Chapter Eleven.
“You’ve lost you mind,” said Ron in disbelief. “Tell her, Harry!”
“Well, I…” Harry sputtered. Hermione stared at him beadily. “I don’t really understand it either,” he said, trying for tact. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?”
“You’re going to be miserable for the rest of the year,” Ron prophesised gloomily. “It was bad enough that I had to be paired with a Slytherin, but at least I didn’t walk into it.”
The three of them were sitting before the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. It was Wednesday evening, just after dinner, and Ron was still munching on an enormous slice of fruit cake that he had taken from the Great Hall as dinner was ending. They had spent most of the afternoon in Charms, their first class of the year in that subject. Predictably, Flitwick had lectured them on their responsibility not to slacken off after the efforts of the OWL year. Harry was beginning to think that it was a lecture that he could now repeat by heart, having heard it in just about every class he had had so far. He had pretended to pay attention, and taken the opportunity to study the rest of the class. It was also a mixture, and rather large. Charms was one of the more popular classes at Hogwarts, and every House was well represented in it, although Harry noted that they had tended to congregate into their four separate groups.
It had surprised him to see that Hermione was also studying the other students, instead of focussing entirely upon their teacher, as she usually did. She had a determined look upon her face, and Harry felt his heart sink within him. It was the kind of look she got when preaching about SPEW, or lately, the treatment “ or mistreatment, as Hermione would put it “ of goblins and other non-human magical creatures as well. It didn’t bode well for the lesson, even though Harry couldn’t see any object of her crusade present. From the look of her, she’d find a way to work it in. He cringed inwardly, and then reconsidered. At least her attention had been taken off him for a while. Since his lesson with Snape the previous evening, Harry had been alternately moody and silent. Both Ron and Hermione had noticed the change in him as soon as they had seen him, but no amount of coaxing “ or even Ron’s flat out demand “ had made him tell them what had occurred.
Eventually they had given up, or at least moved onto other subjects, while still shooting him worried glances that were more annoying than reassuring. Harry was grateful for their lessons, as it gave him an excuse not to pay any attention to them, although he could tell that Ron, in particular, wasn’t buying his newfound scholarship. He just didn’t want to talk about it “ it was enough that he had lain awake the previous night, hearing the words of his Potions Master echo again and again throughout his head. He had even tried concentrating on his scar, willing it to burst into pain “ anything to enable him to discount Snape’s theory. He had gotten up at dawn, groggy and resigned, hoping for an easy day.
His Charms lesson had bought a new set of difficulties. Hermione might have been momentarily concentrated on something else, but he was very aware of both her and Ron. Harry knew that Flitwick was also likely to get them sorted into pairs, and he was torn as to which of his friends to work with. Realistically, he knew he’d be better off with Hermione “ at least then he’d be forced to get things done. And if Harry was honest with himself, he wasn’t happy about the idea of letting her out of his sight after the events of the summer. He knew there was something she wasn’t telling him, and there was something in her manner that he felt was related, something new, and it worried him.
But Harry could also feel Ron shooting him assessing glances. Ron, who was supposed to be his best friend, who Harry knew was already feeling left out. He had seen as much in their Defence classes. Harry could see that Ron was really making an effort to get past the jealousy that he often felt, and Harry didn’t want to make it any harder on him by rubbing his nose in it.
In the end, Hermione had made the decision for him. Almost the exact second that Flitwick had told them to arrange themselves into pairs; she had stood up, ignoring Harry and Ron, and marched deliberately over to the corner of the room where the Slytherins were gathered. Harry felt himself gape, and could see out of the corners of his eyes a matching expression on nearly every face in the room, which had gone almost completely silent. Every pair of eyes, it seemed, was fixed upon Hermione.
She had stopped in front of a familiar-looking Slytherin that Harry identified as Blaise Zabini. He briefly recalled that Zabini had been given the new Prefect position after it had been taken away from Malfoy.
