A/N: OotP was published between the writing of chapters 2 and 3 of this story. Thus, some of the details given in the first two chapters don't agree with what we now know to be canon. I'm rather loathe to take down the first to chapters in order to edit them, therefore please be lenient with me and turn a blind eye to inconsistencies between the first two chapters and new details that have come to light in OotP. Also, I'm now starting to make references to, and alter previously given details of this story so that it agrees with, OotP in this and further chapters.

Thus, contrary to what may have been implied in earlier chapters, Harry is not a prefect, and does not have his own private bedroom. He still shares the dormitory with Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean.

If you spot any other plot-holes or inconsistencies, please alert me via a review. Thank you for your understanding and patience. I am, after all (though I sometimes claim otherwise), only human.  

Chapter 4: Spider and the Fly

Harry didn't bother going to Divinations. Half the lesson, although he hadn't realised it, had been spent in the Potions classroom, arguing with Snape. Snape. Severus. The man's very name made Harry's heart quicken and beat unsteadily in his chest. What had passed between them a little while ago was, although acknowledged by neither of them, electric. There was tension there, passion, anger. They had both felt it when Snape's fingers had drifted across his, and when that cool voice had murmured to him before he was pushed from the room. They both courted danger – or was it just Harry who did so? – and Harry knew it. But he also knew that he had made his decision. Right or wrong, wisdom or foolishness, he had to have more.

Instead of following Ron to Divinations, therefore, he headed back to the Gryffindor Tower, walking quickly and silently through the empty corridors. He went over the earlier events repeatedly in his head, remembering and savouring every moment. It was perverse to enjoy, nay crave Snape so much. God, but he wanted the man so much it threatened to overwhelm him. Whatever he gave, Harry would accept, damn the consequences.

At lunch, Ron entered the Common Room breathlessly and red-faced, having run all the way from the North Tower. He found Harry brooding silently in an armchair, staring deep into the flames of the fire.

"So this is where you've been! Snape didn't do anything too painful to you, then?" Ron asked, walking over to Harry. The dark-haired boy's gaze was still fixed deep in the flames, and Ron placed a hand gently on his shoulder to get his attention.

Harry jumped, startled, and turned to look up at Ron. "Oh, sorry, Ron. What did you say?"

"I said, 'Snape didn't do anything too painful to you, then?'" Ron repeated, sitting down opposite Harry as a gaggle of second years appeared noisily through the portrait hole. "We were worried when you didn't turn up for Divinations. Seamus reckoned Snape'd pickled you and put you in one of those jars he keeps in his store cupboard."

Harry shook his head, "No, it was fine. I have a detention tonight with him. I think I need a rest, I can't think straight with all this noise." He stood and walked over to the dormitory stairs, "If I'm not awake, don't get me up for Transfigurations."

Ron stared after him, "You have a detention with Snape and it's fine?" He spluttered. "You don't need a rest, mate, you need a straight jacket. And you know what 'Mione'll say about you missing lessons. And McGonagall… Harry!"

But Harry had already begun climbing the stairs to the dormitory. Entering the familiar room, he closed the door, threw himself down on the bed and closed his eyes. Too wired to sleep, but too exhausted by his own thoughts to go to lunch, he lay there listening to his breathing and tried to remember exactly how it had felt to have Snape so close to him, surrounding him.

When Ron came up an hour later, Harry was asleep, a troubled frown on his face, as though he were deep in thought, or concentrating on his dreams. After a moment's hesitation, Ron backed out of the door, closing it quietly behind him. He hurried down the stairs to the Common Room, where Hermione was waiting for him.

"Let him sleep, I don't think he's well." Ron said, voice lowered. Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Ron took her by the arm and steered her towards the portrait hole. "Come on, 'Mione, one lesson won't destroy his NEWT grades."

Hermione looked distinctly unconvinced and extremely disapproving, but let Ron lead her out.

"Anyway," said Ron, "he'll need to psyche himself up for detention with Snape tonight, poor sod."

"Detention!" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh, not him as well! Honestly, you two should know better! I mean, I know he's not a prefect, but he's still a sixth-year, and -"

"Yes, yes, yes." Ron said, vaguely, "I know, I know. Setting an example for the rest of the school… Come on, we'll be late."

