Child of Hogwarts: Part I

Chapter Thirteen - The Lessons and The Leaving

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Lessons and The Leaving

The next few weeks at the castle passed quickly for Harry. The Occlumency lessons he had with Dumbledore, always before bed, had helped a great deal with the nightmares. Harry wasn't sure if this was because he was doing the exercises properly, or because Dumbledore's presence as he fell into sleep relaxed him enough that he was too peaceful for bad dreams. Perhaps a combination of the two. In any case, the nightly lessons had become routine, and Harry had had only three additional nightmares since they started. Strangely, none of the three had been about the end of term. All were visions of that dark forest – the place that Dumbledore had told him was called the accursed mountains. He never saw anything of note in the dreams, but they left him pale, frightened and a touch nauseated upon waking. Each of these nights, Dumbledore had come to him. He always asked Harry to describe what he could remember of the dream, then forced him to take a spoonful of the dreamless sleep potion before lying down again. Harry could tell these nightmares in particular worried the headmaster, but he never explained exactly why.

The additional lessons Dumbledore had scheduled for him started up the day after his first night of Occlumency. For the most part, Harry actually enjoyed the tutorials. McGonagall's sessions were much like his usual Transfiguration lessons, except he was the only student present. She spent the first two or three lessons reviewing some of the more challenging material from his first year, then started schooling him in the second year curriculum. Harry found he was more adept at Transfiguration in these one-on-one tutorials – outside the distracting presence of fifteen other students, all attempting to change a needle into a matchstick with increasingly disastrous results. McGonagall was pleased with his progress, and gave him an approving smile when he was able – on his first attempt – to successfully transfigure a newt into a candlestick during their sixth lesson.

'Your father was very gifted at Transfiguration too,' she told him, placing the candlestick on her mantle as he packed away his things. 'I expect you to keep up this level of commitment once term resumes.'

'Yes, ma'am.' Harry quickly agreed, beaming at her praise.

The Potions lessons, which Harry had been dreading, were not nearly as horrific as he'd anticipated. Snape mostly ignored Harry, setting out instructions and then turning to his own work. Occasionally, he looked up long enough to shout at Harry for dicing his caterpillars incorrectly or keeping his flame too high. For much of the lesson, however, Harry was allowed to brew in peace. Like in McGonagall's tutorials, he found Potions much easier without the distraction of a room full of people. Perhaps even more so than in Transfiguration, because at least in McGonagall's subject people were rarely attempting to cause him trouble on purpose. Malfoy's absence meant nobody was throwing things into his cauldron while he chopped his next ingredient, or prodding the heat to spoil the brew. Snape, once he had grudgingly admitted Harry seemed to have a grasp on the first year curriculum, also moved on to some more advanced potions after a few lessons. In spite of his personal feelings toward the Potions master, Harry found he rather enjoyed the quiet hours in the dungeons. Snape generally avoided creating an antagonistic environment – a change Harry found both odd and refreshing in equal measure. He suspected Dumbledore might have talked the professor down. Whatever the cause, Harry found that his time spent with the Potions master was far more amicable than his hours there during the school year had been.

'A moment, Potter,' Snape called one afternoon, as Harry was headed for the door after bottling his draught of hiccup-cure. Harry turned, puzzled. Snape beckoned him back toward the desk.

'Sir?'

'Sit, Potter,' Snape said, indicating the student desk in front of his own.

Harry sank into it with some trepidation, putting his bag between his knees. Snape considered him for a moment, then rose from his own seat, coming around the desk. Harry leaned back a bit in his chair, expecting some sort of tirade. He racked his brains for a cause... he'd thought the potion had looked correct, but perhaps he'd accidentally concocted some sort of poison?