Harry Potter and the Enemy Within

Chapter 4 - Love and Hate

CHAPTER 4: Love and Hate

The next several weeks were some of the most miserable Harry had ever endured. Between his visions and delving into Snape’s mind, he seemed to spend more time dwelling on other people’s thoughts than his own. His visions were as bad as ever, but it was Snape’s memories that disturbed him the most and he wasn’t even sure why.

There was nothing horrifying about them. In fact most were quite mundane. But there was an overwhelming sense of loneliness that never failed to depress Harry. Snape’s childhood, as far as Harry could tell, had been unrelentingly bleak. The boy had had no friends. His father had been cruel and distant when he was around at all. For the most part the child had been left alone and appeared to have spent the greater part of his time poring over books on the Dark Arts.

At Hogwarts he’d continued to be an outsider, even among his fellow Slytherins. The only students he had associated with were those Harry recognized as future Death Eaters, but they clearly hadn’t consider him a friend. They simply had recognized the usefulness of his considerable knowledge of the Dark Arts and potions. The only student in school who really seemed to have paid much attention to Snape at all was James Potter and he had been, without doubt, the bane of Snape’s existence.

Harry hadn’t seen anything as humiliating as what he’d witnessed in Snape’s Pensieve the year before, nevertheless James (Harry couldn’t think of the child as his father) clearly had taken every opportunity to harass Snape. Snape had fought back of course, and was ruthlessly vindictive, which helped placate Harry’s emotions somewhat. But he still knew that he wouldn’t have liked his father if they’d been at school together and he hated Snape for that.

Worst of all, despite his best efforts Harry wasn’t making any progress at Legilimency. While he’d become used to viewing Snape’s memories using the Protego charm, he seemed incapable of casting the Legilimens spell. No matter how much he tried to alternately clear his mind or focus his thoughts, nothing happened. Harry was both frustrated and desperate. With each failure he became more convinced that he’d never be able to succeed. It didn’t help that Snape, never a man of patience, was clearly at his wit’s end. Annoyance had given way to exasperation that was now just short of fury.

“Potter, you aren’t trying!”

“Yes, I am! I don’t know how to do it!” Harry protested, his own nerves frayed to the breaking point.

“Yes, you do! You’ve cast the Protego charm. This is no different.”

“Yes it is! That’s defensive! Legilimency is an attack and I can’t do it!”

“Oh, please don’t tell me it’s your sense of propriety getting in the way!” Snape snarled. “I know perfectly well that you have no respect for my privacy, not after your indiscretion last year. Or perhaps you’re simply afraid. Is that it? You’re too much of a coward to find out what your father was really like?”

Harry went white with fury. Blood was pounding in his ears and he felt a perfect, calm hatred for the man in front of him. Snape deserved every misery and humiliation he’d ever suffered and more! Harry felt suddenly dizzy as his perspective shifted and he found himself in Snape’s mind. There were memories swirling around him, but his own anger and hatred brushed them aside. Then he felt the resistance to his presence. Something was trying to drive him out.

Snape, Harry realized with a fresh surge of anger and hatred. The man thought he could control everything, tell him what to do, what to think and feel, which memories to have. Not this time.

Get out of my way! Harry thought viciously. The resistance broke and Harry felt a thrill of power. It was the same thing he felt in his visions at the moment when Voldemort struck down his victims. It was the power of life and death, the power to kill.

Harry gasped and staggered back catching the edge of Snape’s workbench to keep from falling. His connection to Snape’s mind had been broken as suddenly as it had begun and Harry felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. But Snape was by far the worse off.

The man was on his knees, visibly shaking. His breathing was ragged and he had one hand pressed to his eyes in evident pain. Harry’s fury and hatred vanished, replaced by the horrible realization of what he had just done.

“Professor?” Harry began, but stopped when he saw Snape flinch at the sound of his voice.

“Go, Potter,” Snape said. “Just go.”

But Harry was rooted in place. “Professor, I… I didn’t…”

“Get out!”

Harry fled from the office and didn’t stop running until he reached Gryffindor Tower. He slumped against the wall next to the portrait hole and tried to compose himself before entering the common room, but it was no use. He had no idea how he’d managed to enter Snape’s mind without casting any spell, but one thing he was absolutely certain of. If Snape hadn’t broken the mental connection, he would have murdered his professor. Harry knew it and he was sure that Snape knew it as well.

Harry closed his eyes. He felt a shame deeper than any he’d ever imagined. Do I really hate him that much? he wondered. Certainly, Snape did everything in his power to make Harry’s life miserable. The man despised him, no question, and this year in particular, he’d hounded Harry mercilessly in Potions. Snape was mean, insulting and unfair, but... Is that enough to make me want to kill him? Would it be that easy for me to become a murderer? Harry felt a stab of horror at the thought.

“Harry, are you okay?”

Harry opened his eyes to find Ginny looking at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” Harry said automatically.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’ll be okay. My lesson with Snape was just really rough tonight.”

Ginny frowned. “Harry, if Snape’s treating you badly –”

“He’s not,” Harry interrupted, unable to let Snape take the blame. “The training is just hard, that’s all. I’ll be all right.”

“Well, I hope so,” Ginny said as she led the way into the common room. “We’ve got our first game against Slytherin tomorrow, so you’d better get some rest.”

“I will,” Harry promised. But once in bed, sleep eluded him. Despite the fact that he was exhausted, he couldn’t stop replaying in his mind the scene in Snape’s office. The murderous hatred he’d unleashed against his teacher terrified him. Snape at least had known how to defend himself, but what if he attacked someone else? Harry tossed in bed until the sky finally began to lighten with the coming dawn. He got up, dressed and left the tower. He wasn’t up to talking to anyone.

