Adventures of Harriet Potter

Occlumency

A/N: warning to all readers, this chapter will contain flashbacks to Harriet being violated by Uncle Vernon at an incredibly, sickeningly, young age. If you are triggered by such things wait for the next chapter and skip this one.

Kreacher, it transpired, had been lurking in the attic. Sirius said he had found him up there, covered in dust, no doubt looking for more relics of the Black family to hide in his cupboard. Though Sirius seemed satisfied with this story, it made Harriet uneasy. Kreacher seemed to be in a better mood on his reappearance, his bitter muttering had subsided somewhat, and he submitted to orders more docilely than usual, though once or twice Harriet caught the house-elf staring avidly at her, always looking quickly away when he saw that Harriet had noticed.
Harriet did not mention her vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over. As the date of their departure back to Hogwarts drew nearer, he became more and more prone to what Mrs. Weasley called "fits of the sullens," in which he would become taciturn and grumpy, often withdrawing to Buckbeak's room for hours at a time. His gloom seeped through the house, oozing under doorways like some noxious gas, so that all of them became infected by it.
Harriet did not want to leave Sirius all alone again with only Kreacher for company. In fact, for the first time in her life, she was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Going back to school would mean placing herself once again under the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge, who had no doubt managed to force through another dozen decrees in their absence. Then there was no Quidditch to look forward to now that she had gone on leave; there was every likelihood that their burden of homework would increase as the exams drew even nearer; Dumbledore remained as remote as ever; her pregnancy was absolutely impossible to hide now; in fact, if it had not been for the D.A., Harriet felt she might have gone to Sirius and begged him to let her leave Hogwarts and remain in Grimmauld Place.
Then, on the very last day of the holidays, something happened that made Harriet positively dread her return to school. "Harriet dear," said Mrs. Weasley, poking her head into her and Ron's bedroom, where the pair of them were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny, and Crookshanks, "could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you." Harriet did not immediately register what she had said; one of her castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron's, and she was egging it on enthusiastically. "Squash him — squash him, he's only a pawn, you idiot — sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?"
"Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He'd like a word." Harriet's mouth fell open in horror. She looked around at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully upon the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices. "Snape?" said Harriet blankly. "Professor Snape, dear," said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. "Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long."
"What's he want with you?" said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room. "You haven't done anything, have you?" asked Hermione. "No!" said Harriet indignantly, racking her pregnancy clouded brains to think what she could have done that would make Snape pursue her to Grimmauld Place. Had her last piece of homework perhaps earned a T? She pushed open the kitchen door a minute or two later to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.
"Er," said Harriet to announce her presence. Snape looked around at her, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair. "Sit down, Potter." he said with a cold sneer. "You know," said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, "I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see." An ugly flush suffused Snape's pallid face. Harriet sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table. "I was supposed to see you alone, Potter," said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, "but Black —"
"I'm her godfather," said Sirius, louder than ever. "I am here on Dumbledore's orders," said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, "but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel . . . involved." Harriet almost retorted that even if Sirius weren't in the room she technically wouldn't be alone, not unless Snape was evil enough to cut her baby from her belly and let it die as he talked to her, but thought it better to not give Snape ideas. "What's that supposed to mean?" said Sirius, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs with a loud bang.
"Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful," Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, "for the Order." It was Sirius's turn to flush. Snape's lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harriet. "The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study advanced Occlumency this term." he said ad she felt him probe her mind and quickly locked down her memories. "Study what?" said Harriet blankly, internally grinning as she thought she had Snape locked out of her mind.
Snape's sneer became more pronounced. "Advanced Occlumency, Potter. The further magical defense of the mind against external penetration. A deeper level of an obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one." he said shattering her mental defenses like they were glass before withdrawing his mental probe. Harriet's heart began to pump very fast indeed. Defense against external penetration? But she was not being possessed, they had all agreed on that. . . . "Why do I have to study advanced Occlumency?" she blurted out indignantly, bringing her countless memories of being violated by Uncle Vernon — whom, she was pleased to learn, had been punished for doing so by the Ministry of Magic and sentenced to years worth of community service at St. Mungo's — to the forefront of her mind in case Snape tried breaching her mind again. "Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea," said Snape smoothly. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?"
"Yes," said Harriet. "Who's going to be teaching me?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "I am," he said. Harriet had the horrible sensation that her insides were melting. Extra lessons with Snape — what on earth had she done to deserve this? She looked quickly around at Sirius for support. "Why can't Dumbledore teach Harriet?" asked Sirius aggressively. "Why you?"
