The Alchemist's Cell
by SJR0301
Chapter Twenty-One
Minerva McGonagall watched the boy go. She made sure he was out of earshot before rounding on the others. "I have only one thing to say to you, Severus Snape. The only one who will be expelled from Hogwarts if another incident like this occurs is you! How dare you lecture that boy about keeping his temper! How dare you raise your hand to him! Don't think I didn't see it. Don't think you can get out of it by saying he was fighting with Malfoy, or that you were provoked!" Snape literally took a step back. That was good, Minerva thought. At least he still had some respect for somebody.
She turned on Dumbledore, and that was much harder. "And you, Albus? You're not going to let him get away with that are you? This has to stop. If Severus can't grow up and let go of his prejudices, he will jeopardize everything. And the boy, Albus, how could you let that boy continue to think these things? How could you?"
Dumbledore's face betrayed nothing. He surveyed her and Snape as calmly as though they were discussing a picnic in the park, instead of a boy's heart, a boy's life. The old man sighed and said quietly, "Severus is right in one matter. It doesn't matter any more if the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort is true. It only matters that Voldemort will act on it. And Harry had to know. Every wrong thing that happened last year happened because I failed to tell him what he needed to know. Would you have me sugarcoat things? Shall I lie to him? And would he not be all the angrier when he learned they were lies? Harry is nearly grown. And he is stronger than you think, either of you. He is stronger even than he knows himself. But that doesn't mean things will be easy for him."
Minerva eyed Snape. She saw just the smallest tightening of his lips, and knew that even now Snape was actually jealous of the boy. He was jealous of Dumbledore's regard for him. As he had been of his brilliant, hot-headed father. Dumbledore turned to Snape and said softly, "I know that you were provoked. I know that you may find it almost impossible to separate Harry from his father. But you will never, under any circumstances slap a student here again. I don't care how far you are provoked."
Snape made no comment. He paled slightly, and the black eyes turned cold, unreadable. But Dumbledore's next words came as surprise to him, she could see.
"You must realize, Severus," Dumbledore said, "how badly Harry needs and wants an adult to look up to. You must realize by now, too, that every time you say something cruel to him, it is one more bit of evidence to him that he is flawed and unworthy, and one more piece of his heart gets chipped away and broken. And it is one more reason for him to distrust you and all of us. And there may come a time when trust will be thing that saves him and all of us."
***
Harry stalked back to the common room taking the stairs up from the dungeon two and three at a time and ignoring the whispers the flew by as he went. He strode into the common room and then immediately wished he had not. All chatter in the room ceased and every eye was on him. He turned to go back out again, feeling as though he was suffocating, as though his thoughts and feeling were some giant many-tentacled monster wrapped about him, squeezing the life from him. Hermione dropped the essay she was working on, spilling the parchment on the floor, and Crookshanks leapt on the falling paper, clawing it into shreds.
She left the shredded paper and said, "Come on. Let's get out of here." Harry followed her back out of the portrait of the Fat Lady and out to a sunny spot near the lake.
"Where's Ron?" he asked.
"Practicing quidditch," she answered. "And don't go just yet," she added.
"What is going on? And why is everyone saying you're going to be expelled?"
"I'm not," Harry said. "Being expelled, I mean."
"But you...attacked Malfoy. Someone said you were strangling him." Hermione stared and him and said "What did he do to provoke you this time? And why did you let yourself be provoked? You supposed to be-"
"Don't lecture me!" Harry retorted. "I don't need another lecture."
"Will you just stop acting like a total git!" Hermione said. "I am your friend!"
"I know that," Harry said. He sat down and stared at the lake and said quite desperately, "What is wrong with me, Hermione? Why can't I have a normal life like anybody else? Why can't I just go to class and have a girlfriend and play quidditch? Why won't they leave me alone?"
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said. Then she sat up straighter and asked, "What do you mean you can't have a girlfriend?" Harry gave her a sidelong look. He hadn't meant to bring that up.
He shrugged and said, "Ginny just broke up with me. She got some stupid idea that Malfoy's little trick was her fault."
"Well, it was just a game anyway," Hermione asked uncertainly, "wasn't it?"
"I guess," he said. "It's just...you know, first everything was all messed up with Cho because of Cedric and then this. I mean, maybe she's right, but she's got it backwards. It's me. Who'd really want to be a girlfriend of the Boy Who Lived? Who'd want to put up with Voldemort and death eaters and all of that?"
Hermione stared. "What did Malfoy say to you, anyway?"
