Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.
AN: I'm not entirely certain of the exact date that Hogwarts lets out for the summer, but for the purposes of this story, it's in early June.
AN: This story continues only a couple weeks after the end of "A Mother's Love". It is a Sequel So won't make any sense unless you've read that one first.
AN: No pairings yet.
Title: Destiny's Control - Episode Two in Going Grey
Author: Kiristeen ke Alaya
genre: Harry Potter
Series: Going Grey
Pairings: In this Episode none. In the "Going Grey" Series Canon to start. HG/SS, HP/LM, DM/?, RW/?
Series Warnings: Slash and Het. Semi-dark but not evil Harry. Powerful, independent Harry (not outrageously superpowered) Violence, adult and sexual situations.
Series Rating: R
Episode Warnings: Angst, minor violence
Episode Rating: PG-13
Episode Summary: Harry's summer is spent trying to come to terms with the new changes in his life and trying to learn to control his new magic and his temper. Snape certainly isn't helping!
Series Summary: Harry's life is one disaster after another, and he's simply surviving, reacting as events unfold. After one too many changes, Harry grabs hold of his life and his destiny, and for the first time in his life begins to control what's happening to him, instead of letting it control him.
Enjoy! Kiri
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Chapter One
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Harry drifted up through the layers of sleep, protesting the entire way. When it became obvious more sleep would be impossible he slowly sat up, a frown marring his expression. Waking up meant leaving the cocoon of forgetfulness. Sighing heavily, he flopped back onto his bed. He was so not ready to be up yet. For the past two weeks he'd been stuck in Grimauld; two weeks of hell, trying to survive grief that felt like his parents had died last week, instead of 15 years ago; two weeks of desperately trying to function well enough to get a hold on his new power.
It really didn't help that he did not want to be here. There were simply too many reminders of Sirius. Hogwarts would have been far better - even if Snape would be there as well. At least he liked being there. Unfortunately, he'd not been allowed to stay there more than the single night before being given his mother's pensieve. He had not even been asked his opinion on any of it. Through it all, he felt like such a bloody pawn, like a small piece of porceline on Ron's chess board.
As with every morning thus far, he fought back unwanted tears. Everything new he'd been through this ever-lasting summer had simply piled on top of what he was already feeling about Sirius' death, and, quite frankly, Harry felt like he was drowning in it all. He sat up abruptly, attempting to shake off the morose, angry feelings. It didn't work as well as he would have liked - it never did these days - simply merging into the lingering anger he felt toward the headmaster. He snorted. That was easier to deal with. It, at least, was familiar.
Something he'd realized very shortly after having been returned here; the man had to have placed him with the Dursley's against his parents' wishes. Her memory had told him that much. The woman had obviously not expected him to have even known about Aunt Petunia, let alone have met her. That told him, in no uncertain terms, that he shouldn't have been living with the woman. Line up your pieces.
They'd put Snape on his list of guardians before her! Considering how well his father and Snape got along - at least as far as he could see. That really said something.
He shook his head angrily. He'd already tried to talk to the headmaster about it, twice, but the older wizard refused to say anything about it beyond his standard 'it was the safest place for you'. The real kicker, of course, was the blasted man still expected Harry to be willing to talk to him about everything else that was happening. Make sure your pieces know their place.
He leapt out of bed suddenly, as if moving quickly might let him outrun all the overwhelming things he was dealing with. He snorted. Maybe not dealing with might be a better thought.
He shook himself. He refused to bloody think about it any more - at least today. He just needed time, maybe that would help him understand, help him deal with it all a bit better. Right now, it was all just too fresh, to raw to leave him feeling anything but helpless. Unfortunately, his frustration induced energy waned quickly, dying completely by the time he'd finished dressing and reached the door out of his room.
It occurred to him suddenly that, all things considered, he didn't want to actually go anywhere, or do anything. Slumping, he turned back toward his desk, hoping that he could get caught up in reading. Concentrating on something like that was almost as good as sleeping. It was a slim chance, he supposed, never having been an avid reader, but a slim chance was better than none.
He'd stolen back to the library, the same day they'd viewed his mum's memories there and picked up the books he'd found. Before leaving, however, he had pulled out his 'inner Hermione' and scoured the library for anything that might be useful to him at the moment. What he'd managed to find had surprised him, and left him with enough reading material to keep his female best friend busy for a least a couple weeks. He, on the other hand, had enough reading material for the rest of the summer - if not longer.
