The Alchemist's Cell
by SJR0301
Chapter Eighteen
Harry left Dumbledore's office as fast as he could. As soon as he was out of their hearing, he started running again. He coudln't have said why, but he felt compelled to get away from everyone. He passed the Great Hall where people called out to him, "All right, Harry?" or "are you doing a Weasley, Potter?", but those things made no impression on him. He kept going, right on up to the Gryffindor Tower and through the common room. When he entered through the Fat Lady's portrait, he had to endure half a minute's lecture from her, until he snarled, "Open up already! I've given you the password!" to which the Fat Lady replied, "Well! I never!"
In the common room, Ron and Hermione and Ginny were waiting. Everyone else stopped what they were doing and broke out into a babble, too.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, at almost the same moment that Ron asked,"Whatever possessed you?"
Harry shook his head. He felt, again, an enormous anxiety overtake him. His heart was racing, and he felt quite close to vomiting. He turned to go upstairs and was up three steps when Ginny finally weighed in.
"HOW COULD YOU? RUNNING OFF AND SCARING ALL OF US LIKE THAT? GOING INTO THE FOREST! WALKING OUT OF CLASS! I BET YOU GOT DETENTION! I BET YOU GOT EXPELLED! YOU PROBABLY DESERVE TO BE EXPELLED!"
Ron poked Ginny, but Harry could see she was on a roll. He knew that she really was upset and worried, but that didn't seem to matter just then. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" he bellowed. The entire common room stopped dead, and Harry could see Ginny's face turn dead white.
"She's just worried about you!" Hermione said. "We all are!" He had started to shake again, and he wondered if vaguely if he'd ever be warm again.
He said again, "I just want to be alone," and he turned and ran the rest of the way up the stairs and flung himself on his bed. Even Hedwig was eyeing him reproachfully. He pulled the curtains shut and huddled under the covers until the shaking stopped. Exhausted as he was, Harry ought to have slept. But he lay on the bed and stared up at the top of the four-poster wishing, for the first time since he had come to Hogwarts, that he was somewhere else. He wanted to be anyone else and anywhere else. Anyone but Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.
For the first time, he wondered whether Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon might have been right to try to keep him from becoming a wizard. Perhaps if he had stayed in the Muggle world, Voldemort would not have returned. Or if he had, he would not have bothered coming after Harry. And Harry would not now be facing the unpleasant choice of trying to learn enough to kill Voldemort, or be killed by the evil wizard himself. Harry heard the others come into the dormitory and he tried to ignore their whispers.
"Do you think we should see if he's all right?" Neville whispered.
"I dunno," Ron answered doubtfully. " 'Course, I don't blame him," he added loyally. "After Snape laying into him, and then McGonagall to boot. I think I might've took off, too, if it was me."
"You just stick up for him no matter what, Ron," Dean Thomas said. "But it seems like he doesn't care who his friends are anymore, or if he hurts them, does he?"
Harry thought, I ought to feel bad about that, but I don't. He still felt nothing but anger. And now that he was enclosed by the barrier of his curtains, a complete lassitude. He couldn't even be bothered to turn over, not even to find a more comfortable position. Eventually, fatigue won, and he slept.
The Castle walls were yards thick, and wrapped in protective spells that made them impenetrable. But something tapped on the brick, a chik...chik...chik...like the hammer the alchemist used to pulverized the quartz into a fine crimson powder. The alchemist added the crimson powder to the white-hot liquid that burned in the heart of the fire. The fire turned blood red, the white-hot liquid turned blood red, and the watcher crowed with triumph as the blood red liquid bagan to solidify into stone. The oblong clear crystal was blood red and the watcher reached out to seize it, but the alchemist stopped him.