"The usual," Harry replied. "Never mind that," he said hastily. He thought, if this gets back to Ron, he really would kill Malfoy.
"Anyway, I don't think Snape was really mad about me fighting with Malfoy. I mean, he was, because I lost my temper, but he was really livid because I looked to see if Draco had the dark mark on him."
"Well, of course he was," Hermione, answered. "He probably thought you were going to start talking about him, too." She looked at Harry with a faint frown and said, "I don't know, Harry. I thought you were doing better at not losing your temper so badly. I thought...well...you weren't so depressed."
Harry avoided her gaze. He was starting to be sorry he had said anything.
"What's going on?" Ron interrupted. "I heard you got expelled."
" 'Course I didn't get expelled," Harry answered. "They won't expel me no matter what. They can't expel the Boy Who Lived." He said this so bitterly they both stared.
"Hang on, mate," Ron said. "What are you talking about? Anyway, I heard you had a fight with Malfoy. They said you half-killed him."
"I did not. He didn't have a mark on him," Harry said, "though I don't think I'd care if I had."
"Speaking of marks?" Hermione asked.
Harry shook his head. "None. No, little Draco hasn't been initiated yet. No, I'm the one one who's marked."
"I don't get it," Ron said. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking at him as if she understood something she didn't want to.
"Are you talking about your scar," she asked hesitantly, "or about the prophecy." Harry hunched into himself, wrapping his arms around himself. The sunny March day seemd suddenly cold.
"What about the prophecy?" Ron asked. "It broke. And anyway, who cares about stupid prophecies. You're the one who dropped Diviniation because it's a load of crap."
But Hermione was looking at Harry. "They wouldn't keep them in the Department of Mysteries if they weren't real, some of them." She continued to watch Harry. He still wouldn't look at her. "Harry?" she asked, "You know what was in it, don't you, even though it broke. That's why you've been so upset. Not just because of Sirius. You know. It's something bad, isn't it?"
"Wait a minute. How could he know? How.." Harry stood up suddenly, interrupting Ron. He did not want to talk about this. Not even with Ron and Hermione. "Dumbledore knew," Ron said. "He told you what was in it."
"It's something to do with you fighting Voldemort," Hermione said. "That's why Voldemort wanted it. He wanted to know who would win. He wanted to know how to..."
"Kill me," Harry finished. "Not that it would tell him that." Harry looked up at the cloudless sky. The pure blue of it went on forever, and the bright sun winked indifferently on the earth below, striking a white shimmer on the surface of the lake. The shimmer seemed to shine straight through his hands, his killer hands, and he thought that Luna had been almost right, when she said he was turning into a ghost.
"You are going to tell us, aren't you?" Ron asked.
Harry turned back to them again. He was already sorry he'd said this much. In a minute, even they wouldn't want to know him. In a minute, they'd be looking at him as the others already did, as dangerous, even mad. "I once asked Dumbledore why Voldemort would want to kill me, when I was a baby," Harry said at last. "Everyone, you see, like Hagrid, they all thought that Voldemort was after my Dad and Mum and that he just went after me because I was there. But it wasn't true. He was after me, not my Dad or Mum. He killed them because of me. Because of the prophecy. If it wasn't for me, they'd be alive right now. Voldemort wouldn't have bothered with them. If it wasn't for me," Harry said, "my Dad and Mum would have lived, and Cedric. And Sirius." He felt heavy, weighted down by the lives he had cost. He couldn't help wondering how many more might be killed by Voldemort on his account. The thought of it ran through him, freezing his very insides.
"So Voldemort tried to kill because, what...because the prophecy said you would defeat him? Something like that?" Ron hazarded.
"Something like that," Harry answered.
"But you've already done that, haven't you?" Ron said. "So now that he's back, does it still count? The prophecy, I mean."
"Of course, it does," Hermione answered. "It must. Or why would Voldemort have wanted it so badly?" Hermione looked at Harry's face to confirm her guess. "There's more to it though. What's in it, Harry, that's made you so miserable?" she asked gently.
He told them, but he looked away again quickly, so he wouldn't have to see their reactions. It was all too much.
"So," Ron's voice came, sounding shaky, "So you are going to defeat him. That's not so bad, is it?"
Harry turned back on him. "Not so bad? Didn't you hear what I said? He will kill me, or I will kill him." He started to shake a bit, though the day was warm. "It's a great fate isn't it? Harry asked. "Either I get murdered like my Mum and Dad, or I...I become a murderer myself. So you see why they won't ever expel me. If they expel me too soon, he'll kill me. They have to make sure they teach me enough to kill him. Because that weapon they were guarding last year--it wasn't the prophecy, it was me."
