Chapter 9: There's Nothing Wrong With Fear (As an Aphrodisiac)

Harry slept so soundly that night he was surprised he ever woke up at all. Unfortunately, he also woke up later than he should have, and was forced to hurry to make it down to the Great Hall in time for breakfast. This time, at least, he was careful to put on his own robes.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Seamus asked him. "Too much of a pouf to be brave enough to come right out and admit you're a pouf, then?" Harry just made a face, and Seamus laughed.

At breakfast, he suddenly remembered what he'd gotten Snape to agree to, and got Ron and Hermione alone at the first opportunity. "You know how I said I'd make it up to you?" he questioned Ron. "Well, I got Snape to agree to teach me what he knows about Defense Against the Dark Arts, and after some whining and pleading, I got him to cut you in on the deal, too. So you can come with me tonight, and no more detentions with Filch."

Ron did not look appreciative of Harry's achievement. "Bloody hell, Harry! That's more of a punishment than before! How does that make anything up to us?" He was squawking and bug-eyed, and Harry had to grab hold of his arm and shake it in order to get him to calm down.

"Don't do that!" he told him in an urgent undertone. "Snape's looking at us right now! We have to convince him that we're mature enough to handle this, or it'll go right back to detention the regular way. Don't you get it?" Harry pleaded. Finally he gave up and led them out into the corridor, which was fairly empty. He looked from one of them to the other. Even Hermione was eyeing him with some trepidation. They were acting as though Harry'd signed them up for 'Sticking One's Head in a Dragon's Mouth 101' or 'Fire Eating for Fun and Profit.' "Please, you guys! We can't count on being able to teach ourselves everything we might need to know."

"That's true," Hermione acknowledged, getting that bibliophilic glint in her eye. "In fact, we don't even know what it is we don't know, or how to go about finding that out. We don't know what we might need to know, or even how to know if we know it…we don't know—"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry interrupted, torn between gratitude and exasperation. "I knew I'd be able to count on you. Look, Ron," Harry turned to his first ever close friend, willing him to understand. "I've gotten you guys hurt before. You've been injured because of me. Other people have died because of me. I couldn't—I just couldn't live with myself if that happened to one of you." He broke off thickly, turning away. To his surprise, Ron grabbed a hold of his shoulder and jerked him back, so they were facing once again.

"Don't you dare," Ron admonished him, a fierce look in his blue eyes. "Damn it, Harry, it wasn't your fault. You were there, true. You made decisions, yeah. Everyone does. You just made the best choices you could with the options you had at the time. You did your best, mate." He gave Harry's shoulder a squeeze. "I think most anyone would have done the same." He started to look unnerved as Harry's eyes swam with ever greater amounts of liquid. "Now, don't," he advised, looking disconcerted. His eyes darted to Hermione, beseeching her to help. "That's just—don't do that. Worst thing you could do."

"Oh, Ron, don't be such a complete twit," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "That's just exactly what Harry needs right now. Come here, Harry," she said in such a commanding tone that he wasn't very surprised to find himself with his head buried in her hair and on her shoulder, sobbing almost silently. "There, there," she murmured, giving Ron a short glare. "Let it all out."

"Oh, for pity's sake," Ron muttered. "You're spoiling him, you know that, don't you? If we end up with a limp-wristed fairy, it'll be all your fault! What he needs is some fresh air. And some wizarding girly mags. Fred and George have some, no doubt. I'll owl them."

Harry felt himself start to snigger at this, and turned loose of Hermione to quickly wipe his face with his sleeve. "Thanks," he told them both in a low voice. He looked embarrassed, and Ron did, too, but he found that they'd simply been friends for too long to feel terribly awkward. "So you'll come, then?" He tried not to look too imploring, but knew that it was what they saw on his face.

"Of course we'll come, Harry." He'd expected such a strong response from Hermione, who was, after all, naturally much better at dealing with emotions. He was startled to realize that it was, instead, Ron who had spoken them so firmly. He managed a wobbly grin, and Ron shook his head, lips turned in an exaggerated frown. "And DON'T say you owe us. I really don't like the way you go about paying off your debts." Harry managed a bit of a chuckle, thanking the fates (for once) for letting him off so easy. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised; Ron was a great friend. Their friendship had survived through fights and fears and fame, and trolls and tasks and terror. Now, they might well face the ultimate test. Now they would see if it could endure Severus Snape.

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The trio entered the Transfiguration classroom that night quite meekly, each feeling like a bundle of nerves. Harry had begged Ron before hand not to make a pig's ear out of it; just to give Snape a chance, and Ron had agreed, but with great reluctance. Hermione, Harry felt, was a trooper as always, but of course they were doing this in the name of knowledge, and that made all the difference.