"You must wait for it to cool completely," he said, "until the stone reaches its most perfect incarnation. If you touch it while it is hot, it will scorch your mind and your heart forever. Even one so impermeable as yours." The watcher drew back and waited. He would be patient just this little while longer. He had waited so long, though, and he longed to hold it, to touch it. His heart's desire. The alchemist poked the stone with his tongs, and then with a surreptitious glance at the watcher, he seized the stone himself. The stone scorched him, mind and heart and flesh, as he had warned the watcher, but that didn't matter. The watcher screamed. Fury possessed him, a fire nearly as hot as the alchemist's.
"Give it to me," the watcher raged. Even as he lunged for it, the alchemist waved his hand and his wand and banished the stone. A simple schoolboy spell. So simple, so useful, so unexpected. The pain of the Curse was almost bearable compared to the scorching pain in the alchemist's mind.
"Do you think he's sick again?" a voice asked.
"I dunno," the other voice replied. Ron's voice.
Harry wished they would go away. He wanted to stay asleep. It was so much more comfortable, even if his scar did hurt.
"I think we should try to wake him up, or get McGonagall," the first voice said. Neville's, his waking mind identified.
"He said he wanted to be left alone," Ron replied. Harry was grateful. That's right, he thought. Leave me alone.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Ron," Neville said. "He's already missed all his morning classes. And he's in enough trouble as it is from yesterday. Besides," Neville added, "it's not like him to stay in bed like this. I think something's wrong."
"Well, of course, something's wrong," Ron said. "Snape laying into him and then McGonagall, and having to have Occlumency lessons from Snape. It's only surprising he hasn't blown up sooner."
"Yeah," Neville said. "I wouldn't like to have Occlumency lessons with Snape either. From what Ginny told me, it sounds awful. And it's Snape. Anything to do with him is bound to be awful. And he's even more horrible to Harry than he is to me."
There was a short silence. Go away, Harry thought. He appreciated their sympathy, but he wanted to stay in his comfortable nest. His eyelids were weighted down and his whole body ached.
"I'm going to check on him," Neville said determinedly. "We can't just leave him like this. We have to make sure he's not ill." The curtains were drawn back and Harry could feel the bright midday light pressing through his eyelids, even though they were closed. "Harry?" Neville asked, "Are you okay?"
Harry didn't answer. Maybe, he thought, if he kept his eyes closed, they would just leave him alone.
"Harry?" Ron said. "You've got to wake up, mate." No, I don't, Harry thought.
A cool hand touched his forehead. "He hasn't got a fever or anything," Neville said, sounding puzzled. "So it's not a relapse from the dragon pox. But it's weird."
"What's weird," Ron asked.
"Well," Neville said, "his forehead's cool and normal, except I could swear his scar is hot. That's quite odd. I've never heard of anything like that before."
”Yeah, well," Ron answered, "Harry's different."
"I am not different," Harry said. He opened his eyes in time to see both Ron and Neville jump.
"Why didn't you say you were awake?" Ron asked indignantly.
"Well, I didn't want to be awake," Harry, said grumpily.
He sat up and put his face in his hands. He felt light-headed, as if he might faint, even though he'd been in bed since yesterday evening.
"Are you okay?" Ron asked again.
"Oh, yeah," Harry said. "Just great." He didn't bother adding, as great as you could be with an evil wizard out to murder you, horrific nightmares, and the nastiest teacher in history badgering one about everything.
"Are you having dreams again?" Neville asked. "Like last year?"
"No," Harry lied. The two of them looked at him in disbelief.
"Yes, you were," Ron said. "You were talking in your sleep. Something about wanting something. Telling someone to, erm, give something to you."
"I don't remember that," Harry lied again. He rememberd the dream quite perfectly, as he always did with the dreams that were from Voldemort. But they didn't have to know that. He rolled out of bed and went to wash up. When he went to gather his books up for his afternoon classes, he found Ron and Neville still waiting for him.
"You know what, Harry," Neville said. "I think you need to practice Occlumency more."
Harry rounded on him. "How do you know about that, anyway, Neville?" he asked.