"Tell me again, what it said," Hermione said nervously.
"Gawd, Hermione," Ron cut in, "don't you ever let up? Can't you see how horrible he feels? 'Course," he added slowly, "it's not as if we didn't know You Know Who was after you already. And...well...someone had to stop him. Someone has to keep him from taking over for good." He trailed off uncertainly, as if not quite sure how to make it seem okay. And how could he, Harry thought. You just couldn't make killing okay. It just wasn't possible. Hermione looked mortified at Ron's comment.
"But," she said, "it might be important, what the prophecy actually says. It might make a difference."
"Either shall die at the hand of the other," Harry quoted. "I think that's clear enough. "And Dumbledore admitted it when I asked him. He'll kill me, or I'll kill him. If I'd known..." He stopped there. He couldn't bear to articulate the thought that lay waiting to bite him.
"Harry," Hermione said, sounding quite utterly aghast. "You wouldn't...you couldn't..." He turned on her fiercely.
"If I hadn't tried to rescue Sirius, he would be alive. If I knew, I wouldn't have let anyone else fight him. Not even Dumbledore. If I knew...you were right," he said. "If I had listened to you, instead of playing the hero Sirius would be alive." He turned and looked back into the sky and wanted to simply fade away into it.
"How am I supposed to live with this?" he asked, as if the sky had an answer. "I'm a killer. I killed Cedric. I told him to take the cup with me. He would have lived, if I hadn't. I killed Sirius. I had to rush in, I didn't do anything to try to block out the dreams. I insulted Snape, I didn't try in his lessons, to block Voldemort out. I should have known it was a trick. And he's dead. It should have been me, not them." Harry looked again, at Hermione at Ron. There were tears running down Hermione's face, and Ron's as well. But Harry couldn't cry. I ought to be crying, too, he thought. That's why I'm not normal. That's why I'm mad. I can't cry.
"You know, Harry," Ron said after a moment, "you should've said something sooner. You've got everything backwards. It's not your fault Cedric's dead. Voldemort killed him. Voldemort's the one who fooled everyone, even Dumbledore, and kidnapped you right out of Hogwarts. Voldemort's the one that's responsible for Sirius's death. He's the one who tricked you. He's the one who's evil. He's the one who's trying to kill you. And you know what? I reckon if you end up killing him, it's nothing like murder. You've a right to live, to defend yourself, just like anyone else."
"You said his name," Harry said. "You said Voldemort's name."
"Yeah, that's right," Ron said. "It’s a stupid name, really when you think about it. A stupid made up name, cause he's embarrassed about his Muggle dad. And what is he? He's the murderer. Not you."
"You really think so?" Harry asked. He looked at Hermione. She nodded, too.
She blinked and wiped the tears from her face and said, "All this time, you've been carrying that around. No wonder you were so..." Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes. He hoped that they were right. If they were right, then maybe there was some hope for him after all. And they hadn't run away from him. They didn't think he was mad. Or dangerous. At least he still had friends.
"It's a pity," Ron said, "This isn't a Hogsmeade day. I think today would be the right day to try a bit of firewhiskey."
"Ron Weasley!" Hermione said. Harry grinned at them. Suddenly, their bickering seemed funny again, not annoying.
"You are a prefect!" he said to Ron, and they both laughed. "But maybe we could get Dobby to nick some butterbeer for us. And some sandwiches." Hermione made a funny sound.
"Oh, you are both so...so..."
"Impossible?" Harry and Ron said together.
The March days slipped away in a round of classes and quidditch practice and more classes. Harry had managed to worm his way out of giving any more occlumency lessons to his friends. He really did not want to find out anyone else's worst memories, and he found it easier to close his own mind up simply by letting up on his schoolwork and resting more. His grades had slipped a bit, especially in Potions, but he didn't really care.
The one class that he really enjoyed was Defense Against the Dark Arts. The sword lessons were fun and Harry was quite good at them. Not that they were using real magic swords, yet. Professor Ribisi had insisted that they master the rudiments of regular sword fighting. Even a good Muggle swordsman could undo you, if you didn't have an idea of the basics. It was one reason so few wizards used swords any more.
