The Alchemist's Cell
by SJR0301
Chapter Fourteen
The plan had been laid out with military precision. Units A and B would be heavily armed and would set up across the street on both approaches to the pub. Edgar and Fay would lead Unit C on the inside attack and they would be responsible for the quick and immediate arrest and take down of every person in the pub, whether worker or patron. They would be sorted out at the Yard, and anyone who appeared to be truly innocent, a stray tourist or such would be released. But the rest would be held until they gave up every piece of information they had about the Lord of Death as he called himself. Everyone remotely suspected of dealings with him would be booked on suspicion of Conspiracy to Traffic in Controlled Dangerous Substances, Conspiracy to Traffic in Category A Dangerous Weaponry, Theft, Aiding and Abetting. And anyone who failed to talk would also be held over as a material witness and for obstruction of justice. Let them try to keep silence at that. Except, Edgar feared, this lot would keep silence anyway.
It was a cold December evening and the sky, even at night, was a grey-white, full of snow and sleet that had yet to drop. When Fay walked in to announce the Units were all ready to move into place, Edgar felt a faint lurch in his heart. Her pale champagne hair lit up his office, and it seemd as if the sun had snuck in.
She smiled and said, "Are you ready?"
"No," he said. "This is going to be awful, you know."
"It is not," she said. "We've got everything planned. They'll be sweating in their cells whilst we are off on our holiday shopping."
The mention of the holidays failed to lift his spirits. Edgar usually worked right through the holidays. Having no family, he pretended that Christmas didn't exist and he breathed a sigh of relief each year when the decorations came down and the reminders of happiness lost disappeared for another year.
"So," she said casually, "do you go to family at all for the holidays?" He shook his head. That didn't seem quite adequate, so he said, "I haven't any. Family, that is."
A faint frown cleaved its way down her forehead and she said very briskly, "Well, you can't be all alone. You'll just have to come with me. It won't be too bad, I promise. Just Mum and Dad and my batty Great-Aunt Matilda and her host of ghosts that she claims to be on friendly terms with."
"But..."
"And there'll be no buts about it. We'll go up on the twenty-third and come back on the day after Boxing Day." She smiled and said, "The Yard will just have to live without the great Detective Inspector Bones for a few days."
"I don't know what to say," Edgar answered.
"Say nothing," she said. "Now, let's go shall we? All those poor uniform boys are sweating up a storm with their bullet-proofs on. And we want to get that lot before it gets too late and they start to drift away."
"Later is better," Edgar answered. "The innocent ones are the ones that leave early. But we can certainly get into position and go through final checks."
The two outisde Units slid into place without any fanfare. Edgar did not want to alert the gang members to the impending raid. The streets on each side were quietly blocked off by patrol cars, but no sirens were on and all lights were off. It was nearly eleven o'clock and the pub was still humming. Edgar could hear the faint throb of some kind of hip-hop and see the glow of the pub lights through the plate glass window. He gave a wave of his hand and he and Fay crossed the street to enter the pub. Behind them streamed in twenty uniformed officers, guns at the ready. Edgar and Fay led the way in. Behind them streamed in twenty uniformed officers guns at the ready.
"You are all under arrest for particpating in an organized crime conspiracy, trafficking in Controlled Dangerous Substances, trafficking in Class A Restricted Dangerous Weapons, theft, and withholding evidence regarding capital crimes. Assume the position and do not, I repeat DO NOT, attempt to resist arrest." A number of the pub patrons and workers dropped to the floor, hands over their heads. They were old pros and knew better than to resist armed officers.
One of them, the big man who had cheated him at cards, said, "You! You're a copper! I should never have warned you. And your b*****."
Edgar said coldly, "Down! Now!"
The big man dropped to his knees still swearing and the rest were following suit. In the corner, one man turned. He was dressed all in black and wore a hood and mask. As he swung around, he drew something, a weapon, and pointed it at Fay. Edgar flung himself sideways at her and they crashed to the ground. As they fell, a uniformed officer swung his gun towards the masked man. A light sizzled from the weapon and the officer was thrown back. His rifle soared into the air and exploded at the ceiling. Edgar rolled over and drew his gun and in one continuous motion pulled the trigger. The bullet caught the masked man in one shoulder and with a crack that seemed more like the after-shock from Edgar's gun, the masked man disappeared.
Fay was cursing as Edgar got to his feet and helped her up. He went to check on the officer who had fallen. There was no pulse and his eyes were vacant. He shook his head. For a moment, he was sixteen again, and he saw with brutal clarity, the inelegant fall of his father's body before they brought the house down on him.
"He's dead?" Fay said. "But how?" The big man lifted his head.
"Magic," he said, "Black, black magic!"
"Magic?" Fay said incredulously. "There's no such thing as magic. He's got you snowed, this 'Lord of Death' of yours, with costumes and Halloween trappings and all the while he's just got some new black-ops weapon. A small laser or something. Good god, you'd think this was the middle ages instead of modern times."
The big man shook his head and said, "You ain't seen nothing, nothing. If it was HIM, you'd have all been dead. You're lucky it was just one his lieutenants. And some of them are scary enough."
Edgar said coldly, "You can tell us all about in the lock-up."
"I'm saying nothing," the big man said. "and no one else will either. We want to live and our families, too."
"We'll see how you feel about that tomorrow," Edgar said, "You'll be singing a different tune after a night or two in the lock-up." But he didn't feel as confident as he sounded. He thought wearily that he would have to visit the dead officer's family and then he would have to explain to Superintentdent Masters how a carefully planned operation had resulted in one very dead officer, apparently by magic. And he wondered what Fay was going to say when she found out the truth. He shrank from that thought. But he knew, he would have to tell her. And soon.
~~***~~
If Harry had expected any different treatment from Snape after seeing Snape's secrets, he was swiftly corrected of those misapprehensions. Snape swept into class and treated him exactly the same as he always had. He sneered at Harry's essay and hovered nearby carping about everyhthing Harry did. Harry refused to look at him and completed each task with enormous effort. His hands were shaking and he had a monstrous headache by the time class was over. He turned in his potion sample and was not surprised to hear the glass drop and break. He pulled out the second flask he had already filled and carefully laid it on the desk. This time, he met Snape's eyes, and when the Potions Master dropped it again, Harry was ready. With a quick flick of his wand, the flask hovered in midair.
