There could've been many things that led to the decision; it was possibly the lemon sherbet candy that always was confined in a miniature glass bowl in front of Dumbledore, whose glass reflection caused thin polychromatic shards on the dark desk, or it could've been the warmth of the room after spending nearly three hours outside playing Quidditch with sore fingers and throbbing arms.
His face was still flushed from the bitter winter. He wore a thick sweater Hermione forcefully rammed over his soaked hair.
"Lemon drop," Dumbledore offered, his voice meticulously calm. He wore heavy velvet robes, his wizard hat was a light yellow with suns on the pointed tip and around the saggy rim.
"I'm okay, sir," Harry smiled, rubbing his hands together to regain the blood flow that seemed to stop circulating after the second hour spent outside.
Dumbledore beamed at him, "Muggles are so interesting with their ideas! No magic, and yet they create things that I fear even the most talented witch or wizard would only dream of making. Focillo," he spoke with an almost dreamy tone, popping another small candy in his mouth he bit down on it.
Harry only contained the slight urge to explain the point of the candy was to suck and relish the minutes of something sweet. But it immediately left his mind as a heavy wave of pure heat engulfed his tender skin; his shoulders relaxed instantly as his fingers widened before curling inwards.
"Thank you," his voice was soft, mind numb for a minute from how content his body felt.
"Little warming spell," Dumbledore nodded at him, "Always comes in use."
Harry nodded, his mouth widened; about to speak before the door opened behind them. The wood creaked loudly; the logs were popping from the nearby fireplace that Dumbledore lit with a vague gesture to the dry wood.
"You required me," Snape spoke sullenly, voice low and flat.
Harry turned around in his chair, the sudden room felt less inviting than it had a mere second ago.
"Sit down, Severus," Dumbledore motioned to the open seat beside Harry, his weathered hand flourishing towards it.
Snape stared at Harry critically, "I'm fine with standing."
"Do as you please," Dumbledore shrugged.
Harry felt like leaving, removing himself from the room at all cost—even with the threat of being found rude. What was once comforting, was now overwhelming; the heat, the smell of the candies that once was endearing was more tiresome.
"What is it you need to say?" Snape raised a thin eyebrow; it drew deep wrinkles to crease his forehead.
"As you know, Christmas break occurs in less than a week. I am very sorry for drawing you away from your studies, Harry; I understand exams are always such a stressful ordeal." He spoke with a light gleam in his eye; it was humorous.
They all knew he wasn't studying.
"It's fine," he whispered; Snape's mouth thinned.
Dumbledore spoke once more, "I understand that through your time at Hogwarts, you spent the break here?" Harry nodded, Dumbledore continued. "I fear that times are taking a desperate measure," his eyes zeroed in on Harry's, since Cedric's death, the war loomed greatly over them all, "I sadly say. I think some extra lessons in occlumency and combat could greatly benefit you and the war effort. I expect that during the break, you will meet with Snape to learn about these skills. I hope both of you can —" Dumbledore paused, seeking the right words, "Place your differences aside for the right cause."
Snape kept his mouth in a firm line as his expression was nearly vacant; his eyes narrowed on the headmaster as his hands balled at his sides.
Harry felt much the same.
"Is there another professor who could teach me?" He spoke firmly, eyes pleading.
"Unfortunately they all are visiting their families; these times are ruled by fear. Only Professor Snape is the remaining teacher who I feel is responsible enough to teach what I hope you can learn before it becomes too desperate."
"Mcgonagall is leaving?" Snape spoke in a leveled tone.
"Yes, with her missus at home, it may be the last normal Christmas for a while."
Snape clenched his jaw in response. Turning to Harry he began, "We will meet in the early mornings, Potter, six for occlumency, four in the afternoon for combat. Do not be late." His black eyes beaded into Harry.
"Fine, professor," Harry gritted, standing, "Is that all?"
Dumbledore offered them a small smile, "I say that it is."
"Goodnight, sir," Harry nodded towards Dumbledore as he left the room, brushing past Snape; they both granted each other an equal glare.
It would be tortuous.
Even the Dursleys would be better than spending hours upon hours with Snape.
The old man was infuriating. "Did you see that?" Snape graveled, his voice low. "The insolent brat will learn nothing from me. He can hardly stand my presence—which may I say is returned. I do not know how you expect me to teach him."
Dumbledore peeled a lemon sweet from its foil wrapper, placing the oval candy on his tongue, he began chewing loudly.
Snape bit on his cheek; it was always the same with the man: frantic in actions, calm in speaking, and a complete lunatic.
