Full Circle

Chapter Five

I'd wish we were torn asunder
Were we not apart
Let your presence replace my image of you
And how I'd rejoice.
You've brought me to foolish babbling
Tiring your friends with praise of you
When you return they'll see that
My words are true

They'll see mountains dance with ripples
Mole and eagle step the reel
Red rasp held by kind sea-tangle
Sport before their eyes
They'll see you and me make merry
Lip to lip our breath as one
Caressing thus forever
Together our reward.

--Capercaillie, "Breisleach" ("Delirium")

Harry stood there for what seemed like hours, staring at the smashed glass from the window.

"Harry?" Ron asked again. "What did you just do?" He had a pretty good idea, but he couldn't bring himself to ask - Harry, mate, did you just throw a Killing Curse my way? Oh, right, thought so - close call, that - carry on!

"I don't know," said Harry, shaking his head. He backed up until he bumped into the counter behind him. "It just sort of happened. I didn't mean to."

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, starting forward, but Harry shook his head violently. "No - don't!" he said, gripping his wand arm just above the elbow and rubbing it, digging his fingers into the muscle there as if trying to bring feeling back into it.

When Ron was six years old and Ginny five, they had been playing hide and seek in the back garden. It was Ron's turn to hide, and he tried to crawl behind the blackberry bushes growing thick at the west corner of the garden wall. He hadn't gone far before a vicious hiss made him jump back. A skinny black Kneazle was crouched under the largest of the bushes, and Ron could see it had a jagged cut on one of its front paws. He'd reached out a hand to the animal and it hissed again, swatting at him with its uninjured paw. Its eyes were wide and wild, darting from side to side as if it were looking for a way to escape. Ron had tried to touch it once more, and the animal had swiped him with its claws and darted out from the bushes, never to be seen again.

That's what Harry reminded Ron of at that moment. A wild, scared animal. Harry's chest rose and fell rapidly, his face was deathly white, and Ron was afraid he might bolt.

"Okay, I won't," said Ron, backing up. He definitely didn't want to get swatted by Harry in this sort of state. "You okay?"

"No," said Harry, shaking his head rapidly, and then muttered under his breath. "It's just like before."

Ron started to ask what he meant by before, but caught himself just as he remembered, biting down hard on his lip to keep the question held back. Before meant after your accident, when I tried to drown Draco Malfoy in the lake.

"Then, maybe, I should take this?" Ron gestured toward Harry's wand, still on the floor at Harry's feet. Harry nodded imperceptibly, still holding his arm. Ron flicked his own wand and Harry's flew across the room to him; he caught it neatly and tucked it in his cloak pocket. Never in his life had he wished more desperately that Hermione was there. She'd obviously known what to do that time at the lake; Ron had no clue.

"Harry, maybe we should - " Ron began, but was cut off by the sight and sound of several people Apparating into the room, wands drawn. The Order, Ron realised with relief. It was a good thing Harry wasn't armed as he jumped nearly a foot into the air, wand hand out as if he were going to cast, and the wild, almost predatory look in his eyes intensified.

Remus stepped out of the group, glancing quickly around. "It's all right, Harry," he said calmly, in the practical professor's voice Ron had heard him use many times before.

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "You don't know - you didn't see - "

"I know enough," said Remus, nodding slightly towards the shattered window, where Tonks and Kingsley were scanning the window frame and the surrounding area with complicated spells.

"I didn't mean to," Harry repeated, his voice flat and yet desperate. It seemed that he was pressing himself back into the counter as much out of a need to hold himself up as to try to back away from them. "I swear I didn't. I wouldn't."

"I believe you," said Remus. During this brief exchange he'd inched his way slowly towards Harry, almost imperceptibly, his hand held non-threateningly at his sides. "You aren't in trouble, Harry."

Harry watched Remus warily as he approached, but when Remus reached out a cautious hand to Harry, he didn't back away. Ron let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as Remus's fingers closed around Harry's upper arm, and then Remus led him out of the kitchen.