“Hello, Blaise,” said Hermione in a calm, friendly voice. “Would you like to work as my Charms partner this year?”
Next to Harry, Ron dropped his wand in amazement. The entire class seemed to gasp together in astonishment.
Zabini was looking up at Hermione sarcastically. “Why would I want to do that, Granger?” From behind him, somewhere in the midst of the Slytherin group, there was a quiet hiss. “Mudblood!” Harry tensed in anger, and from the corner of his eye he saw Ron start turning a dangerous-looking red. Zabini, he noticed, merely glanced behind him towards where the hiss came from, and made no comment on it. Instead, he returned his gaze to Hermione.
“I think as Prefects we should set a good example, don’t you?” said Hermione, a trifle shakily, her face pink. “But of course if you don’t want to work with the smartest witch in the year, it’s no skin off my nose,” she added coolly, turning to go back to her seat.
“Wait!” said Zabini suddenly, reluctantly. “I didn’t say that.” Slowly, suspicion still plain on his face, he shifted along the form to make a space next to him at the end of the bench. Determinedly calm, Hermione returned to her desk, collected her school-things and moved to sit beside Zabini, amongst the Slytherins. Harry noticed that she didn’t look him or Ron in the face the entire time. There was a moment of silence, and then the entire class started to whisper to each in excited tones.
“Blimey,” Ron breathed.
“Don’t make such a fuss,” Hermione had said to them loftily at the end of the class, as they were filing out of the classroom. She said it again at dinner, and again in front of the fire in the Common Room, where people were still giving her strange looks.
“Don’t make such a fuss, Ronald.”
Ron looked as if he was going to snap at her for a minute, before taking a deep breath. Harry could see him barely restrain the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not making a fuss,” he said, in a harassed tone. “I just don’t understand why you did it.”
“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Hermione. “The two of you know as well as I do that inter-House rivalry is a bad thing. Look at Quidditch, and all the bad feelings that causes.”
Harry and Ron carefully avoided looking at each other. She might have been their best friend, but Hermione had some decidedly funny ideas about their favourite sport.
“Besides,” continued Hermione, “you’ve heard the Sorting Hat. The school has to stand together, now more than ever.”
“Alright,” argued Ron. “I get that you think that. But why not choose a Hufflepuff, or a Ravenclaw?”
“I already have,” said Hermione calmly. “I’m partnered with Susan Bones for Ancient Runes and History of Magic, and Padma Patil from Ravenclaw is working with me in Arithmancy.”
“But Slytherin,” said Ron again, clearly revolted. “Tell her, Harry!”
“Harry’s not going to tell me anything of the sort,” snapped Hermione. “Are you?”
Harry crouched down further inside himself and stared into the fire. “Don’t go dragging me into this,” he grumbled. Their bickering, combined with his lack of sleep from the night before, was beginning to give him a headache.
“Fine,” said Ron, whose ears were beginning to redden. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
“I don’t need warning,” said Hermione wearily. “I know exactly what I’m doing. It’s all very well, Ron, for you to say ‘don’t get involved with the Slytherins’ but you know perfectly well that it’s not just me. No-one from the rest of the other Houses likes them, and it’s not fair. They can’t help what House they were sorted into.”
“Bollocks,” said Ron, his voice getting louder. “They’re all terrible, you know they are. You didn’t pick Zabini because you thought you could get through to him. You picked him because the only other Prefect was Millicent Bulstrode.”
“I’m not doing anything with Bulstrode,” interrupted Hermione shrilly, obviously without thinking.
“Yeah,” said Ron, chuckling. “No surprise there. Didn’t she have you in a headlock at the end of last term?”
Hermione shot him a very dirty look. “I’m not denying that some of them are awful. But they can’t all be that bad. And if I don’t start to work with them, who will? You? Harry?”
“Forget it,” said Harry flatly. He was only half-listening, but he thought it was better to bang that idea on the head before Hermione started to run away with it.
