The Alchemist's Cell
by SJR0301
Chapter Seventeen
She knew, of course, that they had been up to something. Molly Weasley was no fool, and she knew her kids. As always, she was amazed at how resilient they were. Whatever they had been up to, one cup of cocoa, and Ron at least, was looking almost normal again. She thought indulgently, give that one some food, and he could miss the end of the world just now. But all the boys had been like that when they hit that growing stage. A surreptitious check told her Ginny was fine, too. She'd have to try to pry it out of her and Hermione later. Although, it had been more difficult to get things out of her youngest one, as well, lately.
It was Harry she still worried about the most. He was still too thin and too pale, and there was something about him, a look in the eyes, that the others didn't have. He looked, she thought, preoccupied, almost haunted, even when he seemed to be in the thick of things. And she couldn't remember hearing him laugh even when he looked amused. The others were laughing at some silly thing Ron had said. The girls were giggling. Harry smiled slightly, but, Molly thought, there it was again. It didn't quite reach his eyes anymore. Even when he smiled, he looked...tired.
***
They returned to Hogwarts in a driving blizzard. A whistling, cold wind shook the train and the windows had completely clouded up. Harry huddled in a corner of the compartment and wished Ron and Hermione would get back from the prefects' compartment so he could talk to them about his latest dream. He knew Hermione would lecture him about practicing Occlumency, but that was okay. Ginny was looking at him as if she wanted to say something. He wondered if she wanted to tell him to break off they’re "dating." He supposed really, that he had upset her with that Christmas present, even though she had denied it. He thought gloomily, I'll never understand girls. There must be something that just makes them think differently, like they have some other language that guys just don't. From somewhere down the corridor, he could hear Malfoy's voice drawling in his most obnoxious way.
"Let's go see where poor Potter is. Do you suppose those money-sucking Weasley's have gotten him to part with his inheritance yet?" Harry looked at Ginny. She was pale as ice and, he thought, she must be so utterly humiliated. He put his finger to his lip to shush her and motioned for her to come sit beside him, instead of on the seat opposite. She flushed and started to shake her head, but she seemed to change her mind. They could hear the thud of heavy feet. Crabbe and Goyle, no doubt.
"Get him," Harry whispered, "get Malfoy!"
"My Mum'll kill me if I get in trouble again," she whispered back.
"Well, you'll just have to teach me that bag bogey hex, then," Harry said softly. "I'm dying to see him crawl again." Some of the color came back to her face and a spark of mischief lit her eyes.
"But you'll get into trouble, too," she protested half-heartedly.
"As long as he's in trouble, too," Harry said, "who cares? You only live once." He started to pull his wand out but Ginny put her finger over his lips.
"Mum'll kill me if you get into trouble on my account," she whispered. Draco's voice floated nearer.
"It's really pathetic, isn't it? It's really hard to tell which of them is more desperate. There's Potter, who couldn't keep Cho Chang interested, and she'll date almost anyone in pants. Or Weasley. Talk about sad. Even Thomas tossed her over."
The thudding feet were almost even with their compartment. Harry started to reach for his wand again, but Ginny shook her head. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him quickly. Then she pulled away just a bit and looked up at him, her eyebrow raised. Harry could hear Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sneering at them from the corridor. He ignored them and pulled Ginny back again, and kissed her. Harry heard the drawl of Malfoy's voice, but whatever it was he said was lost. It was quite peculiar, Harry thought, how his brain simply seemed to stop working sometimes. When Ron and Hermione finally showed up, Harry wasn't cold anymore.
On the first day back, Harry was still hoping that Snape would still be so offended that he'd "forget" to give Harry his Occlumency lesson. Snape was in no better humor than usual. He prowled up and down the dungeon criticizing everyone. Even Malfoy had to suffer Snape's comment about randy teenagers not bothering to concentrate on their homework. But that was nothing compared to the biting comments Snape had for Harry.
