His friends knew something was wrong immediately. The two of them had developed some kind of super-sensor when it came to reading Harry's mood. As soon as he flopped down on an armchair near them in the common room, Ron and Hermione's lighthearted bickering morphed into serious looks as they turned to him.
"What's up, mate?" Ron asked casually, but his eyes scanned Harry's face closely.
"Nothing, really," Harry said quietly, slumped over and staring into the fire.
Hermione edged forward. "You seem upset. Did Professor Snape give you detention?"
"No, he didn't," he fought the agitation creeping into his voice, but wasn't all that successful. "He yelled at me for a while, for being stupid and risking everything for a game." Ron looked suitably indignant, but Hermione pressed her lips together in a way that suggested she agreed with Snape but didn't want to voice it aloud. "I told him it was about more than Quidditch, you know, like resisting Umbridge, but that didn't seem to be good enough for him."
"He's a teacher," Ron pointed out, as if that settled the matter. "You didn't expect him to give you a pat on the head and house points, did you?"
"No, of course not. I even have to admit, he made some good points. I mean, what use was it, really? We didn't do anything that's going to help the situation in the long run."
"There must be a balance between reckless rebellion and passive submission," Hermione said bolsteringly, and perhaps a little deviously. "We'll find it. Don't worry, Harry."
He gave her a shallow smile and kept talking. "And then, just like that, it was over. He sat down, cancelled tonight's Occlumency lesson, and dismissed me." He threw his hands up in the air at this final and worst insult.
His two best friends looked at each other as if they couldn't see what the problem was.
"So… no detention?" Ron asked, as if to clarify. He clearly didn't understand what about the argument was bothering him. It didn't help Harry's mood that he couldn't quite tell, either.
"Nothing! He just sent me off."
"Are you upset about… not getting a detention?" Hermione probed hesitantly.
"No, why would I-? Why are you so hung up about detention, anyway?"
"Why are you?" Hermione shot back.
"Huh?"
"It seems like you're more hurt about getting sent away without any sort of punishment than anything else."
"I'm not hurt," Harry lied, then wondered why it was a lie. "That's a stupid thing to be hurt over."
"Feelings aren't always sensible," Hermione said softly, staring at her hands.
"I dunno, Harry." Ron tilted his head. "If my parents knew I'd done something stupid and didn't punish me for it, I'd be leaping for joy."
"Snape's not my parent, though," Harry pointed out, ignoring the dull throb in his chest. Hermione gave a tiny little intake of breath, her face illuminated in the way it did whenever she had an academic breakthrough. He looked at her askance, worried about what she thought she'd figured out, but she changed the subject.
"I'm sure things will go back to normal between you two soon."
"Yeah. Normal," Harry said bleakly.
"I may have a way for you to fight back, however," she suddenly grinned, subconsciously twitching her enchanted satchel closer.
The next few days were strained. After cancelling Monday's lesson, Harry didn't see village Snape again until Wednesday evening. When he did, things were tense. Harry had yet to find a way to permanently and deliberately arrange his mind maze, and although the recent exercises in focus and mental coordination had helped, it was obvious to him that visualising the entire thing as a whole was going to be more of a challenge than mere "focus and clear your mind" could solve. Snape gave little additional advice beyond this, and in his bad mood, Harry couldn't help but resent his teacher for not being able to provide more concrete guidance. He was certain that Snape could sense this, which probably didn't help their relationship any. He didn't even acknowledge Harry when the lesson was over, but he did shout "Five points from Gryffindor!" when Harry slammed the door behind him. Harry scowled at the closed door and marched off in a fit of pique.
Friday's lesson was no better. Frustrated by his plateaued progress and distracted about the next day, his focus was meagre at best. Snape's coolly detached, professional demeanour irritated Harry more every time he spoke, and the teen was beginning to wonder if Snape would ever forgive him for his stupid mistake. Harry made a pointed (and probably rather rude) reference to Snape's inability to coach him through his block, and in return had received a sarcastic comment about the man "only being a potions professor" that Harry was sure was a reference to his parting comment during the argument. After that, he completely ignored Snape and gave up on trying Occlude for the day. Instead, he contemplated tomorrow's Hogsmeade visit with trepidation. Hermione had convinced him that an interview with Rita Skeeter about what had happened in the graveyard could really do something to fight against the wave of false information that the Prophet was churning out. He had agreed. The idea of fighting back appealed to him, but he remembered Skeeter from the Tournament and wasn't looking forward to the meeting. Snape dismissed him not long after, and Harry sped out of the room without a second glance.
If this goes on for too much longer, I think I'll try that "block all emotions" technique. Maybe then, the way Snape had reverted back to "Potter" even in private wouldn't upset him so much.
Mentally recounting the ways feeling no emotions could save him a lot of detentions, Harry almost ran into Trelawney near the kitchens. She startled badly, staggering back against the wall and clutching her shawl.
