BANG.
Chairs slid backwards again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ muttered Ron, picking himself up from the floor for the sixth time, ‘I never want to ride on this thing again.’
‘Listen, it’s ’Ogwarts stop after this,’ said Stan brightly, swaying towards them. ‘That bossy woman up front ’oo got on with you, she’s given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We’re just gonna let Madam Marsh off first, though –’ there was a retching sound from downstairs, followed by a horrible spattering noise ‘– she’s not feeling ’er best.’
A few minutes later, the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could hear Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until –
BANG.
They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Harry caught a glimpse of the Hog’s Head down its side street, the severed boar’s head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts.
Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage, then got off to say goodbye. Harry glanced up at the three decks of the Knight Bus and saw all the passengers staring down at them, noses flat against the windows.
‘You’ll be safe once you’re in the grounds,’ said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. ‘Have a good term, OK?’
‘Look after yourselves,’ said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Harry last. ‘And listen …’ he lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute goodbyes with Tonks, ‘Harry, I know you don’t like Snape, but he is a superb Occlumens and we all – Sirius included – want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, all right?’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Harry heavily, looking up into Lupin’s prematurely lined face. ‘See you, then.’
The six of them struggled up the slippery drive towards the castle, dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Harry glanced back when they reached the oaken front doors; the Knight Bus had already gone and he half-wished, given what was coming the following evening, that he was still on board.
*
Harry spent most of the next day dreading the evening. His morning double-Potions lesson did nothing to dispel his trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever. His mood was further lowered by the DA members constantly approaching him in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully if there would be a meeting that night.
‘I’ll let you know in the usual way when the next one is,’ Harry said over and over again, ‘but I can’t do it tonight, I’ve got to go to – er – remedial Potions.’
‘You take remedial Potions?’ asked Zacharias Smith superciliously, having cornered Harry in the Entrance Hall after lunch. ‘Good Lord, you must be terrible. Snape doesn’t usually give extra lessons, does he?’
As Smith strode away in an annoyingly buoyant fashion, Ron glared after him.
‘Shall I jinx him? I can still get him from here,’ he said, raising his wand and taking aim between Smith’s shoulder blades.
‘Forget it,’ said Harry dismally. ‘It’s what everyone’s going to think, isn’t it? That I’m really stup—’
‘Hi, Harry,’ said a voice behind him. He turned round and found Cho standing there.
‘Oh,’ said Harry as his stomach leapt uncomfortably. ‘Hi.’
‘We’ll be in the library, Harry,’ said Hermione firmly as she seized Ron above the elbow and dragged him off towards the marble staircase.
‘Had a good Christmas?’ asked Cho.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ said Harry.
‘Mine was pretty quiet,’ said Cho. For some reason, she was looking rather embarrassed. ‘Erm … there’s another Hogsmeade trip next month, did you see the notice?’
‘What? Oh, no, I haven’t checked the noticeboard since I got back.’
‘Yes, it’s on Valentine’s Day …’
‘Right,’ said Harry, wondering why she was telling him this. ‘Well, I suppose you want to –?’
‘Only if you do,’ she said eagerly.
Harry stared. He had been about to say, ‘I suppose you want to know when the next DA meeting is?’ but her response did not seem to fit.
‘I – er –’ he said.
‘Oh, it’s OK if you don’t,’ she said, looking mortified. ‘Don’t worry. I – I’ll see you around.’
She walked away. Harry stood staring after her, his brain working frantically. Then something clunked into place.
‘Cho! Hey – CHO!’
He ran after her, catching her halfway up the marble staircase.
‘Er – d’you want to come into Hogsmeade with me on Valentine’s Day?’
‘Oooh, yes!’ she said, blushing crimson and beaming at him.
‘Right … well … that’s settled then,’ said Harry, and feeling that the day was not going to be a complete loss after all, he virtually bounced off to the library to pick up Ron and Hermione before their afternoon lessons.