"Alliances are not necessary for being taught. The boy needs extra lessons; distractions have dominated his entire stay, he only passes most classes due to Granger. He needs to learn the material he is missing out on."
"You are bending over backwards because the boy hasn't cared enough to pay attention in his classes?" Snape snapped, his nails dug sharp crescents in his palms.
"Severus, he hasn't had time too. You know, just as much as I, about how extra his school years have been, I feel he is inadequate; he struggles enough to pass a test. Besides, you excel in nearly every area; you are the best option for a tutor."
"It will be pointless when he can hardly stomach being near me, no less being taught by me."
"He will; he knows the position he's in. He can't let small things such as dislike get in the way."
Snape scoffed, "I fear you see the boy far too highly."
"And you see too little, both unfortunate things, no?"
Snape kept his face neutral; the harsh bite of fury flaming underneath his skin. It was numbing, "As you say. Goodnight." He turned, walking till his hand reached for the scratched brass knob before Dumbledore spoke—lighter this time.
"Go easy on the boy; I fear some things have not gone to plan."
Snape turned, "I will treat him as I deem he deserves to be treated."
"Poor luck, mate," Ron sniffed, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he glared at the back of Hermione's head, "At least you didn't have to deal with psycho-she; I swear she's making me revise things we did in the first year."
"Ron!" Hermione snapped, placing down her highlighter—enough classmates stole her others, finding the muggle invention entirely humorous. "Do you not see how desperate this is? Snape is most likely on the he-who-must-not-be-named side. If he is teaching Harry life-threatening spells, there is a chance he could do serious harm or teach him wrong!"
Ron sighed, "So, what can we do?"
Harry leaned against the worn couch, head dangling precariously off the armrest. "Try to learn things in advance?"
"Which would work if Snape didn't personalize the entire course." Hermione groaned; she still kept writing repeated phrases for runes.
Her head was drawn over her papers; the fireplace threw a dull yellow over her dark features; it caused Ron's hair to appear nearly on fire. The curls were messy; Ron ran a hand through them as he ate a chocolate frog, offering the body to Harry. He denied the sweet.
His stomach felt too coiled to eat anything, no less something so sugary.
"I can't even stay over Christmas; my nan is in the hospital, her knee gave out. Mum will throw a fit if I ask to stay." Hermione bit her lower lip, tearing into it with her teeth.
Harry already felt resignation settle in his chest.
"Same; Mum is visiting Charlie with some people from the Order; she's been a huge freak with everything going on. Owl me each day; we can figure something out. I don't need to study."
"You didn't even know what Snorblog was used for!" Hermione snapped.
"I have never heard that name in my entire life! I swear you are making up things," he groaned, running a hand down his features.
"We learned it last week!"
"Sorry," Ron drawled on the word, pointing towards Harry, "Do you not remember that Harry struggled through those nightmares last week? There wasn't enough time trying to learn the uses of Snorblog when we were learning how to brew a new sleeping potion!"
Their arguments were drawing a few heads to spin towards them.
"Yes, I remember; I don't know if you remember, but I'm the one who came up with the potion and had to research how to brew it!"
"I had to sneak and grab the ingredients —"
"I had to brew it!"
Their argument grew in volume until their voices were a near shout, the whispering no longer. "Guys!" Harry snapped, "Shut up!"
"If Hermione and her big gob —"
"I'm not the one that eats two tons for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!"
"I'm a growing boy!"
"Who's going to end up obese!"
Harry closed his eyes, their fighting eventually waned off, fading into mutual distaste until the next day would come, leaving them friends again.
"Anyways, Harry," Hermione ignored Ron's loud groan of protest as she handed him a thick packet. The words on the front cover displayed: transfiguration review, "I say you just try to avoid the lessons. Get sick?"
"You want me to get a cold?" He deadpanned at her, adjusting himself in the chair.
"Suppose so, yeah." She paused after she spoke, registering what she just said, "Sorry, I'm —" she sighed softly, "Distracted." She gestured to the papers around her.
"Ideas so ridiculous I wouldn't even think of them." Ron skimmed through the packet, pushing it away from himself as he stared at Harry, "Mate, have you eaten today?"
The change of topic caused Hermione to spell a muffliato around them, "You didn't touch your food at breakfast or lunch. You skipped dinner," Ron spoke softly; Hermione stared at him.
"Harry —"
"I know; I just haven't been hungry recently." He sighed, running a hand over his features; he felt tired.
"Mate, at least have some sugary toast or something." Ron grabbed his shoulder, squeezing once before retreating his hand to his leg.
