He didn't want to draw attention, so he forced himself to straighten up and head down to the Great Hall for dinner, sitting between Ron and Hermione even though there was an empty seat next to Neville. "What did Dumbledore want?" Ron asked around a mouthful of chicken, and Harry shrugged.
"Just to see how I was holding up with the tournament and everything," he replied nonchalantly. "That was nice of him," Hermione said with a smile. Harry could hardly eat he felt so sick — did Ron and Hermione know what Dumbledore had planned? Had they been warned he was going to be a little different, and it was because of a spell?
"We should play exploding snap after dinner," Ron suggested. "It's been ages since we've done that."
"Can't — detention with Snape, remember?" Harry's grimace hid his near-palpable relief at having the perfect excuse to go see Snape as soon as possible.
Ron made a face. "Can't believe the greasy git gave you detention for taking what you needed for the task," he grumbled. "You're a Triwizard champion! He should be happy to help you beat those other schools."
"As if Snape has ever missed out on a chance to give me detention," Harry pointed out. He forced himself to eat the last bite of his shepherd's pie, pushing his plate away. "I should get going before I'm late and he gives me even more detention for it. I'll see you later." The crush of the magic was getting worse, seeping into his pores until all he wanted to do was run to Dumbledore and spill his secrets. Harry pushed it away, shouldering his bag and hurrying down to the dungeons. He was sweating with the effort of resisting the magic by the time he burst into Snape's office, startling the man. "Help me," he gasped, throwing himself down into a chair, gripping the edge of the desk hard. Snape leapt to his feet, locking and warding the room with a spell as he rushed to Harry's side.
"What happened?" Cool fingers gripped his chin, raising his head so the man could look him over.
"Dumbledore. Cast a spell on me," Harry bit out. "I think— Compulsion, again."
Snape straightened up, waving his wand over Harry. He frowned. "Sit still." He began to chant quietly in Latin, waving his wand in a complicated motion. Much like it had with the goblins, a ball of black glowing magic began to form over Harry's sternum, growing until Snape suddenly wrenched his wand upwards and the ball dissipated. Harry felt the foreign magic smothering his core melt away, and sucked in air like a drowning man. Snape's hand came down on his shoulder, steadying him. "Easy, Potter." His voice was surprisingly gentle, and he waved his wand again, no doubt checking Harry for any other spells. "You're clear."
Harry slumped back in his chair when Snape released his shoulder, running a hand through his hair. "Thank you. Merlin, that was awful. Does it always feel like that?"
"Being cursed, once you're aware of your own magic?" Snape clarified. Harry nodded. "Not always to that degree Dumbledore's spell was exceptionally powerful — but yes, it's always… uncomfortable. If you're that sensitive to it now, I suspect the headmaster won't be able to put so much as a light Tracking charm on you without you noticing."
Harry was glad for that, but he hoped he never had to experience it all the same. "Was it the same one as before?"
"I cannot be sure, as the goblins removed that before I had the chance to study it. But it was a powerful Compulsion charm designed to make you both reckless and extraordinarily trusting of the caster, so it's likely, yes."
"I felt like I just wanted to run up to the headmaster and tell him everything," Harry said with a shudder. He blinked, and there was a glass of water being pressed into his hands. He took it with a grateful smile at Snape, downing the cool liquid.
"It is… concerning that he felt the need to refresh the charm. Likely he thinks you're just shedding it as you grow older — not uncommon with adolescents, as their magic is constantly growing and changing."
Harry caught on to what Snape wasn't saying. "But it means he's starting to suspect I'm not under his thumb anymore."
The Potions Master nodded. "You'll have to be incredibly careful in the next few weeks. He will believe the charm is strongest — he may expect you to come to him, or to Weasley and Granger. It will look even more suspicious if you continue on as you have been."
Harry grimaced. "So I'll spend a few weeks playing good little Gryffindor, make up some things to tell them that'll have them believing I've given up all my secrets, and then…" He trailed off, unsure what came next. Keep pretending until Dumbledore was dead? How long was he supposed to keep up the charade?
"You only need last until the end of the school year," Snape assured him. "Even so, I think you can get away with avoiding Weasley and Granger before then, as long as you keep your public friendships to mostly Gryffindors. Dumbledore won't have done anything to change your personality too drastically — people would question if you suddenly refused to speak to the other champions, after being outwardly friendly to them for so long. Likely he just wants a little more insight into your private escapades."
It was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless. "I suppose we'd better figure out what I can tell him to get him off my back, then," he said with a shrug, pulling his password protected notebook out of his bag.
There had to be something he could let go of, to protect the secrets he really cared about.
.-.-.-. About a week after the second task, Harry walked into the Great Hall to find all eyes on him — not unusual in itself, but the wave of whispers and giggles that broke out immediately after gave Harry a pretty good idea what might have happened. Harry sank into the empty seat between Neville and Ginny, raising an eyebrow at the redheaded girl. "What's the damage this time?" Ginny giggled, passing him a copy of Witch Weekly. He studied the magazine. "Not the Prophet?"
"This one isn't exactly Prophet material," Ginny told him, opening the magazine to a specific page. She seemed amused, so Harry figured it couldn't be too bad. Ron and Hermione sat on the bench opposite them, Hermione casting a disparaging look at the magazine. "I can't believe you have a subscription to that rag, Ginny," she remarked. Ginny shrugged.
"Not all of it is garbage."
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