"Well, from last year," Neville replied. "When you had that argument with us about going to the Department of Mysteries. I got Ginny to explain it afterwards, how you knew Sirius might be in trouble and all."
"Oh," Harry said. His insides did that squirmy thing they always did when Sirius was mentioned. But he also remembered that Neville had gone to help. "So," Harry added, "you've been chatting about me with Ginny." Neville met his gaze squarely.
"Yeah," he said. "She's my friend. And you're my friend. She was worried about you. Especially when you were sick."
"I am sick," Harry said. "Sick of Occlumency. Sick of Snape. I want to just go to class and have a normal life." He thought with surprise, I can't believe I just said that. To Neville.
"None of us have a normal life, Harry, while You Know Who is back," Neville answered. "We just have to stick together, though, and fight him. Even you can't do fight him completely alone."
Harry looked at Neville in surprise. It was always easy to underestimate Neville. He was so generally so self-effacing, when he did do something strong, he did catch one by surprise. "I know that," he said after a moment. He looked from Neville to Ron and added quietly, "I'm lucky to have friends to help like you."
When they got down to lunch, Ginny wouldn't talk to Harry. She turned her back to him and continued talking airily to Hermione about study schedules for OWLs.
"I'll make you an agenda like I did for Ron and Harry last year," Hermione said. She turned and looked at Harry and said, "You look awful."
Harry shrugged and said sardonically, "What? As compared to my usual elegant appearance? I might have to miss my photo op for Witch's Weekly."
"Don't be a total prat," Ron said. "She means you look ill."
"Well, I'm not ill," Harry said. "I'm just sick of people hovering over me like I might break apart any minute."
Hermione flushed just a little and said, "Who's hovering?" She gave him one of those steely looks Harry was sure she had been practicing after every class with McGonagall and added bluntly, "And I got the impression you were about to break apart yesterday. I mean, running out of class and into the forest? You had us all terrified."
"Well, don't be," Harry, said coolly.
"You know," Ron said, "there are times that you can be a total git, mate."
"Yeah," Harry said wearily. "I'm sure I am."
He turned to Hermione and said, "Just figure it this way. I've survived just about everything so far. Unless Voldemort comes after me directly again, I don't think you need to worry."
"Honestly," Hermione answered with exasperation. "You are just about the stubbornest, most-hard headed idiot. Even Ron looks rational next to you."
Next to her, Ginny sorted, and Ron said, "I don't think that was a compliment, do you?"
Harry woke up Wednesday full of dread and defiance. Tonight would be his first Occlumency lesson with Snape since the last disastrous one before the holidays. The feeling of gloom persisted all day, and he had trouble concentrating on his classes. Nothing seemed to go right.
In Charms, they were working on an advanced form of levitation. Instead of levitating small objects like feathers, they had to levitate living creatures.
Next to him, Hermione levitated her cat so smoothly that it remained curled up and purring in the air, as if it had never even felt the change. Ron's cat went up quite smoothly, too, but its fur was standing on end and its ears were laid back, so that it looked like a Halloween cut-out in three dimensions. When Harry tried it, however, half his mind was occupied with his continued anger over Snape's last comments to him. His cat levitated, no question about it; but it soared nearly to the high ceiling of the classroom and transformed into an angry, roaring half-grown lion at the same time. Lavender and Parvati screamed. Professor Flitwick, on the other hand, looked quite bemused.
"Were you meaning to combine levitation and transfiguration at the same time, Mr. Potter? That is quite an interesting effect." Harry could feel the heat rush to his cheeks. He was quite sure Voldemort...Riddle...had never made stupid mistakes like this in school. He ignored the whispers from some of the other students and breathed a sigh of relief when Flitwick transformed the cat back and brought it gently down to his desk with a flick of his wand. The cat hissed at Harry and streaked off, sending Neville's cat flying sideways before Neville could get his spell off.