Thankfully, since he'd been stuck at Grimauld, the headmaster had allowed him to take the books with them when they'd left. He'd only had one condition, that the books were returned to the school in the very same condition they'd left it in. That certainly hadn't been a difficult promise to make. He wasn't exactly hard on his books, and there would be no Dudley around to mess them up for him.
His hoped died almost the moment he opened the book, however, his thoughts automatically returning to where he wanted them least. Of course, boredom and frustration aside, he was actually fairly proud of himself. Despite several instances of frustration and a couple of angry outbursts - the one moments before being a prime example - he hadn't had a magical outburst in nearly three days. that was something of a huge relief to him. Ever since he'd got back here, he'd been tiptoeing around, afraid to react to anything at all, in case he broke something when he lost control. He was so bloody angry all the time, so it wasn't exactly a far fetched idea.
But, between exhausting himself physically, meditation twice a day - at least - and practicing occlumency, he seemed to be getting a handle on the worst of his current problems. Of course, that 'handle' hadn't been truly tested angainst anyone he tended to get truly angry with, ie Snape or Malfoy - even the headmaster hadn't been there in several days. It was, however, still progress.
In fact, one book in particular had been especially helpful. It had stressed the fact that good physical condition had a direct affect on both mental health and magical control - as well as power. While he had less than no need for more power - heaven forbid! - he did have need of more control. In fact, he needed that control rather desperately. He still had his mother's . . . 'gift' to look forward to, and he really needed to have at least some control of what he already had before that happened.
Consequently, he'd been killing two birds with one stone - so to speak - by exercising as much as he could handle. Of course, that meant he ended most days barely able to move! It, however, seemed to be helping him in many ways - not the least of which was that by the time he crawled into bed each night, he was so exhausted that he had virtually no trouble getting sleep - and not much staying asleep. Also, he'd never felt this good in his entire life.
A part of him was bothered by that, however, making him wonder how he could be feeling so good physically, when he felt so utterly miserable mentally.
Of course, Harry thought with a small grin, the fact that the minister hadn't been able to do sod all against him for what had happened at Privet Drive had relieved a lot of the stress he'd been under all by itself. Oh, the man had tried, but not even he could convince Amelia Bones that veritiserum, or even pensieve testimony was required, not when the 'vicitm' of the incident was freely saying that he had not only willingly participated in everything that had occurred, but that he had actually orchestrated the whole thing of his own accord. He had even told the director that the way he had entered the house would have made anyone think they were under attack, so Harry's defensive expelliarmus was completely understandable.
That had been the one stumbling block that none of them had thought of when they'd all decided on this elaborate scheme. If Rutherford had been intent on bestowing Harry with his magic, why had he - Harry - cast underage defensive magic? Here, he had to admit that wizarding prejudices against muggles had actually played in his favor for once. Rutherford had simply shrugged and said he'd known the muggles wouldn't have let him in the house. Muggles were just that way. They weren't smart enough to be reasoned with, after all. 'Everyone knew that'.
It had not surprised Harry in the least that the minister had bought the twisted drivel that Rutherford had been spouting; nothing the stupid man did surprised him any more. What had done so, however, was that even Director Bones had appeared to buy it! He'd always thought she'd been rather intelligent. The person heading the department of law enforcement had to be, didn't they?
While, he wasn't about to go looking this particular gift horse in the mouth, he certainly hoped her apparent belief was based on the fact that she hadn't wanted to charge Harry with anything. Either that, or the fact that she didn't actually believe it, just believed that Rutherford did. Either way, he was going to do something about the prevailing attitude that muggles were stupid, simply because they didn't have magic. Magic and intelligence did not go hand in hand. All anyone had to do was look at such prime examples as Crabbe and Goyle to know that!
Looking back, though, Harry suddenly realized that even Mrs. Weasley seemed to believe it - at least to a small degree. Even Mr. Weasley, with his obsession with the 'fascinating muggles' seemed to look on them as little more than pets that could do amazing things once in a while; as if their accomplishments were something far out of the ordinary.
That all, however, was for the far future. There wasn't really anything he could do about it at the moment. His plate was already far too full. Maybe he'd talk to Hermione about it eventually. He was pretty sure she'd be willing to help - all things considered.
