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Chapter Nine—Reconsiderations

Harry walked up to Gryffindor Tower with his head bowed, so deep in thought that he almost stepped off the top of one of the moving staircases without noticing. He pulled his foot back just in time, but he scraped his elbow on the railing and stood there rubbing it while the staircase swung around.

Now he was on the opposite side of Gryffindor Tower from where he needed to be. Harry rolled his eyes and started down the new corridor. Sometimes he would have given a lot for Hogwarts to behave like an ordinary school. Not often, but sometimes.

He was trying to decide what to do about telling Dumbledore about Malfoy. And how he felt about Malfoy in general. And Snape, in general.

Snape had sounded cold and harsh to Harry when he talked to Malfoy. But if Harry took a few minutes to think about it, then everything actually did make sense. Malfoy couldn't stop working on his secret little project in case someone noticed. Of course there were spies in Slytherin. (That kind of impressed Harry, that Snape and Malfoy could both admit it instead of insisting all the spies were in Gryffindor). And the coldness seemed no worse than what Malfoy expected from Snape, so it didn't hurt his feelings.

Harry didn't like the discovery that his Defense professor could be reasonable and thoughtful some of the time. It made him have to consider decisions he had made and wonder if they were the wrong ones.

But then he remembered something else that made him relax. Malfoy's a Slytherin. Of course Snape is going to take care of him. That's why we went to him in the first place, remember? But he would never take care of a Gryffindor. How many times did Neville need some extra help in Potions? He would have been a lot better if someone had just taken the time to build up his confidence. But no, instead Snape made nasty taunts that reduced him to a whimpering mess.

Harry nodded, mouth set in a firm line. He'd made the right decision when he took Malfoy to Snape because he and Malfoy were different people. He had to remember that not everyone was like him. Snape didn't hate everyone in the entire world, and it was stupid to think he did. Harry was doing his best not to be stupid anymore, because he was fighting a bloody war.

But on the other hand, that made absolutely no difference in the way that Snape treated Harry. He would still hate it if he found out that he'd slept with Harry's mum. Harry rubbed his face and winced. Maybe Snape wouldn't try to starve him or shove him around like Uncle Vernon, but then, he didn't have to, did he? Snape had been a Death Eater, and he had to know curses that could do worse things than Uncle Vernon had ever dreamed of.

So Harry would trust Snape to take care of Malfoy, but not otherwise, which was why he turned aside to the Owlery after all and sent an owl to Dumbledore warning him about Malfoy.

He had to be sure, that was all. And trusting too blindly last year, in other people and his own abilities, had got Sirius killed.

*

Draco lay in his bed, attempting to take the same sort of soft, deep breaths that Theo and Blaise were taking. They were both calm sleepers. Draco had to be the same.

Someone would notice, otherwise.

But his mind would run riot, and after a while Draco gave up and lay staring at the faint lines of light from beneath his shut curtains (Greg always slept with a fairy light, since he was afraid of the dark). If someone asked later why he hadn't slept, he could always say he was "thinking" and give the asker a dark look.

He thought about Snape's words, and he thought about the humiliating way he'd broken down in the Room of Hidden Things, and he thought about that stupid cabinet and whether it would ever be repaired, and he thought about his mother—carefully, because his mind still flinched when he did that.

But most of all, he thought about Potter.

Draco had no idea what had got into Potter. The sensible thing to do would have been to walk away and leave Draco crawling in his own misery, or at least Stun him and hand him over to Dumbledore. Draco hadn't wanted that to happen, but he'd expected it.

Of course, this is Potter, he reminded himself, and smiled for the first time since Potter had forced the truth out of him. The sensible thing is the last action he'll take.

That left Draco to face up to the reality after his confession, which in some ways was worse. Potter had seen him at his absolute weakest. He hadn't taunted, he hadn't yelled, he hadn't decided Draco was a Dark wizard and deserved whatever the Aurors did to him. He'd tried to get Draco help instead.

Why?

Draco shook his head helplessly and passed his arm over his eyes. The Gryffindor was a mystery.

But a mystery Draco needed to watch, both because he needed to understand Potter and because he would feel much better if he could discover some secret of Potter's that would put them on an equal footing again. Some weakness he hid, something that would make his face look like Draco was certain his face had when he was about to cry.

Then I can be the one to make the choice and have the power.

*

"Acclaro veneficium perducens."

Severus spoke the spell with barely a trace of breath behind it, but with a willpower that made the Great Hall briefly shimmer before his eyes as the magic traveled outwards from him. It struck Potter where he sat at the Gryffindor table, impudently trying to steal a piece of sausage from his friend Weasley's plate.