"Perhaps I should hand this into Professor Dumbledore, SIR, and perhaps you need to be escorted to the infirmary. I think maybe you must have some disease as you cannot seem to hold a flask in your hand without dropping it. SIR." Wordlessly, his black eyes full of malice, Snape placed the flask on his desk without dropping it. Harry backed out of the dungeon, his eyes on Snape the whole way. He positively ran to Transfiguration and nearly knocked down Professor McGonagall as he entered the room.
"Well, you seem to be recovered, Potter," McGonagall said.
"Yes, Professor," he said, though his heart was hammering in his chest and he felt quite shivery again. The shivery feeling stayed with him and he was profoundly grateful that McGonagall did not call on him the entire class.
McGonagall called him over at the end of class and examined him with concern. "Are you sure you are quite recovered," she asked. "And has Madam Pomfrey given you something to take to help you get your strength back?"
Harry nodded. "I'm fine. Really, I am," he said. He escaped with only a few more admonishments to eat properly and to turn in his make-up work after the holidays. He thought gloomily that he would be spending his entire holiday at the Burrow in a corner somewhere catching up on all his missed work. But at least it was better than having to do it at the Dursleys'.
The shivery feeling and headache remained during lunch. Harry picked at his food and drank sweet coffee hoping the warmth would steady him and soothe his aching scar. He wished that Sirius was alive. As miserable as most of last year had been, at least Sirius had been alive to support him, to care about him. He jabbed a tomato with some ferocity remembering how Snape had badgered Sirius about being stuck in the house on Grimmauld Place and having nothing to do for the Order.
"Are you going to eat that, or just mash it and spray it all over the rest of us?" Hermione asked.
Harry looked at her and threw down his fork. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get to class early. You have to help me practice what we've been doing while I was out."
"I don't know, Harry," Hermione said anxiously. "Are you really up to doing somersaults and dodging cursed weapons?"
"I'd better be," Harry said. "Voldemort won't care if I'm feeling a bit off-color, will he? I don't think he'd step aside and say we'll have to postpone things for another day when Harry's feeling better."
"You are grim, aren't you?" Ron said. "How bad did it go last night?"
"So badly I don't want to ever go back again," Harry said. "I'm afraid I'll kill him if I have to have another lesson from him." He started walking to class, taking long angry strides, so that even Ron had to stretch to keep up with him.
"Hang on, Harry," Hermione said. "You've got to keep up those lessons! You know you do. Or else..." Harry stopped abruptly and faced his friends.
"I'm serious. You don't know what it's like," he said vehemently. "He still loathes me. And I hate him," he burst out. "I'm terrified I'll actually lose control and try to kill him, he provokes me so much." He faced about and marched on again to Defense Against the Dark Arts. He thought grimly that he'd better concentrate on this class with everything he had. Because Dumbledore couldn't risk teaching him Occlumency and Snape just wouldn't want to. Not after last night. So Harry's only hope of surviving Voldemort's next attack was to learn enough Defense to stop him that way.
Behind him, he could hear Hermione muttering to Ron, "This isn't good, this isn't good at all."
And Ron replying, "Not good. It's a disaster, that's what it is."
The mats they had been using for landing on in Defense were no longer there, although there was still a large space in the center of the room. The floor was now a springy smooth wood like the floor of a basketball court. Harry wondered what was next. Were they going to start throwing some kinds of weapons instead of avoiding them?
He nodded to the new set-up and asked Ron, "How long have we been having class this way?"
"Just as of today," Ron said. "You missed the classes where we had to avoid jinxed pokers and cursed guns. That one was nasty. Neville avoided his, but he was so anxious to defend against it, he tried hitting it with a Shield Charm and the thing went off and blew a hole in the window."
"That is nasty," Harry replied. "You don't think it's likely Voldemort would go something like that, do you?"
Ron looked sideways at him and said softly, "You tell me. You're the one that has the inside track into his mind, aren't you?"
Harry flinched. "I think it's more the other way, maybe. I dunno."
Hermione said softly, "I bet Voldemort's more likely to use a traditional magic weapon. He'd probably think jinxing a Muggle weapon like a gun was beneath him."
"I dunno about that, Hermione," Harry said. "Voldemort uses anything that suits his purpose. If he can find a way to kill me, I doubt he'll forgo it because it might be unorthodox. He'd just use the excuse that I didn't deserve the honor of a traditional magic duel because I'm a half-blood."
"And it would be an excuse, wouldn't it," Ron said, "seeing how you beat him last time he dueled with you the normal way."
"I didn't exactly beat him, Ron," Harry replied. "His wand didn't work against mine. That's why I escaped. It was luck, really. Not any special skill of mine."
"Well, that makes this class more important, then," Hermione said. "He might just use a different approach next time."
"Yeah," Harry said, "like leaving me tied up and killing me without giving me the opportunity to fight at all."
"Do you mind if we talk about a different subject," Ron said. "It gives me the willies to hear you talk so casually about You Know Who killing you."
The other class members had begun to file in and Harry busied himself with pulling out a sheet of parchment and a quill in case he needed to take notes. Professor Ribisi stalked in looking annoyed about something, but his face smoothed out as he tapped the blackboard with his wand and the words, Defending Against Dark Curses, Hexes, and Jinxes wrote themselves on the board. He began speaking without any preamble.
"As you know, we have been concentrating on physical avoidance tactics and on avoiding cursed objects. We will now move on to defending against more traditional magical attacks. But do not be fooled by their seeming familiarity into thinking this is easier than the other. The more practiced a wizard is in a discipline of magic, the more deadly his attack will be."The Professor scanned the room checking to be sure the students were properly impressed. He noted that Harry was there, pausing for an instant, perhaps to assess his health, but he made no remark and continued with his lecture.
"There are four traditional magical weapons," the Professor said. "Who can name them for me?" Several hands shot into the air. Hermione's, Draco's and Neville's.
"Mr. Malfoy," the Professor said.
"The four traditional magical weapons are the wand, the staff, the scepter and the sword," Draco answered.
"Good. Ten points to Slytherin," the Professor said. Draco smiled.
"Now, Mr. Longbottom, tell me something about each of the four, if you can."
Neville flushed slightly as he answered, "Well, the wand is the most popular today, obviously, because it's small and can be easily hidden from Muggles. And most wizards have the least difficulty mastering the use of the wand."
"Good. Keep going," Professor Ribisi said.