Professor Ribisi had taken to giving his classes in the Great Hall, so that all the students could practice at once. On one sunny day after the Easter holidays, Harry looked up and down the line of students in the class. They were paired up in a long line and were working on methods of disarming one's opponent. There was a particular way of twisting the sword that would snag the opponent's and disarm him every time. Or so the Professor had said. Harry was practicing with Ron and Hermione was paired up with Parvati Patil. On the other end of the Hall, Draco Malfoy was paired with another Slytherin named Nott whom Harry didn't really know, and Crabbe and Goyle were making lumbering passes at each other and laughing from time to time.
As though he felt Harry's gaze, Malfoy turned suddenly to stare at him. His pale eyes narrowed and he said something softly to his partner, who laughed. Harry was sure it was something about him. He gave Malfoy a cool stare and pointedly turned back to practice. It occurred to him that since his last fight with Malfoy, Professor Ribisi had made sure not to let him and Draco fight one another. Harry imagined he was fighting with Malfoy instead of Ron, and he found himself executing that subtle twist with sure conviction. Ron's sword was swept out his grip and flew high in the air.
"Well done," said the Professor. Harry grinned at Ron.
"How'd you do that?" Ron complained.
"Just pretend it's Malfoy," Harry answered. "Then it's easy." Ron gave him a thoughtful look as he went fetch his sword. Harry looked down the line of students again, and it came to him that Dumbledore had hired Ribisi to do what Fudge had accused him of last year. They were, right here at Hogwarts, training Dumbledore's Army.
They had Divination next, though thankfully with Firenze and not Trelawny. Harry would have really liked to drop Divination altogether, but when he had mentioned it to McGonagall, she had merely said he had to keep a certain minimum number of subjects and it was too late in the year to switch. It wasn't so much that there was any difference in the lesons. Trelawny's were still held in the hot, perfumed room up in the North Tower, and they were no more illuminating than they had ever been. But he couldn't help looking at her from time to time and breaking into a sweat as he heard in his mind the words she had prophesied nearly seventeen years before. And he hoped devoutly that she would never make another prophecy again. At least, not about Harry.
The grassy floor of Firenze's room was cool and soft. As usual, the room dimmed and the ceiling was transformed into a simulation of the night sky. Firenze was talking about Mars again. Mars was even brighter and closer than it had been five years ago. Apparently, Mars was on its way to coming the closest to Earth that it had come in 50,000 years. Now there was a thought to make you shiver, if you believed in these kinds of omens. They were instructed to take a sip of the special tisane that Firenze had prepared and to empty their minds and observe the sky. Harry took only the smallest sip of the tea. It tasted rather grassy, like string beans without the beans.
He lay back and Ron said quietly, "This is one of the best classes this year. Nothing like a class where you get to lie down and nap." And he proceeded to do just that. Harry couldn't help grinning. Ron could sleep anywhere and any time. Harry stared up at the stars, but he didn't really feel drowsy. He emptied his mind as he did nightly before sleeping and concentrated on reinforcing the wall. The great thick walls were now covered with layers of cement so that the original stones it had been made of were entirely covered.
He turned his attention to the stars. The stars seemed to dance slightly as he watched, and if he listened carefully, there was a faint sound of music. He wanted to ask where the music came from, but he felt too comfortable to raise his hand and ask. The music was soft and harmonius and the stars danced. No, they weren't stars, they were sparks from the old man's fire. He watched with satisfaction as the old man poured liquid metal, white-hot, into the cross-shaped molds. He watched with more satisfaction as the old man waved his wand and the molds froze instantly; and as the old man pounded the cooling metal into long steel weapons. But, Harry's mind noticed in a very tiny corner, there was something not quite right. The old man had cooled the metal too fast. He was sure of that. The metal would be brittle and crack when the user least expected it.
"Harry?" Ron's voice woke him. Harry sat up quickly. The ceiling above was bright with the late spring's afternoon sun.
"You were dreaming," Firenze said. "What were you dreaming about?" A yawn caught him by surprise. Firenze was watching him, his bright sapphire eyes knew things they shouldn't. Harry sighed.
"I was dreaming about swords," he said. "Lots and lots of swords all lined up and shiny and ready to go." Ron snorted.
"You've had too many sword lessons from Professor Ribisi, if you're dreaming about them now."
"I expect so," Harry answered. He looked at Firenze, and Firenze inclined his head slightly.
"Humans do dream often about the most mundane things," he said. But Harry had the oddest feeling that the centaur didn't think his dream was so mundane. He shrugged to himself, and followed Ron out of the room. He wasn't about to tell anyone that his defenses were so thin that he was dreaming about the old man again.