***

The Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match was always hard fought and Harry knew before he took the field that he wasn’t ready for it, neither physically nor mentally. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten and for the first time in his life didn’t care whether they won or lost. The Slytherins didn’t know this, though, and put enormous effort into hounding him. Malfoy was still out for blood and obviously had enlisted his entire team in the pursuit of revenge. Harry was constantly jostled by the Slytherins. Bludger after Bludger was sent hurtling his way and once or twice he actually considered letting the deadly balls hit him. One well-placed Bludger to the head and all of his problems would be over. But self preservation always won out and he dodged the balls.

Between the Slytherins’ harassment and his own desperate thoughts, he never saw the Snitch appear. By the time the roar went up in the stands, Malfoy was already half way across the pitch and there was no way Harry could catch up. Aside from the time the Dementors had disrupted the match, this was the first time in six years that Harry had failed to catch the Snitch. Even the Slytherins seemed surprised and the Gryffindors were in shock.

Fortunately, the rest of the team had played brilliantly and Ron had only let one goal through the whole game, so they hadn’t actually lost by much. As they landed, the team was already calculating how much of a margin they’d need to win the next game by in order to beat out Slytherin for the Quidditch Cup.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Ginny said. “The way those Slytherins were on you, it would have been a miracle if you’d managed to get to the Snitch.”

“Yeah, Harry,” Ron said. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll make it up.”

Harry nodded and managed a wan smile. No matter what they said though, he knew he’d let his team down. But as he headed back to the castle, all Harry could think of was his lesson with Snape that evening.

The afternoon wore on and Harry’s mood grew more and more bleak. Luckily, everyone assumed he was simply depressed about the Quidditch loss. After a few futile attempts to cheer him up, his friends left him alone. Harry tried to study, but after reading the same page in his Charms book three times without understanding a word of it, he decided it was hopeless and gave up. Finally, he couldn’t stand sitting around anymore and went for a walk.

It was late afternoon and cold outside. Harry pulled his cloak around him and headed out towards the lake in the lengthening shadows. He found the spot where he’d sat the previous June just after Sirius had died, and without thinking, he reached for the charm Ginny had given him for his birthday. The grief wasn’t as acute now, but he wished more than ever that Sirius could be here with him. He had never felt so alone and desperately needed someone to talk to. There was no one he really felt comfortable discussing his fears with the way he could have with Sirius.

The stars were already out when Harry returned to the castle. He was late for dinner, but he didn’t care. He picked at his food then headed for Snape’s office. Harry wasn’t even sure if the Potions Master was expecting him. But Snape hadn’t told him not to come back and Harry had nowhere else to go.

When he entered the office he found Snape poring over an old book with several others piled on his desk in front of him. Harry didn’t sit down, but stood uncertainly by the door half expecting Snape to throw him out.

“Come in, Mr. Potter,” Snape said, looking up at him. “Sit down.”

Snape didn’t seem upset. In fact he seemed to be in a better mood than usual and his gaze held no hostility. Harry sat down, still tense and not knowing what to expect.

“You played dreadfully this morning,” Snape said conversationally. “How on earth could you let Malfoy beat you?”

Harry blinked. The morning’s Quidditch match seemed like a lifetime ago and he couldn’t imagine why Snape was mentioning it.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not that I don’t relish a Slytherin victory, of course, but it was clear that your mind wasn’t on the game.”

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Harry said.

“No, I don’t imagine you did.” Snape said quietly. He regarded Harry thoughtfully for a few moments and Harry fought the urge to look away.

“Potter, there is a reason why Legilimency training is restricted,” Snape said. “This is very advanced magic, and therefore, inherently dangerous. Such incidents as the one you experienced yesterday evening are not unheard of in the early stages of training. Unfortunately, I underestimated the intensity of your emotions. That was my mistake and I assure you it won’t happen again. But believe me, you are not the only student of Legilimency to ever attack his teacher.”

Harry stared at Snape. Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. This was the man who never forgave a slight and who gleefully punished Harry for every infraction, no matter how minor. Yet now that Harry had committed a genuinely reprehensible act, Snape was acting as though it had been a simple accident. He made it sound so reasonable and normal, but Harry knew it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

“I almost killed you,” Harry said.

“Yes, but you didn’t.”

“But I wanted to!” Harry said, becoming more and more agitated in the face of Snape’s unflappable calm. “You must know that!”

“Of course I do,” Snape said impatiently. “I saw your thoughts, Potter. They were hardly surprising, or do you suppose I didn’t already know what you think of me? Do you imagine for one moment that I care?

“Much as I might enjoy your enthusiasm for self-flagellation, we really have no time for it. Despite what your overwrought mind may believe, you’ve done nothing to warrant the debilitating sense of guilt you seem to be wallowing in. So spare me your hand wringing over what crimes you might have committed and the fact that your thoughts aren’t as pure and noble as you would wish to pretend. If that’s the worst thing you can dredge up to berate yourself for then I have no sympathy.”

Harry had no idea how to respond. However, Snape’s relentless insistence that this situation was not just normal but inconsequential was definitely having an effect. For the first time in twenty-four hours, Harry was beginning to think beyond the horror of what he’d done, to the practical implications.

“You said this was dangerous. How dangerous? Maybe you can defend yourself, but what if I… I mean I don’t want to hurt anyone else, either.”

“You aren’t going to attack anyone in the halls, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Snape said. “Intensive practice has attuned our minds to one another; therefore I was particularly vulnerable to you. It wouldn’t be possible for you to do to anyone else what you did to me. Besides, I doubt even Malfoy could provoke you as effectively as I did. Of course, you will need to learn to control your emotions better. This should help.”

Snape handed Harry the book he had been reading earlier, which bore the title, Meditative Techniques for Mental Discipline.