Ron reached into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around the handle of Harry's wand. What had made Harry act this way? He thought about how he'd jerked awake in the middle of the night, feeling that something was incredibly wrong, and the first thing he had thought to do was Apparate to Harry's house and see if something had happened to him. Apparently Harry had the same premonition, and it had thrown him off so badly that he had cast the worst possible of curses by accident.

He remembered the feel of the curse flying inches from his head and shivered. It had felt cold and malevolent and he couldn't reconcile it as having come from Harry.

Remus appeared at the door of the kitchen a few minutes later.

"Where's Harry?" Ron asked.

"In the study. Moody is there questioning him. He's pretty shaken." Remus nodded towards the dining room. "I'd like to ask you a few questions as well, Ron."

Ron nodded and followed.

"Why were you here in the middle of the night?" Remus asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

"Something wasn't right. I woke up out of a dead sleep, just like someone had jerked me awake, you know? And something just didn't feel right, and I thought it might be something to do with Harry."

"What do you mean by 'something just didn't feel right'?" Remus asked, frowning slightly.

"It wasn't any sort of vision or anything, if that's what you're asking," said Ron hastily. "It was just a feeling. It was like... well, you remember last year at Fred and Angelina's wedding? Before those Death Eaters started up that musical curse, I got this feeling that something was going to happen. I didn't know what or when. This was a lot like that. I just woke up feeling that something had happened, and the first thing I thought of was Harry."

Remus nodded. "Then what happened?"

"I Apparated over - straight into the house, because Harry told me I could, anytime, and it's er... easier for me anyway - and as soon as I did, I saw Harry come down the hall with his wand out. I don't think he even realised it was me; he just cast it. Nearly took my head off." Ron paused. "But he didn't say the words. Two seconds after I got here, he cast the curse, like a reflex."

"Okay." Remus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know he's done this already, right?"

"Yeah - he didn't tell me, but I heard. Ministry gossip."

"I didn't expect he would tell you. He didn't tell me either - I heard from Moody and Kingsley. I think - " Remus broke off, looking up. "Harry, come have a seat."

Harry hesitated in the doorway for a moment, then sat beside Ron at the table. He looked tired and dazed, almost if he wasn't quite sure what was going on around him. Moody followed close behind. "You've got Potter's wand, Weasley? I need to take it for examination."

"Harry can't stay here without a wand," said Ron, covering his pocket reflexively. "What if something happens?"

"He can't stay here armed till we figure out why he's casting these Dark curses with no intent or effort," said Moody. "He nearly killed you, Weasley, and he might succeed next time if we don't figure out why. Hand it over."

"He didn't mean to," said Ron.

"Ron, just give it to him," said Harry tiredly.

"Don't be stupid, Harry," said Ron. "You shouldn't be unarmed."

"I shouldn't be armed, because next time I might just kill someone."

Remus coughed discreetly. "Ron, I think it would be best if you gave him Harry's wand. We're trying to keep this as unofficial as possible, to keep people out of the know, if you see what I mean, and the faster you turn it over, the faster Harry can get it back. I plan on staying here with Harry, if it makes you feel any better."

"Well, I'm staying too," said Ron.

"Nobody needs to stay with me," said Harry.

"Don't be stupid!" Ron said again, feeling exasperated. "If You- Voldemort knew you were here unarmed he'd be on you like Crabbe and Goyle on a cupcake."

"Fine!" said Harry, standing up so quickly his chair toppled over. "Do whatever you want. I'll just be in my room waiting for you all to tell me what to do next, okay?"

Reluctantly, Ron handed Harry's wand over to Moody. "I don't like the idea of Harry being defenceless," he said.

"I don't either, but I'd rather him not kill someone by accident," said Moody, pocketing Harry's wand. "I need to run some tests on this and I'll have it back as soon as I can. In the meantime, he's on leave from training, and one or both of you should be with him at all times."

"That won't be a problem," said Ron.

Ron Apparated back to the Burrow to pick up a few things and let his parents know what was going on. His mother had an absolute fit at the news and waffled between trying to forbid Ron to go back there at all, and going over there herself to make sure that Harry was all right before Arthur put his foot down and said absolutely not. By the time he returned to Harry's, only Remus was still there.

