Seo Gerecednis

Harry spent the rest of the day in a haze of fear and worry. Before he knew it, night had come and he had to return to the dungeons for detention and Occlumency with Snape. After Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall had held him back and told him one of the Aurors would be arriving at Gryffindor Tower that evening to escort him to his detention; apparently the decision had been made earlier that day that Harry wasn't to be allowed the freedom to walk alone through the school. He had a Marauder's Map and an invisibility cloak that said otherwise, but this afternoon he'd had too much on his mind to put up much of a protest. The Auror, a short, chubby woman with curly blond hair and wide blue eyes that gave her the appearance of a doll, arrived as scheduled shortly after supper and was now walking a few paces behind Harry as he trudged through the nearly empty corridors, trying to make sense of everything that had happened since last night.

Ginny had made him swear on a copy of Hogwarts, A History that he wouldn't breathe a word to Ron about Hermione. Though Harry normally wasn't one to go about blabbing that sort of news anyway, he'd found it quite difficult to face Ron in Transfiguration that afternoon. It wasn't that he knew something about Hermione Ron didn't that disturbed him so; rather, the oddest part was that he hadn't until then -- or, at least, until Ginny explained things to him -- realized just how deeply Hermione felt about Ron. It astonished him that Hermione would be planning her life far enough ahead for children to be a going concern. Yet, according to Ginny, it was a subject the two girls had talked about often over the summer. Apparently they'd even gone so far as to pick names for their future progeny.

Harry was convinced he'd never understand girls, no matter how long he lived.

He found his detention partner waiting for him outside the Potions classroom. She greeted him warmly, calling him by name. "Hullo," he said, feeling his cheeks grow warm, "er... ah... sorry, I don't remember your name." He ignored the Auror's quiet chuckle.

The girl smiled broadly. "Ezili Yemanja," she said.

"Fancy that," Harry said wryly. "Can't imagine how it slipped my mind."

Ezili's laughter echoed off the stone walls. Even Harry couldn't resist grinning. He was about to ask her where she was from when the door to the Potions classroom opened.

"You may go now," Snape said, dismissing the Auror. "Return here at the specified time. I'd hate for any harm to befall Potter on the long walk back to Gryffindor Tower." The Auror left without a word and Harry and Ezili followed Snape into the classroom.

Harry was expecting to see mops and buckets, the usual implements of his detentions with Snape. Instead he found a work table laid out with all the equipment and ingredients necessary to brew a potion. Perplexed, he opened his mouth, but before he could give voice to his question Snape said, "Embalming Solution, just as you did this morning. Only this time you --" He looked at Ezili. "-- are to supervise Potter while he does all the work." Without another word he left.

Harry scowled in confusion and disgruntlement at the closed door through which Snape had passed. Then, with a sigh, he joined Ezili at the table.

"The instructions are on the board," she said. "First you must heat the essence of jellyfish to five degrees below boiling. Then..."

She kept up a steady stream of conversation interspersed with directions on the next step in brewing the potion for the next hour. While he deflowered several foxglove blossoms Harry learned, for example, that she came from an extremely poor island in the Caribbean, that she spoke fluent French, and that she was in training to be a priestess.

"A priestess?" he asked, squinting to see her through the mist that rose up from the cauldron. "D'you know Peter, the student from Kenya?"

"Yes, of course I know Peter," she said, as though Harry was daft to ask.

"He told me he was going to be a shaman in his village. Is that what you'll be doing as well?"

Her bracelets jangled as she stirred the simmering essence of jellyfish while Harry started grinding nightshade berries. "It is the same," she said, "but it is also not the same. We must both of us learn to find balance between white magic and dark magic, and to keep away evil spirits."

Harry wiped the sweat off his brow and looked up at her. "Dark magic? You mean -- like Vol --"

Her sharp hiss cut him off and she made a rapid crossing motion across her chest. "Do not speak his name!" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "His spies are all around you, listening for the sound of his name. Each time you speak it, his power grows stronger."

"That's rubbish," Harry said with a snort.

"Do not be so foolish. Evil is cunning and crafty and will weaken you where your pride makes you blind to your vulnerabilities. Do not tempt the left-handed Vodun, or your ti bon ange may be lost forever, and you will become as a zombie." She again made the crossing motion over her chest.

"You're mental," Harry said. "A zombie? There's no such thing as zombies."

She gave him a look filled with sadness and disbelief and reached over to pat him on the cheek. "You have so much to learn," she said. "I only hope you will learn it in time."

Harry stiffened and drew back. Even so, he couldn't restrain his curiosity. "What you just said -- the 'bo anch' -- I heard you use it earlier, in class today. What does it mean?"

She looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled. "Le bon ange?" Harry nodded. "Every soul is made up of le ti bon ange and le gros bon ange. Le ti bon ange is who you are -- that part of you that other people recognize and call by name. When you are asleep and dreaming, it may wander off and be captured by an evil spirit. Le gros bon ange, however --"

"Ange?" Harry asked, drawing out the 'g' sound. "Is that like an angel?"

"Yes," she said with obvious delight and approval. "Les bon anges are your guardian angels."

"The ti bon ange doesn't sound very useful, if it can wander off and get caught."

"That is why you must work to protect it, to keep it close to you. I have seen what happens to those who do not properly care for their ti bon ange." She shuddered. "It is very sad."

"You mean... zombies?" She nodded.

Harry resumed stirring the contents of the cauldron, his mind whirling like the eddies that followed his stirring stick. Was this what happened when Voldemort possessed him -- had his ti bon ange, if such a thing existed, wandered off, leaving him vulnerable? Could it be lost to him forever? Could Voldemort take permanent possession of his mind?

Bellatrix Lestrange, after he'd tried to use the Cruciatus Curse against her, had said about Unforgivable Curses, "You have to mean them, Potter. You need to really want to cause pain -- to enjoy it." As much as he hated to admit it to himself, ever since that night he'd wondered what it would take to fill himself with enough malice and hatred to use an Unforgivable against a fellow human being, even one as despicable as Bellatrix Lestrange. The temptation to explore the possibilities Dark magic offered grew stronger by the day. So many good people had suffered and died at the hands of Voldemort and his followers, and likely many more would fall before it all ended. Was it naïve to think he had any chance of defeating Voldemort without resorting to Dark magic? Wouldn't it be better to use every resource available to him?

But if he did go down that path, what might the consequences be? Surely Tom Riddle hadn't always been a servant of Dark magic. What had led him to take those first steps down the path that would lead eventually to Lord Voldemort? What about Peter Pettigrew, who had been Harry's parents' good and faithful friend before he became Voldemort's lackey? Which was the greater risk: to use Dark magic to defeat Voldemort, or to trust himself to his higher instincts?

"Ezili?" Harry asked. She looked up and gestured for him to continue. "What -- I mean --"

His question died on his lips when Snape entered the classroom. As before his arms were sheathed in thick gloves all the way up to the elbow and he carried a vial of the extract of arsenic and goblin gallstones. "Remarkable," he said as he peered into the cauldron, then looked up at Ezili. "Not only have you succeeded at showing Potter how to brew this potion correctly up to this point, you've kept him from destroying my classroom."

Harry bristled, but Ezili simply folded her hands across her midriff and laughed. "Harry is a very fast learner," she said.

Snape harrumphed. "Is your potion ready for the extract?" he asked.

Harry nodded at Snape. Beside him, Ezili held the measure of powdered nightshade berries he'd ground. Snape lifted the crystal stopper over the bubbling solution and let four drops fall, just as he'd done that morning. Harry, remembering what Ezili had done, reversed the direction he'd been stirring. On cue, Ezili emptied the powder into the cauldron. Harry didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he exhaled in relief as the potion turned the same shade of ruby-red it had that morning and thickened considerably.

"Hm," Snape said, studying the cauldron's contents as he stoppered the vial. "A bit watery, but otherwise successful. You may go now, Miss Yemanja," he said to Ezili.

Harry watched her go. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, about his ti bon ange and Dark magic and zombies, and he really didn't like the idea of being left here alone with Snape, even though he knew Peter would be here very soon. He also wouldn't have passed on the opportunity to delay his Occlumency lesson, even if just for a few minutes.

As soon as the heavy iron door clanged shut behind Ezili, Snape produced a toad from a hidden pocket. "Decant some of your Embalming Solution into a bottle, Potter," he said. "We need to test it."

Harry looked down at the toad, which seemed resigned to its gruesome fate, and felt his insides roil. "You're going to kill it first, aren't you, Professor?" he asked. "You're not going to embalm it alive?"

Snape's lip curled. "What's the matter, Potter? Does the thought of suffering make you queasy?"

Harry clenched his jaw. "As a matter of fact, yes. Not all of us enjoy tormenting others the way you do."

"Manners, Potter," Snape said, his eyes narrowed. "I do not think you are truly as noble and compassionate as you pretend to be." He handed Harry a syringe. "Fill this, then I will show you where to inject it."

The temptation to tell Snape just where Harry thought he should inject the potion was strong. If he weren't already facing another couple of hours practicing Occlumency with Snape, Harry might have given in to it. Instead, though, he clamped his lips shut and did as he'd been told. Once the syringe was filled he stood by while Snape extended the toad's hind leg, then injected the potion into the thick muscle there.

