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I'm sorry if anyone had to wait for this chapter to get up, but I was overloaded with schoolwork, and that took priority. However, my Christmas vacation is coming up so hopefully I'll be able to upload more then!
Updated and edited chapter 8.
It Ends Now
Part 8: "Occlumency"
The next morning, Harry opened his eyes to see a very disgruntled, beady-eyed Madam Pomfrey checking him over. She was muttering on and on, continually glaring daggers at the door. Apparently, something was angering the nurse. Harry was able to catch a little of her incessant rambling through the tongue-clicking.
"Shouldn't be out yet, but Headmaster wishes...should have more bedrest..." Harry sat up quite quickly, throwing the covers back in an air of dismembering himself from his prison.
"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said forcefully, ready to protest if need be. He was NOT going to spend another day in this accursed bed!
"I know you are, Potter, but still..." She let the sentence run off into oblivion, straightening up.
"Eat a good breakfast, and I want no strenuous activity for a week yet- this includes Quidditch," the woman added as an afterthought, talking as if she were ticking off a list. "If you feel tender or sore, rest immediately." Harry nodded vigorously, wanting very much for her to leave now. He pondered on how to say this kindly, but then gave up the futile work. Madam Pomfrey was not the type of person who was detoured easily.
Finally, after one last examination (to Harry's intense displeasure), the old nurse left. Harry gingerly got out of bed, his legs buckling slightly. He'd been trapped lying down for a few days, and his sore appendages needed exercise. He pulled on one of Dudley's old shirts, then some jeans. Apparently, someone had taken the liberty of retrieving his things from the Dursleys, as now his trunk and personal possesions were at the foot of the bed.
Harry made his way downstairs slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Those at the table having breakfast were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Fred, George, Hermione, Ron, Bill Weasley, Tonks, Professor Lupin, and Mad-Eye Moody. It seemed as if the crowd had gathered just to greet Harry, as they all looked up when Harry made the slightest creak.
"Harry!" Smiles were plastered on all faces in one radiant beam. Even Mad-Eye Moody, whose smile looked more like a painful grimace. He looked even scarier that way; it went along too well with his scruffy appearance.
"Would you like some breakfast, Harry?"
"How are you feeling?"
"Want some toast? Or eggs?" Millions of questions overwhelmed Harry, and he had no idea who to answer first. Fred and George were not making things any better, playing into their roles of jokesters.
"Want to marry me, Harry?"
"Want to kiss me, Harry?"
Mrs. Weasley shot a look of reproaching anger at them, clearly saying in the language of mothers to 'Shut up'. The twins just smirked nonchalantly among the flurry of talking. Finally, Moody aided in ceasing the predicament.
"Quiet!" he barked, thumping his wooden leg against the floor. Everyone shut their mouths instantly. "Let Potter speak, for Merlin's sake!" Harry smiled gratefully at the old auror, taking a seat beside Ron.
"I'm feeling fine, and I would love some toast, thanks," Harry spoke at last. Mrs. Weasley plopped down three pieces of toast onto Harry's plate, telling him to "Eat up! There's more where that came from". Plan 'fatten-up-Harry' was in phase one, Harry thought with an inward smile.
oOo
The week passed uneventfully. Harry lounged around playing Exploding Snap and Wizard chess with Ron and Hermione until dark, when he found himself ushered into bed by firm Mrs. Weasley. Madam Pomfrey had returned to school, deeming him healed enough to be left to his own devices. Sometimes, Harry worked on his summer homework, or read a chapter in his textbooks, which made Hermione proud. If only Snape could see him now! He'd hardly believe his own eyes... Mrs. Weasley had purchased all their texts and supplies as she had promised.
Most of all, though, Harry pined to be outside on his Firebolt. He wanted to feel the rush of freedom; to have warm, fresh air lap at his face in a way Grimmauld could not accomodate when one was indoors. There was a patch of grass in the backyard, neat and sectioned off as was per usual in London neighborhoods. However, with permission from Dumbledore and a little magical help from the Order, this space had been charmed to grow eleven times its previous size. In Hogwarts terms, roughly as big as the Quidditch Pitch. It seemed only reasonable that if children were to be staying at Grimmauld, they needed a safe area to consort and fraternize out in the fresh air. Provided no one flew over the Fidelis Charm's wards, which extended to about one hundred feet above the house, it was alright for the Gryffindors to go flying. Therefore, it was only fitting that when the week came to a conclusion, Harry and Ron scheduled a Quidditch match between them and Hermione versus the twins and Ginny. The twins would be heading back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes the next day, and the teens wanted to spend as much time together as possible before the family parted.
