(A/N: Alas; disaster! My burned cd of mp3's has been scratched and I've had to listen to the radio while writing this. ..and if I don't get a new one soon I think I am going to pause this fic until I get a new one…or at least until I find a station that doesn't play John Melloncamp's 'Daughter's' every five minutes. God, I hate that song.
To my betas: Send me an email because I lost your address. Outlook Express decided to manifest another feature and deleted my contact list.)
To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore seemed to be already aware of Grawp's presence in the forest, and nodded gravely as Harry explained how Rita could potentially have seen Hagrid's connection with the giant. Harry's actions appeared to have disturbed him more than the threat of Rita's literary wrath.
"You led Alexander out there with the full intent of having him become harmed by the centaurs?" Dumbledore said, his voice even.
"Yes, I did."
Dumbledore folded his spectacles and set them on the lacquered desk. He looked up to meet Harry's eye. "I do not think I need to tell you what risks and senseless danger you put yourself in when you did that. Phineas and others report that, while Alex has indeed been abhorrent, they witnessed nothing to you personally that would warrant this sort of…undertaking. Nothing that would require…intervention. I ask you again whether there is anything you wish to tell me. I have never used Legilimency on you before, Harry, and I will not use it in the future. What has happened?" An expression of deep, genuine concern etched itself into Dumbledore's face, and Harry had to break his gaze.
"Nothing, sir," Harry answered fragilely. He had to deal with the album on his own. The headmaster had already admitted his impotence, so what use would it be? "Does it really matter?" he added in a bitter tone.
Dumbledore regarded him sadly. "I have asked more from you than I have most of the Order members," he said. "I ask you to tolerate him this year. Despite his…excesses…Alex is nearly unmatched in dueling, and can protect you far better than anything I can provide. He may despise you, but he will follow Sirius's wishes even if it leads to his own death. And now that we know that Voldemort has someone watching you…" His voice trailed and died. "Is there anything you need, or want, to tell me?"
"Nothing."
The headmaster nodded slightly, as though expecting this response. "As you wish."
"What's going to happen with Hagrid?"
"I don't know," Dumbledore said. "I have not yet decided our course of action."
Harry walked out of the office, hating himself for not implicitly trusting the headmaster. What was he going to do, though? Dumbledore already said that Gates was a factor that could not be changed.
Some wounds heal more slowly than others, Pseudo-Snape said sagely, I would know.
Harry next related what had happened with lowered eyes to Hagrid, apologizing at the end. The half-giant did not blame him in the least, which made Harry feel worse.
"Wha' happens happens, and there's nothing' you ca' do 'bout it." Hagrid said. "I knew wha' I was doin' when I took Grawp in. It was goin' to happen eventually."
This was so similar to Hermione's line of thinking that Harry was momentarily rendered speechless.
"Though you shouldn' have done what you did," Hagrid said in a sterner tone, "I can handle those centaurs myself, I don' need help."
The next two weeks passed in a blur of refreshingly uneventful Quidditch practices, D.A. meetings, and detentions with Snape. So far, Harry had become much more adept at Occlumency; so much, in fact, that Snape had increased his effort so that he would have a more suitable challenge. When Snape inquired how he acquired his newfound proficiency with the talent, Harry honestly answered that he did not know. Despite the truthfulness of his response, Snape snorted and continued with the lesson. On the whole, however, detentions with Snape were becoming much more bearable, and the Potions master even allowed him to take short, three-minute breaks when his hands began to cramp up. (Snape justified this by saying, "I don't need any jars broken because you've become handicapped, Potter.")
Gates had given Harry one more lesson since Wednesday; and it proved to be rather brutal. The Hit Wizard had set up a sort of mirror that, when struck with an improperly performed curse or hex, would fire the correct form of the respective spell back at the caster, giving Harry a reason to practice outside of the sessions. Seeming to find the entire situation amusing, Gates stood nearby, sometimes commenting on Harry's agility or lack thereof. While the lesson proved to be physically exhausting, it did not end with one of his family photos being incinerated. Harry suspected that this had occurred only because Gates had come to the realization that, eventually, he would run out of photos to burn.
It almost seemed that luck had been on his side and Rita had missed his excursion into the forest. The Daily Prophet was conspicuously empty of her articles, and there was no mention of giant-sightings anywhere in the newspaper. When he told Luna about this, she said "Sometimes in daddy's paper it takes weeks for an article to go through the editing process. I imagine it's the same with the Daily Prophet."
That morning, as fate would have it, proved to be the very morning the Daily Prophet implemented Rita's article, which was labeled 'A Giant in our Midst?'.
The massive black bird, seeming to reflect the contents of the newspaper it brought, cawed and flapped away, leaving a few feathers in its wake. Harry managed to scan the headline before Hermione snatched it up and scanned the front page. Her face gradually went pale, and her teeth grinded in her mouth.
"Wha's it?" Ron spoke through his food, peering curiously at the newspaper. Hermione slapped his hand away when he reached to take it. There was something different in Ron today, though Harry could not place it.