"How did you do that?" Hermione asked as they walked out of class. Harry shrugged.
"I wasn't concentrating properly. Obviously," he answered testily.
"No, I mean, do you think you could do that again?" Hermione asked.
"Why would I want to?" Harry asked. He couldn't help letting the sarcasm seep in. Hermione didn't make stupid mistakes like that, even when she was upset.
"I think it would be useful," she answered calmly, as if he were a fretting child and she the all wise mother.
"Exactly why would turning something into a levitated angry lion be useful, Hermione?" Ron wanted to know. Hermione glared at him.
"Don't you see how useful that would be for a distraction in a fight," she said.
"Oh, yeah, Hermione," Ron answered. "And when you lose your concentration and the lion lands, it'll want to bite you first. Really, really useful."
He turned to Harry and asked, "What were you thinking about anyway?"
"Snape," Harry answered, "I've a lesson with him tonight."
"That's interesting," Hermione said.
"Interesting?" Harry retorted, "That's one thing Occlumency lessons with Snape are not. Nasty, uncomfortable, humiliating, dreadful. But definitely not interesting."
"Yeah, but," Ron said tentatively, "You're doing much better, aren't you. I mean, none of us could crack you at all." Harry sighed.
"You're not Snape. None of you are full grown powerful wizards, are you? And," he added, "It takes more than one lesson to get anywhere."
"But you're doing amazingly well, Harry," Hermione said. "From what I've read, even most grown wizards can't do it at all. And you were able to block us out and do legilimency on Ron."
"Blocking you out isn't the same as blocking out Voldemort," Harry said bluntly. Hermione flinched and Ron paled, and the converstaion ended there.
It seemed as though every bit of progress Harry had made with Occlumency had leaked out of his head over the holidays. Snape gave him an uninterpretable look and said without preamble, "Have you been practicing?" Harry opened his mouth to say he had, but before he could reply and without any warning as he had always done before, Snape attacked.
He was staring into the frozen waters of the lake wanting to numb the annoying pain in his scar, to drown his anger and fear in the soothing dark depths. He was staring wearily at the angry centaurs wishing they'd just let fly those arrows and put him out of his misery. He was the old man in the dungeon cell and his mind and heart and flesh were on fire, as if the fire that burned forever hot in his workshop was now burning inside him. He longed for death as a young man longed for his mistress. It was his own pride that had brought him to this. Had he been satisfied with an ordinary life, he would not be here, fighting the evil one over and over and losing over and over. Only death now would quench the fire inside. Only death could end the struggle and reunite him with his loved one. Death was the answer. Death was the answer, Harry agreed. He could be with Sirius, then. He could be with his Mum and Dad. And all the pain would be over.
"What is that old man doing in your head, Potter?" Snape asked. "You are supposed to be blocking your mind when you go to sleep. Why are you dreaming of that old man?" Harry picked himself up off the floor and sat in a chair without asking.
He gripped the arms of the chair and said, "I've been dreaming about him. Professor Dumbledore knows."
"This is just another example of your arrogance, isn't it?" Snape said coldly. "Are you planning your next disastrous rescue mission? Or have you learned from last year to leave these things to the adults and concentrate on what's important?"
"And what is it that you think is important?" Harry retorted.
"Learning Occlumency! Blocking out these dreams!" Snape replied coldly. "Or why else am I wasting my time here with you?"
“Oh?" said Harry, "Well, you're not wasting your time altogether. I don't dream at all any more. Only the occasional little foray into Voldemort's mind. And what do you know about the old man anyway? Who is he? Where is he? What does Voldemort want with him?"
"Don't say his name!" Snape hissed.
"What do you know about him?" Harry repeated. The fury was building up again. He loathed the man before him. There weren't words to describe his feelings.
"Nothing," Snape answered. "I wouldn't tell you if I did."