The same glow as before brightened on his face—but nothing else whatever appeared. Severus hissed softly under his breath. He had been sure that his original spell hadn't revealed the magic Potter must have performed to make himself intelligent because that magic had been cast too long ago. But this one showed the continuing effects of any spell. Severus had expected the boy's head to turn bright like a crown.

No, only on the face. And as much as Severus would have liked to think that that was a sign of the particular Dark Arts he suspected, it simply embraced the boy's nose, cheekbones, and lines around his eyes, not the top or sides of his skull. There was no way that Potter could have influenced his brain from that position, even accidentally.

"Troubles, Severus?"

Severus turned sharply on Albus, then reminded himself that he was in the Great Hall during a meal, not kneeling in front of the Dark Lord during a spying mission. He inclined his head. "No, Headmaster. There are things about the Potter boy which puzzle me, however, and which I would figure out if I could."

"Ah." Albus smiled and asked Poppy, who sat on the other side of him, to pass the salt. Severus shook his head. Albus would have floated it over to himself only a few weeks ago. His commitment to this deception was extraordinary. But then, it would have to be, in order to fool the suspicious eyes of Severus's Slytherins. "I received an owl from Harry last night, you know. He told me about young Master Malfoy and the bargain you had offered him."

"Did he?" Severus kept his voice utterly cool, but mentally added a few cruel spells to the repertoire he planned to use on the boy that night.

"He also said," Albus went on, in that bland tone that could make you think him deaf to nuance if you were, "that he thought you had done the right thing, and that his contacting me like this was only a reassurance for himself, not a sign that he didn't trust you." He glanced at Severus, and of course his eyes were twinkling. "It seems that he repents of some of the misjudgments he has made down the years."

Severus grunted a little, letting himself absorb the shock as he would have a blow. No sign of intelligence-increasing magic on Potter, and yet he made declarations like these and seemed to mean them.

What had caused the change, then?

Severus hated curiosity this intense. It was like a snake devouring him from the inside, and it never eased until he had brewed the experimental potion or spoken to the person who caused it. His glance strayed towards Potter again. He was eating eggs with a hearty appetite now, pausing to flick bits of them at the back of Weasley's head.

You would never know there was talent hiding inside a skull that seems that thick, Severus thought. And yet, perhaps such a disguise is also part of the cleverness.

"Do you think he said those things in anticipation of your telling me about the message?" he asked suddenly.

Albus laughed. "Why, Severus, you know Harry isn't that subtle!" he exclaimed. "No, I think he said them because he knew I might hear the news twice, and he wanted to explain why he felt he had to contact me. And perhaps apologize a bit for his suspicions, but of course he is subtle enough to think he couldn't apologize directly."

Severus narrowed his eyes further. He has changed his mind about me a bit, then. Was he ever going to bother to inform me? Did he think I would mock and belittle him for it, or is it simply not important to him, that I know what he thinks of me?

Severus was not sure which possibility bothered him more.

*

"What are you making up for Divination?" It was their free period in the afternoon, and Ron was scribbling industriously away at the prediction, as usual. He and Harry had already agreed that each of them had to take turns selecting a horrid fate from a list of them they'd come up with at the Burrow, and the other person had to come up with one on their own that week. It was Ron's week to use the list.

"I came up with something wonderful," Harry said, propping his elbow on the floor so his hand could hold up his head. He and Ron were sprawled on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, right next to the fire. Hermione sat not far away on a chair, biting her lip and frowning. The air was deliciously warm, and he and Ron had bantered all afternoon, and Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this happy. "You're going to be so jealous of it."

Ron sneaked him an interested glance, but he yawned the next instant and stared down at his paper. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Harry rolled on his back and stretched his arms in the air. Hermione glanced sternly at him, so he sat up again. "So jealous."

"Let's see it, then." Ron held his hand out for Harry's paper.

"You have to promise not to steal it." Harry cradled the parchment close until Ron reluctantly nodded, and then he gave it over. He watched Ron's lips move, but he didn't have to, since he already knew what the paper said by heart. I had a dream about Lord Voldemort capturing me, taking my heart out, splitting it into seven pieces, making a pie from them, and feeding the pies to all my friends. Then he spitted my body on a pole and marched into battle with it as a flag.

"That's disgusting," Ron said with awe as he handed Harry's paper back. "Trelawney's going to love it."

"I know." Harry smiled and tucked his paper into his Divination book, then took out his just-started Potions essay and the Half-Blood Prince's book.

Hermione harrumphed. Harry raised his eyebrows at her. She had dropped several ominous warnings about the Potions book, but she hadn't said anything outright. If she hadn't, then he wasn't going to listen to her.