“It explains various techniques which should prove useful in calming and controlling your mind,” Snape explained. “I want you to read the sections I’ve marked before your next lesson, so that you’ll be prepared to practice. And you must realize, Potter, that while I can guide you, you alone are capable of controlling your own mind. I can’t do it for you.”

Harry nodded, clutching the book and trying to focus on Snape’s reassuring instructions. “Yes sir.”

Snape stood up and came around the desk to face Harry. He produced a vial from his robes.

“Since you obviously are in no condition to practice this evening,” Snape continued, “I suggest you take this and get some sleep.”

Harry stood up and took the Dreamless Sleep potion from Snape. He clearly had been dismissed but he made no move to leave. His emotions were still a confused jumble and he envied Snape’s self-assurance. Another time, Harry might have found the man’s easy confidence annoying or arrogant, but right now, it felt like the one piece of solid ground in a storm-tossed ocean.

Snape sighed at Harry’s obvious immobility. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and propelled him firmly towards the door.

“Potter, do as I say for once. Sleep and I promise you everything will look better in the morning.” Snape’s exasperated tone was unmistakable, but so was the unwavering grip on Harry’s shoulder as Snape turned to face his student in the doorway. Harry looked into Snape’s eyes and for the first time in months he didn’t feel quite so alone.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry left the dungeons with a renewed sense of purpose. He would go straight to bed and then spend all of the next day studying the book Snape had given him. His plan was derailed at once, however, as he arrived at Gryffindor Tower to find Ron and Hermione screaming at one another. This didn’t surprise him as much as the fact that everyone else in the room seemed to be ignoring them.

“Just because I care about my studies doesn’t give you the right to make snide insinuations!” Hermione yelled.

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Ron yelled back. “You can see whoever you bloody well please! It’s no surprise that he’s a Ravenclaw, I suppose.”

“You’re impossible!” Hermione screamed. She pushed past Ron and hurried up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. Harry was certain he’d seen tears brimming in her eyes.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Ron turned to face him and had the grace to look sheepish.

“Ron’s just being a git as usual, Harry,” Ginny answered without looking up from the book she was reading by the fire.

“I am not!” Ron protested. “If she’s going to spend all her time with Anthony Goldstein, why won’t she at least admit that they’re seeing each other?”

“Maybe because it’s not true,” Ginny answered, still not looking at her brother.

Ron snorted then turned and stormed up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. When he was gone, Ginny looked up at Harry.

“If you think your lessons with Snape are bad, try spending every evening with those two. You miss most of it, Harry, but I swear they’re driving the rest of us crazy.”

“What’s Ron on about?” Harry asked, sitting down opposite Ginny.

“Hermione and Anthony are working on an Arithmancy project together and Ron is positively seething with jealousy. Not that he’ll admit it, of course! Really, Harry, you have to talk to him. I think he’s mental, honestly.”

Harry sighed. He really didn’t need this on top of everything else he had to worry about, but Ron and Hermione were his best friends.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll talk to Ron.”

Harry went upstairs and found Ron alone, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Harry was too tired to be subtle.

“Ron, why don’t you just tell Hermione that you fancy her?”

Ron looked at Harry in horror. “What?”

“Well, it’s obvious to everyone and it’d be better than these rows you keep having.”

Ron looked at Harry a moment longer then went back to staring at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just can’t!”

“Ron, it’s only Hermione.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Ron said, glaring at Harry. “Your stomach doesn’t cramp up every time she gets near you. What if she doesn’t feel that way about me? What if she laughs at me?”

“She won’t laugh at you. And what if she does feel the same way? Wouldn’t you like to find out?”

“Of course I would.”

“Well, you won’t until you ask her.”

“Wait a minute,” Ron said with sudden inspiration. “That’s it! Harry, you could ask her for me!”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“But Harry, you can talk to her.”

“I’m not asking Hermione if she fancies you!”

“You’re right. I ought to ask Ginny to do it.”

“Ron, why can’t you just talk to her yourself?”

“Because she’s Hermione!” Ron said as if that explained everything.

Harry stared at him, unimpressed.

“Oh, come on, Harry. We’ve been best friends since first year. We’ve been through everything together. I don’t want to ruin that. If she doesn’t fancy me, I could handle that, but I won’t be able to stand it if I lose her friendship too.”

“Ron, I really think you’re more likely to lose her friendship by being horrid to her all the time. That’s not how you treat someone you care about.”

Ron lay back on his pillow and sighed miserably.

“You’re right. I really have been a git, I suppose.”

“Yeah, you have. So go and fix it. Things aren’t going to get any worse than they already are.”

Ron heaved a huge sigh and sat up. “All right, I’ll do it,” he said, looking as though he were about to face a dozen Dementors.

Harry smiled encouragingly at his friend and Ron left. Harry undressed and got into bed. He was completely exhausted. He started to uncork the vial Snape had given him, but stopped. His conversation with Snape had done wonders for his mental state and he really didn’t think he’d have any trouble sleeping. He slipped the vial into his bedside drawer in case he ever needed it in the future. Then he lay back, closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. In moments, he was asleep.

***

Ron paced the common room. Ginny, after much coercion, had gone up to tell Hermione he wanted to see her. That had been ten minutes ago, yet neither of the girls had come down. Ron was beginning to think they weren’t going to. He had never felt so nervous. Harry and Ginny were both right. He had behaved terribly and was ashamed of the way he’d treated Hermione. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to talk to him and he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already ruined their friendship. He felt his stomach sink. He certainly didn’t hold out any hope that she might feel more for him than that.

Ron was ready to give up and go to bed when Hermione appeared on the stairs. He could tell she’d been crying and he felt a pang of guilt. He wasn’t good enough for her. Not by half. She deserved someone like Anthony who was smart and handsome and didn’t spend all his time shouting at her and making her cry. Ron knew he didn’t deserve Hermione’s friendship either, but he was determined to try to earn it. He’d tell her the truth about how he felt and take it well when she told him she wasn’t interested. Then maybe they could go back to the way things used to be.