“And I’m already stuck with Malfoy,” pointed out Ron. “I’m doing my bit for inter-House cooperation, if that’s what you want to call it. Don’t think it will do any good though.”
“It won’t with that attitude,” said Hermione briskly.
“What do you want from me?” asked Ron, in obvious puzzlement. “You want me to say that I like him? That I want to work with him? Because I don’t. Even if I pretended to, Malfoy’s not stupid enough to fall for it.”
Hermione patted him on the arm. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap. You don’t have to like him. I don’t much myself.”
“You don’t have to work with him either,” said Ron, working himself up. “I’ve got to start tonight, you know. In a couple of hours!” He scowled horribly, and then suddenly brightened up. “Hey! D’you reckon if I pushed him off the Astronomy Tower-”
“No!” Hermione interrupted with great firmness.
“I’d do it when no-one was looking,” Ron offered. “It’s not like anyone’d miss him.”
“They might,” said Hermione, but her mouth twitched as she said it. “Look, I don’t know. But you’re stuck with him for the rest of the year so you might as well try and make the most of it. You don’t have to like him. Just… just be civil, alright?”
“Civil, she says,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. “How long are you going to be civil about Zabini, then? I’ve got a box of Chocolate Frogs that says you’re screaming at him by the end of the month.”
“I don’t scream at anyone,” said Hermione confidently. Ron snorted, and she glared at him. “I don’t,” she said again, her voice rising. “Do I, Harry?”
Harry’s head throbbed. “I think I’m going to go for a walk,” he said abruptly, and made for the portrait hole before either of them could try and stop him.
Harry made his way aimlessly through the corridors. He felt bad about worrying his friends, but he didn’t think that he could take another evening of listening to Ron and Hermione bicker. Strangely, the cosy atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room was making him feel worse, as if he was dragging the poison of Snape’s words into a place where he had always felt at home, tainting it. And yet ghosting through the halls on his own was making him feel still more lonely and miserable.
Eventually, he found himself just below the Owlery. The thought of seeing Hedwig, and being among the small noises and movements of the owls was somehow comforting to him. He had just climbed the last few steps into the high open space when he saw a familiar figure at the far end of the room, gazing silently out into the night. Harry cursed silently to himself, and turned to go. He liked Neville, and lately he had begun to feel closer to him than ever before, but he just didn’t want company at the moment. Before he could make his escape, however, he heard Neville’s voice echo quietly around the Owlery.
“It’s nice up here, isn’t it? Quiet. Makes it easier to think.”
“Yeah,” agreed Harry. He felt a twinge of shame that he hadn’t even considered the fact that Neville too might want to be alone. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know anyone was up here. I’ll just get out of your way, then.”
“You can stay if you like,” said Neville slowly.
“Thanks,” said Harry awkwardly. He didn’t really want to now, but he didn’t want to be rude either. He made his way over to Neville and leaned on the balcony. The two of them stood side by side, staring out into the dark. Harry was surprised at the easiness of the silence between them. He didn’t feel the need to say anything, or to do anything, and the silence between them stretched for a long time.
“So what did he do to you then?” asked Neville eventually.
“What?” said Harry, startled back into an awareness of himself. “Who?”
Neville gave him a sympathetic glance. “Snape, of course. I came up here to send a letter to Gran. Thought I might be able to get out of it. Didn’t even send it in the end.” He turned back to the blackness. “It wouldn’t have done any good. Besides, you were right before; you and Hermione and Ron. I can’t go being scared of him forever.”
“Be grateful that you’re only scared of him,” said Harry bitterly, before he could stop himself.
“What is it you’re really doing with him?” said Neville curiously. “Ron said you had Remedial Potions last night…”
“Yeah,” said Harry again.
“But you were doing that last year too,” persisted Neville. “That’s what I heard Malfoy saying, anyway.”