"I'm not done yet," Hermione snapped, "This is terrible. I'm sorry Harry, but I guess we weren't lucky. She saw and wrote. Look." She flipped it over and showed it to Harry. He took it with trembling hands, reading it over. It was just as bad as he expected. Skeeter had made it sound like she had just happened to come across Harry, Hagrid, and Gates in the middle of the Forbidden Forest on some sort of hiking trip.
"I can't believe it," Harry murmured.
"What is it?" demanded Ron.
Hermione looked up at them, her eyes smoldering. "Rita wrote about Hagrid."
"Oh," Ron said quietly. Harry and Hermione had told him what had happened the morning afterwards.
"Go ahead. Here," Harry said, offering it to Ron. He was sick of reading Rita's blatantly skewed article.
Ron accepted it. "Yeah, so, err, is this all?" he asked uncertainly after a minute. Once again, Harry sensed a change in Ron that was not there yesterday.
"Ron, you realize this revealing the fact that Hagrid harbors a giant, right?" Harry said.
"For one thing," Ron began airily, rolling up the newspaper and setting it down. "the ministry doesn't base investigations on what it reads in the Daily Prophet. For another, the ministry is bogged down as it is with You-Know-Who and Fudge's inquiry. They aren't about to spare an army of Aurors to search to Forbidden Forest for a rogue giant simply because Rita Skeeter claimed to have seen one. Maybe if she had some hard evidence…"
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. So long as Dumbledore denied everything, nothing would happen.
"You remember what she wrote about Hagrid last year," said Hermione. "All those awful people sent him cursed letters. He's going to go through that all over again."
Harry sunk slightly in his chair.
"I'm sorry Harry," Hermione said apologetically.
"No, you're right," replied Harry quickly. "Hagrid is going to have a bad time with this." He glanced down her robes and saw a flash and bit of polished wood protruding out from her pocket. It was pleasing to see that she indeed carried it everywhere, even though Harry already knew that she would. The connection once again tugged at his chest.
"Is there something wrong with the two of you?" asked Ron with a furrowed brow. "For the past two weeks-"
"No," Harry interrupted. Ron was still unaware of Harry giving the other half of the mirror to Hermione. Harry decided it would be better if Ron stayed uninformed, though he was unsure of his reasoning. "It's about Occlumency." Harry added, giving a half-truth. Ron's need for proper Occlumency training had been the subject of many conversations with Hermione these past two weeks, as Gates's infringement upon the redhead's psyche seemed to become steadily more frequent.
"Forget it," said Ron flatly, giving no room for negotiation. Every time Harry had tried to approach this matter, Ron always closed it for some reason or another. "Maybe later, but not now. I need my concentration…" He started piling his plate with a variety of breakfast meats, breads, and fruit.
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh.
Harry looked once more at Ron, and then finally pinpointed the subtle difference in Ron's morning behavior. For the first time in two weeks, there was no Charms book before him. "So you've mastered the Narro Charm, have you?"
Ron stared at him blankly for a moment, then grinned. "Yeah I did, actually. Or understood enough of it for my purposes."
"And what were your purposes, Ron?" Hermione asked, serenely stirring her freshly-poured cup of coffee.
"Well, I'm not going to tell you, but as a hint, let's just say it involved me going out last night with Harry's invisibility cloak." Ron grinned mischievously; an expression all too similar with his older brothers, Fred and George. He took up a bit of roll and swallowed it whole.
"You gave him your invisibility cloak?" Hermione said, rounding fully on Harry.
Harry found his food increasingly interesting, and began absently stabbing at it with his fork. "Erm, well, I didn't see why not. I figured he wanted to go down to the kitchens."
Hermione huffed. "So what did you do?" Hermione asked briskly, her voice shrill and annoyed.
Ron's grin widened, and his eyes locked onto Harry. He began cutting into his ham. "I just extracted a little revenge on our dear Professor Snape for giving us detention for no reason."
Hermione gaped. "You didn't," she said incredulously.
"I did."
Hermione took a sip of her coffee and did not speak to Ron for the rest of breakfast.
"What did you use it on?" Harry asked in the same voice he used with his last question.
"You'll see," Ron said simply. "You guys are working on the Cleansing Potion today, right? I made sure the charm was relevant to the subject." He chomped lustily on a remaining piece of sausage on his plate.
"What is it?"
"It's going to be a prank worth of Fred and George," Ron answered evasively. "They'll be talking about it all year. Fred might even give me a discount in their shop." he added as an afterthought, and would say no more about it.
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As Ron had planned it, Harry and Hermione had Potions class first in the morning, which meant that the dungeons would be especially cold, even by their usual chilled standards. When he walked in, Harry searched frantically for anything that Ron could possibly have charmed or jinxed, but could find nothing obvious. The Narro Charm was a writing spell; there was a very limited amount of objects to use it on. It was most commonly used on parchment and the like.
Before Harry could conduct a more thorough investigation, Snape swept in briskly, his body sending a gust of air across the classroom as he passed. The oblong bruise on his cheek was nearly completely healed, and one could only detect it if Snape's head was at a certain angle. The unusually dim lights in the room proved to make it even harder to see, and Harry wondered if that was intentional.
