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In another world, perhaps Snape wouldn't have stopped after announcing that he was to teach Harry Occlumency by Dumbledore's order. Perhaps, in that same universe, Snape had arrived alone, unaccompanied by Dumbledore himself and McGonagall, and wouldn't have been stopped by the two much more pleasant teachers when he tried to leave after the Weasleys' return, with a fully recovered Arthur Weasley.
Perhaps, in that universe, Harry wouldn't have exploded.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, they weren't in that universe.
And Harry's anger at being ordered to have Snape in his mind was fueled by the smooth looks Snape sometimes gave him, by the pitying looks McGonagall added, and, finally, by Dumbledore's decision not to even accidentally meet Harry's eyes, as if Harry were something that needed to be hidden, ignored, changed.
But what had really made Harry explode, what had pushed him over the edge, was Mrs. Weasley's remark—perhaps good-natured, certainly intended to help Harry—after she'd overheard the whispered conversation between Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had sat on either side of him, perhaps precisely to avoid what they both knew was coming.
Unfortunately, Harry had yelled at both of them often enough that year to make his feelings pretty clear.
"Oh, Harry dear, sometimes you just have to let the adults do their thing," Mrs. Weasley had said.
Harry didn't notice Ron and Hermione stiffen on either side of him, because he was completely focused on Mrs. Weasley.
"Let the adults do their thing?" Harry repeated, not quite grasping the concept because there wasn't a single adult who had helped him, barring Barty Crouch Jr., who had lent an ear to the poor little, mistreated orphan.
The anger in his eyes at the mention of the Dursleys hadn't been fake. Harry knew it.
At least someone had been outraged by what happened to him. Even if it was a Death Eater who wanted to kill him to bring Voldemort back to life.
"Of course, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley wasn't as good at reading Harry's mood as her son, because she continued with her thought as if Harry's expression hadn't hardened, "Leave it to the adults. We'll take care of it."
Harry didn't answer at first.
He'd been waiting his entire life for an adult to do something. To notice what was happening at the Dursleys, to explain to him what was happening at any given moment in his life, to believe him, to help him as he was continually sent to the center of disaster, to protect him. For someone to choose him.
"Of course. Let's leave it to the adults," Harry said finally, sarcastically. "That's what you've always told me, isn't it?"
Harry's gaze shifted to the three professors, daring them to argue with him.
“At least until I needed to fix the situation, right?”
Snape and McGonagall looked offended, but Dumbledore didn't even spare him a glance.
And that was what made Harry explode.
“LOOK AT ME, DAMN IT!” Harry shouted, oblivious to the worried way Sirius, Hermione, and Ron were looking at him, the slightest flinch from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and Lupin, and the appraising glances from Fred, George, and Bill. “AM I USEFUL WHEN YOU NEED TO SEND ME INTO A FUCKING MAZE TO DIE, BUT NOT TO BE WATCHED NOW?”
Dumbledore flinched, finally meeting Harry's gaze. “Harry, I understand your anger, but you must understand that Professor Snape needs to teach you Occlumency now…”
“Absolutely necessary?” Harry growled. “WELL, I DON'T CARE! IF I NEED IT FOR VOLDEMORT, FACE HIM YOURSELF!”
“Potter, you have to calm down now…” McGonagall interrupted, but Harry glared at her.
“SHUT UP!” Harry shouted at her. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO! NONE OF YOU DO!”
Then Harry looked at Dumbledore, who was still staring at him.
“I begged you not to send me to the Dursleys again, to make me go anywhere else, but that was necessary, too,” Harry said, still shouting. "It was necessary for me to be locked in a cupboard for eleven years, to be told that my parents were drunks who'd been in an accident that killed them, that they didn't want me, that my mother was a whore and my father a layabout and that they'd left me to the charitable Vernon and Petunia, poor angels. It was necessary for me to be beaten every day for eleven years, for the Malfoys' house-elf to be treated better than I was, for no one to help me when Dudley and his gang were chasing me all over Privet Drive!"
Harry vaguely noticed that the Weasleys had looked horrified and furious, that McGonagall had covered her mouth in horror, as had Mrs. Weasley, and that Snape was staring at Dumbledore for some unknown reason, and that Sirius and Remus had narrowed their eyes at the description of Harry's childhood.
"I've already explained to you, my dear boy, that they were supposed to protect you from Voldemort and his followers," Dumbledore said.