"Do you ever, ever, actually read your assignments, Potter? It's remarkable that you managed to receive even one OWL in any subject, much less the passing mark necessary to take this class. But then, perhaps the examiners were so busy asking for autographs from their favorite celebrity that they didn't bother to check the contents of your potion? You do know the difference between bloodwort and bladderwort, don't you?"
Harry could feel his temper rising. No matter how often Snape did this, he could never get used to it. Every jeer, every jibe, made him feel as small and worthless as he had ever felt when Uncle Vernon talked about "his kind" or threatened to throw him in the cupboard under the stairs. Harry wanted nothing more than to toss his cauldron at Snape and run, or to smack him right in his overlarge nose. But he knew that wouldn't do. His hands were shaking as he tried to mince the root he had in front of him into fine pieces, and next to him, Hermione was whispering,
"Stay calm, Harry. Just ignore it." Ron, on the other hand, had turned red, and he looked as furious as Harry felt. Harry jabbed an elbow in Ron's ribs. It wouldn't do for Ron to get into trouble along with him. Harry had aninkling that Snape was working himself up into giving him a detention and was just waiting for him to take the bait. He made a bet with himself that he could outlast Snape, just as he had outlasted Umbridge. He kept his eyes firmly down and plodded through each step of the assignment, pretending Snape didn't exist.
"You think you're so very clever, don't you, Potter? You swaggered in here the first day just wallowing in your celebrity and thinking that gave you an excuse to slack off, and you haven't changed since. The acorn as they say, doesn't fall very far from the tree, now does it?"
All Harry's resolutions to be cool and ignore him disappeared. He looked up at Snape and opened his mouth to reply, but he shut it again when he saw the look on Snape's face. Expectant. Triumphant, almost. He stared at Snape and ground his teeth together. Not one word would escape him. But controlling his speech was not the same thing as controlling his feelings. Every muscle felt tight and his heart beat so fast it felt as though it might explode any minute. The rest of the class had stopped their work and were watching his staring match with Snape.
The temptation to attack was building. Everything about the Potions professor, from his stringy, greasy hair, to the twisted, bitter sneer sickened him. Snape's black eyes narrowed and some thought, quickly masked, showed behind them. Harry could feel the rhythm of his pulse now pounding right through his scar. Each beat was a rising crescendo of pain and he had started to breathe quickly, as though he were running a race, a marathon. He felt as though he would split apart at his scar. He was divided in two. One part of him was rage. The other, a cool, thinking bit, knew that his pride was not worth the damage he would cause, if he truly lost his temper. Harry tore his eyes away from Snape and stared at the smoking mess in his cauldron. Noxious, stinking clouds rose from it, and he thought, why am I bothering with this? Why don't I just kick the thing over and quit? He waved at the smoke with one hand and wiped the tears out of his eyes with the other.
The rest of the class was groaning and gagging as Snape said, "Detention, Potter. Although what good even extra remedial lessons do you, I don't know." Snape smirked, as if he had scored a point somehow, and Malfoy laughed openly.
As the others trooped out as fast as they could, Hermione cleaned out his cauldron with a wave of her wand. Harry collected his things and started to leave right after her, but Snape called him back. Harry motioned for Hermione to go and waited for the Potions master to speak. A nerve twitched in Snape's face as he, too, seemed to be waiting for the rest of the class to clear.
When Malfoy lingered at the door, Snape said, "Go on to class, Draco. I'd hate to hear Professor McGonagall complain about you arriving late and taking points off of Slytherin."
"Yes, sir," Malfoy said, almost respectfully, as he left.
"You haven't been practicing at all, have you?" Snape said.
"Practicing?" Harry repeated.
"Occlumency, Potter. Or have you forgotten? You will be at my office at eight o'clock this evening for another lesson." Snape stared at him with active dislike and added, "If you think I deliberately provoked you just now, then you're right. But I can guarantee you, Potter, that the Dark Lord will use every weapon he can extract from your mind to provoke you and make you lose your temper and your control, and then he will own you. Don't forget it. And don't forget, I really loathe wasting my time on so lazy a student as you."
