When the Snow Melts

Captured

Draco stalked down the hall in an angry huff, glaring at everyone he passed. He had enough on his plate already without Potter meddling in his affairs.

A plan was beginning to take shape. Potter had remedial potions with Professor Snape every Tuesday. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to catch the boy without his fan club. Tonight's lesson on manners was long overdue.

<<<<<   >>>>>

Harry entered the common room with stooped shoulders and a weary expression. He felt emotionally drained and he was dreading Occulmency later that night.

"So," Hermione started, glancing up from the book she had been reading. "What did Professor McGonagall have to say about Malfoy?"

"She told Professor Snape about it," Harry replied with a shrug.

"And?" Hermione pressed.

"And Malfoy denied the whole thing," Harry replied, desperately wanting to change the subject.

"Why would he do something like that?" Hermione exclaimed in surprise. "He's being threatened. He should let the professors help him."

"How should I know," he grumbled. "Maybe he wants to deal with this on his own. He's got his pride to consider after all. Either way, it isn't our problem anymore. If he doesn't want our help, then we should stay out of it."

She gave him a disparaging look and opened her mouth to admonish him. Harry abruptly cut her off – he was done with being a source of disappointment for the day.

"I'm going upstairs to take a nap," he snapped. He didn't wait for her response before trudging up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

<<<<<   >>>>>

Occulmency. Harry's most hated subject, but quitting wasn't an option. If he had learned it right the first time, then Sirius would still be alive. He had no more excuses to make.

He picked himself up off the ground once more and took a steadying breath.

"Shall we try again?" Professor Snape asked in a condescending tone.

Harry nodded his acceptance. He struggled to clear his mind, but didn't do it fast enough. That memory kept bubbling to the surface, it was flashing in his mind even as Snape began the incantation.

He was back there again.

It was recess and 10-year-old Harry was sitting against a wall, all alone. Dudley was home sick that day, so the group of boys that normally tormented him were preoccupied with a rousing game of basketball instead.

After a while, Piers approached him. "Hey Harry, you want to play with us?"

Harry peered at the boy with a hopeful expression on his face. "You want me to play?"

"Sure," Piers replied, throwing the ball at Harry's face. "Catch."

Behind Piers, the other boys snickered. Harry didn't notice them as he narrowly avoided getting struck by the ball. Piers ran after it.

"Don't you even know how to catch?" he inquired, walking back towards Harry with ball in hand. He threw it again.

This time, Harry caught it. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I wasn't ready before," he explained.

When neither boy moved, Piers sighed in exasperation. "Well, go on then." He gestured towards the end of the court. "Try and make the shot."

Harry nodded, dribbling the ball experimentally a few times before edging towards the basket. He was picking up speed when out of nowhere, one of the larger boys slammed into him, sending him sprawling. He hit the pavement - hard.