Chapter Seven
“Well, Mr. Potter, you’re free to go,” Madam Pomfrey said, taking the hospital wing-issue pajamas that Harry had just handed her. “I don’t want to see you for at least a month, or I shall just have to keep you here permanently.” The nurse smiled kindly at Harry and walked back into her office.
Yeah, thought Harry wryly as he walked toward the exit, I don’t particularly want to see myself here for quite awhile either; he had just spent another three days in the hospital wing. Though he knew that he could not stop Lord Voldemort’s vicious attacks, the knowledge did not diminish the guilt he felt for causing everyone so much trouble and worry.
Harry was almost out the door when he heard Madam Pomfrey call his name. “Mr. Potter! Don’t forget what I said about eating!”
Harry scowled. The day before, the nurse had given him a lengthy lecture on eating habits.
“I simply don’t understand why your weight is so low, Mr. Potter. An active teenage boy like you should be a nice, healthy weight.” She had then turned to Ron and Hermione, both of whom she had requested to be present. “I want the two of you to ensure that Mr. Potter gets three full meals a day and plenty of sleep.”
Harry’s frown deepened. Though he was eternally grateful that he had such amazing friends that truly cared for him, he was too old to be mollycoddled and fussed over. All he wanted right now was to do anything but worry.
Unfortunately, Harry met two of his least favorite people right outside of the hospital wing: Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.
“Well, well, well, look who’s finally been released from the hospital. I’m ever so sorry for forgetting to send you flowers,” said Draco, smirking, “Where’s your sidekick Weasel and Granger? Snogging in one of the broom cupboards?” Malfoy glanced up at Snape as though expecting approval. Snape’s face, however, remained impassive.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Harry retorted, hoping that he could just slip past them.
With a sour expression on his face, Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Snape stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. Harry kept walking; just when he thought that he had gotten away, Snape called after him.
“Potter.”
Harry turned around slowly, suppressing a groan. “Yes?”
“Remedial Potions, seven o’clock tomorrow night. Come along, Draco.” Snape turned around abruptly, steering Malfoy into the hospital wing and leaving Harry standing silently in the lonely corridor.
October faded into November, and November into December without incident “ Harry’s scar had not even hurt. Voldemort was apparently taking a break from pursuing Harry. Luna Lovegood came by the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall one snowy December morning with the latest edition of The Quibbler, the front cover sporting a Death Eater in full garb, holding a psychedelic peace sign above the fluorescent pink, yellow, and lime green title:
Inside Scoop! The Philanthropic Side of You-Know-Who: On Changing His Agenda to World Peace and Why he Wants to Teach Poverty-stricken Wizards Around the World to Ballroom Dance
Once the laughter had subsided “ Ginny Weasley was still dissolving into giggles every few minutes “ Hermione pushed a large tureen of porridge toward Harry. “Eat.”
Harry’s mood instantly soured. Both Hermione and Ron had taken Madam Pomfrey’s words to heart and had been making sure he ate at every meal. He knew they meant well, but their nagging was getting rather irritating.
The rest of the day flew by in a mad rush for Harry. Though he no longer had Quidditch to occupy his time, lessons from both Professor Heatherwick and Occlumency sessions with Snape took up most of his evenings, in addition to the piles of homework he had from his N.E.W.T. classes.
Harry had both lessons that night. As soon as he had eaten a satisfactory amount of shepherd’s pie for Ron and Hermione, Harry drained his goblet of pumpkin juice and made his way to Professor Heatherwick’s office.
Bald, with great tufts of fluffy, gray hair shooting out of his ears, Thomas Heatherwick was about two hundred years old, and acted just like it. Though he was abnormally tall when he raised himself to his full height, most of the time he was hunched over; he could barely walk even with the help of a cane. As a result, the retired Auror divided his time between the classroom and his office.
Outside Heatherwick’s door, Harry knocked and waited. And knocked again. Seeing that the door was unlocked, Harry pushed it open and peered in. “Professor Heatherwick?” he asked loudly.
Heatherwick was at his desk, muttering to himself as he graded papers. Harry tapped him on the shoulder.
“Eh? Oh, there you are, boy,” said Heatherwick, his voice raspy.
“Hello, Professor.”
“Eh, what?” Heatherwick reached over a stack of essays and grabbed his ear trumpet. Though his hearing was practically nonexistent, the old professor’s eyes were rather sharp, much to the chagrin of some of his less attentive students.
“Hello, Professor,” repeated Harry, practically shouting.
“Oh! Hello, boy. Listen,” Heatherwick said at the top of his voice, “I was telling the Headmaster about your progress, and we decided that you don’t need any more lessons from me. He said to tell you to go to his office after your lesson with Professor Snape.”
“Okay Professor, thanks,” Harry yelled, slightly irritated that he had not been included in the decision. It was his education, after all.
