Harry waited till nightfall, and then he got up purposefully from the Common Room. The buzz of joy that was currently clouding his brain showed no signs of going away, and he'd decided that waiting for it to dissipate before talking to Severus would be a waste of time. He was waiting on tenterhooks to talk to the man, anyway—tell him about what happened, about the unexpected crowd of people who'd showed up—

"Where're you going?" Ron asked, as he stepped over to the stairs leading to the dormitory.

He wiggled his eyebrows significantly. "Kitchen," he said.

Hermione gave him a pleased look. "Should we wait up for you?"

He thought for a moment. "No. I don't know how long I'll be."

As he went up the stairs, he could hear Ron questioning Hermione as to where Harry was really going.

Map in hand and Cloak firmly in place, he set off.

As he stepped into the office, Severus said, "Perhaps we should set up some kind of permanent system to use the Floo from your common room to my office without leaving a trace, if this is going to become a regular habit."

Was he overdoing it? "Sorry," he said, a bit shamefaced, and his bursting joy wilting a bit. "I'll try not to come as often—"

Severus waved a languid hand as he sat. Harry went to sit too; he'd expected to encounter the hard surface of the wooden chair but instead found himself in a Transfigured sofa. "Don't be ridiculous," he said lightly. "I asked you to come, didn't I? What is it?"

He found himself grinning like an idiot as he snuggled into the sofa. "It's about Hermione's idea to teach defence. I thought she wanted me to teach just her and Ron, but then she decided to invite a bunch of other students. We met today in Hogsmeade, in the Hog's Head—"

"The Hog's Head?" he interrupted sharply. "Why there?"

"She thought it would be quieter. Why?"

He shook his head. "It's too quiet. Never mind. Continue."

Harry, who'd been half-expecting a recrimination at entering what Hermione had termed a 'dodgy' place, exhaled silently in relief. "Anyway, about twenty-five people showed up after we got there—what?" he asked, because Severus was sporting a most amused look on his face.

"So thirty Hogwarts students in all, then?" he asked, still grinning. "I'm sure nobody noticed that."

It hadn't been Harry's idea to use the Hog's Head, but it had been Hermione's, and since he'd had no ideas at all in the subject of a suitable meeting place—in fact, all the planning had been done by Hermione—he felt obligated to stick up for her. "It is our first time organizing a secret society for teaching Defence, you know," he said with dignity.

"As is arrantly obvious." Harry wanted to point out that Severus, in his fifth year, had probably been studying up on the dark arts with Slytherins who would later join Voldemort, but he was certain it was far, far too early to joke about that. "I'm sure the bartender was startled."

"He did have a gobsmacked look throughout, yeah. I'm sure he was glad of our presence, though, he didn't have many other customers."

"Did he have enough glasses for these unexpectedly swollen numbers?" He sounded as though he was on the verge of laughter.

"Yes." He didn't point out that their cleanliness was questionable. "Can I get back to the meeting?" Severus waved a hand as if to say, 'go ahead'. "Thank you. Hermione had invited all of them, but halfway through the meeting I sort of realized that they'd come just to meet me—Merlin, that came out wrong, I meant after all the Daily Prophet's been saying about me—"

"I'm sure you were a right little tourist spot," he said drily. "Did you scream and run?"

"I considered it," he replied, grinning cheekily. "For a moment. But then I told them that Voldemort was back, Dumbledore believed it, and if they didn't believe him, they wouldn't believe me either and could jolly well just get out. And nobody left."

The tiny smile on Severus' face was reaction enough, he decided.

"Anyway, after that, it was fairly simple. Zacharias Smith was annoying, but nobody else put up a fuss. I didn't believe they'd be okay with me teaching them spells, but they went off about all the things I've done—and I told them too, most of it was just luck, but they didn't care—Terry Boot even mentioned the basilisk that I killed."

He nodded solemnly. "A brave moment it was, indeed."

He glared, with little enthusiasm. "I'll never get over it."

"You're being ridiculed for speaking out about the truth. Take your laurels where you can find them; you do not have the luxury of being too picky about this."

"Hm." He let a pleased smile settle on his face. "It's nothing like being in the Order, but it does good to finally do something. We still haven't decided where to meet, though."