Once the ministry pain had been dealt with - not that he'd dared to read the Daily Prophet since he'd spoken to the minister and the director - he'd spent half his time working frantically either physically or mentally, and half his time bored out of his mind. Yes, it bore repeating, even in the privacy of his own mind!
He shook his head again, semi disgusted with himself, and closed the book he hadn't managed to read even a single word from. Apparently, this was going to be one of those times he simply couldn't concentrate.
He jumped up. Maybe doing his first exercise round of the day would help. As he slowly moved through the series of exercises the 'good' book had recommended starting the day with, Harry finally gave up and allowed his thoughts free reign, letting himself think about what was really worrying him.
Four days ago, the headmaster had sat down with him and explained what his mother had meant about 'growing into his powers'. Apparently, magical puberty hit at 16 and lasted roughly a month, during which time a wizard's - or witch's for that matter - power grew, fluctuating as it did so. So, not only would he be facing that horror - and would anyone have told him about it if this hadn't happened, stuck as he would have been at Privet Drive? It really was the sort of thing a bloke needed to know about ahead of time.
He snorted softly. Apparently, the school even made allowances for students whose birthdays fell between mid-August and late May - meaning most of them. He frowned. Hermione had turned 16 last year. He didn't remember anything weird going on with her magic? He supposed he'd have to ask.
Unfortunately, for him, he would also be facing the possibility that his mother's magic would be added to his own at the same time. He just hoped that didn't happen, that it had been too long. Could someone's magic stick around that long after they died? He didn't know for sure, but it seemed a bit far-fetched really. Barring that scenario, however, he just really hoped it wouldn't happen all at once, or he was going to be back to square one with the control issue.
He sighed, completing the exercises that worked his arms and chest, and moved on to the set that worked his legs.
Hermione had been here with him for the last week - with her parents' permission - and had been helping him, lending moral support and books. The support wasn't helping the boredom much - No, Harry thought suddenly. He knew her presence did help. It kept him from going utterly barmy, even if it didn't truly stave off the incredible boredom of never being able to go outside. The books she'd brought with her, found in a muggle book store and thought looked interesting, had helped tremendously, though. Of course, there hadn't been anything on occlumency, but the meditation and anger management books had been informative. At least they'd helped with the outward signs of anger.
What Harry didn't understand was that they - meaning the headmaster and Remus - had kept her presence quiet. Almost no one knew she was there, which was odd, considering how often people were usually in and out of Grimauld - not even most of the Weasleys knew. He had no clue what everyone had been told to keep them away from headquarters, but whatever it was, it had been effective. The only people who'd been there in the last two weeks he'd been in residence had been Dumbledore, Snape, Mrs. Weasley, and Remus - and, of course, Hermione.
Remus. He couldn't figure out just what to tell Remus. He didn't even know what he felt about the entire situation, how the bloody hell was he supposed to explain it to anyone else? He had to figure out something, though, because Remus deserved to know - at least to Harry's way of thinking - and because he had a message to pass on to the last of the true Marauders. He couldn't do that without explaining how he'd got the message in the first place. He tried to figure it out as he finished up with his warm down stretching.
A knock on his door startled him up and off the floor in a heartbeat; though, he snorted at his nervous reaction. Opening the door, he found Hermione there, grinning at him. He automatically grinned right back and stepped out of her way, allowing her to come into the room.
She was carrying a rather large tray of breakfast.
"I thought that maybe you might enjoy a picnic, Harry," she said brightly, setting the tray on the desk. Then, grabbing a blanket off the bed to spread on the floor, she placed the tray dead center.
"A picnic?" he asked, chuckling in disbelief. "Aren't those usually outside?"
She sniffed at him, obviously faking disdain. "Oh, ye of little imagination, Harry," she admonished lightly. "Since we can't go outside, I thought we'd bring a little of the outside to us.
He laughed fully then and settled across from her on the blanket. It was moments like these that made everything else bearable.
x-x-x
Hermione was a little worried. Okay, she was more than just a little worried. Harry was changing so much, so fast, this summer, and while she approved of most of the changes, she couldn't help but wonder if he was simply burying all the anger she'd seen last year, instead of actually coming to terms with it - and the things that caused it. If that was the case, it was bound to come out at some point, probably explode out, in fact. No doubt, it would happen at the worst possible time, too.