"Professor?" he stammered reflexively, suddenly remembering that Dumbledore had insisted she be allowed to remain in the castle. At the title, her eyes welled up with angry tears behind her huge glasses.
"Come to rub it in my face, Potter?" she wailed, swaying. "I know you've heard I'm no longer a professor. They all gossip about me…"
Harry thought she was overestimating her importance to the student body. "No, Pro- er, I'd heard, but I'm not happy about it or anything. Umbridge-"
"Is coming!" Trewlaney hissed, grabbing his shoulders. He suddenly understood why she'd been running. "She wants me gone!"
"Go, I'll cover for you," Harry said, internally cursing his saving-people thing. She blinked at him owlishly, then fled.
No sooner had she turned the corner when the hag appeared on the other end of the hall, marching with a sick little smile on her face. Harry suddenly had a delirious vision of her torturing "blood traitors" in pink Death Eater's robes with a black quill, Voldemort standing behind her in delight at having such a sadistic follower.
"Potter!" she trilled, seeing him. "Have you seen anyone walking this hallway?"
"No, Professor Umbridge," he said, eyes wide in innocence.
"Hm." He guessed that she wanted to stay and harass him more, but having already caught the scent of easy blood, she didn't seem eager to give up her prey. She hurried past him with no more than a chirpy admonition to get in bed before curfew. He surreptitiously checked the time, but it was only half seven. As he'd suspected, Snape let him go early.
Probably didn't want me around anymore, he grumbled internally, making the long trek back up to the tower.
Before Harry and Hermione could slip out of the common room, needing to be at The Three Broomsticks early for the meeting with Skeeter, Fred and George cornered him.
"Harry, we were wondering if you still had a certain little contraband item. You see-"
"-not that you would, of course, as you'd never sneak out for Quidditch-"
"Can't believe anyone would be so irresponsible-"
"-but I'm sure whoever owns the set would like it complete."
It took Harry a few seconds of blinking stupidly to realise that they were talking about the Snitch. "Oh! I'll just- well, yeah, I mean, whoever has it will probably give it back… like… in two seconds." He thundered up the stairs, went digging through his trunk, and found the glowing night snitch. Clutching it in his palm and shoving his hand in the pocket of his robes, he went back down to find Hermione glaring at an unabashed set of twins.
"Here," he said, glancing around before handing it over. They palmed it casually with the practised ease of pranksters. "You know, it was really weird; during the game, it seemed to know Umbridge was there. It was circling around her, like it was trying to warn me she was there." He felt a bit stupid saying it, but the moment had been playing over in his mind all week.
To his surprise, they took him seriously. The two exchanged a glance, looking at the snitch curiously.
"Could be the autonomy spells," Fred murmured.
"Paired with the extra-perception clause," George agreed.
"Weird it reacted like that, though."
"Maybe it was a reaction with the preservation enchantments."
"Hold on," Hermione said demandingly. "Are you two saying you not only invented that night Quidditch set, but you also made it sentient?"
Fred and George stared at her, then each other, then back at her again. Without warning, their faces broke out in identical, delighted grins.
"Why, Hermione, I do think you're impressed," Fred said, a glint in his eyes as he threw his arm around her shoulder.
"It was a nice bit of magic, if we do say so ourselves," George added, doing the same on her other side.
"That you did by accident," she argued, but was smiling all the same.
It took another ten minutes for Hermione to extricate herself from the twins' joyful teasing. Finally, she and Harry were able to slip into a shadowed booth in the corner of The Three Broomsticks just as Rita Skeeter appeared. She found them immediately, weaving through the tables towards them.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hermione asked softly, despite being the one to arrange the whole thing.
"I'm sure," Harry nodded. Snape was right. If Harry was going to fight back against Umbridge's influence, it was going to have to be something productive, something to counteract the damage she was doing.
Rita reached them, sitting down excitedly in the other side of the booth.
"Harry," she cooed, eyes gleaming. "So lovely to see you again." She glanced between him and Hermione speculatively, but Hermione quickly shut her down.
"Remember our arrangement," she said.
"Of course," Rita pursed her lips. "A bit of human interest never hurt a story's receptibility however, dear."
Harry eyed Hermione's cursed bag and hoped Hermione didn't think to nudge it into Rita's foot under the table.
"There's human interest in the name," Hermione argued.
"True enough," Rita agreed, taking in Harry's appearance. "You seem different. Changed. I'd love to hear all about it."
"A lot has happened," Harry said cryptically.
"Then tell me," Rita urged, taking out a quill and pad of paper.
Harry did.