“So?” said Harry uncomfortably. “It’s never been my best class, has it?” He glanced at Neville, who was regarding him closely, with a very strange expression on his face. Harry swallowed nervously. He didn’t know why, but suddenly, in the half-light, Neville looked almost like an adult.
“I never had to take Remedial Potions,” said Neville quietly.
Harry’s palms began to sweat, and he wished that he had never come into the tower, had never stayed. He wished that he had listened to his earlier instinct to be alone. Neville was easily one of Snape’s worst students. The fact that he had done so well on his OWLS spoke of a latent ability that was merely suppressed by the domineering attitude of the Potions Master “ but until the OWL exam, Neville had given absolutely no reason to believe he had any ability in Potions at all. If Snape was giving private tutorials in Remedial Potions, then Neville would have been at the top of the list to receive them. Quickly Harry tried to think of an excuse, but his mind was blank, and he was all too well aware of the seconds ticking away. The longer he waited, the less plausible his excuse was likely to be.
“It’s alright,” said Neville eventually. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He turned back to the balcony, and although his voice was carefully neutral, Harry could see from the set of his shoulders that his refusal to answer had hurt his friend.
“It’s not that,” he said quickly, desperately. The thought of upsetting Neville filled him with guilt, but Harry knew that if he did tell him, he would have disobeyed Dumbledore’s orders on keeping quiet about his extracurricular activities. It seemed he would feel guilty either way, and the thought raked at him. This is terribly unfair, Harry thought resentfully. And I’m so bloody tired of feeling guilty.
“It’s not that,” he said again. “You caught me by surprise, that’s all. Does anybody else know?”
“I don’t think so,” said Neville.
“Are you sure?” said Harry. “I mean, if anyone’s come to the same conclusion that you have…”
“Don’t worry,” said Neville, in that same strangely adult way. “I covered for you. Seamus and a couple of the others asked why I wasn’t doing it last year, and I told them it was because there was no way I was going to do extra classes with Snape.”
Harry stared at him, dumbstruck. “Did they believe you?”
“I think so.” Neville grinned at him shyly, the moonlight casting strange shadows on his round face. “They probably thought that I’d rather fail than do something like that. Well, they’d be right, wouldn’t they?”
“Neville, I don’t know what to say,” said Harry honestly. “Thanks. I really mean that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Neville. “I assumed there’d be a good reason behind it.”
“There is,” said Harry. “At least I thought there was,” he added morosely. He looked over at his friend, who was once again staring out into the dark. The owls swooped and coughed behind them, hooting quietly to each other on their perches. The temptation to tell Neville about the Occlumency lessons was overwhelming, and suddenly Dumbledore’s stricture against it seemed less important. Although Neville wasn’t aware of the prophecy “ Harry would have died before telling him “ he felt a certain kinship with him nonetheless. If not for a strange twist of fate, it might be Neville alone in the dark after his Occlumency lesson, Neville alone with knowledge that he was apparently all that stood between Voldemort and the destruction of the wizarding world. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if, had their positions been reversed, he would have shown the same quiet loyalty to Neville as his friend had now shown to him, possibly for many months, unknown to himself.
It was that which decided him. Neville had already figured out more than most “ he was probably more than halfway there, Harry reasoned to himself. He had already proved that he could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. Dumbledore’s face swam before Harry’s eyes, and he resolutely pushed it away. If either option - telling Neville or not telling him “ was going to laden him with yet more guilt, then it was his responsibility, and no-one else’s, to decide what form that guilt should take.
Dumbledore was wrong, thought Harry, suddenly, clearly. He was wrong. The thought shook him deeply, but beneath it all was a small solid core of self-belief that had just pushed its way up. For too long now, Harry felt, he had let people shove him into things without knowing the reason why, always relying on them “ and mistakes had been made. It was a bitter knowledge, and bitterer still was the fact that when he had finally acted on his own, against the advice of his friends, it had been Sirius that had paid the price. And yet at last, on the Owlery Tower with Neville, Harry acknowledged to himself that the fact that he had made bad decisions in the past would not absolve him from the need to make decisions in the future. Never again would he be so rash and thoughtless, but the need to regain some of the trust in his own judgement was strong, and he was convinced that now, the decision to trust was the right one.