"I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," said Snape silkily. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He got to his feet. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you occasionally need them." He turned to leave, his black traveling cloak billowing behind him. "Wait a moment," said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair. Snape turned back to face them, sneering. "I am in rather a hurry, Black . . . unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time . . ."
"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harriet noticed, had balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harriet was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these advanced Occlumency lessons to give Harriet a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."
"How touching," Snape sneered. "But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like her father?" He glanced at her swollen belly like she had chosen to get pregnant, like she'd opened her legs one time too many or been a slag shagging her way through the school with no care about consequences. "Yes, I have," said Sirius proudly, though he too glanced at her gravid middle — he knew the truth behind it, having cornered her while decorating the house and forced her to tell him how she'd gotten pregnant. He was livid when she'd told him, barely held back from storming out of the house to go curse Uncle Vernon's bits off. It had made her smile, happy someone she could trust cared about her so much he'd try dealing with her horrible home life for her.
"Well then, you'll know she's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off her," Snape said sleekly. Sirius pushed his chair roughly aside and strode around the table toward Snape, pulling out his wand as he went; Snape whipped out his own. They were squaring up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculating, his eyes darting from Sirius's wand-tip to his face. "Sirius!" said Harriet loudly, but Sirius appeared not to hear her. "I've warned you, Snivellus," said Sirius, his face barely a foot from Snape's, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better —"
"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" whispered Snape. "Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months very seriously?" Harriet was struggling to reign in her own temper. "Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?" Sirius countered as Harriet hoped it didn't turn into a duel. "Speaking of dogs," said Snape softly, "did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform . . . gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?" Sirius raised his wand. "NO!" Harriet yelled, vaulting over the table as best she could in her condition and trying to get in between them, "Sirius, don't —"
"Are you calling me a coward?" roared Sirius, trying to push Harriet out of the way, but Harriet would not budge. "Why, yes, I suppose I am," said Snape. "Harriet — get — out — of — it!" snarled Sirius, carefully pushing her out of the way with his free hand. The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pajamas covered by a mackintosh.
"Cured!" he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. "Completely cured!" He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking toward the door with their wands pointing into each other's faces and Harriet immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each of them, trying to force them apart. "Merlin's beard," said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, "what's going on here?" Both Sirius and Snape lowered their wands. Harriet looked from one to the other. Each wore an expression of utmost contempt, yet the unexpected entrance of so many witnesses seemed to have brought them to their senses. Snape pocketed his wand and swept back across the kitchen, passing the Weasleys without comment. At the door he looked back.
"Six o'clock Monday evening, Potter." He was gone. Sirius glared after him, his wand at his side. "But what's been going on?" asked Mr. Weasley again. "Nothing, Arthur," said Sirius, who was breathing heavily as though he had just run a long distance. "Just a friendly little chat between two old school friends . . ." With what looked like an enormous effort, he smiled. "So . . . you're cured? That's great news, really great . . ."
"Yes, isn't it?" said Mrs. Weasley, leading her husband forward into a chair. "Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake's got in its fangs, and Arthur's learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?" she added, rather menacingly. "Yes, Molly dear," said Mr. Weasley meekly. That night's meal should have been a cheerful one with Mr. Weasley back amongst them; Harriet could tell Sirius was trying to make it so, yet when her godfather was not forcing himself to laugh loudly at Fred and George's jokes or offering everyone more food, his face fell back into a moody, brooding expression. Harriet was separated from him by Mundungus and Mad-Eye, who had dropped in to offer Mr. Weasley their congratulations; she wanted to talk to Sirius, to tell him that he should not listen to a word Snape said, that Snape was goading him deliberately and that the rest of them did not think Sirius was a coward for doing as Dumbledore told him and remaining in Grimmauld Place, but she had no opportunity to do so, and wondered occasionally, eyeing the ugly look on Sirius's face, whether she would have dared to even if she had the chance. Instead she told Ron and Hermione under her voice about having to take advanced Occlumency lessons with Snape. "Dumbledore wants to stop you having those dreams about Voldemort," said Hermione at once. "Well, you won't be sorry not to have them anymore, will you?"
