37. Revenge.

"Yer English has improved, Ehlette," Scott said reluctantly, aware of all the eyes upon him.

"Yes," Ehlette sneered, the expression ill-fitting on her features. "I made a special effort for you, my dear Monty."

"Scotty," Uhura said finally, "who is she?"

"Tohn's sister," Scott replied, as though that made sense to any of the people sitting around him. "He was a friend of mine at the Academy."

"And look at how much that helped him," Ehlette spat. "He'd have been better off if he'd never known you."

"What he did was his own choice," Scott replied tiredly, the memories swirling through his mind.

"He didn't choose to be expelled from the Academy!" Ehlette spat, suddenly more furious than Scott had ever seen her. "I felt his anger, his disappointment, Monty. I felt what that did to him, and he was never the same again."

"You…felt?" Sulu asked, confused.

Ehlette laughed bitterly. "Of course, you wouldn't know, would you? After all, how many times do you see a Gaaran in Star Fleet?"

Uhura's eyes had widened in understanding. "Tohn of Gaar."

Ehlette nodded, the light in her eyes shining madly. "So. You remember."

Chekov, perhaps too young to remember, looked confused. "Who?"

"Tohn of Gaar," Uhura replied after Ehlette nodded her permission, "was one of the first Gaarans to enter Star Fleet Academy. He was discharged after what the Academy called 'dishonourable conduct'…his planet was outraged."

"It was blatant prejudice," Ehlette spat, face twisted with hatred. "Ever since that moment, we Gaarans have vowed to stay away from the Fleet as much as possible. You still get some traitors entering the Academy, though."

"That was nae the full story," Scott retorted. "Tohn abused his telepathic abilities," he told the rest of the crew. "He deserved to be expelled."

"And you did nothing to help him!" Ehlette shouted. "You never even talked to him after he left!"

"He was nae the man I thought he was," Scott said. "And after those memories yeh've shown me, I'm sure my decision was right. He wiped my memories when I got tae suspicious," he told the crew. "He was trying tae blackmail students. He'd mentally attack members of the Academy – they became insane."

"Vot?" Chekov asked in shock, eyes widening.

"He had no choice," Ehlette defended. "I was closer to him than any of my family – I saw into his mind more often. I could see his reasoning, and I understood it. He needed the blackmail money. He was alone on a strange planet, he needed some familiarity!"

"Robbing is nae the way tae go about it!"

"He had no choice!" Ehlette spat. "No one would let him into work because they were suspicious of a new species. He was pushed into it!"

"I could have given him money-"

Ehlette stared at him. "Have you learnt nothing from the memories?"

"I know that he needed my help and I did nae give it," Scott said wearily, having been through this line of thought many times in recent hours. "But I would do the same again. He was obviously becoming dangerous…"

"My brother deserved help."

"He never asked for it. Instead," Scott retorted, "he erased my memory whenever I got close tae finding out."

Ehlette was beginning to shake with fury, looking slightly deranged. "After all I've gone through to make you understand, Monty, and you're still as stubborn as ever."

"There is nae anything to understand."

Ehlette glared. "If you had seen his mind at the moment you abandoned him in the trial," she snarled, "the time that you gave testimony against him, you would not sound as calm about it as you do now."

"I know that it was nae what he expected-"

"Your testimony pushed him over the edge!" She shouted, sounding just as deranged herself. "He needed support!"

"He had his family!"

"He needed people on Earth who understood him, people who could show him that the entire planet wasn't bigoted towards his race! But you just left him there, and didn't even look at him as he was dragged off to prison!"

"Scotty?" Uhura's eyes were fixed on him, both understanding and questioning, and Scott couldn't bear it.

"I left him," he confirmed. "But it was one of the hardest things I have ever done..."

Ehlette scoffed. "And now he's insane, Monty. Some friend you were."

"I never meant for-"

"And yet it happened," Ehlette interrupted. "He's stuck in an institute for the criminally insane, our family has been ruined, and Gaar is no longer trusted among the Federation! And I have to live with the consequences of your actions every day, when you get to roam free, because I happen to still be in mental contact with him." Her mouth tugged down into a frown. "Though the rest of the family has attempted to block him from their minds, I haven't. I keep myself open to him. He needs help."

Scott felt he should ask, although he already knew what the answer was. "Is there a chance of him recovering?"