“Snape’s teaching me Occlumency,” he said abruptly. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Hermione and Ron have known since last year, and of course McGonagall and Dumbledore do as well.”
“Occlumency?” said Neville, his voice wavering. “But that’s really advanced…”
“Tell me about it,” said Harry flatly.
“It isn’t going well, is it?” said Neville acutely, round face screwed up in thought.
“I wonder if it’s going at all,” said Harry darkly. Haltingly, he recounted what had happened the previous evening. Neville’s face got paler and paler.
“That’s… that’s just sick,” he said finally. “What right does he have to say those things to you?”
“Why shouldn’t he have the right?” Harry countered. “Tell me “ what did he say that wasn’t true? And if it’s the only way to stop Voldemort, what right does he have not to say it?”
“I can’t believe you’re defending Snape,” gasped Neville. The strange adultness had gone from his face, and he looked like a boy again.
“It’s either defend him or defend myself!” hissed Harry. “And I can hardly do that, can I? Sirius is dead. And it’s my fault!”
“So what are you going to do?” asked Neville. He sounded very young.
“I don’t know,” admitted Harry. “There’s not a lot I can do, is there?”
“So you’re just going to let him keep doing this to you?” said Neville, incredulous.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it,” said Harry shortly. “Unless you’ve got any better suggestions.”
There was a long silence. “You could stop sulking about it and try taking your own advice,” said Neville in a rush, his voice high and shaking.
Harry gaped at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Neville’s voice wavered a bit, and then strengthened. “Who was it telling me a couple of days ago “ not to worry about Snape, that I just needed confidence?”
“Er… that was me, I guess,” said Harry, feeling a little sheepish.
Neville’s voice drifted at him from out of the dark. “Did you mean it?”
“Yeah,” said Harry, and to his own surprise he almost laughed. “But I don’t think it’s the same…”
“Isn’t it? You could learn Occlumency if you wanted to,” Neville went on. “Just like you said I could do Potions. Course, neither of us actually wants to… but I don’t think we’ve got that much choice in the matter. Right?”
“Right,” said Harry after a moment, a bit bemused.
“So it looks like we’ve both got a choice. I can fail Potions and waste a year’s study, or I can find a way to pass despite the fact that Snape scares me half to death. And you…” Neville’s voice became penetrating “…you can be scared of him too, or you can learn the bloody thing and tell him and his nasty mind to get stuffed. Does that about sum it up?”
Harry gaped in amazement. At that moment he realised that he’d always seen Neville as being somewhat less than capable than himself. Since Dumbledore’s revelation about the prophecy, there’d always been a sneaking relief at the back of his mind that Neville wasn’t the one burdened with it. Harry was ashamed to realise that in some ways, Neville was actually further ahead. He hadn’t sent that letter to his grandmother… had made the decision not to before Harry had even set foot in the Owlery. It all made him feel just a little bit embarrassed.
“Yeah,” he said. “That just about sums it up. You’re right, you know.” In the darkness, he could see Neville’s round face blushing with pleasure.
“First time for everything, I suppose.”
“I mean it,” said Harry. “Thanks. And… thanks for being the only person who hasn’t tripped over themselves to tell me that it wasn’t my fault.” His eyes burned, and he scrubbed at them with his sleeve.
“We all had a hand in it, Harry,” Neville said sadly. “A lot of people made mistakes that night. At least… at least yours was in good faith.”
“Doesn’t change the end result though, does it?” said Harry bitterly.