"So," Harry said, determined not to be bested, "you did go back to him. Have you got the mark back again? Does Voldemort even know?"
"Don't use his name!" Snape hissed.
"Riddle, then," Harry said. "That’s his real name. The one he'd like to pretend he never had. Does Riddle know?" Snape looked suddenly quite pale, as though Harry had done something quite dangerous. Harry answered his own question then, "Well, I guess he does, then. He'd have to, wouldn't he, for you to get the mark back? Because how else would you know when to show up if he summoned you?"
"That is none of your business," Sanpe answered. "Contrary to your inflated opinion of yourself, Potter, you are not an adult, and you are not entitled to know everything. Although, unfortunately, Professor Dumbledore has encouraged you in your wild escapades, don't flatter yourself that you are fit to fight an adult's fight. You've just proved how unready you are. And I, Merlin help me, am supposed to assist you in being ready somehow, should the Dark Lord attack you and attempt to possess you again." He added, "Just don't be late."
By the time Harry got to Transfiguration class, the class was well into practicing the day's lesson. "You're late, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said. "Have you got a note?"
"I know," Harry said, "Snape..."
"Professor Snape," McGonagall interrupted. "You were given detention again? For being disrespectful?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry answered, "but he started it."
"He started it?" McGonagall repeated. "What do you think this is, a playground for toddlers? Professor Snape is a teacher. And you are a Hogwarts student. Whether you like him or not, you are required to be respectful, Potter." McGonagall had that pinched look she got when she was really annoyed. Ordinarily, Harry would have been sorry to upset her, as she was one of his favorite teachers. Especially after the way she had stood up to Umbridge last year. But after his earlier confrontation, something in him rebelled at everything.
"What about him?" Harry asked. "Doesn't a teacher, even a Hogwarts teacher, have some limits which they can't cross? Doesn't a teacher have an obligation to treat his students with some kind of respect, too?"
"Do grow up, Mr. Potter," McGonagall replied severely. More severely perhaps than she might have if they were alone. But the whole class was now watching their exhange. "A teacher is not required to like his students and students don't have to like their teachers. But every student is required to be respectful whether he likes it or not." McGonagall fixed him with her beadiest look and pointed to his seat, but Harry wasn't listening.
The anger that he had barely kept under check earlier spilled out. All of his pent up frustration and grief and exhaustion churned in his stomach and left a vile taste in his mouth. "Grow up?" he repeated. "I grew up," he said, "the day Voldemort murdered my parents, and I've never been a child at all."
The class stared at him, mouths open, and McGonagall had no response to that either, or if she did, he didn't wait for it. He turned around and strode out of class and kept going. He thought McGonagall might have called after him, but he kept going. He broke into a run and ran down the steps and out the door of the Castle.
He didn't know quite where he was going or what he was doing. He got as far as the lake and stopped for a moment to stare at its icy depths. He thought of walking right in and sinking down until the cold depths took the burning fire out of his heart and his mind. But the surface was frozen and covered with a white rind and it seemed too difficult. He turned away from the lake and ran again, this time toward the forest. He passed Hagrid's hut and the paddock where Hagrid was teaching a class--third years his distracted mind noted--and he kept going right on into the forest, not stopping even when Hagrid called his name.
Harry ran and ran, deeper and deeper into the gloomy forest. There was ice here and there on the path and he slipped from time to time, but he kept going. He felt as if he were being pursued, chased by phantoms of his parents, of Cedric, of Sirius; as if every one of his fears and griefs and grudges were alive and seeking to clutch him, to strangle him. His breath caught in his throat, and he tripped abruptly over an exposed tree root. He had no idea where he was.
He knew, of course, that Aragog and his offspring might be out hunting. He knew that there might be werewolves, or other dangers, but they seemed far away and unreal. He rolled over and hunched up against the tree waiting for the pain in his side to diminish. Its huge trunk seemed to go up forever to the tall canopy above. A weak, greyish, misty light filtered down from above. He wanted to wrap himself up in it, to dissolve into the mist, to just let go, and stop thinking, stop feeling. He wanted it to end, the perpetual struggle with Voldemort, with himself.