"I think I'm going to go up," he yawned, standing from the chair, ignoring the glimpses of Hermione and Ron, both sharing a worried glance.
"Harry —" Hermione tried again; he shook his head.
"I'm tired, g'night."
He and Minerva held an unlikely—often turbulent—friendship.
Her resting quarters were drenched in the irksome red and gold that all Gryfienndors flaunted as if a second skin as her fireplace was nearly constant.
"Ah, Severus," She greeted him lightly, stepping aside in her doorway.
"Minerva," he nodded towards her, "I apologize for coming unannounced."
She shook her head, "Tea?"
"Please," he sat down at the small table in the corner of the room.
"So, what is the meaning of your visit?" She heated a pre-made cup, adding a touch of milk before pushing it towards Snape, "Do tell."
"Dumbledore expects me to teach Potter."
"Do you not already?"
"Personal tutor," he kept his voice calm, "I am here on a request; the boy will not learn from me. The dislike between us is far too deep to branch or even try to overcome. I know your wife is expecting you —"
"I can not stay over the break," her voice was soft, almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, Severus."
He nodded, "I understand. I thought I might as well ask." He took a small sip of the tea, it was far too sweet.
"Potter is smart; he'll understand the importance of the lessons, I'm sure."
"I hope so," Snape stood, nodding once at Minerva before heading towards the door, walking past the blankets thrown over the back of her flattened leather couch.
"Do not irk Harry; he responds how the other person treats him."
Snape closes his eyes, shuddering before shaking his head, "I think my presence alone is enough to send the boy into a rage."
Minerva smiled slightly at him, "He's a kid."
"Much like his father." The words were spoken underneath his breath, breathy and muted.
"Goodnight, Severus," Minerva said from her seat.
"Goodnight," he closed the door behind himself. A pool of dread was already building in his chest.
Harry woke up before the sun; the room was smothered in gray shadows; his curtains were drawn on his bed.
Pulling the covers off himself, he shuffled towards the shared dorm bathroom; peeling off his clothes, he spared no time warming up the shower; it was a quick affair, washing his body and hair simultaneously.
Afterwards he tugged on the school uniform, he let the tie hang loosely off his neck as his robes were held in the crook of his elbow.
Slipping out of the bathroom, he paused. Ron stumbled from his bed, his hair was a messy display of curls, defying the odds of gravity as his eyes were heavy—blinking with such effort, Harry thought he was about to fall over on the floor and resume his sleep.
"What," he yawned, scratching the skin underneath his shirt, "Why are you awake," he continued his sentence, regaining more consciousness the longer he stood upright.
"Couldn't stay asleep." Harry shrugged, retreating towards his bed; Ron followed.
"You've barely been sleeping. Is the potion not working?" His voice was sincere, "You need to sleep, Harry."
"I know," he shrugged, sitting on the edge of the bed, "Muffliato," he didn't want to risk waking up the others.
"It's been getting bad again, right?" Ron moved to the middle of the bed, laying down on it. His pajama pants pulled at the ankles, exposing the faint red hair on his calves. Harry drew his legs towards his stomach, resting his head on his bony knees.
"I don't know. I'm just worried about everything."
"Mate," Ron frowned.
"It's fine," Harry waved him off, "Go back to bed."
Ron laughed, "You woke me up; you can't expect me to go back to bed." He stood, "We can head down, though. I heard the house elves give the students who wake up early extra dessert."
The main hall was empty; even the tables were bare of food. The enchanted ceiling exposed the faint blue entwined with purple, showing the gradual sun-raise; Ron and Harry sat at their house table.
Unwillingly they brought their studies, Harry hadn't sat down and reviewed the material since the start of the term.
"You think Hermione has a revision sheet on potions?" Harry groaned, flipping through the essays Snape returned to them. The man had a talent for adding completely unrelated objects to the exam.
"I already asked her; it's more like a book," Ron grumbled, pulling out a nearly two-hundred-page summary of each lesson since the start of the first year.
Harry gazed at the thin pages, blinking slowly as he began to resign to his fate.
"I'm going to fail."
Ron shrugged, "I will too."
Their studying lasted ten minutes before boredom kicked in, and they resorted to doodling on their papers—drawing horrible pictures of students and making the others guess who it was.
"Susan," Harry gestured to the drawing.
"No, it's Dolores." Ron cackled, drawing a warm bowl of oats towards him. The house elves made breakfast earlier for them.
"Boys!" The sharp voice made them both freeze, a shared thought passing through them.
Umbridge came tapping towards their table, her face twisted up in a wide grin. A hideous bright bow was tied around her waist, and nearly twenty were pinned in her hair. "Up so early?" She stared at both of them. Her lips were stained by a horrible red lipstick that clashed with her pink dress.
