The Hidden Hero

Harry relaxed in the Gryffindor common room after dinner. A few of his fellow Gryffindors became more relaxed (or braver) and approached the teen. Showing a tact he would not have guessed they possessed, no one asked him about his past. Rather, they spoke generally about the teachers and classes and clued Harry in on some gossip, such as which students were seen snogging in the hallway.

Harry was just learning from Ron that Fred and George were trying to raise money to start a joke shop in Diagon Alley when he felt a pull at his consciousness. It was as if he had a sudden recollection that he had forgotten to do something. Then, slowly, as if gathering momentum, the vague thought crystallized into a distinct urge to go to Professor Snape’s office. Harry was standing before he had realized he meant to do so.

Ron stopped speaking in mid-sentence and looked in surprise at Harry. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’ve got to go to Professor Snape’s office,” said Harry mechanically.

“Why?” asked Ron in confusion.

“I’ve…I’ve got to go,” said Harry, already starting toward the portrait hole.

Ron stood up and followed Harry to the exit. “Harry, did you forget something in his office or something? Why do you have to go to his office all of a sudden?”

Harry continued walking as he explained. “I have to be at his office every night at 8 o’clock. I’ve got to go.”

Sudden understanding dawned on Ron’s face. “It’s the indenture, isn’t it?” he whispered. It was as if he felt that whispering the words made the fact of the indenture less appalling to Harry.

Harry nodded jerkily.

Ron continued following Harry down the corridor. He was unsure what to do. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked awkwardly.

“There’s no need,” said Harry. “I’ll be there an hour.” As he said these words, his stomach clenched.

Curious, Ron asked, “Why?”

“You know! It’s so that he can go inside my thoughts. It’s why they put me under the indenture.”

“Oh,” muttered Ron. It was a chance remark of his (that it was too bad Harry wasn’t a house elf) that had led to Dumbledore’s hitting upon the idea of the indenture. Ron sincerely hoped that Hermione would never mention this to Harry.

They walked together in silence for a while. Then, Ron asked, “Does it hurt? When he’s inside your head?”

Harry gave a short nod. “A lot.”

“It’ll make you better, though, right?” asked Ron, hoping for reassurance.

Harry snorted. “That’s what they say. I should have been consulted!”

They had arrived at Snape’s office. Harry knocked and was bid to enter. Professor Snape was waiting for him. He looked in surprise at seeing Ron. “Were you invited, Mr. Weasley?” he asked in a biting tone.

Ron turned red but kept his voice even as he said, “No, Professor. I don’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Mollified by the boy’s respectful tone, Snape considered the offer. After a short pause, he said, “Actually, Mr. Weasley, you can be of assistance. Please return here in one hour. You can accompany Mr. Potter back to his dormitory room.”

Ron looked alarmed. “He’ll need help?” He cast a swift look at Harry, who had said nothing but was looking a little pale and was staring steadily at Snape.

“He may be a little weak,” Snape said. “Now, I suggest you leave and close the door behind you.” There was no mistaking the command. Ron, feeling as if he were abandoning Harry, left the room.

Snape motioned for Harry to approach the small bed he had conjured in the corner of the room. Harry walked toward the bed and said bitterly, “Just another fun event in this never-ending day.” The teen lay down on the bed and clenched his fists in anticipation.

Snape sat in a chair he had situated at the bedside. “Try to relax, Potter,” he said. His tone was not unkind.

Harry unclenched his fists. But, he did not feel the peace that had flowed through him the last time (was it just yesterday?) that Snape and the others had entered his mind. “I don’t feel relaxed,” he said in surprise.

Snape snorted impatiently. “I can’t order you to relax, Potter. The indenture is not the same as the poppyweed potion. The indenture means that you have to do tasks I tell you to do – such as open your mind. But, I can’t make you feel any particular feeling.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He was pleased to find out that there were limits to the indenture. He took deep breaths and forced himself to relax slightly.