By six o’clock that evening, however, even the glow of having successfully asked out Cho Chang could not lighten the ominous feelings that intensified with every step Harry took towards Snape’s office.
He paused outside the door when he reached it, wishing he were almost anywhere else, then, taking a deep breath, he knocked and entered.
The shadowy room was lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which slimy bits of animals and plants were suspended in variously coloured potions. In one corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry – not without reason – of robbing. Harry’s attention was drawn towards the desk, however, where a shallow stone basin engraved with runes and symbols lay in a pool of candlelight. Harry recognised it at once – it was Dumbledore’s Pensieve. Wondering what on earth it was doing there, he jumped when Snape’s cold voice came out of the shadows.
‘Shut the door behind you, Potter.’
Harry did as he was told, with the horrible feeling that he was imprisoning himself. When he turned back into the room, Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harry sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harry, dislike etched in every line of his face.
‘Well, Potter, you know why you are here,’ he said. ‘The Headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope that you prove more adept at it than at Potions.’
‘Right,’ said Harry tersely.
‘This may not be an ordinary class, Potter,’ said Snape, his eyes narrowed malevolently, ‘but I am still your teacher and you will therefore call me “sir” or “Professor” at all times.’
‘Yes … sir,’ said Harry.
‘Now, Occlumency. As I told you back in your dear godfather’s kitchen, this branch of magic seals the mind against magical intrusion and influence.’
‘And why does Professor Dumbledore think I need it, sir?’ said Harry, looking directly into Snape’s eyes and wondering whether Snape would answer.
Snape looked back at him for a moment and then said contemptuously, ‘Surely even you could have worked that out by now, Potter? The Dark Lord is highly skilled at Legilimency –’
‘What’s that? Sir?’
‘It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person’s mind –’
‘He can read minds?’ said Harry quickly, his worst fears confirmed.
‘You have no
subtlety, Potter,’ said Snape, his dark eyes glittering. ‘You do not understand fine distinctions. It is one of the shortcomings that makes you such a lamentable potion-maker.’
Snape paused for a moment, apparently to savour the pleasure of insulting Harry, before continuing.
‘Only Muggles talk of “mind-reading”. The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter – or at least, most minds are.’ He smirked. ‘It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so can utter falsehoods in his presence without detection.’
Whatever Snape said, Legilimency sounded like mind-reading to Harry, and he didn’t like the sound of it at all.
‘So he could know what we’re thinking right now? Sir?’
‘The Dark Lord is at a considerable distance and the walls and grounds of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them,’ said Snape. ‘Time and space matter in magic, Potter. Eye contact is often essential to Legilimency.’
‘Well then, why do I have to learn Occlumency?’
Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so.
‘The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord. The evidence suggests that at times, when your mind is most relaxed and vulnerable – when you are asleep, for instance – you are sharing the Dark Lord’s thoughts and emotions. The Headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord.’
Harry’s heart was pumping fast again. None of this added up.
‘But why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?’ he asked abruptly. ‘I don’t like it much, but it’s been useful, hasn’t it? I mean … I saw that snake attack Mr Weasley and if I hadn’t, Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t have been able to save him, would he? Sir?’
Snape stared at Harry for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.
‘It appears that the Dark Lord has been unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions, and sharing his thoughts, without his being any the wiser. However, the vision you had shortly before Christmas –’
‘The one with the snake and Mr Weasley?’
‘Do not interrupt me, Potter,’ said Snape in a dangerous voice. ‘As I was saying, the vision you had shortly before Christmas represented such a powerful incursion upon the Dark Lord’s thoughts –’
‘I saw inside the snake’s head, not his!’
‘I thought I just told you not to interrupt me, Potter?’
But Harry did not care if Snape was angry; at last he seemed to be getting to the bottom of this business; he had moved forwards in his chair so that, without realising it, he was perched on the very edge, tense as though poised for flight.
‘How come I saw through the snake’s eyes if it’s Voldemort’s thoughts I’m sharing?’
‘Do not say the Dark Lord’s name!’ spat Snape.