"Extra lessons with Snape?" said Ron, sounding aghast. "I'd rather have the nightmares!" They were to return to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus the following day, escorted once again by Tonks and Lupin, both of whom were eating breakfast in the kitchen when Harriet, Ron, and Hermione arrived there next morning. The adults seemed to have been midway through a whispered conversation when the door opened; all of them looked around hastily and fell silent. After a hurried breakfast they pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly gray January morning. Harriet had an unpleasant constricted sensation in her chest; she did not want to say good-bye to Sirius. She had a bad feeling about this parting; she did not know when they would next see each other and felt that it was incumbent upon her to say something to Sirius to stop him doing anything stupid — Harriet was worried that Snape's accusation of cowardice had stung Sirius so badly he might even now be planning some foolhardy trip beyond Grimmauld Place. Before she could think of what to say, however, Sirius had beckoned her to his side.
"I want you to take this," he said quietly, thrusting a badly wrapped package roughly the size of a paperback book into Harriet's hands. "What is it?" Harriet asked. "A way of letting me know if Snape's giving you a hard time. No, don't open it in here!" said Sirius, with a wary look at Mrs. Weasley, who was trying to persuade the twins to wear hand-knitted mittens. "I doubt Molly would approve — but I want you to use it if you need me, all right?"
"Okay," said Harriet, stowing the package away in the inside pocket of her jacket, but she knew she would never use whatever it was. It would not be she, Harriet, who lured Sirius from his place of safety, no matter how foully Snape treated her in their forthcoming advanced Occlumency classes. "Let's go, then," said Sirius, clapping Harriet on the shoulder and smiling grimly, and before Harriet could say anything else, they were heading upstairs, stopping before the heavily chained and bolted front door, surrounded by Weasleys. "Good-bye, Harriet, take care," said Mrs. Weasley, hugging her. "See you Harriet, and keep an eye out for snakes for me!" said Mr. Weasley genially, shaking her hand.
"Right — yeah," said Harriet distractedly. It was her last chance to tell Sirius to be careful; she turned, looked into her godfather's face and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so Sirius was giving her a brief, one-armed hug. He said gruffly, "Look after yourself, Harriet," and next moment Harriet found herself being shunted out into the icy winter air, with Tonks (today heavily disguised as a tall, tweedy woman with iron-gray hair) chivvying her down the steps.
The door of number twelve slammed shut behind them. They followed Lupin down the front steps. As she reached the pavement, Harriet looked around. Number twelve was shrinking rapidly as those on either side of it stretched sideways, squeezing it out of sight; one blink later, it had gone. "Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better," said Tonks, and Harriet thought there was nervousness in the glance she threw around the square. Lupin flung out his right arm. BANG. A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backward out of its way. A thin, pimply, jug-eared youth in a purple uniform leapt down onto the pavement and said, "Welcome to the —"
"Yes, yes, we know, thank you," said Tonks swiftly. "On, on, get on —"
And she shoved Harriet forward toward the steps, past the conductor, who goggled at Harriet as she passed. "'Ere — it's 'Arriet — !" he began. "If you shout her name I will curse you into oblivion," muttered Tonks menacingly, now shunting Ginny and Hermione forward. "I've always wanted to go on this thing," said Ron happily, joining Harriet on board and looking around. It had been evening the last time Harriet had traveled by Knight Bus and its three decks had been full of brass bedsteads. Now, in the early morning, it was crammed with an assortment of mismatched chairs grouped haphazardly around windows. Some of these appeared to have fallen over when the bus stopped abruptly in Grimmauld Place; a few witches and wizards were still getting to their feet, grumbling, and somebody's shopping bag had slid the length of the bus; an unpleasant mixture of frog spawn, cockroaches, and custard creams was scattered all over the floor.
"Looks like we'll have to split up," said Tonks briskly, looking around for empty chairs. "Fred, George, and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back . . . Remus can stay with you . . ." She, Harriet, Ron, and Hermione proceeded up to the very top deck, where there were two chairs at the very front of the bus and two at the back. Stan Shunpike, the conductor, followed Harriet and Ron eagerly to the back. Heads turned as Harriet passed and when she sat down, she saw all the faces flick back to the front again.
As Harriet and Ron handed Stan eleven Sickles each, the bus set off again, swaying ominously. It rumbled around Grimmauld Square, weaving on and off the pavement, then, with another tremendous BANG, they were all flung backward; Ron's chair toppled right over and Pigwidgeon, who had been on his lap, burst out of his cage and flew twittering wildly up to the front of the bus where he fluttered down upon Hermione's shoulder instead. Harriet, who had narrowly avoided falling by seizing a candle bracket, looked out of the window: they were now speeding down what appeared to be a motorway.