But apparently she was, because she put her book down on her lap, frowned at him, and said, "I don't think you should be tampering with that, Harry."

"Who's tampering?" Harry opened the book and turned the pages until he came to the latest shortcut. It seemed that blending a Calming Draught with silver oil gave you a powerful relaxation potion with the exact same effect as the tedious potion that Slughorn was trying to get them to brew. Harry started copying the instructions into his essay, changing words here and there so that it would look like he'd written it himself. "I'm just doing it the best way. A lot of the instructions he gives are safer than the ones we follow in class. I'd think you would want me to be safe." He shot Hermione a smile.

Hermione shook her head, her mouth pursed. "It's cheating, Harry."

"I offered to let you copy, too," Harry pointed out. He'd thought that was only fair, when Hermione had let him copy her notes so many times.

"That's not the point." Hermione folded her arms and stuck her lip out this time. "The point is that you don't really learn anything this way, Harry."

"I can remember the Prince's instructions for making Potions a fuck of a lot better than I can remember Slughorn's," Harry pointed out calmly, squinting at the page to make sure that the letter he thought looked like an "s" really was an "s." "And I never learned anything from Snape even after I had him in class for five years. At least this way I'm picking up something about Potions. Just not everything. But I think you and Snape and Malfoy are the only people who know everything."

Hermione got out of the chair and knelt down on the floor beside him. Startled, Harry looked up into her eyes. They were bright and earnest. She put a hand on his arm.

"You aren't stupid," she whispered. "You could get good marks if you just tried, Harry."

Harry blinked and licked his lips. That was a vote of confidence in him that he hadn't expected to get from Hermione, especially because she had seemed jealous when he started getting higher marks than she was in Potions, and he knew (although mentioning it got her upset) that part of the reason she was so angry was her jealousy. He wanted to say something back, to be nice, to admit she was right and close the book.

But he couldn't. He wasn't good in Potions like he was good in Defense. He wasn't good in most things the way he was good in Defense. Hermione didn't understand, because she was brilliant and it was effortless for her. Harry just wasn't that smart.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I like this book, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. I'm not giving it up."

Hermione stood and turned away from him without a word. The next minute, Harry saw her stiffen, and then she ran up the stairs to the girls' rooms as fast as she could go. Harry frowned and looked past her. Had she seen someone mistreating a book? It was usually the only thing that got her so upset.

Ron was standing next to Lavender, talking so intently to her that Harry wondered if they were comparing Divination homework. It was one of the few classes, other than Charms, they still had together.

Lavender tilted her head back and smiled up at Ron with an edge to the smile. Ron gave her a soppy grin in return.

I don't know why Hermione is so angry, Harry thought as he turned a page. Maybe they were discussing charms to burn up books.

*

Because he couldn't think of any better way to test his hypothesis about Potter's secrets immediately, Draco waited until he saw the Mudblood and the Weasel walk past on the way to Defense, Potter trailing behind them. Then he dropped into line next to him, nodded, and said, "Morning, Potter."

Potter turned and gaped at him. Draco sneered. It's no wonder that I didn't see any intelligence or compassion in him before this. He does a marvelous job of hiding it.

Draco glanced swiftly ahead, because if anything could break up this little discussion too soon it was Granger noticing them. But Granger and Weasley were talking in sufficiently heated voices that Draco didn't think they would look back any time soon. They did ignore Potter too much for someone who was supposed to be their best friend and the Savior of the Wizarding World, Draco thought idly. Too bad Potter never seemed to notice.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Potter's eyes were narrow and wary, his hand curled around his wand.

"To talk." Draco widened his eyes and made himself look as innocent as possible. "Isn't that what I'm doing?"

Potter glanced around several times, then ahead. When he seemed sure that his friends were all absorbed in each other, he turned back to Draco and hissed, "I haven't told anyone about you. I won't. There's no need for you to come over and—socialize like this." He spat the word "socialize" the way that Draco would say "Mudblood."

Draco grinned before he thought about it. Potter reared his head back, his nostrils flaring. "Something funny, Malfoy?"

"Merlin, you're sensitive," Draco murmured. He probably would have walked away then, except that Potter hadn't raised his voice enough to bring the rescue force running, and he easily could have. He wanted this talk to continue, then. Well, so did Draco. "Only this, Potter. I want to know why you spared me."

"I wasn't going to kill you, you prick." Potter had the gall to sound hurt by that, as though Draco had some good opinion of him which must be preserved in amber. Draco rolled his eyes. The papers shouldn't have decided to call him the Chosen One. That bit's gone to his head, even if nothing else has.

