CHAPTER 32: The Price of Innocence (Part 3)

First-Year Slytherin Dormitories

November 1st, 1991

7:00 a.m.

Harry flinched, an unwilling sob leaving his mouth as his shirt graced against the massive gash on his back. Immediately, he could feel a pool of wetness soaking it, the feeling making him want to shudder. The pain had lessened considerably, but it was still there. It would always be there, his ever-present reminder of last night. The constant discomfort as the magic in his body tried to heal itself, while the dark magic imbued by the knife tore it apart again before it even could. It wouldn't matter if he was lying down or standing up, shirtless or wearing a thousand jumpers, there was nothing he could do to lessen the pain.

Nothing he could do to make everything go back to normal.

He pressed on, buttoning his shirt as quickly as he could, ignoring the urge to turn around and see the growing red pool on his back. He put on his sweater and black robes, grateful they didn't get soaked along with the shirt, before quickly running out of the bathroom and into the dormitory, where Theo and Draco were waking up.

"Ugh," Theo groaned. "It's barely seven in the morning, and you're already crying? Grow some balls, Potter."

The words hit him like a cut to the heart, but he pushed past them, face down.

"Is he seriously running away?" He heard Malfoy saying mockingly. "Little bitch."

He ignored it, pushed it down, as he rushed up the stairs and out of the common room.

His eyelids felt heavy, his body drained. All he wanted to do was curl up on his bed. Sleep. Cry. But even now, with how tired he felt, he was sure there would be no sleeping for a while. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel Montague's breath behind his neck, he could hear the four boys surrounding his bed as they prepared to drag him out of his bed.

He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to face Montague. He didn't want to see anyone. His stomach roared for food, but his feet led him away from the stairs and towards the Potions classroom in the dungeons.

Stepping inside, he closed the door harshly before collapsing onto the nearest stool. He hid his eyes with his hands, hoping no one had seen him, followed him. Thoughts of going to Madam Pomfrey, to Dumbledore, flashed across his mind as quick as they were extinguished. What if they didn't believe him? What if Montague got away with it? He had warned him against doing that, not even allowing him to get his injury checked out. If he tried to tell on him, and it failed, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Montague would make last night feel like a training round.

He couldn't muster the bravery to go through it again. He wasn't a Gryffindor, the hat had given him a choice, and he hadn't taken it. Perhaps, if he had been brave enough to stand up for himself and pick Gryffindor, he would have never met Montague. Would have never-

Harry shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts, visions, memories. But they were stuck in his mind, overshadowing any other memories, what little sense of joy he'd ever felt.

It was two excruciating hours as he waited for the class to start. Trapped between not being able to confront his peers and not being able to shut off his thoughts, he had been left in a lonely misery, a prisoner of his mind, tormented by Montague even without him being anywhere near.

He could hear the jeers from his house-mates, could feel their eyes on him, even as he did everything he could to keep his eyes fixed on the dark workbench below him. He could feel a tightness in his throat, a sob building up, but he forced himself to push it down.

Tracey, Millicent, and Blaise were the last ones in, left with nowhere to sit but at his table. For once, he didn't say anything, didn't bother with even a polite greeting, and none of them said nothing to him either. For once, he was glad all of his housemates who didn't bully him just ignored him.

Harry flinched as the door suddenly crashed against the wall, he felt his heart began to raise, the sounds of his screams rang inside his head before he spotted the swirl of a black cloak moving towards the centre of the classroom, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. But his heart failed to slow down.

He ignored Snape as he droned on about last classes assignment, as he bullied the Gryffindors and was, just, in general, a massive arse to anyone who wasn't a pure-blood snake. Ever since his first class with the greasy-haired git, Harry had developed a deep resentment for the professor, one that he obviously shared. He was the only Slytherin he ever took points from, who he actively bullied. He'd tried to fight back, but that had only made things worse, and Snape revelled in it. Graham had warned him on it, ordered him to just avoid him, something that had worked for a while.

It made sense he would know how to handle Snape, he proved to be just as much of an arsehole as Snape.

Eventually, with a bark of his orders and instructions jotted down on the blackboard, Snape sent them to begin concocting a Wiggenweld Potion. Harry kept to himself, not bothering from looking up, fearing his eyes would begin to water as soon as he did. Anger began building in him by Snape's very presence, but not near enough to overpower Montague's mark on him, one he'd made sure to leave physically in case he ever forgot.

Minutes turned into an hour, and yet, Snape hadn't even gotten close to his table. He could feel the professor hovering nearby, he was being constantly watched by him, Harry was sure. But Snape hadn't done anything yet. Why hadn't he? He couldn't be hesitating. Maybe he was just waiting for the right opportunity.