"Exams miss," Ron said, gesturing to the papers around them.
She stared at the papers; Hermione's handwriting detailing what passages to memorize was highlighted in the paper.
"And sharing answers, I see," she chirped, picking up a page. "Miss Granger gave you these?"
"It's for us to study," Harry explained, words void, "Professor Mcgonagall encourages sharing answers so students have a more diverse range of answers to think of."
It was a complete lie.
Umbridge twisted her fat lips upwards, her cheeks welled in terrible puffiness, "Odd teaching practices." Her words were thin; Harry shrugged.
"I find it nice."
"Yes, well, I suppose the less-intelligent students would." She smiled at him, "Gives them a chance to succeed." She flattened the review paper against the table, while scattered groups of students entered the main hall.
Harry glared at her, Ron copied his expression. Umbridge headed towards the teacher's table. Her head tilted upwards, while her lower lip puckered.
"A fuckin' proper cunt," Ron growled, resuming the drawing he had started.
"Even Hermione snapped at her," Harry muttered, staring at her as she sat in her designated seat.
"There you two are!" Hermione shouted from the entryway, her braids pushed into a ponytail, "I looked everywhere! God," she snapped at them, sliding into the open seat next to Harry. "When did you guys come down here?"
"Around four," Ron yawned; his and Hermione's glance was the same.
"You haven't been sleeping, really, Harry?" She turned towards him, her lips drawn up in a slight frown, "Is it the potion?"
"Already asked him that," Ron grumbled; Hermione frowned further.
"Just too much going on, and then with the new stuff with Snape." He made a weak wave with his hand. "I couldn't stay sleeping."
Hermione sighed, "I'll try to do some enhancements with the sleeping draught."
"It's fine," he shrugged, "I work better with less sleep."
Hermione stared at him, "I'm shocked you haven't reeled over and died, yet."
"Potter luck," Ron shrugged, "Pure endurance, I swear."
The passing week was filled with exams, most of which Harry would look desperately at the back of Hermione's head and slowly give up any logical knowledge and lead with his gut instincts.
At least he did better than Ron.
In Potions, they had to write a two-hundred-word essay on the back of the exam. Harry completely lied his way through his own, adding enough filler words for a sentence to consist of pure nonsense: The meaning of the word Fuzzlewump is created by a person, which, whose name is said to be of a creature found in a forest near here, perchance.
Ron didn't even know the name was of some creature; he explained that the name came from a fear of wizards and the death they may experience.
Hermione was the only one who got the essay correct.
And every other lesson.
They met up with Hermione outside her last class, waiting for the class inside to be dismissed Ron and Harry both wallowed in shared grievances.
When clumps of students left the classroom; Ron and Harry both saw how Hermione's face flushed with confidence. They all grew used the expression on her after she finished all her testing.
Ron, contrasted against her impeccably. He was a picture of dejection. His freckles stood out starkly against his pale, almost translucent skin.
"The exams were a nightmare," he muttered, his voice filled with mourning. As they walked away from Hermione's classroom.
They all wore the winter uniform, helping ease the chill in the air.
Hermione rolled her eyes, "They were fine; I'm sure you both did okay."
Harry shook his head, he even felt pale. "No—no, I'm with Ron. I didn't even know the benefits of Whorlumape in soil."
"There are no benefits; it was a trick question," Hermione spoke softly, adjusting her books beneath her thin arm.
Ron let out a loud wail. "I said that it made the soil turn a brighter color, which made the plants brighter."
Harry turned, his eyes wide, "Dude, I did too!"
Hermione faltered, "Surely you'll get points for the extra credit."
"There was extra credit," Ron grimaced, "Oh Merlin, mum is going to kill me."
The longer Snape graded the exams, the more he felt a small pit of shock grow into near-blinding unbelief. Even the questions he put on the exams for easy points, more than seventy percent of his students got wrong.
The red markings he made on the paper seemed larger as he kept slashing through incorrect answers. Pausing on Harry's exam, he skimmed through it. The boy got a measly twenty.
Hermione got a high ninety. He wasn't surprised; she worked better on paper. When she had to make the final exam potion it lowered her grade to a high seventy.
The common room was empty. Each student was in their dorms packing for the long holiday. It was just the trio unwinding together.
Hermione lounged near the fireplace, long stockings reaching past her thighs as she wore flannel shorts with an oversized sweater.
"You have to Owl us if anything seems weird, Harry," she demanded, staring at him with a permanent frown. Ron was napping beside him, his body half on and off the couch. His legs were sprawled everywhere, his foot rested on Hermione's lower back.
