The Headmaster’s Insight
“I can’t believe they’re blaming Sirius,” Harry said angrily, as he impatiently shoved the Daily Prophet back across the table at Hermione so that he would not have to stare at the jeering faces of the escaped Death Eaters that covered the front page.
“Well, look at it from their perspective, they have to blame it on someone,” Hermione said reasonably, sharing a quick look with Ron while she buttered a piece of toast. “Though I’m not sure too many people are buying their version of things anymore.”
“What do you mean?” asked Ron curiously, once he’d swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“Look around,” Hermione smirked. “Everyone’s terrified and the Ministry is tripping over itself trying to explain what’s happened. I heard some girls discussing you in the bathroom this morning, Harry.”
“What else is new,” Harry said grumpily, trying to look inconspicuous as he glanced up at the head table and noticed the same empty chair from last night’s feast. Feeling slightly deflated, he turned back to Hermione.
“Well, what were they saying?” he snapped impatiently.
Hermione winced. “Harry….are you sure you’re alright?” she asked tentatively. “You hardly spoke last night and you’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry,” Harry muttered, “and I’m sick of being talked about and pointed at wherever I go. I got cornered in the common room this morning by a mob of third years wanting to know if Voldemort broke open Azkaban.”
“What did you tell them?” asked Ron.
“I told them to clear off,” Harry said angrily. “Dumbledore’s been warning everyone for months that the Dementors were going to abandon Azkaban to join Voldemort. Now that it’s happened they all want to cry and act surprised?”
There was no denying that the escape of ten high security prisoners had shaken the entire wizarding community to its very core. People were whispering and staring at Harry with renewed enthusiasm, but he wasn’t being greeted with as much hostility as he’d experienced back in September. Perhaps they really were starting to come around to accepting that he and Dumbledore had been telling the truth all along, but Harry wasn’t feeling particularly generous towards them at the moment.
“So, has Snape seen any of them yet?” Ron asked quietly, as the three of them were leaving the Great Hall to go upstairs to get their books for morning classes.
Harry had barely said two words to them last night when they’d returned by the Hogwarts Express. Had shown no interest in discussing the mass breakout from Azkaban or sharing anything that Snape had said on the matter after he’d called him back from the Burrow either. Instead, Harry had gone up to bed early and closed the drapes around his four-poster so that nobody would talk to him. He had other things pressing on his mind right now than the escaped Death Eaters, but he was keeping Snape’s confession extremely close to his heart and had no intention of sharing it with anyone, not even Ron and Hermione.
“He didn’t tell me anything that we don’t already know,” Harry answered tiredly. “He’s worried like everyone else is. Told me he didn’t want me going into Hogsmeade anymore.”
Hermione jerked her head at him. “You can’t come to Hogsmeade this Saturday?” she asked, in a would-be-casual voice.
“No, I’m going,” Harry retorted defiantly. “He’s not going to stop me….why should I be the only one to miss out?” Ron and Hermione both stared at him, and Harry’s bad mood did not improve during first period, which happened to be Transfiguration.
Professor McGonagall had been quite unimpressed by the way he’d purposefully knocked his gobstone onto the floor when he’d failed to successfully turn it into a skunk on his second try. Harry just couldn’t concentrate on learning a new spell when his mind was full of anguish and grief.
He was both desperate to lay eyes on Snape again, and dreading it. The potions master had already been gone when Harry had woken up Sunday morning. Still lying exactly where he had passed out on the bedroom floor but with a blanket covering him and an irritatingly healed foot that Snape must have tended to while Harry was asleep. And though Harry had spent the rest of the day downstairs in his quarters, Snape had never returned.
“You were saying the incantation correctly, Harry,” Hermione said, as they left the room at the bell to head down to the dungeons for Potions next. “Your wand movement was just a tad too rigid.”
“You still did better than Neville,” Ron said consolingly, but Harry wasn’t paying attention to either of them.
He was very wary about having to spend the next hour in Snape’s company. This was the man who had eagerly told Voldemort all about a prophecy that had sent him hunting after the Potters. There was no escaping the truth that if Snape had done that one thing differently, Harry might have grown up with his mother and father. It was unforgivable and excruciating damage, inflicted by someone that Harry had come to love and respect immeasurably.