The anger boiled over. They were cocnealing things from him again. With a flick of his wand and and a word he was inside Snape's mind now. He slid through the jumble of thoughts and feelings as easily as a snake slid through the jungle brush. He knew nothing about the old man. He was afraid, then. Because that meant the Dark Lord no longer trusted him. Perhaps HE had never trusted him. He had bowed and scraped to return.
"You let a half-trained puppy burn out my Mark?" the Dark Lord had asked incredulously, cruelly. The waves of pain from the Curse lashed him and he sobbed in pain as he pleaded to be given his Mark back. Harry withdrew from Snape's mind. He was shaking and he wanted to bolt, to vomit.
"You went back?" he said. "How could you go back? You knew what he would do. He's going to kill you eventually. He doesn't trust you, and you still went back!" Snape's face was gray and sick.
But his black eyes glittered as he answered, "You understand nothing. Nothing. You have no subtlety. You blunder about and flail and rage and your stupidity creates danger for others. GROW UP! Self-pity and whining will get you killed. Only mastering Occlumency will save you."
"Will it?" Harry said. "It's very odd that since I've started these lesson, the only thing, the only thing I ever dream is what I see through Voldemort. Maybe it's having the opposite effect of what Dumbledore wants. Or maybe, it's having precisely the effect that you want, that Voldemort wants. Maybe Voldemort wants you to open my mind up more. Maybe you're not teaching me how. Maybe you're just making me more vulnerable. Whose side are you on, anyway?"
Harry raised his wand again, but this time, Snape was faster. The shadowy voice of the prophecy came out of the mist, "either shall die at the hand of the other." A scream was rising up in him. He flung Snape back out of his mind and roared, "I won't! I won't! I can't!" The crack of despair and grief had opened wide and he was falling in. He threw down his wand and curled hismelf into the smallest ball he could make of himself.
"Potter?" Snape's voice grated into him. He wanted never to hear that voice again. Somehow, Harry found the strength to uncurl and stand. He didn't bother wiping the moisure from his face.
"You're teaching me how to kill him, that's what you're doing," he said. "That's why Dumbledore wants me guarded so closely, isn't it? I am the weapon everyone's been guarding. Because that's my fate--to murder him. Or if I fail, to be murdered by him. So why, exactly would I want to really learn this? So I can be a more effective killer? So I can learn to strip his mind before I put him out of his misery?” Snape stooped and picked up Harry's wand. He was even paler than he had been before.
"You've got it wrong again, Potter. Dumbledore wants you to learn this so you can defend yourself from the Dark Lord's intrusions. What he really fears is that the Dark Lord will take you over, possess you completely. And then you will be HIS weapon, won't you? How would you like to be the weapon the Dark Lord uses to kill Dumbledore, or one of your friends and admirers? Do you want that? That's what's at stake here." Harry stared at Snape in shock.
It was, of course, at the very bottom of the pit of his deepest, darkest fears, that he would hurt his friends. He shivered violently.
"Have I finally got through to you?" Snape asked icily. "Has it penetrated then?" Harry swallowed. He could think of nothing to say. Snape offered his wand back, and Harry stared at it a moment before taking it back.
"Good," Snape said. "Perhaps you do have some of the vaunted Gryffindor courage. Because doing the right thing now is going to take all of it that you've got." Harry still could think of nothing to say.
Snape stared at him further and said, "I'll expect you back here Saturday morning. And if you fail to come, I'll know just what the quality of your bravery is."
Harry nodded and started to turn away. As he moved toward the office door, Snape added, "And I wouldn't put too much emphasis on that prophecy, Potter, if I were you. Considering the source."
Harry whipped around and said, "Wouldn't you? Then why was it in the Hall of Prophecies at the Department of Mysteries, if it wasn't a true one? Why did Voldemort want it so badly, if it wasn't true?"
