Harry stared at the Professor, not sure what to think, really, because who ever did believe him? Besides, Snape would change his mind soon enough, if he did go see the Dursleys and they told him all about what a horrible little monstrous freak he was. . . . Harry's stomach clenched at the very thought. He was going to be in six kinds of trouble, come the holidays. He should never have written the essay, just taken a different punishment or something, or he should have lied through his teeth, and just made sure to emphasize what a complete rules-breaking idiot he was, instead of making excuses for his behavior by pointing out the lameness of certain rules.
He'd been stupid, really, and had even neglected his Transfiguration homework this afternoon, in favor of doing the detention work. But, he reasoned, while Professor McGonagall might get annoyed that he had not completed his work, Snape would be downright vicious if he didn't turn in the essay. So the choice was an easy one to make. As had going to detention last night, as Snape had told him previously, instead of to bed as Madam Pomfrey instructed. The ability to prioritize various contradictory orders or rules was a skill he used often, actually. He'd had to, in the Dursley home.
However, he had to admit, the expression of near understanding of Harry's situation that had come over Snape's face when Harry protested his planned visit . . . well, it made the rest almost worth it. It was like Snape knew. He knew what the repercussions would be, to Harry. And – dare he think it? – he almost seemed to care.
Not that it would help Harry in the long run, though.
All the same, he wondered if he could get a hold of some Veritaserum, and if Uncle Vernon was immune to it. He was about to ask if Veritaserum was on the regular curriculum, and when they might brew it, if so, when Snape's head turned away so fast Harry thought he might get whiplash. Harry followed the man's gaze to see a ghost . . . no, not just any ghost, but the Bloody Baron, float through the classroom door.
Harry dropped the knife still clutched his hand. It hit the stone floor with a clang.
The ghost looked over at him, staring with those dark pits he had for eyes, and Harry felt himself trembling. He tried to stop, but his muscles would not quite obey.
Somewhere, he heard the Professor's voice, "I'm not sure this is the best time."
"Nonsense," the Bloody Baron told him, his gaze never wavering from Harry's face. "It's best to just get this out of the way."
Snape sighed. "Very well. But let me procure a Calming Draught at least, or the boy will likely wet himself."
Assuming he was the boy in question, Harry bristled. He'd never wet himself . . . not in fear, anyway, and not for many, many years. He scowled at the Professor, who sneered at him in turn. After a moment, Harry gave him a grim smile and shook his head. Seemed the insult had left him less fearful, and Snape knew it. Huh.
"I'm fine, sir," he said stiffly.
"I'm sure you are."
Harry glared at him again.
The Bloody Baron laughed, a low chuckle that raised the hairs on Harry's arms. "I saw this mettle in you, boy," he said, his voice tinged with humor, still. "The other night." His dark eyes flared with black fire. "It would have been a shame to lose you."
"What . . . what do you mean?"
Still not releasing Harry from his luminous stare, he said, "Surely the good Professor has explained to you what happened? Why your memories of Friday evening were altered?"
"No," Harry said accusingly, dragging his gaze away to meet Snape's eyes once more. "He did not."
Snape glared back. "It was not the best time for that."
"When would be the best time? Sir?"
The Professor's jaw worked and he spat out, "When I had more complete information. Now, it's all just supposition."
"Not all, Severus," the ghost said in an almost chiding tone. "I did lay out some facts for you."
"Please," Harry said, and turned his back to Snape, though it made a shiver run up his spine to do so, and faced the ghost again. "Tell me what you know."
"Very well." The Bloody Baron nodded, with a touch of a smile. "I came to your aid on Friday last, when you were under attack."
"When I was what?"
"Under attack." The Bloody Baron held up a shimmery, translucent hand. "I am not certain as to the fiend's identity, but I have a few guesses."
"Who?" Someone had really tried to kill him? His stomach clenched a bit tighter, and he was almost sure he was going to be sick.