Walking back down the corridor, Harry decided to go down to the dungeons; maybe he could have his Occlumency lesson early. Then, after talking to Dumbledore, he could get started on his mountain of essays.
Down in the dungeons, Harry listened at Snape’s office door. Hearing nothing, Harry cracked it open and looked in. Snape was sitting at his desk, speaking quietly with Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were there too, doing what they did best: staring stupidly into space.
Snape’s head snapped up. “What do you want, Potter?”
“I was just wondering if we could go ahead and have “ er “ Remedial Potions,” Harry said quickly. “But --”
“Wait outside,” Snape sneered.
Harry shut the door with a snap and leaned against the wall, rolling his eyes. Maybe he should’ve just killed the time somewhere else.
He was just about to leave and come back later, when Snape’s office door opened. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle all swaggered out. “Have fun in Remedial Potions,” said Malfoy, his voice dripping with false sweetness. Crabbe and Goyle forced their large, square faces into insipid smiles and laughed.
Harry ignored them and stepped into Snape’s office, closing the door behind him.
Snape was at his desk, siphoning memories out of his mind and into the Pensieve. When he was finished, he looked up at Harry with a malevolent smile. “So. Not only is the famous Harry Potter so arrogant that he thinks he can waltz into any room he wishes without giving the courtesy of knocking, he is also conceited enough to believe that others will mold their daily schedules to his whims and convenience. I do believe that your ego is beginning to exceed that of your father’s.”
“I’m not arrogant,” Harry said quietly, his temper rising, “and I just thought --”
“No, Potter, it is obvious you don’t think. There are things going on, not only in this castle, but out there in the real world that you know nothing about --”
“Whose fault is that?” Harry fired back, with a sneer to match Snape’s.
Snape visibly bristled. ,“Legilimens!”
And they were off.
Half an hour later, Harry had gotten nowhere. Of course, as he was abysmal at trying to block his mind to begin with, he hadn’t expected anything less.
He was on all fours on the cold stone floor, breathing heavily as Snape sighed impatiently. “Up, Potter.”
Cursing Snape, Harry shakily stood up. His face was slick with sweat.
“Pitiful. We’ve been at this for nearly a year and I’ve yet to see progress,” said Snape contemptuously. “Poor Potter… such a failure.”
“Oh, really? Guess we have a lot in common,” Harry shot back, his anger getting the better of him.
“Legilimens!”
It was another slew of embarrassing memories from Muggle grade school. Harry watched as flashes of a younger him was chased around schoolyards and down corridors and shoved into janitor’s closets by Dudley and his cronies. Harry was watching his seven year old self get thrown to the ground by Dudley, as a small crowd of schoolchildren looked on and laughed at Dudley taking care of that strange kid when he suddenly found himself on the floor again, his body aching from his numerous falls and his head throbbing with pain. “No more,” he whispered.
“What was that, Potter?” Snape asked sharply.
“I said, no more. I’m through. I know this is pointless, you know this is pointless. I quit. You have plenty of ammunition against me, you got what you really wanted.” Harry felt utterly defeated. He had failed. But he’d rather take on Voldemort than be forced to go through this several times a week.
“I knew it.”
Harry stood up, wincing. His knees hurt like hell. “You knew what?”
“That you wouldn’t make it. Too weak.”
“I’m not weak!” Harry yelled. “I can’t do it, all right? Why waste my time?”
“Because it is not only you we are trying to protect,” Snape said shortly. “Of course, I didn’t expect you to consider the rest of the student body before you decided it was fine with you if Voldemort managed to possess you from his location.”
“And where is he located?” Harry retorted loudly, deciding to ignore Snape’s jibe for the moment, “I’m sure you know, you’re probably his most trustworthy spy --”
Snape was deathly quiet. Harry knew instantly that he had gone too far.
“No, Potter, I am not a spy for the Dark Lord,” Snape said, gritting his teeth, “though I am a spy for the Order. You’d do well to remember that. Now get out of my sight.”
Harry left immediately, letting the door slam shut behind him. A tiny part of him, the part that normally spoke in Hermione’s voice, was anxiously awaiting Dumbledore’s response when he found out Harry was refusing Occlumency. But on the whole he felt that he had done the right thing, though maybe not the right way. He was hopeless at Occlumency, and if he could not master it after two terms’ worth of study, he never would.
Harry rested for a bit at the foot of a statue of armor, massaging his painful head before heading to the headmaster’s office. Harry gave the gargoyles guarding Dumbledore’s office the new password, ‘Pumpkin Pasty,’ and stepped onto the revolving staircase. Harry did not hear anything in Dumbledore’s office, but figured that he should knock this time.
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It Had to Happen in Snape's Class by nerd2006
Chapter Notes: I can hear you all now... finally!
Beta read by ddamato.