Ron and Hermione had prefect duty and as he didn't feel like doing homework just yet, Harry decided to go visit Hagrid before dinner. The sun was warm on his back and he felt quite cheerful as he made his way toward Hagrid's Hut. He knocked and Hagrid opened the door right away, as if he had been about to go out.
"Harry!" Hagrid said "Yeh haven' been to visit me fer a while."
"I know Hagrid," he answered. "But I'm here now. Harry stepped into the Hut and was surprised to see Ginny there. She smiled at him and said, "Hi."
Hagrid, gave Harry an odd look and said hastily, "Fact is, you caught me at the wrong time. I was jus' goin' to take care of a few thiings in th' Forest."
Harry turned to Hagrid and said, "You aren't going to visit Grawp are you?"
His last visit to the Forest had been nightmarish, but at least he hadn't had to deal with Hagrid's "little" brother Grawp. Grawp, being a full grown giant, was unbelievably huge, although Hagrid claimed he was on the "small" side. If you could call anyone sixteen feet in height small. Hagrid gave Harry a sharp look from his beetle black eyes and said casually, "I mighta bin. Grawpy needs company now an' then. An' he's doin' better with his English." He got his crossbow out and said to Harry and Ginny, "Go on then. Back to the' Castle now. An' stay outta trouble." Hagrid shooed them out and, after a last sharp look at the two of them, he went off toward the Forest.
"Who's he to tell us to stay out of trouble," Harry said crossly. "What do you suppose he's really up to?" Ginny grinned at him.
"Well, you have to admit, Harry, things have actually been rather quiet this year. Except for Malfoy, no one's actually tried to kill you, the Daily Prophet isn't trying to smear you, and the Ministry is far too busy trying to explain why it kept Voldemort's return quiet for a whole year to be bothered with you. And Hagrid hasn't brought in one dragon. It's not been all that bad at all."
"No, I guess it hasn't been," Harry answered. "Voldemort's been up to other stuff, I suppose." Ginny gave him a look as sharp as Hagrid's had been.
"What stuff has Voldemort been up to?"
"I dunno," Harry said. "Probably the usual. Killing people, torturing them building up an army." For a moment, Harry had the feeling he was looking at Mrs. Weasely staring out of her daughter's eyes.
"How do you know that?" she asked pointedly. "You're supposed to be blocking him out."
Harry raised an eyebrow and said, "I am. Just a guess."
"Are you?" she asked coolly. 'You shouldn't have stopped practicing with us."Harry didn't reply.
He said softly, "Come here," and led Ginny into the nearest building, which happened to be greenhouse number 3.
"Why are we going in here?" Ginny asked.
"Malfoy," Harry answered, "with Crabbe and Goyle."
"You're not running away from them!" Ginny said.
"Of course not," Harry replied. "But the last thing I need just now is another fight with them."
"I thought you're the one who won't be expelled and doesn't care," Ginny said.
"Who told you that?" Harry said, trying to quell his annoyance.
"Hermione," Ginny ansered. "Well, I badgered it out of her and Ron, to be honest." Harry looked at her.
She blushed and added, "Well I told them I'd tell Mum about them, erm.." She broke off, because Malfoy's voice cut through.
"Nice place to hide, Potter," Malfoy drawled. He glanced at Ginny and added, "Or have you come to...retry your maiden flight since it was so rudely interrupted." Harry could hear Ginny hiss like a scalded cat.
He kept his eyes on Malfoy and replied, "Or maybe we just wanted a more pleasant view; one that doesn't include you and your goons." He kept his eyes on Malfoy and added, "So why don't you move along before I decide to sweep out the filth."
Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed in fury. "Get him," he instructed Crabbe and Goyle, "and don't let him get to his wand."
They came at him much faster than he expected. Harry rolled over a table to avoid their reaching fists, and several plants crashed to the ground, including one purple tentacled one that began crawling towards them. Crabbe landed a fist on his cheek, and Harry's head rang nearly as much as it had last time Dudley had hit him. He ducked out of a second blow and shoved Crabbe away into a tall plant whose bulbous flower opened its mouth and bit Crabbe right on the nose. Harry's wand was still tangled in his robes and he fell backwards under Goyle struggling to get it out. He tried to slide out of the way and see where Ginny was at the same time.
