Chapter 9: The Pain and the Pensieve
Harry spent most of the next day watching his step wherever he went. He was conscious of many people, surprisingly not just the Slytherins, watching his every move, waiting, perhaps, for a chance to inflict some horrific injury upon him. He developed a habit of walking down the staircases with his back against the wall, deciding that here was the most opportune place for someone to harm him and make it look like an accident.
Peeves the Poltergeist seemed to be hovered around Harry wherever he went. He knew that Peeves would have no need for the Galleons Malfoy was offering for a demise in Harry's health, but he got the feeling that he was doing it out of mischievous spite. This reason was soon rebuffed, though, as Harry discovered the truth behind his own personal poltergeist shadow.
It appeared that the teachers had found out about Malfoy's new publishing venture but were apparently powerless to stop it. However, the students were canny enough to realise that if Harry were to suddenly come down with a nasty bout of broken bones and various plagues, and particular students became quickly wealthy, then fingers would start to be pointed. Instead, people were trying to find ways around this problem and Peeves seemed only too willing to help out.
For the mere fee of being allowed to cause more mayhem than usual, Peeves was available to follow Harry around for any length of time. He would try his mirthless best to make Harry trip over stray obstacles that miraculously found their way into his path, fall down stairs if he wasn't concentrating, slip over puddles of water from flooded bathrooms or dodge unceremoniously out of the way of falling suits of armour and statues that happened to topple over as he passed. Many times, Harry spotted herds of students crowded around corners, heads popping out to see if he had been injured, vociferous curses echoing down the corridors each time he escaped unharmed.
He had also taken to walking about alone. This served at least two good purposes. Firstly, the insulting-in-front-of-ten-witnesses prize was the easiest to attain, so Harry didn't want to make the target crowd any less. At breakfast, he hurried into the Great Hall, looked apologetically at Hermione as she moved up to let Harry sit by her, and then raced into the boy's bathroom to eat a few slices of toast alone in one of the cubicles.
The second purpose was Hermione herself. She seemed to have taken a great personal insult the insinuations targeted at her relationship with Harry. They had walked around the lake several times after first reading the Slytherin Standard yesterday but she had quickly let go of Harry's hand and withdrawn herself from him. They hadn't spoken much; Harry made several uncertain attempts to get Hermione to speak her mind but she had shushed him and got rather moody.
It had been the same in the morning. Despite offering him a seat next to her at breakfast, Harry wouldn't have said that the look she wore was either enticing or welcoming. Instead, he got the feeling that Hermione considered all the unwanted attention she was getting was somehow his fault. He didn't argue the point with her; he was too preoccupied with his own safety rather than giving Hermione an easy task of shouting her head off at him.
Ron's behaviour was perhaps the most bizarre. Despite his apparent unease at any show of affection between Harry and Hermione, the story about them in the newsletter didn't seem to have made an impact on him. Harry assumed that he was more murderous over the comments about him, and Ginny, on the competitions page. The lack of money in Ron's family was a particular sensitive point with him, one bound to send him sour without much trouble. Surprisingly, he seemed supportive of Harry and Hermione's relationship, as it had been portrayed in the paper. Harry felt that the negative slant given to the relationship might have found a comfortable place in Ron's heart.
It was with some degree of horror that Harry realised what his timetable of lessons meant for the day. Double Potions followed by Double Defence Against The Dark Arts. In short, three hours of unabridged, inescapable, insufferable Snape. It didn't help, when Ron vanished towards the Herbology greenhouses, that Hermione's unfathomable mood was still well and truly in force.
`Shall we go down to Potions then?' Harry asked sheepishly as he met Hermione in the Entrance Hall.
`S'pose,' she said coldly, turning on her heel and striding down towards the dungeons.
`What have I done?' Harry asked as he jogged up behind her.
`Nothing, Harry! She snapped, `Just leave m…leave it alone.'
Harry felt like a red-hot poker had been stabbed through his chest and sandpaper scratched over his face. He stopped, watching Hermione as she strode on down the steps, not stopping once to turn back. He felt hollow, sick, confused…and very much alone.
He entered the dungeons and, after taking one look at Hermione's face, decided to sit on the opposite side of the room to where she was. He looked at her; for a fraction of a moment she looked like she felt guilty, as if she was going to say something…maybe apologise, or explain herself. Then she seemed to think better of it and snapped her head away from him.