"Some wizards still also use the staff because it can be disguised to look like an ordinary Muggle walking stick," Neville continued. "A lot of older wizards like to use a staff because of that. And some wizards have a walking stick with a slot for their wand to slide into. For the same reason. It's easily concealed and can be carried in plain sight of Muggles." Harry couldn't help thinking of Lucius Malfoy, who carried a serpent headed walking stick as the concealment for his wand. But Neville had more to say. "There's also the scepter, but almost no one uses that. It's really only been used by kings or high priests, like the ones in Ancient Egypt. They can't be concealed and they're dreadfully expensive, so they're totally out of fashion just now." Harry thought that would be right up Voldemort's alley. Wouldn't he just like to make himself the Emperor of the wizard world, Harry thought. He could just picture the serpent-faced wizard extendeing a glittering gold scepter for his worshippers to kiss.
"And last," Neville said, "is the sword. Magic swords were very popular up until a couple of centuries ago. Wizards could carry them openly and Muggles just thought they were ordinary swords. And a good magic sword can be used both as a regular sword is, but also to do magic. But practically no one uses them anymore because you can't carry one openly on the street. You'd probably be arrested or something, and they're difficult to conceal. But a very few wizards conceal their magic swords in walking sticks."
"Excellent, Mr. Longbottom. A very detailed answer," Ribisi said. "Twenty points to Gryffindor." Neville blushed happily and Draco's smug smile evaporated.
Neville whispered to Harry, "My Gran has a walking stick that belonged do my Grandad. It had a sword concealed in it. But she won't let me go near it," Neville said mournfully.
"Today," Ribisi said, "we will have a quick assessment of your defensive skills to date, and then move on at our next lesson. We will spend some time at wand defense, but we will also have a unit on defending against each of the other weapons. Just in case."
"Mr. Potter," Ribisi said, "Step forward." Harry stepped forward reluctantly. He wasn't anxious to be the class guinea pig today. Especially after last night's fiasco with Snape.
"Come, come," Ribisi said, "at least raise your wand. Being ill is no excuse for unpreparedness or studpidity." Draco sneered and Harry felt himself flush. He admired the Professor's skill, but he found him hard to like. Nevertheless, he nodded and raised his wand.
The spell the Professor shot at him was one Harry had never seen before. A stream of light came at him, and although he quickly used a shield charm, the shield only slowed it down, it failed to repel it. Harry was flung over, but he rolled as the Professor had taught him and fired off a disarming spell from the floor as he rose to his knees. The Professor's wand sailed into the air and landed neatly at Harry's foot. Harry scooped up the wand and tossed it back to the Professor and held his wand at the ready.
"Good disarming spell," the Professor said. "And good use of a defensive roll. But were you not familiar with that hex? A shield charm is not a sufficient defense, as you saw." Harry shook his head.
"What was that?" he asked.
"That was in the reading for today's lesson," the Professor snapped. "Who can tell me what that was and how to defend against it?" Once again, Hermione's hand shot into the air. This time, Ron's did as well.
"Mr. Weasley?" the Professor said.
"You used a form of a Hurling Hex. And the best defense is a repelling hex. A repelling hex also turns the hex back on its user, but it doesn't create a shield," Ron answered.
"Good," said Ribisi. "Will you step forward now and demonstrate, please." The Professor cast the spell again. Ron said, "Repellio!" and the Professor's spell recoiled, knocking him down. The Professor rolled back up in one fluid movement and launched another attack on Ron, who failed to defend at all this time. Ron was hurled down and he got up holding one elbow and cursing under his breath.
"Well," said the Professor, "between the two of you, you might be able to fend off one attacker. But what if there are two or three or more?"
By Friday, Harry was dragging with exhaustion. His scar was buzzing as he dressed, and he felt, for the first time in a long time, one of those odd emotional lurches that belonged to Voldemort instead of him. It was a vague feeling of annoyance that turned for a moment into a sharp rage. His scar seared momentarily, and he had for that moment, a separate feeling of panic that was completely his own. He bit his lip and tried to imagine that Voldemort belonged in a tiny corner of his mind. He built a wall around the corner and locked it. The searing pain diminished all at once, and the panic receded. If only he could keep that corner locked, he thought, perhaps he could master Occlumency after all. Or shut out Voldemort, which was the point of it all.
He washed himself thoroughly, wanting to get rid of the lingering feeling of uncleanliness that these episodes always gave him. Not being given to gazing at himself in the mirror, he was shocked at his own reflection. His face looked too tightly drawn over his bones and he had another moment of panic that he would become as skeletal as Voldemort. He turned away from the mirror and patted down his always rebellious hair without success.
At breakfast, Harry forced himself to eat, forking in mouthfuls of eggs and bacon that had no taste after he was full. He drank coffee and hoped that he wasn't about to get a lecture from Dumbledore over his behavior in his Occlumency lesson the other night. Or worse, complete avoidance of direct contact by the Headmaster like last year. Ron and Hermione were whispering about something, but Harry was too preoccupied to listen, and he followed them to Alchemy class in silence.
Dumbledore entered so quietly that the rest of the students didn't notice he was there. Harry kicked Ron under the desk. He had been holding forth about his latest new quidditch strategy which sounded extremely complicated and difficult to pull off. Everyone quieted, and Dumbledore smiled at them. The Headmaster began an immediate and intensive review of their previous classes. They had now worked on igniting fires and controlling their temperatures to an exact degree. They had learned to work with air, making everything from a soft simple puff that felt like a caress to a strong icy wind that could freeze water in an instant. They had worked with water as well. From the tiniest trickle to a strong controlled stream, from boiling hot to icy cold, the wand could be used summon it forth and control its use in every way.
At the end of the lesson, Dumbledore said, "Very good. You have all progressed remarkably. I am happy to say that my confidence in you all is well vindicated by your performance today. When we return from the holidays, we shall begin the next step, the application of these forces to the fourth element--earth. All of the substances, the elements of mercury, lead, sulfur, silver, gold, and more, all shall be used in our quest to learn how to purify, to alloy, and to create using fire and air and water as our mediums for transformation."
Hermione raised her hand, and when called on said, "Please, sir, don't we have one more Friday for class before term ends?"
"Ah, Miss Granger, I am glad your enthusiasm for the class is such that you've forgotten that Friday is our last Hogsmeade visit before holidays commence. There will be no classes that day." Dumbledore's blue eyes were twinkling and Hermione blushed scarlet. She normally never made mistakes like that. Harry wondered what might be distracting her and made a mental note to ask her. As the rest of the class was leaving, Dumbledore gestured to Harry to come over.