He had no clue how long he sat there, with his back against that tree. He was sorry, almost, that Voldemort hadn't killed him back in the graveyard. Sirius might have lived then, instead of finding his death trying to rescue Harry. All these people wouldn't be constantly watching him, killing themselves trying to keep him from harm. And he wouldn't have to have his mind opened up by Snape, over and over and over; he wouldn't have to be badgered and humiliated; everyone's problems would be over, wouldn't they? And Dumbledore could concentrate on killing Voldemort himself, instead of leaving him free to torture and kill for fear that Voldemort's death would be Harry's, too.
He pressed his hands over his scar, and wondered if the connection between him and Voldemort would be cut, if he cut the scar off his face and substituted another. He thought, with his luck, it wouldn't work. It would just grow back again, because a magic curse scar wasn't going to be destroyed by any ordinary physical act. Magic had made the scar. Magic had made the link. Only magic could sever it. Or death.
Harry was so wrapped up in his misery that he never heard them coming. A faint sound, a hoof knocking on a tree root maybe, woke him up. There were centaurs standing in a ring around him, arrows nocked in their bows and ready to let fly.
One of them, Bane he thought it was, stepped forward and said, "What are you doing here, human? This is not the first time you have invaded our forest. You were warned, once before, not to return."
"I remember," Harry said. "I remember you, Bane." He looked at the centaur standing before him and thought that this might be his answer.
"If you remember, human, then what are doing you here? Speak quickly," Bane said, "if you would live." Harry stared at him a moment. Alone as he was, the centaurs seemed to him far wilder and less human-like than ever before.
"And what will you do if I don't?" Harry said curiously. "Kill me?" The centaurs' tails swished and one, a greyish one half-reared.
"It is a foal. Only a foal would be so foolish. Only a foal would be so ignorant as to be unafraid." Harry stood up suddenly. Even the centaurs thought him a baby. He felt his whole body tighten up again.
"He is no foal," Bane said. "He has been here before. He knows that he trespasses. He should pay the penalty."
Several others said, "Yes, yes. He should pay. We will not be ruled by humans. They will not be free to come and go in our place." The centaurs drew their bows even tauter, ready to let their arrows fly. Harry still stood and stared at them. He focused on Bane. Bane was the one who would have left him for Voldemort all those years ago.
"Go ahead," Harry said, "but I thought you don't believe in interfering in things. I thought it was your way to stay out of things, and let them happen as they will."
"So it is, human," the grey one said.
"Even so, we do not let those who trespass go," Bane said.
"Oh?" said Harry. "But you let Voldemort go, a few years ago, didn't you? Or are you really just a bunch of bullies," he asked, "who go after the ones you think are weaker and run from the ones you think are stronger?" Bane pawed the ground in his fury.
"You mention that cursed human, here? To us?"
"Why not?" Harry said. He lounged back against the tree, his arms crossed; in the most casual, relaxed pose he could muster. "Because, you know," he continued, "you'd be doing his work for him, if you kill me, seeing as I'm probably number one on his list to kill."
"And who are you," the grey one asked, "that He Who Must Not Be Named should take such an interest?" The others swished their tails again. Harry could have sworn that they would bolt any moment. Or simply shoot him and then run. He hadn't realized the centaurs would be that fearful of Voldemort, too. Harry shrugged. He pushed his hair off his forehead to show his scar.
A faint ripple went around the circle of centaurs and the grey said to Bane, "The Boy Who Lived. It is he. Did you know this?"
"Of course, I knew it," Bane said. "What of it? He is just another human. And he is here, in our place, when he was warned not to return."
"I will have nothing to do with this," the grey declared uneasily. "His fate stands in the balance. It is written in the heavens, and it is not for us to change the balance."
"That is so," said several others. One by one the bows dropped and the centaurs began to back away and leave. Only Bane and the grey remained. Bane's bow was still pointed at Harry, but the grey one's was pointed now at Bane.