"Are you sure you two will be all right tonight?" asked Remus.

"Yeah, I think so," said Ron. "Did he come out at all while I was gone?"

"No," said Remus, "and I didn't go in. As angry as he was, I didn't think it wise."

"Yeah."

Remus was quiet for a moment. "All right then. If you need anything - just Floo. You know where to find me."

After Remus left, Ron knocked on Harry's door. "Harry? Can I come in?"

There was a grunt. "Yeah."

Ron pushed open the door and went inside. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. It was a bit of a squeeze for Ron to manoeuvre his chair between the bed and the wall beside Harry, but he managed it.

"They'll figure it out," Ron said, for lack of anything useful to say.

"Yeah," said Harry. He looked up at Ron for a moment. "Soon would be good."

Ron nodded. "Are you okay?"

Harry shrugged. "I heard you tell Remus that you heard about what happened with Kingsley."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I'm not scared of you, if that's what you're wondering."

"You should be," said Harry. There was a long pause, in which Harry fiddled with the clasp of his watch, and then he said, very quietly, "I am."

Ron opened his mouth to tell Harry that it was rubbish to be scared of himself, but the look on Harry's face was serious. A small line had formed between his eyebrows, as if he were thinking about something difficult to understand, and for the first time Ron could remember, Harry actually looked scared. It was a different kind of scared than in the kitchen: not a wild, panicky scared but more of a quietly desperate scared.

"I almost killed you, Ron," said Harry. "That was the Killing Curse. I don't know it. I've never cast it, never tried to. But it just came out, like I'd done it hundreds of times."

"You didn't mean to, though," said Ron.

Harry shook his head. "No, but... you don't understand how it felt. It was awful, and it hurt, but at the same time, it was this huge rush of... power." Harry looked up, meeting Ron's eyes. "And I can't say that I don't want to feel it again."

Ron couldn't think of a reply, and couldn't look away from Harry's gaze.

Harry ducked his head, twisting his watch around his wrist. "The worst part is, it didn't really feel like it was coming from me. It felt like me, but not me. I can't really explain it. And if I don't know where it comes from, I - I can't stop it."

"They'll figure it out," said Ron, with more certainty than he felt.

"What if they don't?" Harry's voice caught on the last syllable, and he didn't bother to try to hide it.

Ron reached out and tentatively put a hand on Harry's arm, barely squeezing. "Then we'll figure it out."

Harry nodded slowly, and a moment later he laid his hand on top of Ron's. "Yeah."

Ron wasn't sure whether to move his hand or not. Harry didn't seem to have any objection to it being there, but something about the gesture seemed different somehow, as if there were more to it than the simple offering and accepting of friendship. It seemed wrong to break that feeling, and so he left it there.

Because of the way Harry's hand rested atop Ron's, their matching watches both caught a bit of light from the light on the bedside table. It made Ron think of Hermione, who had the third watch of the set, and his throat closed up. She'd have done a much better job of reassuring Harry than he had done if she'd been here; Ron felt that every reaction he had was not quick enough, smart enough, or deep enough.

He missed her so much it hurt, and knowing that Harry felt the same, on top of this, hurt even more.

"Can I tell you something stupid?" said Harry.

"You've told me lots of stupid things, Harry," said Ron lightly. "One more won't make much difference."

"Ha ha," said Harry.

Ron managed a small grin. "Yeah, of course you can."

"I look at it a lot. My watch... to see where Hermione is. And you too."

"That isn't stupid," said Ron. "I do that a lot too. To see where Hermione is. And you."

Harry nodded. He slid his hand slowly from atop Ron's, just down to his wrist, and his thumb brushed just along the watchband. Harry's face was so close to his that he could see the individual smudges on the lenses of Harry's glasses and the faint circles that were forming under his eyes from being up all night, and he could feel the barest trace of Harry's breath against his cheek. Ron was afraid to move or even breathe, for fear of spoiling this - whatever it was. Harry's thumb moved along the edge of his watchband again and it made Ron's stomach do a sort of lurch that he'd only felt what felt like ages ago, when he and Hermione had kissed for the first time, and none of it made any sense.