"I didn't mean that," Draco said. Another look ahead, but apparently Granger and Weasley had decided to shout at each other in the middle of the corridor, so all Draco and Potter had to do was stop walking. Of course, the shouting would attract attention in a moment, so Draco knew he had to be quick. "I meant, why did you keep my secret and try to help me instead of humiliating me in front of the school?"

"That's more your style." Potter's eyes were bright with fury.

"Oh, come off it, Potter," Draco snapped, oddly insulted, and not in the way that Potter had meant him to be. He'd expected Potter to be brighter than this. "You know what I mean. You saw me broken and weak. Why would you pass up a chance to display me like that to half the people we know?"

Potter kept silent. Maybe he'd picked up on the undertone of actual curiosity in Draco's voice, maybe not, but either way, it seemed to have given him something to chew over. Draco watched Weasley gesturing wildly and wondered if Potter would actually answer before his friends turned around and looked for him.

"Because you reminded me of me," Potter said lowly. "And I've had enough of that kind of humiliation."

He strode away from Draco then, his back so stiff that Draco expected him to fall over and shatter. Then he got between his arguing friends, and said something that made Granger gasp and run towards the Defense classroom. Probably a reference to the time, Draco noted, and began to walk a bit faster himself.

At least he had confirmation for his belief that there was something different about Potter now. The boy who had attacked him on the Quidditch Pitch last year would never have been able to see himself in an enemy.

Now Draco only had to find out what had caused him to begin having clearer eyesight.

*

"I'm here, sir."

Severus leaned back behind his desk and examined Potter in a leisurely way, wondering what his reaction would be. Potter's nostrils flared and his head gave an impatient little twitch, but he folded his hands behind his back and tried to bear Severus's scrutiny with composure. He didn't succeed.

That is another thing I will have to teach him, Severus decided as he rose to his feet and drew his wand.

"We will duel first," he said. "At the end of the evening, I will test your current level of Occlumency, and I will give you a book that I fully expect you to have read in a week's time. Do you understand, Potter?"

The boy's eyes flashed. "Of course, sir. None of those are huge words."

While the brat was distracted by his anger, Severus whispered a third confirmatory spell. Again the magic shone only on Potter's face, not above or below or behind it. That fixed Severus's suspicions. The boy was wearing a glamour.

Why? His face looked the same as it ever had, James Potter's to the life, so Severus could only suppose that it had changed in some way that Potter found necessary to conceal.

Why?

He must try to break the glamour during their session this evening and see what resulted.

"Then let us begin," he said, and launched his first spell, a non-verbal Breaking Curse, before he had finished speaking.

Potter yelped and ducked to the floor, letting the spell go overhead. Severus smiled and waited. The Breaking Curse worked only on flesh, not stone or glass or any other material. When it encountered the wall, it turned around and came back at Potter from behind. Would he notice, especially when he had not heard Severus pronounce the spell?

It seemed he did. He glanced over his shoulder instinctively, probably to gauge the damage the spell had done, and then rolled again, this time raising a Shield Charm followed by a concentric, spinning shield of light whose name Severus had to strain his mind to recall. He knew it better when the Breaking Curse went past the Protego shield, as it was designed to do, and the concentric light grew bright teeth that transfixed the curse and stopped it. Cadmus's Defense.

The boy sprang back to his feet, weaving other shields about himself, on the defensive for the moment. It was the best opportunity that Severus would have, if the record of their other fights held true and Potter caught him up in a flurry of spells—though now that he knew more about how Potter fought, Severus could hope the result would be different.

He aimed his powerful Finite for a gap between the shields, though it was difficult, with Potter whirling in every direction and covering the gaps with more and extra and smaller shields. Severus's first charm vanished, consumed in Cadmus's Defense, but his second got through, and hit at the perfect moment, just as Potter finished and turned to face him.

His face rippled like a pool of water with a stone cast into it, and reformed as higher and sharper next to the cheekbones, his nose slightly longer, his eyes set a bit further back into his face. But his eyes were still green, and his skin was still the same color, and his nose was not the bulbous, squat ugliness that Severus had secretly hoped for, and his hair was still tangled and messy—though having seen how precisely the glamour was laid, Severus had known that Potter's hair had not changed.

Severus blinked. He is so proud of his resemblance to his bully of a father that he cannot endure even a slight change?

The next instant, he was flying through the hair, caught by Potter's combined Blasting Curse and Disorientation Charm, so that there was nothing he could do to control or halt his flight before he hit the far wall.

"Yes!" Potter crowed in triumph.

Severus dragged himself back to his feet, growling in disgust. First he would chastise the brat by winning the duel, and next he would find out why such a slight change that did not even alter the face was worthy of so much protection.