The Embalming Solution took effect quickly. It wasn't pleasant to watch. Had anyone but Snape been there, Harry would have turned away and retched. Instead he swallowed the bile that had risen to the back of his throat and watched the toad twitch and spasm in agony as the potion turned it into a perfectly preserved lab specimen. Finally the poor creature lay belly-up, its limbs extended stiffly, its wide mouth open in a futile last croak for mercy. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose, and waited for the sadistic comment he knew was forthcoming.

He was saved from humiliation by the sound of the classroom door opening and Peter's voice as he apologized for his tardiness. Relieved, Harry opened his eyes and gave Peter a thin-lipped smile.

As glad as he was to see the other boy, he knew it meant he would soon be forced to endure the discomfort of trying to shield his private thoughts and memories from external penetration. When compared to those of Voldemort or Snape or even Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy, Peter's intrusion into his head would be less of a violation, but Harry would still prefer his mind wholly untouched by anyone, particularly anyone using such violent means as Legilimency. He knew, however, that he'd never develop the necessary strength in Occlumency to block Voldemort's attacks if he didn't submit to these practice sessions.

With a sweep of his wand Snape cleared away the remains of Harry's detention, including the corpse of the unfortunate toad. With the heavy knowledge he wouldn't easily be able to delay the inevitable, Harry followed Peter and Snape into Snape's office, where two chairs had been positioned facing each other across from Snape's desk. He motioned Harry and Peter to take a seat while he returned the extract of arsenic and goblin gallstones to his locked cabinet, then sat behind his desk.

"I do not think I should have to point out the obvious, but for clarity's sake let me remind you both that your goal is to each counteract what the other is doing. For you, Potter," he added, "that means that you must not permit Mr. Madawetuma access to your thoughts."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said, ignoring the dig. He looked across at Peter and gripped his wand in preparation for the expected onslaught. Peter held his wand loosely in his lap. His dark eyes, usually so full of his gentle humor, were somber.

"Mr. Madawetuma, you may begin when you are ready."

Peter raised his wand and uttered a spell in what Harry presumed was his native language. As before, Harry felt his surroundings swim out of view and a flood of images rush across his field of vision so rapidly he felt nauseous and dizzy. He clenched his teeth and struggled to raise his wand to defend himself.

Suddenly he found himself in Dumbledore's office, rampaging through it with the fury of a bull, destroying everything that dared fall in his path. The memory of Sirius' death was so sharp, so fresh, and Harry's fury with Dumbledore so real in his mind, it was as if it had happened only hours before. The memory was so recent and so acute tears sprang to his eyes. It was a memory he'd hoped to keep buried forever. The shame he felt at his behavior that morning, and the agony of his grief, fueled Harry's determination to block Peter's intrusion.

When Harry came back to his senses he was on his hands and knees. Peter was rubbing at his eyes, recovering from what appeared to be a Conjunctivitis Curse.

"Not bad, Potter," Snape said. "Though whether you were able to resist Mr. Madawetuma so quickly is a result of improvement on your part or lack of skill on his remains to be seen." He flicked his wand at Peter and healed his eyes. "Again."

"Yes, Professor," Harry said sourly as he climbed back up into his chair.

Again Peter aimed his wand at Harry and spoke the incantation, and again Harry endured the dizzying rush of images. He tried to stop Peter from progressing any farther than he had before, but this time he found himself struggling to bring Ron and Gabrielle Delacour to the surface of the lake as his lungs, free of the gillyweed's effects, felt as though they were about to burst.

When Harry found himself on the floor once again, he could tell he'd ripped his trousers and skinned his knee when he fell. Peter, on the other hand, was unscathed; either Harry hadn't been able to fire off a defensive hex, or Peter'd managed to block it.

"Just as I suspected," Snape said. Harry looked up to see him leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled before him. "Mr. Madawetuma may not be as skilled at Legilimency as I am, but you, Potter, are pathetic at Occlumency."

"I'll try harder next time, sir," Harry said.

Snape's palm smacked against the surface of his desk so loudly Harry flinched. "Not good enough! Potter, are you aware the Dark Lord is right outside these grounds?" He jerked a finger in the general direction of the Forbidden Forest. "He needs to find only the slightest gap in our protective barriers and all will be lost."

"Then I reckon Dumbledore will have to make certain he can't find any gaps," Harry snapped, rising stiffly.

"Professor Dumbledore can only do so much. You are not the only person he is responsible for protecting."

"No, but since I'm the only one who can defeat Vol --"

"Do not speak his name!" Snape spat. He got to his feet and loomed over Harry. "I always knew you were arrogant, but this is simply beyond belief. You think that some silly prophecy makes you special? You think that your life is truly more valuable than anyone else's? You are so like that fawning beast of a --"

Harry had his wand pointed directly at Snape's heart before he knew what he was doing. "Don't say another word about me, or my father, or Sirius," he said with a snarl.