"I will—don't worry, it can't be any worse than anything else we've dealt with." He shrugged, drawing a cup of tea to his lips. He asked Dobby for it earlier, the house elf happily obliged.
It was still steaming, and each movement he made caused slight ripples to lap against the mug's rim.
The thick curtains were drawn in the common room, obscuring them from the flurries occurring outside, though the coldness could be felt the further away from the fireplace.
"It's just, I heard from Alicia that barely anyone was going to stay at Hogwarts, it could just be you, Snape, and some random students."
Harry hummed. He had already heard the mutters through the castle, everyone was worried about the possibility of war breaking out over the break, of the chance of a last Christmas.
"I'll keep you updated Hermione, promise." He waved her off, sparing her a small smile.
She nodded, moving to stare at the fireplace, "I'm worried for you Harry." She spoke it softly; he didn't know if she wanted him to hear it.
"I can take care of myself."
Her dark eyes meeting his showed him that was what she was afraid of.
His friends were scuttling on and off the bus, Ron rummaging through his trunk while Hermione helped Neville locate some robes he lost at the start of the term and hadn't found yet.
"Oh, mum is going to kill me." Ron groaned, turning to stare helplessly at Harry, "She gave this heirloom thing to me, supposed to be good luck. Didn't even know I lost it till now; she's going throw a proper fit when she realizes."
"Poor Ickle-Ronniekins," Fred placed an arm lazily over Ron's shoulders, leaning forward he nodded towards Harry, "'Ello Harry!"
"Hi Fred," he waved back, smiling at the infuriating pout that etched its way further onto Ron's features.
"Get off!" Ron shouted, voice muffled by Fred's arm; shoving off his brother, he glared at him. "Mum won't just blame me —"
"Oh yes, she will," George came from behind Fred, smirking, "Because we kept it safe when we were in your year. Gave it back to her when we realized we almost blew it up —"
"On accident," Fred added, shrugging.
Ron seemed to go much paler, "Oh shit."
"That, indeed!" George cackled, and Fred removed his arm, smiling at Ron's apparent distress.
"Don't lose it again, Neville," Hermione spoke kindly as she approached them with the taller boy in toe. "Why does Ron look sick?" She raised her eyebrows, tilting her head at the nervousness wrecking the youngest Weasley brother.
"Mum's going to kill him, that's why." Fred barely contained his laughter as Ron stomped on his foot, an immediate grimace smothered over his features, "You massive sprog! What was that for?"
"For laughing you prick!" Ron glowered at him.
Hermione sighed, "I told you to keep it with me at the start of the term; I knew this was going to happen." She placed her hand in her robe pockets; digging through them, she faltered as she pulled out a tiny golden circle with a crest in the middle of it. It laid flatly in her palm.
"Oh, Hermione!" Ron nearly fell to his knees, clasping her hand as he shook his head, "Thank you!"
Hermione had a vague look of disgust as she turned to stare at Harry, "I didn't see you at breakfast," she shared a meaningful look with him.
"Helped Dean pack," he shrugged; Ron nodded in return.
"He did."
Their conversation dimmed as the whistle blew, white steam clouded the gray sky, and small snow flurries swept across the school's ground.
Hermione and Ron stumbled on the train with the twins carrying Hermione's luggage up the metal stairs while Ron kept tripping over his own. They all found a component that matched where Harry stood outside; pulling down the window, they waved at him wildly.
"Owl us!" Hermione shouted, hair whipping with the wind; her braids kept slapping Ron's face, causing the red-head to squint his eyes.
"Good luck!" Ron shouted in turn, waving as the train slowly chugged away, the wheels grinding on the track. Harry chased after their window until he stood at the edge of platform outside the school; his hands numb from the cold.
Withdrawing from his position, he headed towards the school, snow clumped at the hem of his robe. His shoes ended up damp, with snow leaking through the material leaving his feet cold and wet.
When he entered through the main entrance, the castle was entirely quiet; even the portraits seemed to find a place for a break since most were absent from their usual spots.
His trek through the castle left wet imprints in the size of his shoes over the stone floor; he traveled up the winding staircases, pausing at the dormitory.
The fat lady was gone, leaving only a bright floral background to where she used to sit.
"Hello?" Harry tried, tapping the painting.
There was nothing.
He was cold, and even the permanent heating spells engraved into Hogwarts left him still shivering. Standing for an extra minute, he moved from his spot. He could stay in the library or find a small alcove near the kitchens.
