving his attention back to his own meal. He's a little surprised to hear her speak up again a moment later.

"Professor," she begins hesitantly. "I've finished all my summer homework, and I was wondering if maybe I could go flying sometime."

It's the first time she's asked him for something, and he wants to tell her yes. But flying? No. He can't let her go flying. It's far too dangerous to trust her on a broomstick high in the air. For Merlin's sake. Just weeks ago, she'd nearly killed herself.

"Unfortunately, I cannot allow you to fly. It's far too dangerous."

Her face falls. She eats in silence, her newfound confidence apparently shattered.

"If you're searching for something to do, I'm certain you could put more time and effort into your summer assignments, especially your Potions essay," he suggests.

"I think I've done pretty well," she says a little defiantly.

"Pretty well is not good enough, Potter. Did you even bother to read the assigned chapters?"

"Twice."

It's an obvious lie. Potter has been his student for four years, and based on her work, she's never spent much time reading her textbook. He struggles not to snarl at her, reminding himself that they aren't in class right now.

"Then I suppose you can tell me which ingredients are used to brew the wit-sharpening potion."

Potter pauses, a strained expression on her face.

Of course, she doesn't know.

"Scarab beetles and ginger roots," she begins slowly, putting up two fingers. "Armadillo bile," she adds, lifting another finger. "and…. Err… Newt Spleens."

"That's correct," he says dryly, not allowing himself to seem surprised. "And that particular potion acts as an antidote to which charm?"

"Confundus," she answers confidently.

So, she had indeed read the book. Perhaps she was capable of putting forth some effort academically.

"Bring me your essay, Potter. I'd like to take a look at it."

His response seems to catch her off guard, but she gets up from the table and comes back a few moments later, holding the strip of parchment to her chest.

"Well, give it here."

She hands it to him, looking nervous.

Severus reads over her essay, scowling at her sloppy handwriting. However, once he's read through a few paragraphs, he's somewhat surprised to find that Potter has displayed an adequate understanding of the material he'd assigned at the end of term. It's not an outstanding essay, but for Potter, it's definitely a great improvement.

"This is acceptable," he tells her. "Although this section here," he says, pointing to the fourth paragraph, "could use some improvement. The consistency of your ingredients will be especially important in brewing potions during your fifth year. Grinding the components incorrectly can easily ruin a potion. Pay closer attention to the directions."

Potter nods at him. "Is there a difference between grinding finely and grinding to powder?"

"Did you pay any attention during your first year? There was a detailed consistency diagram at the back of your textbook."

"Oh…"

"Preparing your ingredients is the most important part of potion making. You'll never successfully brew OWL level potions without an understanding of the basics."

He hands the parchment back to her and she stares at it for several minutes, somewhat subdued. His single critique seemed to disturb her. How odd. He'd been far more scathing in the past, and she'd never seemed to care. Perhaps, she is genuinely trying to dedicate herself to her studies.

"If you'd like to improve, I suppose you could practice preparing some ingredients for me," he says after a few minutes of silence.

He expects her to sneer and complain, but she doesn't seem insulted by his suggestion.

"You could tell me what I'm doing wrong?"

"Yes," he confirms.

She considers his offer for another moment, still fiddling with the parchment.

"Are you going to yell at me?"

Severus nearly snorts. He can't recall a single Potions class in which he hadn't needed to shout at the girl. Still, her question surprises him.

"Only if you deserve it."

"Okay."

"You may start tomorrow. The headmaster would like to see you this afternoon."

"Okay," she says again. And just for a moment, a slight smile appears on her face.

Dumbledore smiles brightly at her from across his large mahogany desk, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. His smile is welcoming, but something about it seems artificial. Harry watches him closely, afraid of what the conversation will bring.

"Hello, Ms. Potter," he greets cheerily. "Would you like a lemon drop?"