They found Snape standing at the front of the class, face indecipherable and black eyes glinting. He pointed silently to three desks that had been moved to the middle of the room, and they uncertainly took their seats. On each desk was a piece of parchment, filled with Snape's elaborate handwriting down to the very bottom, where an 'X' proclaimed they should place their own signatures. Ron and Hermione exchanged uneasy looks, but Harry skimmed through quickly and decided it made good sense to him; he quickly graced the parchment with his name, ending with a flourish, and then turned to his friends, giving them a persistent look.

"I am about to place a silencing charm on this room, so that we may speak freely," Severus said, drawing his wand. "Are there any objections?" No one responded, so he did as he'd intended and turned to face them. "I suppose you're wondering why I am asking you to sign such a thing?" He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to prevent himself from rolling them. "Yes, Granger?"

Hermione, who'd had her hand raised even before the professor was done with the charm, quickly noted, "Sir, there are several spells on this contract that I recognize. There's the Consentius Oblivatum, and a Fidelus Oath, or a version of one anyway, and at least two Tacitonium Persuedi, and—"

"And your point, Miss Granger?" Snape was watching her closely, tapping a foot. He hadn't once glanced at Harry since the moment they'd entered the room.

"Ah…I'd only wondered. I mean; these are strong spells, and I'd hate to sign a contract that I couldn't get out of…" Hermione was turning slightly red, but she held her ground. "And that's what it appears most of these spells do. Bind you to your word."

Snape stared at her for a while, as if debating. "Of course they do. I could, in fact, lose my job over this unlikely agreement. I would hardly have been prepared to do so without assuring my self, in some small way, that you would not be able to do this specifically for that purpose. Potter, here, agreed to do this without question. If it is something that your beloved golden boy can accept, why should you find it so onerous?"

Harry glowed at this, reveling in the rare and unexpected praise. Snape had said something approving of him. He felt as though he'd been dunked in a vat of warm, honey-flavored liquor. He had to bite his lips to keep from beaming.

Hermione cleared her throat, carefully not meeting Harry's eyes. "Because sometimes Harry thinks with his heart, and not with his head," she rejoined, looking pained. "And because one of these stipulations says that we agree to have our minds wiped of memories at your discretion." She bit her lip, and Ron gasped. Harry was glaring at her. How could she say something like that about him? And in the contract…well…Snape wouldn't have put it in if it wasn't important, would he?

Ron looked angry, but he didn't say anything, and Snape stared at Hermione for some time, as though she was a particularly bizarre new potion that he was trying to memorize. Harry stared at him, and he realized the man's hands were shaking almost imperceptibly. Was he nervous? No, Severus Snape was never nervous. Had he been taking some potion with less than desirable side effects? That certainly sounded more Snape's thing. He watched curiously as he waited for Snape's verdict. "…well spotted, Miss Granger. Five points for Gryffindor." He turned and walked up to the blackboard, where he wrote the words Occlumency, Legilimency, and Consentius Oblivatum. Harry reeled. Snape just gave points to Gryffindor! Snape just gave points to Hermione! This was…awful? Why would it be awful? Because Hermione was getting attention, and Harry wasn't? If Harry wanted that kind of attention, he'd just have to work for it. He had no right to be jealous of Hermione, one of his best friends, simply for doing what she always did. He ought to be supportive. Then why did he feel like reaching over and giving her bushy hair a vicious yank, and asking her what she meant by it? Harry firmly stamped the urge out, and forced himself to pay attention to Snape.

"These words are all related. I've no doubt Miss Granger has figured it out by now, and Potter certainly ought to know due to his experience—though I highly doubt he does. Weasley? What do these words mean, and how do they relate to one another?"

Ron, put on the spot, blinked a couple of times. "Er. Well. Ah, Harry, he took Occlumency with you because of the dreams he was having. Because, er, Dumbledore thought that You-Know-Who, was like, getting into Harry's head. That was supposed to stop him from getting in. And Legilimency, that's like, what you use when you want to get in to somebody's head. So I'm guessing that last one—Consentius Oblivatum, it says here? I'm guessing it has to do with getting in someone's head, or keeping someone out of someone's head or something. Something to do with heads, anyway."

Snape licked his lips a few times. "Ahem. Well, aside from the most appalling mispronunciation of Consentius Oblivatum I've ever heard, that was a…logical train of thought. A small thought, to be sure, and one that falls far short of what I will be expecting from you if we do, indeed, decide to continue with these…distasteful gatherings, but a thought nonetheless, and therefore, I suppose, more than I would have expected from you. Potter, can you continue with Mister Weasley's train of thought until it actually arrives at the station?" He gave Harry an arch look, as though he knew Harry would not be able to arrive at any worthwhile conclusion.

Harry broke out into a sweat. His first real test. The first time he might have a chance at proving to Snape that he was not a total prat. It didn't help that Hermione could barely sit still, she was so eager to give them all the answer. "Um," he said, forcing the word past his suddenly dry mouth. "Well, when you use the spell Obliviate, it erases the memory. So I'd have to guess, seeing how the root word seems to be the same, that Consentius Oblivatum has to do with erasing the memory. Er. Like Hermione said."