It was to Harry's dismay, though not great surprise, that he found the walls of Snape's dungeon had been redecorated. Some of the jars containing slimy, pickled things had been removed and, along the brickwork elsewhere, the exposed walls had been covered with multiple copies of a publication that he thought might just drive him to murder, or suicide. Dozens of copies of the Slytherin Standard had been pasted up all around the place so that dozens of moving pictures of Harry's face, distorted by magical tampering, leered down at him. He wanted to look at Hermione, hoping maybe for some support in the face of this but then, he thought; she was probably laughing at him along with everyone else.
Snape swept soundlessly into the dungeon as soon as everyone was present. He had an almost benign look on his face, his gaze floating around the dungeon walls, then to the Slytherins in the front row; clearly, he was looking for their approval on his new-look classroom.
`You may have noticed,' he began silkily, `that the dungeon had been redecorated. I have come to realise that pressure may not be the best atmosphere in which your atrocious work will thrive. Therefore, I have added some colour to the dungeon, some light entertainment for the enjoyment of this class. I am sure you will all take as much pleasure from this as I have. Keep up the excellent work, Mr Malfoy.'
Snape beckoned the class to continue brewing the vertiaserum potion. With a sweep of his wand something happened to the many Harry's staring down from the walls. They began to speak and Harry was reminded very much of the life-sized poster of himself that Fred and George Weasley had bewitched the year before. This time, however, the pictures did not shout abuse about Dolores Umbridge and the Ministry of Magic. Instead, various Harry's could be heard shouting out such things as, `don't brew a potion like I do, you'll get detention,' and `don't forget! Pain Means Prizes!' Harry stared into his cauldron, his fists shaking with suppressed rage, his eyeballs hot and moist as he tried to concentrate.
The potion was not going well. Harry couldn't shake the multitudes of his own voice shouting obscenities at him that were becoming increasingly more personal. Coupled with the Slytherins new tact of imitating the posters and Hermione's ignorance of him, Harry was a wreck. Not the best shape for a potion-maker to brew in.
`Hmm, Potter,' Snape hissed scathingly as he viewed the contents of Harry's cauldron, `the mixture should be a milky grey colour at this time. Could you please describe the colour of your potion please.'
Harry muttered something silently.
`So the class can hear, Potter,' Snape simpered, `you are, after all, a teacher so you should have no qualms about disclosing the colour of your potion. Now say it again for us all, there's a good little boy.'
`Orange,' Harry huffed. He heard a voice, unmistakably Hermione's, give a sympathetic `oh!' somewhere in the din of laughter that was ringing in his ears.
`Should I vanish it now?' Snape taunted, `or just wait a few more weeks. Lord knows we could all do with a laugh. Potter, you are truly lamentable in this class. Granger, show your boyfriend how he's getting this wrong. I have no time for him.'
Hermione hurried over and began adding things to Harry's potion at an incredible rate. She looked around every so often at the class, a look of surprising anger pulsating across the creases in her forehead.
`I'm sorry, Harry,' she mumbled, `I'm sorry I'm treating you like this. It's just me, it really is. I'm starting to know how it must feel to be you. Everyone looking, talking, pointing. I don't like it; I don't know how you put up with it. I'm not surprised you get so angry sometimes. I know I would.'
`I know you are,' Harry said sharply.
Harry was surprised to see Hermione wear an agreeing sort of look. Somewhere over her shoulder Snape was discussing ideas for the next spot of Harry bashing with Malfoy. Then Hermione did something unexpected; she put her arms around Harry's neck and drew him into a hug. She didn't say anything as members of the class sniggered at them. Harry hugged her back, feeling at that moment that as long as he was like this he could face anything. Then, just as unexpectedly, she let go and went back to her cauldron, slightly flushed but saying nothing.
`Not very good at holding onto them are you?' Malfoy sneered when Hermione had gone.
`Yeah, but at least I choose nice ones to hang on to,' Harry spat, glancing down at Malfoy's arm as it slipped around Pansy Parkinson's waist.
`To each his own,' Malfoy said icily, `but I, unlike you, have animal magnetism. You merely have certain animal odours. So what can you say?'
Harry spluttered with his first laugh for days.
`If you say so,' he laughed, `but you, unlike me, have a small -'
`Potter, I will not tolerate that language in my classroom!' thundered Snape.
`I was going to say "threshold for pain", sir,' Harry lied. Pansy Parkinson wore a distinctive look of apprehensive inquisitiveness.