“I’m going to cast a body bind curse on you, so that you won’t hurt yourself when I’m in your thoughts.”

The idea of being unable to move was petrifying. “Please don’t, sir. I’ll stay still,” he promised.

“You know it will hurt.”

“Yes. But I promise not to move.”

“Okay, then.” Casting a muffliato charm on the room, Snape took a deep breath himself and said, “Legilimens!”

Immediately, Harry felt a presence at the wall blocking entrance to his mind. Snape turned the handle of the door that Harry had placed in the wall the day before. The door swung open and Snape entered.

Once again, Snape did not explore. He stopped at the first room he passed. He approached a section of a wall that had a thin dark smear of the tar-like substance running down it in rivulets. Starting at the top of the streak, Snape began scraping away at the blot.

Harry shifted on the bed and tried to stifle his groans.

Working steadily through the next hour, Snape pulled the dirty streak away from the wall. Like the memory he had lifted the day before, when the blot was pulled away, it left behind a shadow on the wall.

When he was done and the streak hovered a few inches away from the wall, Snape prodded the memory with his wand. This time, the scene was one Snape had witnessed himself on numerous occasions. The Dark Lord was punishing one of the Death Eaters for some perceived fault. The difference with Harry’s memory, though, was that Harry had watched the Dark Lord performing the Cruciatus Curse from the point of view of Voldemort himself. As with so many of Harry’s memories, it was seared into Harry’s consciousness as if he had done the act rather than just having witnessed the event.

Snape left the room and exited from Harry’s mind through the door in the wall. The potions master was exhausted. This was extremely tiring work. He stood up and stretched his weary bones. He cast a concerned look at the boy.

Harry’s eyes were closed and he was panting as he tried to gather up his strength.

“Are you alright?” Snape was surprised to hear himself ask the question. There was something about the quiet dignity of the boy that struck him.

Harry drew a shaky breath and opened his eyes. They were glittering with pain. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Yes,” he said in a low voice.

The green eyes reminded Snape, once again, of Lily. And, once again, it made him try to reach out to her son. “The Dark Lord was more erratic and crueler than even Death Eaters realized when they first were drawn to him. It was hard to witness some of his brutal actions. I…I can only imagine how difficult it would be to feel those actions.”

Harry drew a deep breath. Snape continued, “You are angry that you were forced to return to this world.”

Harry looked up with narrowed eyes. Yes! He was angry!

“The wizarding world is less subtle than the muggle world, Potter. The teachings of Gryffindor – known for acting without thinking – are embraced more than the teachings of Slytherin. They should have approached you with more cunning…luring you back here instead of grabbing you.”

“They should have left me the hell alone!” objected Harry.

“Really? Do you believe that, Potter? Do you really want these memories to continue to haunt you?”

Harry shook his head. But, then burst out, “I want to have the freedom to decide my own life!”

“The indenture does not last forever.” There was a knock at the door. Snape hesitated, wanting to say more.

When Ron entered, Harry stood up. He swayed on his feet and his friend rushed to his side to throw a supportive arm around his shoulders. Harry rested briefly on Ron’s strength and then stood straighter, giving a short nod to indicate that he was ready to stand on his own. Looking concerned but not saying a word, Ron followed Harry across the room to the door, keeping close in case Harry lost his balance again.

Snape watched, his jaw clenched, as Harry staggered to the door, refusing Ron’s assistance. “Same time tomorrow night, Potter.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said expressionlessly. He and Ron left the room.

The boys did not speak as they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. Ron silently helped Harry over the portrait hole entrance. There were still a number of students in the common room when they entered and they called out cheerful greetings to Ron and Harry when they entered. They fell silent when they realized that Harry seemed ill. Behind Harry’s back, Ron shook his head to forestall any questions. The students watched without a word as Harry climbed the steps to his dormitory and disappeared from sight, Ron still trailing behind him.

Thomas, a first year student, turned to face his friends and said, his voice fierce, “Did you see him? Did you see how sick he looked? What did Professor Snape do to him?”