"All in good time," the Baron said. "I happened to notice your passing, near the quarters of . . . someone long dead, and wondered what had led you to explore so far from home, and thus followed your steps until you reached the seeming end of the corridor. I was, apparently, not the only one to do so, and to my sincere regret, I did not realize that I, too, was being followed. Not until the first curse flew through me, I'm afraid."
Harry held his breath for a long moment, but the ghost seemed to be waiting for something. "It hit me, though, didn't it?"
The Bloody Baron nodded. "That would have been the end of it, for you," he intoned. "The full Body-Bind Curse. You fell over, of course, the perfect victim, and I had little time to consider what I did next."
"Which was?" Harry asked, although he was almost sure he knew, and he was almost equally sure he was going to sick up all over the classroom floor, right now. He shivered, remembering, the odd, squicky feeling of the ghost running through him, and the cold, clamminess afterwards . . .
"You are a Slytherin, boy, no matter how surprising the fact is, and I could not allow any harm to come to you." He flicked a glance at Snape and quirked a ghostly eyebrow high. "Rule number one, correct?"
Snape grunted a reply which could be a, "Yes," or could be a, "Get on with it before I hex you into next week." It was hard to tell.
"What did you do?" Harry asked again. His hands were formed into fists, clenched by his sides, and the pain of his fingernails digging into his palms was almost enough to steady his voice.
"I assisted you, my boy." The ghost smiled faintly. "I have never done such a thing before as that, you understand, and was not sure it would actually work—"
"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
"I took over your body. Briefly. Until the danger passed."
Harry sucked in a breath. Though he had known, somehow, what the Baron was going to say, his admission still hit Harry in the gut like a kick from an overweight cousin. "And it broke the Binding?" he asked, his voice flat.
"It did. So I turned us around, and we set up blocks and counter curses and sent a few hexes of our own."
"We?" Harry asked, feeling a little faint.
"My knowledge, your power. And your wand," he added, as almost an afterthought. "It worked far better than I could have imagined. You have a great deal of power."
He was definitely going to be ill. Somewhere, in the back part of his brain that wasn't freaking out, he realized this explained why he had been so sore and tired after losing his way that night, and maybe even explained the wound he had received. "Can any ghost just do that to me?" he asked, hating the way his voice cracked on the question, but needing to know how much danger he was in from possession – for that was what it was, pure and simple – in the future.
"I would not care to speculate," the Baron started, but then said anyway, "But, no, I do not believe so. You are Slytherin, as I said, and it is only through my affinity to your House that I was able to stay in your body without being instantly repelled."
"Instantly . . ."
"Repelled." The ghost's face sparked brightly, and he gave a slight bow. "You put up a fight worthy of a Gryffindor, Harry Potter, if you'll pardon the slur. Against me. And my power on this plane is far superior to most others you will ever meet."
The words were said without any trace of arrogance, yet Harry believed him wholeheartedly. But maybe he just wanted them to be true. They had to be, right? Oh, god.
"Once I . . . overcame your objections, we were nearly unstoppable."
"Who was it?" Harry whispered.
"Ah, that . . . I have not been able to piece that together yet."
"Why not?"
"One of the spells that did manage to get by our defenses was the Confundus Charm. It scrambled my memories quite nicely."
"And mine."
For the first time, the Bloody Baron looked uncomfortable. "Yes, quite."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What else? Did you do something to them?"
A snort from the side reminded Harry that they were having this discussion in front of the Potions Master, and he barely suppressed a flinch, as he'd been hardly respectful through the entire exchange. But worse than the snort was the droll voice saying, "You might as well confess. He'll figure it out soon enough. The Brat's not as stupid as he looks."
The Bloody Baron gave Snape a baleful look, to which Snape merely sneered. The Professor really did have a full array of sneers. Quite impressive, really. Harry wondered how Uncle Vernon would respond to this one, and almost wished he could see it in action, and then realized his mind was wandering and cleared his head with a vicious shake.