“You wanted to see me?” Hermione asked stiffly.

Ron nodded. “Can we go somewhere private?”

Hermione frowned slightly then shrugged. “Fine.” She walked past him and led the way out the portrait hole.

As prefects, Ron and Hermione had more leeway to move about the castle at night. They found a nearby classroom and went in.

“So, what did you want to talk about that you couldn’t shout in front of the entire common room?” Hermione asked coldly.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been acting,” Ron said.

“I see. So you can insult me in front of everyone, but you won’t apologize in front of them. Is that it?”

“No!” Ron said desperately. “Hermione, please, I just don’t want you to hate me.”

“Then why are you trying so hard to make me hate you?”

“Because I’m an i***t, all right! Because I’m afraid I’m going to lose you and it makes me crazy. You’re one of my best friends, Hermione, and I don’t want that to end.”

Hermione stared at him incredulously. “Ron, you really are mad. I’m not going to stop being your friend.”

“Yes, you are,” Ron said seriously. “One of these days you’re going to find someone special who you really care for and you won’t have time for childhood friendships any more.”

“Ron, that will never happen,” Hermione protested.

“Of course it will.” Ron’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact now. He took a deep breath. “You’re brilliant, Hermione. You’re smart and beautiful and you’ve got the heart of a lion. You’re never afraid to stand up to anyone or to fight for what’s right even when you don’t have to. You’re the finest person I’ve ever known and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

Ron was staring into Hermione’s eyes and couldn’t seem to look away. Every nerve in his body was tingling. Hermione bit her lip and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Well, what about you?” Hermione’s voice trembled when she spoke. “It’s not as though you’re going to want to hang about with me forever. After all, you’ve got a wonderful sense of humor and an adorable smile. You make everyone feel at ease. And you’re as loyal, kind and caring as anyone could ever be. There’s not a better person in the whole world and anyone would be lucky to have you. One of these days you’ll meet someone and you won’t have time for me any more.”

Ron took a step towards her.

“Hermione, I swear as long as I live that will never happen.”

“You’re sure?” Hermione’s tone was challenging but her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, I am. I always have been.”

Hermione took a step towards Ron.

“Well, then I guess we’re stuck with each other,” she said holding his gaze.

“Yeah, I reckon we are,” Ron said. “Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. She was so close that Ron could feel her breath on his cheek.

Ron, swallowed hard, trying to get up the nerve to make the next move, but Hermione beat him to it. She reached up and kissed him.

***

Harry was shaken out of a deep sleep to find Ron standing over him.

“Harry, wake up!” Ron said urgently.

Harry bolted up in bed.

“Ron, what’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.

“I did it! Just like you said. I told her!”

Harry had no idea what Ron was talking about. “What?” he asked.

“Hermione. I told her I fancied her.”

“You did?”

“Yeah! Or, well, I don’t think I actually told her, but she got the idea.”

“That’s great, Ron,” Harry said lying back down, relieved that there was clearly no danger.

“And I think it’s going to work out. She really seems to fancy me too.”

“Really? That’s terrific.” Harry yawned and closed his eyes.

“We even kissed.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open. “You kissed Hermione?”

“Yeah. Or, er, I think she kissed me, really. The first time, I mean. After that it was pretty much, you know, mutual.”

Harry was wide awake now. It was one thing to tell Ron to confess his feelings to Hermione. It was quite another to imagine his two best friends –

“You’re okay with this, aren’t you Harry?” Ron asked.

“Yeah. Of course I am. That’s wonderful. I’m just really tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Sorry, mate. I shouldn’t have woken you.”

“It’s all right; I’m glad you did. It’s great about you and Hermione. I told you it’d work out.”

“Yeah, thanks for that, Harry. I mean it. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

Ron turned away and Harry drew his curtains. He lay back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling not feeling the least bit inclined to sleep. He let out a deep sigh. This is ridiculous! he thought in frustration. He needed to sleep. He certainly wasn’t going to lie awake thinking about Ron and Hermione or the fact that he, himself, hadn’t had the chance this term to even think about girls, much less kiss one.

Harry rolled over and punched his pillow in an effort to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. I know I can do this, he thought as he concentrated on clearing his mind. He breathed deeply and eventually drifted back to sleep.

The next morning Harry awoke late, feeling much better than he had the day before. The other boys had already left and Harry realized gratefully that they must have decided he needed sleep more than breakfast. But if he hurried, he could still make it to the Great Hall in time to eat.

Harry dressed quickly and went downstairs. Some of the Gryffindors were still lingering at the table including Ron and Hermione who were sitting apart from their classmates. Harry hesitated as he remembered what Ron had told him. For a moment, he wondered if it might have been a dream, but one glance at his two friends dispelled that thought.

They were looking at each other in a way that made Harry distinctly uncomfortable and he suspected the entire castle could collapse around them and they wouldn’t notice. The rest of the Gryffindors seemed to be trying not to laugh with varying degrees of success. Ginny caught Harry’s eye and waved him over.

“Have you heard the news,” she asked, looking pointedly at Ron and Hermione. “Or would you care to guess?”

“Actually, Ron told me last night,” Harry said, scooping food onto his plate. “So they really are, er…?”

“Sickening?” offered Seamus. “Yeah, I’d say so. Ron won’t stop grinning like an i***t and Hermione keeps giggling.” Seamus clearly considered this last offense to be irrefutable evidence of madness.

“Maybe they won’t argue so much, though,” Neville said hopefully.

“Hard to say,” Dean said. “Sometimes people argue even more, though in this case I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Well, at least it should be fun to watch,” Ginny said. “They’ve really got it bad for each other.”