Retreating the empty corridors, he traveled down the staircases, letting his hand linger on the railings.
He paused on the main floor, working through his plans, until he heard the sharp clicking of miniature heels on stone. Turning around, he faltered when he saw Umbridge approach him, her face curled up in a wide smile—twisting her eyes into something only a feral animal could copy.
"Potter," she greeted, stopping in front of him. She wore a thick pink dress past her knees, hanging above her calves as bright socks were worn beneath them. "I fear you are one of the only students staying for the break. There was, I think, a Ravenclaw, but besides that, much alone."
Harry nodded; he already knew this; just as he knew, only Snape, Umbridge, and Filch were staying at Hogwarts for the holiday. Even Hagrid, who seemed to always remain on campus during the break, had sudden business with Dumbledore.
A small—almost impossible—part of him wished he went to stay with the Dursleys; at least then, he could find a way to avoid them. Here, he was trapped.
"I heard of that, yeah." He nodded, slowly slipping away from her overwhelming presence.
"With all your spare time —" she looked at her ghoulish nails, pink tarnish painted over a thin layer of muted glitter. "You wouldn't mind doing some chores for me."
"I would mind, yeah." He nodded at her; her face morphed into a tight smile.
"Well," she clapped her hands in front of herself, "I still expect help. Being on break doesn't take away all responsibilities."
Harry widened his eyes, knitting his eyebrows together; instead of answering her with a response, one that would be coarse, he spun on his heels, moving down the corridors towards the kitchens. He ignored all shouts she threw at him to stop.
He had Dobby for company, at least.
He skipped dinner; Dobby gave him enough pastries to fill up on when he visited the house elf. What would usually be staking hunger was now a giant hole of pure sugar.
He felt fatigued, body slowly moving through Hogwarts as his robes dried with a slight stiffness to them. Making up the stairs to the dormitory, the fat lady hummed to herself, "Hello!" She greeted him, waving excitedly.
Harry nodded at her, "Fortuna Major," he yawned, the painting swung open widely, slamming against the stone behind her.
Harry slid into the narrow passage, standing at his full height in the main common room.
The fireplace was lit, blazing, and sending flickers of golden through the room as pillows were tidied, the entire area seemed to be recently cleaned.
Sitting on the couch, he felt his body warm to the fire. Stretching on the couch, he leaned his head on the pillows. The wind whistled against the sides of the castle, though even then, it was hard to care.
Closing his eyes, he fell into a soft sleep—the tower was never this quiet.
Dudley sniffled beside him; his chubby hands held a ruined bulldozer Vernon had bought for him that very week. The grass was withering into sharp strands in the cruel summer heat as the roads had a permanent haze radiating off the dark cement.
"You broke it," he wailed, shoving at Harry.
"I did not!" He snapped back, scrambling away as Dudley chased after him—plump legs dashing after Harry around the backyard.
Dudley suddenly stopped, sniffing once and then twice. He opened his mouth and wailed—it was loud, almost deafening. "Mum!"
Petunia dashed from the house, wearing a flour-covered apron with her hair flat around her head, "Dudders?" She ran to his side, fusing over his clothes and face, making sure there were no physical injuries, "What's wrong, baby?"
"Harry —" Dudley pointed a fat arm at him, the skin wobbled with the movement, "He broke my new toy!" Snot dripped from his nose, leaking over the collar of his shirt.
Petunia glowered at Harry, her face suddenly stern, "You horrid little boy!" Gripping his arm— she left bruise imprints the same size of her thin fingers for days afterwards—she hauled him to the stairs. Opening the cupboard, she tossed him inside.
Harry balled his hands, pounding on the door. He felt the claustrophobia settle in, "I'm sorry!" He cried, his voice pitching into hysterics as the darkness of the cupboard became overwhelming, "Aunt—Aunt Petunia," he wilted, laying on the thin mattress Vernon found in the attic. He curled tighter inwards, coughing through the thick spit forming in his throat and the blurring tears.
"I'll visit you," the voice was gentle; Harry felt himself reel around.
Cedric sat next to him, his weight caused the mattress to tilt so that Harry was dipped towards him. The cupboard fell apart, leaving an open field—Hogwarts campus, he realized; the squid swam lazily across the surface, sending ripples of water to overlap.
"Please don't," Harry groaned, "God, you'd hate them."
Cedric raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly, "If they are part of you, I find that hard to believe."
"Oh, trust me, you'd despise them." Harry laughed, leaning on the grass; he felt a hand squeeze his palm. It was gentle, withdrawing as quickly as it came.
"Suppose I'd just have to save you, come all knight-like."
