What Your Enemy Should Never Know
by Icarus
The spinning had finally stopped. Fortunately, Harry managed to never actually say any of the awful florid poetry that had come to his mind at odd moments, comparing red hair with the rays of the sun and whatnot. The effects of the love potion appeared to have finally worn off.
His next Dark Arts class turned out to be a ruthlessly hard pop essay quiz, so it was held at Hogwarts, in the dungeon where they usually had Potions. Harry racked his brain, but could only remember half of what he'd been taught the last few weeks, in various unrelated bits and pieces.
There was a persistent drip, drip, drip sound one never noticed when the dungeon was full of Slytherins and Gryffindors, and you weren't trying to concentrate on a test. Harry's quill scratched over the parchment. Snape sat at his desk, scowling at the stack of scrolls he was grading and making liberal use of a blood red ink.
Harry suddenly realized that he was almost out of time, and wrapped up the last half of his essay on methods of various forms of death and destruction, in the final ten minutes.
"Time." Snape said.
Sweating a little, Harry handed it in. Snape's glance said that he didn't expect much, and boy, he was right about that. But then Snape leaned back in his chair, and pursed his lips, reflectively.
"There is an antidote, of course," Snape offered, as if Harry would know exactly what he meant.
"An antidote.?"
"To the potion."
"Oh. Uh. Right. Will that be on the next test?" Harry asked.
"I have some of it here," Snape said, holding up a small vial, "if things have been getting a little.. warm.. for you. Or Mr. Weasly. Love potions can be so embarrassing. Or so I hear."
"Oh. I was a little dizzy for a bit, but it went away." Harry decided not to mention the poetry. It had been too awful.
Snape sat up. "What?"
"I'm fine. Really."
Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he were trying to detect a lie.
"That's impossible. I did a Litman test on that potion - it was perfect. How did you - ? How could you - ? You could not have ingested an antidote by mistake, it is very complex.. unless..
"..No. Can't be. But it's the only possible explanation. - Oh. Oh my.."
Snape's laugh was long, high, and mellifluous; it rolled up and down musical scales, rang off the dungeon walls.. and sent a chill down Harry's spine. Snape, leaning over his desk, leered at Harry.
"There's only one possible way that potion could not have worked," Snape smirked knowingly at Harry, scanning him uncomfortably now from head to toe, as if seeing him for the first time. "Well, well. Who would have thought? It appears, dear Mr. Potter, that you have few dark secrets of your own after all. And so young, too. How sad. At this rate, no doubt by the time you are my age, you will have a full complement of skeletons rattling around in your closet."
Snape gave another bark of laughter, and leaned back in his chair with a languid satisfied smile, muttering as if to himself, "..wouldn't it be wonderful if James also.. no, that would be too much to hope, he had Lily after all.."
Snape turned his attention back to Harry, who stood rooted in place, wishing there were some Dark Magic that could open a chasm under his feet he could fall through. Snape was enjoying this immensely.
"A Weasley. Really, Harry - " Harry blinked at the familiar use of his first name " - even in this you show an appalling lack of taste. But don't worry. Regarding our 'little secret.' You can trust me - as much as you ever have."
Snape did not allow Harry to forget their 'little secret' for a minute.
That evening at dinner, Harry felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He turned and found Snape, gazing at him from the teachers' table. Snape raised his wine glass in a silent toast to Harry, and watched him over the rim as he slowly drained the glass. Harry's face burned, and he lost all appetite. He jumped as Ron put his hand on his shoulder, with what Harry thought was too-obvious concern.
"You sick or something?" Ron asked.
Harry glanced back at Snape, who had blessedly turned to speak with one of the other teachers.
"I'm going to be," Harry said.
Snape was just as bad in Potions, two days later. If not worse.
"Harry," Snape said in a silky voice, as he prodded the roots Ron had chopped for their team, "are you satisfied with Mr. Weasley's.. assistance? Is it up to par, do you think?"
The Slytherins giggled, understanding from Harry's obvious discomfort that somehow Professor Snape had devised some new torture for the Gryffindors. They leaned forward to listen, eagerly. Harry couldn't think of a single answer to this that wouldn't be embarrassing, so he waited silently, hoping Professor Snape would let it pass.
"Well?"
Harry gave in, and nodded, blushing furiously.
"I am so very glad to hear it," Snape smirked.
As they were leaving, Hermione whispered, "That was strange. What's going on, Harry? What did you do?"
"Yeah, he's got something on you, that's clear," Seamus added, hefting his cauldron into its case.
Harry just shook his head. But behind Hermione he saw Ron freeze, and mouth the word: No! Shortly thereafter Ron cornered him between the gargoyles in the hallway outside the Potions dungeon.
"How'd Snape find out? He did, didn't he?" Ron asked anxiously.
Harry hurriedly explained, about the love potion, the fact it couldn't work if that's how you already felt. Ron's response was not what he expected.
"You - you're in love with me?" He was stunned and suddenly nervous.
"What -? Oh, I dunno. I haven't thought about it. But that's not the point," Harry continued, confused.
But Ron had a very strange expression on his face. He made an excuse and left in a bustling hurry, nearly catching his bookbag on the gargoyle. He stopped to untangle it, then scrambled away with a glance.
Trust Snape to really foul things up, Harry thought. Then he had that itchy feeling on the back of his neck again. Harry turned, and discovered Snape had just come out from the dungeon, and was standing in the doorway, looking at him. There was a flicker of sudden understanding in his eyes.