Snape considered him as if he were a bug to examine for one of his potions. "Prophecies, sometimes, are self-fulfilling," he answered. "The Dark Lord knew a prophecy had been made that someone might defeat him. So he went about attacking anyone who might fulfill the prophecy. When he attacked you, he made a piece of the prophecy come true. Beware, Potter, of believing in it to the extent that you make the rest of it come true."
January seemed to slip by into February in a round of classes, quidditch practices and Occlumency lessons, so that Harry had little time to think. When he did stop for a moment, staring into the fire in the common room for inspiration on an essay on fire auguries for Divination, he thought uneasily of the advice the silver haired centaur had given him. The conflict was written in the stars, but not the outcome. It was up to him to write the ending. He found it odd that the centaur's statement was very like Snape's, and seemingly, the opposite of Dumbledore's.
Dumbledore had told him without any hesitation or qualification that the prophecy meant he must either kill Voldemort or be killed by him. Yet neither the centaur nor Snape seemed all that certain it would be exactly so. Perhaps he might be deceiving himself, but Harry took heart from their words. Perhaps there was a way he could escape the fate the prophecy laid out. Perhaps it was up to him to "write" his own ending.
On the whole, he had left the worst of his gloom behind. Even Snape had gone back to ignoring him in class more often than badgering him. That, he could deal with. What really bothered him just now was that Ginny was still ignoring him and every so often he would hear whispered gossip about him dropping her that stopped the moment they knew he was there. Except for Malfoy, who gleefully told everyone Harry had finally come to his senses and dropped Ginny because she was a fortunehunter. Harry could see her bright head across the common room, where she was giggling with some of the fifth year girls.
"She's still not talking to you, is she?" Hermione remarked.
Harry stared at Hermione and said, "No. She's not." He didn't want to say anymore as he supposed Hermione might lecture him or tell him something he really didn't want to hear. But he couldn't help himself, the words just slipped out.
"What is it with girls anyway?" Harry asked. "I mean, I know I was...well...pretty awful, but...I wasn't meaning to be awful to her in particular." Hermione gave him that special look of pity she reserved for Ron and Harry in their stupidest moments.
"You're still talking to me," Harry added. "I was just as horrible to you. So why's she still so mad at me?" Hermione sighed and put aside her Arithmancy essay.
"Harry," she said, "Ginny's mad at you because you told her off in front of everyone. You were dating her. She was concerned about you. Scared for you, like we all were. And you turned her off cold. In front of everyone, you humiliated her. Of course, she's not talking to you."
"But," Harry protested, "we weren't really dating even. It was a show, because she was mad at Dean, and then because we were both mad at Malfoy."
"Was it?" Hermione asked. "How much of a show was it? You kissed her right in front of the world in Hogsmeade and on the train coming back up."
"How do you know about the train?" Harry asked. He could feel his cheeks heat up.
"Ginny told me," Hermione answered. She hesitated and then continued, "Even if it was all show, you still hurt her pride. Because everyone thinks...well, I think you know what everyone thinks."
"Yeah," Harry said angrily. "What Malfoy tells everyone to think, but what am I supposed to do to put it right? She won't even talk to me to let me apologize."
"How badly do you want to apologize?" Hermione asked.
"What do you mean?" Harry retorted.
"Forgive me, Harry," Hermione said, "but if you really wanted to apologize, you would have found a way already." Harry could feel the heat climb all the way from around his toes this time. He looked away from Hermione into the fire again.
"I thought, maybe...well...that she was glad to be through with the show," Harry mumbled. He turned back to Hermione and added, "and now I don't think she even wants to go back to just being my friend." Harry was surprised at just how much that hurt. He'd had no friends in his life at all until he'd come to Hogwarts. To lose a friend, he felt, was worse than if he were to lose every galleon in his vault at Gringotts.
"You know what to do," Hermione said, "It's up to you to find the courage to do it."
Harry stared back at her. "Now that was a low blow, Hermione."