"Sir?" Harry said, hoping he wasn't in for a lecture.
"I hear you are progressing in your Occlumency lessons," Dumbledore said. Harry gawked at him. This was the opposite of what he'd expected.
"If you call attacking Professor Snape instead of trying to block him out progress," Harry said honestly and dubiously.
"Both offense and defense are important. So, yes, I call it progress," Dumbledore said gravely.
"Did he...did he tell you what I saw? And how we parted?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "It was something I knew or could have guessed. But," Dumbledore added, "I still want you to continue your lessons with Professor Snape. He is a fine teacher, if you will listen to him and put aside your anger."
"How can I," Harry said, "when he won't put aside his? And this seems to make it worse. After every lesson, he's more..." Harry stopped. He had always avoided complaining about teachers in class, except to his friends. It had never done him any good to complain, so what was the point.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, "You must master this and aside from myself, Snape is the only Occlumens who is available to teach you."
"And if you do, Voldemort is sure to attack you again through me, isn't he?" Harry asked bitterly. "How much did he find out, anyway?" Dumbledore sighed and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry tensed just a little, from force of habit as much as anything.
"It is a risk that we can't afford just now," Dubmledore replied. "But ease your mind," the Headmaster added, "The only thing Voldemort saw in my mind was my immediate concern for you. And he knew of my affection for you already." Harry looked up at the blue eyes. For a moment he was puzzled, and then he understood.
"You mean when you failed to kill him last year, because you were afraid it would kill me, too?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said.
"But you would have done that for anyone, wouldn't you?" Harry asked. "I mean, you said as much when we talked before. You can't kill a bystander even if Voldemort gets away. That would make you like him. You'd lose your humanity if you could throw away someone else's life to get him."
"I'd like to believe I would have done that," Dumbledore said. "I know," he added, "that what I ask of you is very difficult. But, please. Go back to your lessons again tomorrow. I have told Professor Snape the same as I am telling you. Voldemort's defeat may well turn on whether you master this or not."
Harry shivered and said, "I'll try, sir. I will try."
"Listen," Ron, said at lunch, "I've booked the quidditch pitch for this evening. We can have an extra pratice tonight before holdiays start and make up for some of the time we've lost." He added happily, "and I want to get my new plan in practice. We want to beat Hufflepuff, don't we? We could practically have the Cup in the bag if we win by a good margin at our next game."
Hermione gave Ron one of her most severe looks and answered before Harry could open his mouth, "Harry needs to rest. He's not ready to be exhausting himself in the cold after being sick with dragon pox."
"I'm fine," Harry said stiffly. "I want to practice. It'd help me feel better, getting fresh air and all." And he thought, if he wore himself out, maybe he'd be so tired he wouldn't dream or think about Snape or Occlumency lessons or anything at all.
Hermione said, "Honestly, don't you ever think? Either one of you?"
"Don't you think Harry knows how he feels?" Ron said.
"Sometimes, Ron Weasley, you can be such an idiot. Don't you realize he'll go out there and practice to make you happy, and get himself sick all over again? Do you want him to be too ill to play in the next game?"
Ron looked quite shame-faced and said, "Of course, I want him to be better." he turned to Harry and said, "I think she's right, you know. You do look awful tired. Maybe you should be taking that Revitalizing Potion again." He grinned and joked, "or maybe you should take the Mimbulus whatsis stuff Neville and Hermione made. The way you're going, we'll be playing for the cup without you and Ginny'll have to play Seeker and I'll have to draft Hermione here to play Chaser."
Hermione flushed a little and said, "Just because I don't go nuts over the game doesn't mean I couldn't play if I wanted to." Harry and Ron looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"Oh, Hermione," Ron said, "Quidditch is one thing you can't learn out of a book. You have to actually play it."
"Be careful," Harry said, "You'll annoy her so much she'll go and learn it just to prove she can and she's not scared." He smiled at Hermione and said, "And you know what, I guarantee you she'd be better than Slope and Detrick without half-trying. There isn't anything Hermione can't do if she sets her mind to it. Like coming up with the cure for resistant dragon pox with Neville."
Hermione's lips twitched and he could see she couldn't make up her mind whether to be annoyed or amused. She did not get distracted from the main point though.
"I think Harry should get permission from Madam Pomfrey before he starts up practice again." she said. "Just because he's okay to go to classes inside the castle doesn't mean he's okay to go to quidditch practice in the cold and the snow."
"You think quidditch practice is hard? You should try Occlumency. If I'm okay for that," Harry said, "I ought to be okay for quidditch."
But Ron said quietly, "I reckon she's right, Harry. I got carried away and didn't think. You stay in and get some rest. The rest of us can manage for another week without you. The game's not until February, so there's plenty of time."
Hermione's approving, "Good for you, Ron," set the seal of doom as far as Harry was concerned. Now he had nothing to do but go upstairs and to do his homework all day. And go to sleep that night worrying about his next confrontation with Snape.
Harry sat by the window and pressed his forehead against the cold glass window. The other boys were sleeping. Harry had gone to bed at the same time as Ron, who had ganged up on him with Neville to make him take another dose of Neville's Cure-all. Harry had been about to refuse, but he had remembered how his fever had seemed to fall after Neville and Ginny's visit and decided it couldn't hurt.
Neville had beamed proudly at him and said, "It's good to see you're better, Harry. Things aren't the same without you around."
Harry had been surprised and pleased. He hadn't known what to say and fell back on saying, "Thanks. I think this really helped."
The moon was high in the sky. Swollen and white, it hung over the castle grounds, bleaching the grounds to an odd pale gray, and illuminating the waving branches of the Whomping Willow. Harry felt that if he opened the window, he could almost leap out and fly without a broom. He wanted to sweep across the sky and soar above the world and all its petty problems. If he could only be a cloud, or a bird, he could be free of Voldemort and the Curse that Failed. Except, he thought darkly, the curse had not really failed. It had blighted his life, leaving him tied to a monster until the monster killed him, or Harry became enough of a monster himself to kill the other.
He had promised Dumbledore twice now to cooperate with Snape. He had to keep his promise. But he shrank from tomorrow's lesson and the one after that and the one after that. The year stretched out before him, a series of lessons in hate and humiliation. He didn't know how long he could take it before he broke his promise and fled. And what bothered him the most was the implication behind Dumbledore's words.