Harry doesn't particularly want one, but she nods politely and holds out her hand. She sucks on the candy, feeling anxious, but the sweet lemon flavor is somewhat calming. The candy flutters around her mouth anxiously, searching for a safe place. She sinks down deeper into her chair and looks at the headmaster expectantly.

"Madame Pomfrey informed me that your voice has healed enough for you to speak, so I think it's important that we have a discussion," he begins.

Harry uses her tongue to push the lemon drop into her cheek. "About what sir?"

Dumbledore sighs, his eyes growing more serious than usual. The twinkle is nowhere to be seen. "You attempted to take your own life this Summer."

Harry's breath hitches in surprise. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I was just upset. It was stupid."

"You were reckless," he says coolly. "Your actions were unacceptable."

"I won't do it again."

"Good. That's good," he nods approvingly. "I know you have been through a terrible ordeal, and can't imagine how you must be feeling, but you need to understand how important you are to this war."

Harry's heart sinks. The war… For a moment, a single second, she'd thought he might say how important she was to him. But that was stupid. Of course, he didn't care.

"You've claimed that Voldemort has returned, unfortunately many still refuse to believe that. When school begins in September, all eyes will be on you. Every student will be looking to you, watching your reactions, looking for reasons to discredit you, and you have to be ready. The Prophet has already published multiple versions of what happened, but you need to spread the truth."

The room seems to spin. She'd been so stupid. How could she have believed that this could be over, that she could just put that night behind her and do her best to forget? She can't deal with eyes on her. She imagines all the students barraging her with questions, doubting her answers, staring. No. No. She can't do it.

"I don't want any more attention, sir. I don't want to tell the story. I never want to think about that night again," she blurts.

"I'm sorry, but that's not an option."

"I don't even know what the truth is!"

She's getting hysterical. She can feel the emotions bubbling in her stomach. She bites down on the lemon drop and it cracks loudly.

"I don't even understand how I'm alive! He killed me. Again! And I came back. Again!" She slams her fist down on the table, tears welling in her eyes.

"You must be very confused," he says softly as if trying to soothe her.

Her head aches. Her hand hurts. She wants to leave. "Why am I still here?" she chokes out desperately.

"I don't know for sure, but I do have a theory."

All the questions and fears she's been pushing away for weeks, suddenly rise from a hidden cavity at the back of her mind. "Am I immortal? Can I ever die?"

Dumbledore chuckles warmly. "No, Harriet. You're not immortal."

"Then why?"

"You survived the first killing curse due to your mother's protection. And it is my assumption, that you were returned from the dead in the graveyard because your soul was not alone in your body."

"What?"

Not alone in my body? What the bloody hell does that mean?

His tone shifts to something more like genuine curiosity. "Tell me, are you still able to speak parseltongue?"

"Err… I think so… I mean I haven't tried. But why?"

The old man lifts his wand from its holster and wordlessly conjures a small black snake. The serpent slithers across the desk's surface, lifting its head slightly, tasting the air with a long, forked tongue. "Try," he commands.

Harry stares at it, meeting its glittering gaze and wiping her clammy hands against her pant legs. "Hello," she says timidly, before glancing up at the headmaster.

He shakes his head affirmatively, and the snake vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared. "English," he says. "just as I thought. You've lost your ability."

"I don't understand."

"Harriet, have you ever heard of a horcrux?"

All she gives is a befuddled shake of the head. Then the lengthy explanation of her survival tumbles from his cracked lips. And she wishes she'd never heard. She wishes there was no such word.

"So, it's gone now?" she asks. "And if I died now, I would… Y'know, stay dead?"

"Yes," he says gravely. "And that cannot happen."

He goes quiet for nearly a minute, and Harry stares down at her hands, wondering why. Why does she have to live? She's nothing special. She's not important.

She's just Harry… And she's barely even that anymore.

"Harriet," Dumbledore says finally, breaking the silence. "I wanted to wait to tell you this. I worried that you were too young, that you wouldn't be able to handle it. But you need to understand." He sighs. "There was a prophecy made before you were born. It is the reason Voldemort targeted your parents, why he's still trying to kill you."