"Well, what do you expect, Harry," she answered with considerable asperity. "There's some things you have to do for yourself." With one last glance at Hermione, Harry stood up and started toward Ginny. However, she got up herself at almost the same instant, and headed up the stairs to the girls' dormitories.
Unable to follow, as he remembered how Ron had slid right back down the stairs again last year, Harry ground his teeth and said to Hermione, "Will you just talk to her, please? Just tell her I want to talk to her. To apologize." Hermione didn't respond for a moment.
"You never apologized to Ron and me either," she said quietly. Harry gawped at her.
"But, you didn't say anything."
"Sometimes, Harry," she answered, "We make allowances for our friends. But," she added, "You haven't made things easy for us lately. You don't tell anyone what's bothering you anymore. And you expect us to act as if there's nothing wrong, when we can see there is."
Harry sank back down in the chair feeling perfectly awful. He closed his mouth and opened it again. He didn't know how to tell his friends what troubled him. He was afraid, really afraid, that if they knew what he was, what he might be, a killer, a murderer, that they wouldn't be able to get past that knowledge and stay his friends. He tried to come up with something that would answer the question and yet be at least partly honest.
Finally, in a low voice, he said, "I...it's Sirius's death, I suppose." He stared at his hands as had become his habit, examining the long length of them, and said, "it was my fault. I can't get over it, if I'd listened to you, he wouldn't have died. It's my fault he died."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, and he saw that there were tears brimming in her eyes, "how can you think that? His death is no one's fault but Voldemort's. Voldemort is the one who tricked you. Voldemort is the one who sent his Death Eaters there to get the prophecy and to kill you, if they could. And Sirius was glad, glad to fight for you." Harry wished he could take some comfort from her words.
"He wouldn't have had to, if I hadn't been such a stupid prat. If I had listened, and learned Occlumency, I wouldn't have been deceived. And I'm still not really trying hard enough at it. I still let all the old things get in the way. How I hate Snape. How I want to do the opposite of anything he tells me to. And maybe that's Voldemort influencing me. I don't know." Harry felt bitterly, that though he had left out the worst of it, what he had told Hermione was all quite true.
"Do you think he is? Voldemort?" Hermione asked. "Wouldn't you be able to tell? If your scar hurt, I mean?"
Harry looked at her said tiredly, "I dunno, Hermione. My scar hurts on and off most of the time now. Just because he's alive again maybe. And he's growing stronger. That much I can tell."
"Have you told Dumbledore?"
"Yeah," Harry answered. "He knows."
"Well, listen," Hermione, said after a moment. "Maybe you could try teaching us Occlumency again. I really think it might help you, if you practiced with other people." When Harry didn't answer immediately, she said, "Just think about it."
Harry looked at her earnest face, and felt a sudden surge of affection. He was lucky, so lucky, to have such great friends. He smiled at her and said, "All right, then."
She looked relieved and said briskly, "Well, I'll tell the others then. On the weekend, then?"
Harry nodded, and was surprised to notice that his scar wasn't hurting at all just then. He went up to bed feeling better than he had in a long time.
The next day, the day before Valentine's Day, Harry slogged his way through his classes absentmindedly: he dropped his flask in Potions after he had actually followed the instructions right for once; he failed miserably to do the day's spell in Transfiguration; and he fell asleep altogether in Divination, fortunately, with nary a dream to tell.
Even in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he was off his usual form. Only in this case, instead of failing to do his spell, he did his counter-jinx so vigorously that Seamus Finnegan had to be taken to the hospital wing to be rewoken.
Professor Ribisi took ten points off of Gryffindor for that and said, "Clearly, you are not practicing Mr. Potter. Control is just as important as doing a spell at all. You want to do each spell as precisely as possible. Know the effects of every spell. And concentrate! Lack of concentration and precision has killed more wizards than anything."
Somebody off to the side snorted and said in a carrying whisper, "With Harry, it's more likely he'll kill someone else by accident, than that he'll be killed himself." Which only made Harry cringe all the more.