“No,” said Neville. “It’s…”
“It’s almost time for you to be back in your House,” came a drawling voice from the stairwell. “Students aren’t allowed to roam the school at night, you know. Well-” and they could hear the smirk in his voice, “Prefects excepted.”
Harry spun about, off-balance. It was difficult to see the speaker because of the light in the door behind him, but his voice sounded familiar. Slowly, Harry’s eyes adjusted, and with a chill, he recognised him as Blaise Zabini, the Slytherin Prefect Hermione had confronted earlier in the day.
“How long have you been standing there?” Harry asked harshly.
“Standing, or listening?” Zabini said rather nastily.
“Both,” Neville piped up from behind Harry.
“None of your business,” said the Slytherin Prefect flatly.
“I don’t know what you heard,” said Harry warningly, “but if you say anything, I’ll…”
“You’ll what? Try and make friends with me?” Zabini laughed sarcastically. “I don’t think so, Potter.” He moved back towards the door. “Now unless you want me to give you a detention, I suggest you get back to your House quick-smart.”
Harry and Neville had no choice but to obey.
They were halfway back to Gryffindor House when they passed the corridor where the Transfiguration classroom was. Harry noticed that there was a thin line of light shining under the door.
“Go on ahead, Neville,” he said. “I’ll catch up in a bit. I just need to talk to McGonagall about something.”
“Don’t be too long,” Neville warned. “You don’t want to get a detention. That Slytherin Prefect…”
“I’ve still got a few minutes.” Seeing Neville disappear down the gloom of the darkened corridor, Harry moved over to the door of his Transfiguration classroom and, steeling himself, knocked upon it. When he heard the crabby voice of his teacher, he pushed open the door and walked in. McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, a quill in her hand and a pile of parchment before her. She looked up at Harry, an expression of surprise on her face.
“Mr. Potter. What can I do for you this time of night?” She sounded a little annoyed, and Harry swallowed. No doubt she had expected him to be safely tucked up in Gryffindor Tower by now. His habit of roaming the corridors at night had no doubt not gone unnoticed. Harry hesitated for a moment, and then decided it was best just to spit it out.
“I thought you should know, Professor,” he said, inwardly surprised at how calm he sounded. “Neville knows about my having Occlumency classes with Professor Snape.”
McGonagall’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed.” She scowled at him and dropped her quill down on the pile of parchments with an audible snap. “And how precisely did Mr. Longbottom come into this knowledge?”
“I told him,” said Harry honestly. He felt like cringing at her glare, but forced himself to meet her eyes. “He suspected something anyway. It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“Did I not make it perfectly plain to you, Potter,” said McGonagall, “that it was the wish of Professor Dumbledore and myself that you kept your extra lessons a secret? Was I in any way unclear?”
“No Professor,” admitted Harry. “You were quite clear.” He lifted his chin slightly, feeling quite stubborn but also feeling, for once, as if he was in the right. “And while you’re right in that it shouldn’t be public knowledge, I was right to tell Neville.”
McGonagall leaned back in her chair, eyeing him beadily. “That’s not your decision to make, Mr. Potter.”
“I’m very sorry, Professor,” said Harry politely but determinedly, “but I disagree. Anyway, I just thought you should know.” He turned and made to leave, feeling a bit nervous but better than he thought he would. At the doorway he turned.
“I didn’t have to tell you this, you know,” he said carefully, almost sadly, staring at the floor. “It was a matter of courtesy, that’s all.”
He shut the door behind him, and made his way back to the Common Room. He found Hermione ensconced in an armchair, hidden behind a massive Arithmancy textbook. The Common Room was nearly deserted, and it was obvious to Harry that she had been waiting up for him.
“Hi,” he said, seeing the worry on her face and feeling a tinge of regret.
“Harry!” said Hermione, closing her textbook and marking the page carefully. “Are you… are you feeling better?” she asked tentatively.
Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said simply. “I am.” He was surprised to find that he actually meant it.