Gates, having become more brooding and silent over the past two weeks, stood wordlessly in the corner, the whites in his eyes and his glittering necklace the only things visible in the inky shadows.
"Well, class," Snape said softly. "For the past two weeks you have been brewing lesser variants of the Cleansing Potion so you may be prepared for today's lesson. No longer will accidents merely give you a scar or open wound. Failing now will result in nothing less than two hours of pure agony as the Cleansing Potion slowly and irresistibly seeps into your bloodstream. Needless to say, you must be especially careful today if you place any value on your physical well-being. As I've taken great and unnecessarily strong steps to ensure you are all prepared for today's potion, I will regard it as a personal insult should any of you foul up your solution. Now-" He whipped out his wand. "-you possess all the required experience-" He directed it at the blackboard. "-to brew the Cleansing Potion. Instructions-" He tapped the blackboard without looking at it. "-are in the front. Start now."
He withdrew his wand and mechanically began to patrol the classroom, ignoring the curious stares that he was receiving. After thirty seconds he realized that no one was retrieving their ingredients, and he instantly stiffened. "Well what are you waiting for?"
Harry, however, had his eyes glued onto the front board. On it, in a strong, thick handwriting, it said: "Why?" Harry realized with a groan what Ron had enchanted.
Gates stirred in his corner. "Perhaps you should answer it, Severus." His voice was laced with thin amusement.
The Potions master whirled onto the blackboard. "What is the meaning of this?" Snape demanded. He stalked up to it and struck it hard with his wand saying, "Professor Severus Snape requests the Cleansing Potion instructions."
The word on the blackboard split and formed a new phrase. This time, the lettering was large, legible, and dangerously clear: Not even the Cleansing Potion can take the grease out of your hair, you slimeball.
The board then went on with several other remarks, such as: Professor Severus Snape is the greasiest wizard ever to come into this school. It reeked of Ron.
Harry closed his eyes, and beside him, Hermione was shocked beyond words. Harry knew that she was inwardly deciding how she could hex Ron into the next millennium. Snape waved the board clear with his wand.
My, my, it isn't going to take a great leap of logic for me to figure out who was behind this, Pseudo-Snape droned.
Snape turned slowly around, and no one dared to grin, laugh, or breath. After a moment, Gates burst out with unnecessarily abandoned laughter, the sound sharply conflicting with the stark seriousness of the classroom. "The board has a point, Severus," Gates said.
"Who did this?" Snape asked in a deathly soft whisper, ignoring Gates's taunt. "Which one of you amusing young children decided to play an amusing prank? Let's see…"
Snape drifted around the room, his eyes darting from face to face, trying to detect any signs of guilt or weakness. When he came to Harry, he paused and a malicious grin twisted its way onto his face.
"Well, Potter," Snape said silkily, "Your father always had a taste for rather humorous pranks. I daresay it's hereditary. I am willing to-" His grin widened. "-bet that the culprit is you. Detention. This evening. Be in my office by six o'clock."
"That's not fair, he never came down here," Hermione said in a small voice.
Snape's head jerked sideways. "What? Perhaps you're right. It isn't fair. For that reason, I believe I should spread the blame. No doubt all Gryffindors hold a certain enmity against me."
"Only because you hold a grudge against us," retorted Harry.
"So all Gryffindors in this class shall receive detention. That means…" Snape considered them carefully. "Potter and Granger: You will both have detentions with me tonight. Six o'clock."
Snape spun on his heel and returned to the front of the class, appearing to be slightly mollified but furious all the same. "Let's see, since I doubt any of you have the Cleansing Potion memorized…"
He bent over and heaved up a massive, dusty tome and slammed it onto his desk so heavily that a glass flask rattled and fell, shattering on the stone floor. He made no move to clean it up. Snape flipped to the very back and struck the page with a long, pale finger. Whatever he had in store for them, it was likely ridiculously difficult and arduous.
"The Wolfsbane Potion," Snape said smoothly. "I don't think any of you are familiar with it. Well, most of you." He shot Harry a wicked glance. "Those who do may know that this is normally not even attempted with seventh years, but since we have little else to do today, I believe we can at least give it the - how does the muggle phrase go? - the old college try."
"But sir," Hermione protested. "That isn't taught for a reason. It's-"
"Ten points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn," Snape snarled. "If you feel that this potion is too dangerous by all means leave and don't bother returning. I will be grading this, so don't expect to slack off, either. I will make it…one fourth of your grade. Is that enough incentive?"
The class gave their silent assent.
"Good," Snape continued. "As I no longer have any use of the board, I will have to make use of the wall." He pointed at a clearing in the stone wall and whirled his wand. Words and instructions written on fire appeared there. "Start now, or it will be impossible for you to finish on time."