"Of course there isn't," she snapped. "He's so far gone the doctors gave up years ago, but you wouldn't know that, would you? Heaven forbid that you should actually think about the people you left behind, or the consequences to your actions!"

"I have nae forgotten."

"No," Ehlette replied smugly, "I've seen to that. But I'm not through with you yet, Monty. My brother was hounded, trapped, with nowhere to run."

Scott felt a chill go down his spine.

"I felt his fear. And when he broke, I got his memories, which," she nodded smugly, "you already realise, I'm sure. But most of all, I felt his sense of failure, his realisation that he'd let down his whole planet." She leaned forwards. "You're an intelligent enough man to guess what I'm going to do to you, aren't you, Monty. I don't think it's necessary for me to spell it out."

"Ehlette," Scott said, voice slightly desperate, trying to plead with this woman driven insane by her brother's torment, "this was far in the past, why-"

"Hold a grudge?" She finished. "Because no one else did. No one else cared enough to even try to. His own father won't even visit him anymore – the fool is scared of succumbing to Tohn's insanity. But after all these years, I've finally tracked you down, with the perfect revenge." She licked her painted lips. "Tailor made, if you like, and cooked up by the very best."

"Ehlette, leave the crew out of this."

She threw back her head and laughed, the sound crackling in the speakers, rattling around the room and into the heads of everybody there. "There's no chance of that, Monty. They're instrumental to your comeuppance, you see. It just wouldn't be the same without them."

"But-"

"I really wish I could stay and chat longer, but I must leave," she said abruptly, a perverse smile on her face. "I don't need a view screen to see your pain." She tapped her forehead. "After all those weeks watching you, I'm attuned to your mind well enough."

The screen went blank.

Scott sighed and sat back in the chair, a tired hand tugging at his eyes as he attempted to rid the image from his mind. Tohn's shocked face hovered before his, staring at him from between two guards, betrayal written across every feature.

"I..." He couldn't think of anything to say, knowing that they were all going to die, and it was his fault. They had nothing to do with this.

Suddenly, he felt tender hands on his shoulders and looked up, surprised, to see Uhura's concerned face staring back into his. "Scotty, you couldn't have done anything different."

"I could have visited him," he muttered.

"From what we gather," Uhura countered, "it wouldn't have helped. He had the opinions of two entire planets directed at him. One man wouldn't have made a difference."

Scott sighed, not believing a single word she said. If he had been there, Tohn might have been spared some of his intense grief, the guilt of messing up countless futures.

Biting back all of the emotions he felt swirling inside him, he sat up straight, fixing the room with a determined but resigned glare. "Shields on full." He grimaced, hating himself every time he drew breath. "We'll need them."

oOo

Harry sighed, the words blurring into an incomprehensible mass before his eyes, impossible to decipher. Headlines swam through his mind, the photographs of the officers being dragged with them. The Ministry had immediately jumped at the chance for positive publicity, spinning the words of Kirk, McCoy and Spock so that they promoted the government's own gains. Over the past few days, there had been no respite in the triumphant headlines, the over-exaggeration of justice created at the hands of Umbridge. Rumours had flown around the castle, the subjects of them already having been forgotten as though they were never there. They were, for the majority of the school, just a distant memory now, a topic of conversation to avoid homework.

Umbridge had been insufferable as always with this new victory, her toadlike face becoming more and more detestable every time she read one of the headlines or saw a picture of herself, standing proudly next to Fudge. Invariably, the words "Umbridge Anticipates Government Threat" accompanied the pictures, followed by a nonsense article about a plot against Fudge's position.

The DA had been unable to meet at all. It was something which Harry had suspected, in fact he had feared it for a long time, but it still came as a crushing blow. The DA had been the only form of rebellion that he had had, a reminder that he still had some measure of control over his life at Hogwarts. But now, without both that and Quidditch, his life felt meaningless and unproductive, his only distractions being homework and Occlumency lessons.

With the absence of Spock, the Occlumency lessons had become even more disastrously unsuccessful, not that he was exactly brilliant to begin with. As the week had worn on, Snape became more and more infuriated with his regression, now thoroughly convinced that his pupil was incompetent. He had thrown himself into Harry's mind with more and more vigour, and Harry couldn't shake the impression that the man enjoyed it, relished the opportunity to humiliate the son of the man he had hated so much. With every step backwards, Snape became more malicious, and Harry was beginning to wonder if the man wasn't in fact trying to open his mind up to Voldemort. It certainly hadn't stopped the dreams of the Ministry, though these had changed slightly.