She almost snorted. It would probably all erupt when he was dealing with either Snape or Malfoy. Of course, lately, she'd been seeing an awful lot of resentment directed at the headmaster too. That was something Harry hadn't talked to her about; yet another thing that concerned her.
"Harry," she said quietly, setting her fork down, "promise me something."
Harry's eyes narrowed before he nodded. "If I can," he replied.
And that was another thing! He was getting so . . . wary. She supposed it was a good thing overall, but a body was supposed to be able to trust their friends. "Promise me that you'll always talk to me."
Harry frowned, looking very confused suddenly. "Why wouldn't I talk to you?" he asked. "Are you planning on doing something to me that I really won't like?"
Hermione laughed. "That's not what I meant, Harry," she scolded.
"Oh. What did you mean, then?"
Hermione frowned, not wanting to say this the wrong way. "You've gone through a lot of changes this summer."
Her friend nodded, still looking quite lost.
"I just want you to know that, no matter what happens, what changes you go through, I'll be there for you. You can always talk to me if something is bothering you. In fact, I want you to."
"You make it sound like you think I'm going crazy," he replied flatly.
"No!" Hermione exclaimed instantly. Damn! She knew she was going to mess this up. She was good at being bossy, not at being passively supportive. Unfortunately, bossy didn't help much with Harry. In fact, she suspected it did just the opposite, made him dig in his heels. She'd learned that much just this last year, and she was trying something new, hoping it worked better . . . a lot better. No one knew better than she did that Harry needed support. Harry, himself, certainly seemed to forget it sometimes. He was always too busy protecting everyone else to bother with protecting himself. "You're becoming so . . . self-contained," she explained, or rather tried to explain. "I just don't want you to forget that you have help. You don't have to do it all alone."
Harry shrugged. "I don't know about 'self-contained', Hermione," he replied quietly. "I'm just tired of people dying because of mistakes I make."
"It's not your fault, Harry! It's-"
"I know!" Harry snapped. "It's Voldemort's. That's not my point."
"Okay, Harry," Hermione replied softly. "Sorry."
"No," Harry denied, looking instantly apologetic. "I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you.
Hermione was amazed at how quickly Harry had gone from angry to calm. He hadn't been able to do that a mere month ago, and that simply reinforced her worries. "There's nothing wrong with being angry, Harry. Heaven knows you've got enough to be angry about. What matters is what you do about that anger," she said carefully.
Harry grinned, then, startling her. "Have you been reading the same books I have?" he asked.
Hermione ducked sheepishly.
"You have!" he exclaimed, laughing. "What? Can't stand that I'm learning something you're not?" he asked, mischief dancing in his eyes and his expression.
It was good to see, even if she was the butt of the joke. "No," she huffed with mock anger, but almost immediately turned serious again. "I just thought that I might be able to help more, if I knew what information you were working from."
"Thanks, Hermione."
She shrugged. "What else are bookworm friends for?"
He laughed again. "Good point." Shaking his head, it was apparently his turn to become serious, because he frowned slightly. "I hope you know, Hermione; you mean more to me than that."
Hermione's eyes widened. "More than what, Harry?"
"You're more than just a bookworm. You're my best friend, girl version."
"Oh!" She exclaimed. Relieved, she let out a rather nervous sounding chuckle.
Harry almost fell over laughing in response to it. "You should have seen the look on your face!" he exclaimed between gasps of air.
She glared. "Well, you scared me for a minute there, Harry."
He smirked. "What would be so bad about it, anyway?" he asked, as fake an innocent expression on his face that Hermione had ever seen anywhere.
She purposely narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry James Potter, brother of my heart, it would be bad on so many levels it isn't even funny."
Snickering, Harry nodded. "I have to agree, actually. Kind of squicky, really."
Hermione nodded emphatically. It would be like getting involved with a 'real' brother. Gross! She shuddered.
"Yes, you're definitely sister material," Harry said, his grin turning rather sinister. "A pain in the-"
"Harry!" Hermione shouted, cutting him off.
Harry's eyes danced, telling her more than words could that he hadn't been about to say quite what it sounded like. She huffed, but recovered quickly. "Okay, enough changing of the subject, Harry."
He sighed and nodded.