As he and Hermione had discussed, they focused on the events in the graveyard. Skeeter knew a good story when she heard one, and this one had her practically salivating. She pursued the thread to the trial, which was a trickier subject to discuss. Most of what they knew or suspected was only speculation, such as Voldemort having enough loyal people in the Wizengamot to get a majority to declare him guilty. Harry and Hermione had already previously agreed to only state facts, and of those, only ones that were open secrets. They said nothing about where or with whom he had hid, glossing over the topic as a whole. He forced himself to say how grateful he was for the legal pardon, but soothed his wounded pride with an impassioned defence that it wouldn't have been necessary if the trial was fair.
She listened closely, asking good questions. He wasn't a fan of the more invasive ones about the fear he felt in the graveyard, but recognised why she was asking. He'd discussed public perception with Snape- no. Best not think about that right now.
She was clearly disappointed not to get more details about Harry's months as a fugitive, but was too excited about what she had learned to push further.
"Now, tell me. In light of your haunting story and coming back to the present, what has it been like to see everyone call you a liar?"
Harry stammered for a moment, and she changed tracks. "Having been accused of lying yourself, how do you feel about the law currently on the floor in the Wizengamot to punish people who 'fearmonger'?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Hermione cut in dangerously, eyes narrowing.
"Oh, haven't you heard? It's terrible," Rita said, but her face betrayed her delight at getting to share such a juicy piece of information. "They've used public safety to justify it. They want to impose fines on people who push ideas that could cause mass hysteria. They haven't mentioned You-Know-Who, of course, but it's clear that your claims are what's driving it."
"So they want to punish anyone who dares to oppose the Ministry rhetoric?" Hermione all but hissed. Harry leaned forward, beginning to feel alarmed.
"How are they allowed to do that?"
Rita gave him a pitying look. "Your innocence almost proves your honesty, Harry."
He scowled at the patronising. "I'm not innocent."
"Oh, but you are," Rita said, waving the pad of paper she'd been frantically writing on for the past hour and half in front of his face. "That's the whole point. You're an innocent young boy, targeted by an evil Dark Lord and abandoned by your government. A victim." She stood, tucking her tools of trade into her purse and placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry. Once my story hits the press, everyone will be falling over themselves to defend you."
Harry noticed that "your story" had become "my story".
"When will you be able to get it to me?" Hermione asked, interrupting the monologue.
Rita cut her a look, betraying her irritation at Hermione's restrictions for the first time. "The sooner this gets out, the better. Especially considering the law being drafted."
"Yes, I agree," Hermione said, with equal sharpness. "So, when will you be able to get it to me?"
Rita huffed, then mercifully released his shoulder. "Tomorrow. Believe me, I won't be working on anything else until it's finished." She turned and left, heels clicking sharply on the floor.
"Did you know about that law?" Harry asked as Hermione moved to sit across from him and give them both more space. He tucked his feet out of danger when she slid her bag over and reached into it, obviously searching for something.
"No…" she said distractedly, sitting up red-faced and gripping a notebook tightly in her hand. "Don't worry, I won't let it happen again."
Harry decided he really, really didn't want to know.
"Hey, mate," Ron's voice came from next to them, and Harry looked up with a grin. He moved over to give his friend room to sit down, and the redhead did, avoiding Hermione's bag under the table with over-exaggeration.
"How'd your shopping go?"
"Good," Ron said, popping a chocolate frog in his mouth and sliding one over to Harry. "How'd the interview with old Skeeter turn out?"
Harry grimaced. "About how you'd expect. Not too bad, though."
"That's good." Ron checked the card in his chocolate frog box. "Ugh, Gilderoy Lockheart. He was one of the few cards I didn't mind losing in the fire. Wouldn't have even kept it if I wasn't trying to get the full set. Hey, mind if I take yours? I've got to restart my whole collection."
Harry choked hard on the leg of his chocolate frog. Ron thumped his back a few times. After a few minutes, Harry gasped, eyes streaming, "Er, sure?"
Ron looked at him strangely, then checked Harry's card. "Agrippa. Not bad. Already got one, but maybe I can use it to trade."
Harry nodded meaninglessly, a clawing creature of guilt waking in his chest. He felt incredibly selfish. In the chaos of the past few months, he'd completely forgotten about the attack on the Burrow in August. Remembering that it was because Voldemort had been looking for him made it worse.
"How are things, anyway?" he asked weakly, trying not to sound like he'd forgotten his best friend's house burning down.
"Oh, they've got most of the first floor done. Mum and Dad are still living at Grimmauld place, though. Dumbledore himself has offered to help put up a few extra wards on the place when it's done."
"That's good," Harry smiled, relieved that Ron didn't seem suspicious.
"Let's go," Hermione suddenly said, snapping her notebook shut. She swung her satchel up onto her shoulder, Harry and Ron tripping over themselves trying to scramble out of its way.
They left The Three Broomsticks, laughing as the wind picked up a drift of snow and blew it in their faces. When the white blast cleared, Harry caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he locked gazes with Lucius Malfoy.