Harry stared down into his cauldron, thinking of ways he could escape. He could really use one of Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes right now. Lupin had once said that the Wolfsbane Potion could only be made by a handful of wizards in the world; Snape could not possibly expect anyone in class to brew it properly. He glanced down the line of instructions. It was, as he had guessed, absurdly complicated. Snape was evidently bent on failing Harry in his class, and, in his attempts, taking the entire class down with him.
"Are you waiting for something Potter?" Snape smirked as he looked down into Harry's empty cauldron. "Get started."
Harry dumped a flask of water into his cauldron and began to heat it up.
Just one step at a time, he told himself, And it'll be a piece of cake.
The first bubbled began to surface so he carelessly tossed in a handful of wormwood roots.
Pseudo-Snape scolded him. Careful, Potter. You aren't making a cup of soup, you're brewing a rather volatile potion. Are you a Neanderthal?
Harry glanced up at the instructions. Once the bottom of the cauldron began to turn the faintest shade of red, he was to slow the flames or the wormwood roots would burn. In order for the potion to come out right, he needed to be absolutely precise. He began to sweat; if he did not succeed with this potion, he was bound to earn a 'Dreadful' for the first quarter.
Come now, Potter, Pseudo-Snape continued. You will allow me at least this one pleasure, will you not? I may be trapped in this head of yours, but I can still appreciate the subtly of a softly simmering cauldron…the profound impact of its unique gases and vapors.
Another, odd chill came over Harry: this was yet another time when he felt that the voice within his head was a separate entity. It was not quite Snape, (Real-life Snape was much more cynical; and he would never offer aid) but it was not a reflection of his subconscious, either. It was completely baffling. At least Hermione's voice had reason to it.
If you don't listen to me, Potter, you'll be earning a 'D' faster than you can say 'Floundering'.
Harry considered what he was doing for a moment. Was this really happening? A nonexistent voice in his head was offering its services as a potion brewer. He looked up from his cauldron, expecting to see the Gryffindor boys' dormitories in front of him at any second.
Do exactly as I say, Potter.
Harry silently assented. He moved to collect his Rosewood branches.
Not yet, Potter. Placing the branches in this early will result in an early coagulation, and, therefore, a mess similar to muggle wet cement. Turn the heat down or you will steam too much of the fluid. Where is your sense of perception, Potter?
Harry turned down the heat and waited, hoping that Pseudo-Snape was accurate and not just a delusional personality locked within his mind.
Of course I'm not, Potter. You can add the Rosewood now, unless you find stirring an acidic substance appealing.
Harry followed Pseudo-Snape's instructions implicitly, no longer bothering to look up at the directions on the wall. Beside him, he heard Hermione squeak as her potion let off a foul odor. She quickly compensated it with an extra dose of wormwood, salvaging the situation. Even Hermione was having trouble with the solution.
Snape began berating one of the Ravenclaw girls. "Stupid. Barely fifteen minutes into class and this potion is already worthless. Not even Potter has fouled his up yet." Malfoy began to snicker from the adjacent desk.
Another thirty minutes passed as Harry diligently followed Pseudo-Snape's direction, and, as real-life Snape had not come to insult him, Harry assume that he was brewing his potion properly and not being mislead by the inner voice. Every ounce of reasoning and logic within him screamed out for an explanation, but he stifled them. Plenty of time for that later; right now, he had a class he needed to pass.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape drawled. "I am severely disappointed. There is no saving this…I'm afraid I must give you only half credit. While this is not suitable for Wolfsbane, it can be used in certain cases to counter drowsiness…"
Add the werewolf hairs now, Potter, unless you enjoy losing appendages. Delicately! We aren't dealing with crackers and noodles.
If Harry had spared a moment to look around the class, he would see that he and Hermione were the only ones who have not yet ruined their solution. Students stared at them, intrigued. Snape silently moved towards them.
Hermione let out a soft "oh" as she feverishly began stirring her potion, her voice squeaking in anxiety and pressure. There was a hiss like water on red-hot metal, and Hermione gasped. All of the fluid had left her cauldron, and at the bottom was the gritty slime of broken-down asphodel. She appeared to be in shock.
Snape lowered his hooked nose over her cauldron and then grinned. "Seems that you added the werewolf hairs too early. Pity. That makes this mixture useless…zero."
Hermione seemed not to have heard him, as her eyes were now locked on Harry's feverish undertaking. Something close to wonder was written across her face. Snape seemed to notice it too, and slowly walked over to Harry's cauldron.
Harry noticed none of this, as he was too absorbed in the potion. He had reached the most difficult part of the process; he must stir in exact intervals on the exact temperature or the entire potion would dissolve into waste. He placed a sprig of Knoxgrass into it and watched as flames engulfed it.
Gates casually approached and leaned over his cauldron, pretending to be interested in its contents. Harry eyed him suspiciously, as one would eye a villain who was about to snatch a wallet. Before Harry could react, a few flecks of something white and powdery fell from his hand, and if Harry did not know better, he would say it was dandruff. When he peered into his cauldron, his heart sank. A sweet odor was curling up from it. The powdery substance was sugar; and it rendered his potion completely useless.
Well, I can't say that that man doesn't have style.