"Just outside Birmingham," said Stan happily, answering Harriet's unasked question as Ron struggled up from the floor. "You keepin' well, then, 'Arriet? I seen your name in the paper loads over the summer, but it weren't never nuffink very nice. . . . I said to Ern, I said, 'she didn't seem like a nutter when we met 'er, just goes to show, dunnit?'" He handed over their tickets and continued to gaze, enthralled, at Harriet; apparently Stan did not care how nutty somebody was if they were famous enough to be in the paper. The Knight Bus swayed alarmingly, overtaking a line of cars on the inside. Looking toward the front of the bus Harriet saw Hermione cover her eyes with her hands, Pigwidgeon still swaying happily on her shoulder.
BANG. Chairs slid backward 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 here again."
"Listen, it's 'Ogwarts stop after this," said Stan brightly, swaying toward 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 more retching from downstairs, followed by a horrible spattering sound. "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. Harriet 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 and then got off to say good-bye. Harriet 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, okay?"
"Look after yourselves," said Lupin, shaking hands all round and reaching Harriet last. "And listen . . ." He lowered his voice while the rest of them exchanged last-minute good-byes with Tonks, "Harriet, 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 Harriet heavily, looking up into Lupin's prematurely lined face while resting a hand on her swollen midriff. "See you, then . . ." The six of them struggled up the slippery drive toward the castle dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. Harriet glanced back when they reached the oak front doors; the Knight Bus had already gone, and she half-wished, given what was coming the following day, that she was still on board.
Harriet spent most of the next day dreading the evening. Her morning Potions lesson did nothing to dispel her trepidation, as Snape was as unpleasant as ever, and Harriet's mood was further lowered by the fact that members of the D.A. were continually approaching her in the corridors between classes, asking hopefully whether there would be a meeting that night. "I'll let you know when the next one is," Harriet 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 Harriet dismally. "It's what everyone's going to think, isn't it? That I'm really stup —"
"Hi, Harriet," said a voice behind her. She turned around and found Cho standing there. "Oh," said Harriet as her stomach leapt uncomfortably. "Hi." The baby kicked at that moment, making a lump in her already round belly. "We'll be in the library, Harriet," said Hermione firmly, and she seized Ron above the elbow and dragged him off toward the marble staircase. "Had a good Christmas?" asked Cho. "Yeah, not bad," said Harriet. "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 notice board since I got back . . ." Harriet said, her mind having been on her lessons that night and preparing for the arrival of her baby in just a few more months. "Yes, it's on Valentine's Day . . ." said Cho. "Right," said Harriet, wondering why she was telling him this. "Well, I suppose you want to — ?"
"Only if you do," she said eagerly. Harriet stared. He had been about to say "I suppose you want to know when the next D.A. meeting is?" but her response did not seem to fit. "I — er —" she said. "Oh, it's okay if you don't," she said, looking mortified. "Don't worry. I-I'll see you around." She walked away. Harriet stood staring after her, her pregnancy affected brain working frantically. Then something clunked into place. "Cho! Hey — CHO!" She waddle-ran after her, catching her halfway up the marble staircase. "Er — d'you want to come into Hogsmeade with me on Valentine's Day?" asked Harriet breathing rather hard.
"Oooh, yes!" she said, blushing crimson and beaming at her. "Right . . . well . . . that's settled then," said Harriet, and feeling that the day was not going to be a complete loss after all, she headed off to the library to pick up Ron and Hermione before their afternoon lessons, waddling in a rather bouncy way herself. By six o'clock that evening, however, even the glow of having successfully asked out Cho Chang was insufficient to lighten the ominous feelings that intensified with every step Harriet took toward Snape's office.
She paused outside the door when he reached it, wishing he were almost anywhere else, then, taking a deep breath, knocked, and entered. It was a shadowy room lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars in which floated slimy bits of animals and plants, suspended in variously colored potions. In a corner stood the cupboard full of ingredients that Snape had once accused Harriet — not without reason — of robbing. Harriet's attention was drawn toward the desk, however, where a shallow stone basin engraved with runes and symbols lay in a pool of candlelight. Harriet recognized it at once — Dumbledore's Pensieve. Wondering what on earth it was doing here, she jumped when Snape's cold voice came out of the corner.
"Shut the door behind you, Potter." Harriet did as she was told with the horrible feeling that she was imprisoning herself as she did so. When she turned back to face the room Snape had moved into the light and was pointing silently at the chair opposite his desk. Harriet sat down and so did Snape, his cold black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Harriet, dislike and something deeper 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 Potions."