They hurried away down the corridor, and left Harry alone with himself.

The frown on the boy's face was deepening. He was standing in the Potions classroom, before the door. Snape was behind him, he felt their arms touch as the older man reached to grasp the handle. This time, however, neither of them spoke. The distance between them was decreasing. Snape was behind him, around him, pressed against his back. Harry tried to stop himself from moving back against Snape's chest and stood, trembling, waiting for the other man to move. He felt cool, gentle breath caress the side of his face, and a delightful tingling beneath his robes as two strong arms wound round his waist, pinning him to the body behind him. Snape bent his head slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Warm lips pressed to his throat, and a tongue flicked out to taste his skin –

Harry's eyes snapped open and an orange ball of fur licked his face. He groaned and pushed the cat away, sitting up.

"Crookshanks… How did you get in here?" He muttered, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. "Have you been sleeping on Seamus' socks again?"

Rubbing his eyes he realised he needed a shower. Oh God, breath on his skin… Lips at his throat… Yes. A cold shower.

Picking up a towel off the floor, he bent down to stroke Crookshanks, who was curled up on his bed. The cat raised his face and nuzzled his cheek, purring. "Dreams about Snape…" Harry murmured. "I need help."

Crookshanks simply purred and rolled onto his side. Harry sighed and walked into the bathroom.

He remained in the Common Room throughout the afternoon, having decided that to turn up in the middle of a Transfigurations lesson pleading sleep as an excuse would only anger McGonagall even more. At least this way Ron would have told her he wasn't well and he would hopefully be left alone.

When Ron and Hermione returned to the Common Room, they found him huddled in the same armchair as Ron had found him in earlier, reading a book entitled 'NEWT Potions – A Further Explanation'.

"Harry," said Hermione gently, "Are you feeling better?"

He looked up, startled, and slammed the book shut, trying to conceal it under the sleeves of the Weasley jumper he was wearing.

"You didn't miss anything," Ron said, flopping into the chair opposite. "Nothing interesting, anyway." He added, and Hermione frowned at him. He caught sight of Harry's book. "What are you reading that for?"

"Maybe," said Hermione pointedly, "Harry's putting in some extra work to try and raise his Potions grade."

Relieved and grateful for the simple way out, Harry nodded. "Yeah, after today I need to start doing things right, or I'll fail the NEWT." I need to start showing Snape that I can do it, to prove myself. And I need to stop this compulsive lying to you, I'm sorry.

Ron grimaced, "Well don't try and recruit me to your little study group. I have better things to do with my time. Such as Quidditch practice. Which, may I remind you, Potter, you haven't come to for a week. We've got a big match against Slytherin coming up, we need you."

Harry sighed, "I know, I know. I'm sorry. But I'm only coaching you this year, remember. The team's doing well with you captaining them."

"We're fine in practices. We've got strategies and moves and we know them like the back of our hands. But when we're in a real match…"

Harry shook his head, "You know I'd come tonight if I could. But I've got this detention…"

Ron nodded glumly. "I know. I'll try and get Ginny to round everyone up. If you finish early enough with Snape, can you come down to the pitch?"

"I'll try, but I wouldn't hold your breath."

Hermione shook her head at them both, "Honestly. There are more important things in life than Quidditch." Ron looked outraged. "Dinner, for one. After we've been to the hall we can do our homework. And I'll help you with yours, Harry," she said, grudgingly. "I don't approve of you getting detentions left, right and centre, but you can't be expected to do two essays and see Professor Snape too."

Harry remembered why he loved Hermione so much, "Thanks, 'Mione."

"Come on, then." Ron said, his stomach grumbling loudly. "I need food."

After half-an-hour sitting in the Hall with his friends, listening to Ginny talk animatedly about her DADA lesson earlier that day, and picking unenthusiastically at his Shepherd's Pie, they finally departed for the Gryffindor Tower once more. Snape hadn't been at dinner. Did that mean he was sitting alone in his rooms? Harry imagined that brooding was a good look on the dark-eyed man. He could almost see him glowering into a fire, expression dark, ensconced in his black robes. What a delicious image…

Hermione got increasingly exasperated with Harry as his attention drifted during her helping him with his homework. In the end she gave up, telling him that if he was determined to neglect his work, she wasn't going to stop him. She went to feed Crookshanks some scraps she'd got from the kitchens, and Ron followed her. Harry didn't bother to ask when he'd be back.