Before he could ponder more over it, his brew suddenly began to bubble up, surpassing the edges of the cauldron and spilling over his hand onto the table. He flustered backwards as the liquid began to burn his hand, putting all his energy into suppressing the cries of pain that wanted to escape him.

"You blithering dimwit," Snape's cold voice berated him as the professor vanished the failed potion before it spread over to the others. "Are you telling me you are not even capable of following basic-"

"Professor, please-"

"Silence!" Snape cut him off. "You will not interrupt me, and you will let me finish before you are dismissed."

"Sir, my hand, please-"

"Your hand…" he said slowly, his voice silky, almost relishing. "Is your own fault." Faster than he had thought possible, Snape reached out and gripped his wrist. Harry tried to pull back, but Snape's hold on him was too strong. "Your own idiocy is what causes your present pain, it is not my concern if you suffer over your stupidity."

A day ago, he would've described the pain as unbearable, unforgettable. But now, even as he could feel his skin burning, it felt more like a sting than anything. Harry shut his eyes as he began to breathe through his mouth, focusing on anything other than the burning sensation.

"Look at me when I speak, Potter." Snape said forcefully, and Harry complied, knowing it would be the fastest way to get out of there. "Stop trying to block it out, stop trying to ignore it," Snape whispered so that only he could hear. "This pain is what your failure feels like, the same type of pain you'll endure if you keep up with that stupidity out there in the real world."

"You don't know how this feels," Harry gritted out, feeling tears begin to gather in his eyes.

Snape didn't answer verbally, he lifted his hand, his robe lowering, revealing his arm. Everything from the tips of his fingers to his forearm was filled with over thirty tiny, almost faded scars. Bruises, burns, cuts, rashes - none of them seemed recent, a ghost of their true potential. But they were there. "What was your mistake?" The professor asked icily.

"My stupidity," he snarled sarcastically, his hand shaking inside Snape's grip.

"We're past childish answers, Potter. Why did your potion fail?"

"I… I don't know!"

"Then think harder," he spat, increasing his grip on his wrist.

"I… the stirring." He finally said as he felt a single tear roll down his left cheek. "I… I lost focus, I kept on stirring past the five minutes. Please."

Snape didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in, staring at him as if he were a rubbish bag in a museum exhibit. "Oh, my dear God. Are you one of those silent criers or are you going to start slobbering all over my workbench?"

"I-"

"Pull yourself together and get out of my classroom!" Snape snapped, throwing his burning hand back to him.

Harry didn't wait to be told twice, he immediately began packing up his stuff, hearing himself as a couple of whimpers left his lips.

"I won't have any more of your silliness contaminating my ingredients." He could hear Snape's disgusted voice. "The next time you decide to make a fool out of yourself and cry in my classroom, I will have you drink your own poorly brewed potion."

"Yes, sir," Harry squeaked, running out of the dungeons before giving Snape the chance to continue humiliating him.

He couldn't stop the tears anymore, the sobs coming out from him were only getting louder. And before he knew it, his legs gave out. He tumbled to the ground, crashing head-first against the floor. He could feel blood dripping down his lip as the burning sensation in his hand began to dissipate slowly.

How he wished he could go back to the Dursleys, to escape the magical world, pretend it didn't exist. At least at Privet Drive he wasn't tortured, wasn't humiliated by his aunt and uncle like he had been just now. A couple of missed meals and being locked inside a cupboard felt just as magical as seeing Hogwarts for the first time.

He tried to stop himself from crying, compel his body to obey, to be as cold and ruthless ans Snape, as Graham. But the harder he tried, the harder he cried. Harry threw himself against the wall, immediately flinching back into the ground as the pain from his back exploded.

He wanted it to stop, to be free, to stop feeling anything anymore.

But the harder he tried to suppress it all, the more he felt.

Potions Classroom

November 10th, 1995

5:45 a.m.

The sudden pain from his knees pulled a half-groan out of him as he was suddenly back in the Potions Classroom. Being forced to relive his memories, some he'd repressed so long ago, it felt more like living it rather than revisiting. Memories he would've never shared with anyone, now being coerced out of him by the one person who would surely use them against him.

"Pathetic," Snape drawled.

And how could it not be? Ten days ago, he wasn't even aware of the subject of Occlumency and now, he was being attacked with full force by a master Legilimens while he hadn't even managed to meditate for more than three minutes straight. Snape had explained it, bright and early at only three in the morning when they began their first session, how there were two different ways of learning the art of Occlumency.

The first one, and the one practised by sane and non-masochistic individuals, was through a combination of meditation, mental exercises, active reading on the subject, as well as a healthy dose of strengthening your mental defences with delicate Legilimency attacks. This method often took years, even slightly over a decade, to master a full mental defence from proficient Legilimens. It allowed for the creation of a mind palace along with the potential of developing eidetic memory and compartmentalization, as well as the mastery of several obscure skills such as pain insensitivity, environmental empathy, knowledge replication, and astral projection.

