Harry did not mention his vague suspicions to Sirius, whose cheerfulness was evaporating fast now that Christmas was over. As the date of their departure back to Hogwarts drew nearer, he became more and more prone to what Mrs. Weasley called “fits of the sullens,” in which he would become taciturn and grumpy, often withdrawing to Buckbeak’s room for hours at a time. His gloom seeped through the house, oozing under doorways like some noxious gas, so that all of them became infected by it.
Harry did not want to leave Sirius all alone again with only Kreacher for company. In fact, for the first time in his life, he was not looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. Going back to school would mean placing himself once again under the tyranny of Dolores Umbridge, who had no doubt managed to force through another dozen decrees in their absence. Then there was no Quidditch to look forward to now that he had been banned; there was every likelihood that their burden of homework would increase as the exams drew even nearer; Dumbledore remained as remote as ever; in fact, if it had not been for the D.A., Harry felt he might have gone to Sirius and begged him to let him leave Hogwarts and remain in Grimmauld Place.
Then, on the very last day of the holidays, something happened that made Harry positively dread his return to school.
“Harry dear,” said Mrs. Weasley, poking her head into his and Ron’s bedroom, where the pair of them were playing wizard chess watched by Hermione, Ginny, and Crookshanks, “could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you.”
Harry did not immediately register what she had said; one of his castles was engaged in a violent tussle with a pawn of Ron’s, and he was egging it on enthusiastically.
“Squash him — squash him, he’s only a pawn, you idiot — sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?”
“Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He’d like a word.”
Harry’s mouth fell open in horror. He looked around at Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, all of whom were gaping back at him. Crookshanks, whom Hermione had been restraining with difficulty for the past quarter of an hour, leapt gleefully upon the board and set the pieces running for cover, squealing at the top of their voices.
“Snape?” said Harry blankly.
“Professor Snape, dear,” said Mrs. Weasley reprovingly. “Now come on, quickly, he says he can’t stay long.”
“What’s he want with you?” said Ron, looking unnerved as Mrs. Weasley withdrew from the room.
“You haven’t done anything, have you?”
“No!” said Harry indignantly, racking his brains to think what he could have done that would make Snape pursue him to Grimmauld Place. Had his last piece of homework perhaps earned a T?
He pushed open the kitchen door a minute or two later to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius.
“Er,” said Harry to announce his presence.
Snape looked around at him, his face framed between curtains of greasy black hair.
“Sit down, Potter.”
“You know,” said Sirius loudly, leaning back on his rear chair legs and speaking to the ceiling, “I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t give orders here, Snape. It’s my house, you see.”
An ugly flush suffused Snape’s pallid face. Harry sat down in a chair beside Sirius, facing Snape across the table.
“I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,” said Snape, the familiar sneer curling his mouth, “but Black —”
“I’m his godfather,” said Sirius, louder than ever.
“I am here on Dumbledore’s orders,” said Snape, whose voice, by contrast, was becoming more and more quietly waspish, “but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel . . . involved.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Sirius, letting his chair fall back onto all four legs with a loud bang.
“Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing useful,” Snape laid a delicate stress on the word, “for the Order.”
It was Sirius’s turn to flush. Snape’s lip curled in triumph as he turned to Harry.
“The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.”
“Study what?” said Harry blankly.
Snape’s sneer became more pronounced.
“Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.”
Harry’s heart began to pump very fast indeed. Defense against external penetration? But he was not being possessed, they had all agreed on that. . . .
“Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?” he blurted out.
“Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea,” said Snape smoothly. “You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?”
“Yes,” said Harry. “Who’s going to be teaching me?”
Snape raised an eyebrow.
“I am,” he said.
Harry had the horrible sensation that his insides were melting. Extra lessons with Snape — what on earth had he done to deserve this? He looked quickly around at Sirius for support.
“Why can’t Dumbledore teach Harry?” asked Sirius aggressively. “Why you?”
“I suppose because it is a headmaster’s privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks,” said Snape silkily. “I assure you I did not beg for the job.” He got to his feet. “I will expect you at six o’clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.”
He turned to leave, his black traveling cloak billowing behind him.
“Wait a moment,” said Sirius, sitting up straighter in his chair.
Snape turned back to face them, sneering.
“I am in rather a hurry, Black . . . unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time . . .”
“I’ll get to the point, then,” said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harry noticed, had balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harry was sure was the handle of his wand. “If I hear you’re using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you’ll have me to answer to.”
“How touching,” Snape sneered. “But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?”