Teaching others… It would give him a chance to practice defensive spells, but did he know enough to teach a group? He wasn't certain. Still, he could think of it as an after school club or something… except there would be no adult supervision. Well, to be honest, that's the way Harry had always liked it.
He sighed as he climbed into bed, cradling his hand close, it was soothed, yes, but he still felt a sharp throbbing pain across his arm.
"…the poultice…" He mumbled and rummaged through his robes. He found in the pocket, the wrinkled parchment and opened it to find the, disappointedly, mechanical print. He was about to put it away when he caught one step crossed out and an alternative technique written in. It was neater than the quick notes he usually left in his essays but… it was definitely Snape's writing… or was his mind just twisting reality to suit what he wanted.
He wanted Snape to care? It made him uncomfortable to think about, of all people he knew the potion's master was probably the least likely to want to care… and he still had Sirius. Guilt swirled in his chest. He cared for Sirius dearly but… Snape he was getting to know much more. And while he appreciated Sirius' trust in him, he found it strangely gratifying to know that Snape was so adamant to put him in danger by making him part of the order. Even if Harry argued that he was already in danger anyway.
He smoothed out the parchment and stared at it. But then, why would anyone else write notes on a parchment they were intending to hand over secretly? It seemed likely that Snape's pride as a potions master wouldn't allow him to hand it in just like that… or that he wanted the added benefit, of whatever change he made, to heal him faster.
He started feeling hurt and angry at himself. He was speculating. All of this was speculation. Why couldn't he just accept what life had thrown at him and move on? He was never going to have a… he was never going to have more than he had now.
He needed Sirius to get cleared of charges soon… he needed the security of a legal guardian, signed in paper, stamped by the ministry, so he could securely say that he had a family. Malfoy was right. His parents were killed because of him. And Cedric. Who else was going to die because of his incompetence? He needed to focus on what was important. He would self-learn defence against the dark arts… but he needed something else… something else to try and push in everyone's mind that he was telling the truth.
He climbed back down the stairs, meeting Hermione halfway. "I was coming to get you before you fell asleep. Dobby brought us some sandwiches." Harry's stomach grumbled in appreciation, but he felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment and both teens chuckled softly, making their way back to the common room where Ron was heartily filling up his stomach with the neat stack of sandwiches. Harry pushed to the back of his find the last time he had sandwiches and came to join them.
"I was thinking Hermione… we need to find a way to get more people to believe…" Harry said. She nodded as she ate and poured them both the hot chocolate that came with the tray. Once more Harry pushed memories back.
"You could tell the story again, this time we'll make sure that who writes it, does a good job at convincing everyone. Someone with accreditation, though little she deserves it. Someone we have blackmail material on." She said and all three teenagers grinned.
"You think she'll do it though?" Harry asked.
"Rita Skeeter will want her secret kept more than anything else."
"Let's do it…" Harry agreed.
oOoOoOo oOoOoOo oOoOoOo
Severus looked at the article from the Quibbler that he confiscated from a couple of Hufflepuffs. He huffed in frustration as he realised that Potter had indeed done this interview. He put it down, refusing to read it for now, trying to anticipate what Umbridge had in store for the Gryffindor. He was going to tell Dumbledore about the blood-quill but the headmaster had yet to return from his trip.
Pomfrey had come to him too, demanding to know when he'd last spoken to Potter. She seemed to relate his angry outburst directly to his past, which was only partially true. He'd heard what Draco Malfoy had said, from hearing his Slytherins bragging in the common room. She seemed convinced that the potions master was not taking his task seriously. If this continued she would tell Dumbledore the moment he returned. So she'd given him had an ultimatum. Talk to the boy properly or she was telling Dumbledore.
Maybe it was best if she did… but he had to leave that choice to Potter. He wrote a small note for the other to come for remedial potions. He huffed in frustration when he realised the only owl he had waiting nearby was a runt. The owl perked up seeing him approach and puffed its chest up proudly, as if saying 'I can do it.'