"Right," said Harriet tersely, having done every potion he'd given in class correctly. Her bad marks were only due to him not liking her. "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." That nearly set her pregnancy shortened temper off. "Yes . . . sir," said Harriet. "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 Harriet, looking directly into Snape's dark, cold eyes and wondering whether he would answer. Though she already understood it and Legilimency, she opted to play dumb since she suspected students weren't supposed to know about such magic during their time at Hogwarts. Snape looked back at her 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?" Harriet asked, acting like the foolish, arrogant schoolgirl he believed her to be. "It is the ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind —" said Snape shortly. "He can read minds?" said Harriet quickly, her worst fears confirmed. Again making herself sound like she wasn't as informed on the subtlety of the magic at play. "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 savor the pleasure of insulting Harriet, 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 utter falsehoods in his presence without detection."
Whatever Snape said, Legilimency certainly did sounded like mind reading to Harriet and she did not like the sound of it at all. "So he could know what we're thinking right now? Sir?" she said cocking her head to add to her dumb girl routine. "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 advanced Occlumency?" Harriet challenged, having gotten by on her own with what she'd been able to learn from the books in the library. Sure her defenses were rudimentary but that wasn't for lack of trying on her part, and her pregnancy wasn't helping with it. Snape eyed Harriet, 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."
Harriet's heart was pumping fast again, the realization for her was horrible. But none of this added up. "But why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?" she 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 Harriet 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?" Harriet said pointedly, not liking how dismissive of the Weasleys he sounded. "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!" she said indignantly. "I thought I just told you not to interrupt me, Potter?" spat Snape hostilely. But Harriet did not care if Snape was angry; at last she seemed to be getting to the bottom of this business. She had moved forward in her chair so that, without realizing it, she was perched on the very edge, tense as though poised for flight. Even though her pregnancy kept her firmly on the ground. "How come I saw through the snake's eyes if it's Voldemort's thoughts I'm sharing?" she asked bravely.
"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 Harriet 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 Harriet knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin. "I just wanted to know," Harriet began again, forcing her 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 . . ." That made a lot of sense to Harriet. "And Vol — he — realized I was there?" she asked fearfully. "It seems so," said Snape coolly. "How do you know?" said Harriet urgently. "Is this just Professor Dumbledore guessing, or — ?"
"I told you," said Snape, rigid in his chair, his eyes slits, "to call me 'sir.'" Irking her further. "Yes, sir," said Harriet impatiently, "but how do you know — ?" She wanted to get to the root of the problem so she could get her mind around sealing off her end of her connection to Voldemort. "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 realized that he might be able to access your thoughts and feelings in return —"
"And he might try and make me do things?" asked Harriet clutching her belly. "Sir?" she 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 Harriet tensed in her 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 behavior, he picked up the Pensieve carefully, removed it to a shelf out of their way and returned to face Harriet with his wand held at the ready.
"Stand up and take out your wand, Potter." he snarled. Harriet got to her 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, almost amused at the thought. "And what are you going to do?" Harriet 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 Harriet was ready, before Harriet had even begun to summon any force of resistance: the office swam in front of her eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through her mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded her to her surroundings. . . .
She was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and her heart was bursting with jealousy as her slit ached from Uncle Vernon violating her the night before. . . . She was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing her up a tree as she winced from more pain in her crotch and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn. . . . She was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling her she 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 her beside the dark lake. . . . Cho Chang was drawing nearer to her under the mistletoe. . . . No, said a voice in Harriet's head, as the memory of Cho drew nearer, you're not watching that, you're not watching it, it's private —
She felt a sharp pain in her knee. Snape's office had come back into view and she realized that she had fallen to the floor on her hands and knees; one of her knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape's desk. She 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 Harriet bitterly, getting up from the floor, subconsciously soothing her baby from the distress she felt at the memories. "I thought not," said Snape contemptuously. "You let me get in too far. You lost control."
"Did you see everything I saw?" Harriet asked, unsure whether she wanted to hear the answer. "Flashes of it," said Snape, his lip curling. "To whom did the dog belong?" She noticed he looked a bit paler than normal. "My Aunt Marge," Harriet 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 Harriet angrily, "but you're not telling me how!" Coldly applying logic to the situation, she'd learned more on the subject from books in the last three to four years than he thought he was teaching her in the time she'd been in the room with him trying to learn more advanced Occlumency. "Manners, Potter," said Snape dangerously. "Now, I want you to close your eyes."