"AND WHO PROTECTED ME FROM THEM?" Harry exploded, throwing up his arms. "And don't call me my dear boy. You have no right."
Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Harry continued.
"And then, I was introduced to the wizarding world." Harry laughed bitterly. "Where everyone knows things about me and decides whether I have the right to know about my life, my family!"
"Now, don't..." Dumbledore tried to speak, but Harry stopped him.
"You knew there was something wrong with Quirrell, and you left only Snape to do something about it?" Harry asked, pointing to Dumbledore. “You made a fucking obstacle course that three eleven-year-olds ran to protect the Philosopher's Stone and lure Voldemort into a trap, and then you didn't even bother to stop us?”
“I told you to stay out of it.” McGonagall intervened, but Harry glared at her.
“SHUT UP!” Harry shouted. “You took twenty points off Malfoy and one hundred and fifty off the three of us, and then you did nothing to stop the bullying they were doing against me, Hermione, and Neville!” Harry exclaimed. “You turned Hogwarts into a fucking circus and you all thought you were exempt from doing your fucking job!” Harry continued to stare at her. “How come Snape was the only fucking adult doing his job? Snape! You forced someone you despise to protect your students! How can you even look at yourself in the mirror, Professor? You tell yourself you did everything you could? You told yourself that unfortunately, I'm just like my father and there was no way you could stop me from going after Voldemort?”
McGonagall looked down, but Harry hadn't finished.
“You didn't do anything. You just turned away and let students do your job,” Harry said cruelly, enjoying McGonagall's gasp. “But given that all the members of the original order were in their twenties at most, I'm not surprised. They're dead; you two are here in perfect health.”
This time, Dumbledore also flinched at that remark.
“Harry…” Hermione had tears in her eyes, but Harry looked at Dumbledore.
“Death is just another great adventure,” Harry quoted, growling. “I watched Quirrell die, I almost died, and you were just laughing at the research we did! How can you call yourself a headmaster? How can you think that’s okay?”
Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Harry spoke up. “I was eleven, and you would have let me die to prove a point.”
Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had started to cry.
Harry ignored them. Tears wouldn’t do much.
“And then, I come back to my lovely family, get locked in my room by my relatives who hate magic, as you know,” Harry said, glaring at Dumbledore, “and if it hadn’t been for Ron, Fred, and George, I’d be dead! I hadn’t eaten in three days! I didn’t even think I’d make it to the weekend!”
Fred, George, and Ron gasped, and Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand.
Bill, from across the table, had stopped his mother with a startling leap, as she looked about to embrace Harry.
It wasn't the right time, Bill could see. Harry still had a lot to say.
"I've been ostracized by the entire school again, and you didn't even think to tell the students I had nothing to do with it!" Harry shouted, pointing at Dumbledore and McGonagall. "And when Ginny was kidnapped, who did you send? Lockhart! It was like he wanted her dead!"
Ginny gasped.
Harry stared at the teachers. "I was twelve and I had to fight a fucking Basilisk! It wasn't my job!"
He didn't regret it, but it wasn't his job.
Harry shouldn't have to be forced to overcome his fears.
“And then, oh, Sirius escapes, suddenly I'm being watched everywhere I go! But no one thinks to tell me who Sirius was to me. No one thinks to tell me he was my godfather, that he was hunting me, that he was dangerous, and why. No one tells me my parents trusted anyone enough to tell them where they were hiding, and no one told me Sirius took refuge with my father when he had to escape from his relatives, because then I would have told them they were wrong. Because I would have seen Sirius the way I saw myself, and I would know I'd rather die than betray Ron!” Harry noticed the way Ron smiled slightly, and the way Sirius grew worried, his brow furrowed.
“You all knew everything!” Harry pointed to Lupin, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. “I'll excuse Snape, because I don't expect him to be any help anyway, but what about you? You were cowards and hid, letting me discover the truth little by little, driving me slowly mad!” Harry screamed. “And then? Sirius is innocent, you believe it and do nothing?” Harry looked at Dumbledore. “Why didn't you use your position to insist on a trial? Why didn't you push Madam Bones to give Sirius a fucking trial? Why did Hermione and I have to sort this out, causing me to lose the only family I could have?”
Harry swallowed, blinking back tears, before continuing.