"You were saying?" he prompted the Baron.
"Ah, yes. After we'd driven off the criminal who attacked you, and I was about to leave your body, I was concerned you might find the experience a little . . . distressing, and so I removed your memory of the event. A bit ham-handedly, I admit, as I had little time and was still Confunded. In the process, you expelled me from your body and I found myself adrift, with no idea how to return to you. Or to anywhere, really." The last bit was a low mutter that Harry wasn't sure he was supposed to have heard.
Harry stared. "Why would you want to get back to me?"
The Bloody Baron gestured to his own chest, where a gaping wound oozed silvery blood in a constant stream. "I inadvertently left you a memento of our joint endeavor."
Harry put a hand on his robes, where they had been soaked with blood. "My chest."
"Yes. I learned later that you had sustained damage from the encounter. I must apologize for that, and for not alerting the staff to your location. But I was . . . not myself for several days."
"I . . ." Harry's head hurt, with spinning, whirling thoughts, but one thing was perfectly clear: the Bloody Baron had saved his life, from whoever had thrown that first hex. "Don't worry about it."
A low chuckle from the Potions Master made Harry spin toward him, which he instantly regretted when the world tilted slightly. Grabbing the edge of the worktable kept him from falling on his face, though. Barely. He held on with both hands, his knuckles turning white, still feeling light headed.
"You see? No sense of self-preservation whatsoever," Snape said with disgust.
Harry glared at him again, though the Professor had seen him almost get killed twice in the space of two days, though the second time was hardly his fault. "So," he said, ignoring Snape's comment. "What am I going to do now?"
"About what?" Snape asked, eyebrows rising.
"About whoever tried to kill me, sir. I can't count on the Bloody Baron to assist me every time I'm alone and someone ambushes me." Even the possibility made him shudder.
"You," Snape said, pointing a long, narrow finger directly at Harry's face, and he had to force himself not to take a step back, "will do nothing but go to bed at a reasonable hour, attend your classes, and do your homework as befits a child in this school. I will find the culprit with none of your damnable heroics, thank you very much."
"Right," Harry said, blanking his expression and making sure his voice held no trace of the deep annoyance he felt. "That sounds very reasonable."
"You are extraordinarily impertinent."
"Yes, sir."
The Bloody Baron laughed, and Harry turned to him at the same time as Professor Snape. "Ah, youth," he said, still chuckling. "Severus Snape, you would do well to remember what I said in our earlier conversation, before you make decisions based on your emotions."
"I do no such thing!"
"No? You would protect the boy by keeping him ignorant? Is that your well thought plan?"
"I do not need to justify my actions to you!"
"Of course not," the Bloody Baron said quietly. "But you might consider the very real question of how exactly the boy will protect himself when he is alone, if he has no idea who is after him."
Snape looked like he was going to argue some more, but Harry was tired of being talked about like he wasn't in the room. "The boy wonders if there's any way to un, er, Obliviate me, so I could remember who attacked me. I mean, if I saw them, at the same time you did . . ."
Looking startled, briefly – probably due to being interrupted by an 'impertinent brat' – before his expression returned to the blank mask he wore most, when not sneering, Snape eyed Harry for a moment before saying, "You did it with his own wand?"
The Bloody Baron nodded.
"Then I should be possible to undo the spell using the same wand." He sighed. "The Confundus . . . we'll have to see. It's possible I can see your memories, Potter, once they're returned, even if you can not access them readily yourself. That is, if you permit it." His lips had twisted, as if sucking on a lemon, and Harry was sure he rarely – if ever – asked for permission from anyone before he did anything.
That he did so now worried Harry just a little. Still, he nodded slowly. Now they were getting somewhere. Where, he had no idea. But he wanted those memories back. Needed them. And, short of killing someone, he'd do just about anything to get them back. "All right. What do I have to do?"
TBC . . .