There was a small click, which startled them both, and Ron felt the top face of his watch flip open. He looked down at it, and immediately felt like someone had sucked all the air out of his lungs. From the stunned sort of noise Harry made, Ron guessed he felt it too. He now knew why both he and Harry had had such a strong premonition that something was dreadfully wrong.

The HG hand on the watch pointed to Mortal Peril.

*****

The first thing Hermione noticed, half awake, was how cool the sheets were against her skin. She pulled them up around her shoulders, curling into the coolness for a moment before opening her eyes.

"Ah, vous êtes éveillé," said a brisk voice, and a hand pushed back her hair, feeling her forehead and then straightening the sheet. "Nous commencions à nous demander."

What? Hermione struggled to sit up, her surroundings swimming before her eyes. She blinked a few times to bring everything into focus: the high, arched ceiling, stone floors, rows of neatly made beds, and the quiet efficiency of the nuns that moved about the ward.

Nuns?

Hermione shook her head to clear it. Bad move - it felt like her brain was battering about inside her skull. "Where am I?" she asked, putting a hand to her head.

"L'Hôpital des Anges," replied the nun, before switching to accented English. "You have been here over a week. There was a carriage accident just outside Paris, and you were brought here. I am Sister Angelique. I have been caring for you since you came."

"I'm Hermione," she said. "Hermione...." She had begun to hold her hand out to the nun to shake it in greeting, but she stopped when she realised she had no idea what her last name was.

Sister Angelique nodded. "Hermione. And you are English?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why you are in Paris?"

"I - " Hermione stopped, and shook her head, more slowly this time. "No." She twisted her hands in the sheet in her lap, trying to think. It was as if her memories started just minutes ago. Before that there was nothing except for a deep sense that this was not where she was supposed to be. A knot of panic blossomed in her chest, and she swung her legs out of bed, trying to get up. "I have to - I'm sorry, I have to go," she said, and promptly sat back down again when her knees gave way.

Sister Angelique put a steadying hand on her arm. "Back to bed with you, s'il vous plait. You are in no condition to go anywhere."

Hermione was too stunned and disoriented to argue, and she let the nun tuck her back into bed without a fuss.

Later that day, Sister Angelique returned. Hermione could hear her clucking disapprovingly at her untouched tray, but she lay still, pretending to be asleep, until she heard another voice, stronger and deeper. It was an older woman, speaking in French, but slowly and deliberately, as if to make sure Hermione heard her. She spoke in such a way that Hermione could not keep up the pretence of sleeping any longer. She sat up slowly, mindful of her head.

Sister Angelique introduced her as Mother Hildegarde, and Hermione took an instant liking to her. She was not beautiful in any sense of the word, but had an air of peace and confidence about her that felt almost familiar and put Hermione at ease. A small white dog with coarse, curly fur sat obediently at her feet, his wiry tail thumping softly on the stone floor.

"I understand there is some difficulty with how you came to be here," she said, tucking her work-worn hands into the folds of her habit. "Will you tell me what you know?"

"There isn't much to tell," said Hermione, fumbling for the right words in French. She wasn't comfortable with the language, but she knew a little bit, almost as if someone had taught her recently. "I don't remember anything before this morning. Nothing at all." Her voice shook a little bit and she stopped talking, swallowing hard to steady it. Crying would solve nothing.

"As Sister Angelique has no doubt told you, there was a carriage accident just outside Paris," said Mother Hildegarde. "You and three others were brought here; one of them, unfortunately, did not make it. The other two were only mildly injured and have left us, but we asked if they could identify you before they left. They said no, that you had barely spoken to anyone during the journey and appeared to be travelling alone. There were no papers or identification amongst your things."

"Oh," said Hermione.

"This sometimes happens," Mother Hildegarde continued, "after some stress or trauma to the head, as you have experienced. The mind decides to close itself, to give itself time to heal. Perhaps with time and some rest we can restore your memories again." She paused thoughtfully for a moment. "Perhaps after you have rested and your strength returns, we shall take a moment to look over your belongings, to see if they might prompt a memory?"