Dumbledore believed that Occlumency was the key to defeating Voldemort. And Dumbledore, he knew, believed that the prophecy meant Harry was the only one who could defeat Voldemort. Which meant that maybe Dumbledore thought Harry was going to have to strip Voldemort's mind as Dumbledore had done to Grindelwald as a preliminary to killing him altogether. His insides twisted and his breath came in gasps. There had to be another way, he thought. There had to be another way than murder, Nothing-quite seemd to justify it.
He wanted revenge on Voldemort that much was certain. He had thought about it a lot. He had envisioned it, over and over again. But at the last, he shrank from it. Because he would be doing what the monster had done. He didn't want to be the monster. He wanted to be clean and innocent, like the others sleeping so easily in their beds. He wanted to sleep again like they did, without fear and without dreams.
Before he slept, Harry thought about the wall he had built to fence Voldemort in. He imagined locking the door to the corner and throwing away the key. He imagined laying stones against the wall to make it thicker and thicker. He counted the stones as he laid them, one, two, three, four...one hundred, one hundred-one...Until sleep overwhelmed him and dreamed of a tall, old house whose furniture was covered in cloths and whose hallways were empty and whose rooms begged in whispers for its family to return. The sunlight crept in the house and the furniture was clean and fresh; the chandeliers were made of fine crystal and shed rainbows on the walls as the light broke through the crystals; and the laughter of children was music that soothed the heart.
When Ron shook him awake in the morning, the sun was high in the sky. "Wake up, Harry!" Ron said. "Snape's looking for you!"
With a curse, Harry flung off his covers and threw some clothes on. He ran downstairs and out of the common room, ignoring people's stares as he flashed by.
"So," Snape said, "I thought you'd try to skive off." Harry didn't bother replying. He followed the tall Potions Master down to the dungeon where his office was and tried without success to get himself alert and ready for the coming lesson, or battle as it was likely to be. Snape withdrew to the other side of the desk. Harry could see the Pensieve sitting on the shelf, already swirling with the misty white thoughts Snape wanted kept private. That was all right with him. Harry thought he never wanted to get a look at that again. He just wished he had one for himself.
"Are you ready?" Snape asked. His pallied face was remote and composed, the black eyes expressionless.
"No," Harry said. "I need a moment to wake up, if you don't mind. Sir."
"I do mind," Snape answered. "But go ahead. No doubt anything else would harm your poor bleeding ego."
Harry snorted with amusement. "You haven't been reading Muggle psychiatry books, have you? I'm sure you can diagnose me with an inferiority complex and god knows what other rot."
"No doubt the Muggle got some things from us, Potter," Snape said acidly, "and the only complexes you have are a superiority complex and a hero complex. You don't know the meaning of the word doubt."
"You've been vacuuming out my mind for weeks and you still think that?" Harry asked with genuine astonishment. He shook his head and didn't wait for an answer. He closed his eyes and tried to make a second room. He imagined another corner and threw up walls about that. Only this time, he was creating a Pensieve in his own mind. He pushed the wall forward so that it covered most of the room and left only the small amusements of the day open to inspection. Harmless things like his annoyance over his Transfiguration essay, which he'd had to re-do twice already, and Ron's new quidditch strategy, which was so convoluted Ron kept forgetting all the moves himself. He opened his eyes again and said, "Okay."
Snape struck quickly. He was playing with a toy knight in his cupboard. His stomach was rumbling but he didn't mind so much because he had Dudley's broken toy to play with. The toy knight could gallop and do brave things. Like he would do, if only they'd ever let him out of his cupboard. Ron was joking about Hermione playing quidditch. Ginny was laughing at something Fred had done, a new concoction for making someone laugh without stopping until the class bell rang. There was a wall, a blank white wall. He built the wall higher and made it stronger. He was building it with stones, rocks that were as old as the earth. Rocks that could last after everyone had gone. There was nothing but cool, hard rock. No pain. No sorrow. Only the wall of rock that no one would penetrate. He pushed the wall forward, until there was nothing there but the wall and he was alone behind it. Harry opened his eyes. Snape was staring at him in surprise.
"I never thought I'd say this to you, but that was very good."
"Really?" Harry asked. "I did it?" Snape nodded.
"It is like making a wall in your mind, then," Harry said. "You gave me the trick the other day, when you explained it properly." His stomach rumbled loudly, just as it had in the cupboard. But he didn't care. He had done something right for once. Even Snape had admitted it.
He smiled and said, "Thank you. Professor. Sir."
Harry was so happy, that the pain, when it came, and the rage that accompanied it took him quite by surprise. The rage swept through him, overturning his mind, until there was nothing in existence but the screaming murderous fury of it, and the scorching pain that seared through his scar. He screamed and clutched at his head, and through the pain he heard, as if from a far distance, Snape saying, "What is it, Potter? What is it?"
The world seemed to divide. A piece of him was in Snape's office, and another, was somewhere else. He was Harry and he was Voldemort. His wand lifted and he began to kill. They were stupid, useless Muggles. Good for nothing. As he killed, he was filled with rage and satisfaction. As he killed, each flash of the green- light screamed through him, an agony, and endless pain that each death could not abate. From the distance, Snape's voice said, "Potter! Look at me! Tell me what's wrong!"
He opened his mouth but no words came out. There was a silver flash and Snape's caught him by the front of his robes, lifting him up from the floor. There were black eyes on his, but they were irrelevant. He seized on the nearest support, Snape's arms, and he managed to squeeze a few words out, "Voldemort...he's killing them...Muggles...he's killing them." Another person entered. Dumbledore his mind registered. But he was swept back up in the rage and the pain and could say nothing.
"Step back, Severus," a voice said, and the answer came, "I'm trying. He won't let go." Harry clutched at his support. It seemed important to the piece of him that wasn't Voldemort to hold onto something solid. Something that would tell him he was still himself and not the other -the monster who killed and raged and was the searing fire that occupied his mind.
A new rage filled him. The one who had failed crouched before him, pleading. "I'm sorry, Lord! It wasn't my fault! It was the Muggles' fault." He hated excuses, and whining, and failure. He lifted his wand and his servant cringed before him, begging. "Please, Lord. I will make it up. Tell me what you want. I will do anything." The fury mingled with disgust and delight. He would punish him. He would give him the one job nobody wanted. "You know you deserve this, Warren." He lifted his wand and began the punishment. Harry screamed again. The new pain ripped through him. His scar threatened to burst at its seams.
A voice from far away was saying, "Fight it! Block it out! Build the wall again!"