The second one, and the one Snape had graced upon him, was what could be eloquently exemplified as crashing against a wall repeatedly until you learn how to run through it. Unfortunately, given the brusque nature of this technique, none of the side benefits besides mental protection were attainable, which meant that he wouldn't be able to learn all the cool mind palace, astral projection shit that would make his life so much easier. Any sort of meditation or reading was optional, something Harry was covertly grateful for, as this technique was purely enforced by a constant stream of overpowered Legilimency attacks until your mind either strengthened itself in a way that granted a protection much more powerful than the one accessible through the first method, or gave in, turning it into a vegetable.

A part of Harry wondered if Snape chose the second method just so his life wouldn't get easier, then he realised he was complicating himself. Snape would never let go a chance to fuck him over, being able to witness all of his most humiliating memories was nothing but a bit of amusement in case he didn't become retarded.

"Again."

"No," Harry gritted out, standing up as he pushed past the pain in his knees. "We're done."

"There are still fifteen minutes to our session," Snape said monotonously.

"Consider it time off. Use it to come up with whatever bullshit speech you use for the next session, or whatever."

"Don't," he cut him off just as he began to walk towards the door. "Speak to your betters that way, Potter. Your head is filled with an obscene number of memories capable of putting me away to Azkaban for good. You will stay here and finish our… exercises until the hour is done."

"Or until my brain fries itself." Harry retorted bitterly.

"I trust you to remain… able-minded." Snape drawled. "Nevertheless, whether you let your foolishness turn you into more of a dimwit than you already are - a tremendous achievement, to be sure, but a plausible one - or you learn to develop your mental protections is none of my concern. The end result for me and those you've involved in your rash plot at revenge is the same."

"I'm not willing to take that chance."

"And neither am I." Snape said forcefully. "Even after what you did, your pitiful little mind isn't adept enough at understanding the true severity of your actions. Your snarky remarks and blasé attitude, while amusing at first, have quickly grown tiresome. You take these lessons as a joke, when they are meant to be an instruction to protect yourself as well as all the people you've managed to implicate in your escapades. Not only that, but your irreverence at Monday's DA meeting by challenging Longbottom and Weasley shows you learnt absolutely nothing from this past Halloween."

"How the fuck do you even know-"

"You have proven yourself to be nothing but a selfish, arrogant brat, the same as your father."

"Don't you dare talk about my father like that," Harry growled, his hand itching for his wand as he straightened up and squared his shoulders.

"It is past time you dispense with this foolish belief that consequences do not apply to you - understand this Potter, you're not Gryffindor's Golden Boy, you're not the… beloved," Snape spat." Head Boy every dunderheaded child worshipped as though he defecated solid gold and handed it around. You're nothing more than an irreverent failure - a sentimental child, forever whining about how bitterly unfair your life has been, well, it may have escaped your notice, Potter, but life isn't fair - your blessed father knew that, in fact, he frequently sought to remind me of that-"

"My father was a great man!" Harry roared.

"Your father was a swine!" Snape grabbed him by the shirt and threw him back into his chair.

The forced with which he crashed pushed him and the chair back, but he used the momentum to reach above his holster and summoning his wand. Feeling the wood grace his hand, he quickly raised it, aiming it against an already armed Snape.

"Legilimens!"

The ground vanished down from under him, he was pulled down into a bottomless, black pit. Thousands of voices, screams, and other mundane sounds filled his head, some he recognised, others he was oblivious to. Suddenly, he crashed onto the ground.

Blood-curdling screams made his blood run cold as he gazed above into the ceiling of the Slytherin Common Room. He picked himself up, still reeling from the pain of the fall, and witnessed as Montague carved the knife into his back while the other three Slytherins laughed and taunted him. Anger and shame filled him, as well as an unrelenting sense of dread that urged him to run away.

But before he could react, Harry felt a large hand grab him by the middle and instantly pull him back with a force strong enough to give him whiplash. His surroundings were quickly filled with thick, black ink as the myriad of concurrent voices screamed all around him. As soon as the force dragging him stopped, Harry tumbled over, landing head first into a pool of water.

He lifted his face, his hair and clothes soaking wet as he stared at his twelve-year-old self sitting with his back to the wall only a few meters in front of him. His eyes were scrunched up in pain as his right hand held firmly onto the black notebook within it. His body was shacking, moving violently in ways that made him cringe.

"Concentrate, Potter!" Snape's voice echoed inside his mind. "Focus!"