Everyone nodded agreement except Harry, who ate in silence. Neither Ron nor Hermione had noticed him and he somehow didn’t feel comfortable approaching them. But it felt strange sitting here ignoring each other. The other Gryffindors were starting to leave and Harry gulped down the last of his breakfast and joined them. He really needed to read the book Snape had given him after all and he’d certainly have a chance to talk to Ron and Hermione later.

But after breakfast, Ron and Hermione stopped by the common room only briefly to collect their books, then left to go study in the library, though once they had gone, Ginny quipped that she didn’t believe that for a moment.

Harry buried himself in his studies. He read Snape’s book, finished his Defense homework and was nearly done with his Potions essay by lunchtime. However, Ron and Hermione weren’t at lunch when Harry went down and he decided it would be silly to hang around waiting for them. It was late afternoon by the time they returned to the common room. Harry had run out of homework to do by then and was re-reading Snape’s book when they came through the portrait hole.

“Hi, Harry. What’s that you’re reading?” Hermione asked.

“Just something for Snape,” Harry replied. He wanted to get them alone and tell them all about his last two lessons with Snape, about the new power he’d discovered and his fears that went with it. He needed Ron’s humor and Hermione’s practicality to make sense of these latest events. But Ron had his arm around Hermione’s waist and Harry felt certain it wouldn’t be a good time to discuss his problems. Instead, he set his book aside and the three of them joined Ginny and Dean in a game of Exploding Snap.

The evening passed pleasantly, but once they headed up to bed, the conversation turned to what appeared to be on everyone’s mind.

“So, come on Ron, spill it,” Dean said. “What’s she like?”

“What do you mean?” Ron said innocently. “You know Hermione.”

“Not as well as you do, mate,” Dean leered.

Ron threw him a dirty look. “We only kissed,” he said.

“I’ve heard you can tell a lot about a girl from the way she kisses,” Seamus offered.

“I already know plenty about Hermione. Thanks just the same,” Ron said climbing into bed.

“Oh, come on Ron,” Dean pleaded. “You’re not the sort who won’t kiss and tell, are you?”

Ron just smiled. “Good night,” he said and pulled his curtains shut.

“Figures,” Dean said disgustedly. He pulled his curtains shut as well and everyone else settled into bed, too.

Harry also turned over to go to sleep, but unlike Dean, he was very grateful that Ron wasn’t the bragging type.

***

The next week was awkward for Harry. Although he, Ron and Hermione went about their normal routine, the dynamics in their relationship had definitely shifted. It wasn’t that Ron and Hermione were overtly affectionate around him; they weren’t. It was subtle things, a casual touch or the way they stood closer together than they had before. And when they smiled at one another, it seemed to be a very private gesture that Harry wasn’t meant to share. All in all, Harry felt very much alone. Worst of all, his friends didn’t seem to notice.

***

It was Saturday afternoon and Ron was waiting for Hermione outside the Arithmancy classroom where she spent most Saturdays working on her team project. Since they’d started seeing each other two weeks previously Ron had made it a point to meet Hermione here. The door opened and several students came out. Anthony Goldstein gave Ron a friendly smile that Ron managed to return despite a flash of jealousy. Hermione finally came out, weighed down by what seemed to be a small library.

“Hermione, what is all this?” Ron asked.

“Materials for our project, mostly,” Hermione answered trying to shift her book bag and the books she was cradling in her arms so that they counterbalanced one another. “We had a lot to go over today. The rest are for studying with you and Harry.”

“I thought we were only studying Charms and History,” Ron said.

“I like to be prepared.”

Ron shook his head. Some things never changed.

“Here, let me carry some of those for you,” he said, reaching for the bundle in Hermione’s arms.

“You don’t have to, Ron,” Hermione answered. “I can manage.”

“I know that. I just don’t want to look ungallant following you through the halls,” Ron said, taking the stack of books. “It’s purely selfish on my part.”

Hermione leaned close to him. “Well, I suppose I can forgive a little selfishness.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Now come on. We’ve got to meet Harry in the library.”

They headed off down the hall together. Neither had noticed Harry who had come up the hall and stopped a few yards behind them. Harry watched them walk away and when they were out of sight, he turned and went back to Gryffindor Tower.

***

“Where were you?” Ron asked as he and Hermione took seats opposite Harry at dinner that evening. “We were supposed to study in the library this afternoon.”

“I must have forgotten,” Harry said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, mate, but you missed out on Hermione’s synopsis of the Giant Revolt in 1390. Pass the potatoes, will you?” Ron turned to Hermione and said, “I swear I don’t think I’d survive Binns’s class without you.”

“Of course you would, Ron. Honestly, you know the subject. I don’t know why you want to hear me drone on about it.”

“I guess I just like to hear you talk,” Ron said leaning close to Hermione. “You’re not nearly as boring as Binns.”

“If that’s supposed to be a compliment, it’s pathetic,” Hermione said, trying to look offended.

Ron grinned. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you.”

Hermione lifted her chin haughtily, but couldn’t contain her own grin.

“You certainly will,” she said.

“Well, I’ve got lessons with Snape, so I guess I’d better be going,” Harry said getting up from the table.

“Okay. See you later, Harry,” Ron said, barely glancing at him.

Hermione just smiled in his general direction and Harry stalked away from the table, fuming. Ron and Hermione were supposed to be his best friends, yet they never even seemed to look at him anymore. Most of the time he was uncomfortable around them and he certainly couldn’t talk to them. It was still too early for his lesson so Harry went for a walk around the castle to try to calm down, but his mood only deteriorated. He was tired of having no free time, tired of the visions and nightmares that kept him up at night, tired of all that was expected of him. And most of all, tired of having no one to talk to about any of it.