He both wanted to see Snape and was also fearful of how he was going to react. He didn’t trust himself to speak at all, in case he started shouting in the classroom in front of everyone. Or worse, crying.
But it turned out that he needn't have worried. As he walked into the lab ahead of Ron and Hermione, Harry suddenly froze in place. Snape was not there and it didn’t look like he was on his way either. Instead, Professor Dumbledore sat behind the teacher’s desk reading a book, with his half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.
“Do you know where Snape is?” Ron muttered to Harry, who abruptly shook his head.
He skulked over to their usual table in the back and slammed himself down into his chair, taking One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi out of his backpack. When he looked over at Dumbledore again, it was to realize the headmaster was watching him with great concern in his bright blue eyes.
Harry quickly stared determinedly back down at the cover of his textbook. He felt a bead of sweat run down his spine and his palms were cold and clammy. He knew there were several reasonable explanations for Snape to be absent from class, but he couldn’t help thinking that it was all because of him.
“I’m sure if it was anything serious that Dumbledore would have told you,” Hermione said consolingly in an undertone, as she and Ron sat down on either side of him.
“Maybe,” Harry said curtly, deciding not to point out that the headmaster kept much more from him than he chose to share. He chanced another quick glance up at the front of the room, but this time locked eyes, not with Dumbledore, but with Seamus Finnigan, who had just arrived.
“Hi, Harry,” Seamus said awkwardly. They hadn’t spoken since their argument back in September when Seamus had called him a liar. Harry glared at him and did not say anything in response. He hadn’t forgotten the way Seamus had yelled about his mother not wanting him to return to Hogwarts if it meant being in the same dormitory as Harry Potter.
“Umm….good Christmas?” Seamus scratched the back of his neck. When Harry still didn’t answer, Seamus looked desperately between Ron and Hermione.
“It was fine,” Hermione said politely, while Ron haphazardly doodled on a piece of parchment.
“Right,” Seamus nodded. “Well, see you later, Harry.”
“See?” Hermione nudged Harry with her elbow, when Seamus had walked over to take his seat at a different table next to Dean Thomas. “People are coming around. They know the Ministry is full of it and having Umbridge around here making life hell for everyone hasn’t helped matters.”
“Yeah…” Harry sighed, not sure exactly how to feel about that. Was he just supposed to be grateful and forget the way people had been mocking and harassing him relentlessly all year? Perhaps he would be feeling a bit more encouraged if he at least knew where Snape was and that he was coming back. Harry had told Snape that he hated him, and one thing he knew for certain was that he didn’t really. He wished he could take that back, even if he didn’t know what he’d say after.
“What are you doing here?” Malfoy asked rudely, having just arrived with the rest of the Slytherins to discover Dumbledore in Snape’s usual spot.
“Good morning,” Dumbledore looked amused as he smiled. “I will ask that you take your seats promptly. We have a lot to get through today.”
“Where’s Professor Snape?” Pansy Parkinson asked with her arms crossed over her chest. She glared at Dumbledore.
“Away at the moment,” Dumbledore replied lightly. “Though he left detailed instructions about where you left off before Christmas. Let us not waste anymore time.”
The Slytherins all looked at one another before slowly making their way over to their tables on the opposite side of the room from the Gryffindors. For once, Harry could relate to how they were feeling. The students in Snape’s house all thought very highly of him and wouldn’t be pleased if he was gone for too long. Dumbledore waited for the chatter to die down and for every eye in the room to be on him, before he spoke again.
“Befuddlement Draughts,” Dumbledore announced pleasantly. “Does anyone know what they do?” Hermione’s hand immediately shot into the air and Dumbledore pointed at her.
“It causes the drinker to become belligerent and reckless,” Hermione said breathlessly.
“Exactly, ten points to Gryffindor,” Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, a very interesting concoction which often comes up during OWL examinations.”
“But, why would anyone take a potion like that, Professor?” Tracey Davis, a Slytherin girl, raised her hand.