It was some time before Hermione felt well enough to venture out of her bed for longer than a few minutes. Any sort of exertion exhausted her, and her cracked ribs made catching her breath difficult. There was little else to do, however, and she made it a point to get up as often as Sister Angelique would allow, though she tried to stay out of the way of the multitude of people that were constantly coming and going throughout the hospital.

As Hermione felt better, she explored the hospital a little further each time. It seemed that L'Hôpital des Anges was a charity hospital of sorts; many of the patients there looked as if they could not afford treatment anywhere else. Every sort of illness and accident imaginable was present at one time or another. Fevers, various sorts of rashes and poxes, broken bones, burns, and gunshot wounds seemed to be the most common, though sometimes victims of more brutal sorts of accidents would turn up as well as poor women suffering from botched abortions or dangerous labours. Other than the nursing sisters and Mother Hildegarde, the staff was a hodgepodge of bonesetters, surgeons, midwives, and other assorted personnel of varying degrees of skill. Some reported on a regular basis, some at what seemed like random, and some would come once or twice and then never be seen again.

Mother Hildegarde was an extremely busy person, and Hermione was impressed with how efficiently she managed the hospital. She was never in a hurry, but she was rarely in one place for long, and her small white dog followed her everywhere she went. Bouton (as Hermione later learned was the dog's name) was regarded with a mixture of respect, annoyance, and amusement by those who worked at the hospital, and the patients as well. He seemed to be a mix of mascot, familiar, doorkeeper, and doctor's assistant all rolled into a compact canine body.

All of the nursing sisters showed tremendous respect for Mother Hildegarde, however, as did all of the other healers who came to work at the hospital. Even though she rarely raised her voice, she could be heard clearly over the constant hum of activity that rang throughout the hospital, giving orders, explaining procedures, and calming patients. There was always something else to do. It seemed that as soon as one problem was averted, another would crop up in its place.

Because of this, it was nearly mid-December before Hermione felt well enough and Mother Hildegarde had a quiet enough moment in her schedule to see if they could try to spark any sort of memory.

"Does anything seem familiar to you?" asked Mother Hildegarde, sitting behind her desk with her hands folded. Bouton sat at her feet, resting his nose on his paws and watching her curiously.

Hermione looked through the box, which did not take long. There was a dress, which seemed to have been made for her but had been ruined in the accident, torn and muddy, and a small bag which had been similarly damaged, as if it had fallen in a puddle. There was a bit of jewellery and a little money inside, along with some papers that had been rendered illegible by water, smearing the ink and turning the parchment into an almost solid lump.

"Not really, Mother," she answered. She looked at the jewellery - a pair of golden earrings in the shape of tiny owls, and a gold wristwatch. She laid the earrings in her palm, studying them carefully. There seemed to be something different about them, something unusual, and she picked one up, holding it at eye level and squinting. The little owl was small and delicately worked, and looked as if it had once had tiny gemstones for eyes but they had somehow fallen out of their settings. The detailed golden wings shimmered, as if they were moving, but... she shook her head.

That simply wasn't possible. Jewellery didn't move.

"Take your time, Mademoiselle," said Mother Hildegarde. "There is no rush."

Hermione laid the earrings aside and picked up the watch. It was simply designed, with a creamy white face and tiny golden hands, but obviously well-made, as it seemed to have no water damage at all. She put it on, and it fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her wrist. "I know it's mine," said Hermione, "but I can't remember who gave it to me or why."

Mother Hildegarde nodded and started to say something, but there was a brief knock, and a dark-haired man dressed in sombre black appeared in the doorway.

"Pardon me, ma mère," he said, bowing deeply to Mother Hildegarde and Hermione in turn. "I do not wish to interrupt, but there is a small matter requiring your assistance, most urgent."

Mother Hildegarde rose from her seat behind the desk. "Do not worry, Monsieur Forez, I am sure it cannot be helped." She gave Hermione a brief, reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Please, stay as long as you wish, and I shall return as soon as possible." Then she swept out of the room, Bouton at her heels, his claws clicking faintly on the stone floor.