He had seriously thought of writing to Remus. He was certain his father’s old friend would be sympathetic, but Remus was surely busy working with the Order and had far more important things to worry about. Besides, writing a letter wasn’t really what Harry needed. He needed to talk to someone. He was sick of keeping all his thoughts and emotions bottled up. Maybe Snape could do that, but he couldn’t.

As he finally turned his steps towards the dungeons Harry knew Snape wasn’t going to be happy with him, but he didn’t care. If Snape wanted to throw him out that was fine. All these lessons didn’t seem to be helping him anyway. There had been a lull in Death Eater activity in recent weeks, which had given Harry a respite from his visions, but the few he still had were as gruesome as ever.

Harry stalked into the Potions Master’s office and sat down in his usual chair. Snape glanced up from his seemingly perpetual stack of homework to be marked and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked impatiently.

Harry rolled his eyes. He might not have learnt much in the last couple of months, but Snape had perfected the ability to spot Harry’s mood at a glance. I wish my friends knew me that well! Harry thought savagely. Aloud though, he merely said, “Nothing’s wrong, sir. I’m fine.”

Snape put down his quill and shook his head in disgust. “Potter, do I need to remind you that controlling your emotions is the first step in mastering both Occlumency and Legilimency?”

“No, sir.”

“Then explain to me why you’re wasting my time.”

Snape’s expression was hard and his eyes held not the slightest hint of compassion. Harry felt a familiar flash of anger and stood up.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time, Professor,” he said heatedly, and turned towards the door.

“Don’t even think of walking out that door, Potter,” Snape said in a quietly menacing tone.

Harry looked back at his professor.

“Why not? You said I’m wasting your time. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. Sir.”

Snape stood up and came around his desk to face Harry.

“Sit down.”

Harry glared at Snape for a moment then slumped back into his chair, staring at a bottle of bat guano on the edge of the desk.

Snape folded his arms and scowled at Harry.

“Potter, you have been sullen and distracted for days. This has gone on long enough! What is wrong?”

“Noth – ”

“Don’t say ‘nothing’.”

Harry sighed again and looked up at Snape.

“It’s nothing you could help me with.”

Snape’s mouth twisted into a smirk.

“Help you, Potter? I don’t recall saying anything about helping you. I simply wish to impress upon you that if you think you can come to my office to sulk, you are very much mistaken. Since you choose to bring your personal problems with you, you may tell me all about them. Perhaps then in the future you will give more thought to leaving them behind.”

Harry stared at Snape. The man couldn’t be serious. Harry wasn’t about to explain to Snape about Ron and Hermione. Snape would never understand. Besides, there wasn’t a less sympathetic soul in the world.

“Do you really have nothing better to do than agonize over Weasley’s and Granger’s romantic dalliance?” Snape asked smoothly.

Harry’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“Don’t you think I’ve noticed?” Snape asked disdainfully. “They aren’t exactly subtle. How long are you going to let this nonsense distract you?”

“It isn’t nonsense,” Harry protested. “They’re my best friends and they’ve taken to looking through me as if I weren’t there.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“What?”

“Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger aren’t ignoring you on purpose. They’ve simply been temporarily addled by their hormones. Distasteful certainly, but hardly unusual at their age. You’re the one who’s chosen to withdraw and sulk. What was it tonight? Did they fail to walk down to dinner with you? Honestly, if it’s bothering you that much, say something to them, but stop moping about like a forlorn puppy feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t have the luxury of that sort of self-indulgence and I’m tired of putting up with it!”

Harry stared stonily up at Snape wondering if the man had ever cared about anyone in his life. Probably not.

“I’m sorry if my problems are annoying you, Professor, but I really don’t think I need your advice on how to deal with them.”

“Do you really believe you’re the only person who’s ever had a friendship disrupted by romance? Or are you simply jealous that you’re no longer the center of their universe?” Snape taunted him.

“I’m not jealous!” Harry said angrily.

“Of course you are. You’re jealous that they have the audacity to be happy when you’re miserable and to have lives that include more than worrying about you.”

Harry jumped to his feet. “That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it?” Snape sneered. “Then what’s the problem?”

Harry looked daggers at Snape. In fact, the man was far too close to the truth. There were times when Harry was jealous of his friends. How could he not be? But there was more to it than that. Harry didn’t know how to put his feelings into words and his frustration made him lash out.

“Since you don’t have any friends, Professor, I doubt you’d understand,” Harry said coldly.

“Understand what, Potter?” Snape asked matching Harry’s tone. “Loneliness? Or the weight of a burden that can’t be shared?”

Harry stood perfectly still, his anger giving way to a strange sort of fear. Snape knew what he was feeling. More than that, he understood. Harry couldn’t have said why exactly, but he found that horribly disturbing.

“Which is it going to be, Potter?” Snape asked. “Are you going to wallow in self-pity and allow your emotions to rule you, or are you going to master them?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I, sir?” Harry said.

“Not if you wish to control your visions, no.”

Harry nodded slowly. “All right. Let’s get started.”

***

It was very late when Harry finally returned to Gryffindor Tower. Snape had been particularly brutal this evening and Harry’s head was pounding, but he hadn’t done badly. He was definitely becoming adept at Occlumency. Unfortunately, he was still unable to extricate himself from Snape’s memories during Legilimency practice. He was relieved that despite his low spirits he’d done no worse than usual and would have been content under normal circumstances, but tonight his earlier conversation with Snape haunted him.

“Loneliness and the weight of a burden that can’t be shared.” That was a perfect summation of his tumultuous emotions. How was it that Snape could identify his feelings so accurately when he, himself, couldn’t? And why didn’t anyone else even try?

It wasn’t fair. The one person who actually seemed to understand what he was going through was the last person he could talk to about it. Snape was as cold and unapproachable as ever. Why couldn’t it have been someone who didn’t try to make his life miserable at every turn?

