Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

Harry’s heart was pumping fast. Snape’s explanation was similar to what Evan had been telling him.

But he always felt that something was not right, and there were some things that he couldn’t explain.

“But why does Professor Dumbledore want to stop it?” he asked abruptly. “I don’t like it much, but it’s been useful, hasn’t it? I mean … I saw Voldemort split his soul, use the statue of the evil god to make a Horcrux, and I saved Caresius, didn’t I? Professor?”

Snape visibly flinched when he heard the sensitive words such as Voldemort, split soul, and the statue of the evil god.

He stared at Harry, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.

“It appears that the Dark Lord has been unaware of the connection between you and himself until very recently. Up till now it seems that you have been experiencing his emotions and sharing his thoughts without his being any the wiser. But now the situation is completely different. That dream of yours was so serious. After the powerful incursion upon his thoughts and seeing something so important, do you think he would do nothing?”

“What’s Voldemort going to do?”

“Don’t say his name, Potter!”

“Professor Dumbledore says his name,” said Harry quietly.

“Dumbledore is an extremely powerful wizard. While he may feel secure enough to use the name … the rest of us …” said Snape gloomily. “It is just a sign of stupidity for you to directly call the Dark Lord by his name. Fearlessness stems from ignorance.”

He rubbed his left forearm, apparently unconsciously, on the spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark was burned into his skin.

“Then what is he going to do now that he knows the connection between me and him, Professor?” Harry tried his best to keep his tone polite. “Manipulate me in return?”

He disagreed with what Snape was saying, but he didn’t come here to argue with Snape.

Harry had more things to worry about. At the end of the duel in Norway, he seemed to be controlled by Voldemort!

He still remembered the scene at that time. He could only see a pair of blood-red eyes, losing control of his own body. Voldemort was talking through his mouth, forcing his body to move, and he fell directly from the platform into the endless abyss.

“He might,” said Snape, sounding cold and unconcerned. “You need to understand, our concern now is not him controlling you, but the reverse – sensing your thoughts and feelings, learning the secrets he’s interested in from you. That’s what he excels at – knowing too much of what you shouldn’t know.”

There was a moment of silence. Snape’s words made Harry feel uneasy; he had apparently become the source of leaks.

Was it true? Was that why Dumbledore had refused to tell him anything, leaving him alone with the Dursleys?

Snape pulled out his wand from an inside pocket of his robes and Harry tensed, but Snape merely raised the wand to his temple and placed its tip into the greasy roots of his hair.

When he withdrew his wand, some silvery substance came away, stretching from temple to wand like a thick gossamer strand, which broke as he pulled the wand away from it and fell gracefully into the Pensieve, where it swirled silvery white, neither gas nor liquid.

Twice more Snape raised the wand to his temple and deposited the silvery substance into the stone basin, then, without offering any explanation of his behavior, he picked up the Pensieve carefully, removed it to a shelf out of their way and returned to face Harry with his wand held at the ready.

“Stand up and take out your wand, Potter.”

Harry got to his feet feeling nervous. They faced each other with the desk between them.

“You’ve learned Occlumency with Mason before, so you should know some basics. Now you may use it, or you may use your wand to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of,” said Snape. “Any way will do!”

“And what are you going to do?” Harry asked, eyeing Snape’s wand apprehensively.

“Break into your mind,” said Snape softly. “We are going to see how well you resist. Brace yourself, now… Legilimens!”

Harry had never seen Evan do this before. Snape had struck before Harry had even begun to summon any force of resistance.

The office swam in front of his eyes and vanished, image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings.

He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy…

He was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn. He was lonely and helpless…

He was sitting under the Sorting Hat, and it was telling him he would do well in Slytherin…

In his first year, he was facing Professor Quirrell alone, who was controlled by Voldemort…

He and Evan were catching the Basilisk, running around in the school pipes…

A hundred Dementors were closing in on him and Hermione on the dark field…

Sirius was fainting beside him, and he was seeing two silver Patronuses flying towards them from a distance…

Cho Chang was going on a date with him to Hogsmeade, and he was going to…

No, said a voice in Harry’s head, you’re not watching that, you’re not watching it, it’s private.

He felt a sharp pain in his knee. Snape’s office had come back into view and he realized that he had fallen to the floor; one of his knees had collided painfully with the leg of Snape’s desk.

He looked up at Snape, who had lowered his wand and was rubbing his wrist. There was an angry weal there, like a scorch mark.

“Did you mean to produce a Stinging Hex?” asked Snape coolly.

“No,” said Harry bitterly, getting up from the floor.

“I thought not,” said Snape contemptuously. “You let me get in too far. You lost control.”

“Did you see everything I saw?” Harry asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.

“Flashes of it,” said Snape, his lip curling. “To whom did the dog belong?”

“My Aunt Marge,” Harry muttered, hating Snape in his heart.

“That’s too bad. You should have reacted faster,” said Snape, raising his wand once more. “You wasted time and energy shouting and making useless resistance. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.”

“I’m trying,” said Harry angrily, “but you’re not telling me how!”

“Manners, Potter,” said Snape dangerously. “I thought you knew, as you told me you learned Occlumency before. I didn’t expect you to be so ignorant of even these basics. Disappointing… Now, I want you to close your eyes.”

Harry threw him a filthy look before reluctantly doing as he was told.

He did not like the idea of standing there with his eyes shut while Snape faced him, carrying a wand.

“Clear your mind, Potter,” said Snape’s cold voice. “Let go of all emotion…”

Harry tried hard to do so, but his anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom.

Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs…

Evan had told him before to clear his mind and think about nothing, but did not say to let go of all emotion.

“You’re not doing it, Potter… You will need more discipline than this… Focus, now…”

Harry tried to empty his mind, tried not to think, or remember, or feel…

“Let’s go again … on the count of three … one — two — three — Legilimens!”

The office disappeared again, and Harry saw his father and mother waving at him out of an enchanted mirror…

Then, he saw Voldemort’s resurrection, with countless Death Eaters watching them from under their hoods…

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