“An excellent question, it does seem more of a handicap, does it not?” Dumbledore replied, standing up from his chair and walking around to lean on the desk with no barrier between himself and the class. “However, as is the case with most things, there is a time and a place for it all. Spontaneity, aggression, adrenaline, and a chance to learn your limits - sometimes there is such a thing as too cautious. Sometimes a bit of belligerent recklessness is exactly what you need.”
“Like when?” sneered Malfoy.
“Oh, I think opportunities can come up in unexpected places,” Dumbledore said mysteriously, waving his wand so that the recipe appeared in a flowery penmanship on the blackboard behind him. “Let me see what you can do. Those who create an exceptional potion before the bell rings will not have to do any homework for me.”
There was a sound of scraping benches as everyone stood up and began to take out their knives and potions ingredients. Harry lit a fire underneath his cauldron and then rummaged inside his potion making kit for the container of scurvy grass. Dumbledore hummed to himself as he walked around the room in his glittering red robes, giving words of encouragement and suggestion in such stark contract to Snape’s typical sarcastic and critical remarks.
“Sir, what do you think of the Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban?” Dean Thomas asked towards the end of class when Dumbledore paused beside his cauldron. “The Prophet blamed it on Sirius Black this morning. Do you think he’s involved?”
“Harry,” Hermione moaned quietly, when he accidentally dropped an entire stalk of Lovage Plant into his cauldron without slicing it to the appropriate amount. Harry ignored her, his gaze was fixated on Dumbledore, who appeared to be lost in thought and didn’t answer Dean immediately.
“I think very dark times are ahead of all of us, Mr. Thomas,” Dumbledore finally said, and the room was suddenly perfectly still and quiet, aside from the bubbling of cauldrons. Everyone was staring at Dumbledore, who glanced around at them all before he continued.
“I do not agree with the Ministry on several matters, as is common knowledge, so I won’t bore you with specifics. I’ll just leave you all with this - there is possibly nothing greater that you can do for yourselves right now than to expand your magical education as far as it can go,” he nodded his head importantly. “Don’t just fixate on achieving your goals on your upcoming examinations. I hope you all think further than that. Focus on learning all that you can and making the most out of each lesson you're privileged to attend. And with that final thought, you should all be nearly ready to provide me with a sample of your Befuddlement Draught.”
Harry was not. He was only half finished with his potion which was overwhelmed by too much Lovage. The liquid was more lime coloured than the dark green of Hermione’s, but he didn’t care about that right now. Dumbledore’s advice to the class had struck something else within him.
“I want to do DA tonight,” he whispered to Ron and Hermione, eager to do something both important and also rebellious. The secret defence group was the best thing he had going for him at the moment.
“Great idea,” Ron said encouragingly.
“I’ll let everyone know right now,” Hermione said eagerly. She pulled from her pocket a gold galleon she had charmed to display the date and time for the next meeting. Whenever she changed hers, the galleons she’d given to each member of Dumbledore’s Army would warm in their pockets and alert their owners of when to meet in the Room of Requirement. Hermione had used the Dark Mark burned into Voldemort’s followers skin as inspiration, and the galleons ensured that the members could communicate without drawing the unwanted attention of Umbridge.
As Hermione activated her coin, Harry felt his own get hot inside the pocket of his jeans. At the table in front of them, Neville had also been alerted by his. He pulled it out of his pocket to read and then turned around to give them the thumb’s up. Harry watched Neville’s back for a long time afterwards, recalling the tragedy of running into Neville visiting his parents at St. Mungo’s on Christmas. Frank and Alice Longbottom’s torture into insanity by Bellatrix Lestrange had to be hitting Neville especially hard right now when their abuser was at large.
“Go without me,” Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione at the bell signalling the end of class. “I want to talk to Dumbledore.”
“We’ll meet you in the Great Hall,” Ron agreed.
Harry leaned back in his chair and waited for everyone to finish packing up and carrying labelled flasks of their potions up to the teacher’s desk. Dumbledore did not look at Harry until the room was completely empty, then he waved his wand to close the door behind them so that they would not be overheard.
“You didn’t submit anything for me to mark, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly, sweeping over to his spot at the back of the room.