“And don't even get me started on the Tournament!” Harry shouted. “You put up the protection, you were supposed to make sure no minors participated! Why did I have to participate? Why didn't any of the teachers stop the other students when they started hitting me, saying I was surely going to die, and attacking me? Why did the teachers join in?” Harry spread his hands. “Dragons, mermaids, a maze full of deadly creatures! And no one noticed a Death Eater in the castle! No one realized Moody wasn't Moody!”
Snape and McGonagall turned to Dumbledore, who had closed his eyes.
“And I was kidnapped, tortured, had to watch Cedric die, and then let Voldemort have his fun in front of his followers!” Harry screamed. “I was alone, with my parents’ murderer, the one who sold them, and all the nice Slytherin parents here!” Harry pointed to the scar on his arm. “He tortured me with the Cruciatus! Twice!” Harry ignored the gasps of the adults around him, focusing on Dumbledore. “I come back and say Voldemort is back, and I have to watch the wizarding world turn me into his enemy just to avoid admitting that Voldemort is back! And then, what, I’m supposed to kill him? For a world I owe nothing to?”
“And then, I go back to the Dursleys, and I’m isolated, on your orders, from my friends!” Harry exclaimed. “Left alone to see Cedric’s death every night, over and over again, telling myself that if I hadn’t tried to be honorable, if I’d been selfish, he’d still be alive! He had a future, a life, and because of your mistakes, he’ll have nothing left!”
“Oh, Harry…” Mrs. Weasley whispered.
“You put surveillance on me, and I was still forced to protect myself from Dementors. I get expelled in front of my aunt and uncle, who were thrilled to know that a fucking homicidal maniac has come back to life to kill me, and my uncle gleefully says I have to go out so I can be killed.” Harry screamed. “No one tells me a damn thing about what’s going on, and then we’re back at Hogwarts, with Umbridge and her detentions!” Harry raised a hand, his detention hand, showing the table his bloody hand, the scars that would never go away. I must not lie. “You tell me to keep my head down,” Harry pointed to McGonagall, who was looking at Harry’s hand in horror, “and you won’t even look me in the eye while you let Umbridge turn Hogwarts into a prison!” He added, turning to look at Dumbledore.
Harry pointed to Snape. “And now you come along and decide that he, the teacher who hates me the most and who hates my father for what happened when he was a teenager, over a decade ago, must protect my mind. What if it goes as badly as everything else in my life after an adult tries to make it better, or pretends to?” Harry exclaimed. “And then, why? Why should I let him see these things? My entire life? To him?”
Dumbledore didn’t answer, and Harry continued.
“You tell me to wait, to let the adults do their thing, so where were these adults?” Harry asked. “Where were the adults when I was eleven? Where were they when I couldn't even understand why my aunt and uncle hated me? Where were they when Voldemort came back?” Harry shook his head. He wasn't screaming anymore.
“When exactly should I have waited?” Harry asked, spreading his arms. “You can't ask me to trust you to intervene when my whole life has taught me that if I wait, no one will come.”
“I wanted to protect you,” Dumbledore said wearily, looking up at Harry.
“You can't protect me now by asking me to become the waiting boy again,” Harry replied. “That boy died in a cupboard under the stairs when no one cared enough to open that damned door.”
***
Afterward, there was talk of Prophecies. Of Dark Lords and the extinction of the seventh month.
Talk Harry didn't want to hear, perhaps he wasn't even ready to hear, but it was the only thing he needed to hear.
Afterward, the three professors left, leaving the kitchen and the house, Harry's anger drained away.
His gaze shifted to those who remained: the Weasleys, who were looking at him with a scale of concern, anger, indignation, and horror; Sirius and Lupin, whose faces seemed to be marked by guilt.
"Sorry." Harry muttered, looking down, realizing how much he'd shouted.
How it must have seemed to the Wesleys and Ginny that his complaints were about his life. How his complaints in third year must have seemed to Sirius, and what he'd had to do to save Sirius's life.
"Oh, Harry." Mrs. Weasley sniffed loudly, getting up and walking toward Harry.
But it wasn't her who reached Harry first.
No, it was Sirius who, wasting no time, wrapped Harry in a tight embrace, enveloping him and protecting him for once.
"You don't have to apologize for anything." Sirius growled, speaking into Harry's ear. "I'm sorry I wasn't there before, but I'm here now."
Harry, hesitantly, fearing that even that comfort would be taken away, wrapped his arms around Sirius.
"Thank you." Harry murmured, resting his head on his godfather's shoulder.
Perhaps, just perhaps, hope really was the last to die.