She's too afraid to ask any questions. So, she just sits and listens as everything gets so much worse. Dumbledore makes it clear that she is responsible for stopping him. It can be no one else.

And she knows the world is doomed. Everyone she cares about will die. And it will be all her fault.

The headmaster is still talking when Harry's tears burst free, spilling down her cheeks. She buries her face in her hands and the world shakes with her sobs. The walls seem to close in around her. The oxygen is too far away. All the words begin to sound muffled, distant. They fade further. Is she underwater? Could she be drowning?

Something wraps around her wrist and she jerks. Her eyes snap open. She sees in much sharper detail. The colors stab at her eyes. Everything is too bright. A blinding blue figure stands before her, his mouth open.

Her ears begin to work again. Sounds are growing louder. Too loud. There's banging and crashing. And is someone screaming?

Is it me?

She forces her own mouth closed. The screaming stops.

"Harriet," Dumbledore says firmly, releasing her arm. "You need to calm down before accidental magic gets out of control."

Magic? Harry didn't even realize she'd done any magic. But as she looks around, she can see the broken remains of many foreign objects on the floor. And is that smoke coming off of Dumbledore's chair?

"Mmm sorry, sir," she croaks.

"It's quite all right," he says kindly. "You have every right to be upset. I hope you know that I would change the circumstances I could."

"But you can't? You can't do anything?"

He shakes his head sadly. "No. I cannot."

"But I can't fight him."

"Not right now. But you will."

"No," she yelps. The tears come faster.

"Harriet, you have to be strong. It is essential."

"I can't. I can't," she sobs.

Dumbledore sighs. "Harry, I need you to look at me."

She turns her watery eyes toward the headmaster.

"I know you are upset. I know you are hurt. But this is a war. You can't keep moping around. There are too many people counting on you. You cannot be weak."

"I'm scared."

"When Voldemort came after your parents, do you think that they were not scared? Your mother stepped in front of you, knowing that she would be killed. I'm sure she was terrified in that moment, but she did not cower. You cannot either or her sacrifice will have been for nothing."

"I don't want to fight! I just want to be left alone," she sniffs, hugging herself tightly.

"I'm afraid that's not an option."

"I won't! I won't do it! I refuse!"

The man doesn't speak for a long time.

"This isn't just about you. This is about the world as we know it. I'm disappointed in you, Ms. Potter."

He bends down to pick something up off the floor. He doesn't turn back to face her.

"You may go, but please think carefully about what I've said."

And she does think about it. She can't stop thinking about it.

Weak. He'd called her weak. The word tumbles around in her mind. Weak. Weak. Weak. She's never heard a word that describes her better.

Because she is weak.

Absolutely pathetic.

Harry wipes the last of her tears away, her face growing red with the realization that the man she's respected so much has finally realized what she truly is. He's disappointed in her.

She can't quite explain why that hurts so bad. But it does.

He'd expected her to be brave, to want to fight, to want to protect her friends. And she'd refused.

Coward.

And she'd cried. She'd blubbered in front of him, carrying on like a toddler.

Weak.

She runs her hand against the stone wall as she walks. It's the only thing keeping her mind present and her feet attached to the floor. Without it grounding her, she'd probably just float away.

Each quiet thump of her shoes against the floor sounds like a muffled voice.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

And she doesn't want to hear it.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

She doesn't want to be it.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

But it won't stop.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

She can't make it stop.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

She breaks into a run. The words follow, coming faster.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

"NO!" She screams to the empty hallway, stopping in her tracks.

Her eyes begin to prickle again.

"No," she whispers to herself. "No more tears."

She takes a few deep breaths, and the burning sensation in her eyes fades.

Crying is for the weak.

No one will ever see her cry again.

Thanks for reading! If you have the time, please leave me a review. I would love to read your thoughts on the chapter or any suggestions you have for the story!