Hermione sat back in her chair, looking at the watch. She ran her finger along the edge of the watch face, as if touching it would somehow trigger a sort of memory. There was a small ridge at the lower portion of the watch face, and curious, she pushed it with her thumb. The watch face popped up, startling her, and she brought her wrist closer to her face for a better look. There was a second dial underneath the first, a green one, and there were three hands instead of two. Each hand had two different letters engraved on it in the tiniest possible letters - HP, RW, and HG - but instead of numbers, there were miniscule words around the dial.

"Quidditch, Hogwarts, Home, Work, Travelling, Hospital, Mortal Peril," she whispered, reading the words around the edge of the dial. "Quidditch... that's such an odd word. I wonder what it means - perhaps it's French." She made a mental note to ask Mother Hildegarde when she returned.

Each hand on the dial pointed to a different word on the watch. The hand with the letters HG on it pointed to Hospital, the RW hand pointed to Work, and the HP hand pointed to Home. As she watched, the RW hand moved from Work to Travelling to Home in one smooth motion while the other two hands remained in place.

This seemed to be a sort of indicator as to where various people were, Hermione realised, and if this watch were hers, then the only logical explanation was that the HG hand was hers, as it pointed to Hospital and that's where she was. But who were HP and RW?

And how could something like a watch know where people were?

Suddenly feeling ill, Hermione took off the watch and stuffed it into the bag along with the tiny earrings, and put the bag in the bottom of the box, under the ruined dress. Her fingers brushed against something long and thin, and she pulled it out of the box. It was some sort of long, polished wooden stick, slightly tapered at one end and with a handle at the other, almost like an orchestra conductor's baton but thicker. It seemed to fit perfectly in her hand, with just the right balance and weight, and she flicked her wrist experimentally.

A shower of red and gold sparks spurted from the end of it.

Hermione let out a surprised gasp and dropped the stick. It fell back into the box and she made no move to pick it up again.

"Mademoiselle? Is everything all right?" asked Mother Hildegarde, who had just returned from her errand. "I thought I heard something."

Hermione shook her head and put the lid back on the box with slightly trembling hands and a pounding heart. "Everything is fine," she said.

"Did you remember anything - anything at all?" Mother Hildegarde asked, as Bouton sniffed the box, pawing at it slightly as if he was trying to get the lid off.

"No," said Hermione. "Nothing at all."

*****

It felt strange to be back at Hogwarts after so long, and over the Christmas holiday at that. While the castle was adorned with its usual Christmas finery, with strings of holly and evergreens on every stair and trees sprinkled with fairy lights in every corner, even those festive accessories couldn't hide the remaining scars from last year's attack. Harry tried not to notice them, because he needed to keep his mind as relaxed as possible for what he was about to do.

"Come in, Potter."

As strange as it felt being in any other part of the castle, being in Snape's office felt even stranger. Just stepping through the door was enough to make him feel like a student again.

"Sit," said Snape, indicating a chair in front of his desk.

Harry sat. Even though he was no longer a student, and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix he was supposedly on equal footing with Snape now, he still was unsure how to act or what to do.

"Er," said Harry.

"This will be much different than your previous encounters with Legilimency," said Snape. "Before, your goal was to keep me out of your mind. Now, you must let me in. We have come to the conclusion that perhaps an exploration of your mind through Legilimency will enlighten us as to what is causing your mysterious outbursts of magic." He paused, the faintest trace of a sneer playing at the corner of his mouth. "I suspect that letting me into your mind will be easy for you, considering how you never mastered keeping me out in the first place."

"Can we skip the insults and just get to it?" said Harry irritably, impatient to get it over with and yet dreading the idea of Snape poking around in his head again.

Snape took out his wand and indicated for Harry to do the same. He did, thankful that Moody had returned it to him a few days ago. Moody had pronounced it free from any known hexes or curses and hinting that there might be another, less obvious reason for the outbursts of magic. He had suggested Legilimency with Snape as a diagnostic measure, and Harry had balked. He'd only given in because he couldn't think of a better alternative, and because he would be on suspension from Auror training until they found out why this was happening.

