CHAPTER TEN.
Ron stormed into the Great Hall on Tuesday, throwing himself down besides Harry and Hermione, who were eating lunch and discussing their Transfiguration project, which was still undecided.
“You won’t bloody believe what’s happened,” he snapped, in a towering temper. Harry and Hermione glanced at each other worriedly, and Hermione began to dish out some lunch for their friend, taking a second helping of sandwiches for herself at the same time. Harry was pleased to see her eating normally again, and noted in admiration the height to which she was filling Ron’s plate.
“Eat this,” said Hermione consolingly, popping the plate in front of him. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“Yeah, you look terrible,” said Harry without thinking, and both Ron and Hermione glared at him. “Er… I mean you look upset. What’s wrong? Is it Dean?”
“Oh, no,” said Hermione despairingly. “You haven’t had another falling out, have you?”
“What? No, it isn’t,” said Ron grumpily. He pushed the plate of food away. “Stop fussing, Hermione! Lunch isn’t going to fix this!” He glared at them both. “This is all your fault!” he said accusingly.
Harry winced, and saw Hermione pale. “What’ve we done?” he demanded, hoping that Ron hadn’t somehow found out about the true nature of Hermione’s extra lessons. She had proved to be a little wary of telling Ron about them, pleading that Professor McGonagall had instructed them both to keep their extra tuition secret from the other students. Harry had argued that ‘secret’ didn’t mean Ron, who Professor McGonagall would no doubt expect them to tell anyway, but Hermione had been firm. Secretly, Harry felt a sneaking tinge of relief. Ron had been making a brave attempt to hide any jealousy he felt, and had spent the previous night doing his best to cheer up Neville with ridiculous impressions of Snape, but Hermione was obviously unwilling to push their luck, and Harry had regretfully agreed with her.
“You left me alone to take Astronomy, that’s what!” chuntered Ron, his ears the colour of his hair.
“Is that all?” scoffed Hermione, and there was a note of relief in her voice. “Well I’m sorry, Ron, but we can’t alter our timetables just to suit you. Besides,” she added hastily, seeing Ron’s expression darken still further, “it can’t be that bad. There must be other Gryffindors in there with you.”
“Well, yeah,” admitted Ron, absently pulling his plate back towards him and spearing a boiled potato. “Parvati and Lavender. But you know what they’re like.” He chewed miserably. “Always working together. They’ve partnered for the project, and do you know who that’s left me with?” Ron’s voice rose in protest. “Malfoy! Malfoy! How can this happen?”
Harry stared at him blankly. “You actually chose to do a project with Malfoy? Are you insane?”
Ron glared at him. “Don’t be so bloody stupid. We were told to get into pairs for the project “ we’ve all been assigned different lots of stars to map, dunno what for “ and everyone else got a partner before I had a chance to find someone. Except Malfoy. Even the Slytherins didn’t want to go with him.”
“Really?” said Hermione sharply.
“It seems there’s some loss of face in being seen with a Malfoy lately,” said Harry simply, filling her in on what he and Ron had seen in their Care of Magical Creatures lesson.
“I said I didn’t mind working on my own, but the Professor made us team up,” said Ron bitterly. “And now I have to spend every Wednesday night on the Astronomy Tower with that git.” He sprayed potato dolefully over the table.
Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust, but didn’t comment on it. Instead she said “If what Harry says is true, this might be a good opportunity for you, Ron.”
Both Ron and Harry looked at her in sheer disbelief.
“Well, think about it,” she said impatiently. “If something’s going on in Slytherin House, it would be helpful to know exactly what it is.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, catching on. He turned to Ron, who was still looking morose. “Look, mate. Just think of it as an assignment. Like you were a spy or something, trying to find out information from the enemy.”
“Slytherin House is not the enemy, Harry,” Hermione reminded him sharply, but both boys ignored her. Ron began to look a bit brighter.
“It might help to know what they’re up to,” he said, stabbing at a Cornish pasty with renewed interest.
“It certainly would,” said Harry fervently.