"Oh please," Harry rolled his eyes, the sun felt so warm against his skin, "The most —"
"Harry," Cedric's words suddenly cracked. Harry heard the fear in his tone; pulling himself up, his voice died in his throat.
They were in a cemetery; Cedric was twitching on the floor, body stilling rapidly. "No—no," Harry crawled over to him; he heard Voldemort cackling wildly.
"Please, Cedric," his voice turned into a loose babble, hysterics gripping him once more.
"No summer," Voldemort laughed in his mind, blinding him with his voice. Harry felt nausea claw up through his throat, hunching over, he tried fighting the vomit seeping through his fingers.
Dry-heaving, he woke up on his side, sweat encased his robe to his back; reeling off the couch, he ran up the stairs to the boy's dormitory; falling through his dorm-room, he hunched over the toilet, heaving inside the bowl as his spit connected to the basin and his lower lip.
It was still dark outside; the window showed the campus concealed by a layer of black; only small flakes were reflected by the golden bathroom light.
Standing, he moved to the shower; stripping off his sweat-soaked clothes, he settled beneath the steaming water, which bounced over his tan skin. It was pooling at the bottom of the shower, engulfing his feet.
It was a slow affair; he just stood beneath the heated water, resting his head against the cool tile, letting the nightmare wash away from him.
Leaving the shower, he pulled on a sweater Hermione left for him with some loose sweatpants. During the breaks, the school dress-code was unregulated.
Moving from the common room, he saw the sun begin to rise from a nearby window; visiting the kitchens, he knocked once before the door reeled open.
"Harry Potter!" Dobby wailed, shaking his hand with such ferocity it felt like his wrist was about to dislocate.
"Hi, Dobby," he smiled, sitting at a small table covered with food ingredients: yeast, flour, vanilla, sugar, all was layered together.
"What is the Harry Potter wanting? Dobby makes tea or some Dobby sweets?"
"Some tea, thanks."
Dobby reeled away, moving past busy house elves, all hurriedly making food at such a pace their arms seemed to blur.
It took three minutes before his drink was served.
"Thank you," Harry said, nodding at Dobby, he took a cautious sip. It scalded the roof of his mouth, wincing he placed it back down.
Dobby watched wide-eyed, his ears wobbled as he nodded, "Does Harry Potter enjoy Dobby's tea?" His eyes were nearly watery, unblinking.
"It's perfect."
Dobby wailed, clutching Harry's hands, "Oh, thank you, Harry Potter!"
Snape stood before Harry; he still wore his proper teaching attire—black underclothes and a black robe that seemed to defy all odds and constantly billowed behind him. "Potter, late as always." Snape drawled, his jaw clenched.
Harry looked at the clock in the classroom, "I was only three minutes late?"
"Three minutes ago, we would have already started." Snape snapped; Harry rolled his eyes, muttering something incomprehensible. "Do you wish to keep the lesson delayed with your impudent behavior? I can do this for the entire day, though spending any longer with you seems entirely more of a punishment for you than me, though I do not wish to stay in your presence longer than necessary."
"Go ahead then," Harry waved at him, "If you were to start the lesson when I entered instead of lecturing me, then we both could have started earlier it seems. So we both are at fault."
Snape clenched his jaw, "Your insolence is limitless," sneering at the boy, he loosened his tightly clasped hands, "We have no time to spare—wasted solely by you extending this petty argument to engage further; we have only this break together, and it would be best put to use in me teaching you things that are needed for your survival."
Harry bit on his tongue, the urge to respond nearly overwhelming.
"Occlumency is the magic of shielding one's mind in protection of another invading it, while Legilimency is a form of magic cast to invade another person's mind. Performed incorrectly, can cause adverse side effects; it can make someone go crazy—insane. That is why you must learn how to master both; although we will focus mainly on occlumency for your main protection.
"Do try to block me from exploring your mind-scape; think of a wall, something sturdy, unbreakable. Enclose all your thoughts, memories behind the wall," Snape stared at him for three seconds, unmoving, before Harry felt a coldness sweep through his body.
His limbs felt suddenly stiff, a permeating chill seeping into his bloodstream; he felt ice penetrate through his mind. Freezing his thoughts in sudden cold as an odd memory sprang to the surface.
It was the end of term; the windows were open in their dorm, ruffling the folded blankets. Harry sat on his trunk, laughing as Seamus was fighting with Ron.
It was all banter between them, "Oh come on mate, get off of it! Obviously, Appleby Arrows are going to lose to the Montrose Magpies!"