He checked his watch. It was late enough, wasn't it? Surely he could go now. He turned back to his Divinations textbook. Diagrams swam in front of him. Bollocks to this.

He slammed down his quill and stood. As he walked out of the Common Room, Ginny called after him: "Harry! See you at practice?"

He didn't answer, and the portrait swung back into place behind him.

~~~~~

Harry walked along the dungeon corridor, mentally ticking off the doors. Potions classroom, terminally empty classroom (rumoured to be haunted), one of Filch's many store cupboards, forbidden door. Oh, forbidden door. Right at the end of the corridor, almost round the corner, hidden in shadows.

Harry approached it fearfully. Should he knock? Of course he should knock. Was it even the right door?

"Enter."

Harry jumped and looked round. How the hell did the bastard do that?

"I said 'Enter', Potter. Do get on with it."

Taking a deep breath, Harry reached out a hand to open the door. It swung open before him without him even touching the wood, and Snape stood there.

"Here for my detention." Harry said, stupidly.

"Indeed." Snape said, stepping aside. Harry entered and Snape closed the door behind him. 'Come into my parlour,' said the spider to the fly.

Harry realised that he had never contemplated what Snape's rooms could have looked like. His own visions merely specified that there should be a fire burning in a grate, which there was, and sufficient darkness to allow impressive shadows to leap across the walls. This, there also was.

Apart from that, this room was almost exactly what Harry would have, if he had taken the time to do so, imagined Snape to occupy. It was sparsely furnished – a writing desk, two lab benches, an impressive cauldron, and two uncomfortable looking wooden chairs. In addition to that there were shelves lining the walls, on which stood what Harry imagined to be different ingredients, all labelled neatly. Some of the jars held things which appeared to blink and squirm unpleasantly. The only light was that of the fire, which Harry suppose must be enchanted, as the flames were silent and slightly green in colour, and candles which stood in wall-casings around the room.

Snape strode over to the cauldron, which bubbled angrily. He regarded its contents for a moment. "Wolfsbane," he said, suddenly, making Harry jump. "I still brew it for Lupin."

Unsure of how to reply, Harry nodded. Snape continued gazing into the smoking cauldron, and there was silence except for the occasional hiss as it bubbled then subsided. "Professor -"

Snape's eyes snapped upwards and he stared at Harry unnervingly for a moment. "Sit, Potter."

Harry looked round and, guessing Snape meant the wooden chair next to the desk, seated himself. His back now to the man, he felt the familiar prickling in his skin. How he loved this feeling, this utter uncertainty – to be at the mercy of Snape was such a perversely wonderful thing.    

"Is your hand recovered?" Snape said from directly behind him, startling the boy.

"Yes, it doesn't hurt any more." Harry replied.

"I trust you have removed the bandages?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I didn't know whether I should."

"Madame Pomfrey would be most unimpressed. To leave on a bandage after the wound is healed will only do the skin more damage. You must give the wound air, or it will never heal. That, Potter, is such simple medicine that even Muggles have grasped it." Snape walked round the desk and sat down opposite Harry, raising his wand. "Abesse." The bandages fell away and crumbled into dust.

"Thank you." Harry said.

Snape looked unimpressed by Harry's gratitude. He regarded the boy thoughtfully, with eyes narrowed, for a moment. "In telling you what I will tell you tonight, I am taking a great risk. Not only to my own personal career, but also to my continued safety, and indeed yours. You must swear an oath that not one word will be repeated outside of these rooms. Should you break this oath, all contact between us will be ended, along with my career, and with further reaching, more terrible consequences."

Harry was silent, taken aback. "I won't swear to anything without an explanation." He said finally. He wasn't a fool – no one in their right minds would make such a contract with Snape without knowing what they were getting themselves into. You know you'll say yes regardless.

"Very sensible, Potter." Snape said, matter-of-factly. "I have no option but to be honest with you. I am proposing to tutor you." He caught the look on Harry's face, "Not in your NEWT subjects. I hate to destroy your faith in the Ministry -" A small smirk, "- but they had little intention when devising the NEWT curriculum of providing students with the skills necessary to function usefully in daily life. Neither do I mean to begin once more with the folly of instructing you in the art of Occlumency."

