Dark shadows swam in his eyes as he contemplated it.
"Get yourself under control, Mr Potter!" Snape suddenly roared, stepping forward to take Harry by the shoulders. He didn't shake him, though, just held on to get his point across. "The issue at hand is not your house, nor house-elves you hate, nor any other meaningless notion that should flit across that distractible mind of yours. It is your magic."
"Or lack thereof," muttered Harry, looking up at Snape. His long black hair was half-concealing his face, obscuring his expression. Yeah, Snape did like to hide . . . It came to him then that his teacher's sarcasm and anger was masking something else, something he'd seen before, though he'd seen it on Remus' face at the time. But Snape had been inside that face. Snape was worried about him, practically frantic. Unsettled, Remus had called it.
Either way, it killed Harry's own anger and left him feeling just . . . defeated. Because not even Snape's concern could fix this, could it? "It's sort of ironic, isn't it?" Harry said, swallowing as he shrugged off his teacher's hands. "I spent years trying to wish my magic all away. And now, just when the Dursleys have done with me for good, it goes away on its own!"
Remus' soft tones offered assurance and hope. "I expect it's a temporary aberration, Harry. We've had you examined by a healer, already."
Harry took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put the glasses back on. "And?"
"She spelled you up and down," Snape flatly announced, still standing just inches from Harry's knees, "and concluded that your prolonged high fever is largely to blame. Combined with the tainted Muggle potions in your system, it burned your magical core down to ash. It did not help that while this was underway, your body was recognizing that it had lost marrow. Focused on that, instead of what mattered, your blood did not defend itself against the problem. Or so Healer Marjygold believes."
"You believe differently?" Harry asked, afraid the answer might be more unpleasant than what he'd heard so far.
"The situation is more complex than Healer Marjygold is in a position to appreciate," Snape explained. He sat down on the foot of the bed, but turned to face Harry. "She is in the Order, and I trust her, else I would not have summoned her, but there are inconsistencies in her theory."
Harry sat up straighter. "Such as?"
"The Helasbreath elixir eased your discomfort. If your magical core had been completely burned through as Marjygold claims, the potion would have been either useless or lethal, as I once told you."
"It did work at first," Harry told him, a constriction in his chest making it difficult to breathe. "But by the day of the funeral, it was useless." Good thing it wasn't one of the lethal ones.
"You were in pain and didn't think to tell me, Harry?"
"Look, I'm pretty much used to not complaining, all right?"
Snape nodded, his features thoughtful as he exchanged a significant glance with Remus.
"What?" Harry prompted, and when they hesitated, added, "Come on. What?"
It was Remus who spoke. "Severus mentioned a few things you've said in recent days, Harry. About . . . blaming yourself, thinking you're at fault when other people die. We wonder if you're trying to punish yourself. We suspect the healer's missed the truth completely. No doubt your core is charred, at least, from the fever, but the real issue could be your desire to suffer for giving your aunt the marrow in the first place."
Harry felt like he might throw up. Is that what Remus really thought of him?
"You don't believe that claptrap, do you?" he demanded to know, shifting away from Snape as he asked him, then on second thought, letting his glance include them both.
"You chose to suffer in the cemetery rather than ask for more elixir," Snape pointed out.
"Yeah, and good thing, because otherwise a magic potion might have killed me!" Oh, wait . . . the elixir had turned out to be one of the useless potions, not the lethal ones. Well, that was beside the point. "And I had a lot on my mind!"
"Exactly," Remus softly averred. "It's probably not just your aunt, either, is it? You blame yourself for Sirius, and Cedric Diggory, and no doubt for Voldemort being resurrected in the flesh."
"Had a nice long chat, you two, did you?" Harry scathed. "Well, let's see. Hmm, I did act like a complete nitwit and charge into danger, dragging Sirius in my wake, and I did insist, just like a Gryffindor, wouldn't you know, that Cedric share the stupid Tri-Wizard Cup with me, and it was my blood that helped raise that murderous arsehole, so I'd say my perceptions are pretty much spot-on. Why don't we just finish the list, shall we? If you want to get right down to it, it's my fault my parents died, as well! Voldemort was coming after me, we know that now. If not for me, Remus here would still have his best friend. Two of them, actually!"
"Black was my fault as well," Snape averred.
"I know that," Harry yelled, jumping to his feet. "And Dumbledore, and the Death Eaters, and Voldemort, and if you come right down to it, Sirius himself! I don't think it's all my fault. Hell, you're partly to blame for my parents too, aren't you? You were spying already by then, and you didn't do a bang-up good job of it, did you?"
"Harry--" Remus broke in.
"Let me talk," Harry interrupted right back, pacing to the end of the room and back as he assembled his thoughts. "All right. There's plenty of blame to spread around, and I'm not stupid enough to pretend that none of it's mine, no matter what platitudes you want to drench me with. But your other idea?" He laughed, the sound so harsh it bordered on a cackle. "I'm punishing myself? What a load of crap. I bet neither one of you has a psych degree, so just lay off analyzing me, all right? Think about it! Oh, sure, I'm punishing myself by losing touch with my magic! That makes sense, doesn't it? 'Cause now there'll be nobody to fulfill that prophecy, nobody to put an end to that snakelike shite once and for all. So loads more people can die, and I can feel even guiltier. Thanks for your sterling opinion of my character, but I am not that barmy!"
"He does have a point, Lupin," Severus replied after a moment.
"Yeah, he does," Harry mocked. "How old do I have to be before you stop talking over my head?"
"Speak to us with some respect," Snape rebuked. "Lupin's here to help you, as am I."
I'll speak however I damn well please, Harry wanted to scream back, but he knew his teacher was right. He'd vented, and got it all off his chest, and now it was time to take stock of the situation.
"So what's the plan?" Harry calmly asked them both as he leaned against the wall, rather enjoying their dumbfounded expressions. He supposed they had expected him to keep raving for a while longer. Maybe they were remembering the fact that he'd gone so out of control last year that he'd wrecked Dumbledore's office.
He could do something like that again, he knew. He was angry enough. Actually, he felt like that black energy from the cupboard had wormed its way right down into his injured marrow. But he wasn't going to explode with it, not any more than he had already. He was going to hold it together, and get the problem solved, like Remus had said.
Snape assessed Harry's calm facade for a moment, then explained the plan, as Harry had put it. "Lupin is going to tutor you to rouse your magic. He'll stay here with you as long as it takes, and for the time being, the rest of the Order will not visit headquarters. The less that is known of your . . . problem, the better. I must return to Hogwarts to resume my post, and my duties for the Order, but I will floo here each evening, as I can, to help you master Occlumency."