He cried out in agony and screamed "Stop! Stop it! Stop it!" and the voice said, "get him off me, get him off me," and another pair of hands pulled his support away. He lost the solid thing that had kept him separate, but it didn't matter because something struck him and everything went dark.
Harry was floating above the world again, but now there were three pieces to him, not two. There was the part that hovered above. There was the small part that kept his heart beating in his body below, and there was the tiny other part that was elsewhere, attached to him by an invisible silvery-blue-green cord of magic. The cord ran two ways, and he could see the piece that was the other, lodged in his body below and connected to him by that same silvery-blue-green cord of magic. He had the odd thought that perhaps it was the other who kept the heart beating in the body below him.
"I don't know what happened, Dumbledore," Snape said. "He was fine. He had been successful, actually successful at blocking me out. I was only able to access small harmless thoughts. And he pushed me out easily. Without any effort at all, and then suddenly, this. He screamed and crumpled up and was just as you saw when you arrived. And you heard the rest."
"And that's all he said," Dumbledore asked, "Voldemort was killing Muggles. Nothing else."
"Nothing," Snape answered. "I don't understand," he added, "why just when he seemed to have mastered it, he succumbed so completely again to the Dark Lord's mind."
"I cannot answer that for certain," Dumbledore replied, "But I suspect the difference is that you were an external intrusion, Whereas Voldemort is somehow so tied to him that he represents and internal intrusion. And so while Harry can learn to block you out completely, he might not ever be able to that with Voldemort completely. At least, not whilst Voldemort still lives."
"He is dangerous, then," Snape said. "You are saying that Potter will eventually be the Dark lord's tool. The Dark Lord will possess him."
"That is not what I am saying at all, Severus," Dumbleodre answered sharply.
"But it's true, isn't it?" Harry asked. He sat up and put his head in hands. His scar was still burning. He pressed it with his hands and tried to build the wall back up again. The burning diminished, but he thought, the wall had holes in it, and it might crumble and fall again at any time.
"Do you still feel him?" Dumbledore asked urgently. Harry noticed that Dumbledore was not avoiding his eyes. He looked away, just in case, and said, "No. No. He's gone. He's...occupied with other things now. Cleaning up the mess, I guess."
"What mess?" Dumbledore asked. Snape moved, opened his mouth as if to say something, and stilled again. He seemed to be holding his arms, as if to hold himself together.
Harry shrugged. "One of the Death Eaters messed up. Some assignment or something. There were Muggles involved somehow? But I don't know how, or what they were doing. So Voldemort killed them. The Muggles. Because...because they knew too much?" Harry swallowed and felt himself begin to shake at the memory of the green light and all those deaths.
"What else?" Dumbledore asked, "it's important or I wouldn't ask? What else did you see, and did Voldemort know you were there, that you saw?" Harry looked at Dumbledore in surprise.
"I dunno if he knew. He was angry. So filled with rage. He wanted to kill, and he did." he shivered and tried to think. "It was odd, though," Harry said, "the Muggles, they were in cages, behind bars, like in a prison. And one of the ones he killed was a guard, but...the guard wasn't a target. He was just there, a witness, so he killed that one too. Like Cedric." Harry closed his eyes and thought, I will not vomit. I will not lose control in front of Snape. I will not.
"What about the Death Eater?" Snape asked. "What did Voldemort do to him? And are you sure he doesn't know you were there? You did something, Potter," Snape added.
"At the end, you did something, too." Harry opened his eyes and stared at Snape.
"He punished the Death Eater. Used the Cruciatus Curse. And he was going to do something else to him. Give him a job nobody else wanted."
"What do you mean, Harry did something?" Dumbledore asked.
"He did something," Snape repeated. He looked at Harry and said, "How often do you do magic without using a wand?"
Harry gawked at Snape. "How often do it? I dunno ... I haven't done anything without a wand in a long time. Not since I was thirteen, when I...erm...blew up Aunt Marge."
"You blew her up? That odious one with the dogs?" Snape asked. Harry couldn't help it. A faint grin twitched at his lips.
"Yeah," he said, "the odious one with the dogs. I didn't exactly blow her up. I just, erm, did some kind of engorgement spell. I wasn't intending to, I was just really angry because..." He mumbled the rest, "she kept calling me a freak and saying things about my parents."
"You did an engorgement spell on a fully grown human without a wand?" Snape repeated. "Did anyone else know about this?"
Harry looked at Dumbledore. The blue eyes were watching him intently, but he could have sworn there was slight twinkle there as well. He shrugged. "Professor Dumbledore knew, of course. And Minister Fudge. I thought I was going to get expelled that time. But I got into worse trouble when I was in grammar school and I accidentally turned my teacher's wig blue. My Aunt and Uncle were really annoyed about that. Of course," he added, "I didn't know I was doing magic then, when I was little." Something turned over in his stomach. "What did I do just now, then," he asked.
"You don't know?" Snape asked. Harry shook his head and Dumbledore said sharply,
"What are you saying, Severus?" Snape unfolded his arms, and Harry could see that there were holes in the sleeves of his robes where he had been clutching at them and there was the faint smell of singed cloth and flesh.
"You appear to be able to do a Stinging or Burning Hex of some kind without any wand," Snape said. Harry felt quite sick. Dumbledore reached over and pushed up Snape's sleeves. There were burn marks in the shape of a hand on the right one. They were starting to blister just a bit. On the left, there was another burn mark, a worse one. This one was blistered and an area in the center looked almost bloody. Snape was looking at his arms in horror, as if it had sunk in that he was hurt. Dumbledore looked at Harry with grave interest.
"You were shouting, "Stop it," at the end there. Were you actually trying to stop Voldemort at that point?"
Harry swallowed down the sickness and said, "I don't know. I just wanted it to stop. The pain. I wanted him to go away. I was trying to push him out, maybe. I'm not sure. I wasn't really thinking at all. It hurt too much."
He looked at Snape and said, "I...I'm sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to harm you."
Snape was very pale. "But you have, you know, even if it wasn't intended. You've just set my death sentence. And no doubt, you'll think it only just."
"What?!" Harry asked. "What do you mean?"
"The Dark Mark," Snape said. "It's gone. You burned it off."
"That's how you knew to go to the meetings, when Voldemort summoned you," Harry said. He understood. The next time Voldemort called, Snape would not know about it. He would not arrive and Voldemort would know Snape had left him. And he would kill him.
"So," Harry said to them, "you've lost you spy inside Voldemort's Inner Circle."