"That particular problem might be more troublesome than you think. If Umbridge caught whiff of your little plan, she'll come down on it like fire."

His voice was serious, but Harry was still floating in the aftermath of the encounter with Cho. Should he tell Snape about that? Could he tell Snape? Snape would laugh. He'd grin teasingly and say something snarky. He'd be most unhelpful.

"Guess who showed up to the meeting."

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Are you kidding me, no. I don't think Hermione advertised this to the Slytherins."

"I am wounded."

He couldn't wait for the man to guess correctly. "Cho came," he said. He was aware he was grinning like an idiot. And blushing hard, too.

Severus' eyebrow shot up. "Alone?"

"No, with one of her giggly friends. Say, Severus, why do girls giggle so much?"

"Why ask me?"

"You're an adult." He grinned again.

"Girls in my classroom are more likely to cry than giggle. Boys too, for that matter. Your godfather is a more apt source of knowledge in this regard." He seemed to consider the matter a moment. "Or perhaps not."

"She waved at me as she left." He didn't know why he was telling Severus this. Surely there was someone more appropriate to talk to about girls? Snape had exactly one female friend and he'd quarrelled with her when he was around Harry's age, and they'd never even made up.

He was telling Severus because he wanted him to know. That was all.

"Did she indeed? Did she giggle as she did it?"

Ah, here came the snark. "She is not a giggler."

"Thank Merlin."

"Do you not like Cho for some reason?"

He shrugged. "She's not terrible at Potions."

"A glowing review."

"She is your enemy on the Quidditch pitch."

"I'm better than her," he said lightly.

"If you do not wish a hex in your face, do not say that to her."

"Of course not!" he said, a little affronted. "I'm not stupid."

He looked sceptical.

"I'm not."

"I've heard tales of countless dates, and the one thing that they all seem to have in common is idiotic slips of the tongue."

He was regretting bringing it up now. "I'm not going on a date with her."

"Why not?"

"Because—" Well, now, he really didn't have a reason. "I haven't had the time to ask," he said feebly.

Snape shook his head in mock-surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. "So. Professor Potter."

"Don't," he said fervently. "I'm trying not to think about that. I've never done anything like this before, I'm pretty sure I'll muck it up."

"You won't," he said, with such calm dignity that Harry felt better straightaway. A bit. "Tell them what you know. Let them practice. Show them where they are going wrong. That is all."

He nodded. He hadn't thought about the actual teaching process, not after the meeting, but now, sitting with Severus, he could hardly ignore it. "What was your first day as a professor like?"

"My first class was with the third year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. A student made a silly mistake, suffered third-degree burns, and had to be rushed to the infirmary. My next class was to fifth years; I gave them a warning that was stern enough that it made a few students tremble as they began their work."

"Memorable."

"Quite." He smiled thinly. "You have more—shall we say, 'field experience', than some fresh Aurors. You'll do fine."

"Thanks, Severus," he said sincerely.

He accepted it with a lowered head.

"Why can't you Transfigure your chair too?" he patted the cushiony top of his own sofa.

"I am comfortable. Harry, I have two topics to discuss."

The sudden business-like tone of his voice made Harry sit up, mentally and physically. "Is it Order business?"

"One is. I shall start with the other. Professor Umbridge will be inspecting my classes on Monday. I received her note today morning."

Harry waited for him to elaborate. When nothing else was forthcoming, he prompted, "Okay?"

"I thought you'd prefer to know."

He supposed that was true. If he'd walked in unassuming and caught sight of that hag in the corner— "Is there a possibility you'll be sacked?" he asked, suddenly worried.

He exhaled, and Harry held his breath. "She has been given that power, yes. She will, however, begin with probation. Do not worry," he said, proving to Harry once again that he was not as in control of his facial expressions as he would like to be, "She will not begin with me."

"Who then?" A horrible thought occurred to him. "McGonagall?"

"Professor McGonagall. And no. I shall give you a moment to consider other, more likely possibilities."

He took a moment to consider. "Trelawney," he said, with a relieved chuckle. He collapsed into his seat. "Well, that's fine then. She's a rubbish teacher, anyway."