"You-" Harry said fiercely at Gates's retreating back. "You-"
Calm yourself, Potter. We can salvage this.
Despite Harry's knowledge that it was impossible, he grudgingly complied. What now?
Quick, you have bezoar root, do you not? Powder it. We have little time, Potter. Consider yourself lucky that he did it in this stage. This will be simple…though you should pray that the sugar he added was refined or you may be without arms after this.
Harry ground his roots into a fine substance; roughly like flour. He took a pinch of it and sprinkled it across the surface of his solution, praying that it would work. A satisfying sizzle told him that it was successfully counteracting the sugar. He had defied Gates. It was all he could do not to look up and-
That's a good sign, Potter. We're almost done. Prepare to stir one revolution on my signal. Three…two…one…now Potter!
Harry slowly brought the stirring rod around in one full turn. His forehead was covered with a thin sheen of sweat from the heat. The foul odor (That also told him he was brewing it properly) stung his nostrils and eyes, making them water. He wanted to rub them away, but knew that he could not. Everything was far too delicate at this stage.
Careful…once more…stir as gently as the wind.
He did, and then withdrew the rod. He set it down, turned off the flame, and sat back in his chair, hoping that the solution would be at the very least acceptable.
"So, what do we have here, Potter," Snape said from behind him. Harry had just realized the Potion master's presence. "Let's see how badly you ruined this solu-" The Potions master was temporarily rendered speechless. The hardness of his black eyes told Harry that Snape was startled.
Harry looked towards Hermione, wanting to see some sort of assurance. She nodded, a clear sign that he had, indeed, mixed it correctly. Her eyes practically shined.
Snape slowly brought up his clipboard and scrawled something that looked suspiciously familiar. His face was scrunched up, as though it physically pained him to do this.
"That's a zero," Harry said, positively furious.
"No, Potter," Snape said as though his throat burned. "It's an 'O', not a zero." Without another word, he strode away.
Harry raised his eyebrows, too shocked for words. If he had heard Snape correctly, (And he was not sure that he did) he had just earned an 'Outstanding' in his Potions work for the first time since…ever. And unless he was greatly mistaken, he was the first Gryffindor besides Hermione to receive one.
"Well, we seemed to have finished, or in some cases, failed, early," Snape said, sounding greatly perturbed. "That is not, however, an excuse to speak. You will all remain silent for the remainder of this class period." He turned to Harry. "Potter, come with me."
Harry followed Snape out the door and into the hallway. The Potions master shut the door behind them and rounded fully on Harry. "Just when did you become so proficient at Potions, Potter?"
"I, err, never," Harry stammered. How was he supposed to say that he heard the Potion master's voice in his head and that it walked him through the procedure?
"You never even looked up at the instructions. I know. I was watching. I don't know what you are using, Potter," Snape snarled. "But when I find out, I will make sure this grade is nearby. That 'O' can just as easily be erased."
"I am doing it legitimately," Harry said hotly.
Snape's lip curled. "You're skill at Occlumency suddenly increases dramatically, and now, by sheer coincidence, your Potions work becomes outstanding as well?"
Harry felt slightly taken aback. "Well, err, thank you, sir."
"Get back in there," Snape ordered, pointing imperiously at the door.
He reentered the classroom and returned to his seat. He noticed he was receiving stares from nearly everyone in the class. Malfoy's sneer was cleanly wiped off to be replaced by an expression of utmost bewilderment. The best part, in Harry's opinion, was Hermione's face; which reflected absolute elation. Harry understood that it was best if she did not speak as Snape was back in the room, so he smiled and sat down. Words were not needed for them to exchange meaning.
"Class dismissed," Snape said, and the class instantly filed out.
"Harry," Hermione said as soon as they were in the hall. "I can't believe you were able to brew that potion. I mean, that's difficult. Beyond N.E.W.T. level."
Harry glanced around to ensure that they were not being overheard and whispered, "I need to talk to you about something. Come on."
He led her up the stairwell into the main body of the castle; went down another corridor and slipped into an empty classroom. Once he closed the door, he turned to her and gathered his thoughts. His eyes rested on a stack of dusty desks and chairs in the back, and he sucked in a breath.
"Right, this is complicated to explain."
"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Hermione said carefully.
Harry nodded. "Okay, you remember Hogsmeade? I couldn't identify it until then. I think…I think I'm hearing Snape's voice in my head." He turned to her, expecting shock, bewilderment, or a mixture of both. Instead, her expression was simple curiosity. He should have known her better than that.
"Professor Snape's voice?" Hermione said, biting her lip. "Harry, well, that doesn't make too much sense. I mean, how can hearing his mere voice help you brew the Wolfsbane potion?"
"He told me what to do," said Harry quickly, wanting her to understand. "He gave me step-by-step directions, and I did it."
"Like having a real-life Professor Snape in your head? A separate entity?"
"Yes," Harry said, "No. I don't know. The real Snape wouldn't be helping me with Potions, would he? He would rather watch me screw up."