At dinner, the talk was all of their Hogsmeade visit the following day. Girls sat in little packs giggling over who was dating whom, and Harry could feel the occasional sidelong looks they'd give him. A month later, and they were still getting mileage out his "break-up" with Ginny, he thought in annoyance.
As if called by his thoughts, Malfoy swaggered past the table and said loudly, for everyone to hear, "So I guess you saw the light of day, Potter. You got rid of the Weasley chit fast enough, now you've realized she just wants all your gold."
Harry wanted very badly to punch Malfoy's face in, but Snape was at the headtable and so was Dumbledore. The last thing he needed was a lecture on controlling his emotions. He settled for saying very coolly, "I'd think you'd be more impressed by her pure blood than by my money. Maybe all that stuff about purity of blood is just a pose. Maybe all you really care about is power. And money buys power, doesn't it? And friendship. Or what your Dad's definition of friendship is anyway."
Malfoy's pale face flushed pink and he mouthed, "I'll get you, Potter. Just wait and see." He swaggered away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him, neither of whom seemed to have gotten the insult. They laughed as Malfoy said, "Hook, line and sinker, I think."
Harry shrugged and went back to eating his meal. Or rather pushing his potatoes around until they formed a miniature cave. He gave up eating and started toward the library, as he needed to look something up for his Charms homework.
"Hi, Harry," a voice said. It was Luna Lovegood. Unusually, her misty blue eyes looked worried and she said abruptly, "Have you talked to Ginny today?"
"No," Harry said.
"You haven't been talking to her at all lately, have you?" Luna asked.
"Well, it's rather the other way around," Harry said. Luna nodded, as if something made sense.
"But you haven't seen her at dinner, have you?" Harry shook his head, trying to figure out what was up. Luna hesitated and then said abruptly again, "I heard she was going out into the Forest tonight. To pick moonflowers."
"In the Forest?" Harry said. "Are you sure?"
"No," Luna said. "But everyone in our year's been whispering she was going to try to pick moonflowers tonight. Because of you."
"Why me?" Harry asked.
"You do know what moonflowers can be used for, don't you?" For one moment, Harry thought Luna sounded exactly like Hermione when she knew something he didn't.
"Just tell me, Luna," he said impatiently.
"Moonflowers," she said dreamily, "have many healing properties. But they are also reputed to be an effective ingredient in love potions when picked at the full moon."
"Oh," Harry said, "and what makes you think..."
"It's not what I think," Luna interrupted. "I heard several girls talking about it. Pansy Parkinson, and Parvati Patil, and Padma Patil, and those two girls from Gryffindor Ginny hang with sometimes."
"Ginny's not that stupid," Harry said. "She wouldn't go into the forest at night alone."
"Wouldn't she?" Luna said. "We can all be pretty stupid when our hearts are involved. And our pride."
Harry swallowed. He thought quickly. Ron and Hermione both had prefect duties tonight. He wondered if this was all some strange joke, but he couldn't see any hint of a lie in Luna's misty eyes. Only worry. "Are you aure about this?" Harry asked again.
"I'm sure there's danger tonight," she said. "And the clearing where the moonflowers grow, it's very dangerous tonight, Harry." she added urgently, "The veela dance there tonight. It's the Eve of Valentine's Day, a potent time for magic. They'll make her one of them, if she goes. It's one of their dangers. They can turn girls who have been rejected by their true loves into veela like themselves."
"Their what?" Harry asked. Dropping her mistiness, Luna said,"Come on, we have to go after her."
"Oh, no," Harry said. "I'll go after her. You go find Hermione and Ron and tell them what's going on. See if they can get McGonagall or someone to help. No scratch that. I'm not having a teacher know Ginny went into the Forest like that on account of me." Luna's protuberant eyes grew clouded again.
"Be careful, Harry. The veela have powerful magic. Old magic. Be careful."
