Harry Potter and the Last Goodnight

"I swear, McGonagall is getting more strict with age," Ron said. "These new essay regulations are going to kill me."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the stairs down to the dungeon for their first Potions lesson of the new year. Ron was still in a sour mood from Transfiguration earlier that morning when Professor McGonagall had informed them that she would no longer be accepting essay parchments that had margins larger than in inch.

"Fred and George would turn in homework with two-inch margins and two-inch lettering," Ron continued.

"And look where they are now," Harry said glumly.

"Yeah, they're facing an inquiry from the Ministry," Hermione said. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Doesn't matter," Ron replied. "They're still wealthier than I am." He kicked a loose stone on the dungeon floor and it sailed into one of the walls, ricocheting down the hallway. "Snape better not tell anybody about our deal. I can just picture Malfoy getting off on that one. 'Weasley can't even get an Outstanding on his O.W.L., and he's a prefect.' What I wouldn't give to slug him one with my bare hands..."

"And you said that I was getting more violent," Hermione laughed.

Harry couldn't help but feel a little resentment towards McGonagall about Ron being the new Quidditch captain. But he had shoved most of his emotions in to the pit of his stomach, stifling them from ever showing again. He wanted to be numb.

They made it to Potions just in time. In contrast to Muggle Studies the day before, the Potions class had nearly every Slytherin in it. Harry wondered if Ron would have scored an Outstanding on the O.W.L. had Snape been his head of house.

As they entered the dungeon, it seemed even more dank and dreary than Harry remembered. Harry and Ron sat next to each other and Hermione settled in an empty desk in front of them. A few moments later, Hannah Abbott sat down next to her

Malfoy leered at Harry from across the room. "Hey Potter, looks like all of those remedial Potions lessons paid off last year. You've somehow managed to land in this class." There were sniggers from the Slytherin corner of the dungeon.

Harry felt his cheeks go red. He wasn't going to let Malfoy get to him. He wanted to be indifferent. He didn't even bother to grace Malfoy with a reply or a glance. Malfoy's taunting seemed beneath him. It wasn't worth taking offense to. Harry couldn't be bothered with petty taunting after what he had been through at the end of last year. The only tragedy in Malfoy's life was the incarceration of his father in Azkaban, which he still seemed to be in denial about.

The banter before class was only a mere indication of the unpleasantness of the first Potions lesson of the year. Professor Snape looked even paler than usual and spent most of the class barking at them about how incompetent they were. Most comments, however, were directed at Harry's side of the room. By the time Harry had finished his antidote to a sleeping draught, he was immune to Snape's snide remarks. He took a sample from his cauldron and placed it on Snape's desk. Harry could feel his dark eyes staring at him from behind his greasy hair.

Harry didn't meet his eyes. Although he knew more about Snape than he ever wanted to, he had mixed feelings about the professor. On one hand, Snape had such a grudge against Harry that he stopped at nothing to get him in the most trouble possible. He was unfair, rude, and ignorant. On the other hand, Harry felt guilty about how his father had tormented Snape during his own education at Hogwarts so many years ago.

But Harry was tired of feeling guilty. He was tired of feeling anything, period. He couldn't help it if he looked so much like his father. And I can't change the past, he thought bitterly as he made his way back to his desk. Suddenly, he heard the sound of glass breaking on the floor.

"Clumsy, Potter," Snape snarled.

Harry whirled around to find his sample of his antidote in a puddle on the dungeon's floor. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at Snape, who leered back at him, his smile unwavering.

"Pity," Snape replied. "Looks like you'll need another sample. And you'd better stay after to clean up the mess you've made."

Harry was speechless. Snape had just purposely smashed his potion again. The same thing had happened the previous year. Harry hoped that Hermione didn't wash out his cauldron like she had before.

But when Harry returned to his seat, he saw that Hermione was busy trying to talk to Hannah Abbott about the woes of cattle raising. He found another empty vile and hastily filled it with his potion. He returned it to Snape's desk. The bell signaling the end of class sounded.

"Potter, a word," Snape spat. It was not a request.

Harry stayed put at Snape's desk. He should have suspected as much. Snape was probably anxious to hand out some sort of punishment for knocking over his first sample. The dungeon cleared out quickly, but Ron and Hermione lingered near the doorway of the classroom.

"I can't stay," Ron said quietly. "I've got Herbology in five minutes."

"Go on," Harry announced. "I'll see you both later."

After a few moments of hesitation, the two of them left. Harry was left alone with Snape in an uncomfortable silence. He studied the chalkboard behind Snape's head, determined not to meet his gaze. What the hell did he want?