"If you kill him now," the grey one said, "how are you different from Firenze, who went to serve the humans at the Castle? You think you serve yourself, but you will really be serving You Know Who, if you kill the Boy Who Lived." Bane continued to point his arrow at Harry.
"If he were any other, would you agree?" Bane asked the grey.
"Nay," the grey said slowly, "I would not agree. Killing is too extreme, even for trespassers. We do not kill for so small a thing, or we become no different from He Who Must Not Be Named, or any of the other humans with their foolish wars and senseless killing."
"Very well," Bane said, and he lowered the bow. He looked at Harry and said, "but I let him go because he is unafraid, not because I fear him, or the cursed one. We do honor those who are like us, who are brave." Bane inclined his head very slightly to Harry, and half-reared as he whirled and left. Harry was left standing by the tree with the grey one.
"What is it that you know about my fate?" Harry asked the centaur abruptly. The centaur shook his head, which had very long silvery hair, and said, "I know no more of your fate than you do yourself. It is written in the stars only that conflict comes. What you do in that conflict, is up to you to write."
The centaur also inclined his head and cantered off, leaving Harry as confused as he'd ever been in his life. Harry was alone in the forest. Now that the centaurs had left, the forest was eerily silent. Not a bird cawed, not an animal rustled. He tried to remember which path he had taken, but he just couldn't tell.
He started walking down the first path he saw, and he wished he had asked the centaurs how to get back out. Now that his anger had burnt out, he felt cold, chilled to the very bone. A few flakes of snow drifted down, and he shivered in his robes. So much for being adult, he thought. Only an idiot would run out into a freezing January day without a coat. He walked and walked, berating himself for his foolishness and lack of control. Snape was right, and McGonagall as well. If he could figure out how to get back without being bitten, or trampled or eaten, he'd take detention lying down. Along with a sandwich or two, his stomach reminded him grumblingly.
He felt as though he had walked for hours, though he knew it could have been for long. A whining sound stopped him cold. He whipped out his wand as Fang burst into the path barking loudly. Harry sighed with relief and gave Fang a pat on the head. Hagrid lumbered into the path a second later. And caught him in a bone-breaking hug.
"Yeh're alrigh'!" Hagrid said anxiously. "I been lookin' and lookin' fer yeh."
"I'm fine, Hagrid," Harry said, "just cold."
Hagrid examined looked Harry over thoroughly, and then he stopped dead and said, "What were yeh thinkin'? Runnin' off into the forest like that? Scarin' me and everybody! Yeh coulda been killed!"
"I'm not," Harry said. His teeth had started to chatter, but he closed his jaw tight. He wasn't going to ask for a coat now, when he had only his own stupidity to thank. He started walking down the path again, but Hagrid clapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a path that angled off in a different direction.
As they walked back toward the Castle, Hagrid asked, "Why, Harry? Yeh got enough troubles without inventin' more of 'em."
Harry sighed. He had no good answer now. "It was Snape first. And then even McGonagall. They were both laying into me, and I didn't really do anything. I just...I'm tired of it, that's all. I wanted to get away and be alone."
McGonagall was waiting at the Castle doors. Harry could see her standing there, and for the first time, she seemed frail, almost old. For an instant he was frightened she was ill. Until she started in on him, "Whatever can have possessed you, Mr. Potter, to walk out of class without permission and go into the Forest, which you know perfectly well is forbidden?"
Her beady eyes met his, and he squirmed in embarrassment.
"Is this how you demonstrate your maturity? By running off in a fit of pique, like a little child? Fifty points shall be taken from Gryffindor for your irresponsibile behavior and lack of respect for all the rules of this school."
Harry said nothing. What could he say? There were other students stopping and staring. Snape had arrived and was looking perfectly happy, although Harry thought the Potions Master would have been happier if he had arrived dead. That was the only way, Harry thought, Snape would ever like him. But he didn't have to listen to Snape, because Professor Dumbledore was there, his face as grave and weary as Harry had ever seen it.