"I honestly don't know what to say," Hermione said. "It sounds like…like maybe he left a bit of him in you during your Occlumency training. I read all kinds of material on Occlumency, but I never heard of any side-effects. But then again I studied the procedure and self-training; not the in-depth history and analysis of the skill. I should know this stuff, but I've been so absorbed in my N.E.W.T. classes…"
"No, you've helped me already," said Harry quickly. "It's great just to have someone to talk to about this. I never really thought about it before, but it's becoming strange."
"Maybe it's an anomaly," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I'm sure the school has something on it…"
"Thanks Hermione," Harry said, meaning it. He reached out and touched her hand and a chill ran through him. "Thanks a million."
"No problem," Hermione replied in a quavering voice.
For a moment, it seemed that he was about to bend down to kiss her, but he gathered himself before he did. Hermione was blushing furiously and Harry, realizing that he was now holding her hand, released it. The bond, which had for one moment been so strong that it was almost not there, weakened considerably. It was like he lost a part of himself when he let go.
"What's next?" Hermione said a little breathlessly.
"Charms, I think," said Harry. Wait a minute, what did she ask right there? Too late now…
"We're going to be late," Hermione said.
Harry nodded and they both left the classroom, alien feelings coursing through them. What was done and almost done was on both of their minds.
Hermione desperately broke the tension. "Ooooh, I am going to kill Ron for getting us detention," she muttered angrily. "And he was the reason Professor Snape gave us that Wolfsbane Potion to do. Just wait until I get my hands on him…"
Harry simply laughed, and Hermione's serious expression broke as she could not help but laugh too.
Later that afternoon, Harry and Hermione had caught up with Ron, though Hermione was considerably more merciful by that time. While Ron was immensely interested in the effects of his prank, he appeared crestfallen at the knowledge that Gryffindors had received detention anyway, despite the lack of evidence. Seamus, when he heard of the outcome, found the entire situation incredibly hilarious and retreated into the common room, laughing.
Ron muttered his apologies and this, perhaps, was the only thing that saved him from Hermione's wrath; though she refused to speak to him any more of the remainder of the day.
When evening came around, they both descended into the dungeons, heading to their detention with Snape. Gates, as usual, stayed a good distance behind, the clicking of his boots the only thing signifying his presence. The sound seemed sharper in the silent corridors, the stone walls.
Harry opened the door to Snape's office and allowed Hermione to pass through first, then coming up behind her. The door closed with an ominous reverb. Snape looked up from his ancient desk, his eyes glittering.
"You will knock before entering my office," said Snape softly, " I will excuse the both of you this time. I expect that it won't happen again." He fell silent, waiting for something.
"So what are we going to do?" Harry asked, eyeing the rows of glass jars on the shelf.
Snape, following his gaze, grinned. "No, not those. Come with me. I have a more…desirable selection for you." He got to his feet and swept out the door, Harry and Hermione close behind him, with Gates a little farther back.
"I'm afraid I was not able to bring these ones out from the store rooms," Snape said. "There were far too many, and, in fact, they held a stench that I could not possibly bear." Considering the Potions master continually floated around reeking cauldrons all day, Harry could only hope that Snape was exaggerating.
He took them to the back of the dungeons led them down an old, dank staircase that was caked with centuries of grime and filth. Harry had never been quite this far down into the castle, and he assumed that Snape was leading them into the lower dungeons; an almost mythical place inhabited by various foul creatures, vermin, and beasts. Fred and George had once ventured into its fathomless depths, and came out claiming to have seen a vampire. Harry reckoned that they were lying, but now that he was actually in the lower dungeons, it seemed like the precise type of place where vampires would live.
"Careful, now," Snape warned. "I wouldn't want you to miss your detention on the excuse of breaking your ankle."
They had now entered a corridor that appeared to be older than the castle itself. Torches that seemed to be specially lit for this occasion lined both sides of the corridor. The gray, mildewed stones were roughly hewn and chipped, and there were several spots that looked like they were stained with blood. Old, iron shackles hung carelessly on the walls, the prisoners they once held now nothing more than the dust on the floor. They passed a black, dark chamber, and Harry covered his mouth and nose. A foul, impossible stench wafted out of it, and even Snape flinched under its odor.
"Where are we?" Hermione whispered into the empty hallway.
"The lower dungeons," Snape answered softly, his voice sounding loud against the silence. "You are now in the oldest part of the castle. Hogwarts was originally a bastion against the ancient dark wizard Belial, but I suppose you already knew that." he added with a sneer.
They took a right turn at an intersection and came down a length corridor lines with sturdy iron doors. The torches were now few and far between, and made the already dim light even dimmer. Strange, oddly-formed shadows crawled on the wall, moving like snakes in the flickering torch light. Harry assumed that they were now in the wing where prisoners were kept in their individual cells.
"We're almost there," said Snape. "My predecessor used these various chambers as store rooms for all kinds of equipment; books, cauldrons, jars. Several of my colleagues use these rooms for similar purposes…"
Harry stopped to peer into one of the narrow, barred windows in the cell door. The inside was packed wall-to-wall with dusty boxes and piles of unidentifiable chunks of metal and wood. It looked to be more of a junkyard than a store room; a place where useless items were thrown away and forgotten.