"That's right, Potter," Snape answered. "All our work, all my work, is ruined now." Harry just sat there. He felt numb, miserable. The remembrance of Voldemort summoning the Death Eaters surfaced.
"You may be better off this way," Harry said slowly.
"Better off about to be dead?" Snape said. "Do try to explain that, Potter, why don't you?"
"I think Voldemort knows you weren't loyal to him anyway," Harry said.
"What makes you say that," Dumbledore asked. "Is this something you feel from the past several intrusions? Or something else?"
"When I was in the graveyard, when Voldemort was rebirthed, I saw him summon the Death Eaters, okay?" He paused, because the memory in its fullness was sickening. "He...the moment he was back, he made Wormtail show his arm, and Wormtail thought Voldemort was going to fix him, because Wormtail cut off his hand...his right hand as part of the spell. But Voldemort didn't care about that. He took his left arm and pressed it, the Dark Mark, and then all of the Death Eaters came back, except for six of them."
"That's quite gruesome, Potter, but I fail to see what it has to do with anything," Snape said. His face was not simply pallid. It was utterly devoid of color, as if he'd had all the blood drained out of him already.
"You weren't there, were you," Harry said. "You couldn't have been, because you were outside the maze, in full sight of everyone, patrolling the perimeter while the third task was on. You couldn't have disapparated from Hogwarts grounds and apparated back. And even if you could have, there wasn't time for you to have done it and be back in time to help Dumbledore with taking down Moody or Barty Crouch actually. You weren't one of them when all the rest happened."
"So?" Snape said, but Dumbledore raised his hand and said, "Please continue, Harry."
"Right," Harry said. He drew a breath to steady himself and said, "There were six missing, and Voldemort named some of them. Three, he said, were in Azkabakan and were among his most loyal servants. That was the Lestranges. Bellatrix and her husband, and the brother. Another was here at Hogwarts, his most loyal servant, that was Barty Crouch, Jr. One, he said was too cowardly to return, and he would be killed. That, I think, was Karkaroff. And the last, he said, was no longer his and would never return, or something like that. And that one, he said, would be killed, too. The sixth one had to have been you, Professor Snape. You were the only other one not there and not accounted for in some other way. You see what that means, don't you?" If Snape had been pale before, he was beyoond that now.
"You're saying that the Dark Lord has known, all this time...has believed, all this time, that I..."
"Yeah," Harry said, "I think he knows that you went back to him, but you're really not his anymore. He knows you're there working for Professor Dumbledore. And maybe everything he's let you in on has been stuff he didn't care about Professor Dumbledore knowing. Or stuff that he wanted Professor Dumbledore to believe but wasn't necessarily true. He was using you, until you were no longer useful," Harry said.
The silence at the end of this was palpable. A tension, an anxiety so great one could practically touch it.
"So," Harry said, "You're probably better off not going back. Because sooner or later he would have decided you were no use to him anymore."
"That was a risk I was willing to take, Potter," Snape said. "But this has moved things forward. Even if he didn't trust me altogether, he always let slip more than he meant to. And now we don't have that do we." His black eyes glittered and he continued, "Unless I tell him that you attacked me. I could blame it on you, couldn't I?" Snape said. "It's quite well known among them all, our mutual ... dislike. That shifty, ratty little Wormtail made sure everyone knew how much I hated your father and you. And of course, little Draco and his friends tattle about everything to their Daddies. Every time I mark you down or give you detention, it goes straight back to them all, and eventually to HIM. I think he quite enjoys it, our little war, and that I naturally get the better of you most often, being the teacher."
"That's disgusting!" Harry said. He added angrily, "but at least if you stop going, he can't just up and kill you one day. He'd have to get at you here, inside Hogwarts. And this is the last place he'll come. Because he's still scared of Professor Dumbledore. He knows he can't beat Professor Dumbledore, so you'd be the last one on his list, at this point, if you stayed here and didn't return."
"But we wouldn't have an inside source anymore, would we?" Snape replied.
Dumbledore looked at Snape and said, "This is your choice now, Severus. I will not ask you to do this a third time. This changes things. The risk is too great."
"No risk is too great," Snape said. "It's a matter of making the risk be a calculated one, and foreseeing the pitfalls before they arise."
"Why does anyone have to risk anything," Harry asked, "when we can get all the information we want entirley risk free?"
"Oh, come, Potter," Snape said, "what other way is there?"
"It's quite simple," Harry said. "I am linked to Voldemort. If I try to see through the link deliberately as he did last year, don't you think I can get as much information as anybody? And I don't have to leave Hogwarts to do it. And if he figures it out, then he'll just try to block me out. But you know what, I don't think he can be a hundred percent successful at blocking me out, anymore than I can be with him."
"No!" Dumbledore said, and Snape said, "You are mad. The Dark Lord will do exactly what we have been so desperately tying to prevent if you seek his mind out in that way. He will possess you, and make you his tool destroy this place and the wizard world entirely." Harry looked at Snape and Dumbledore. Clearly, neither one liked the idea. But at least it made him useful.
"It would be less risky," Harry, insisted, "than if you go back to Voldemort, Professor Snape. Sir."
"No," Dumbledore repeated. "You will not do this. You will continue with Occlumency lessons and you will work until you are able to block him out completely. Professor Snape has not understated the dangers of your proposal." Dumbledore stared at him. His blue eyes were full of some anxiety Harry could not name. "It is a brave thing, you propose, but it must not be. Even I," Dumbledore added, "would not be willing to hazard my mind, my sanity, on such a thing. Do not underestimate Voldemort's powers. He has sunk himself so far into the use of the dark arts, that he is barely human any more."
Harry looked at his hands, at the sky out of the window of Dumbledore's office, at the whirring silver instruments, some of which he had broken last year, but appeared to have been repaired. Anywhere but at the grave face and worried eyes of the Headmaster. Finally, he looked back up and said, in as level a voice as he could, "I would like to be of some use, before he kills me altogether. He will try again. We all know that. And we all know that I have about as much chance of defeating him as house-elves have of being freed and given equal rights with wizards."
Snape snorted softly at that. And oddly, it was he who answered, not Dumbledore. "What strange arrogance is it, Potter, that makes you think you are the only one who has the burden to risk youreslf and save the world? You are a sixteen-year-old boy. You are still little more than a child. And you think, still, with your heart and your emotions, and not with your brain, like a child. Fighting the Dark Lord is a man's work. Re-apply when you are a man."