"Students and teachers, return to your classes, please," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Potter," he added more grimly, "I will see you in my office. Now."
Harry ignored the stares and whispers as he mounted the stairs and followed Dumbledore to his office. He could hardly remember a time when a student had been called to the Headmaster's office for discipline. Usually, the individual teachers or heads of houses took care of those matters. He ought to have been scared, or embarrassed, or humiliated, or shamed even, to be called to Dumbledore's office this way. But he wasn't any of those. He felt, merely, fatigued, and deep down, anger still simmered. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, but he didn't invite Harry to sit. The blue eyes were cold, and something of the fire that leapt in them when he was truly angry lurked behind them.
"Explain," was all that the headmaster said.
Harry stared back at him and said as calmly as he could, "I'm not sure I can."
"If you can't explain yourself, I will have no option but to accept everything your Professors have said regarding your execrable conduct," Dumbledore replied.
"I meant," Harry, said, "that I'm not sure I can explain so you'll understand." He paused, but there was no lessening of the frost in the blue eyes. Mentally, he shrugged and continued. "It's not much, really," Harry said finally. "Snape. Professor Snape was hounding me all class, trying to get me to blow up, so he could give me detention. He held me back after class to remind me to go to my Occlumency lesson with him, and it made me late for Professor McGonagall's class. And she was angry at me for being late. When I tried to explain what happened, she...told me to grow up, and I just..." Harry looked away, out the window and the now thickly falling snow. "I dunno. I just felt I'd had enough. It was just too much. I'm not trying to excuse myself. I just wanted to get away and be alone. That’s all."
"So you stomped out of class in a tantrum and ran off into the forest, which you know is out of bounds and which you know is very dangerous." Dumbledore said softly. Harry could see that his explanation wasn't getting him anywhere. He wished Dumbledore would get the lecture over with and give him whatever punishment he was going to. Expel him, or whatever.
"You're lucky you didn't get caught by the centaurs, given their present animosity, or..." Dumbledore added. Harry interrupted before Dumbledore could give him any more examples of the dangers of the forest.
"I was caught by the centaurs." Something in the blue eyes changed slightly. "They let you go? How? Did Hagrid stop them?"
"No," Harry answered. "That was before Hagrid found me. They let me go because...well, because I'm Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived." He couldn't help it. He knew both his anger and his weariness must show. And the bitterness, how he loathed that title - the Boy Who Lived.
"Professor Snape," he added, "would chalk it up to my celebrity. Another example of my getting away with things because I'm famous. He wouldn't get it, would he, that they really let me go because it's in the stars that Voldemort will kill me. Or maybe I'll kill him. They didn't want to be doing Voldemort's dirty work is all." He was still so very cold.
The flare of anger sputtered out, and all he felt now was empty and numb and so, so tired. Dumbledore did not reply. Harry looked back at him, and saw the old wizard was holding his face in his hands. He looked as though whatever burden he labored under had finally become too great. Harry tried to think what to say, that could undo it. He thought bitterly, nothing I do is right.
"I understand," he said at last, "if you have to expel me, or whatever. I know no one else could get away with it. You can't treat me differently just because of the prophecy. It'll ruin the discipline in the school, especially after Umbridge nearly destroyed it altogether last year."
"Did you really think that what I was worried about was school discipline?" Dumbledore asked. "If you think that, then I have failed even more miserably with you than I had thought." Harry said nothing. There didn't seem to be anything he could say to that.
"Sit," Dubmleodre said. A wave of his wand produced two teacups and a plate of sandwiches. Harry sat, but he didn't take the food. His hunger had disappeared, replaced now by a twisting distress. He crossed his arms and shoved his hands underneath to try to warm them. He started to apologize, but a knock interrupted, and Snape entered followed closely by McGonagall.
"This is your idea of discipline?" Snape asked, "treating him to tea and sandwiches?"
