Harry Potter 05 - Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Neville was making during the DA meetings. Harry’s sessions with Snape, which had started badly enough, were not improving. On the contrary, Harry felt he was getting worse with every lesson.
    Before he had started studying Occlumency, his scar had prickled occasionally, usually during the night, or else following one of those strange flashes of Voldemort’s thoughts or mood that he experienced every now and then. Nowadays, however, his scar hardly ever stopped prickling, and he often felt lurches of annoyance or cheerfulness that were unrelated to what was happening to him at the time, which were always accompanied by a particularly painful twinge from his scar. He had the horrible impression that he was slowly turning into a kind of aerial that was tuned in to tiny fluctuations in Voldemort’s mood, and he was sure he could date this increased sensitivity firmly from his first Occlumency lesson with Snape. What was more, he was now dreaming about walking down the corridor towards the entrance to the Department of Mysteries almost every night, dreams which always culminated in him standing longingly in front of the plain black door.
    ‘Maybe it’s a bit like an illness,’ said Hermione, looking concerned when Harry confided in her and Ron. ‘A fever or something. It has to get worse before it gets better.’
    ‘The lessons with Snape are making it worse,’ said Harry flatly. ‘I’m getting sick of my scar hurting and I’m getting bored with walking down that corridor every night.’ He rubbed his forehead angrily. ‘I just wish the door would open, I’m sick of standing staring at it –’
    ‘That’s not funny,’ said Hermione sharply. ‘Dumbledore doesn’t want you to have dreams about that corridor at all, or he wouldn’t have asked Snape to teach you Occlumency. You’re just going to have to work a bit harder in your lessons.’
    ‘I am working!’ said Harry, nettled. ‘You try it some time – Snape trying to get inside your head – it’s not a bundle of laughs, you know!’
    ‘Maybe …’ said Ron slowly.
    ‘Maybe what?’ said Hermione, rather snappishly.
    ‘Maybe it’s not Harry’s fault he can’t close his mind,’ said Ron darkly.
    ‘What do you mean?’ said Hermione.
    ‘Well, maybe Snape isn’t really trying to help Harry …’
    Harry and Hermione stared at him. Ron looked darkly and meaningfully from one to the other.
    ‘Maybe,’ he said again, in a lower voice, ‘he’s actually trying to open Harry’s mind a bit wider … make it easier for You-Know—’
    ‘Shut up, Ron,’ said Hermione angrily. ‘How many times have you suspected Snape, and when have you ever been right? Dumbledore trusts him, he works for the Order, that ought to be enough.’
    ‘He used to be a Death Eater,’ said Ron stubbornly. ‘And we’ve never seen proof that he really swapped sides.’
    ‘Dumbledore trusts him,’ Hermione repeated. ‘And if we can’t trust Dumbledore, we can’t trust anyone.’
    *
    With so much to worry about and so much to do – startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the fifth-years working until past midnight, secret DA sessions and regular classes with Snape – January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. Before Harry knew it, February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. Harry had had very little time to spare for conversations with Cho since they had agreed to visit the village together, but suddenly found himself facing a Valentine’s Day spent entirely in her company.
    On the morning of the fourteenth he dressed particularly carefully. He and Ron arrived at breakfast just in time for the arrival of the post owls. Hedwig was not there – not that Harry had expected her – but Hermione was tugging a letter from the beak of an unfamiliar brown owl as they sat down.
    ‘And about time! If it hadn’t come today …’ she said, eagerly tearing open the envelope and pulling out a small piece of parchment. Her eyes sped from left to right as she read through the message and a grimly pleased expression spread across her face.
    ‘Listen, Harry,’ she said, looking up at him, ‘this is really important. Do you think you could meet me in the Three Broomsticks around midday?’
    ‘Well … I dunno,’ said Harry uncertainly. ‘Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do.’
    ‘Well, bring her along if you