Strength in What Remains Behind

I was livid, and I had no idea why. My anger would have been understandable if I thought Professor Snape had staged that scene in an attempt to persecute me, but it had felt genuine, as if he really were attempting to give comfort. It was a little strange that he would go out of his way for me, given his usual attitude towards me. (I still had occasional nightmares filled with endlessly growing teeth, featuring a soundtrack of his cruel remark on loop.) Perhaps the kiss under the mistletoe...? I couldn't figure it out; too much of the man was a mystery.

Aside from being angry and confused, the whispers were already starting. I knew they were talking about me at dinner. I wondered briefly if Harry and Ron were defending me, or if they were spreading the rumors along with everyone else. Ginny made a rare appearance at dinner to ask me about what people were saying about me, but I was not up to the task of explaining. Fortunately, she recognized that and was perfectly willing to offer me consolation hugs and a shoulder to cry on when I needed it.

I went to bed early, as I was too mentally exhausted to even contemplate a little extra studying. I knew the next day would be difficult and I needed to be fully rested to deal with it. I don't remember if I dreamed of anything in particular, though I did not wake well-rested at all.

The next day proved to be just as bad as I had anticipated, if not worse. It felt like the eyes of the entire school were on me at breakfast. Every bite I tried to eat tasted like ash in my mouth, so I left and went to my first class of the morning early. That was the one of the few times during the school day that I was able to walk through the hallway unmolested.

It seemed the Slytherins were displeased that their Head of House would be paired with me in a clandestine relationship, even if only in rumor, and they were determined to have their revenge. It was torture going through the hallways. I couldn't relax for a second, and I had to be as fast as possible to avoid getting hexed. Even worse, no one bothered to help. I know for certain that Harry saw me desperately trying to avoid Blaise Zabini's fast flying hexes at one point in the day, but all he did was look away and continue down the hall. Did I really deserve that? I couldn't say, which possibly meant that I did.

The truly low point of the day came when I was pulled out of Arithmancy to speak to the Headmaster. It was terribly humiliating. I didn't know why Dumbledore wanted to see me, precisely, but I was sure it was about what had happened the day before. I wasn't sure if I was ready to talk about it yet. How could I explain what happened to another person if I couldn't explain it to myself?

By the time I was mounting the stairs to his office, the knots in my stomach had knots of their own. Once I was seated in front of his desk, the headmaster offered me a lemon drop, which I politely declined, and then the questioning began. It turned out much better than I had hoped. Though I did have to reveal the situation with me and the boys, it wasn't as painful to talk about as I had imagined. Something about the Headmaster made me feel comfortable talking to him. He had a soothing aura about him and he patiently listened to what I had to say. His questions, when they came, were direct and polite and in a tone that suggested that he was asking out of true concern for my well-being. By the time we were finished, I felt better than I had since the ball.

I wonder if that's what a therapy session is like.