The twisting changed to outright nausea, but his stomach was empty. Harry stood back up and he could taste the acid as he said, "I suppose you were waiting for me to be expelled and sent back to Privet Drive. No doubt they'll want to lock me back up in the cupboard for the rest of my short life. Until Voldemort comes to kill me, anyway." Snape took a step back and McGonagall gasped.
"You are not being expelled," Dumbledore said sharply to Harry. "And it is not this school's policy to starve students, even when they have misbehaved," he said to Snape. Snape's face went cold and closed, as it did during Occlumency lessons. He inclined his head minutely to Dumbledore and waited.
Dumbledore sighed, and said, "Harry?" Harry turned back to him and waited, too. At least he wasn't being expelled. The question Dumbledore asked, though, wasn't what he expected.
"What were you going to do, when you stopped by the lake? Why, why did you go into the forest? If you simply wanted to be alone, why not somewhere inside? Why go outside at all, without a cloak, in the dead of winter?" Dumbledore asked. Harry looked down at his hands. Hands the prophecy said would kill.
He tried to think of something to say. "I dunno," he said at last, wearily. "I just wasn't thinking, I suppose. Just acting like a stupid, childish prat, I guess." He looked up again and said, "Can I go? I'll have to get the homework I missed. And I'd very much prefer not to have an Occlumency lesson tonight. I don't think I'm up to it."
"Is that what you'll say, if Voldemort attacks? You'd rather not bother defending yourself?" Snape said. Harry shrugged.
He turned to Dumbledore and repeated, "Can I go?"
Dumbledore nodded. There was something there in his blue eyes Harry had never seen before. Harry left quickly, and only realized after, that the something might be despair.
***
Minerva McGonagall watched the boy go, then she rounded on the two men like an angry cat.
"What is the meaning of this? Since when has he been having Occlumency lesson? And why wasn't I told? As head of house, I should have been told!"
"Only those who had absolute need were told," Dumbledore said.
"He knows!" McGonagall replied. She found it absolutely galling that Snape of all people should be privy to information about Harry Potter when she was not.
"That would be because I have been his instructor. Although I cannot say he is any more apt a pupil in this than he is in Potions," Snape replied.
"You?" she said. "How can you have had him teaching Potter anything so delicate as Occlumency?" she said to Dumbledore, "especially knowing their history." She didn't wait for an answer, though. "And why is he learning that? Occlumency is no subject for a sixteen year old. Grown wizards have difficulty with it. No wonder he's been acting so distraught. Having someone breaking into his mind and his emotions, and at so difficult a time!"
"It was necessary, Minerva," Dumbledore responded. "You know that Harry dreamed it last year when Arthur Weasley was nearly killed."
"Yes," McGonagall answered. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like the rest of the answer.
"I determined that the reason he dreamed that, and other things, was that he has some kind of connection with Voldemort through his scar. As a result of the Curse that Failed." McGonagall started to reply, but Dumbledore held up a hand for her to wait. "I was afraid that once Voldemort realized Harry could see his thoughts from time to time, that he would attempt to do the same to Harry, and worse. I feared that Voldemort might attempt to possess him. To use him. And thus, the lessons. Voldemort is a master Legilimens and Occlumens. I believe that only by mastering these skills himself, will Harry be able to protect himself from an internal attack through the connection."
"But, why have Severus teach him? You know perfectly well their animosity." She turned on Snape and saw his face was as cold and closed as ever.
"I knew perfectly well that you had indeed been badgering him in class. Were it not that I would never undermine a fellow teacher's authority; I should certainly have sympathized with him instead of correcting him, too. And contrary to your constant carping, Harry is a fine student when he is not distracted or being troubled by outside problems, like you! It's a bit odd that he managed an outstanding in his Potions OWL when you were not there, isn't it. So perhaps his grades in Potions have been because of you and not because of him!"
"Harry Potter is one of the most disrespectful, lazy and sloppy students it's been my misfortune to teach," Snape replied coldly.
"Enough!" Dumbledore said. McGonagall could feel her skin come out in goosebumps. Only Dumbledore could do that. She derived an odd satisfaction from seeing Severus Snape jump ever so slightly as well.