Instead of the usual corridor, he frequently found himself entering a busy room, walking through hazy rooms and corridors before reaching an apparition point, landing dazed and confused in what seemed to be an unfamiliar prison. Yet he never managed to reach the end of the dream. Whenever Ron happened to catch sight of him writhing in his bed, Harry was rudely awoken, just moments before he reached a doorway, and the majority of the details were forgotten. At other times, he woke, gasping, his lungs feeling as though they would never be full again, the crushing sensation still there no matter how many times he rubbed his chest.

He was beginning to think he was going mad.

He'd immediately told Ron and Hermione, who had opposing views on the matter.

"Well obviously the dreams are more than just wondering down a corridor, Harry," Hermione had told him.

"What do you think it means?"

"Maybe Voldemort was searching for someone," Hermione said, thinking hard.

"From the Enterprise?" Ron scoffed.

"No, Ron, I mean maybe he was searching for someone before he disappeared, and Harry's seeing into his speculation on where that person might be. It doesn't surprise me that he'd be thinking about it every night," she continued, "since he's in another universe as a prisoner."

"But why not before?" Harry had asked. "Why have the dreams of that part of the Ministry only started now?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted. "Harry, think, when did they start?"

"A few days after Jim, Bones and Spock were taken away."

"Right after?"

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry replied, "I'm not sure."

"You think it's them?" Ron asked, shocked.

Hermione nodded. "It could be...but that would be...I mean it's-"

"What?" Harry demanded.

"The link," Hermione explained. "They didn't think it would work over distance since it wasn't very strong when you were both in the castle."

"Spock's a telepath," Harry said. "He could strengthen it deliberately, couldn't he?"

Hermione looked doubtful. "I don't know, I'm not sure that he could, Harry."

"But it's possible?" Ron persisted.

"Yes," she said finally, "I suppose so."

"Then there's your answer!" Ron exclaimed, glancing back at Harry. "You have a Vulcan in your mind."

"I'm sure it's not as simple as that, Ron," Hermione snapped.

"Why not? It doesn't have to be You Know Who, does it?" Ron challenged. "Just because all of Harry's dreams about the Ministry-"

"Ron, keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed frantically.

"-from You Know Who's perspective, it doesn't mean these are!"

"They don't feel like him," Harry announced. "They feel different – more detached."

"So it's Spock!" Ron deduced.

"I'm still not sure," Hermione said, biting her lower lip slightly. "Harry, this could be a trick."

"A trick?" Harry repeated incredulously.

"Voldemort's been dreaming about the Ministry," Hermione said quickly, her voice so low they had to strain to hear it, "it's obvious he wants something from there. He could be tricking you into getting it for him!"

"Why would he do that?" Ron scoffed.

"Because," Hermione said patiently, "that way none of his Death Eaters would get caught, and if Voldemort gets Harry into Azkaban, he can break him out! It'd be the perfect way to get hold of Harry!"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry muttered.

"But don't you see it?" Hermione asked, ignoring his discomfort completely. "It would be the perfect plan – he'd have you, and he wouldn't lose anyone!"

"Yeah but he can't exactly do that from the Enterprise, can he?" Ron pointed out.

"He might be desperate enough to carry it out anyway."

"This is Voldemort we're talking about," Harry said darkly. "He's always told his Death Eaters to save me for him. He wouldn't give them the chance of getting to me now, while he isn't here."

"I still think it's possible," Hermione said obstinately. "Harry, you have to tell Professor Snape!"

"Snape?" Ron and Harry had exclaimed simultaneously, mouths hanging open.

"Snape?" Ron repeated. "Hermione, are you mental? He's a Death Eater!"

"He's done nothing but help you since you've been at Hogwarts, Harry," Hermione said, ignoring their protests. "If Dumbledore trusts him, so can we."

"Not this again!" Ron moaned.

"And with Dumbledore gone," Hermione continued, regardless of Ron's faces, "we have no choice."

"I'm not telling Snape, Hermione."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Harry-"

"I'm not trusting him with something that could be important!" Harry had said loudly, drawing the attention of several people nearby.

Harry sighed and bit his quill, forcing himself back to the present and to the words before him, which blurred once more. Opposite him, Hermione has paused in her rapidly becoming over-length essay to scrutinise him, her expression concerned. Ron sat beside her, glaring at his own homework, savagely crossing out an entire paragraph before re-writing it.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, "you're staring into space again."