Eventually, said game ended with Harry's team the triumphant winners. It had taken Hermione a while, and though she was still shaky on a broomstick, the girl had certainly been able to hold her own. The six companions played five more rounds, splitting even by the end.
"Tie?" George said.
"Tie," Harry repeated. He did loop-de-loops through the summer breeze and watched as Ginny mounted off her broom gracefully. She waved up to them, gesturing in the direction of Grimmauld Place.
"I'm hungry. Want lunch now?"
"Absolutely!" the twins echoed each other, flying down and clamboring off their broomsticks in a much more ungainly fashion. The two started up towards the house without a second glance back. Ginny was about to follow, but on second thought looked back up at the trio.
"You lot coming or not?" Harry looked around at his two friends floating on either side.
"Um, I think I want to fly a bit longer. It's been a while since I've been able to," he answered.
"We're going to stay with Harry," Ron stated immediately, Harry having to smile at his loyalty. Ginny shrugged and trudged up to the house. Hermione's hovering broom began to descend and she unsteadily fell off once reaching solid ground.
"I think I'd like to watch you from down here," the girl said, brushing dirt off the front of her pants. She moved into sitting position and crossed her legs, then proceeded to pull a hefty text out of her famous bookbag. Ron snorted. That thing went everywhere!
"Oi! Thought you said you were going to watch us!" he yelled down.
"I am watching you," Hermione responded vaguely, not tearing her eyes away from the page. She began muttering under her breath and waving her wand into strange patterns, practicing. Harry thought it might be for Defense, or maybe Charms, but Ron didn't seem to care. He just shook his head disgustedly at her dubious display of attention.
"Girls," he mumbled. Harry laughed at the look on his face.
"You know you like her," he said, not meaning to throw this out so bluntly. He had known about their subtle feelings for each other for a while now, even if they didn't (or didn't want to- it was hard to discern).
"WHAT!?" Ron exclaimed, face and ears flushing bright red. Hermione, from below, gazed up questioningly. She had not heard the sly comment made about her and Ron. "Why you..."
Ron lunged at Harry in exaggerated and playful fury. Harry rocketed away, chuckling all the while. He began launching toward the ground from about seventy feet up, and upon glancing back saw his chum close on his heels. Ron was laughing now too. Harry's gaze flew back towards the looming earth, ready to make his spectacular pull-up at any second... it had to be just right...
That was when it hit him. Scorching pain, like blazing fire, shot through his scar. It was consuming; so blinding... Harry could no longer see or hear; he raised his hands off his broom to clutch his head. Then, like a siren in fog, Ron's voice burst through.
"HARRY! PULL UP, PULL UP! HARRY!"
With what seemed all his effort, Harry prodigiously placed his hands back on the handle and shot up- he didn't know he had only been mere inches from crashing. The wind stung and slapped his face painfully. Harry hissed- the cool air was not soothing on the inflamed scar. His broomstick halted in midair, resting about fifty feet above the ground. However, the pounding in Harry's head only became worse. He doubled over in unbearable pain, wishing it departure. Far from it, the pain crescendoed, and with a cry Harry was drawn into a swirling vortex, thoughts screaming by like bullets. Someone was beckoning him; calling him... Harry felt detatched from his body: he no longer felt the pain; he no longer felt anything...
Harry's vision cleared astutely, and a dark room came into view. He was looking down at a hooded person, unable to see their face. The person shifted, and Harry recognized the subtle nervousness trying to be hidden by averted eyes. He gazed down to see a pair of pale, white hands- one of these ghastly, ghostly hands was clutching a wand. With a jolt of shock, Harry realized who they belonged to, and whose eyes he was regarding the scene through. He tried to gasp, but no sound came out. Instead, a high, cold voice issued forth, all too familar in the dim, echoing room.
"Along with my other instructions, I will warn you. Not a finger is to be laid on Potter from you- he is mine, and mine alone. Jubilant will be the day when I finally rid the world of him!"
"Yes, master," the person murmured. It was a man's deep voice that came out from under the hood. Harry felt Voldemort's face curl into a sneering smile, and then a wave of pain enveloped the teen. He felt himself being pulled back to reality. Vaguely, he thought he heard a girl or a woman screaming, and a cooling, almost falling sensation that one feels in dreams...
Then everything went black like night.
oOo
Harry opened his eyes, the grass cool under him. He was lying spread-eagle on the ground, Firebolt at his side and miraculously unharmed. Oddly, he felt no sore joints or even pain. Ron's face was above his, contorted with a mixture of atonishment and fearful worry. His normally flushed features were pallid and... was it sickly almost?