"The reason I've had Severus teaching Harry," Dumbledore said, "is that other than myself, Severus is one of the finest Occlumens I know. And he has been making progress. But that is not what concerns me about today's episode."
"You think he may be dangerous?" Snape asked. McGonagall gasped again.
"No, Severus," Dumbledore answered. "I don't think there is any danger to anyone but Harry." McGonagall felt heart squeeze tight.
"Are you saying you think he will do himself harm?"
"Bosh!" Snape said. "I can assure you, Potter has way too high an opinion of himself to do himself harm."
"Do you really think Harry has a high opinion of himself?" Dumbledore asked gently. "Aren't you making the same mistake Sirius made, in confusing him with his father?" Snape's normally sallow complexion flushed red and paled again.
"He is very like his father. Arrogant and reckless and wild."
"That isn't what I asked you," Dumbledore said. "You have seen things about him now that no one else has. He is not the spoiled boy his father was. And he is foundering now, and needs every bit of help he can get."
"I still don't see what makes you think he'll actually harm himself, Dumbledore. If anything, I think he's likely to attack someone else." Snape said. Minerva wanted quite badly to transform and scratch the nasty boy. She still couldn't help thinking of Severus Snape as just that. A boy. And a jealous unnattractive one he was, just as he had been when she had taught him years ago.
Dumbledore sighed. "You did not see him stop and stare into the lake, did you? And if you think about it, Severus, Harry has never deliberately harmed anyone. He has defended himself when pushed, but he has never seriously attempted to do anyone harm. It's not part of his character."
"He attacked Draco Malfoy last year. He and the Weasley twins."
"And it's only amazing that he hasn't done so before!" McGonagall answered. "Draco Malfoy may be your star pupil, but he quite loves to provoke anyone he can, and especially Harry Potter. Malofy provoked that fight. He insulted the Weasley's parents and then Harry's. I heard it all."
"I fear you miss the gravity of the situation," Dumbledore said.
"I understand the gravity of the situation all too well," Snape replied. "It was I who told you how powerful the Dark Lord grows. It is I who urged you to get Fudge to solidify our defenses. And all you worry about is Harry Potter."
"I worry about him, yes," Dumbledore answered. "Harry Potter may be our most potent weapon against Voldemort. If he does not have the help he needs, he may well come to harm, either directly by his own hand, or indirectly by some rash deed he thinks he must do. Because he does not trust any of us sufficiently to ask for help any more. And that, I fear, is my fault. I made too many mistakes last year, and now we are reaping the fruit of them." Dumbledore's tone was unusually bitter and self-accusatory.
McGonagall was frankly shocked. "Minerva," Dumbledore said, "I want you to keep an eye on Harry. Get his friends to help you, if necessary."
"Severus," Dumbledore continued, "I want you to continue with his Occlumency lessons. It is more imperative than ever that he master his emotions and learn to block out any influence Voldemort might gain. And I must ask you to put aside your hostility, whether he has deserved it or not."
"You do not expect me to be...nice to him, do you?" Snape asked. Minerva practically growled under her breath.
"I've a class full of boys watching me, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, whose fathers are Death Eaters. And they report back to their fathers everything that I do. You know that. Every time I criticize Potter, one of them comes to me afterwards and congratulates me on my splendid teaching." McGonagall was surprised to see Snape sneer at his former cronies. Or was it at himself? "Even Potter will think something is wrong if I change my attitude to him now," Snape said.
But Dumbledore seemed to have lost his patience. "Well, find some way of doing it without harming Harry. You're a subtle, clever man, Severus and I'm relying on you in this."
McGonagall felt as if her whiskers were vibrating, even though she wasn't in her animagus form. She was going to keep an eye on Severus Snape at the same time she kept an eye on Potter. Albus Dumbledore was a brilliant and noble wizard she thought. But sometimes, noble men failed to see what was plain before them, their eyes being so taken with the vision that possessed them.