Harry shoved his thoughts aside. He was starting to feel sorry for himself again and Snape was right, that wouldn’t help at all.

Ron and Hermione were still up when Harry entered the common room. They tended to sit up talking until all hours these days. Harry didn’t even acknowledge them as he headed for the stairs and Ron’s voice took him be surprise.

“Harry, you all right, mate?”

Harry turned, ready to brush off the question and continue on to bed, but Snape’s words suddenly came back to him. “You’re the one who’s chosen to withdraw and sulk.” Snape was right about that, too, Harry realized. His friends weren’t trying to hurt him.

“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked.

Harry went over and sat down across from Ron and Hermione.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been acting like a total prat and I’m sorry.”

Ron frowned. “You haven’t been acting like a prat, mate.”

“Yes, I have, you just haven’t noticed,” Harry said. “It’s been hard getting used to the two of you together. It isn’t that I’m not happy for you, I am! But I guess I’m just feeling a bit left out.”

“Oh Harry! We didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” Hermione said. “I suppose we have been ignoring you, but we didn’t think you’d care.”

“What?” Harry asked, incredulously.

“You’ve been a million miles away since summer,” Ron said. “You hardly talk to us. You won’t tell us anything. It’s like you’re in your own world and you won’t let anyone else in.”

“I know you don’t want us to worry about you,” Hermione said. “But we’re your friends, Harry. Whatever’s bothering you, you can’t keep it inside forever.”

“And if we ignore you, just tell us we’re being idiots,” Ron added. “Everyone else does.”

Harry grinned. “All right, I will,” he said, “And I do need to talk to you.”

He proceeded to tell them all about his lessons, the night he’d attacked Snape and the fact that he seemed to be making no progress at controlling his own mind. Ron and Hermione listened in silence until Harry struggled to a halt.

“I’m just afraid I’ll never learn how to do this,” he finished.

“Of course you will, Harry!” Hermione said, as though the possibility of failure was out of the question. “Legilimency is very advanced magic and you’ve only been studying it for a little while. Give yourself time.”

“Besides,” Ron said, “If you were truly hopeless, Snape wouldn’t be wasting his time with you. You know he’s not going to do you any favors.”

“No, you’re right about that,” Harry conceded.

“Just do your best and you’ll be fine,” Hermione said.

Harry smiled at Hermione’s fussy encouragement. Being able to talk about his problems made him feel so much better. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he went up to bed feeling happier than he had in weeks. As he settled under the covers, Snape’s words came back to him once more. “Loneliness and the weight of a burden that can’t be shared.” Nothing was worse than that and Harry promised himself he wouldn’t fall into that trap again. He wasn’t alone. He had good friends who would help him bear the burden.

Harry closed his eyes contentedly then opened them again. A sudden thought had just occurred to him. What did Snape do to ease his loneliness and the burdens he carried? Harry couldn’t imagine the man sharing his doubts and fears with anyone, not even Dumbledore, but Harry knew they were there. Sometimes, he could almost sense them and tonight Snape had known far too well what was troubling him.

Harry shoved these thoughts away. Snape’s troubles were none of his business. He had more than enough problems of his own to worry about. He closed his eyes once more and relaxed. Soon he had drifted into a peaceful sleep.

***

It had been a month since Harry’s first near-disastrous incursion into Snape’s mind. Thankfully, that experience had not been repeated. But Harry had quickly found that Legilimency was considerably more difficult to learn than Occlumency.

“Potter, it is one thing to go blundering into someone else’s thoughts,” Snape had told him impatiently. “To have the finesse to be able to control that connection is something else again. You need perfect focus, perfect control.”

That was easier said than done. Learning basic Occlumency skills had been fairly straightforward for Harry once he’d applied himself. Learning Legilimency was slow and tedious by comparison. Harry no longer had any trouble getting into Snape’s mind, but once there, memories hurtled at him at a dizzying pace and he found it impossible to wrench himself free. Worst of all, Harry now knew far more about the Potions Master than he would have ever wanted, which was disconcerting. Of course, Snape was no happier about this forced intimacy than Harry.

“Potter, that was pathetic!” Snape complained. “You’re the one initiating the spell. How can you be so incapable of controlling it?”

Harry sighed at the familiar criticism as he lay staring up at the ceiling, having once more been unceremoniously shoved from his professor’s thoughts.

“Professor, have you ever considered getting carpeting for your office?” he asked to avoid discussing his most recent failure. There was a pause as Snape seemed to consider him.

“I brew potions, Mr. Potter. Carpeting would be decidedly impractical.”

“You could conjure some just for our lessons,” Harry offered, with his hands folded across his stomach and making no attempt to rise. “As often as I wind up lying on the floor, it’d help. People are starting to ask why I have so many bruises all the time.”

“Tell them extra Potions lessons are dangerous work. Do you plan to lie there all night?”

“I don’t know, sir. Do you plan to knock me down again?”

“That, Mr. Potter, depends entirely upon you,” Snape answered smoothly, reaching out his hand.

Harry took his professor’s hand and let Snape pull him back to his feet.

“Potter, what is the problem?” Snape asked tiredly. “Are my memories so fascinating that you simply can’t tear yourself away? I would have thought the novelty would have worn off by now.”

“I don’t know what the problem is,” Harry said in frustration. “I just don’t know how to break away.”

Snape sighed and ran a hand across his eyes. “All right,” he said. “Let’s try one more time, shall we?”

They faced each other again. Harry took a deep breath and raised his wand. “Legilimens!”

He was on his knees in a clearing in the middle of a wood. It was night and a fire burned brightly off to one side, throwing long shadows across the scene before him. He was surrounded by figures in long black cloaks and silver masks. Death Eaters. And directly in front of him stood Voldemort.

He felt no terror, however, only nervous anticipation.