At the end of the corridor, Snape stopped, studying three cell doors with the intensity of a boy deciding which gift to open first on Christmas Day. At length, he grinned. He strode forward, swung open the door, and peered inside.
A gust of air rushed out of it and Harry pinched his nose. Whatever was in that room, it smelled like it had died and decayed a very long time ago.
Snape drew his wand and entered, carefully examining the nooks and crannies of the chamber. After a minute of examination, he stepped out again, apparently satisfied.
"This cell will do," Snape said silkily. "I see no evidence of any…malevolent creatures within the room, so I believe it's safe to enter. Go on."
Harry and Hermione reluctantly crossed the threshold into the room. If the air flowing out of it was bad, the stench within it was fatal. Something had most certainly rotted in here. The chamber would have been spacious had it not been for the towering stacks of boxes that lined the walls, intimidating him with their sheer numbers.
"Something wrong?" Snape said smoothly. "Well, detentions aren't meant to be pleasant. You will find an assortment of jars and flasks within those crates. You need not clean all of them, but I expect to see at least fifty boxes worked on by the end of this detention. I will be working in an adjoining room, so don't think you will be able to slide off." Snape flicked his wand and a hovering globe near the ceiling began to glow. "I will be checking periodically on your progress, so I suggest you start now." Harry caught one last glimpse of Gates leaning against the corridor wall before Snape slammed the cell door, rattling the jars in their crates.
They found two separate buckets and sponges in the room, as well as the crude muggle filter to clean the water out with. Feeling exceptionally tired, Harry bent down and started on his first box. It was not long before the two of them were leaning lazily against the stacks of boxes, trying to rub the ache out of their cramped hands. Their sponges lay sopping on the floor.
"I don't know how you do this every week," Hermione said, clenching and unclenching her hand in an effort to relax the muscles.
Harry looked down at his own hand. It was nearly claw-shaped in its form. "It's not too bad after the first couple times. Really, it's not as bad with you here."
Hermione blushed. "Thanks," She sniffed the air and made wrinkled her nose. "This place smells horrible…I wish we could do something about it."
"Actually," Harry said, grinning, "I think we can." He thrust his hand into his robes and drew his wand. "I forgot to leave it behind, I suppose."
Naughty, Potter.
"What if he notices?" Hermione hissed.
"He won't if incant it quietly." Harry said. "So should I use a odor charm?"
Hermione blinked. "You hardly need my permission, Harry."
"But I do," said Harry, running his hand through his hair. "I know this sounds trivial but I need your support."
"It's not trivial," Hermione said softly. "Just use it quietly."
Harry nodded. "Nidor!" he whispered, and the air began to clean instantly. Soon, a scent reminiscent of honeysuckle filled the room, making even the strewn and dirty jars and flasks smell sweet. He withdrew his wand.
"So what's the difference?" Harry asked exasperatedly, trying to voice the racing thoughts in his head into one question, and unable to express them in more words.
"You have good intentions, Harry, that's the difference," Hermione continued, almost reading his thoughts and insecurities. "The end result isn't as important as the intentions. That's what's so great about you; you have your heart in the right place."
"But that doesn't mean anything," Harry said a little forcefully. "What does it matter? That's why I gave you the mirror. You-" He hesitated. "You're the one who makes my intentions match the end result. That's why I gave you the mirror…" His voice trailed off into nothing.
"It means everything, Harry. Gates's results are wonderful; he does a great service to the world by ridding the earth of dark wizards," Hermione said softly. "But his intentions are wicked, as well as the way he goes about it. He is only out for revenge and for personal gain, not for the good of wizard-kind. And the way he takes the…" She shuddered. "See? That's the difference between evil men and good ones." She took a step towards him, and Harry felt the tug in his chest. Did she know how much her words meant to him?
Harry sighed and again ran his fingers through his raven hair. He began to pace. "But the Department of Mysteries, the Forbidden Forest…" He absently rubbed his chin. "The reason Snape caught us in the kitchens for S.P.E.W. was my fault."
Her expression turned into one of utmost concern. "Don't beat yourself up like that," said Hermione gently. "Besides, the tour of the kitchens was worth getting caught by Snape…"
Harry paused. Did she mean what he just thought she meant? "Was it?"
She gave him a small, timid smile. "The company was wonderful."
The air was now heavily laden with the delicate scent of honeysuckle. It was somehow intoxicating. The chamber suddenly did not seem so utterly forbidding. Harry looked down at Hermione, the connection in his chest growing stronger with every passing second. The sweet honeysuckle scent mingled nicely with the image in his eyes. How did that muggle phrase go?
The thing you need the most is often right in front of you, Pseudo-Snape offered.
Thanks, professor.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, concerned.
Harry shook his head. "Nothing," he replied a little too quickly. In reality, he was thinking about their time in Hogsmeade; the way she read through the various books in the store. It brought a faint smile to his lips.
Really, Potter. This is becoming disgusting.