Emily, another first year, responded, “You know that Harry’s under an indenture. Maybe Snape made him do something awful.”

“Maybe Snape beat him!”

“Don’t be stupid. Snape isn’t going to beat Harry. Dumbledore wouldn’t stand for it. And why would Snape want to beat Harry anyway?” asked another student, Daniel.

Thomas responded, “Maybe Snape really is a Death Eater after all. He was clever enough to trick everyone, even Dumbledore. Now, he’s got Harry in his clutches and he’s doing something to him. You can see that.”

“What do we do?” Emily whispered.

“What do you mean?” asked another girl, in a scared voice.

“Sharon, we can’t just let Snape get away with hurting Harry,” Emily said fiercely.

“Emily’s right,” agreed Thomas. “We got to do something.”

“But what?” asked Daniel.

“We’ve got to come up with a plan that will make Snape realize that he better treat Harry decently or he’ll live to regret it!” responded the other boy.

Sharon cast a glance at the empty stairs, where Harry had stood just a few minutes ago. “You’re right,” she said, although her voice still shook. “Harry risked everything to save us from You Know Who. We can’t stand back and let Snape hurt him.”

And the little band of four spent the rest of the evening trying to think up a way to teach Professor Snape a lesson he would not forget.

*

The next day was a pale repeat of the day before. People continued to stare at Harry but not quite as much as on his first day back. A few students even dared to approach Harry in class and exchange ordinary conversation with him. The classes were generally boring to Harry, but he was glad not to have to work too hard anyway. He still felt extremely drained from his session with Snape the night before.

Harry found his stomach turning in knots in the hour before he had to go to Snape’s office again. Once again, he was in the Gryffindor common room, trying to relax after dinner. However, as the time approached for him to go to Snape, he found himself fidgeting and getting nervous. He didn’t pay much attention to the group of first years who were watching him. Finally, when he could delay no longer, he stood up to leave the room. Ron said softly, “I’ll see you in an hour then.” Harry gave a jerky nod and left the room.

When Harry returned, with Ron once more hovering protectively around him, the little group of first years watched with narrowed eyes. As soon as Harry disappeared from view up to his dormitory, they bent their heads together and whispered excitedly.

When they broke apart, Thomas said, “Until tomorrow, then.”

The others nodded, and Daniel repeated in a firm voice, “Tomorrow.”

*

The next day was Saturday.

“Wake up, Harry!”

Harry opened his bleary eyes to see Ron peering down excitedly. “What?” he asked groggily. His sleep, as always, had been disturbed by nightmares. “Isn’t it Saturday? Can’t we sleep in?”

Ron pushed at Harry to wake him up quicker. “Harry! Get up! Yes, it’s Saturday. And, I can’t wait to play Quidditch with you. I’ve reserved the pitch. Now that you don’t have to worry about studying to kill You Know Who or avoiding attention, or whatever other reason you had for not playing, you can really let loose. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got!”

Harry felt a stirring of excitement himself. Ron was right. For the first time, he could really enjoy himself. He dressed hurriedly and shoveled in a few mouthfuls of breakfast.

“You two seem in a rush,” commented Hermione.

“We’re going to play Quidditch,” explained Ron.

Overhearing, a few of their friends begged to watch or join in. Ron was happy to include more.

“Are you interested in making it a real game, Weasley, or are you too scared?” drawled a familiar voice.

Ron turned to see Draco, giving him a smirk. Ron could tell from Draco’s tone of voice, if not from the words themselves, that Draco was trying for some friendly rivalry, rather than a fight. Responding in the same vein, he replied, “Oh, I think we’re up for real game, don’t you, Harry?”

Harry agreed, “Sure!” His excitement rose higher. He couldn’t wait.

Draco’s smirk grew. “Why not make this more interesting? Why not have an…incentive…to win?”

“You mean a bet,” asked Ron doubtfully.