"I know you're working on controlling the temper you seemingly gained last year," she began, continuing hurriedly as she saw Harry open his mouth to interrupt, if not protest. "And that's a good thing, really it is. It's just that if you need someone to rant to, that won't take it personally, you can come to me. Controlling your temper doesn't mean you have to keep it all inside until it all explodes."
Harry smirked at her, instantly making her wary. "The person I'm most likely to rant about would be Snape," he said, watching her rather intently.
"Pr- Oh! I see your point."
"Yeah. It's kinda hard to feel free to rant when I'm getting scolded for not being respectful."
"Okay," she replied slowly, hoping she could hold herself to this, "when we're alone, and you let me know 'rant mode', I will try to remember not to admonish you about respect."
Harry grinned again - something Hermione was glad to see was happening more often. True smiles had been pretty much missing from Harry's list of expressions for almost a year now.
"Sorry, Hermione, but I'll believe that when I see it."
She huffed at him again, but couldn't help but laugh. She knew she was just as stubborn about addressing the professors respectfully at all times as she had been about S.P.E.W. While, she had outwardly calmed about the house elf issue - note 'outwardly' - she hadn't let up at all about the former one.
x-x-x
Harry frowned, trying to figure out a way to pass the time. Hermione was buried in the library, finishing up her last summer essay. She'd spent so much time supporting him this summer that she had 'neglected' her homework. He hadn't told her that he still had two of his own to do. There was still over a month of summer left, plenty of time to finish that.
Unfortunately, as much as doing at least one of them would fill the time, he didn't feel up to studying right at that moment. They'd breakfasted already and Mrs. Weasley had once again turned down his offer of clean up assistance - something she'd done every morning she'd been there to make them breakfast, beyond clearing the table. He'd also already done his morning exercises.
That left him at loose ends, again. He'd felt that way since setting foot in this place, unfortunately. He was used to having something to do almost every single minute of the day during his summers, to having little to no time to do what he wanted to do - barring when he was locked away, of course.
He'd taken to wandering the house and had already found nooks and crannies he had never realized were even there. Wandering, while better than being stuck in his room, simply wasn't enough any more. He was so stuffed full of energy that he thought he just might go nutters. Restless didn't come near close enough to describing how he was feeling.
Unfortunately, he knew damn well that there was absolutely no way anyone was going to allow him out of the house for any reason, let alone to simply go running - the only thing he could currently think of that might tire him out enough. Quidditch would work, of course, but he had nowhere to play that, nor anyone to play against.
Despite that, he had to figure out a way to work off this excess energy. Up until now, he'd been doing mostly stationary type exercises - running in place, jumping and the like. He was getting good at that, lasting longer and longer each day, but, like the aimless wandering, it just wasn't enough. The itch beneath his skin had been building up over the last couple weeks and he really felt like he was overflowing with it. He knew it was only a matter of time and his head was simply going to pop off and all that energy was going to come erupting out of his headless neck!
It certainly hadn't helped at all that last night had been full of even more revelations - like he needed any more - followed by desperately trying force himself to sit still long enough to concentrate on his essays. The headmaster had dropped by and let him know that Sirius had made him his heir. That had confused him a little. How had Sirius done that? He had always thought that with his godfather being on the run from the ministry, the man hadn't been able to access his money and such. How could he have named any heir at all in that case?
According to the headmaster, that while the man couldn't actually spend any of his own money - considering he couldn't get to Gringotts - he still got to decide who got it after he died. Frankly, it hadn't made a knut's worth of sense to Harry! The headmaster had not even known what all, exactly, Harry had inherited, beyond number 12, just that it had been almost everything Sirius had been entitled to.
He fumed, his aimless wandering becoming angry strides. He didn't bloody want Grimauld place. He didn't want any of it. He would far rather have Sirius back and let him have it all. Shaking his head, trying to clear it of such morose thoughts, he realized he needed to do some mindless energy burning activity even more now. That certainly left out going back to trying to do homework until after he'd worn himself out.
He stopped cold in the ground floor foyer, a grin transforming his expression as he suddenly eyed the stairs speculatively. That's it! he thought with anticipation. If that didn't wear him out, nothing would. In fact, it might work even better than doing it outside. It would certainly be more of a work out! His grin widening, he darted up the stairs.
By the time he reached the fourth floor, he was already out of breath, but kept running down the hall. Turning, once he'd reached the end, he started back down again.