"But -"

Snape continued, ignoring Harry's interjection. "For the past six years, without fail, you have battled with Lord Voldemort. You have survived through luck, sheer foolishness, and the sacrifice of others. Although I hate to admit it, you are, in all likelihood, the only one of us with the potential for power far greater than his." He held up his hand to prevent Harry's interruption. "You must learn to harness this power and, though Dumbledore refuses to acknowledge it, there is only one way in which this can be done. These methods are… somewhat frowned-upon by the Ministry, and even by most members of staff. I am prepared to go against their wishes in order to prepare you for the defeat of Lord Voldemort."

Harry asked the foremost of the many questions which swam murkily in his mind, "How?"

"What I am asking of you is utter dedication. The arts I will be teaching you are ancient magics, and to harness their power you must commit yourself to them. You will require regular lessons, practical studies, and extra hours spent learning the theories and histories of magic. I do not deny that it will be a gruelling ordeal. But I believe it is worth it."

"What about my normal lessons?" Harry asked.

"Your extra tutoring would take place out of school hours – mainly evenings and weekends. There would have to be some sacrifices. Quidditch practices being one."

Harry sat in silence for a few moments. Giving up Quidditch training? Spending all his free time studying? "Why should I?" He asked. "How will it help me?"

"It is far too complicated to explain to you now. Let me assure you, however, that to fulfil your magical potential, if you were able to master your powers, would be well worth the sacrifice."

Harry looked across the table to the dark-haired man who sat opposite him. Obsidian eyes met his and he knew he would agree.

Don't say it, don't do it. How can you trust him? He's a Death Eater; he'll involve you in the Dark Arts. Say no, and go back to the Common Room. You've survived this long, you don't need this, and you don't need him.

He nodded, and his voice sounded strangely hoarse when he spoke, "I'll do it."

"I cannot communicate how difficult this will be," Snape said. "Once you begin you cannot admit defeat and give up."

"I wouldn't." Harry said, stubbornly. "I'll do it."

Snape regarded him for a second, then stood abruptly and walked over to the cauldron, which had now ceased bubbling, and gave off a dark blue smoke. Harry turned in his chair to watch the man. In the flickering light of the fire the man's expression was troubled, as though he were arguing deep within himself. Finally, he spoke.

"I must warn you, Potter. The magics I speak of are not the docile, malleable charms and enchantments you have learned here at Hogwarts. I speak of primitive magics, of the earth, the very elements. Though they are not Dark Arts, they will try to control you and draw you further into themselves. I speak of the magic of Shadows. You must be prepared for that."  

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice enough to speak. My God, what the hell are you getting yourself into?

"Watch the Wolfsbane." Snape instructed suddenly. "If it begins to bubble, extinguish the flames."

Harry stood a little shakily, confused by Snape's twisting conversation, which carried him off on tangents, so that he didn't quite know where they were in the course of the discussion. He walked over to the cauldron and stood, feeling a little foolish, eyes fixed on the greyish potion, which still gave out noxious-looking smoke. Snape had turned away and when, a few minutes later, he turned back, he held a neatly labelled flask.

As he did so, Harry caught sight out of the corner of his eye of a small fly, which hovered in the air a little to the right of the wisps of blue smoke. He became aware that Snape had seen it too, and watched as it buzzed towards the tendrils of smoke. Slowly, as though it was being pulled deeper, it gravitated towards the centre of the fumes, circling lower and lower, until it seemed it would be engulfed by the greyness of the potion. Snape's hand shot out and crushed the fly between forefinger and thumb before it fell into the Wolfsbane.

"I can give you things you've only ever seen in your dreams, take you to places you never knew existed." Snape murmured.

Harry's eyes were still fixed on Snape's fingers, which had so easily crushed the fly, drawn down into its suicidal spiral towards death. He fought to keep his voice steady as he spoke once more. "I want -"

"What? Tell me what you want."

Harry swallowed and raised his eyes to Snape's, glittering darkly at him through the fumes. "I want it all."