Harry Potter and the Last Goodnight

Chapter 24: A Means to an End

Harry traveled back to Hogwarts using Floo Powder at the Ministry. He stumbled out of the fireplace into Dumbledore's office. The headmaster, in his night robe, was sitting at his desk in silence, his long fingers stroking his beard. "Good evening, Harry. Have a seat."

He thought that his guilt couldn't possibly get any worse, but Harry found that he felt even more horrible as he took a seat in the chair across from Dumbledore.

"Arthur has just informed me that Miss Finnigan does not wish to file a report with the Ministry." His eyes narrowed at Harry, who tried to sink into the back of his chair. "You are, indeed, very lucky, as this shall remain our little secret. However, you will also be facing some consequences, which I'm sure you are aware of."

"Yes sir," Harry replied.

"Because of the mischief that took place, I'm afraid that your entire Muggle Studies class has been assigned an essay illustrating the differences and similarities in the Medieval Muggle and Wizarding histories. Their essay will be one-foot of parchment, yours will be three. Also, starting next week, you will be joining Professor Avis in her office for detention every night that you do not have Occlumency." He paused, his eyes shining in the light of the fireplace.

"You will never speak of the events that took place after the other students left the dinner," he continued. "They have been told that you were separated from the group because Mr. Weasley thought it was an attack on you. However, they all suspect that somebody in your class was doing magic. They do not know who."

"Yes sir," Harry said. He was wondering why Dumbledore was showing him mercy. He certainly didn't feel like he wanted any sort of special treatment. He deserved what he got. If it was to be ridiculed by his peers, so be it.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and hunched over the desk, staring directly into Harry's eyes. "I'm not going to ask you why this happened, Harry," he said. "But I daresay that this is something that you must learn to control if you are ever to master Occlumency. Please, think about what you have done and how things could have turned out." He looked grave. "And try to get some rest."

* * *

Harry knew he had been spending far too much time with Snape. He could read his moods with a single glance. Today he was particularly angry, and Harry sensed that it had something to do with his work for the Order. Perhaps his spying wasn't going as well as he thought it was.

Snape sneered at him from behind his greasy hair. "On time today, Potter?"

Harry gave a short nod, then took out his wand, expecting Snape to hit him with a spell at any moment. Instead, Snape merely glared at him, his eyes searching. For what, Harry didn't know.

"You should have stayed behind yesterday," Snape continued casually. "Look at what sort of trouble you got yourself into, running around in the Muggle world. Casting spells and rescuing wenches..."

Harry's insides turned cold. "How do you know about that?"

Snape scoffed. "Do you think you can keep a secret from me?"

Instead of feeling threatened, Harry was confused. What was Snape playing at?

"How are you going to be the Order's weapon if your mind cannot even withstand the simple prodding of an old, decrepit, greasy potions master?"

Greasy as he may be, Harry knew that Snape was anything but old and decrepit. Harry tried to look into Snape's eyes, but Snape quickly turned his back on Harry and stepped behind his desk. Feeling even more uneasy from Snape's behavior, Harry held his wand out, ready to strike him at any time.

Snape opened his desk drawer and pulled out a shallow basin, carved with runes. Harry recognized it as the Pensieve that he had looked into on two previous occasions. The silver light coming from it illuminated Snape's pale face as he looked up at Harry. He raised his wand.

Harry lifted his wand in his own defense, expecting Snape to cast a spell on him. But instead, Snape started swirling his wand in the cloudy silver substance. He muttered some inaudible incantation and pulled his wand out of the Pensieve, a long silver string trailing behind it. He twisted his wand, circling his ear, and the silver strand disappeared inside.

Snape got up from his desk and approached Harry. Harry took a step back. He couldn't meet Snape's eyes, but he had changed dramatically. Snape seemed strangely vulnerable in his own dungeon. He raised his wand and Harry braced himself for the spell to come.

"Legilimens!"

This time it was so strong that Harry could see a dark blue light cast from the tip of Snape's wand. Harry emptied his mind, blocking thoughts of Quidditch and Muggle Studies and nightmares and Eva.

He was completely numb.

It was an eerie sensation. His scar tingled, but it did not hurt. He felt like the removed Harry from his dancing dream. He was in his own body, but he was far away. He could see Snape standing before him, shaking as he tried to break into Harry's mind. Harry would not let him through.

It was time for Harry's offense. He was ready to pummel Snape with every hex in the book. He was defenseless.

And then, something unexplainable happened. As Harry raised his wand, he heard himself speaking, dimly recalling the same incantation that Snape had used on him.

"Legilimens..." Harry whispered.

Suddenly, it felt as though the bright light from Snape's wand had flashed directly into his eyes like a laser and was cutting into the scar on his forehead. He could see a reflection of himself in the light. No, it was not him. There was no scar. The eyes were not green, but hazel.

It was his father.

He was once again faced with the striking image of a teenage James. He looked older than the last time that Harry had seen him. But he wasn't boy - yet he was not a man.

"You owe me, Snivellus."

"I don't owe you a damn thing..."