He was gratified to notice the smirk on Severus' face, brief though it was. "Are you going to be all snarky with her like McGonagall was?"

"I haven't decided," he said lightly. "Do try not to chuckle if I am, will you?"

"I shall be a perfect picture of arrogant defiance. What was the other thing, the Order thing?"

Harry had had enough conversations with Severus to know that when he paused before speaking, he had something of import to say. He sat up straight again, tense.

"I mentioned your dreams to the Headmaster. He—we are of the opinion that they have something to do with the connection you share with the Dark Lord through that scar."

"I could probably have guessed that on my own." Severus opened his mouth to respond, but Harry beat him to it: "What is that corridor?"

"You are somewhat attuned to his emotions and feelings. You are seeing that corridor because the Dark Lord is thinking of it."

"Okay, but what is it?"

"Harry." The word was absent of any inflection, but the look of his face made a thread of fear snake its way around his throat. "That is irrelevant. The Dark Lord is, as yet, unaware of this connection you share with him. That can change at any moment, and when he does, it is imperative that you be prepared for it."

"Because he can use that connection?"

"Perhaps."

"To do what? Attack me? Hurt me?"

Harry was staring at Severus, who looked back, calmly enough for someone who'd just told him that Voldemort could attack his mind. He took in a shuddering breath. Severus closed his eyes, and dragged his chair over so their knees were almost touching.

He reached out and grasped Harry's wrist, looping his fingers around, before speaking again.

"I repeat: the Dark Lord does not yet know of this connection, and that is to our advantage. We can use this time for good, to teach you to defend your mind."

"How the—how in the world am I supposed to do that?" he whispered frantically.

"Do you remember me teaching you Occlumency?"

Faintly, he did. "I thought it was to control my emotions."

"That is not its primary use. I do believe I mentioned it then," he said, in the disapproving professorial tone.

Harry groaned. "It was six years ago and I had a lot on my mind then, okay? You're going to teach me again?"

"I'm going to teach you properly. That was the mere foundation."

"So I've to meet you regularly for this?"

"Rather pressed for time, no?" he said, amused. "Twice a week. If anyone asks, we are doing Remedial Potions."

"Again? Don't you think people will wonder why I'm still terrible at potions after all this?"

"They'll assume you do not have a shred of talent in this subject." He stood up. "A sacrifice you must be prepared to make."

"Hooray," he muttered. "A liar and an idiot. My reputation is out the window."

He was given a rather severe look. "The only real problem with you is your appalling inability to read and follow instructions precisely. Do I really have to tell my fifth-year class that two liquids that look the same might not necessarily be the same?"

"Give me a break. I was nearly killed by Voldemort a few months ago," he said, almost certain that he'd get his head bitten off for joking about that day in the graveyard—and wondering how he could joke at all, given he'd been having nightmares about it less than a month ago.

"I apologize. I did not realize that encounter robbed you of your ability to organize a single coherent, rational thought. No, this began in your first year. There shall be no blaming it on potentially traumatic experiences."

"I've had a potentially traumatic exp—"

"Not to mention it seems to be confined to potions classes." He gave Harry a look. "I assume you are now going to blame it on Malfoy's presence or my constant targeting of you."

"I'm rather attached to my neck, thanks. I shall—try to 'read and follow instructions more precisely' from now."

Snape grunted. "I doubt you will be able to that in the next class, with Umbridge breathing over my shoulder. No matter. Occlumency lessons, Monday and Wednesday, 6 PM. Have you decided on a day for your little Defence group?"

"Nope. No date, no time, no place. A list of all the members is just about all we've done."

"I wonder if the Order began in such a way."

"I wonder if the Death Eaters began in such a way."

"Wait. A list?"

"Hermione made it. Solemnizing the initiation, and all that."

"It must be in her possession at all times. If Umbridge gets her hand on it…"

Harry's lips parted in surprise. "I'll tell her."

#

Harry was slowly beginning to realize the meaning of the concept 'the calm before the storm'. He'd had a perfectly lovely weekend, what with the meeting, Cho, and the conversation with Snape. Even the billowing worry about the Occlumency lessons he'd be having, and the reason for it, didn't do much to temper his deliriously happy mood; after all, the lessons meant he got to spend more time with Snape.

The poster on the board, banning all clubs and societies, was the first warning cloud on the horizon. He remembered Snape's comment about the Hog's Head, 'it's too quiet', and his stream of jokes about the anomaly that was Hogwarts students entering that place. Still, they'd already known they couldn't exactly publicize their meetings, so this wasn't too much of a dent in their plans.

Angelina Johnson's warning to him not to get on Umbridge's nerves so that she wouldn't be predisposed to declining their request to form the Quidditch team was the next. But Snape had already warned him, and he wasn't about to break his trust a second time. Besides, McGonagall would eat him alive. Really, between the three of them, it was just a matter of who would get to him first. (His money was on Snape.)

It was only as he held Hedwig's huddled form in his hands that the pit of anger and dread—which had been threatening to form for so long—finally did.

If Hagrid had been here, he'd have gone to him, no question. But Hagrid wasn't here.

He pulled out the Map, Hedwig on his shoulder as he spread and examined it. Snape, Severus Snape. He had to find a way to highlight that particular name, since it was basically the only name he cared to look at. Perhaps he could ask Snape to do it tod—oh, he was in his office.

Of course, he'd no way of being sure Snape knew how to handle animal injuries, but it wouldn't hurt to try, and anyway, he wanted Snape to treat Hedwig if he possibly could.

He grabbed the Map and stuck it in his pocket, thanking Snape for whatever charm he'd placed on the parchment to make the writing disappear when it was not in use, even though he hadn't asked for Harry's permission to do so, but then, he was right, Harry was using the Map for war, not to marauder about the castle and prank people.

As soon as Snape opened the door, he began, "Harry, I shall say this as kindly as—"

Harry thrust Hedwig at him. She was hooting dolefully; even at a glance, it was obvious she was hurt. "Hedwig's injured!" he said, to clear up even the slightest possibility of any confusion. "Something's wrong with her wing, look…"

Snape caught hold of Harry's elbow and pulled him into the room, closing the door, and turned to him. He leaned over Hedwig for a moment, as he held her up for appraisal, and then he gently took up the little quivering bundle.

Hedwig gave another feeble hoot.

"Sit down," he said, in a voice that was so calm and comforting that Harry felt tears prick at his eyes. He walked toward the table.

The chair suddenly transformed into a sofa. He sank into it as the owl was placed on the table. Snape went to the cupboard, disappearing behind a row of potions. Harry craned his neck around to keep him in his field of view, but a few seconds was enough to send pain lancing through his neck, so he elected to stare at the door.

After a few moments, Snape, his voice a bit muffled, asked, "Who were you writing to?"

"Sirius," he said. "She was carrying back his reply."

There was the briefest of silences, and then, "Somebody's read your mail, Harry."

This made him sit up and turn around. "And attacked Hedwig?"

He reappeared from behind the cupboard carrying a potion with a dropper. "It would appear so. Her wing is injured. Not broken, however, which means recovery will be swift." He leaned over Hedwig, and gently rubbed her throat. "Here's your letter," he said, holding it out to him as Hedwig opened her beak.

He unwrapped the parchment. Today, same time, same place. "Merlin."

"What?" he asked sharply. "I swear, if he was careless in his writing, I shall have his—"

"No, no," he said hastily. "He's going to Floo-call me today."

He held out the missive. Snape cast his gaze over it for all of one second before snorting and turning away. "Your owl is going to be fine. I suggest leaving her with me for today so I can administer the potions. And Harry, do not use your owl for communicating with any Order member, or anything which has even mildly secret content. Hedwig is far too distinctive." He was stroking her side, very lightly, and she was making the softest hooting sounds. Harry had no time to wonder at this. "Use the school owls instead."

"You think Umbridge read my mail?"

He met his gaze. "It is the only explanation."

"But it was still sealed," he said, aware even as he said it that it was a feeble argument.

"Seals can be easily replaced. If Hedwig was attacked—and it is highly improbable that this could have happened by accident—it was for the sole purpose of reading your mail."

"What do I do about Sirius?"

"I shall inform him his message was compromised. We Order members have rather more effective methods of communicating. If he'll listen to me," he said, with a grimace.

