Thank goodness for Occlumency, Harry thought, and then almost laughed. He and Snape really had come a long way since last year.
Feeling a little more confident, he left the room to find his family.
Snape was alone at the dining table, a cup of tea in his hand. A plate was waiting for Harry, heaps of food piled on it, a slight haze proving a warming charm was in effect. His wand was lying neatly beside the plate, almost as though it were a piece of silverware.
"Thanks," said Harry, pocketing his wand before sitting down to tuck in. For some reason he was absolutely starving. Maybe because of all the stress the night before. "Where's Draco?"
Snape laid aside the parchment he'd been reading. Huh. Some Ministry proclamation, from the look of it. Oh, about the need for more Aurors. Harry felt his heartbeat increase, just a little. But then it slowed. Who was going to want an Auror with problems like his?
"Your brother has gone to Slytherin to collect his things."
Harry swallowed the bite of porridge in his mouth. "Oh. He's going to move back early, too, I guess. Is that wise? I mean, his House mates might think he can't tough it out."
"Ever since the Quidditch match, Draco has regained much of his former status." Snape shrugged. "If you must know, I expressed the same concern. Draco pointed out that as term only lasts two more weeks, his absence wouldn't be terribly significant. He was adamant however about being here for you."
That was kind of nice, Harry thought.
"You will find your own things returned to your trunk," added Snape. "The trunk I lent you is back in storage. If you would like to use it again next year, you need merely let me know."
All at once, Harry lost his appetite. "What's that, some sort of positive thinking technique you got from that book? Why would I need a spare trunk next year? I'll still have to live here!"
"You most certainly will not. We'll resolve this issue long before then."
"How?" asked Harry bleakly. "Are you going Muggle book-shopping again? Because I've never heard of a wizard having a problem like this."
"You might be surprised," murmured Snape, the words just a little dark. "My first year teaching here, I had a student in class who was similarly distraught."
Oh . . . Harry could feel his ears perking up. "Um, did he get better, then?"
Snape gave him an odd look. "She, Harry. I don't believe this particular . . . response to stress is limited to young men."
Huh. Harry had sort of figured it was, but he couldn't have said why. "So what happened to her?"
At that question, Snape sighed. "I don't know. Albus and I both tried our best to help her, as well as the then Head of Slytherin. They with more success, no doubt, as I was myself not in the best frame of mind that year."
Harry knew what that meant. If it had been Snape's first year teaching, it wouldn't have been long since he'd given up being a Death Eater in every sense of the word. "How can you not know what happened to her, though?"
"She never returned the next year. I believe Albus made inquiries, but the family had left England. They had been informed, of course. Whether they went abroad to get her expert help, or for some other reason, I have never known."
For some other reason . . . Harry had a horrible feeling that he knew what that meant. What if this girl had done what Harry was afraid he'd accidentally do? What if she'd hurt herself so badly that she'd bled to death before she could get to help? He gulped, all at once feeling frantic. "No offence, Dad, but if you never managed to help her, then what makes you think you can help me?"
"I care more about you," said Snape bluntly. "I'll stop at nothing. As well, I'm in a better position to help, these days. But in point of fact, Harry, I don't propose to deal with this alone. Just as you came to me for assistance, I too will need help."
That made sense, but still . . . "Not the headmaster. I don't want him to know!"
Snape looked as though he might dispute that, but in the end, he merely lifted his shoulders. "You're nearly of age. I suppose you're old enough to decide with whom you share personal information. I wasn't thinking specifically of Albus, though."
"Oh. Marsha." Harry grimaced, his gaze drawn to the parchment lying on the table.
"There's no shame in seeking expert help," insisted Snape, misreading his expression. "I don't believe you think ill of Draco on account of his sessions."
"No, it's not that." Harry gulped. He'd never considered before how the therapy might affect Draco's chances of becoming an Auror. Now, it sort of looked hopeless for the both of them.
Snape's voice was impatient. "What, then?"
"Well, the Ministry does a pretty thorough background check on anybody who wants to work for MLE, don't they? You might say there's no shame in . . . whatever, but I'm Harry Potter! I mean, you know how the name thing works. I can't have people convinced I'm mental. It was bad enough fourth year with Rita Skeeter making me out to be some kind of nutter. But now I want to go into the Auror Corps. How many strikes against me do you think they'll put up with? I'm already pretending to be a dunce at magic!"
"I see your point," murmured Snape. "The Aurors deciding your application will obviously be informed of the ruse we've been employing. It won't keep you out of Magical Law Enforcement."
"Oh, and Voldemort's going to just believe that the Ministry takes weak wizards on as Aurors?"
"He'll think you were accepted on your name. Or possibly to protect you by keeping you in the company of Aurors a good deal of the time."
"Oh."
"Getting back to your concerns about meeting with Dr. Goode, however, what makes you think that the Ministry will ever know?"
"Magic," said Harry, staring. "They probably monitor . . . everything!"
"I'm astonished you could believe the Ministry so very competent," said Snape dryly.
"I don't, but--"
"The good doctor is, as I believe you know, a squib, Harry. I can assure you with every confidence that the Ministry is not monitoring her office."
"Rita Skeeter used to like to follow me around, though--"
"Harry, I will accompany you to every session, as I do for Draco. If any reporter thinks to make capital out of your presence in her office, I will claim the sessions are entirely for me. Will that do? Or have you some new objection?"
"I don't object." Harry sighed. "I just don't want it to kill my career plans, all right? Those matter to me. Auror's all I've wanted to do, ever since I found out there was such a thing."
Snape didn't look too happy to hear it. And no wonder, considering his opinion of Aurors. But Kingsley Shacklebolt was a good one, and so was Tonks. And Harry and Draco would be, too. Their father would be all right with them doing that for a living.
Harry hoped.
"So, Marsha," he said, nodding. "All right. I just hope she doesn't stare at my scar so much this time. That gets old fast."
Snape's lips twitched. "I've no doubt that by now, you brother has acquainted her with all the less than salutary aspects of your personality. Doubtless she'll be able to regard you as less of a hero, now."
"Just Harry. That's all I want. I hate people making a fuss over me--"
"I know," said Snape gently. "Now, to practical matters. Shall I arrange for you to see the good doctor today?"
Harry arms started itching as he shook his head. "It's Sunday."
"I'm sure she'll see you--"
"Yeah, I'm sure she will. But I want to be just Harry, remember? Not some celebrity she makes special arrangements for."