He suddenly realised that he had been sat at the table for almost an hour, and hadn't written a word. "Oh..." he mumbled, returning his attention to the textbook before him, "er...I was thinking."

"Do you need any help?"

"I'm fine, Hermione, thanks," he said. "I'm just tired."

"You need to tell someone about that new vision," Hermione said instantly, and Harry immediately regretted bringing this up again.

"We've been through this. No one would believe me anyway."

"Maybe not, but it's obviously important. I'm sure it would help you to get it off your chest..." She trailed off as Harry stared at her disbelievingly.

"They'll continue no matter what I do," he said despondently. "I think Snape's actually opening my mind up more."

"Have you practiced?" Hermione asked, knowing full well that he hadn't.

"No," he admitted, "but what is there to practice? All I'm meant to do is clear my mind, and it never actually helps..."

"That's because you don't practice enough," Hermione insisted.

"It wouldn't help," Harry said savagely. "He never explains anything, he just expects me to master it straight away."

"You could always ask him to explain," Hermione suggested patiently.

Ron's head shot up from his essay as he eyed Hermione with shock. "Think about what you're saying!" He implored. "This is Snape, he'd just give Harry a detention for asking 'inane questions', like he did in Potions."

"Well," Hermione said, slightly nervously, "in that case the question was inane, but I'm sure that if you reasoned with him-"

"So you're on Snape's side now, are you?" Harry demanded hotly.

Hermione was beginning to look exasperated again. "Harry, you asked him why he always insulted your potions."

"It's reasonable to ask," Harry defended. "He insults mine more than anybody else's, and the one I made that lesson was almost perfect!"

"Yes, because I added the correct ingredient when you weren't looking."

"I don't need your help-"

"I know," Hermione said quickly. "I only added it because your cauldron would have exploded otherwise."

"Lucky for me that you're there then, isn't it," Harry said coldly, hating the fact that his friends thought he needed babysitting.

Ron hurriedly buried his face back in his essay, desperately writing in an attempt to block out the argument beginning around him.

"All I'm saying, Harry," Hermione continued, trying to remain calm in face of Harry's fury, "is that he's a teacher, he should listen to-"

"Well he wouldn't, alright? Snape's not the type of person to listen to someone who's basically telling him he's not doing his job properly."

"Not if you phrase it like that," Hermione retorted. "I'm sure if you asked politely-"

"It wouldn't happen, Hermione," Harry said flatly, resolutely returning his attention to his essay.

Hermione sighed, but did not press the point, knowing better than to argue with Harry's mood. They'd been through this particular topic too many times, and neither one of them had ever changed their opinions.

Harry continued to stare at his homework, unable to make sense of the different plants and body parts he found drawn there, silently demanding his detention. He'd been given extra Potions work from Snape for his lack of progress in both Occlumency and the man's subject. Harry's explanations of exhaustion caused by lack of sleep couldn't even be used, unfortunately, because that would only serve to increase the man's irritation, so Harry had had no choice but to do the homework. Which he hadn't done, he reminded himself.

As if on cue, Hermione seemed to sense his thoughts. "Harry, are you sure you don't need he-"

"I'm fine, Hermione," he snapped, regretting his harshness immediately, but unwilling to take it back.

"It's in for this evening," she reminded him blithely, her face buried in her own work.

"I know," he growled, picturing Snape's extremely displeased expression when he conjured up yet another wild excuse.

"You better go, mate," Ron said quietly, glancing at the clock on the library wall. "You don't want to make Snape even angrier."

"Yeah," Harry said vaguely, internally wincing as the Potions Master inside his head yelled at him. He picked up his un-started essay and shoved it in his bag. "Maybe he'll let me escape before the dawn shootings," he muttered, receiving a sympathetic glance from Ron.

He tried very hard to ignore Hermione's look of 'I warned you' as he left the library, the dread clenching around his heart the closer he got to the dungeons. The increasingly cold air seemed to reinforce the sense of impending doom as he trudged through the gloomy corridors, leaving behind the comforting warmth of the library and his friends' company.

Snape was, as usual, sitting behind his desk, frowning at the latest batch of essays that required marking, when Harry knocked.

"Come in, Potter," he ordered, placing the essays to one side.

Harry walked in, suddenly intensely aware of the black eyes studying him as he sat down in his usual chair. He plonked his bag down by his side, and Snape's lip curled.

"Your essay, Mr Potter?" He asked snidely.

Harry forced his facial expression to remain impassive, hating the man before him. "I haven't finished it yet, sir."

"Oh? I was under the impression, Potter, that you have had more than enough time to do so. Perhaps you require more? A month?" He asked sardonically, eyes never leaving Harry's. "After all, the 'Chosen One' need not hand his work in on time."

Harry seethed inwardly. "I'm sorry, sir."

"What is your excuse this time, Potter?" He sat back expectantly. "I am sure it will be inventive, to say the least."

On an impulse, Harry said, "I didn't understand it, sir."

Snape's eyebrows flew to his hairline. "That is one of your more believable excuses," he sneered, "I expect nothing more from a student who frequently achieves the stunning grade of "D" every lesson."

Harry gritted his teeth and forced his voice to remain as civil as possible. "Would you explain it for me, sir?"

Snape looked slightly taken aback, and Harry felt a brief flicker of satisfaction at knowing he was right. "I can hardly teach someone who is so clearly unwilling to learn," he said calmly.

"I am willing," he retorted angrily.

"Your progress would suggest otherwise, Potter. The homework I set you was no higher than the work set for first years. I believed that a return to basics would improve your performance but clearly," he smirked, "I was mistaken."

Harry cursed himself silently. Of course, he had never actually read the information Snape had wanted him to use, and now he had succeeded in giving the man even more cause to look down at him.

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor for failing to even attempt your homework," Snape said softly, eyes boring into Harry's. "You have not practiced shielding your mind, Potter."

Harry quickly averted his eyes. "I have, sir, I just wasn't prepared," he lied.

"Then you are easy prey for the Dark Lord," Snape said simply, "and shall continue to be unless you use your incentive, limited though it may be." He stood abruptly, indicating that the discussion was over. "Stand up, Potter."

Harry reluctantly stood, scrambling to brace himself for the mental onslaught he knew would be coming.

"On the count of three," Snape drawled, lazily raising his wand and focussing his eyes upon Harry's. "One – two – three. Legilimens!"

Harry was seven years old again, sitting cross legged in the Dursley's living room. He squinted his eyes, struggling to focus on the machine before him, but seeing only dull flickering. Sounds raged around him but he had no image to place them with.

He turned around, looking past the two big blobs which resembled his Uncle and cousin, focussing instead on the taller, thinner image of his Aunt.

"Aunt Petunia?" His voice was innocent and polite. He knew better than to let it appear otherwise.

"What?" Even with this effort, he still seemed to annoy her. Even though he could not see her face, he could definitely imagine the scowl which accompanied that single word.

"I think I need glasses…"

"Well you can see, can't you?" Uncle Vernon spat. "As long as you can see where you're going and can do your chores, you're fine! You don't need glasses yet, boy."

Harry squashed down the urge to argue. "Yes, Uncle."

"You are not trying hard enough, Potter," Snape snapped, drawing Harry back to the present to find himself on his knees once more. "You are giving me access to your earliest memories; weapons which can be used against you. You will get nowhere against the Dark Lord, Potter, if you insist upon allowing your memories to play out like a slide show."

"I can't stop it, you're not telling me how!"

"It is self evident, Potter!" Snape snapped. "Even Longbottom would require no explanation – surely even you can empty your decidedly un-crowded mind? Now, let's try again…Legilimens!"

Before Harry could even retort, he found himself once again plunged into his own mind, the scene before him replacing the Potions office.

Harry was eleven, standing on soft grass, allowing the sun to beat down onto his thin frame, enjoying how it warmed him from the inside out. Birds flew high up in the air, so high that Harry could barely see them, even with the glasses the Dursley's had finally bought him.

Dimly, he could hear their screeches reaching him, and he allowed himself a brief moment to simply fly with them, soaring through the sky, free as he had never been. And, not for the last time, he wished he could fly away from this place, this family who were not his. Who had never even treated him as if he were theirs.

He wished he could escape them all.

A ball smacking him in the mouth knocked him out of his reverie, and he felt yet again the weight of a racquet in his hand, reminding him that he was supposed to be playing tennis with his huge lump of a cousin.

"Oi!" Said lump bellowed, quivering with rage from where he stood. "You're not playing! You're supposed to be playing with me!"