“I messed it up,” Harry shrugged. “Didn’t feel like bothering when I won’t get a passing grade.”
“You have other things on your mind right now,” Dumbledore replied, hoisting himself up onto the table in front of Harry with the agility of a much younger man. “It’s quite understandable. Now, did you wish you to speak with me?”
“Yes,” Harry nodded briskly.
“I must warn you that according to Professor Umbridge’s latest decree, I am forbidden from giving you any information outside of the curriculum,” Dumbledore smiled. “I will however withstand the risk of a disciplinary hearing for you, my dear boy. So ask away.”
“Right, thanks” Harry said hurriedly, nervously kicking his backpack with his foot under the table. “Sir, where’s Professor Snape?”
“As far as my staff is concerned, Severus is recovering from a particularly nasty flu he caught over the holidays,” Dumbledore replied, folding his hands together. “He’s gone back to his house for a few days, at my insistence.”
“Is he okay?” Harry asked hesitantly.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Dumbledore said gently. “And I know it will mean a lot to him to know that you asked.”
“Well, yeah….” Harry mumbled, dropping his eyes from Dumbledore’s face. “I mean -”
“Quite a shock for you to receive, I imagine,” Dumbledore said sympathetically. “Severus told me what you two discussed the other night. I really wish he had listened to me when I advised him to keep this from you. It would have saved you both a lot of grief.”
Harry looked affronted. “I don’t like things being kept from me.”
“Which is why Professor Snape told you,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “He felt it important that you know the whole truth, even if it meant sacrificing what the two of you share. I, on the other hand, did not see any good coming out of that decision. I only see two people left alone in considerable pain.”
“I just wish it wasn’t true,” Harry said quietly.
“Of course you wish it wasn’t true, Harry,” said Dumbledore heavily. “As does Severus. He will never forgive himself for what happened, you must understand that. It took tremendous courage for him to come to me and try to rectify his mistake in order to ask for my help to protect your family.”
“To protect my mum,” Harry interjected. “He did not care about me or my Dad.”
Dumbledore blinked. “Do you really think Professor Snape does not care about you?”
“Now, yes,” Harry said impatiently, “but then-”
“Back then, you were no more than the son of a man who did him considerable harm during their youth,” Dumbledore said carefully, giving Harry a searching sort of look. “You can’t hold it against him that he didn’t love you then or care much for your father. That’s changed now that he’s taken the time to get to know you, which was not an easy thing for Severus to do, though he’s glad that he did.”
“I was too,” Harry muttered. “But that’s before -”
“Harry, you know that he did not kill your parents,” Dumbledore said firmly.
“But he told Voldemort to hunt them down,” Harry said, blinking rapidly.
“He did not,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Severus told Voldemort information that concerned Voldemort, because he was a Death Eater and that was his job….You have always known and accepted this dark part of Professor Snape’s history before.”
Only it was more personal now. Snape hadn’t just been a young impressionable boy who had followed the wrong crowd directly into Lord Voldemort’s line of service and then changed his mind. Snape had been involved in the tragedy that had shaped Harry’s entire life. Was there enough remorse and repentance in the universe to make up for the damage Snape had inflicted on him? Harry was left lost and wanting no matter which way he turned. Craving all his parents, and now feeling like he’d lost one again.
“What do I do, Professor?” Harry asked emotionally.
Dumbledore looked at him for a moment before he responded. “What do you want to do, Harry?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said helplessly, gripping the bottom of his chair with both hands.
“Yes, you do,” said Dumbledore calmly, and he abruptly slid off the table to stand on his feet. He started walking towards the door and knowing this conversation was over, Harry silently stood up and followed.
What did he want to do? He wanted to go back to how it was two days ago before he knew what Snape had done. He wanted to be loved and parented by someone brave and as determined as he was to bring about the end of Voldemort. He just didn’t see how he could anymore. It felt like a betrayal of James and Lily. Harry wondered what they would have to say about how close he and Snape had become.
“Love is a magic stronger than anything we do here in this school,” Dumbledore said quietly to Harry, before they parted ways. “I hope you choose to hang onto what is rightfully yours.”