"You are not to attempt to block me," said Snape. "In fact, it would be more beneficial if you could think of what happened just before either of your outbursts."

"But..." Harry protested. "What if I - you know - do it again?"

"A minimal risk at best, but if you feel something of that nature about to happen, break the connection with a shielding spell," said Snape. "Now stop wasting time and prepare yourself."

"I'm ready," said Harry.

Snape raised his wand. "Legilimens."

On instinct, Harry let his mind go blank, completely forgetting why he was there. There was nothing but an empty blackness until Snape lifted the spell and Harry opened his eyes.

"Why is it, Potter," said Snape, "that even as an adult you continue to disregard directions? For two years I attempted to teach you to close your mind to me with no success, yet now, when it is crucial that you allow me to access your mind, it is nearly impenetrable?"

Harry felt a grin flickering at his lips but he suppressed it. "Perhaps your lessons sunk in a little too well?"

"You may continue to think that if you wish," said Snape smoothly. "Think back to what was happening just before the incident occurred. The latest one will be sufficient - you were in your house, yes?"

Harry nodded. "I'd just woken up. I felt that something was wrong, and I got up to see...." He swallowed hard, remembering how he felt like his insides had fallen out onto the floor when he saw that Hermione's watch hand was on Mortal Peril. It had moved shortly thereafter to Hospital where it had remained ever since, and the frustration of being able to do nothing grated on him.

He clenched his wand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"There," said Snape softly. "Hold that thought, concentrate on it... Legilimens."

Snape's office blurred and melted out of view, and it was disorienting. Harry had to fight the urge to close his mind, to empty it of thought as he'd grown used to doing, but instead he concentrated on the moment he'd heard the crack of Apparation and the uncontrollable surge of power that flowed through his arm and out of his wand of its own free will.

Power....

Something heavy and dark welled up inside him, malevolent and addicting. Dark tendrils of thought were curling into his mind, and while part of him pushed them away, another part of him wanted to let them in further, to feel that surge of power again. It was a dark, exciting rush of adrenaline and bone-deep feeling, and he didn't want it to stop. He wanted to feel more of it, to let it take him over, because it was the most he'd ever felt in his whole life, and he didn't want to lose it.

It was as seductive as the feel of skin against skin and as sensual as a kiss.

Someone was saying something... he couldn't make out exactly what, but he didn't care, because they were distracting him from this. He didn't want distractions, he just wanted to feel this again, and he opened his mind to it, letting it creep in further.

Snape's office reappeared with a jolt, breaking his train of thought and causing his glasses to fall off. He blinked, disoriented and breathing heavily, and when he had put his glasses back on he saw that Snape was in the floor in front of his chair, gasping for breath and sweating.

"Professor Snape?" Harry reached down a hand to help him up, but Snape waved him away.

"Did you see any of that, Potter?" rasped Snape, getting to his feet.

"Any of what?" said Harry.

"The memories I saw in your mind! Did you see none of them?"

"No, I didn't see anything. I only - " He broke off, remembering how he had felt. "I just felt...."

"Felt what?" Snape said impatiently.

"Dark," said Harry finally, not able to think of another word for it.

Snape watched him for a long moment, studying him so carefully Harry wasn't sure if Snape was using Legilimency on him again or not. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't know, but from the look on Snape's face he assumed it was nothing good.

"Cruciatus, Potter."

"I didn't mean to!" said Harry, horrified.

"I have no doubt about that," replied Snape, regaining his usual sour composure. "You are an adequately powerful wizard, but your technical abilities lag pitifully far behind your talent. In addition, you are incapable of the fundamental darkness that is necessary to cast the types of curses you have been performing."

"So what do you think it is?" said Harry, rubbing his scar. It was burning, but with a different sort of prickle than he was used to.

"It needs further discussion," Snape answered.

For the first time since he had known Snape, Harry felt there was something that Snape did not have the answer to.