“Not money, Weasel,” said Draco. His tone of voice had softened and Ron didn’t flare up at the nickname. “Let’s say that the team that loses has to do one thing that the player in their position on the other team wants them to do.”

“No way!” said Ron. “I don’t trust you and your friends!”

“Oh, you already admit we’re going to win?”

“That’s not what I meant!”

Draco laughed. “Okay. A few ground rules then. Nothing too gross, awful or embarrassing.”

Ron looked unsure but Harry nodded. “Don’t worry, Ron,” said Harry. “We’re going to win!”

Hermione piped up. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

That seemed to decide Ron. “Okay, Malfoy, it’s a deal.” And he shook Draco’s hand.

“See you at the pitch!” said Draco, as he turned away looking very pleased.

Harry and Ron hurried from the room, followed now by an ever growing number of students who had heard the challenge.

Ron and Draco quickly pulled together two teams. On Ron’s team, Harry was Seeker, Ron was Keeper, with Dean and Ginny playing Chasers and two other students who Harry didn’t know playing Beaters. Draco was Seeker on his own team. Harry wondered briefly what he would ask Draco to do for him when Ron’s team won the game, as he was determined that they would. Harry knew a few of the players on Draco’s team but some were younger and he didn’t recognize them.

Harry could barely contain his joy at being on a broom again. Although it had been years since he had last flown on a broom, it felt as if it were yesterday. He soared through the air, enjoying the rush of the wind. He only wished that the broom were capable of faster speeds. He dived and twisted for the sheer pleasure of it. The other students pointed at him, impressed by his flying skill. For the first time in years, Harry felt happy. He wished he could fly forever.

Unfortunately, Ron was hit by a bludger midway through the game and, too injured to keep playing, had to take himself out. In order not to forfeit the game, Ron selected another player to be Keeper in his place. Not as skilled as Ron, the new boy was not able to keep Draco’s team from scoring. The score in favor of Draco’s team crept dangerously high and Harry knew that he’d have to catch the snitch quickly. When the score was 190 to 40, Harry spotted the snitch. Harry dove with reckless abandon to reach it before Draco. If he ended the game now, at least the teams would be tied. As his fingers closed on the snitch, he heard the commentator yell that Draco’s team had scored again. It was too late to release the snitch. The game was over. Draco’s team had won.

Landing slowly, he walked over to where the teams were huddled together. “Good catch, Potter,” said Draco. He could afford to be generous. His team had won.

Ron’s team looked glum. Some of Draco’s players were already assigning tasks to their counterparts on Ron’s team. Ginny started to cluck like a chicken and hop on one foot. Her face turned red as everyone laughed. Harry tried to hide his own smile. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Draco smiling at him, eyes glittering.

“I think I’m going to have to think about what I want you to do, Potter,” drawled Draco.

Until that moment, Harry hadn’t thought about what would happen if Ron’s team had lost. He had been so sure that he could catch the snitch before anyone else and win the game. Damn! He looked uncertainly at Draco, wondering what the other boy would demand.

Seeing his worried look, Draco just smirked more. “Oh, don’t worry, Potter. We agreed that it wouldn’t be too terrible. But, I don’t think I want to waste this opportunity by having you cluck like a chicken and hop on one foot,” he inclined his head toward Ginny.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” said Ron. He had just finished having to stand on his head. “I got you into this.”

“I agreed, Ron,” said Harry. “It’s not your fault.”

He watched with worried eyes as Draco led his team off the pitch.

As he left the pitch with his own team, he noticed that Professors Snape and McGonagall were watching. He had not realized that they were among the spectators. McGonagall beckoned and he drew nearer.

“Is it too much to hope that you’ll join the Gryffindor team this year, Potter?” she asked hopefully.

“Er…” said Harry. He wasn’t sure he was up for that yet. “Maybe next year?” he offered.

“Give it a rest, Minerva,” said Snape, sourly. “Potter has enough to deal with this year.” She looked disappointed but didn’t press the issue.

“Potter,” drawled Snape.

“Sir?”

“You enjoy Quidditch. In a few weeks, the Ballycastle Bats are playing the Montrose Magpies. Would you like to attend the game with a few of your friends?”

Harry goggled. “For real?”

Snape permitted a tiny smile to touch the corners of his mouth. “The headmaster believes that it would do you good to enjoy yourself some more. He suggested that you might wish to attend the event. I have been requested to chaperone.”“That would be…,” Harry gasped. He couldn’t find the words and he trailed off. Never in his life had he gone to anything like it. The Dursleys would not have dreamed of taking him to a circus, amusement park or – best of all – a sporting event. It would be too wonderful.

“Your friends are waiting for you Potter,” said McGonagall kindly. Harry turned and saw that a handful of his friends were looking his way, waiting for him before going inside.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Goodbye, Professors.” He turned and hurried over to Ron. He couldn’t wait to tell Ron the good news about going to a professional Quidditch match but he didn’t want to mention it in front of the others, since they couldn’t all come with him. He decided to wait until he was alone with Ron to say anything.

Entering the castle, Harry noticed a group of first year Gryffindors hanging around the entrance. They looked alarmed to see him and Harry was surprised. True, he had never spoken with them, but they hadn’t seemed scared of him before. He was wondering whether he should approach them and try to calm whatever fears they might have when Professors McGonagall and Snape entered the castle. They had been only a few minutes behind Harry and his friends.

Immediately, there was a loud clanging noise as a bucket came flying through the air. It headed straight toward Snape who, with quick reflexes, drew out his wand and cast a spell to deflect the bucket. The bucket smashed into a suit of armor standing against the wall. The bucket spilled its contents of stinksap on the armor and a rotting stench filled the air.

The falling bucket hit into the armor’s shield, causing the shield to fall. In falling, the shield hit the end of the javelin that the knight was holding, causing the lance to shoot from the armor as if thrown.

The javelin flew through the air at lightning speed. It struck Snape squarely in the middle, piercing his stomach. The force of the assault threw him backwards and he landed on his back on the stone floor, pinned to the ground by the point of the lance which had exited his back.

This domino effect couldn’t have happened on purpose if they had planned it for months. It all happened in the blink of an eye. Harry was kneeling at Snape’s side before the other students had time to scream and shout.

“Professor!” called Harry.

“Severus!” shouted McGonagall, also kneeling beside the stricken man.

Snape did not respond to either. His eyes were half-closed and his breathing was shallow. There was surprisingly little blood as the spear was still nestled snugly in the man’s body. His skin was cold to the touch. His eyes started to roll back in his head. It was clear he was moments away from dying.

Harry grabbed his wand and laid it horizontally across Snape’s chest, just above where the lance was sticking out of the man’s body. He then laid both of his hands, palms open, on top of his wand and closed his eyes. Digging deep inside, he found his magical core. Remembering the spell he had learned from Voldemort, Harry whispered a series of incantations under his breath.

His wand began to become hot to the touch, but Harry did not remove his hands. Snape’s skin beneath the wand glowed as if a light were shining from beneath. Soon, the wand began to glow red from the heat, but Harry didn’t notice, as he kept his eyes closed.

Suddenly, Harry’s eyes snapped open and he demanded, “Who did this?” There was silence. Again, this time with increasing urgency, he demanded, “Do you want him to die? I can save him. Who did this?”

Four very pale first year students stepped forward. They were shaking and one of the girls was crying. “We didn’t mean for him to get hurt,” said one of the boys.

“Do you trust me?” asked Harry.

The boy nodded, surprised at the question. Keeping his hands on top of his wand, Harry turned to Professor McGonagall. “Can you conjure a knife, Professor?”

McGonagall looked frightened, but she obediently conjured a knife in midair.

Harry turned back to the boy and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Thomas,” muttered the boy, his eyes fixated on the knife.

“Thomas. Please, if you want to help me to save his life, take that knife and cut your hand. Place a few drops of your blood in his mouth.”

Thomas turned pale. “That’s dark magic,” he whispered.

Harry’s eyes gleamed and he stared steadily at the other boy. “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s dark magic. But, we’re going to use it for good.”

Thomas hesitated.

Harry felt the warm glow of his wand start to fade. “Please, Thomas. I cannot hold him here much longer. To work, the spell requires the blood of the person who tried to harm him. Please!”

Looking completely petrified, the boy reached for the knife and drew it across the palm of his hand. He then placed his palm against Snape’s lips and a few drops of blood trickled into Snape’s mouth.

Harry closed his eyes again and muttered some more. His wand burned hotter and he felt Snape’s body shudder.

He heard a commotion and opened his eyes to see Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey hurrying toward them. McGonagall drew away so that Madam Pomfrey could take her place at Snape’s side.

“Oh, Merlin!” cried the school nurse.

“Can you save him, Poppy?” demanded Dumbledore.

“I don’t know. If we remove the spear, we will cause even more damage. And, he’ll bleed to death.”

“I can stop the bleeding, Poppy,” said Dumbledore.

“Remove the spear,” ordered Harry. “I will keep him alive while you repair him.” His voice rang with confidence.

Madam Pomfrey looked at Dumbledore, unsure, but the headmaster nodded. Dumbledore waved his wand over Snape and the spear withdrew from Snape’s body, leaving a gaping hole behind. No blood gushed out as the headmaster murmured a charm to freeze the blood in place. Quickly, Madam Pomfrey worked to repair the hole and, little by little, it began to close.

Snape’s body twitched but Harry closed his eyes again and pressed his wand harder into Snape’s body, a few inches above where the wound gaped. Harry felt a cold chill on the back of his neck. It felt like Death was hovering over his shoulder. Ignoring it, Harry tried to recall the remaining steps of the spell he had stolen from Voldemort’s thoughts all those months ago, when he had been living in the Dark Lord’s mind. He stopped short of completing the spell as his goal was not to reanimate a dead body to create an Inferi, as was the purpose of the original spell, nor to regain a corporeal existence as Voldemort had done when he used a modified version of this spell during his rebirthing ceremony.

Holding Snape’s soul in place, he felt as if he were playing the muggle game of tug of war. Death was invisibly pulling at the other end of the rope. Harry focused his energy on pulling Snape’s soul back from the edge of death. He could focus on only this battle. The sounds of the Hall faded away. He was no longer aware of what Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, the other students, or Snape himself, was doing. He was only aware of the back and forth tug to take possession of Snape’s soul.

After some time – and he couldn’t have said if it were minutes or hours – Harry felt the tug on the other end of Snape’s soul ease and then stop. Knowing that the battle was over, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. The hole in Snape’s body had been sealed. The Professor was still unconscious but his breathing was even and his skin was warm to the touch.

Harry withdrew his hands from on top of Snape’s body. “You saved his life, Potter,” whispered Madam Pomfrey. “There’s no way he should have lived through that.”

Dumbledore gazed at Harry with a fierce glow in his eyes. “I do not think anyone else would have thought of… much less been able to use… that spell to save a man’s life, Harry. Severus would have died if you hadn’t been here.”

Harry looked around, ignoring the scores of students who were silently watching. His gaze scanned the Hall until it pinned the group of first years who had caused this crisis. They were watching, huddled together, wide-eyed and pale. Slowly, Harry stood and, swaying with fatigue, staggered slightly as he approached the youngsters. Before Harry could say a word, one of the girls burst out, “We didn’t mean to hurt him!” The others in her group shook their heads vehemently, in agreement. “We’re sorry! We’re so sorry! We just wanted to punish him for hurting you!”

Whatever Harry had been going to say was forgotten in the surprise over that statement. “What?” he asked confused.