Abruptly, Harry was lifted into the air, feeling as if he were being choked. He closed his eyes, ignoring the alarming sensation as he slowed down his breathing. He pictured Snape, meddling inside his mind as if it were a drawer filled with files. Clenching his hands, he focused on the foreign sensation inside it, and tried to push it out.

His concentration was cut off as he crashed against the ceiling of the astronomy tower before falling right back down to the floor. Kids were screaming all around him, the floor was shaking as they ran away, some even stomping on him as they did so. Slowly, the sounds began to dissipate and Harry mustered the strength to look up. He was faced with the sight of three dementors, all leaning over his thirteen-year-old-self.

"Get out of my head!" Harry shouted, using all of his will to try and push Snape out, only to be once again dragged out of his memory.

He close his eyes and tuned everything out, focusing fully and solely on pushing the invading force out. But as he did so, it only grew stronger, penetrating his mind with a sharp headache in tow. Harry gritted his teeth, clenching his hands on his side, only to unexpectedly stumble forward.

This time, he managed to catch himself on his feet, quickly spotting the familiar cupboard filled with a multitude of dark detectors beside a massive black trunk. A blinding red light was the last thing he saw before he was sent flying across the room, landing over the teacher's desk, sending all the papers and quills flying around.

"Nice block, Potter," a familiar growl said with satisfaction. Harry quickly looked over to see Moody standing on the other end of the room, facing his fourteen-year-old-self. "You're getting quick."

"You're getting slow," snarked young-Harry with a smile on his face, his voice slightly higher than his own.

"Me? Slow? HA!" Even after what Montague had told him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia as he heard the perturbing, gurgling sound that was Moody's - Ares' - laugh.

Then, quicker than any man in his sixties should move, Moody raised his wand, shooting a barrage of violent red, bright yellow, rusty orange, and vivid green colours. His counterpart managed to raise a non-verbal shield before they reached him - a lucky break, since he still hadn't mastered silent magic at that point. But the combination of jinxes and curses hitting the shield at almost the same time were enough to overpower it, if only slightly.

Young-Harry was pushed back a few feet, but retorted accordingly, launching vocal disarming and stunning charms at the man. Moody parried them all with ease, managing to send two of his own spells in between each parry, before using his wand to conjure a lasso and whip it at him. Two busy blocking and dodging the jinxes Moody sent, Harry's leg was caught with it, but before Moody could pull, he used a non-verbal cutting hex on it, breaking it.

Only Moody hadn't been planning on pulling it, it had been a mere distraction that allowed him to catch Harry with a simple disarming charm. The wand flew right into Moody's hand, who smirked at him victoriously, the expression highlighting the open scar on his left cheek, giving a glimpse of the yellow teeth behind it.

"There's no need to be faster than you, Potter," Moody said smugly. "I'll always be smarter."

"And you'll always be a failure," Snape's drawl shot his eyes up, seeing the man inside his own memory gazing at him with disgust.

Their surroundings were suddenly flooded by the same thick, black ink before the classroom began fading in once again. Harry stumbled to his knees, coughing up blood as his headache became exponentially more painful.

"Pitiful." Snape said, uncaring of his condition. "I can't even claim myself disappointed."

"We're done," Harry spat, scrubbing off the dangling blood off his lips. "We've been at it for hours! The only use of continuing is to please whatever sadistic joy you get from it!" He began standing up, only to stumble back slightly as Snape loomed over him with cold fury.

"I may weep," Snape said dryly. "The Dark Lord has been known to enjoy delving into his victim's minds, using Legilimency to utterly destroy even those of capable Occlumens, rendering them into nothing but dribbling meat sacks with only slightly more brain signals than a victim of a dementors kiss. And yet here you are, moaning about a little blood and a few hours of lost sleep, rather than focusing on learning this valuable skill I am providing so that when - and I do mean when, Potter, as you've thrust it upon yourself to murder the second son of one of the Dark Lord's most devoted families - so that when you face the Dark Lord, you might have a small, infinitesimal chance at narrowly escaping with your life rather than experiencing first-hand what a true Legilimency attack truly feels like."

That's it for this chapter! Thank you all for reading!

I know I promised before my finals, but I couldn't do it, so here it is, about a week after my finals. Still, now that I'm on holiday, I'll try to write more and take it back to a 8k word chapter per week.

This chapter was actually meant to be just one scene for the next chapter. However, it grew to be so much bigger than I had anticipated, and so I decided to split it off from the other chapter. Next time, we'll see Harry meet the new Charms teacher, and receive an invitation to Hogsmeade that he won't be able to say no to, as well as the introduction to Dolohov. Be excited!

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)

Also, join my discord server to interact with me and other readers of PFTW as well as getting a chance to get the chapters early using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT.