20. The DA.

The door to the kitchens opened to a bustle of activity as the House Elves hurried around, preparing things for the next meal. Reassuringly normal odours assaulted Snape's nose as he stepped into the room, telling him that at least the House Elves were not experimenting again. His keen eyes scanned the room for evidence of the House Elf he needed to speak with, knowing that, due to the hour, he was more likely to be able to find him here rather than calling him away from his work.

"Master Snape," Dobby said, hurrying up to him, "is there something Master is wanting?"

Snape nodded, glancing around the room warily, noticing as he did so that several elves had turned to him in surprise. It was not often that he came down to the kitchens, after all. "Yes, Dobby, but not here. This is a private matter," he murmured, leading the way out of the kitchen and to a smaller supply room nearby, where there was no one in sight.

"Master Snape is wishing for Dobby to do something secret?" The elf asked, hopping up and down in an excitement that could never be restrained.

"You know Harry Potter."

Dobby's bounces became more pronounced and enthusiastic. "Yes, sir, Dobby is knowing Harry Potter, sir."

"Good," he replied, though personally he was at a loss to understand why Dobby appeared so excited about such a prospect as knowing Potter. "I need you to tell him something, but only if he speaks of it first, do you understand?"

"Dobby understands, sir, Dobby would do anything for Harry Potter."

As would everybody else, he noted with disdain. "If he mentions needing a room for practice, you must tell him of the Room of Requirement."

Dobby's eyes widened. "Dobby is not knowing where that is sir. Dobby has never been needing to."

"I will show you. If Potter shows curiosity about the room, you must tell him of it, but do not under any circumstances mention that I showed you where it is."

"Dobby understands, sir."

"Good. You will also not mention this conversation to anyone." At Dobby's nod of understanding, he began walking. "Then follow me."

oOo

A few days later found the three officers in the Room of Requirement; McCoy arguing with Spock, while Kirk watched with an expression torn between amusement and exasperation.

"We're not supposed to know they're coming, remember?" McCoy screeched.

"We overheard their conversation in the pub, Doctor."

"But that's not the point! If they do manage to get in here, they'll see all of the cushions and books laid out and wonder how we knew they'd come here!"

"That is not an issue."

"What the hell do you mean? Of course it damn well is! You know what Snape told us!"

"He merely instructed us to appear unsuspecting," Spock said patiently.

"EXACTLY!" McCoy exploded. "How is this," he gestured the room around him, "unsuspecting?"

"We can simply claim that we are using these facilities."

"Duh!"

"You've been around teenagers too long," Kirk said quietly as he popped another kernel of popcorn into his mouth.

"God damn it Jim!" McCoy yelled, rounding on him, "don't you start that now! And is that...popcorn?"

"It sure is." Another kernel went into the mouth.

"You're insufferable."

"You were arguing with Spock," Kirk pointed out, giving the Vulcan an apologetic look as McCoy diverted his attention once more.

"We have to pack this back up."

"Doctor, you were not listening to me."

"We have to pack this back up now!"

"You are being highly illogical. There is no reason for us to pack up the equipment, as it will evidently be needed by-"

"We have visitors," Kirk said quietly, nodding at the doorway where a wide eyed group of teenagers were clustered, watching the argument. "Come in," he beckoned.

"I hope we're not interrupting anything..." Hermione began, glancing between Spock and McCoy.

"Only a raging argument that I'm quite happy to post pone," Kirk said cheerfully.

"What's all this?" Harry asked, indicating the cushions and books around the room.

McCoy glared at Spock, who calmly began an explanation. "We were utilising this equipment to further our knowledge of defence."

"You can't do magic," Ron pointed out.

"Nevertheless, we can acquaint ourselves with it."

"What about the cushions?" Harry continued.

"As Starfleet officers we must maintain our practice of self defence."

"Oh," the three teenagers finally said. Spock gave McCoy the Vulcan equivalent of 'told you so'. McCoy sulked.

"We can show you some techniques," Kirk offered. "I'm sure Spock would be glad to show you the Vulcan Nerve Pinch."

The door opened again and several more people stepped in, followed shortly by another small group.

"Er...we told the group that they could meet here," Harry began. "Dobby told us that there was a Room of Requirement here which we could use..."

"You're looking at it," Kirk said cheerfully.

"We can always use an empty classroom," Hermione said quickly, already leading the others out.

Kirk stepped in front of them. "Since you're all already here and the room is big enough, how about you practice here from now on?"

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea..."

Kirk grinned at Hermione. "We're all trained in physical combat, Harry's trained in magical combat. Together, we can teach you how to fight."

"And we already know about the group," McCoy added, "so you won't be risking its secrecy."

"That's true..." Hermione considered.

"Is that a yes?" Kirk asked.

"I suppose so."

"Great! Is everyone here?"

"I think so," Harry replied, glancing around the room even as Hermione took out the sheet and started counting.

"Everyone's here," she affirmed after a few moments.

"Let's get started then," Kirk said, drawing over a cushion and sitting on the floor. Everyone else followed him until the three Gryffindors were at the front of the room, standing up. "We'll lead the physical combat sessions," he added at seeing their confused expressions, "but this is indoctrination."

Harry cleared his throat and glanced around the room nervously. "Well, I've been thinking about the stuff we ought to do first and – er-" Hermione had raised her hand. "What, Hermione?"

"I think we ought to elect a leader."

"Harry's leader."

"Yes," Hermione continued regardless, "but I think we ought to vote on it properly. It makes it more formal and gives him authority. So – everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?"

Everyone raised their hands, though some looked as though they would prefer not to.

"Er – right, thanks. And – what Hermione?"

"I also think we ought to have a name. It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?"

Angelina looked hopeful. "Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?"

"I'd vote for that," McCoy added.

"Or the Ministry of Magic are Morons Group?" Fred asked.

"...Maybe not that," McCoy whispered to Kirk.

"I was thinking," Hermione continued, "more of a name that didn't tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings."

"The Defence Association? The DA for short, so no one knows what we're talking about?"

There were several murmurs of agreement.

"Yeah, the DA's good," Ginny put in, "Only let's make it stand for Dumbledore's Army, because that's the Ministry's worst fear, isn't it?"

"Now that," Kirk said appreciatively, "is irony."

"All in favour of the DA?" Asked Hermione, although technically Harry was in charge. Everyone put up their hands. "That's a majority – motion passed."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Have you considered entering the legal profession?"

"I haven't actually," Hermione replied in surprise.

"You'd be good at it," Ron added. "You can argue till the cows come home."

"Only when I'm against someone who lets me, Ron," she replied. "You three had better sign this now that you're officially members," she added, handing the parchment of signatures to the three officers.

"Wait," someone said, "he's a Slytherin. He'll just go running off to tell Umbridge."

"You saw how he defended us against her in the first lesson," Hermione said reasonably. "Besides, I've charmed the paper. Once he signs, we'll know if he tells anyone." No one else protested after that, though many still looked doubtful.

She passed it to Kirk, who then passed it to McCoy, who passed it to Spock, who took forever writing down his name.

"What are you doing," McCoy asked, "writing a note?"

"I am writing my name, Doctor."

"Really?" Kirk asked, "Let me see." Spock finished writing and handed over the paper to Kirk. "That's one long name," he whistled.

McCoy snatched the paper from him. "How do you pronounce that?" He asked, even turning the paper upside down in an attempt to make more sense of it.

"The simpler version is pronounced 'S'chn T'gai Spock'," he answered.

"Shin T-kay Spock," McCoy copied.

"Negative."

"Congratulations Bones, you just butchered our First Officer's name."

"Well then...what's the longer version?"

"Considering the fact that you cannot pronounce the simple version, I do not believe it would be wise to tell you." He handed the parchment back to Hermione, who placed it on the wall and scrawled the name of the group on top of it.

"Right," Harry said, quickly regaining control of the situation, "shall we get practising then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is Expelliarmus, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it's pretty basic, but I've found it really useful-"

"Oh please," Zacharias Smith moaned, rolling his eyes, "I don't think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?"

"Perhaps," McCoy growled, "you should just listen to him since he obviously has much more experience than you do."

Smith opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cut off all protests. "I've used it against him, and it saved my life in June. But if you think it's beneath you, you can leave."

No one moved.

"Ok, I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice. Er...you three should probably just stand to the side."

"Fine by us," Kirk said, sauntering over to a corner, dragging over a bean bag and sitting on it. "Though I wish we could do magic," he murmured once practice had begun and they were left to watching the groups.

"As do I. It might prove significantly useful."

"Of course, Bones will think we're nuts," Kirk quipped, digging his other friend in his side.

"I do," McCoy replied dutifully, "but I also think that you have a point. If we ever got caught by the Death Eaters, we'd be dead."

"That is not the only outcome, Doctor."

"Right, of course. I forgot to mention 'severely mutilated'," McCoy drawled.

"We'll find a way to defend ourselves," Kirk assured him.

"How? We haven't even been able to do subconscious magic, which apparently we should."

"Professor Snape stated that it is a possibility," Spock said, "however, until we find ourselves under duress or other such pressing circumstances, we cannot know for certain."

"I'll just remember that when we're 'under duress' then," McCoy muttered.

"You as a Doctor should know that danger causes the body to do extraordinary actions which would under any other circumstances prove impossible. The adrenalin combined with the survival instinct could in fact lead us to perform magic, although we may have no conscious awareness of it."

"I hope you're right," McCoy said doubtfully.

An eyebrow rose. "I usually am."

Kirk laughed at that. "Vulcan humility never ceases to amaze me."

"Once again Jim, stop stealing my lines. I have enough trouble in this universe without you stealing my identity along with my hypos."

"I did nothing to your hypos," he said innocently.

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Doctor, you are being highly-"

"Illogical," McCoy finished with a slight grin, despite his gruff tone. "Come up with some new insults for me. Consider that homework."

"You wish me to do so at this moment?"

"Why not? We might as well keep talking while we're watching them."

"Idiot."

"You need to work a bit harder, Spock," McCoy instructed, a grin now plastered across his face. "I'm not feeling the emotional sting."

"Doctor, this is hardly appropriate-"

"I can make your life a living hypo hell when we get back to the Enterprise," McCoy warned as evilly as he could but failing dramatically, much to Kirk's amusement.

"Very well. I would certainly not wish to suffer from the hypo mania which you seem to enjoy cultivating."

"Still not feeling it."

Kirk, in the background, was snorting to an actual rhythm in his desperate attempts not to laugh.

"You are an over-emotional, over-bearing psychopathic hypo wielder who bears an uncanny resemblance to Sweeny Todd, to the extent that, should I not be more versed in your heritage, I would suspect you of being a descendant."

McCoy gaped at him. "Better..." he coughed, "but try to make it sound a little less...Vulcanised."

"That is my only possible speech pattern."

"Really?" Kirk chuckled, his face turning decidedly red from lack of oxygen. "You've never said anything with bad grammar?"

"I abhor such an action," Spock replied seriously.

"Say 'what in Sam Hill do you think you're doing'," McCoy requested.

"Who is Sam Hill?"

"Never mind that," McCoy snapped, "just say it!"

"I see no reason to repeat a statement which I do not comprehend."

"Pretend you're acting."

"Doctor, acting is equally illogical."

"You're insufferable," McCoy finally grumbled. "One of these days," he warned, "I will get you to say it!"

"I highly doubt that you would achieve that goal, Doctor."

"Do you doubt 'highly' enough to bet on it?"

A raised eyebrow was his only answer.

"Come on Spock," Kirk encouraged, "for me?" He batted his eyelashes ridiculously to many snorts from McCoy and another raised eyebrow from Spock.

"That never has worked and never will, Jim."

"Think of it as a study in human customs," Kirk said, ignoring McCoy completely.

"I have already had the opportunity to carry out such studies."

"But did you ever participate in any?"

"Negative."

McCoy, who could see where this was going, stayed quiet, struggling to keep a grin off his face, even as Kirk grew serious. "Then think of it as a further opportunity to study us. You can't get complete data unless you field test it."

Spock seemed to mull this over for a moment. "...Very well."

"I'll act as witness," Kirk said immediately, allowing the wide smile to stretch his features, "now that Spock has seen things logically..."

"Right," McCoy said, trying not to laugh, "Spock, I bet that one day I will get you to say that phrase."

"Which phrase was that Bones?" Kirk asked, latching on immediately to what McCoy was planning.

"I have no idea, maybe Spock remembers."

"The phrase was "what in Sam Hill are you doing"," Spock deadpanned, his eyes twinkling.

"That was easy," McCoy crowed. "I win the bet!"

"You did not."

"What do you mean?" McCoy sputtered. "You just said it."

"I had not yet committed myself to the bet, and we had not yet formulated an appropriate time period within which you are to attempt to force me to repeat the phrase. Therefore, the bet is not yet valid."

"Damn it!"

"He's got you there, Bones."

"Alright," McCoy sputtered, "let's set up the damn 'parameters' then."

"Personally," Kirk butted in, "I think that you should only try to get him to say it while we're here. In this universe," he clarified.

"We may remain here for an undetermined period of time," Spock pointed out.

"Or forever," McCoy added.

"Doctor, as physical beings it is impossible for us to live forever."

"Never mind."

"Think of it as an incentive," Kirk interrupted, "to get back. If, by the time we have returned to the Enterprise, Spock has not said the phrase, Spock wins the bet. If he has said it, then Bones wins."

"And if we never get back?" McCoy asked.

"Then we'll probably have forgotten about the bet since we'd be old and grey," Kirk said cheerfully. "Any more questions? Right, seal it in blood."

"Blood?" McCoy squawked. "Jim, have you completely lost your mind?"

"Of course, but I was just joking about the blood," Kirk shot back. "Well, let's classify the bet as sealed, shall we, and effective immediately?"

"Right. I forgot," McCoy said impishly, "Spock, what was it on again?"

Spock stared at him. "You have already attempted that tactic, Doctor. Surely even you cannot have such a short term memory."

"I did it!" Neville suddenly bellowed. "I disarmed Harry!"

Everyone gaped at him, until Kirk grinned and encouraged a short round of applause, to which Neville blushed considerably. He grinned back at them, obviously heartened by his success.

"Harry was not focusing on-"

McCoy promptly stamped on his foot, causing a sharp intake of breath but otherwise no sound.

"Did you have sufficient reason for attacking my foot?"

"Let him have his moment."

"Surely he deserves to know the truth," Spock pointed out.

McCoy turned to glare at him. "You may not understand this, Spock, but Neville has practically no confidence when it comes to anything other than Herbology. If letting him think he did this fair and square will boost his confidence, then we'll let him believe it happened," he said quietly. "A boost in confidence is what he needs."

"I do not understand," Spock said. "He may discover the truth and-"

"No he won't," McCoy growled, "because we won't tell him. He needs this Spock. If you don't understand what I'm trying to tell you then at least listen to my judgement as a trained psychologist."

"Very well."

The conversation promptly lagged as a girl's hair caught fire and Kirk immediately bounded out of his seat, running instinctively towards the commotion.

"Uh oh," McCoy muttered, obviously having recognised some danger in letting Kirk go leaping across the room like a sprinting Gazelle.

"Doctor?"

"There's no way we can stop him..." McCoy muttered hopelessly, having half risen off of his cushion.

Spock stared before his eyes widened in understanding. "...I see. It appears that we may have some indignation to deal with momentarily..."

Meanwhile Kirk, who had reached the girl, had thrown a blanket over her head. "Get down on the floor," he instructed.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" The muffled voice screamed.

"We need a glass of water," Kirk told the room at large. "Batting out the fire would be too painful..."

"Oh lord," McCoy moaned as a pitcher of water appeared in Kirk's hands and he promptly poured it over both the girl and the blanket.

Kirk bowed and lifted the sodden blanket off of an equally sodden head, which was scowling at him. "And hey presto the fire is gone!" He announced to a room of stunned teenagers.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" The girl screeched, jabbing her finger into his chest angrily and with enough force to leave a bruise.

"You're welcome," Kirk said uncertainly.

"You idiot!" The girl screamed. "I could have drowned!"

"She's overreacting a bit more than I thought she would," McCoy murmured.

"Perhaps she is a relation, Doctor?" Spock asked innocently.

"Shut up."

"Your hair was on fire," Kirk said reasonably, obviously beginning to understand why she was upset. "I was the first on the scene and I can't do magic, so I had to compromise."

"You could have waited for someone who could do magic to put out the fire!" She bellowed. "Like me, for instance! I'm the closest one to it!"

"She has a point," McCoy muttered.

"And risk your hair getting burnt off?" Kirk demanded. "Would you have preferred to be bald?"

"I was getting to it."

"Well there's no point arguing about it now," Hermione interrupted. "The fire is out."

"I'm wet!" The girl screeched.

"It's not the apocalypse," Kirk sighed, having finally lost his patience with her. "You can just use a charm to dry yourself, can't you?"

The girl opened her mouth to argue, then shut it again, glaring at him.

"You're welcome," Kirk said again, retreating to his two fellow officers, the occupants of the room staring at him all the way.

"You handled that well," McCoy snorted sarcastically as Kirk sat down beside him.

"Well that was pretty good," Harry called out after a few more moments of general chatter and practice. "But I think we've overrun, we'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?"

"Sooner!"

"The Quidditch season's about to start," Angelina said, "we need team practices too!"

McCoy grunted something foul under his breath about death defying sports.

"Let's say next Wednesday night then," Harry concluded, "we can decide on additional meetings then." He turned to the Star Fleet officers, who had risen to see the group off. "Shall we alternate between magic and non armed defence?"

"Sounds good to me," Kirk agreed.

"That means next Wednesday, Jim is in charge of what we learn," Harry told everyone.

There was general nodded consent.

"Right. We'd better get going then," Harry said.

Shouting various farewells to the three Star Fleet officers, the DA crept out of the room and along the corridors, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of either Mrs Norris or Filch. Once they had all left, Kirk turned and grinned at his two companions, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"I think we've had a bad influence on them."

"Most definitely," Spock agreed, with the corner of his mouth arching into a small half smile, only visible to those who knew him very well.

"Don't tell me you're proud," McCoy dug at the Vulcan, though there was a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon spread across his face.

Spock nodded. "Although pride is a human emotion, I do admit to some satisfaction at the knowledge that they are sufficiently motivated to educate themselves."

Kirk chuckled and walked over to his First Officer, giving him a brief slap on the shoulder before walking past to the shower room. "I think we'll make a human out of you yet, Mister Spock!" He threw over his shoulder.

"I hope not."

McCoy immediately dissolved into laughter and bent over his bag in a hurried effort to hide it, even as the sound of Kirk's unstoppable hysterics floated towards them, audible even over the pounding of the water in the shower.

The next day brought a smug feeling for many of the members of the DA, who enjoyed walking around the school with the knowledge that they were doing something which was strictly illegal. And no one knew about it. For some, this was a source of ultimate amusement, to the point that some struggled not to break out into grins whenever they came into contact with Umbridge. A few even resorted to snorting over their cornflakes at breakfast in order to hide their laughter when they saw her at the teachers' table.

It was therefore with a slight look of confusion that Umbridge entered their Defence Against the Dark Arts class that day, obviously knowing that she was the source of some ridicule – more than usual – and not knowing why. It was enough to make anyone edgy, which of course only increased the students' amusement.

"Wands away and quills out, please." No one moved, no one having been hopeful enough to take out their wands. "Now," Umbridge continued, "who can tell me the difference between an Unforgivable curse and clean magic?"

Everyone gaped at her.

"No one?" She simpered.

McCoy thrust his hand into the air, but didn't wait until she'd picked on him before he spoke. Kirk shot him a warning look, but he didn't notice. "We did this yesterday."

"Mister McCoy, I have told you before. I am the teacher in this room. If I decide to review the categories of curses, then we shall do so."

"Don't you think you've been spending a bit too much time on it?" McCoy questioned.

"Mister McCoy, you are being insolent," she simpered. "We want to correct mistakes like that, don't we class?" No one answered, except for a few Slytherins. "It seems that you have disrupted my classroom, Mister McCoy, once again."

"I hardly ever-"

"Bones," Kirk interrupted, glaring at McCoy. "You've had three warnings this week, remember?"

"That's because she won't damn listen to me! We've been doing the same thing for a week – basic knowledge that we already knew by implication."

"Doctor you are being hypocritical and foolish," Spock murmured.

"I know I told you not to get detention," McCoy murmured back, "but this is ridiculous! How can I stand by and just let this happen?"

Umbridge had raised her eyebrows at them. "Talking out of turn, gentlemen? This is a frequent occurrence for you three, isn't it?" She asked, grinning victoriously. "Detention. I'm sure Mr Spock will be able to tell you the usual time." With one last sickly sweet smile, she went back to her lesson.

"That, Doctor, was unnecessary."

"They're just sitting here looking gormless!" McCoy whisper-screeched, something which both Spock and Kirk were sure they had never before witnessed, let alone knew was possible. "Look at them!"

"Is it not the customary expression for a student?" Spock asked.

"Of course it is, which is why I'm worried!"

"Bones, you're not exactly making any sense."

"Before they at least looked outraged or indignant at being treated like two year olds," McCoy explained, "now they look like this." He waved his arm around to encompass the entire room. "It's not good for them."

"Maybe they've just accepted their situation," Kirk suggested.

"Would you have accepted it?"

"No, but I wasn't exactly what you would call a normal student," Kirk said wryly. "Besides, there's the DA."

"Only for those interested or who know about it."

"I believe I agree with the Doctor."

"What?" Both Kirk and McCoy spoke simultaneously.

"I agree that her teaching methods are unsatisfactory and that the membership of the Defence group is limited. However Doctor," he continued when McCoy assumed an expression of triumph, "that does not lead to agreement on your actions. Such attempts at persuasion are futile."

"I'm glad you finally agree with me Spock," Kirk muttered with a pointed look at McCoy, who scowled.

Umbridge was suddenly in front of them. "I've already given you a detention, gentlemen. I can always make it more interesting if you wish," her voice was suddenly devoid of all sweetness. "In fact, I have a rather troublesome boggart which needs to be captured, if you continued to talk while I'm talking."

"A boggart can only be removed successfully and quickly using magic," Kirk pointed out.

"Then perhaps you should concentrate on my class?" She asked rhetorically, giving a quick smile before attempting to swagger back to the front of the class, her hair bouncing sickeningly as she went.

"She just loves to hear her own voice," McCoy grunted.

Kirk and Spock simultaneously shot him looks which clearly said 'shut up'. He reluctantly fell quiet, even writing down what Umbridge was saying in order to avoid further punishment.

oOo

"Your level of unbelievable laziness remains uncannily unique to this day, Pettigrew," Snape snarled, thoroughly fed up by now after several minutes of trying to explain to Pettigrew exactly why it was important to follow instructions and not just guess blindly.

He had arrived at Death Eater headquarters late that afternoon after an urgent summons from one of his subordinate potion brewers, requesting that he help to clear up a mess which they had made. Of course, his first reaction had been to demand that they clean it up themselves, and waited for a few hours, half expecting another urgent message.

Sure enough, he received one two hours later, telling him that his subordinate had enlisted the help of Peter Pettigrew. Both of them had actually been incompetent enough to worsen the mess, and now he was definitely needed to help clear it up, being one of the only people authorised to go into the labs with the right knowledge for the job. And he was not pleased, to say the least.

Not only had he been forced to creep away from Hogwarts grounds and into the Forbidden Forest in full daylight, but he had also been forced to neglect marking the homework that he had collected that day, and could not foresee a time when he would be able to mark it, since he had yet to prepare the ingredients for the next few classes. To make matters worse, he had arrived on the scene to discover that the culprit for the original mistake had fled and actually tried to hide somewhere for fear of punishment, leaving Pettigrew standing in the middle of a very much destroyed lab, splintered wand in his hand and clueless expression on his face.

The man had not even had the foresight to get out of his way once he had arrived, or he would not be experiencing Snape's wrath right now. While the original culprit's actions had been cowardly, they had a certain merit to them. Although if the Dark Lord was here, there was no way that he would be left unpunished for running away. As it was, Snape had no inclination to waste even more time hunting down the idiot, and was quite happy to let someone else do it. He just hoped that at least some of the search team were competent.

Pettigrew cowered from the insult, his hands wringing themselves together with almost enough ferocity to squeeze out every drop of moisture from them. "I..."

"Do not make excuses, Pettigrew," Snape snapped. "Your inaptitude has always astounded me, but even I never expected anything on this scale."

"Hick-"

"Was an idiot to ask you to help," he interrupted. "Thanks to his moronic behaviour, I now have to deal with two disasters on a school day. If he had just brewed the potion properly, this whole mess would have been avoided."

Pettigrew simply stood there, biting his lip and wringing his hands, his face pale.

"You are no use to me here, Pettigrew, with your wand sliced in two. Get out of my sight."

Pettigrew scurried away, practically squeaking in his anxiety to get out of the room before Snape changed his mind and decided to punish him. What he didn't know, Snape thought grimly, was that the Potions Master detested the physical punishment which the Dark Lord encouraged and even occasionally demanded, and preferred to find any excuse to avoid it, if possible, by giving other challenging punishments. Such as scrubbing every single cauldron in the place with a toothbrush, magic forbidden. However, it would do no good to tell the Death Eaters that, of course.

Sighing, he got to work on chanting the spells required to clean up the disaster area. Burnt objects gradually resumed their previous appearance, noxious fumes swirled around visibly and formed several patterns before disappearing completely, leaving the air clear once more. Furniture righted itself and flew back to the appropriate places, perfectly co-ordinated. As he worked, Snape allowed himself to curse whoever was responsible for failing to teach the bumbling fools of Death Eaters under his command how to clean up their own messes before they were subordinated to him. It meant that he constantly had to teach them how to perform the spells which, given the questionable intelligence of some, could occasionally take weeks. It amazed him how some of these people had even gained their qualifications at all.

Finishing up, he stalked out of the room and checked on the progress of the research team on his way out, noting with satisfaction that he didn't dare show that the Death Eaters had gotten no closer to finding the counter spell. He knew with certainty that Dumbledore had already discovered at least one fifth of the spell necessary, while the Death Eaters had not even reached the first letter. It was shocking, really, considering they had been the ones who had helped Lucius Malfoy to develop it. Clearly, none of them ever paid attention to what they were actually doing.

As long as the Death Eaters remained behind in their research and he maintained the facade of irritation at them, the mission was going well. They had decided long ago that it would be advantageous to them to control, as much as possible, where the Dark Lord reappeared. That way, they at least had a chance at trying to ready themselves to defeat him while he was caught unawares, although privately Snape had his doubts about that strategy. The Dark Lord was a very capable and slippery wizard; he had certainly gotten himself out of many situations which should have lead to his imminent death. Dumbledore knew this too, of course, but as always the older wizard had remained eternally cheerful about the whole prospect – probably in part in order to keep up the morale of their own researchers.

Taking his leave of the guards around the headquarters, he walked until he was swallowed in the shadows of the surrounding area, finally apparating when he was sure that it was safe. He did not want anyone to follow him.

One uncomfortable and breathtaking journey later, and he reappeared in the Forbidden Forest, grateful that for once he had not had time to put on his Death Eater robes before apparating, although he had had the foresight to bring his mask. His mask was easy enough to hide, once it was transfigured and placed into a secret pocket in his teaching robes, leaving him ready to begin the journey back to school.

He slipped up a secret entrance way and through a heavy but well oiled door which led straight to the dungeons, allowing him the freedom to sneak away without being noticed if the Dark Lord happened to call him. He shut it quietly behind him and walked brusquely back to his rooms, thankfully reaching them without anyone noticing him or being able to question his sudden appearance.

With a sigh he closed the familiar door and allowed himself to fully relax for the first time in several days, pushing the stresses of spying to the back of his mind for a few precious moments as he crossed the bare yet comfortable room to his closet, placing his transfigured mask in the secret compartment along with his cloak and other necessities.

He had just settled into a chair to finally begin the long and monotonous task of marking the stack of papers beside him, when a knock sounded at the door and he rose to answer it with a weary and irritable sigh.

"Yes?" He snapped, glaring at the stout woman stood opposite him.

"I was wondering if you could come with me, Professor?" Umbridge asked politely, almost as though telling off a naughty child instead of simply talking to a colleague.

"I have marking to do," he said dismissively, moving to shut the door.

She stuck her foot in the way. "Professor," she began again, meeting his scowl evenly, "could we perhaps talk somewhere less..." she tittered and his skin promptly crawled, "damp and murky?"

"Where did you have in mind?" He drawled; his voice dangerously quiet.

"My office?"

Clearly, everyone was conspiring against him to stop him from getting anything done. "Is it urgent?"

"I would not come to you if it wasn't, Professor," she said sweetly.

"Very well," he said sharply, closing the door behind him and walking up to Umbridge's office.

He had to resist the very strong urge to gag as he laid eyes on all of the moving and meowing kittens placed haphazardly around the room. The place looked like the den of a six year old girl with a kitten fetish (some of them were in fact, to Snape's intense surprise and disgust, pink), not that of a grown woman who was supposed to be a teacher.

Umbridge entered the room and smiled toadishly at the glaring Potions Master before her, then pointed at a disgustingly pink cupboard. From the looks of it, pink was not exactly a colour that it favoured.

"Yes?" Snape asked testily. "I do not have a limitless supply of time. Perhaps you should simply tell me what the emergency is?" His lip curled. "Unless, of course, you enjoy playing charades."

She seemed, for the most part, unaffected by Snape's scathing tone. Although, Snape noticed with particularly vindictive satisfaction, she appeared to become slightly more flustered. "I would like, if you are not too busy," she simpered, "for you to remove a rather difficult boggart, Professor."

"I can't think of a more enjoyable or productive use of my time," he snarled, his normally dour mood having been understandably worsened by the trials of the day so far. "Though this does not appear to be urgent."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand such matters," she said softly, looking him up and down quickly. "You hardly seem like the type of man prone to spring cleaning."

He resisted the very persuasive urge to hex her on the spot and instead forced his voice to remain as civil as he was prepared to keep it when dealing with this woman. "I would have thought," Snape drawled, as he approached the ominously pink abomination of a cupboard before him, "that as Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, you would not require my help." He smirked.

"I do not approve of such flagrant misuse of my abilities," she replied, suddenly making him wonder just how competent those abilities were, "my job is, after all, to teach, not to clean."

"How appropriate," he muttered under his breath. He could hardly expect a more comprehensive display of incompetence and unwillingness to work from anyone else. Except perhaps Potter. That boy was insufferably dense...

"When you're ready," Umbridge said pointedly, dropping gracelessly into the chair behind her desk.

"Is an audience really necessary?" He snapped.

"I have heard many tales of your magical abilities," she said calmly, but her eyes were cold and hard. "I merely wish to see if they are true."

He scrutinised the woman before him, noticing that one of her hands appeared to be itching to draw her own wand. He resisted the urge to snort. Obviously, his reputation as a Death Eater had made quite an impression, even if she foolishly did not believe in the return of the Dark Lord.

"I see," he said finally, turning his attention back to the cupboard. "Where do you want me to put it when I have capture it?"

"In there," she pointed at a crate, "for later examination at the Ministry."

With an almost lazy flick of his wand, Snape opened the door of the cupboard before him. Inwardly however, he was braced for cold, red eyes – the gaze which ripped apart his soul every time he was forced to meet it. He half expected even to hear a high voice, commanding him to kneel, to kill without a thought, without conscience. He dreaded that long, slim wand as it would raise to point at his chest, lips forming the words which would end his life in a sudden green flash.

What he did not expect was for his doppelganger to step forwards, shoulders taught with unseen burden, eyes aged beyond his years. He did not expect the profound look of sorrow mixed with self hatred, the weary surrender evident in every fibre of the creature's being. The blood that stained this creature's mind, the pain that laced its movements.

The inexplicable agony at the knowledge of what he could have been – should have been – if he had not been forced to become what he was now. The lingering sense of death, of betrayal.

A heart split in two by its own hand.

All he could do was stand there, shaking wand raised, heart clenching tighter with every step that the creature took towards him. Suddenly, it was before him, a hair's breadth away. He could feel its breath on his face, see into its very soul.

His own soul.

The eyes were filled with blame, resentment. They stared right through him, cut him, tore at him.

Numbly, he steadied his wand and muttered a spell which he could not hear, sending the doppelganger into a crate, locking it from sight.

"Well," a sugary voice exclaimed, reminding him with a jolt that Umbridge was still in the room, "that was interesting."

He didn't say anything, but managed to force his eyes away from the now locked crate, forced his posture to remain proud and dignified. Forced his face to remain expressionless and his eyes neutral.

Umbridge turned to the door and he realised with a shock that the three Star Fleet officers had just seen everything. "Come in," she simpered, as though the situation with the boggart had not just happened. "Sit down at a separate desk each, please. There will be no need to talk." She turned back to Snape. "Another detention," she explained.

"I see," was all he could think of to say. He was happy to hear that his voice was its usual tone.

"Thank you Professor," she said. "I'm sure that the Ministry will be very keen to study that boggart." She dismissed him with a turn of her head, already giving instructions to the three officers.

Taking advantage of her distraction, he slipped out of the classroom, his mind in turmoil as he all but fled to the dungeons and the comforting escape of his marking.