Not in as good a shape as I thought I was, he thought about halfway up the second time. Running the stairs was way harder than running in place!
Running down the third time, he allowed himself to slip into what he called his 'on-the-go' meditation, which helped him to ignore the fact that his legs were beginning to really hurt and that his lungs were beginning to feel like they were on fire. Reaching the top for the fourth time, he turned again, finally beginning to feel the euphoria all the books talked about. He'd only managed it once before. He hit the ground floor landing at a dead run, and noted the very unexpected presence of Professor Snape in the back of his mind, not letting it truly impinge on him. He absently darted around the wizard, circling behind him and heading back up the stairs. He did notice, however, that he was much slower this time.
As he neared the ground floor again, voices flowed over his senses, almost drawing him out of his near trance-like state. He forcibly shuttled his awareness of the two to the back of his mind where, at the moment, everything aside from running resided, recognizing the two voices as Mrs. Weasley and Professor Snape and therefore of no danger to him.
Frankly, he was floating on a sea of physical sensation - the burn in his legs and lungs, his heart beating rapidly against his ribs, his labored breathing, in through his nose and out hard through his mouth - and didn't want to let that go quite yet. Everything beyond it was secondary, faded, yet strangely sharp and in focus at the same time. It was confusing, but he didn't let that consume his attention either. Instead, he let the confusion wash over him, through him, and then float away.
"Mr. Potter!" Snape shouted as Harry went to circle around him again. He hadn't moved?
"Mr. Potter!"
Harry slowed reluctantly, his circle of the professor completed at a walk. He knew better than to stop completely. He'd made that mistake the first time he'd really managed to run well - even if it had been in place, over and around his bed - and he wasn't going to repeat it. That had hurt, seemingly half of the muscles in his body cramping up. "You needed something, Sir?" he asked, walking in slow circles in front of the professor, rather than continue around the man again. He figured that might be a little annoying. He would certainly find it annoying.
"What do you think you are doing?" the professor snapped, glowering over at him and snagging hold of his arm, preventing him from continuing his warm down.
Harry blinked. That should be obvious, he thought. "Exercising, Sir," he replied with a frown.
Unfortunately, the professor did not let go of his arm and he could feel his muscles begin to stiffen already. He'd worked them hard just now and would pay for it, he was sure. He really tried not to let that wrench him out of his 'good mental space'. Instead, he simply resumed moving, going from walking slow circles to stretching his legs out, lunging slowly forward and back up, since the circles seemed to irritate the man so.
"Stop moving while I'm talking to you!"
Harry blinked in surprise at the command. "No, Sir," he replied without thinking. "After heavy ex-"
"You will do as you are told!" Snape snapped, tightening his grip on Harry's arm and pulling him into the drawing room and forcing him down into a chair.
Harry started to stand right back up again, not wanting to go through the pain of cramping. He didn't know exactly how much warm down was strictly needed, but since that first time, he'd always moved around slowly until after most of the stiffness and jelly-leg feeling was gone. He didn't dare imagine how bad it might be this time, considering this had been a hell of a lot harder workout than the last time it had happened. "Sir?" he began, trying to explain.
"So like you, Potter," Snape sneered, "doing whatever you want without regard to other people in the house. Such arrogant disregard for-"
"With all due respect, Professor," Harry interrupted, internally wincing as he did so. "If I don't-"
"Shut up!"
Well, so much for my nice euphoria, Harry thought sullenly. Not to mention my attempts at being polite! Why couldn't the man just leave him the bloody hell alone? They weren't at the school right now. He sighed, once again trying to get up. "You don't understand, S-"
"Potter!" Snape snapped again, shouting this time, effectively cutting off his second attempt at an explanation. "Can't you follow even the simplest of instructions?" he demanded.
Harry tuned him out then, doing his best to stretch his legs from a seated position, since it was obvious he wasn't getting out of the chair any time soon. Tuning the man out had the added benefit of allowing Harry to ignore - well mostly - the vitriol spewing from the professor. He'd been polite to the professor. Why was the man still acting like he was being insolent?
Harry would be the first to admit that he hadn't always been as polite as he could be to the professor. After all, it was difficult to be polite to someone who was overtly rude to him. He wasn't even allowed to protest anything at all without being accused of the worst sort of behavior. It reminded him very uncomfortably of Uncle Vernon.