"That's very nice, Professor," Harry said, "but I don't think Voldemort cares a bit how old I am. He will kill me just the same, whether I am a child or a man. And so I've got to fight back like a man. Harry rolled of the couch they had laid him on, and stood up. His head spun again, and he had to close his eyes to steady himself.
Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "I will tell you once more. You must not open your mind to Voldemort. And if you wish to be treated as a man, you must behave like one. I am giving this order to you, as the head of the Order of the Phoenix. Your cooperation is not just about your own safety, now. Other lives may be lost, if you do not listen." Dumbledore caught his eyes and stared at him. "Do you understand me? I am relying on you, Harry. I trust you, to help us. I want your word that you will not pursue this dangerous course."
Harry nodded. "Very well, sir," he whispered, "but what if...what if Voldemort breaks through again? I don't know..." He bit his lip. Snape was staring at him, and he couldn't bear to have the bitter Potions Master hear his fears.
"We will meet that occasion if it arises. Until then, continue your lessons, and prepare as best as you can if the eventuality should arise." Dumbledore looked then, as old and tired as he ever looked before. And Harry thought, he looks that way because he knows it will.
He felt weighted down himself. As if he were walking through a different stream of gravity than every one else. Merely breathing was a chore. The thought of climbing all the steps required to get to the common room seemed like a feat beyond his ability.
He started to open the door to leave, but at the same moment, another hand was knocking on the door, and Hagrid's voice was calling, "Perfessor Dumbledore?" Harry opened the door and let Hagrid in. Hagrid started to say whatever it was he had come for, but stopped as he took in Harry's presence there in the office along with Snape's.
"What's goin' on here?" Hagrid said. "Is he makin' up complaints abou' Harry again?"
"And if I were complaining about Potter," Snape said silkily, "what business would it be of yours?"
"It's my business," Hagrid said, "because I'm his friend. And seein' as how he's alone now, with even his guardian dead, someone's gotta stick up fer him. Especially when you come in here workin' yer old grudge."
"It's not what you think, Hagrid," Harry said. "I was here because of my Occlumency lessons. Professor Snape's been teaching me."
"Has he now?" Hagrid said. "Or has he been doin' his best to make you more vulnerable to You Know Who?" Harry stared at Hagrid.
"Hagrid! You've always told me to respect Professor Snape! What are you saying?" He was really aghast. All he needed now was to add fuel to Snape's grudge against him, by letting him think he had been complaining about Snape to Hagrid and everyone in the Castle. Which he had been, but having Hagrid voice that was another matter.
"It's quite true, Hagrid," Dumbledore said mildly. "Professor Snape had been giving Harry a lesson and he wanted my assistance." But Hagrid was not so easily put off.
"It looks to me like he's bin giving Harry the wrong kind of lesson. He's lookin' sick and poorly as I've ever seen 'im. You bin pressin' him too hard. Even you, Professor Dumbledore, an' I mean no disrespect when I say that." Hagrid laid his hands on Harry's shoulders. Not heavily, as he did sometimes when he was agitated, but lightly, carefully, as if Harry were quite fragile and might break. "You know, Perfessor," Hagrid said, "everyone has his breakin' point. And kids are more easily hurt than adults. Yeh can' treat them the same, 'cause they can' stand the same pressures. And yeh bin puttin' Harry under all this pressure, too much, since las' year, an' even before that. 'S no wonder he got sick," Hagrid said. "'S 'cause he's starvin' for rest and gentle care, an' he's not gettin' it from anyone. Not his horrid Muggle relatives, and not from Snape, tha's fer sure. Yeh've let him hang out there on his own. Yeh let that Umbridge woman get away with murder. Yeh shouldn' never have let her in here, no matter what the Ministry said."
"You are presuming to give the Headmaster advice on how to run this school?" Snape said. "If you ever once thought with your head, Hagrid, you might be of some use to him."
"Sometimes, Professor Snape, it's the heart that counts." Hagrid said. "An' you don' know that, because yer heart is so stunted from lack o' love that yeh wouldn' recognize it if it hit yeh in the face. Any animal can heal from a simple physical injury. But injuries to the sprirt an' the heart, they sometimes never heal. An' I see it, Professor Snape, what yer doin' to Harry, is yer pourin' oil on the fire. Yeh've gone an' added to the damage, an' yeh won' let him rest an' heal before yeh want to press him some more."
Hagrid turned to Dumbledore and said, "Yeh gotta give him some rest, Perfessor. I can see it, even if yeh can'. He's like a ghost walkin', an' yeh'll kill him with all your kind intentions if yeh don' give him a break. 'Cause, see, he'll never say no to yeh, it's not in his nature."
Harry stirred and started to say something. He saw that Snape had gone pale again, and he wondered if it was anger or something else. But it was Dumbledore's face that caught him most. The weariness he had seen before had increased a thousand-fold, so that Harry thought, it's him that will break from the strain. He's so old, and he's carrying it all, the whole world, and he's afraid.
"Sometimes," Dumbledore said, "it's true, that we get caught up in our plans and our fears, and we let the seeming complexity of things deceive us into thinking that the answers must also be complex, when often they are as simple and straightforward as the heart will tell us. If we will only listen." His gaze rested lightly on Harry before moving to Snape and then to Hagrid.
"You're right, Rubeus. Harry does need rest. But Professor Snape is also right. Harry needs these lessons." He held up a hand when Hagrid would have interrupted. "The lessons will help prevent more damage to Harry's spirit, Hagrid. In the long run, they may be the difference between life and death for him. But I think no harm will come if he has a break from them until after the holidays are over." Harry relaxed and felt relief surge through him. Three whole weeks without Occlumency lessons, three whole weeks without Snape's bitterness, Three whole weeks, to turn his mind into a fortress, so that no one, especially not Snape, would ever get inside it again.
Professor Dumbledore added with only the tiniest expression of amusement, "I think that Professor Snape is in need of a rest as much as Harry is. And as you know, Hagrid, the young recover their health and spirits far faster than we adults do." As relieved as he was to be spared the lessons for a while, Harry wasn't letting that go as the last word.
"I am not a child any more," he said. "And I am not delicate, and whatever you ask me to do, Professor Dumbledore, I will do." He stepped out of Hagrid's sheltering hands and said softly as he went, "Thanks, Hagrid. Nobody's a better friend than you."
It came to him later, that he did not know if Snape was going back to Voldemort. He thought that Hagrid would have some strong words to say about that, too, if he knew.