Harriet threw him a filthy look before doing as she was told. She did not like the idea of standing there with her eyes shut while Snape faced her, carrying a wand. "Clear your mind, Potter," said Snape's cold voice. "Let go of all emotion . . ." But Harriet's pregnancy amplified anger at Snape continued to pound through her veins like venom. Let go of her anger? She could as easily detach her legs at the moment . . .
"You're not doing it, Potter. . . . You will need more discipline than this. . . . Focus, now . . ." Snape snarled. Harriet emptied her mind, not thinking, or remembering, or feeling. . . . Forming a mental wall of every time Uncle Vernon had violated her. "Let's go again . . . on the count of three . . . one — two — three — Legilimens!" She was five, screaming and crying as Uncle Vernon's manhood invaded her body for the first time. Begging him to stop as it hurt so much she couldn't think beyond the pain radiating from her crotch. . . . She was ten and weeping as Uncle Vernon brutally thrust in and out of her for bringing home a school report where she'd done better than Dudley in a class, feeling sick to her stomach as he gave a grunting roar and something sticky and slimy pelted her insides. . . . She was eleven and screaming again as Uncle Vernon pounded her abused crotch for unknowingly using magic to free a snake at the zoo. . . . Her defenses shattered as Snape pressed her mentally. . . . A great black dragon was rearing in front of her. . . . Her father and mother were waving at her out of an enchanted mirror. . . . A police officer she didn't know the name of was lying on the ground with blank eyes staring at her . . .
"NOOOOOOO!" she screamed, weeping as she'd relived those horrible moments of violation thinly veiled as "punishment" from her uncle. She was on her knees again, her face buried in her hands, her brain aching as though someone had been trying to pull it from her skull.
"Get up!" said Snape sharply, though looked like he was going to be sick. "Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!" Harriet stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen that unknown Muggle police officer dead in the graveyard. Snape looked a lot paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harriet was. "I — am — making — an — effort," she said through clenched teeth. "I told you to empty yourself of emotion!" Snape said while looking like he wanted to throw up. "Yeah? Well, I'm finding that hard at the moment," Harriet snarled. "Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!" said Snape savagely. "Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!"
"I am not weak," said Harriet in a low voice, fury now pumping through her so that she thought she might attack Snape in a moment. "Then prove it! Master yourself!" spat Snape. "Control your anger, discipline your mind! We shall try again! Get ready, now! Legilimens!" She was twelve and being brutally molested by Uncle Vernon after Dobby had dropped Aunt Petunia's pudding all over the kitchen floor. . . . She was thirteen and enduring it again and again as Uncle Vernon furiously tried impregnating her. . . . Her defenses didn't make it to age fourteen. . . . She was watching Uncle Vernon hammering the letter box shut. . . . A hundred dementors were drifting across the lake in the grounds toward her. . . . She was running along a windowless passage with Mr. Weasley. . . . They were drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor. . . . Harriet expected to go through it . . . but Mr. Weasley led him off to the left, down a flight of stone steps as nausea curled in her stomach. . . .
"I KNOW! I KNOW!" He was on all fours again on Snape's office floor, his scar was prickling unpleasantly, but the voice that had just issued from his mouth was triumphant. He pushed himself up again to find Snape staring at him, his wand raised. It looked as though, this time, Snape had lifted the spell before Harry had even tried to fight back. "What happened then, Potter?" he asked, eyeing Harriet intently. "I saw — I remembered," Harriet panted. "I've just realized . . ."
"Realized what?" asked Snape sharply. Harriet did not answer at once; she was still savoring the moment of blinding realization as she rubbed her forehead. . . . She had been dreaming about a windowless corridor ending in a locked door for months, without once realizing that it was a real place. Now, seeing the memory again, she knew that all along she had been dreaming about the corridor down which she had run with Mr. Weasley on the twelfth of August as they hurried to the courtrooms in the Ministry. It was the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries, and Mr. Weasley had been there the night that he had been attacked by Voldemort's snake. . . .