"What's so funny?" said Hermione, grinning slightly. Her eyes sparkled with something for the briefest of moments.
"Just something the Sorting Hat once told me," Harry replied evasively; his eyes reflecting his smile. He breathed in more of the sweet air, taking in more of the honeysuckle scent. How absurd it was for that particular odor to be conjured in the deepest pits of the dungeons.
"What did it tell you?" she inquired. Her bushy hair was falling down her shoulders…her back.
"Don't you think we should go back to work?" Harry asked with a light grin. Telling her of the Sorting Hat's advice to take her somewhere 'Public yet secluded' was obviously not something he wanted to share.
Hermione smiled gently. "I don't think so. Not until you answer some of my questions."
Harry arched an eyebrow. "What kind?" The thought of her asking questions excited him somehow.
She took a small, thoughtful step sideways. "Well, when you promised me on the train that you would not start any conflicts with Malfoy, did you really mean it, or did you say it just to satisfy me?"
"Both," Harry said instantly.
Hermione nodded and stretched her hand. It was no longer cramped. "Did you enjoy the S.P.E.W. tour of the kitchens?" If Harry read her tone correctly, this question was more important than the previous one.
"I loved the part afterwards," Harry said easily. He never knew he could talk so simply with anybody. His conversations with Dumbledore were often complicated and riddled. This was refreshingly plain. "The tour I wasn't so keen on, but the dinner was great. I never had a private meal like that before…" he added in an afterthought. The pull in his chest became like a steel cord winding back on a pulley. Her eyes were darkening…
Oh, I can feel this one coming. I'm eagerly awaiting the usual Potter eloquence.
Her tone became very serious. "Why did you give me the mirror, Harry?" asked Hermione, her eyes probing his. She seemed to be looking for something. The question was oddly similar to: Why did we come here?
Harry turned. How was he supposed to answer that? How was he supposed to tell her that he trusted her more than he trusted anyone ever before? How do you explain the enormity of that concept in mere words? The connection, the bond, whatever it was; it was too strong for the mind to contemplate. It was transcendental. The feeling he received when he looked at her was only remotely comparable to the feeling he felt when he soared high above the Quidditch fields and danced among the clouds; and even that seemed insignificant against the sheer potency of what he experienced now. It made Quidditch a feeble joke. How can anyone possibly express that in words?
He gazed into her eyes, seeing them widen, and his instinct hijacked his mind. His chest felt constricted, his heart quickened. The force, the connection between them abruptly surged, drawing them close. His hand reached out and touched her hair, so soft and warm. Caressing her. A little shiver and Harry bent down and kissed her, a sudden, remarkable feeling like electricity coursing through his body, turning his head into jelly. Her lips were so soft, and, after a moment, welcoming, just a little moist, without lipstick, the taste so clean and good.
Harry's hand moved down her side and to her waist, feeling the heat radiating off of her body. She shivered, and his heart raced in his confining chest. Her hands moved up to his chest, touching him, feeling him. Harry felt himself being pushed backwards, so he conceded, knocking over and shattering a glass flask in the process. Neither of them seemed to notice.
A second later the cell door swung open with a clang and they instantly broke apart, breathless. Snape stood like a statue in a mixture of shock and astonishment, silhouetted in the dim light the torch provided from the main corridor. For a moment, he seemed incapable of speech or even thought. His breath rose in cold clouds from his mouth, and the sweet honeysuckle scent had at once fled from the chamber.
Harry's hands had not moved from Hermione's waist, and, suddenly becoming aware of their placement, he released her. Their faces might have been graven out of stone and marble, as though the blood had been drained from their bodies, making it impossible for them to think or move. Harry stared unblinkingly at Snape, not daring to look away as he waited for the blow to fall.
Emotions warred across Snape's face, none of them identifiable or prominent. A long, dreadful sneer crawled onto his face, and he drew himself up again. It was something like a vampire rising from its coffin. There was nothing even remotely reassuring about his posture or expression.
(A/N: Ouch, that was cruel, I know. But really I don't use too many cliffhangers, so I figured, 'why not?'. I've always read about H/Hr kissing on a broomstick, or in a closet, or something else. Then this idea (Kissing during Detention with Snape, which, by the way, was initially going to be a one-shot) came into my head and I went with it. I kind of liked the effect, I hope you did, too. On a side note, originally I was going to have their first kiss occur in the kitchens on some sort of SPEW mission, but I decided against it because I liked this one better.
Anyways, I hoped you all enjoyed this relatively 'light's chapter, because it was only a breather before I delve into the bizarre again. And don't think Rita is just going to vanish, either.
Chapter 16: You expect this one to be light and fluffy? Think again. The plot - I mean - Disaster strikes and we are all reminded that Voldemort isn't napping during Harry's sixth year. And we see a new face in the nemesis mirror…one that we all most certainly know. For those who have no clue what the plot is yet, here is your answer. I've been building up to it for awhile now.
Quote: Floating serenely near the ceiling of the Transfiguration classroom was the Dark Mark.
That's almost too big of a quote.)