He felt the first cramp in his left leg and worked it out carefully, digging his fingers into the muscle to prevent it from worsening. At the same time, he tried to keep the other leg moving. He really didn't want the other leg to join in. He only had two hands and both were currently occupied.
"Are you even listening to me, Potter?" Snape demanded just as the second cramp suddenly seized.
He cried out, this one far more painful than the first. He let go of the one he'd been working on and grabbed hold of his right calf, desperately trying to work out the new cramp. Unfortunately, doing so allowed the first one to grow unimpeded.
"What is wrong now, Potter?" Snape sneered impatiently.
"Cramping," Harry gasped out, "legs."
Snape knelt quickly, his hands brushing Harry's aside and strong fingers dug into the cramping muscle.
Thankful, and not a little surprised at the professor's sudden assistance, Harry immediately returned his attention to the first cramp. "It's helping, thanks," he managed through his clenched jaw. The pain was diminishing.
Unfortunately, just as the two of them together were beginning to force the muscles to relax, Harry's thigh cramped suddenly as well, causing him to yelp, startled.
Snape snarled, stood suddenly, and strode from the room.
Just great! Harry thought bitterly. It's your fault I'm in this mess, but you just take off and leave me to it! It wasn't long after he finished the thought - though, it felt like it to Harry - when Snape strode back in, Madam Pomfrey at his heels.
Oh! Thank God! He hadn't known she was here, but was really glad she had been.
She shoved a potion vial to his mouth and Harry drank it quickly. "What was it?" he asked, grimacing at the taste.
"Muscle relaxant," she replied shortly, already waving her wand over him. She frowned; at the results, perhaps? "What were you doing before the cramping started," she asked.
Harry quickly explained about his run, and how he'd started to warm down, but hadn't been able to finish it properly. He didn't mention Professor Snape, however, figuring the man wouldn't appreciate being blamed; though, it should be implicit in his explanation, even if he and Snape were the only ones ever aware of it.
Handing him a second potion, she nodded firmly. "Mild healing potion," she told him. "It'll take care of the minor muscle tears caused by the cramping."
He drank it down, ignoring the bitter taste as best he could.
"You'll still be sore for a couple of hours, but after that, you should be fine." Madam Pomfrey leveled him a stern glare. "Next time you engage in rigorous exercise, don't get sidetracked," she ordered, frowning in very obvious disapproval.
"But, I didn't get sidetracked," he protested automatically. "I started to do a warm down and was stopped."
"Fine," she replied shortly. "Then, next time, don't allow anyone to stop you. If you're going to exercise, you need to make sure you follow proper safety procedures, or you could really hurt yourself.
"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, resigned. "I'll make sure to do that." It didn't look like the professor was going to admit to anything, and there was no way Harry could truly explain without implicating the man and that simply was not an option. It would make the coming year even worse than normal, he was sure. At this rate, though, he was never going to get treated like an adult, because no one was going to believe he was even smart enough not to hurt himself!
Madam Pomfrey nodded then, seemingly satisfied with his response. "No more intense exercise today. In fact, take it easy. Tomorrow you can resume whatever exercise you're used to doing, just don't do more than accustomed."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said again, smiling at her half-heartedly. "Thank you."
She smiled back, nodded, then headed out of the room.
Harry wasn't about to stay there and listen to the professor start berating him again, so he followed the mediwitch out. Unfortunately, he was stopped just as he reached the door.
"Potter!" the professor called out sharply.
Harry tensed, then forced himself to relax before turning back around. This was turning into a real test of his control, and he was absolutely determined not to lash out - verbally or magically.
"Was there something specific you came here for today, Professor?" he asked, hoping he might be able to siderail the professor with the man's original agenda.
"Mind your own business, Potter! That's not what I want to talk to you about."
Harry rolled his eyes at the typical response. He couldn't not do it. He turned and stormed out into the hall. Unfortunately, the professor was right behind him.
"We are not done here, Mr. Potter!" he said sharply.
Harry didn't roll his eyes that time, but it was a very near thing. "Yes, Professor?"
"If you think you've sidetracked me from that ridiculousness you were indulging in when I arrived, you've got another think coming, Potter."