"I saved you. I saved your life. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

But what kind of life was it? A life where there was no line between good and evil? A life of a greasy-haired boy, unloved and battered? A million angry thoughts entered his mind. How did he know where she was? How did he always arrive to save the day?

"You could have been dead, Severus. Or worse - you could be a werewolf. Just let me go to her. Let me try to help her. If I fail, she's all yours. You have my word."

He offered his hand. Surprised, Harry felt his own hand hesitate, then lift to shake his father's. It was smooth. Firm. Honest. There were no signs of hard labor or scars of cruelty. James turned and ran down the pathway to a clump of bushes where he could see a girl with her head buried in her hands. His mum.

Lily... I've lost you...

The last thing he could hear was the sound of his father's chain necklace bouncing against his chest. The blue light dimmed and the image of his father crouched next to his mother disappeared from Harry's mind. He was still standing, though the pain from his scar and the heartache he felt was enough to make him pass out. He felt sweat on the back of his neck, trailing down between his shoulder blades.

Snape was watching him from the other side of the dungeon, but he would not meet Harry's eyes. He simply slipped his wand back inside of his robes and opened his office door.

"We're done, Potter."

He had said it so final, so forceful, that Harry didn't question him. Snape stepped into his office and threw the door shut, leaving Harry alone in the classroom, stunned.

Had he just broken into Snape's mind?

* * *

On Saturday morning, Harry was surprised to find that he was first in the Quidditch locker room. He thought that Ron, as captain, would have beaten him there. Harry hadn't seen him since the field trip. He had been avoiding meals and any interaction with his fellow Muggle Studies classmates. He was afraid that they would question him about the chaos in London.

Harry had just changed into his uniform when Ron came hurrying into the locker room, his bag draped over his shoulders and his broom in hand. Without saying a word, he took a seat across from Harry on the opposite bench and began unpacking his things.

"Late start?" Harry questioned. He thought that maybe Ron had overslept and missed breakfast, since Harry hadn't seen him in the Great Hall.

Ron glared at him. "Just finishing up on my extra essay. You know, for Muggle Studies? The one that our entire class has to do?" When Harry didn't make any acknowledgement, Ron swung his legs around to the other side of the bench so that he was facing Harry. "Because of you?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Don't play dumb with me," Ron snapped. "I know you did it, Harry. I saw you. Why should we all have to be punished to write this stupid essay?"

"It's just one paper," Harry replied between gritted teeth.

"On top of the loads of other stuff I have to do!" he exploded. "Or have you forgotten that I have one more class than you? I mean, I've got Herbology and Potions, not to mention my responsibilities as a Prefect and Quidditch Captain!"

"You'd better watch it, Ron," Harry said, his voice hoarse. He didn't know how much more of Ron's bitching he could take. "You sound just as big-headed as Percy."

Ron's stare turned icy cold. "Don't you dare compare me to that traitor."

"You sound like a traitor to me," Harry replied. "What are you going to do? Rat me out to Professor Avis? To the whole class?"

"I should," Ron said. "But I won't. Not because we're friends, but because it's for the good of the team. You've already missed enough practices as it is. If you're expelled, we'll have a hard time replacing you."

"Bloody hell, Ron! I told you! Snape made me choose. I wouldn't have been able to go on the field trip if I didn't miss practice..."

Ron held up his hands to silence him. "It's not me you have to answer to, Harry. It's the team. The only way to beat Slytherin is with a united front. If we're going to win we have to play like a team. How can we do that when our Seeker doesn't even show up for practice the night before the match?"

Though Ron was being a little harsh, Harry couldn't help but agree with him. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't skip Occlumency. In the big picture, his lessons were more important than Quidditch. Dumbledore had even called him into his office to tell him how vital he was in fighting Voldemort. He owed it to Dumbledore to continue his training.

The atmosphere of the locker room was still uncomfortable as Harry quickly changed into his scarlet Quidditch robes. He was thankful when the rest of the team started to arrive so that he wouldn't have to make more small talk with Ron.

As the team huddled together for one final pep talk, Harry couldn't help noticing how odd it was to be one of the tallest people on the team. They looked up to him, the way he had looked up to Oliver and the twins and Angelina and Katie. Now he was a veteran. He was the next generation of Quidditch. The next era. And his best friend was leading him into battle.

Ron was looking quite pale. This season was different. Ron could no longer claim to be the beginner. This time he was supposed to be the leader. It was his butt on the line. He was the captain. For once, Harry was relieved that there was some weight lifted off his shoulders.

After a few words of encouragement, the Gryffindor team left the locker room and slowly made their way to the Quidditch Pitch. The roar of the crowd echoed in the distance. Harry could feel his raw nerves turning into excitement. It had been so long since he had done this. He missed nearly the entire season last year.

Madam Hooch called the teams to the center of the pitch and hastily shouted the rules. "Let's keep it clean. I don't want anything happening like last year." She eyed Harry and Malfoy with a narrow glare. She blew her whistle to signal the start of the game.

His veins pumping with adrenaline, Harry kicked off the ground along with the other players. Colin Creevey, who took Lee Jordan's place as announcer, sat proudly in the stands. "And they're off!" he shouted. "Madam Hooch has released the balls and the first game of the season has begun!"