"How brave of your comrades to offer to escort you," Snape said. There was a bounce in his step as he approached Harry. His voice was angry. "Your only strength is with your friends, Potter. I hope you don't end up killing all of them."

Harry's insides burned. He wanted to lash out at Snape. He wanted to draw his wand and hex him into oblivion. But that would only amuse him. Harry tried to be indifferent; to show nothing. There wasn't anything that Snape could say that would show the weakness of his emotions.

"Strong and silent," Snape muttered. He continued to walk past Harry, and then circled around his back. The hair on Harry's neck stood on end. He wondered if Snape would attack someone when their back was turned. Did he fight cowardly?

Snape's shuffling stopped. "The headmaster has demanded that we continue our Occlumency lessons until you are ready for the next step."

"The next step...?" Harry began.

Snape ignored him. "Starting Thursday, we will begin having our Remedial Potions lessons at seven o'clock sharp on every Tuesday and Thursday thereafter." Harry suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Snape turned him around in one hard shove. "And this time you will not be sticking your head in places it is not permitted to go!" he snapped. Harry could almost feel the dungeon walls shaking with Snape's rage.

Harry didn't know if he was more surprised that Snape had shoved him or that he was actually agreeing to help Harry with Occlumency. Part of him was grateful. He wanted to be able to control his vulnerability to Voldemort. His scar was a two-way mirror. Voldemort could see what he saw, and he could see what Voldemort saw. If he learned to control the mirror, then maybe he could help the Order.

"Yes sir," Harry answered. He didn't dare meet Snape's fierce eyes.

"Now, get out of my sight." Snape circled around him before heading towards his office door.

"Professor..." Harry began. He heard Snape's heavy footsteps come to a sudden halt. Harry didn't know what he wanted to say. He wanted to show his gratitude. Hell, he almost wanted to apologize for his father's actions all those years ago.

"What is it?" Snape demanded.

Without facing him, Harry mumbled, "Thank you."

He heard Snape's footsteps again, and then his office door slam shut. Harry quickly picked up his books and supplies and took off for the dormitory. He didn't want to be around when Snape came back out of his office.

* * *

Hogwarts found itself in the midst of an Indian summer. The grounds were still flourishing with summer vegetation. Harry hadn't bothered to run up to Gryffindor Tower to grab his cloak after dinner. Instead, he headed straight for Hagrid's Hut.

As he approached the wooden cabin, he could hear Fang explode with greetings on the other side of the door.

"'At's enough, Fang!" Hagrid shouted as he opened the door. But there was no stopping the bloodhound. He tackled Harry and attempted to give his face a bath. Hagrid pulled the dog off of him and sent him outside. "Sorry, e's a little excited. Hasn't seen yeh in a while an' all." Hagrid grinned.

"Hagrid, you look... interesting," Harry exclaimed. His clothes had absolutely no holes in them, and he had a very nice tweed jacket that was a little short on his arms. His hair was actually trimmed, pulled back in a ribbon. His beard was still as unruly as ever. But as Harry looked him over, he did begin resemble more of a professor at Hogwarts than the gamekeeper.

He blushed. "Well, Maxine may 'ave had a bit to do with that. She says that any husband of er's got to be nicely dressed 'n jackets and look presentable."

"Husband?" Harry questioned. "You mean you two..."

"Oh no, I was just tryin' it on," Hagrid replied. "It's just 'at... Well, I wouldn't mind bein' a husband someday. I've thought about proposin'..." He grinned. "And the jacket makes me feel a little better 'bout teachin'."

Harry laughed. "That's great, Hagrid."

"So are you ready for the rest o' your gift?" Hagrid asked.

Harry gulped. "Ah, Hagrid, about that..." But Hagrid didn't seem to hear him. He ushered Harry outside of his hut. Harry followed closely behind him. "Is... is it something I can keep at the castle? Near my bedroom?"

"Oh no, 'fraid not, Harry. In fact, this will have ta be our little secret until the end o' the year." He winked.

Harry gulped. This was not good.

"You can tell Hermione and Ron, o' course." He grinned. "But other than that, nobody ought ter know." He paused. "Okay, close yer eyes now, 'Arry. You're gonna love her."

Her. Harry silently prayed as he tightly closed his eyes. He could hear some commotion and the clanging of metal. He envisioned a giant wire cage containing some deadly, gruesome animal, yet "cute" by Hagrid's standards. Maybe Harry could make a run for it.

"Okay, 'Arry, open 'em."

Bracing himself for the worst, Harry opened one eye. There was no cage. There was something standing upright on the ground. He opened his other eye. An object covered with a blanket. And best of all, it didn't appear to be breathing. In fact, it wasn't moving at all.