“Severus,” Voldemort addressed him. “The time has come for you to take your place as one of my most loyal followers. Are you prepared?”

“I am.”

He held out his bare left arm and Voldemort raised his wand.

Harry was having considerable trouble distinguishing his own emotions from Snape’s in the memory. Horror and fear, resignation and acceptance were all jumbled together in his mind. Then Voldemort touched the tip of his wand to the pale, unblemished skin of Snape’s forearm and all thought vanished in a searing pain worse than any Harry had ever experienced. It wasn’t just a physical pain. The torture seemed to reach into his mind, wrapping invisible chains around his soul. This was a mistake. He didn’t want this to happen to him, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t scream, or even breathe. For a moment, Harry was convinced that he was dying and longed for the welcome release. It would be better than this, better than slavery.

“It is done,” Voldemort said in a cold, hard voice that sounded like an iron door slamming shut.

***

“Potter! Potter, wake up!”

Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor again. Snape was kneeling next to him, looking more shaken than Harry had ever seen him. The memory of the clearing flashed again in Harry’s mind. He let out a strangled cry and rolled away onto his knees, clutching his left forearm. Another sound, half moan, half sob, escaped him and he might have collapsed again if Snape hadn’t caught his shoulders from behind.

Instead, Harry retched.

When he had finished, he closed his eyes and sagged against Snape, too numb to care what his professor might think of him.

“Potter, what is wrong with you!” Snape demanded. “Why did you endure that?”

“I didn’t know how to stop it,” Harry said dully. “And I know I should be able to and that I’m a failure, so you don’t need to tell me that, all right?”

There was a long pause and then Snape sighed. “I shouldn’t have put you through that. I thought that if the memory was bad enough, you’d pull away.”

Harry looked up at Snape. Had that been an apology? Then the man’s words sank in.

“You can control what I see?”

“Of course, Potter. That’s the whole point of Occlumency, if you remember. I can direct you away from certain memories and towards others.”

Harry nodded, absently.

“Now get hold of yourself. It wasn’t real. It was only a memory.”

Harry looked up to meet his teacher’s eyes. “It was real for you,” he whispered.

For once it was Snape who looked away, unable to hold Harry’s gaze. “That was a long time ago.”

“How old were you?” The question was out before Harry realized he meant to ask it, but Snape hesitated only fractionally before answering.

“Seventeen.”

Harry fought down the urge to be sick again.

“Professor, do you have any of that potion you gave me before? I think I could really use it right now.”

Snape nodded, rose silently and was gone. Harry took a deep breath to try to steady himself. He felt feverish and was too exhausted to get up off the floor. A single thought kept running through his mind. Seventeen. He was only a year older than I am.

Snape came back in and wordlessly handed Harry a cup. Harry took it, drank and handed the empty cup back without looking at his professor. He closed his eyes and let the potion work. He heard Snape sit down in the chair across from him and murmur a vanishing charm, no doubt to clean the floor where Harry had thrown up. Surprisingly, the silence between them wasn’t awkward at all.

“Professor, what if I can’t learn this?” Harry asked.

“You’re a wizard, Mr. Potter, you can learn. Some people simply have more difficulty than others.”

“How can you be certain of that?”

“I know your mind. I know what you’re capable of. There is no reason why you shouldn’t be able to master this.”

Harry wished he could have as much confidence. But if he couldn’t pull away from the memory he’d just seen, then what would it take?

“Professor, why did you…?” Harry stopped. He realized what he was about to ask wasn’t appropriate. But Snape picked up the question.

“Why what, Mr. Potter? Why did I become a Death Eater?”

Harry looked up. “Why did you become a spy?”

“Because it seemed like the right thing to do.”

“That’s it?”

“What more is there? Why do you do the things you do? Why follow the difficult path when the easy one is before you?”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Harry said quietly.

“There are always choices, Potter, just not always pleasant ones. Now, I think you ought to get to bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said as he got to his feet. “Good night, Professor.”

***

It was just after dinner a few nights later when McGonagall entered Gryffindor’s common room.

“I need everyone’s attention, please. If you plan to remain at school over the Christmas break, please raise your hand.”

Several students raised their hands and so did Harry.

“Not this year, mate,” Ron said dragging Harry’s arm down. “This year you’re coming to the Burrow for a traditional Weasley Christmas! Mum’s already arranged it with Dumbledore.”

“She has?” Harry asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, we wanted to be sure it would be all right before we said anything,” Ron said. “You do want to come, don’t you?”

“Don’t be daft, Ron,” Harry grinned. “Of course I want to come! I can’t wait!”

“Brilliant! Hermione’s coming too and Charlie’s even coming from Romania! It won’t be fancy or anything, but we always have a great time.”

“It sounds perfect!” Harry said. He was elated at the prospect of spending Christmas with the Weasleys.

***

“You’re what?” Snape was clearly appalled.

“Going to Ron’s for Christmas,” Harry repeated, completely taken aback by Snape’s reaction.

“For two weeks?” Snape’s tone made it clear that he considered the idea madness.

“It’s Christmas! Don’t I have the right to a holiday?” Harry demanded indignantly.

“If that’s more important to you than your sanity!”

“I think my sanity will be better off if I get away from school for a while. And anyway, you ought to be happy to get a break from me.”

“Yes, Potter. It’s so much more convenient wasting my evenings with you during the term when I also have classes to teach. Honestly! Why do I bother with you at all? But by all means, do as you please! You always do. Is there any point in reminding you to practice while you’re away or won’t you have time for it in your busy schedule?”

“I’ll practice. I promise I will.”

“We’ll see about that when you get back.”

Harry stalked out of Snape’s office and down the corridor, fuming. Just because Snape didn’t have a life, he thought no one else should have one either! Harry deserved this holiday. He needed it. And there was absolutely no reason why he should feel guilty about it.