Harry saw the Snitch for a split second before it took off into the skies. The sun was shining brightly, the hoops casting long autumn shadows on the grassy field. Harry squinted at his teammates below, dodging Bludgers and passing the Quaffle.

"Pritchard of Slytherin has the Quaffle - he's headed for the hoop. He passes it to Nott. Oh! It's intercepted by Ginny Weasley. Look out! Weasley narrowly escapes the Bludger hit by Goyle of Slytherin. Wealsey's headed towards the goal. She shoots, Bletchley blocks... but he's not fast enough! It's good! Gryffindor is on the board first with ten points."

The pitch erupted into cheer, except for the hisses from the Slytherins in the stands. Harry was just admiring Ginny's obvious skills as a chaser when Malfoy swooped up in front of him. "Proud of your little girlfriend, Potter? Heard she nearly took your spot on the team. Imagine, a girl taking your position? How embarrassing."

"What's embarrassing is that you'd rather try to torment me than pay attention to the game, Malfoy," Harry spat back. He dove for the Gryffindor hoops as one of the Slytherin chasers sped towards the goal. Malfoy followed him, thinking he'd spotted the Snitch. Harry stopped in midair, then watched as Malfoy whizzed past. "Stupid git," he muttered.

But the distraction wasn't enough to deter the Slytherin Chaser, who easily threw the Quaffle through one of the hoops Ron was guarding. Harry cursed.

The Slytherin fans went crazy, chanting a similar verse to the heckle they had made up about Ron the year before. Ron blushed madly from his cheeks to his ears.

Harry sped over to Ron's side. "Don't pay attention to them!" he shouted. "Don't let them get to you again."

"Shut up, Harry," Ron muttered. "Get up there and do your job."

Slightly hurt, Harry searched the skies for the Snitch, and after no sign of it, he looked for Malfoy.

"Gryffindor has possession. Weasley has the Quaffle. Weasley passes to McDonald, McDonald to Weasley. Weasley passes it to Frobisher. Frobisher takes a hit. That's going to leave a mark! The Quaffle is loose! McDonald picks it up again. She's heading towards the Slytherin rings. Bletchley blocks, but it's no good. Another goal for Gryffindor!"

The scoring continued well into the two next hours. Harry's legs were falling asleep on his broom. It had to be the longest Quidditch match he'd ever played. The points had been balanced at the beginning, but now Gryffindor was ahead by 160 points. Crabbe and Goyle barely had any fight left in them. They were weak and tired on their brooms. Harry had even caught Malfoy yawning only moments before.

He wished that the Snitch would just appear so that he could catch it. The fans had already lost their enthusiasm, and he'd seen some Hufflepuff girls trying to sneak back to the castle. At this rate, injuries would be more likely in a result of exhaustion on a broom than being beaten with a Bludger. Even Colin's voice was hoarse from all of the speaking. He had certainly lost his usual zest.

"Sloper hits the Bludger at Nott. Nott ducks. He heads for the goal. Goyle attempts a counterattack. His club misses the Bludger." Colin sighed. "I've read of Quidditch matches that went on for days before the Snitch appeared..."

McGonagall gave him a hard pat on the back and Colin sat up in his seat at attention, continuing his commentary.

Harry sadly watched as a moth fluttered its way across the field. It was so plain, yet unique. It had an intricate pattern of browns and beiges on its wings. He found his mind wandering onto other things, like his essay for Muggle Studies, along with his weeks of detention. He had to wonder if Ron was truly mad at him, or if he was just stressed because of the game. And what about Eva? Was she so angry with him she'd never want to see him again either?

Suddenly, the stands erupted into cheer. Panicking, Harry looked around for any sign of the Snitch. It must have appeared; that was the only reason they would cheer. But as he swooped down lower to the ground, he realized why.

Malfoy was standing on the grassy field, the golden Snitch fluttering in his fingertips.

Harry's heart crashed into his stomach. There was no way that Malfoy had beaten him to the Snitch. Nobody had ever caught the Snitch before him in a game that was fair. Nobody. Malfoy smirked at him, tossing the Snitch playfully into the air and catching it again, just as he had once seen his father do in one of Snape's old memories.

"Well, Potter. Looks like you've lost your touch."

Harry's anger and confusion fumed inside of him. "How...?" he began. But he was interrupted by Colin Creevey.

"Draco Malfoy catches the Snitch, but Gryffindor wins the match by only ten points." He sounded as though he wasn't sure he should celebrate or not. There was an eerie silence on the field now, as the rest of Harry's teammates flew down from their positions in the air. Ginny flashed Harry a sympathetic look, but Ron wouldn't meet his eyes.

Now this, Harry thought, this is an embarrassment.

"You may have won the game, Potter," Malfoy said. "But we all know who the real winner is today." And with one last sneer, he pushed off the ground and began his ascent into the sky for a lap around the stadium, the golden Snitch clutched tightly in his fist.

Harry hung his head in defeat. Now Ron had a real reason to be truly mad at him.