"Oh good, you're coming around... Harry, you okay? You fell like fifty feet! Should I go call Pomfrey or-"
"I did?" Harry cut in, still focused on the fact that he had just fallen fifty feet. How strange. Once again, Harry was struck with the abnormality of the situation. He felt perfectly fine, as if he'd just woken up from a nightmare-filled sleep and nothing more. Harry sat up, lifting a hand to clutch his forehead. A small trace of blood lay etched on the hand that Harry brought to his eyes, barely noticeable. The boy once again wondered why his scar was doing this, but at the moment, it was the least of his ponderings.
His reverie was interrupted by two screams. He looked up very fast, almost getting a crick in his neck. Just as he did, the two sources of the screams, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley, fell down at his side. Hermione, who'd left hastily to retrieve Ron's mother, fearfully inched at him. Her eyes were wide and her countenance was an aurora of worry.
"Harry, Harry, are you okay? Did you break anything? Oh God, that was such a fall, and after Madam Pomfrey told us not to play Quidditch for a week, and what do we do? We go play-"
"HERMIONE! Quit the melodramatics; seriously, I'm alright!"
"You fell fifty feet; you most certainly are not just 'alright'!" Mrs. Weasley backed up Hermione. She said it with an almost hysterical and stern air, trying to mother the boy while shoving some sense into him.
"Mrs. Weasley, please believe me!" Harry pleaded. He stood up, emitting gasps from the two frantic females. Just to prove the validity of his claim, Harry sprinted around a bit, then came back to their side.
"See, I'm fine!" Harry reassured jovially. He smiled.
"How, though? You fall fifty feet off a broom and come out without even a scratch? How'd you do it?" Ron questioned, a hint of amazement and even suspicion in his voice. Now Harry stopped and let the truth crash onto him like a boulder. How had he gotten away without a cut? Did Voldemort have something to do with this, or was it his own powers?
"I..." Harry could not seem to find an acceptable answer, and was now just as nonplussed as Ron. Mrs. Weasley gave in reluctantly, standing up. Hermione followed suit.
"I'm going to inform Dumbledore of this, make no mistake. And in the meantime, Harry, I beg you come in and at least have a short lie-down," the maternal Weasley crooned slightly. Harry was in no mood not to concur. With happy spirits, he followed her up to Grimmauld, his friends trailing. Being in front of them, Harry missed the worried expressions they were exchanging.
oOo
That night, dinner was an extremely uncomfortable affair for Harry. After the constant glances in his direction, he was only too compliant to leave the table when finished. Why did people always act as if he were a fragile object that needed to be shielded away from everything? He was not an ignorant, blithe little boy of eleven anymore! He was nearly sixteen; a young adult, and deserved to be treated as one.
Before Harry made it to his bedroom, he was hailed by Mr. Weasley. The man approached Harry quickly, coming out from the kitchen.
"Dumbledore wants to see you in an office off this floor. It's the fourth door on the right," he informed. Harry nodded, silently counting down the doors.
"Thanks," he said, setting off. He knocked on the study door.
"Come in!" a pleasant voice welcomed. Harry pushed open the door to find Dumbledore seated behind a dusty, brown bureau.
"Please, sit down Harry," he offered, moving his hand towards an old, red armchair. Harry did as told, already knowing what their conversation was to be about. He perched upon the edge, waiting.
"I heard you had a little mishap this morning," Dumbledore began conversationally, his ocean blue depths piercing Harry's emerald ones. "Do you mind telling me the ordeal from your point of view? I've already heard the general details from Mr. Ronald Weasley."
"Well..." Harry said, gathering his thoughts on the incident. "Ron and I were flying around and I was in a dive when my scar began burning. At the last minute, I heard Ron telling me to pull up and I did. The pain got worse, and I was drawn into Voldemort's mind. There was a hooded man in front of him. Voldemort said how he- Voldemort, not the other man- was to be the one to kill me. They... said something about a plan, too. The last thing I remember is a girl screaming, then everything went black." Harry hoped his summary wasn't too vague for the elder, but Dumbledore seemed to understand it perfectly. The mage nodded, gracing Harry with a small smile.
"I do believe the scream was Miss Granger as she observed your fall," he stated humorously. "Ron told me she went a tad hysterical."
"Sir... why didn't I get hurt?"
"Hmm... It is my guess that perhaps your magic protected you. Or maybe it had something to do with the vision- Voldemort said he didn't want you harmed, and then you weren't. Intriguing, isn't it? Perhaps your subconscious magic, hidden deep within your core, protected you," Dumbledore mused thoughtfully.
"Er... okay," Harry said, not really comprehending the last of what his old Headmaster was saying. Subconscious magic? "My scar bled again too. Why do you think it's doing this? I mean, it never has before..."
"I have a hunch, Harry, that possibly it bleeds when Voldemort is pervading your mind," Dumbledore replied immediately, steepling his fingers together in an idiosyncratic way. He touched the tips to his lips.