She looked up at Snape. "What's in the Department of Mysteries?" she asked, barely remembering how flat her belly was back then as her pregnancy hadn't revealed itself yet. "What did you say?" Snape asked quietly and Harriet saw, with deep satisfaction, that Snape was unnerved. "I said, what's in the Department of Mysteries, sir?" Harriet said. "And why," said Snape slowly, "would you ask such a thing?" Tightly guarding against her attempts to probe his mind. "Because," said Harriet, watching Snape closely for a reaction, "that corridor I've just seen — I've been dreaming about it for months — I've just recognized it — it leads to the Department of Mysteries . . . and I think Voldemort wants something from —"
"I have told you not to say the Dark Lord's name!" hissed Snape quickly. They glared at each other. Harriet's scar seared again, but she did not care. Snape looked agitated. When he spoke again he sounded as though he was trying to appear cool and unconcerned. "There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you, do I make myself plain?"
"Yes," Harriet said, still rubbing her prickling scar, which was becoming more painful. "I want you back here same time on Wednesday, and we will continue work then." Snape said forcefully. "Fine," said Harriet. She was desperate to get out of Snape's office and find Ron and Hermione. "You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep — empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?" Snape ordered. "Yes," said Harriet, who was barely listening. "And be warned, Potter . . . I shall know if you have not practiced . . ." Snape said dismissing her from the room. "Right," Harriet mumbled. She picked up her schoolbag, swung it over her shoulder, and hurried toward the office door. As she opened it she glanced back at Snape, who had his back to Harriet and was scooping his own thoughts out of the Pensieve with the tip of his wand and replacing them carefully inside his own head. Harriet left without another word, closing the door carefully behind her, her scar still throbbing painfully while the baby landed a kick to her bladder.
Harriet found Ron and Hermione in the library, where they were working on Umbridge's most recent ream of homework. Other students, nearly all of them fifth years, sat at lamp-lit tables nearby, noses close to books, quills scratching feverishly, while the sky outside the mullioned windows grew steadily blacker. The only other sound was the slight squeaking of one of Madam Pince's shoes as the librarian prowled the aisles menacingly, breathing down the necks of those touching her precious books. Harriet felt shivery; her scar was still aching, she felt almost feverish. When she sat down opposite Ron and Hermione she caught sight of herself in the window opposite. She was very white, and her scar seemed to be showing up more clearly than usual.
"How did it go?" Hermione whispered, and then, looking concerned, "Are you all right, Harriet?" Her eyes instantly going to Harriet's swollen middle. "Yeah . . . fine . . . I dunno," said Harriet impatiently, wincing as pain shot through her scar again. "Listen . . . I've just realized something . . ." And she told them what he had just seen and deduced. "So . . . so, are you saying . . ." whispered Ron, as Madam Pince swept past, squeaking slightly, "that the weapon — the thing You-Know-Who's after — is in the Ministry of Magic?"
"In the Department of Mysteries, it's got to be," Harry whispered. "I saw that door when your dad took me down to the courtrooms for my hearing and it's definitely the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him." Hermione let out a long, slow sigh. "Of course," she breathed. "Of course what?" said Ron rather impatiently. "Ron, think about it. . . . Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic. . . . It must have been that one, it's too much of a coincidence!" said Hermione, having a revelation of her own. "How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he's on our side?" said Ron. "Well, I don't know," Hermione admitted. "That is a bit odd . . ."
"So what's in the Department of Mysteries?" Harriet asked Ron. "Has your dad ever mentioned anything about it?" She was relying on his knowledge since she was certain books about the department were in the Restricted Section. "I know they call the people who work in there 'Unspeakables,'" said Ron, frowning. "Because no one really seems to know what they do in there. . . . Weird place to have a weapon . . ."
"It's not weird at all, it makes perfect sense," said Hermione. "It will be something top secret that the Ministry has been developing, I expect. . . . Harriet, are you sure you're all right?" For Harriet had just run both her hands hard over her forehead as though trying to iron it. "Yeah . . . fine . . ." she said, lowering her hands, which were trembling. "I just feel a bit . . . I don't like advanced Occlumency lessons much . . ." She was certain she could find better tutelage from one of the books around her than in a single session with Snape. "I expect anyone would feel shaky if they'd had their mind attacked over and over again," said Hermione sympathetically. "Look, let's get back to the common room, we'll be a bit more comfortable there . . ."
But the common room was packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement; Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise. "Headless Hats!" shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. "Two Galleons each — watch Fred, now!" Fred swept the hat onto his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid, then both hat and head vanished.
Several girls screamed, but everyone else was roaring with laughter. "And off again!" shouted George, and Fred's hand groped for a moment in what seemed to be thin air over his shoulder; then his head reappeared as he swept the pink-feathered hat from it again. "How do those hats work, then?" said Hermione, distracted from her homework and watching Fred and George. "I mean, obviously it's some kind of Invisibility Spell, but it's rather clever to have extended the field of invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object. . . . I'd imagine the charm wouldn't have a very long life though . . ."