"Can't you two do anything?" Malfoy yelled. Harry heaved Goyle off of him and right into the crawling purple thing which wrapped its tentacles lovingly around Goyle's neck. In an instant Goyle's face was nearly as purple as the plant's strangling vines. Harry rolled to his feet in time to see Ginny fire off a hex at Malfoy, which the blond Slytherin avoided by inches. Malfoy had his wand aimed at her, but Harry fired off a disarming spell and the wand flew away, landing, unfortunately, near Crabbe. Crabbe's nose had swollen enormously, but he tossed the wand back in Malfoy's direction and blundered over to blast the purple thing off of Goyle.
Ginny, however, had had time to collect herself. She aimed and hit Malfoy squarely in the face with her infamous bat-bogey hex. Malfoy screamed and waved his wand, but only a few greenish sparks came out, as he was quite unable to form a clear word. Harry landed a couple of stinging hexes on Crabbe's and Goyle's posteriors and they took off, Crabbe moaning over his still swelling nose and Goyle still gasping for breath from his battle with the purple vine.
Malfoy said something, perhaps, I'll get you, or perhaps, I'll kill you, but Harry couldn't tell because of the bats decorating his face. He gawped in fascination at the Slytherin and said to Ginny, "You've got to teach me that."
Ginny gave him a funny look, composed it seemed, half of laughter and half of tears. "You've got a cut on your face," she said, reaching out to touch it, "just there." Reflexively, Harry reached up to feel the cut. A warm trickle of blood ran down, like a ruby tear, and he wasn't quite sure whether the shock he felt was the ache from the bruise or from her touch.
He gave a faint gasp and she said, "I can fix it. Hold still."
She lifted her wand and said something softly. The ache disappeared in a wash of warmth, and when he touched his cheek again, he could feel beneath the smear of blood that the skin underneath was quite smooth.
"I didn't know you can do that," Harry said. "Heal, I mean." She shrugged.
"Nothing major. Just one of those litle householdy things Mum taught me." She grinned at him. "With seven kids, you know, she couldn't afford to be taking us to the healer at St Mungo's every time one of us got a scrape."
"That's awfully convenient," Harry answered. "The Muggles just put a plaster on and the Muggle Mum gives it a kiss. You know, to make it feel better."
"Is that what your Aunt did when you got hurt," Ginny asked doubtfully.
"No," Harry said. He looked away remembering the many times he'd gotten a bump or a cut, usually from Dudley, and been yelled at or ignored. "No, that's what she did for Dudley. That's how I know."
Ginny rose up on her toes just a bit and gave him a kiss on the cheek, featherlight. "Like that?" she asked.
Harry caught his breath. The smell of the dirt and the moist grassy scent of the plants brought him instantly back to the wild exhiliration of the veela's dance. He reached down and kissed her and every small hurt melted away.
Somewhere he vaguely heard a voice saying, "Twenty points from Gryffindor," but he paid it no mind. A hand gripped his shoulder and yanked at him, and he flung it off in annoyance. It was Snape.
"No need to be so rough," Madam Sprout said.
"Merlin save us," Snape retorted, "or they'll be sprouting little Potters, and I've had more than enough Potters to deal with by now."
“Well, he is the last of his line," Madam Sprout replied. Harry could feel his face turning quite red. He didn't dare look at Ginny, especially not when Madam Sprout took in the damage said, "Oh, my! Who's going to clean up this mess?"
"How about Malfoy, Crabbe & Goyle," Ginny inquired sweetly, "seeing as how they were the gits who attacked us."
"They are in the hospital wing," Snape snapped. "You, Miss Weasely, will stay here and assist Madam Sprout. Potter, you will have detention and you will explain why it is you cannot refrain from fighting and bullying other students. My office. Now!" Harry nearly opened his mouth to tell Snape off, but he closed it when he saw Ginny and Madam Sprout looking at him. He shrugged and stalked off to Snape's dungeon office in a high state of rage.
Harry managed to contain himself until they reached Snape's office. But before he could say anything, Snape said coldly, "Does anything ever get through to you, Potter? You have been warned before of the consequences of failing to control your emotions."
"Does anything ever get through to you? Professor Snape. Sir," Harry replied. He knew he was being rude, but Snape's accusation of bullying was quite utterly galling. For all his talk of control, Snape's pale face was turning brick red.
"I know you think yourself above all punishment, Potter," Snape said softly, "but I think you will find that the Headmaster will not tolerate disrespect towards teachers. Not even from you."
"I am respectful toward my teachers. Sir. Those that deserve my respect, anyway," Harry replied. He was quite entertained by the varying shades of red, puce and purple that flushed through Snape's face. "And," Harry continued more vehemently than he had intended, "I find it altogether impossible to respect you when you take Malfoy's part against me time after time and accuse me of bullying him when you know it's just not true."