The second boy in the little band stepped forward. “We know that he hurt you every night. You’d come back pale and weak. In pain. We just wanted to punish him. To show him that he couldn’t get away with doing that to you.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He was floored that these children had almost killed Snape in a mistaken plan to avenge him. Harry stared at them blankly. The idea that anyone would try to protect him was an alien thought.

He had long known that he could trust no one in this world (not even his friends really). And, remembering how he had been treated as Mark Twist, Harry was particularly distrustful of the students at Hogwarts. But, as furious as he was over the wizarding world’s insistence that he return to their world, it had been incredibly lonely in the muggle world. He was learning to reconcile his disappointment over the basic nature of people with his need for friendship. (He could hardly get over that he was becoming friends with Draco Malfoy.)

It was completely unexpected to find that these young children had cast themselves in the role of protecting him. No one had ever tried to protect him before. In fact, the opposite had been true. Adults who should have been his natural protectors, such as his aunt and uncle and Dumbledore, had either abused him or stood aside while he was being abused.

Harry felt a warmth uncurl in his stomach. Considering that Professor Snape was still lying on the cold floor, he knew that this feeling was completely inappropriate. But, he couldn’t help it. These scared, misguided children had tried to help Harry. A lump rose in his throat.

In the background, Harry was aware that Madam Pomfrey was levitating Snape and transporting him off to the hospital wing. Dumbledore approached and placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. The headmaster turned grave eyes on the four children, who stood shaking, awaiting their punishment.

“What you did here was very serious indeed,” began Dumbledore. “You almost killed a man. This cannot go unpunished.”

The children looked like they would faint.

“Harry will decide what is to be done with you.”

“What?!” burst out Harry.

Dumbledore’s hand tightened on the boy’s shoulder and then lifted. “If I understand what has occurred, these children thought they were avenging you. It is only because of your skill as a wizard and your unorthodox training in the dark arts that Professor Snape is not dead. I think it only fitting for you to decide the punishment.”

Four sets of beseeching eyes turned on Harry.

Harry spluttered. “I…I don’t know what to do…”

Dumbledore stared at him steadily and waited for Harry to pronounce judgment.

Harry thought hard. What would be a just sentence? Taking a deep breath, he said, “Well, to start, you four can clean up the stinksap. Without magic!”

They four exchanged looks, filled with dawning hope. Did this mean that they weren’t going to be expelled? They eagerly nodded their heads at Harry and waited for him to continue.

Harry looked over to where Hermione and Ron were standing silently in the corner watching him. He wished he could ask them for advice. He tried to imagine what they might suggest.

“Er…you’ll have to do a detention with Professor Snape when he’s well enough.” The four looked frightened at the prospect, but nodded their heads again. “And, you have to each write a three foot essay on the dangers of spellwork gone wrong.”

Was this enough? Harry glanced up at Dumbledore for assurance but the headmaster didn’t give any sign as to whether or not he agreed with Harry’s sentence. The four children waited silently, expecting that Harry was not yet done.

Harry flung his arms open wide and said, exasperatedly, “Well, do you want me to assign more punishment?”

“No!” they chorused. The color was slowly starting to return to their cheeks.

Harry looked very seriously at the four. “I hope you know that what you did was very wrong.” They nodded vigorously. “Professor Snape is not a bad man. I know it seems that he is hurting me but it’s just that … my medical treatment is a bit painful. He’s doing what the healers say needs to be done. Now, I think we have given everyone enough of a show. Why don’t we all get out of here?”

The four needed no urging. They scrambled to leave the Hall. Harry called after them, “And, I want you each to write Professor Snape an apology!”

The boy, Thomas, raised his hand to indicate that they had heard and the group of children rushed away before Harry or Dumbledore could change their minds and add more to their punishment.

Dumbledore permitted himself a slight smile at Harry. “Well done, Harry.”

Harry was relieved that Dumbledore approved. “I wish you had just decided what to do with them,” Harry muttered.

Dumbledore stared down at the teen and studied him gravely. “One of the hardest jobs that I have to do is to judge others, whether in my role as Headmaster or as part of the Wizengamot. It is inevitable that you will be one of the most powerfully influential wizards in our world. You must learn to judge wisely, Harry.”