"Ridiculousness!" Harry spluttered, just barely remembering to keep his voice down. They were in the middle of the ground floor foyer, after all, and he didn't want to disturb Mrs. Black's portrait. "I was exercising!"
"Disrupting the entire house, more like!" Snape snapped.
Disrupting the house? Harry thought incredulously. The only two people in the house when he'd started were Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, and they certainly hadn't seemed to mind. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded angrily, his voice rising just a little. He winced, casting a wary glance toward the curtain covered portrait, half expecting it to begin screaming at them.
"Running all over the blasted place," Professor Snape sneered, "making enough noise to wake the dead!"
"If I didn't wake the portrait, then I surely couldn't have woke the dead!' Harry retorted, anger finally getting the best of him. "It's not like I can do my running outside, is it?" he sneered back. "I'm not allowed to go outside!"
"How like you, wanting the rules bent just for you, regardless of the fact that they're in place for your protection!"
"Stop twisting my words!" Harry hissed. "I never even asked to go outside; I merely compensated for the inability to do so!"
"There are no excuses for tearing around the house like an immature five year old!"
Immature! That had stung. All he'd been doing was- Gritting his teeth, Harry shook his head again. He was letting the man get to him. Anyone with eyes could see the man was being unreasonable. Maybe if he calmed back down, the professor might as well. It had sometimes worked with Uncle Vernon, after all. If nothing else, maybe the whole thing wouldn't actually escalate.
"I'm just trying to keep in shape," he explained as calmly as he could - not that, that was very calmly at this point. He'd pretty much reached the end of his rope.
"I take it back," the professor said suddenly, surprising Harry. "You weren't acting like a five year old. It was more like a bloody two year old that can't sit still for two minutes," he muttered.
Harry hissed at the unfair accusation, his own response also muttered under his breath as he spun away from the professor. "You try being locked in a 12x12 room for weeks at a time and see how long you can sit still when you get free."
"What was that, Potter?" Snape demanded from behind him.
"Nothing," Harry snapped angrily, not bothering to turn back around. "You wouldn't believe me anyway," he finished, now shouting.
Just as the curtains over Mrs. Black flew open and the portrait started screaming at them, Harry dropped back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to reign in his temper. Mrs. Black was not helping with that, her vile epithets doing nothing but stoking the temper he was so desperately trying to regain control over. Of course, it didn't help that, at the same time, he was hearily kicking himself for letting Snape get to him so easily in the first place. It was one of the many promises he'd made to himself this summer, and already, he was breaking it. How many others would he break before he was back to normal?
It was just so bloody infuriating. It didn't matter what was happening, what he was doing, the professor always made it seem like he was some sort of bullying prat that didn't care about anyone but himself. He accused him - unknowingly - of being just like his cousin! That thought alone snapped the last threads of his control. He could feel the rage build like it hadn't since he'd pretty much mastered his meditation routines.
"Potter!" Snape shouted. "Don't stand there like an idiot! Help silence Mrs. Black!"
That was it! He was not an idiot! He had to put up with that kind of thing at the Dursleys' he would not put up with it in a home he owned! He snapped his eyes open, glaring hatefully at the bloody portrait, wishing he could truly silence the bitch. It would be so very nice to see the hateful painting go up in flames.
Before he could take a step forward, the portrait did just that, bursting into flames and startling Harry out of his skin. He leapt backwards, letting out a startled, rather high-pitched yelp, his anger draining away instantly in his shock. His jaw dropped as he watched the 'hateful portrait go up in flames' - just like he'd 'wished'.
Professor Snape leapt away from the fire, letting out his own yell of surprise. Even inside his mind, Harry didn't dare call the sound an actual yelp. The professor's wand was out in an instant and with a single muttered spell was dousing the flames; flames that didn't want to be doused. By the time they were completely out, it was far too late for Mrs. Black. The only thing left of the obnoxious portrait, once the smoke cleared, was the frame. In fact, the frame wasn't even damaged, nor was the wall surrounding the portrait.
Harry was absolutely horrified by what he'd done - not that he was upset about destroying the painting, but . . . what if the focus of his rage had still been Professor Snape? He had been who Harry had been truly angry at, after all. Mrs. Black had simply been one insult too many and his control had completely slithered away from him. He could not let that happen ever again. It was two dangerous! A week and a half, blown, just like that! And all it had taken was Snape's goading.
TBC (There are four chapters in this episode.)
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