After lunch they had their first lesson in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and no-one was surprised when Lupin launched almost immediately into teaching the students how to summon a Patronus. Harry had no doubt that with the Dementors on the loose, knowledge of the spell was at a premium in the wizarding world.
Lupin instructed them to get into pairs, and informed them that they would be working in the same pair for the rest of the year, both in class sizes and in their extra project. Harry saw Ron scowl at Malfoy, who was over on the other side of the room, and move quickly towards him. Harry felt awkward. He didn’t want to disappoint Ron, but after the summer she had had he didn’t want to see Hermione partnered with anyone other than the two of them. He could see Neville moving towards them, and felt a little better, but before he could suggest anything “ indeed, he wasn’t quite sure he knew exactly what he was going to suggest, and Ron was giving him a rather hard glance - Lupin moved over towards them. Harry had the distinct impression that he had been waiting for something like this to happen.
“Good afternoon,” Lupin said pleasantly to the four of them, as the rest of the class bustled around behind them. “I believe I heard Mr. Finnegan telling someone that you tried to teach this in the DA last year, Harry.”
“Yes, Professor,” said Harry. “Only a few people got it, though.”
“That’s not surprising,” said Lupin. “It is very difficult, after all.” He turned to Ron, Hermione, and Neville. “Did any of you three manage it?” he asked casually. Hermione raised her hand shyly.
“Mine was an otter,” she said.
“Marvellous,” said Lupin briskly. “If you would just pair with Harry then, Hermione; and you, Neville, can go with Ron.” He raised his voice, addressing the rest of the class. “If you would just make sure that your partner is at about the same skill level as yourself, please. Anyone who can already produce a Patronus please make your way up the front.” A few pairs of students that Harry recognised from the DA made their way over towards them. Lupin turned to them.
“As I’m sure Harry will tell you, there’s a world of difference in summoning a Patronus as a class exercise and summoning one against a Dementor “ even a Boggart Dementor,” he said, with a smile. “Harry, in the next classroom I have a Boggart shut up in the old bureau. I want you to take the students who can already summon a Patronus and lead them in a practice against the Boggart.” Harry nodded, seeing the sudden paling of the faces around him, with the exception of Hermione, who simply looked excited, if a little nervous. He couldn’t help but admire Lupin’s phrasing: a Boggart would appear as whatever the person closest to it feared most, and by telling the students it would appear as a Dementor, Lupin had put that fear in the front of their minds, ready to take shape. As Harry led his little band next door, he waved apologetically to Ron, who was looking wistfully and resignedly after them as the advanced group left the classroom.
As Harry left himself, after being laden with chocolate by the Professor, he heard Lupin say, “Repeat after me, all of you: Expecto Patronum!” There was a dull echo as he shut the door.
Harry’s pleasure at the success of his Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson (all but one of his five pairs had managed to defeat the Boggart Dementor, with Hermione, predictably, succeeding before anyone else, far quicker than Harry remembered even himself achieving, which made him eye her curiously) evaporated quickly when he realised that after dinner, he was expected in the dungeon for an Occlumency lesson with Professor Snape.
“Just do your best, mate,” said Ron sympathetically. He had been rather quiet since the Defence lesson, but Harry’s long expression had jolted him out of it somewhat.
“Please try and keep your temper, Harry,” entreated Hermione. With matching expressions of worry, both she and Ron had watched him slink out of the Great Hall, dragging his footsteps. Harry had never enjoyed the Occlumency lessons, but he was particularly dreading them this term. The nagging tickle at the back of his mind, the thing he didn’t want to investigate, was something he was sure Snape would want to drag out and harangue him with. Trying not to look too carefully, he tried to forget about it, bundling it into the very back of his mind. There would be plenty of other things for Snape to pick through before he got to that, and Harry was determined to find a way to hide it from Snape. And from himself.
He was under no illusions, however, about the necessity of him learning Occlumency; both as a means of keeping Voldemort out of his mind, and as a condition of keeping on in Potions. Harry was determined to do whatever he could to master it, even if it meant being civil to Snape, when after the events of the last term he would have liked nothing better than to hex the Potions Master into oblivion.