Harry stared back in dismay. “I don’t want that responsibility.”

“You have it whether you want it or not, Harry. And, based on your past acts, I believe that you will wield your responsibility with courage, kindness, and…” inclining his head in the direction where the four first years had just fled, “…mercy. And, there are some benefits to this influence, Harry. You can use it for good. To help end discrimination against muggleborns, for example.”

Harry was silent, considering. Professor McGonagall approached. She had been among the silent witnesses to the spectacle of the last half hour. “Harry.”

He gazed up at her. “You look exhausted. Perhaps, you should rest.”

At her words, Harry realized that he was, indeed, exhausted. Waves of tiredness swept over him and the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower seemed daunting. Dumbledore signaled to Ron, who rushed to Harry’s side.

“Mr. Weasley,” rumbled Dumbledore. “Please help Harry back to his room. He needs to rest.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed Ron.

As Ron led Harry away, Hermione, Ginny, Dean, and some of the other players from Gryffindor trailed close behind.

*

That night, Harry felt the familiar pull at his mind that indicated that he was to present himself at Snape’s office. He knew that Professor Snape was still in the hospital wing, so he assumed that he would just have to wait for an hour in an empty classroom. However, when he entered Snape’s classroom, someone was waiting. Harry recognized one of the healers from St. Mungo’s. Harry’s stomach clenched.

“Hello, Harry,” said the man, rising from the chair in which he had been sitting. He approached Harry, holding out his hand. “You may remember me. I am Healer Ainsley.”

Harry shook the hand quickly. “Yes, sir,” he said, in a strained tone. “I remember.”

The Healer knew that Harry was not pleased to see him. “Headmaster Dumbledore contacted Healer Moulson to let us know that Professor Snape would be incapacitated for a few days. It’s important, as you know, for your course of treatment to continue.”

Harry knew that he was being unfair but he felt as if Dumbledore had betrayed him and he felt a renewed spurt of anger at the headmaster.

Healer Ainsley motioned to the bed in the corner and Harry reluctantly lay down. “Don’t put me in a body bind, please,” Harry muttered as he put his head down on the pillow.

“All right, Harry,” said the Healer softly. “I’ll do my best to be as gentle as possible.”

Without further discussion, the Healer cast the spell and entered Harry’s mind. Unlike Snape, Healer Ainsley wandered for a short time from room to room. He tried to open one door, but it was sealed. He pushed against it a few times, but it remained firmly set. Deciding that it was not worth demanding Harry open the door, considering how much damage remained in the other rooms, the Healer chose to begin attacking a large blot in the third room he had entered. He knew it would take many sessions to remove and he did not try to rush.

When the hour was up, Harry continued to lay in the bed breathing deeply for a few minutes. Images from the memory Healer Ainsley had been prodding paraded through Harry’s head. He wished that he could pluck the memory right out of his mind – which was sort of what the Healer was trying to do, when he thought about it.

Healer Ainsley waited in silence for Harry to compose himself. When the boy sat up, the older man helped him to stand. “I wish we didn’t have to do this, Harry,” the Healer muttered.

Harry was startled. He hadn’t thought about how this treatment would affect the people having to view his memories. “Yeah,” he responded. “The memories are awful. I’m sorry you have to see them.”

“That’s not what I meant, Harry,” said the Healer. “Your defeat of You Know Who…you saved our world, everything that I hold dear. My wife is muggleborn, you know. I am honored to be chosen to be on the team to help you. It hurts me that I have to hurt you though. It’s not easy to watch you in pain. I’m sorry.”

Harry looked up at the earnest face of the Healer. It was infuriating that this “medical treatment” was being forced upon him. But, somehow, knowing that the Healer was also unhappy about this treatment made it easier for Harry to bear.

There was a knock at the door, and Ron entered, ready to take Harry back to Gryffindor Tower.