Harry didn't respond; white-hot fury was rising within him. Forcing the blood Quill on him was one thing, reading his mail was bad enough, but hurting Hedwig? That was unforgiveable.

"Time for Potions class," he said, and Harry looked up in blank surprise. "Leave now, and come back in time for the hour. Go. We shall talk in today's Occlumency lesson."

Ten minutes later, he'd completed a circuit of that floor, met up with the rest of the Gryffindors (hurriedly explaining the situation to Ron and Hermione), and arrived back at the Potions classroom.

"Shut up, Malfoy," he said, halfway through the Slytherin's speech. "We all know how much money your father has to cough up to get that influence in the Ministry."

"Pity the Weasleys are too poor to afford it," he said.

Before Ron could respond, with word or fist, Harry laughed mockingly. "Indeed. They do not have the luxury of lining pockets with gold to hold on to their power, they actually need to have talent. Real pity, that."

Whatever Malfoy was going to say was silenced when the door opened and the Potions master stepped out.

Harry forced himself not to scan the room for Umbridge.

"You will notice that we have a guest today."

Harry's head swivelled as one with the rest of the class. Umbridge was sitting in a corner with her clipboard.

At Snape's order to begin, Harry got to work immediately, Snape's earlier remark about his complete idiocy warring with the desire to watch Snape. He glanced over once. Snape seemed to have been waiting for him, because he looked Harry's way so quickly it was almost as though he'd been staring at him all along, and glared in a way that (to Harry) felt perfectly obvious it was a Severus-look, not a Potions master look.

"Watch your potion, silly child," it seemed to say. He looked back at the array of vials spread out next to his cauldron.

This red thing or that red thing?

Salamander blood or pomegranate juice.

He picked up a vial, and Hermione gave him an approving nod.

The toad was headed toward the—wait, what animal was Snape?

What was the scariest, most insanely protective animal in the world?

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?"

Harry had no clue. How was it he had no clue?

"Fourteen years."

Wait, that meant—

Snape's eyes met his.

He was so going to flunk this potion.

Snape's eyes were dark, and his expression was twisted into a grimace. It might have been meant for Umbridge, but at the moment he was utterly convinced it was meant for him.

Why did he care so much about Harry's class performance, anyway?

He remembered Mrs. Weasley scolding her children over their OWLS.

That's what parents did.

He looked away from the pair, determined to do this right.

"And you have applied regularly for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post since you first joined the school, I believe?"

Argh. He could not filter that honey-sick voice out, no matter how much he tried.

"Do you have any idea why Dumbledore has consistently refused to appoint you?" asked Umbridge.

Right! He'd just have to try harder next time.

"I suggest you ask him," said Snape jerkily.

He nearly choked on his laugh. And when you do, Umbridge, feel free to share, he thought snidely. He, for one, was extremely curious to know why Dumbledore would appoint idiots like Umbridge over a perfectly qualified (overqualified) teacher like Snape.

He gave Severus one last look. He was looking at him. Before Harry could look away, he came forward.

His potion was a brilliant turquoise.

Snape gave his cauldron a perfunctory once-over and moved on without comment, but Harry was sure that Snape's façade slipped for a moment.

He was too busy being delighted to worry over the fact that that slipup could possibly mean his death.


AN: Got to say, my respect for Hermione has increased during my reading of OotP. A fifteen-year-old conceiving the idea for a secret society and carrying it through to its creation, and juggling classwork and elvish rights at the same time? That girl is incredible.

Chemistry has never been my strong subject (understatement of my life) but the mistakes that Harry seem to make seem to be fairly silly, and Snape clearly agrees with me. And Harry was able to get an E in his OWLs. A little encouragement from Severus would definitely upgrade that to an O.

But he is not a genius! He's simply being a good student, is all.

In canon, Occlumency lessons began in Jan and ended in April, a total of 3½ months. It seems like the only reason the Order knew that Harry was dreaming of the corridor (ergo the continuing connection with Voldemort's mind) is because he saw the attack on Mr. Weasley (December 18). Now that Harry has told Snape about these dreams, it makes sense that the lessons would begin straightaway. So, in this AU timeline, lessons begin in October.