It wasn’t a feeling that subsided as he stood in the dungeon, listening to Snape lecture him. Harry tried desperately to remember how vital it was that he paid attention.
“I trust you understand, Potter,” said Snape, “that I am not inclined to waste my valuable time trying to drum the disciplines of Occlumency into your rather dull brain without a considerable effort on your part.”
Harry stayed silent. It seemed the safest thing to do, but inwardly he seethed. Did Snape think he wanted Voldemort poking around in his brain?
The Potions Master continued. “I expect you to inform me immediately should you feel the presence of the Dark Lord. Knowing the patterns and occurrences of your link to him might enable you to better protect yourself. Do you understand me?” He peered at Harry menacingly.
“Yes, sir,” said Harry reluctantly. He was loathe to go to Snape any more than necessary, but he understood that if he were to have any chance of combating Voldemort, he would have to take every chance he could get.
Snape continued to glare at him. “Well?” he snapped eventually, when it was clear that nothing more was forthcoming from Harry.
“Well what?” said Harry, confused.
“Have you, at any time since you left Hogwarts at the end of last term, had any… connection about which I might be interested?” Snape spelled out witheringly, pacing in front of the fireplace in what seemed like absolute disgust.
“No,” said Harry. “That is, my scar prickles a lot,” he added reluctantly, “but I’m used to that. But I haven’t felt Voldemort at all since then.”
Snape stopped abruptly, winced, and turned to peer at him closely. “Not once?” he questioned intently.
“No,” said Harry in irritation.
“Are you sure?” pressed Snape.
“Of course I’m sure,” Harry snapped back. “It’s not exactly something I can forget about.”
Snape stared at him as if he was something to be scraped off the bottom of a cauldron, and Harry felt terribly uncomfortable under the unflinching gaze of the Potions master.
“Has it not occurred to you, Potter,” Snape said bitterly, biting off each word, “that the fact that no such connection has taken place might have been important? Did it not for one minute cross your feeble excuse for a brain the unusual nature of such a lapse? Are you such a dimwit that…” he peered even closer at Harry’s face, which had darkened with anger. “No,” Snape continued silkily, “it obviously has not.” He sat in his armchair, his robe settling around him like a cloud. He steepled his fingers together and his gaze appeared to lose focus, as if he was staring at something far away that no-one else could see.
Harry shifted uncomfortably, feeling rebellious. He didn’t understand what he was supposed to have realised, but the quietly reflective expression on Snape’s face unnerved him more than the usual sarcasm. He at least was used to that, but this sudden stillness, like a predator that was about to spring, caught him off guard. When Snape spoke, his tone was unusually mild.
“You haven’t been practising Occlumency this summer, have you, Potter?”
“No,” said Harry honestly. He felt even more nervous. The fact that Snape merely waved aside his confession rather than exploding into rage at the wastefulness of his summer break made him want to inch slowly towards the door and make a run for it.
“And yet…” Snape continued reflectively, “And yet… you were able to block any intrusion into your mind.” He trailed off, and Harry felt curiosity overcome his wariness.
“But we don’t know that Voldemort was even trying to… to…” Mess with your head? he could almost hear Ron finish. “Do we?” he added hesitantly.
Snape’s head swivelled towards him and pinned him with a glare that signalled any latent approachability was over. “That has never seemed to be necessary,” he pointed out. “In the past, intent on the part of the Dark Lord has been less often a factor than not. It is strong emotion that seems to be the trigger, yes?”
Harry nodded, remembering the strong feelings of rage or happiness he had often felt surging from Voldemort’s mind. The recollection struck a chord in him, as if a realisation was somehow struggling to force its way to the surface of his mind.
“In fact, your frequent histrionics could lead one to believe you suffer excruciating pain every time the Dark Lord so much as stubs his toe,” continued Snape nastily. Harry felt his face go hot, and he was about to protest loudly when Snape cut him off.
“So why is it that the events of this summer triggered no warning or connection in your mind?” Snape wondered aloud, a grim smirk on his face as he looked at Harry.
