the snake, the soul and the lovers

The Snake

It was a cold and lonely winter afternoon, a big dark sky looming on the edges of the castle, low enough that the sharp roofs of the numerous towers cut into the leaden clouds like naked knives of shiny metal cut into soft butter. You could smell the rain into the air, electric and charged with soft earthy tones, and something more cruel - almost ferrous. Harry, much like a snake, had the instinct to taste it on the tip of his tongue. But he was not a snake, even if those days he felt he had one stirring directly into his spine, sleeping into his bone marrow. Shivering, the young wizard fell into step with his friends, keeping his head low to reach his final class of the day.  Just on the edge of his vision, he could see Professor Umbridge watching him, as if she was a hawk and he her prey. Another shiver that went unnoticed by Hermione, Harry bit down the soft of his cheek to keep his teeth from rattling.

Charms was as it always was, a lot of beautiful explanations and waving of wands. Harry completed his task after the fifth or sixth try, staying right in the middle of the class-scale of success. He was not first, like Hermione, nor last, like poor Neville. Mediocre, as always. Beside Defence, Harry was really just a nobody in the magical world, someone capable of doing things right when he needed to, but never brilliant enough to excel. Maybe the Dursleys were right all along and Harry was just plain stupid. Well, not in Defence. Ignoring the dark pit that opened inside his mind at the thought of the Dursleys being right, Harry put away all his things when the lesson was over, and said his goodbyes to his friends.

"I have detention for the rest of the week, remember?" he said, and got himself a piting glare from Ron, and a hand on his shoulder from Hermione.

"We'll see you later then. And think about my... proposal, for Defence."

Sure, like I want to lead a fucking army. Harry sighed.

Once, the quiet room of Defence Against the Dark Arts was one of his favourite places in Hogwarts. When it was nothing more than the background of the hours spent learning the Patronus Charm with Remus Lupin, and drinking hot tea while nibbling chocolate and hearing soft stories about his parents when they were young. And even if it made his stomach revolt, he could admit that last year wasn't so bad. Sure, the professor turned out to be a Death Eater, but Barty Crouch Jr teached them valuable lessons, and always helped Harry. Protected him, even. Of course it was just so he could reach Voldemort in the end, but he still could fondly recall one or two instances - and that was a strange thought.

Now, the office was a dreaded place.

Harry swallowed, straightening his tie, and entered after knocking twice. Professor Umbridge was sitting at her desk with a small pile of essays to grade, and she was waiting for him with a sneering smile on her face.

Toad.

"Good afternoon Mr. Potter, I see you're learning the value of being punctual. Sit, please." as always, the small desk he took his detentions in was ready on the corner. So he sat down and discreetly started evening his breaths. He could feel the fear grabbing his organs and twisting them, and he knew he would feel pain soon enough. His skin was already prickling with the promise of violence, and he could only steel himself and force his muscles to lock without trembling.

"You shall write your lines today, Mr. Potter. Here, have some tea."

Harry grabbed the cup and then the quill, and drank some tea to get his wits together even if the tea was overly sweet and tasted like the inside of Mrs. Figgs closet. Slowly he began writing, over and over again, I must not tell lies.

With his mind numbed by the repetition and the pain flaring in his left arm, Harry began to wander off - at first, he simply traced the outline of his memories, caressing the edges like they were something precious. His friends, all the laughter they had together, and Sirius , waiting for him with open arms even after having spent the majority of his life inside a cell. He never shied away when Harry needed him, he always listened. No one had done that before for him. Not like... Dumbledore. A sudden awful aftertaste filled his mouth remembering the Headmaster. He always put his trust into the man, but he wasn't so sure anymore, not after these past months, at least. Dumbledore was evading him, always disappearing before he could talk to him, vanishing from his office when Harry tried to corner him. Then, he tought back at the trial. When the Minister had the whole Wizengamot called, like Harry was a crminal, like he was a Death Eater ready to be sent to Azkaban for having cast a Patronus.