Harry glanced around. The park around him was filled with happy couples and families, all of them smiling, all of them content. He was neither, and he remembered that he never had been. He briefly wondered what such feelings felt like.

But, he noticed, his Aunt and Uncle weren't there, just as he'd hoped. If they were, then his long silence would not have gone unpunished.

He turned back to Dudley, who was still yelling at him, petulance in every syllable, and resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Or to smile. This would be his first opportunity of something resembling fun in a long time.

He looked his cousin in the eye. "I don't want to," he replied simply, putting down his racquet.

Dudley became very red in the face. "You have to!"

"Why?"

"Because I said so, and father says that what I say to you goes!"

Harry smirked slightly, enjoying the feeling that accompanied denying his cousin his request. "Uncle isn't here."

Dudley glared at him. "Then I'm going to tell him."

"You can't," Harry said simply, "he isn't here. And I'm not playing." He picked up the ball and walked away, throwing it high into the air, next to the flying spots of birds, and then catching it again.

For the briefest instance, he had joined them.

Harry came back to himself suddenly, finding a smile on his face.

"I expect that such disobedience did not go unpunished?" Snape asked quietly.

Harry's smile fell off his face. "Dudley hit me on the head with the racquet," he replied, answering the question, though he wanted nothing better than to push Snape's head into a cauldron of hot liquid. "It broke."

Snape was looking very amused. "I see," he smirked. "Hard-headed in every sense of the word, Potter. Now, perhaps this time you will succeed in at least trying to deny me access."

The wand was again pointed into his face, the one word uttered without force, contrasting the mind tearing into his, not heeding the discomfort it caused Harry.

People bustled around him, their expressions harried and stressed; showing the effort that working for the Ministry took. Marble fountains punctuated the area, attempting to instil and aura of relaxation to an otherwise busy workplace.

He stood before a bored looking guard, who immediately pointed his wand at him. Strangely, Harry felt no fear, instead submitting to the search without question, ignoring the strange sensation covering him with every sweep of his wand.

Pockets emptied, he was taken down a draft corridor, the paint getting older and older as he continued, the portraits more infrequent. It occurred to him that this sector of the Ministry was not as well used – there were no people around to see it, other than the Aurors and his two fellows.

Next to him, Kirk's expression was stoic, hiding the worry which he knew was buried deep within. McCoy, on the other hand, was still unconscious, expression relaxed as he slumped against Harry. Neither of them allowed themselves to react as they were grabbed by the Aurors, forced into apparition.

"Potter!"

Harry was, unsurprisingly, on the floor again, his lungs still feeling as though they had just been squashed. Snape loomed over him, his expression a bizarre mix of anger and curiosity.

Harry pushed himself up wearily, rubbing his knees and knowing there would be bruises there soon. "Sir?"

"What is that memory?"

"I'm not sure, sir, I haven't seen it quite like that before, sir."

"In what way?" Snape asked quietly, staring at Harry intently.

"There were never…people in it, sir," Harry replied, hesitating slightly.

"People?"

"Kirk and McCoy, sir."

"This is not your memory, Mr Potter. To whom does it belong?"

Harry hesitated, unsure if he should tell Snape and risk the information leaking into the wrong hands, or to simply trust both Hermione's and Dumbledore's judgement.

"I am waiting, Mr Potter. Whose memory is it?"

"I think it's Spock's," Harry replied finally.

"Thank you, Mr Potter, that will be all," Snape said clearly, moving to sit back at his desk.

"But," Harry protested, rage coursing through him, "shouldn't you do something? Sir?"

"What would you suggest I do?" Snape asked sarcastically.

"I don't know!" Harry shouted in frustration. "Alert Dumbledore, tell the Order – anything but just sit there!"

"How I react to the news presented to me is my own choice, Potter," Snape said dangerously, not moving from behind his desk. "The lesson is over. I suggest you leave – perhaps you will be able to attempt your homework," he suggested pointedly. "If you fail to hand it in tomorrow, you shall find yourself completing it in detention."

Harry glanced at the clock, and was surprised to discover that it was almost ten o'clock. "But-"

"The door is there, Potter," Snape spat, clearly losing patience. "I am sure you do not need directions or instructions on how to use it."

Harry glared at the man before him, wondering how he could possibly ignore the information he had just seen in Harry's mind. Without another word, he slammed out the room. He completely missed the scheming look on Snape's face as the door thudded shut.