"It is Draco and his friends who are in the hospital wing, again," Snape observed coldly, "not you."
"So I'm not allowed to defend myself?" Harry asked angrily. "I'm supposed to just stand there and let them beat me up, or hex me, or worse? So they can boast to their Death Eater daddies how much they annoyed me and how much trouble they got me into?"
"This isn't about your petty little schoolboy arguments with Draco Malfoy," Snape answered. "You have no subtlety, Potter. And sometimes, I think you have no brains at all. Who do you think wins when you lose your control? Who do you think gets a look into the cracks in your mind? Do you think I want to know what petty grievances you have in your little schoolboy brain?" Harry could feel the heat rising again.
"You talk about petty grievances. When you can't give up your hatred for my Dad. And he's been dead for fifteen years. He's dead. When you couldn't give up your hatred and jealousy for Sirius. You had to keep picking at him and picking at him and implying he was a coward. And if it wasn't for your needling maybe he wouldn't have felt he had to be the one to go last year. Maybe he wouldn't be dead, too."
"Oh, no, Potter. You're not going to lay that at my door," Snape said. "No, it was your refusal to learn to block out the Dark Lord that left you vulnerable to his tricks. It was your rashness and arrogance that made you think you can play the hero and get away with it that made that mess. And you are marching right down that path all over again, because you still refuse to control yourself in any matter at all."
Harry's anger drowned in a flood of guilt. Snape had said only what he himself had thought over and over again since seeing Sirius fall unchecked through the black curtain. He stared at Snape mutely and started to shake. "So that's it," he said, and he had to grit his teeth against their chattering. "That's it. I'm not allowed to care about anything. I'm not allowed to feel anything at all. I might as well be dead."
Snape observed him quite without pity. "No, Potter, you've got it wrong as usual. You will be dead if you do not control yourself. Control your anger, control your grief, and control even all that adolescent heat. Because otherwise, the Dark Lord will win." Harry stopped shaking and gawped at Snape again.
"Adolescent what?" he sputtered. "What do you mean?" he asked. Although he thought he knew.
"You and the Weasley girl is what I'm talking about," Snape answered sourly.
"What about it?" Harry asked. "And what did you mean by that remark to Madam Sprout anyway, about...about..." He felt himself turning almost as puce as Uncle Vernon on a good day.
"What have I ever done to deserve this?" Snape muttered to himself. "Get a grip, Potter," he snapped. "You do have a clue about...the facts of life, don't you?"
"What?" Harry gawked again at Snape. This was about the most unlikely conversation he'd ever have imagined.
"You can't possibly be that stupid, can you?" Snape asked. "You do have a male relative, an uncle, don't you?"
"Uncle Vernon?" Harry said. He felt as stupid and as humiliated as he'd ever felt in his life that was saying something.
"Yes," Snape said, "your uncle. A muggle, I believe," he said distastefully. "But he must have had some discussion with you of these matters. You are sixteen, though Merlin only knows how you managed to live even that long, as stupid as you are." Harry continued to gawk at Snape.
"You must be joking," he said. "Uncle Vernon? Have a discussion with me? The only discussion he ever has with me is to tell me to..." He quit there. The last discussion they'd had flashed back. He didn't want to talk about Uncle Vernon. "And don't bring up Sirius either," he added bitterly. "It's not exactly easy to have a proper discussion with your godfather when he's on the run, or..." He stopped again and stared angrily at Snape. "And I'm not altogether stupid, you know. I do know something. And I'm not having a discussion with you. I mean, you're not telling me that I can't...I can't have a date?" he asked in disbelief.
Snape had an odd look on his face. For one moment, Harry could almost imagine it was pity. "Emotions, Potter, are emotions," Snape said. "And some emotions that people think are positive can be just as powerful and uncontrollable as the negative ones."
"That's crazy," Harry said. "That’s just plain mad. I'm not allowed to be happy, either now?"
"There is a difference, Potter, between control and..." Snape broke off. Professor Ribisi was standing in the doorway.
"Professor Dumbledore suggested I have a word with you," Ribisi said. He looked curiously at Harry.
"Don't mind, Potter, here," Snape said curtly. "He has a remedial Potions lesson, though why I bother, I don't know."
"Remedial Potions?" Ribisi asked incredulously. "Him?" Harry squirmed with embarrassment. He would have preferred even being in detention to having the Defense teacher think he needed remedial lessons in anything. He hoped Ribisi hadn't heard any of the previous conversation. That would be beyond humiliating.