"Then why-"
"Didn't your scar bleed before?" Dumbledore finished. He gave an airy wave. "As you know, Voldemort is much stronger than before. His magic has become more powerful, and it is causing more of an effect upon you physically. Then again, maybe it has something to do with the blood he stole from you that night in the Graveyard? I don't know, Harry. It's all smoke and mirrors right now; anyone's guess. Your curse scar is incredibly rare; and certainly the connection unique. Not much research has been done that would aid us in this instance.
"On another note, very much related to this, it is my wish that you continue on with Occlumency. It is prudent we avoid these dreams and 'possessions' like the plague, for fear that one day, you may be sucked in and never return." Harry gulped. He could even feel the panic rising in his chest. Sucked into his head, never to return? It was something people only ever heard of in Muggle horror movies, but to experience that suffocation; that nightmare for the rest of your existence?
"Calm down, dear boy!" Dumbledore exclaimed softly, pinning Harry with appraising orbs. Harry tried to let a feeling of calm wash over him; engulf him. It was difficult, but possible. He suspected Dumbledore was lending a hand as well; he could feel the gentle chafe of magic brushing against his mind, caressing it gently. "We cannot have you hyperventilating, or Madam Pomfrey will have my head!"
Harry laughed, but some fear still remained. Trapped forever with Voldemort was a definite joy-killer.
"Um, sir... surely I'm not being taught by Sn... Professor Snape?" Harry corrected quickly.
"No, Harry. I'm sure you'll agree with me that that was a fiasco. I will be teaching you," Dumbledore answered firmly, the merest glint of amusement to his tone. Harry sighed a breath of relief.
"When will we begin?"
"Now," Dumbledore said simply.
Harry stuttered. He was not at all good at Occlumency, and after the pensieve incident hadn't put his heart into practicing it. "Now?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "It will be nothing too pressurizing. It is the first lesson today, and I will go into more depth later. Today I will not use much force. One tip before we begin- try to build up an almost protective wall in your mind; something to block me out. To form it, be serene and imagine it clearly. As I repeat, I will start small now and become stealthier and harder as we continue. Unfortunately, Professor Snape and I did not share the same views on this subject."
He let loose a tiny frown of displeasure, but it evaporated quickly. The Headmaster stood up, drawing his wand. Harry followed suit, a small edge of uncertainty still within him. He too pulled out his wand.
"On three, Harry. I will count slowly to allow you time to build up your wall. Remember, tranquility is the key to beginning. Clear your mind..."
Harry closed his eyes and drew in deep, cleansing breaths. He tried to avoid all thought process.
"One..."
Harry was drifting away; free...
"Two..."
He built up his wall, trying to use inner force to hold it up.
"Three..."
Harry's mind was blissfully blank, and the wall was in place- he was ready.
"Legilimens!"
Harry felt the spell invading his mind, softly searching, ruffling through layers... it suddenly prodded at Harry's wall, but Harry held firm... this was too easy...
Then Dumbledore's nimble magic found a loophole and the wall crashed down, bringing Harry's mental defense with it. Memory upon memory flowed forth: Harry was in his spidery, dusty cupboard alone... Hundreds of dementors were drifting towards him, Hermione, and Sirius... Dudley, drunk, was taunting Harry... the fist flew foward...
"NO!" Harry heard himself scream, desperately trying to get away from the memory. "NO!"
The fist connected with his face... then it was gone. Dumbledore had let go of the spell, not wanting to force Harry to watch that ordeal again. The raven-headed heart-throb sank into his chair with shaking knees, hands hiding his face. Dumbledore moved around the desk to observe Harry better.
"I humbly apologize, Harry. I didn't mean for you to see that again. Perhaps we are beginning a bit early; you still need rest. My mistake. Old men are famous for their reminiscings of youth's endurance, but they forget that young people have limits as well. I will start up again when school resumes; I quite think you should be feeling better then. I'm very, very sorry."
Harry nodded, pulling his hands away from his face and giving Dumbledore a look that clearly forgave him.
"Try to clear your mind every night before bed, and build up your wall. This will hopefully serve to decrease the dreams, and possibly will hone your skills enough in this art until our next encounter, so you will be able to better deflect my intrusions," Dumbledore said lightly. Harry nodded again. Words failed the exhausted teen right now; all he wanted to do was rest. It had been a very long, very eventful day and he wanted to reflect upon it no longer. He tried to stand, but fell back onto the chair as another weak spell over came him. With sympathy, Dumbledore helped Harry up and walked him to his room for the night.
A/N: OK, how was this chapter? Reviews!
Well, have a very lovely Christmas! XOXO
AngelMoon Girl