"Harry," he heard Peter say quietly. Harry ignored him.

Snape's black eyes gleamed with malice. Harry's fingers twitched and trembled where they came into contact with his wand. Nothing would give him greater satisfaction right now that to inflict the Cruciatus Curse on Snape. Why Dumbledore bothered with him was beyond comprehension; Harry knew without doubt that, faced with the choice, Snape wouldn't hesitate to betray them all just to save his own sallow, pockmarked hide.

"I could turn you over to him, you know," Harry said.

In the gloom of the dungeon it was hard to be certain, but for just an instant Harry thought he'd seen Snape turn pale. The thought alone filled him with sadistic pleasure.

"I know," Snape said.

"That's the real reason you want me to learn Occlumency, isn't it? You don't care if anything happens to me, you're just worried your old master might find out you're playing both sides of the coin." Snape's lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared.

"Admit it!" Harry shouted, thrusting his wand up under Snape's chin.

"Harry," Peter said again.

Furious, Harry turned on him. "What?"

He'd been so angry he hadn't thought to keep his wand up. The spell hit him before his brain had registered the fact that Peter had his wand pointed at him and was again speaking to him in a language made up of clicks and whistles.

Harry found himself in an open grassland far from anything familiar to him. A herd of animals he'd never seen outside of a zoo -- antelopes, giraffes, zebras -- clustered around a nearby waterhole. Every now and then one of them would jerk its head up and look fearfully in his direction. Confused, Harry looked down at his feet, only to find they'd been transformed into huge, tawny paws...

When he came back to his senses he was crouched on the floor of Snape's office as though he were about to spring on someone. Peter, his face grim, came near and held out his hand to help Harry to his feet.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" Harry asked.

"A most unusual form of Legilimency," Snape said. Harry saw that he'd returned to his seat. "I've heard of it, but never seen it used before. Impressive, Mr. Madawetuma."

Peter gave a small shrug. "Thank you, Professor." He then looked at Harry with concern. "You must not let your anger control you. The Evil One feeds on hatred such as you feel for Professor Snape."

Flustered and confused, his temper rapidly rising, Harry looked back and forth between Peter and Snape in a search for answers. "I don't understand... what happened?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape said, "there's no need to flaunt your deficiencies so brazenly. Mr. Madawetuma simply projected one of his memories on to you in order to distract you from making a very foolish mistake."

"But --" Harry looked at Peter. "I wasn't bloody human!"

"Really?" Snape sat up straight. "What were you then?"

"Dunno. Some sort of cat. A lion, I reckon."

Snape stroked his chin as he studied Peter. "You're not an Animagus, are you?" he asked.

"No, sir," Peter said.

"Then it was your Patronus' memory Potter experienced?"

Peter shook his head. "My Totem, sir."

"Ah." He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "You used your Totem to assist Potter this summer, didn't you?" At Peter's affirmative nod Snape continued, "Yes, the headmaster told me about what happened that night. He said the echo of your Totem remained with Potter even after it expelled the Dark Lord's presence?"

"That is as it was explained to me, sir."

Snape's gaze shifted to Harry and his eyes narrowed. "Fascinating indeed," he said, and Harry believed he actually meant it. "Very well," Snape said as he got to his feet. "That is enough for tonight. Potter, I will be gracious and overlook your insolence this one time. Be certain it doesn't happen again. Dismissed."

Harry stared after Snape in resentment and disbelief as he left through a door that presumably led to his private apartment. "You insufferable, self-righteous bastard," he muttered. If he didn't know he'd probably be forced to spend the rest of term in detention, he'd have done the same to Snape's office that he did to Dumbledore's in June, just for the pure spiteful pleasure of it.

"Harry?" came Peter's quiet voice beside him.

"I hate him," Harry said. "I hate him! He's done nothing but make my life a living hell ever since I first came to Hogwarts, and all because my dad made the mistake of saving his sorry arse. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell my father not to bother."

"You don't really mean that."

Shame overcame Harry, but not for the reason Peter might have expected; he realized that, could he do such a thing, Lupin would have had to live with the horror and stigma of having murdered a fellow student. As much as he hated Snape, Harry couldn't inflict that sort of guilt on his mentor. He sighed. "No, I reckon I don't."

Peter's smile was dubious as he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That is good to hear. I do not think you are the sort to wish harm on even your worst enemy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you only knew." He pocketed his wand. "Right, then, I reckon my bodyguard is wondering what's taking me so long. Let's go, mate. I'm well shut of this wretched dungeon."