He had heard. All of it.
The spinning had finally stopped. Fortunately, Harry managed to never actually say any of the awful florid poetry that had come to his mind at odd moments, comparing red hair with the rays of the sun and whatnot. The effects of the love potion appeared to have finally worn off.
His next Dark Arts class turned out to be a ruthlessly hard pop essay quiz, so it was held at Hogwarts, in the dungeon where they usually had Potions. Harry racked his brain, but could only remember half of what he'd been taught the last few weeks, in various unrelated bits and pieces.
There was a persistent drip, drip, drip sound one never noticed when the dungeon was full of Slytherins and Gryffindors, and you weren't trying to concentrate on a test. Harry's quill scratched over the parchment. Snape sat at his desk, scowling at the stack of scrolls he was grading and making liberal use of a blood red ink.
Harry suddenly realized that he was almost out of time, and wrapped up the last half of his essay on methods of various forms of death and destruction, in the final ten minutes.
"Time." Snape said.
Sweating a little, Harry handed it in. Snape's glance said that he didn't expect much, and boy, he was right about that. But then Snape leaned back in his chair, and pursed his lips, reflectively.
"There is an antidote, of course," Snape offered, as if Harry would know exactly what he meant.
"An antidote.?"
"To the potion."
"Oh. Uh. Right. Will that be on the next test?" Harry asked.
"I have some of it here," Snape said, holding up a small vial, "if things have been getting a little.. warm.. for you. Or Mr. Weasly. Love potions can be so embarrassing. Or so I hear."
"Oh. I was a little dizzy for a bit, but it went away." Harry decided not to mention the poetry. It had been too awful.
Snape sat up. "What?"
"I'm fine. Really."
Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he were trying to detect a lie.
"That's impossible. I did a Litman test on that potion - it was perfect. How did you - ? How could you - ? You could not have ingested an antidote by mistake, it is very complex.. unless..
"..No. Can't be. But it's the only possible explanation. - Oh. Oh my.."
Snape's laugh was long, high, and mellifluous; it rolled up and down musical scales, rang off the dungeon walls.. and sent a chill down Harry's spine. Snape, leaning over his desk, leered at Harry.
"There's only one possible way that potion could not have worked," Snape smirked knowingly at Harry, scanning him uncomfortably now from head to toe, as if seeing him for the first time. "Well, well. Who would have thought? It appears, dear Mr. Potter, that you have few dark secrets of your own after all. And so young, too. How sad. At this rate, no doubt by the time you are my age, you will have a full complement of skeletons rattling around in your closet."
Snape gave another bark of laughter, and leaned back in his chair with a languid satisfied smile, muttering as if to himself, "..wouldn't it be wonderful if James also.. no, that would be too much to hope, he had Lily after all.."
Snape turned his attention back to Harry, who stood rooted in place, wishing there were some Dark Magic that could open a chasm under his feet he could fall through. Snape was enjoying this immensely.
"A Weasley. Really, Harry - " Harry blinked at the familiar use of his first name " - even in this you show an appalling lack of taste. But don't worry. Regarding our 'little secret.' You can trust me - as much as you ever have."
Snape did not allow Harry to forget their 'little secret' for a minute.
That evening at dinner, Harry felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He turned and found Snape, gazing at him from the teachers' table. Snape raised his wine glass in a silent toast to Harry, and watched him over the rim as he slowly drained the glass. Harry's face burned, and he lost all appetite. He jumped as Ron put his hand on his shoulder, with what Harry thought was too-obvious concern.
"You sick or something?" Ron asked.
Harry glanced back at Snape, who had blessedly turned to speak with one of the other teachers.
"I'm going to be," Harry said.
Snape was just as bad in Potions, two days later. If not worse.
"Harry," Snape said in a silky voice, as he prodded the roots Ron had chopped for their team, "are you satisfied with Mr. Weasley's.. assistance? Is it up to par, do you think?"
The Slytherins giggled, understanding from Harry's obvious discomfort that somehow Professor Snape had devised some new torture for the Gryffindors. They leaned forward to listen, eagerly. Harry couldn't think of a single answer to this that wouldn't be embarrassing, so he waited silently, hoping Professor Snape would let it pass.
"Well?"
Harry gave in, and nodded, blushing furiously.
"I am so very glad to hear it," Snape smirked.
As they were leaving, Hermione whispered, "That was strange. What's going on, Harry? What did you do?"
"Yeah, he's got something on you, that's clear," Seamus added, hefting his cauldron into its case.
Harry just shook his head. But behind Hermione he saw Ron freeze, and mouth the word: No! Shortly thereafter Ron cornered him between the gargoyles in the hallway outside the Potions dungeon.
"How'd Snape find out? He did, didn't he?" Ron asked anxiously.
Harry hurriedly explained, about the love potion, the fact it couldn't work if that's how you already felt. Ron's response was not what he expected.
"You - you're in love with me?" He was stunned and suddenly nervous.
"What -? Oh, I dunno. I haven't thought about it. But that's not the point," Harry continued, confused.
But Ron had a very strange expression on his face. He made an excuse and left in a bustling hurry, nearly catching his bookbag on the gargoyle. He stopped to untangle it, then scrambled away with a glance.
Trust Snape to really foul things up, Harry thought. Then he had that itchy feeling on the back of his neck again. Harry turned, and discovered Snape had just come out from the dungeon, and was standing in the doorway, looking at him. There was a flicker of sudden understanding in his eyes.
He had heard. All of it.