He had to momentarily question his sanity when he compared the rodent eating ball of feathers to the Gryffindor brat the note would summon. He tied the note to the owl's leg, opening the window for it to fly off. Only then did he sit down and read the interview.
Even he, who saw the Dark Lord regularly, felt disgust as he heard the steps that filthy rat had used to revive the lord. More importantly… he frowned as he remembered the cut he saw on Potter's arm after capturing Crouch Jr. He couldn't imagine how he would feel knowing that his blood ran through the Dark Lord's veins, yet Potter knew this too well. He felt a twist in his gut, picturing the child standing before the resurrected Lord and the group of Deatheaters. He put the magazine down as he heard the door opening and saw the boy come in.
He could practically read the guilt off the other's body language. The best part was that the reasons were probably piling up in that head of his.
"Your emotions are too easy to read on your face, let alone in your mind." He said. The boy didn't respond and simply came over, though his expression changed to neutral.
"Are we doing Occlumency?" He asked.
"No. We have to talk." The grimace on Potter's face reflected how he himself felt.
"But it's not Thursday."
"No… but we haven't truly used the previous Thursdays productively, or so Madam Pomfrey reminds me."
"That's not my fault."
"…This is not a blame game. Your loss of control with mister Malfoy-"
"You don't know what he said to me."
"Yes, I do. However, you should not lose control of yourself like that again." Severus let the words settle in the boy's mind and glanced at his hand, seeing it still bandaged. "The markings still haven't healed?" Potter looked up and then at his hand.
"They did… She just makes me write lines out in class, in the corner." That twisted, vile little woman.
"That is unacceptable."
"I don't want to get her angry but I won't lie. Though I understand why she is this time…"
"I meant, Mister Potter, that it is unacceptable that she continues this method of punishment. You are not to blame either, for wanting to be truthful… though I wonder sometimes if your pride is a bit too great for your own good."
"There are things you just can't lie about." The boy challenged. "Did you leave the potion recipe for Ron to find?"
Ugh. He knew he shouldn't have made that adjustment.
"The murtlap essence would just leave a permanent scar at this point." The boy held the arms of the chair tighter, his knuckles turning white. Clearly that had struck a nerve. "What made you attack Malfoy in that way?" He changed the subject.
"You know. He said it was my fault my parents were killed." The boy said and a sadness Severus shouldn't be witnessing reflected in his face. "And he's right." The brutal burning knife of guilt wedged itself deep in Severus' stomach.
"You were an infant. A year and a half old. You had no…"
"If Voldemort had gotten to me first, they wouldn't be dead."
"Wouldn't they? Your parents opposed him three times. He is not known to be charitable to the opposition."
"Cedric is also dead because of me." He continued.
"Potter, look at me." The boy did so and Severus wished he could take it back, as Lily's piercing green eyes looked up at him. "You still have Black, and many friends." He felt the need to continue, though it went against his entire nature to comfort the other. "You are not alone in this world and you are not to be blamed for everyone's misfortune."
"But…"
"Many people will die, the Dark Lord is strong, and such is the truth of war. It is unfortunate that someone as young as you should have to witness it so closely."
"I feel like I'm going crazy… I feel like… I'll be easy pickings for him if he chooses to enter my mind now..."
"That is why you need to learn to occlude, not just to keep him out, but to prevent the inevitable from affecting you so strongly."
"I've tried! I told you! I don't know how to do it properly." Anger again, so much anger. Severus himself could remember feeling unadulterated anger when he too was fifteen.
"Calm down." He sighed. How could he explain it to him? "Try keeping an image in your mind, something that calms you. And try thinking only of it when we do Occlumency, practice doing it at night before you go to bed… try and think of nothing else beside that image. If you can do that it'll be a start."
The boy's features relaxed slightly as he processed the information and finally nodded. Severus only hoped the boy could do as much as he said. But the conversation wasn't over. Merlin… he couldn't do this. He couldn't get into this sort of thing with Potter.
"I need to tell the headmaster." He said. Severus had seen that same utter look of betrayal from a mirror pair of eyes long ago. He wondered if Dumbledore would pay for a mind healer for him when all of this was over.