Harriet did not answer; she was still feeling ill for reasons unconnected to the baby kicking in her belly. "I'm going to have to do this tomorrow," she muttered, pushing the books she had just taken out of her bag back inside it. "Well, write it in your homework planner then!" said Hermione encouragingly. "So you don't forget!" Harriet and Ron exchanged looks as she reached into her bag, withdrew the planner and opened it tentatively. "Don't leave it till later, you big second-rater!" chided the book as Harriet scribbled down Umbridge's homework. Hermione beamed at it.
"I think I'll go to bed," said Harriet, stuffing the homework planner back into her bag and making a mental note to either drop it in the fire or remove the talking charm the first opportunity she got. She walked across the common room, dodging George, who tried to put a Headless Hat on her, and reached the peace and cool of the stone staircase to the girls' dormitories. She was feeling sick again, just as she had the night she had had the vision of the snake, but thought that if she could just lie down for a while she would be all right. She opened the door of her dormitory and was one step inside it when he experienced pain so severe she thought that someone must have sliced into the top of her head. She did not know where she was, whether she was standing or lying down, she did not even know her own name. . . .
Maniacal laughter was ringing in her ears. . . . She was happier than she had been in a very long time. . . . Jubilant, ecstatic, triumphant . . . A wonderful, wonderful thing had happened. . . . "Harriet? HARRIET!" Someone had hit her around the face. The insane laughter was punctuated with a cry of pain. The happiness was draining out of her, but the laughter continued. . . . She opened her eyes and as she did so, she became aware that the wild laughter was coming out of her own mouth. The moment he realized this, it died away; Harriet lay panting on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, the scar on her forehead throbbing horribly. Hermione was bending over her, looking very worried.
"What happened?" she said. "I . . . dunno . . ." Harriet gasped, sitting up again. "He's really happy . . . really happy . . ." Shuddering as she realized she'd slowly slid to lay on the floor instead of falling to it as she'd initially thought. "You-Know-Who is?" asked Hermione in absolute horror. "Something good's happened," mumbled Harriet. She was shaking as badly as she had done after seeing the snake attack Mr. Weasley and felt very sick. "Something he's been hoping for."
The words came, just as they had back in the Gryffindor changing room with Ron, as though a stranger was speaking them through Harriet's mouth, yet she knew they were true. She took deep breaths, willing herself not to vomit all over Hermione. She was very glad that Lavender and Parvati were not here to watch this time. "Something told me to come and check on you," said Hermione in a low voice, helping Harriet to her feet. "I had a feeling your defenses would be low at the moment, after Snape's been fiddling around with your mind. . . . Still, I suppose it'll help in the long run, won't it?" She looked doubtfully at Harriet as she helped her toward bed. Harriet nodded without any conviction and slumped back on her pillows, aching all over from having fallen to the floor so often that evening, her scar still prickling painfully. She could not help feeling that her first formal lesson foray into Occlumency had weakened her mind's resistance rather than strengthening it, and she wondered, with a feeling of great trepidation, what had happened to make Lord Voldemort the happiest he had been in fourteen years.

Snape's POV
I retch into the basin of my chambers for the millionth time since Potter had left my office, her memories of her life at home. . . . What that horrible, beefy monster of a man had done to her for years. It was sickening enough that I understood why she'd used it as a defense, most wouldn't press deeper if greeted with such horrors trying to breach her mind. It was certainly more effective on the fly than locking her memories down. Horrible as her life was though, I couldn't get past the arrogance of her father in her, the hatred for Lily's innocent kindness and looks having mixed with that swine's lineage. Made worse by the brat having a child herself, at only fifteen. Like she was ready to become a mum, like it was nothing for her to open her legs and take someone who didn't even care for her's seed into her belly. Especially as I couldn't help wondering if that was how Lily had looked carrying the ungrateful whelp in her own belly, how she would've looked carrying my child if not for my angry mistake that I still regretted after nineteen years.
I looked in my mirror, my face pale with hints of how sick Potter's memories made me beneath the surface. Wondering how Dumbledore could allow her to go through such trauma outside of school without any means to defend herself. How Petunia, wretched as she was, could allow such a thing to occur in her own home. To her only niece no less. I had to persuade Dumbledore to act, to save the girl from further trauma, from having to brew another batch of Contraceptive Potion for as long as she lived.