There was a nasty silence. They glared at each other across the Pensieve.
‘Professor Dumbledore says his name,’ said Harry quietly.
‘Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard,’ Snape muttered. ‘While he may feel secure enough to use the name … the rest of us …’ He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.
‘I just wanted to know,’ Harry began again, forcing his voice back to politeness, ‘why –’
‘You seem to have visited the snake’s mind because that was where the Dark Lord was at that particular moment,’ snarled Snape. ‘He was possessing the snake at the time and so you dreamed you were inside it, too.’
‘And Vol— he – realised I was there?’
‘It seems so,’ said Snape coolly.
‘How do you know?’ said Harry urgently. ‘Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or –?’
‘I told you,’ said Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, ‘to call me “sir”.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Harry impatiently, ‘but how do you know –?’
‘It is enough that we know,’ said Snape repressively. ‘The important point is that the Dark Lord is now aware that you are gaining access to his thoughts and feelings. He has also deduced that the process is likely to work in reverse; that is to say, he has realised that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return –’
‘And he might try and make me do things?’ asked Harry. ‘Sir?’ he added hurriedly.
‘He might,’ said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. ‘Which brings us back to Occlumency.’
Snape pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his robes and Harry tensed in his chair, but Snape merely raised the wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his hair. When he withdrew it, some silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand, which broke as he pulled the wand away from it and fell gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled silvery-white, neither gas nor liquid. Twice more, Snape raised the wand to his temple and deposited the silvery substance into the stone basin, then, without offering any explanation of his behaviour, he picked up the Pensieve carefully, removed it to a shelf out of their way and returned to face Harry with his wand held at the ready.
‘Stand up and take out your wand, Potter.’
Harry got to his feet, feeling nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them.
‘You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of,’ said Snape.
‘And what are you going to do?’ Harry asked, eyeing Snape’s wand apprehensively.
‘I am about to attempt to break into your mind,’ said Snape softly. ‘We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. You will find that similar powers are needed for this … brace yourself, now. Legilimens!’
Snape had struck before Harry was ready, before he had even begun to summon any force of resistance. The office swam in front of his eyes and vanished; image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings.
He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy … he was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn … he was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin … Hermione was lying in the hospital wing, her face covered with thick black hair … a hundred Dementors were closing in on him beside the dark lake … Cho Chang was drawing nearer to him under the mistletoe …
No, said a voice inside Harry’s head, as the memory of Cho drew nearer, you’re not watching that, you’re not watching it, it’s private –
He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape’s office had come back into view and he realised that he had fallen to the floor; one of his knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape’s desk. He looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark.
‘Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?’ asked Snape coolly.
‘No,’ said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.
‘I thought not,’ said Snape contemptuously. ‘You let me get in too far. You
lost control.’
‘Did you see everything I saw?’ Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.
‘Flashes of it,’ said Snape, his lip curling. ‘To whom did the dog belong?’
‘My Aunt Marge,’ Harry muttered, hating Snape.
‘Well, for a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been,’ said Snape, raising his wand once more. ‘You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.’
‘I’m trying,’ said Harry angrily, ‘but you’re not telling me how!’
‘Manners, Potter,’ said Snape dangerously. ‘Now, I want you to close your eyes.’
Harry threw him a filthy look before doing as he was told. He did not like the idea of standing there with his eyes shut while Snape faced him, carrying a wand.
‘Clear your mind, Potter,’ said Snape’s cold voice. ‘Let go of all emotion …’
But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs …
‘You’re not doing it, Potter … you will need more discipline than this … focus, now …’
Harry tried to empty his mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel …
‘Let’s go again … on the count of three … one – two – three – Legilimens!’
A great black dragon was rearing in front of him … his father and mother were waving at him out of an enchanted mirror … Cedric Diggory was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at him …
‘NOOOOOOO!’
Harry was on his knees again, his face buried in his hands, his brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from his skull.
‘Get up!’ said Snape sharply. ‘Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort. You are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!’
Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was.
The Order of the Phoenix Page 52