"The team is so shite they can't even dodge a quaffle most days!" Seamus laughed, shaking his head, "You think Appleby will seriously win? Even Nev knows they are the worst team, right?" Ron turned his head towards Neville.
"Well I actually thought Kenmare Kestrels might win this season, I mean, did you see the transfers?"
Seamus faltered; Ron and him both shared a look, "You can't be serious."
"Deadly," Neville shrugged, laughing slightly at the worrisome looks shared by both boys.
Harry even winced. Ron always took hours to catch him up to each Quidditch team that won the last season, and every year, without fail, it was known that the Kenmare Kestrels would get out in the very first bracket.
The memory seemed to crumble in the corner; Harry tried thinking of a wall, something that kept his memories in. But the longer he thought of the wall, the more he saw cracks in it, the possibility of something slipping through it.
The next memory was much older.
He was in a park near Privet Drive, far away from the Dursleys, as he swung lazily on the swing. His feet brushed against the ground, not quite reaching as he pumped upwards on the rusted set.
The sun was setting in the distance, sending a golden halo through the overhead trees, drenching the world in fire.
"Harry," someone said his name gently. Turning around, he saw his teacher—she held hands with a small girl no more than a few years older than him. Her daughter, he heard her talk about her often.
"Hi, Miss," he nodded at her, jumping from the swing set.
"What are you doing out here?" She asked; her golden hair was pulled up in a low bun; strands slipped from her hair tie. The girl hanging on her hand began spinning on her heels, distracted by the conversation.
"I was bored." Which he was.
And sick of Dudley.
"Does Mrs. Dursley know where you are?"
Harry thought about it; he slipped through the back hedge when he got yelled at that morning. "Maybe."
His teacher sighed, "Let me take you home, Harry; being alone at your age is dangerous."
"I know stranger danger," he learnt it second-hand by Petunia, sitting down Dudley and explaining the importance of not believing anyone who said they have candy in a van or a puppy.
"That makes me feel better, though it's nearly an hour's walk to your home."
Harry frowned, rubbing a smudge of dirt on his nose as he trailed behind his teacher walking to her car.
He tumbled over a log he hadn't seen. His teacher helped him right himself after his fall, dusting off his legs, "Has your Aunt taken you to get your eyes seen yet?"
Harry shrugged, "Not yet."
Her frown was evident, "Did you even tell her."
Harry shrugged again, "Not really."
"Come on, Harry, let's get you home." She sighed.
When Harry came from the memory, a splitting headache started at his temples, smothering his entire skull, "Oh hell," he muttered, clutching at his forehead.
"Are you even trying?" Snape bit, running a hand through his greasy hair.
Harry glared at him, "If you could explain it to me, then maybe—yeah!"
"I told you what to do; how hard is it not to follow simple instructions." Snape grounded, teeth grinding together.
"Pretty hard when you barely explained how to do it!"
Snape shook his head, "Do I need to spoon-feed you the directions?"
"How do I make a wall? Every time I do, I see the cracks." Harry snapped, shaking his head at the loose eye roll Snape gifted him.
"That is why you make it out of something without any imperfections. Did you not hear me say that earlier?"
"I can't do that! When I picture making a wall, it has cracks. No matter what." Harry growled, twitching his lower eyelid.
"Then picture something else; just do something to stop me from breaching your mind. It's simple." Snape flourished his hand, clutching his wand.
Harry immediately felt that same sensation—it was like he was blindly plunging into ice water, his muscles tightened, while his teeth began to chatter as an unwilling memory drew to the surface.
"Do you have any guesses of who put your name in the goblet?" Cedric spoke gently near him, his finger trailing over Harry's bicep, twirling over the woolen material.
"No clue," Harry sighed, shaking his head. They were obscured by a thick tree facing Hogwarts, leaving them hidden beneath its leaves. "It's just my luck."
Cedric chuckled; it was dry between them, "Your Potter luck, I heard Ron talk about it earlier."
Harry shook his head, leaning his forehead on Cedric's shoulder; he smelt of damp wood, comforting.
"Well, you'll have to let me win—your Potter luck always has a way of out beating all outcomes." Cedric was smiling; Harry rolled his eyes.
"Shut up."
Cedric ruffled his hair, "It'll be fine, Harry. Trust me."
Sparks of white smothered his eyesight when he came too, "You have no right," he bit, chest-thumping erratically.
"Block me out then."
Harry stood up, anger pulsating in the back of his neck. He could hear his blood rushing through his ears, silencing everything with any movement he made.
Stumbling to the door, he hauled it open, letting it slam behind him. His hands shook with pure, unbridled rage.
He hated Snape—utterly despised the man.