"It's not exactly somethin' ya can wrap an' send," Hagrid explained. "Go on an' see."

Harry approached his "gift" with extreme caution. Maybe it was sleeping. No, it was definitely too oddly shaped to be an animal. His curiosity was getting the better of him. He took a deep breath, and then removed the blanket.

It was Sirius's motorcycle.

Harry felt a tug in his heart. He felt anger rise in the pit of his stomach. Anger and complete sadness. He couldn't bear to look at the bike, but he couldn't take his eyes off of it. It was vintage, but gleamed in the sunset like brand new. Hagrid had obviously put a little elbow grease into cleaning it.

"I know he'd want yeh ter have it," Hagrid announced.

Harry was barely listening. All the blood was rushing to his ears. He could hear his own heartbeat. He tore his eyes away from the motorcycle and tried to concentrate on the ground. "I don't want it," he said quietly.

"What?"
"I don't want it!" Harry yelled.

"But 'Arry, I thought yeh could take a test drive when it's dark. There's no Astronomy tonight so nobody should see yeh. That's why I waited 'til tonight..."

"I don't want to drive it!" Harry shouted. "I don't even want to look at it!" He fought back tears in his eyes. He wished that Sirius were giving it to him, not Hagrid. He wished that Sirius would show him how to drive it, not Hagrid. It felt wrong just looking at the lonely bike behind the hut. The motorcycle made him feel miserable. He didn't want anything to do with it.

Hagrid was speechless. Harry could tell he was getting emotional. The last thing Harry wanted to see was Hagrid cry again. He turned his back on both Hagrid and the motorcycle. "I don't want it," he repeated. "I never want to see that damn bike again."

It just hurt too much, Harry realized as he stormed back up to Gryffindor Tower. If he had stayed one more second in Hagrid's company, he would have exploded. Or worse - he would have cried.

Before he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry was once again trying to find the indifference inside of him. He searched for the place where he could go to feel numb, where motorcycles and enchanted clocks and Quidditch captains meant nothing to him. He took a few deep breaths and plastered an apathetic expression on his face.

"Snap dragons," Harry muttered.

"Same to you!" the Fat Lady replied as the door swung open. He made his way inside the common room where Hermione and Ron were sitting on the same couch where Harry had spent the previous night. They were looking rather cozy together until they noticed his presence, and Ron took the opportunity to pull up a chair to the fireplace. Harry sat on the couch next to Hermione.

"So what did he get you?" she asked.

"What?" Harry stalled. He didn't want to tell Ron and Hermione the truth. He had to think of something - anything - that would satisfy their curiosity.

"Hagrid, silly," she answered. "Was it animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"C'mon, 'Mione, we know it was an animal. Right Harry?"

"Er... Right," Harry replied. He bit his lower lip.

"Was it something big?" Ron asked. "Something ferocious?"

It was times like these Harry wished he were a better liar. "No, it was, um..." He racked his brain, trying to think of any sort of creature that was harmless that Hagrid would be vaguely interested in. "It was one of those stick bugs," he said quickly. "You know, the one that looks like a stick and blends in with the plants?"

"Hagrid got you an insect?" Hermione said incredulously.

"Yeah. But she died while Hagrid was taking care of her. He thinks that Fang may have had something to do with it," he lied.

"That's a let-down," Ron said. "I was hoping he'd given you some kind of crossbreed."

He seemed to buy the story. However, Harry could tell that Hermione didn't believe a word of what he said, but she didn't push the subject. "Anyways, Ron was just complaining about all of his homework and it's only the second day of classes."

"Hey, I don't see you taking six classes," Ron grumbled.

"Life must be so hard for you," Harry snapped bitterly. "Six classes, being a Prefect, Quidditch Captain..." He was almost about to add "flirting with Hermione" but thought better of it.

"Well aren't you just a little ray of sunshine?" Ron said. But he didn't seem offended.

Harry was angry. For some reason he wanted to piss off Ron in the worst way. Harry felt it was only right if his biggest problem was his schoolwork. He had nothing to complain about. He didn't have dead parents and godparents and inherited motorcycles.

"So what did Hagrid really get you, Harry?" Hermione questioned.

"Yeah, besides in a bad mood?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm going to bed." He stood up and stomped out of the common room. He didn't dare look back at the Ron and Hermione. He was too ashamed.

Why am I making such a big deal out of a stupid motorcycle?

But deep down, Harry knew the answer to that question. The motorcycle was dripping with history and emotions. The motorcycle had been Sirius's. Hagrid had used it to deliver him to the Dursleys' on that fateful night sixteen years ago. It had been on many journeys.

Harry didn't want to know where it was going to take him.