Harry felt as if someone had just dashed a glass of water in his face. Of course! Voldemort must have been thrilled at the murderous success his Death Eaters had had with the Grangers, a success that had been orchestrated with Harry in mind. In the past, Harry had always known, both through strange visions and an agonising pain in his scar, whenever Voldemort had felt powerful emotions. His glee at the death of the Grangers should have triggered a response in Harry, who seemed to be becoming more and more attuned to Voldemort’s moods as time passed. Moreover, Voldemort would have wanted Harry to learn of it; would have taken no precautions to shield his savage joy. So why had he, Harry, not felt anything?
“Ah,” said Snape quietly, dangerously. “He comes to it at last; what any fool would have realised the instant that he had heard of the murders.”
Harry glared at him, but was unable to fashion a retort. A chill swept through him, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He should have felt something, should have realised sooner that not feeling anything was a warning sign in itself. But a warning sign of what?
“I… I don’t understand,” he stuttered, and was too discomforted even to mind Snape snorting rudely at him.
“That much is obvious,” said the Potions Master with disdain. “It is logical to assume that your mental connection to the emotions of the Dark Lord would have continued if something hadn’t interrupted it. It is no great stretch to assume that the blockage must have eventuated in you. Clearly it is not a result of directed talent on your part, as you have practised Occlumency with the same diligence as young Mr. Weasley has practised Potions.” Slowly, Snape leaned forward in his chair, and Harry felt again the urge to flee. There was something very nasty in the eyes of his teacher.
“It is possible, however,” Snape drawled, “that you have managed to construct some kind of barrier while being wholly unaware of doing so. In effect, you may have accidentally blocked off your mind to any outside influences, but doing so takes an extraordinary amount of focus.” A thin smile appeared on his face. “Have you by any chance been concentrating on any one subject particularly hard over the summer, Potter? Your godfather, perhaps?”
“Leave him out of it,” snapped Harry suddenly, angrily. “Don’t even mention his name!”
“Who? Sirius?” said Snape, feigning a rather horrid amazement.
“Shut up!” But Harry couldn’t help but remember that all the times he had felt a connection to Voldemort, all the times that he had seemed to tap into his emotions, to the events surrounding him, his mind had been somehow open, not entirely focussed. He had woken from sleep, or been daydreaming… even the History of Magic exam had not seen him focussed to the extent he had been over the summer, brooding over Sirius and his own role in the death of his godfather.
“Fascinating, isn’t it?” said Snape silkily, seeing the expressions run over Harry’s face. “Not practising Occlumency “ as you were told to do on numerous occasions, both by the Headmaster and myself “ lead to Sirius’ death, inadvertently providing you with a better mental defence than any we could provide…”
“Shut up,” said Harry again, but his voice was weak and shaking.
“It would seem,” said Snape calmly, a triumphant twinge in his voice, “that dwelling on your feelings of overwhelming grief and guilt allowed you to block any other emotion “ either yours or the Dark Lord’s. My, such focus. If you only attempted such in your classes, Mr. Potter…”
“Shut up,” said Harry finally, his voice cracking and barely audible. He was shaking and had an overwhelming urge to vomit. He backed towards the door blindly, wanting nothing more than to get out of the dungeon.
“If you wish,” said Snape unctuously. “But remember, Potter, that you are required back here on Friday, to resume your lessons. I will excuse you early tonight, as you look quite unwell.” He smirked. “Of course, it is bound to upset you. Sirius wasn’t much of a parental figure, I understand, but nonetheless, getting him killed must cause you some upset. I wasn’t fortunate enough to be there myself, of course, but I do hope it was quick.” He gleamed at Harry maliciously. “Still, there wasn’t much of a life for him to lose at the end, was there?”
Harry stumbled blindly out of the door, retching loudly. “You certainly don’t seem to enjoy my Occlumency classes,” Snape called after him. “However, it appears there may not be much need for you to take them further…” he added quietly. Moving to the door, Snape watched his most troublesome student stagger away along the corridor, and absently waved his wand at the pile of sick outside his office, causing it to vanish. His expression was carefully blank, and he stood there some time.