By the end of the day, Harry was pretty glad that it was over. The Defence Against The Dark Arts class with Snape was a struggle; he was sure that Snape demonstrating a variety of hexes on an unarmed Harry, before eventually allowing him to defend himself, would have been frowned upon by Dumbledore. Still, as Harry wound his way carefully to Dumbledore's office at 6pm for his Occlumency lesson, he felt that being alone was the best way for him.
Harry found Dumbledore ready and waiting for him. His broad smile was like phoenix tears to Harry's soul; he felt that no matter how hard a time he was given elsewhere in the school, this was one place he would be safe from acid tongues.
`Tough day, Harry?' Dumbledore asked pleasantly.
`I've had better,' Harry said wearily.
`I believe a certain newsletter is circulating among the students,' Dumbledore said, `is this the reason for day of such trials?'
`It hasn't helped.'
`And, perhaps, the reason for your angst in my class yesterday?'
Harry didn't answer, merely sighed dejectedly and stared out the window.
`Enough, Harry. Onto Occlumency. First things first; I want us to have a level playing field in this class from here on in. When, last year, Professor Snape attempted, with an alarming lack of success, to teach you this discipline he had a great advantage over you Harry. Do you know what that was?'
`He's better than me, stronger than me, more of an evil git than me?' Harry speculated.
`Well,' for a second Harry thought Dumbledore was going to agree with him, a flickering twinkle in his eye, `no, Harry, that isn't it. He had an implement that removed from his mind, those points which make it most vulnerable for attack. Those memories which resonate with more powerful emotion, whether for good or bad, are more accessible than those more deeply hidden. He had one of these,' Dumbledore pointed to a box on his desk, `and I wish you to have one also.'
He opened the box and removed a deep stone dish carved with runes and symbols along the outside. Harry recognised it as once as a Pensieve.
`I thought only you had one,' Harry said, startled, `I thought Snape had borrowed yours.'
`No, no,' Dumbledore smiled, `Pensieves are as available as Foe-Glasses, Gobstones and sherbet lemons. Professor Snape owns his own Pensieve. All serious Occlumens and Legilimens will own one. Like I said, they removed those memories that would provide a weak point to a mind's defence.'
`And why do you want me to have one?'
`Well, Harry, you have more problems and worries than any student to have ever passed through this school. As well as worries over homework and sports performance, you also have to deal with the problems of growing up, of developing relationships, physical changes. Add to that your confrontations with Lord Voldemort, your celebrity status and the attention it brings, the death of Sirius, the prophecy and the struggles you are now encountering with one particular friend of yours and I would say, yes, that you have just enough thoughts in your mind to spark a mental collapse! If ever there was a person in need of siphoning off some thoughts, it is you Harry. Now, shall we begin?'
Harry entered the Gryffindor common room an hour later clutching the Pensieve, his body shimmying after his Occlumency lesson. He sat down on the long couch in front of the fire. Ron was poring over his Transfiguration homework; Hermione was buried in the pages of New Theory of Numerology. She crossed the room to sit next to him, a look of concern, somewhat reluctantly, falling across her face.
`Are you OK, Harry,' she asked as a hand tentatively reached out, her worry now no longer concealed, `How was Occlumency?'
`I still don't like it,' he mumbled, his hands trembling over the Pensive, `Dumbledore made me relive happy memories, not bad ones like Snape did. It was worse somehow, I don't know…maybe with what's going on…'
He stopped himself and his eyes flickered over Hermione's face. She looked pained and so terribly guilty that Harry looked away from her. Harry excused himself and made for bed.
`Harry, don't go, not yet, maybe we can talk,' Hermione said.
`No, not now, I don't feel like it. Plus we cant have any privacy.'
Harry sent a lofty nod over towards Ron who, though pretending to look at his homework, was obviously listening to them.
`Look,' Hermione said quietly, `I'll pretend to go to bed too. We can nip up to your dormitory instead, throw on you Invisibility Cloak and go for a walk. By the Lake again. It'll be nice by the moonlight…'
Harry didn't think he had much choice. He dropped the Pensieve off on his bedside table, it was already swirling around with a few thoughts he'd dropped in it in Dumbledore's office, took out his father's old cloak and slung it around himself and Hermione. Together they set off on a nighttime sojourn with Harry trying not to enjoy too much being so close to the body that invaded his dreams.
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