"Yes," Snape answered curtly. "You must have found by now that he's really just another brat with an attitude." He turned to Harry and said, "You'll have to have your lesson another day. Be here Saturday morning."
Harry nodded and slipped out the door quickly. He was lucky Snape hadn't assigned an extra essay just for good measure. He paused though, and listened, wishing he had a pair of Fred and George's Extendable Ears. He was dreadfully curious to know what Ribisi had to say to Snape.
"I wanted to ask you about the duelling practice for Saturday," Professor Ribisi said. "Professor Dumbledore said you might be able to assist. I comprehend, you have done something like it before."
"Yes," Snape said sourly. "I have." Harry grinned to himself. Were they going to have a dueling club like Lockhart had started? It had been one of the few times he'd been pleased to see Snape come out on top, when he'd disarmed Lockhart at their one dueling lesson.
"Grazie," Ribisi said grandly. Harry thought they were done and turned to go, but stoppped when Ribisi spoke again.
"You are not really having to give Potter remedial lessons?" the Defense teacher asked.
"Certainly," Snape snapped. "I suppose you've been deceived like everybody else by his celebrity and his arrogance into thinking he's special."
"You are not just a bit scared of him?" Ribisi asked. "He is the Boy Who Lived." Harry cringed. He so loathed that title.
"Scared? Of Potter? I can assure you," Snape sneered, "He's really quite ordinary. And I've had the dubious pleasure of teaching him since he was a snotty nosed little first year."
"You surprise me," Ribisi replied. "I should be quite terrified of actually fighting him myself. He has power of great enormity. I don't think even most trained aurors could touch him."
Snape made a noise that sounded something like a cross between bah! and ha! Ribisi added slowly, "If he ever went bad, he could rival He Who Must Not Be named. Oh, yes. I find that quite a thing to be afraid of, myself."
"Clearly," Snape said, "you've never seen what the Dark Lord can actually do." There was the faintest pause.
"But I have," The Defense teacher said coldly. "You Know Who murdered several people I knew. My favorite english cousin, in fact." Harry couldn't decide which part was worse: Snape thinking he was so stupid he didn't know anything about "the facts of life," or the specter both Snape and Ribisi had raised, of him being taken over by Voldemort, of him becoming a murderer, a terror, another Dark Lord.
He sank into an uneasy doze and found himself watching the old man purifying his metal. Purest liquid silver ran in shiny streams from the crucible into the mold. He had completed the stage of purification and was moving onto the next, the addition of the secret element that would refine the metal into purest gold.
Harry woke. His scar was sizzling, and he felt possessed of a weird triumph. Something he knew was not his own. He tried to build up the wall again, but a single thought intruded. He knew. He knew who the old man was and what he was doing and why Voldemort had kept him chained, prisoned in his own workshop for so many months. He knew, too, that it had to be stopped. And now.
Harry glanced over at Ron. He was sleeping quite peacefully, his mouth open just a bit, and the faintest of snores issued from his mouth. For a wild moment, Harry thought he would wake him and drag him along; but his face looked too much in sleep like the still face of the boggart that Mrs. Weasely had wept over. And Harry remembered with perfect clarity the brain wrapping its tentacles around his friend, the purple light that had stunned Hermione and hurt her so badly, and the awkward, almost graceful arc of Sirius falling through the veil into his death. He swallowed down the bile that rose at what he was going to do, alone.
Quickly, he grabbed a piece of parchment and wrote a brief letter to Dumbledore and a second piece of parchment, which he sealed carefully, after scribbling what he must. Then he slipped on his Invisibility cloak over an old pair of jeans and a dark sweater and crept out of the Castle as soundlessly as any ghost.
When he reached the Forest, he thought coolly what his alternatives were for getting him south where he needed to go. He had already rejected his broom. Flying that far would take far too long on a broom. He would have liked to take the Weasely's old Ford Anglia, but he had no way of knowing how to get it and was not about to go into Aragog's hollow looking for it. He thought he remembered the spell for making a portkey, but he wasn't certain whether he could pull it off, so he settled for the one thing he was certain would work. He snagged his left arm on a branch and let the blood drip, and sure enough after a moment or two, a black winged shape was nuzzling his arm, nibbling at his cut.
He mounted the thestral and said,"Take me to the house of Nicholas Flamel." The great winged horse gave a heave of its wings and soared, a dark and ghostly shape, into the dark night sky.