"And the Consentius, Mister Potter?" Snape probed, giving no clue as to whether Harry was correct.

"I'm…not sure," Harry replied, cautiously.

"Take a guess." Snape's eyes were glittering madly, and Harry was a little thrown. He looked like a seeker who had just spotted the Snitch, but didn't want to make any sudden moves toward it because it would draw the opposing seeker's attention.

"It sounds like consent, so, er. I suppose it could mean that it was kind of a…consensual memory-wipe?" He bit his lip, clear eyes piercing the teacher with their tentative hopefulness.

Snape looked quickly away. "And what could agreeing to have your minds wiped possibly have to do with your studies of Occlumency and being subjected to Legilimency? Hmm?"

"Well, Voldemort can get into my mind, sometimes, and there might be things that we don't want him to know. If a memory was…really dangerous, like maybe it showed someplace we didn't want him to know about, or something like that, then maybe it would be better if I just couldn't remember it, so he couldn't get access to it that way."

Snape nodded curtly. "Voldemort is, in fact, highly adept at Legilimency. I do not know that any of you will ever meet him…again. But if that unhappy circumstance should arise, I would you all be prepared. And I am not partial to the concept of you doing so with certain…liabilities floating unchecked in your minds."

"You're worried we'll give away your role as a spy," Hermione noted solemnly. Harry felt something clench inside, and something tugged at his mind. Not his memory, exactly, but as though a thought had surfaced briefly, but before he could scrutinize it and discern what it meant, it slid down beneath the waters of his consciousness once more.

"We. You. This could put you in a lot of danger," Harry realized, thinking, This could be why Dumbledore doesn't want him in the Defense position. How could he teach the class everything without Voldemort finding out? Even being in the same room with us will put him in danger later. Because of his memories, and our memories… Out loud, Harry said, "I don't think we should do this. I mean it. I think. I think I made a mistake. I think this was a bad idea." His stomach felt like it was trying to twist itself around his other vital organs, or maybe come up through his throat and escape. He clamped his mouth shut, feeling nauseous.

"Well, it would certainly not be your first, would it?" Snape replied, one eyebrow raised in the expression Harry knew so well.

What would it be like, if Voldemort discovered Snape had been helping them and killed him? If Snape left for a Death Eater gathering, and never returned? What would it be like, knowing he was never coming back? What would it be like, knowing he would never see that eyebrow raised like that again? Suddenly, the whole room spun, and Harry found he couldn't breathe. His stomach was worse, and he turned sideways in his chair and doubled over. His heart was pounding rapidly, and he slipped from his chair.

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?" he could dimly hear Ron's and Hermione's voices against the fore noise of his own deafening heartbeat. He could hardly feel the floor under his body; it all seemed so insubstantial, like he was disconnected from his own body, and couldn't quite get back in. Was he dying? This was what he imagined it would be like to die. He could still hear his friends' agitated dialogue, and suddenly there was Snape's resonant, mellow voice rising above the others, and he relaxed fractionally. Not dead, yet. He's still here. He's still alive. You haven't gotten him killed.

"I think he's having a fit!" Hermione was saying, frantically chafing Harry's wrists. "Just look how pale he is."

"It might be an attack by Vol—Him!" Ron gasped, looking anxiously at the professor. "We were just talking about him! He could've heard and now he's in Harry's head! He's making Harry sick!"

"Compose yourselves," Snape said, tamping down their rising alarm. "He's only panicking. There is nothing physically wrong with the boy; his mind is simply insisting otherwise, and has convinced his body to believe the lie." He put a hand behind Harry's neck, helping him to a sitting position. "Head between your knees," he instructed brusquely. "Listen to me, Harry. Concentrate on my voice. Do as I say. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. And out." He was speaking quietly; not quite soothingly—this was Snape, after all—but the effect was the same. Harry tried to adjust the time it took for the air to come into and be forced from his lungs. Soberly, he did his best to match the tempo Snape's voice gave. His heart was still pounding painfully, and he feared he might be having a heart attack. "Harry," Snape said sharply. He took the youth's chin and forced his head up, so that he was looking down into emerald eyes that were wide with terror. "You have control over this," he told the boy with soft conviction. "Breathe in. Breathe out."

Hermione was rubbing circles on his back, and Ron was clutching at his right arm. Snape's fingers were warm against his chin. This was good. He could see them. He could feel them. He hadn't managed to leave his body, after all. Gradually, his heart slowed, and he could feel his breathing returning to normal. He closed his eyes and swallowed a couple of times, relishing the sensations of the hard floor beneath his hands, and the repetitive circular motion Hermione's palm made against his back. He could still feel Ron gripping his arm, so tightly that it hurt, and Snape's hand, no longer wresting his jaw upwards, but simply maintaining the contact, almost cupping Harry's chin. He opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the professor. Harry swallowed again, feeling his heart skip a beat, and then begin to speed back up. If Harry tilted his head only a little, and leaned forward, their lips would meet. He felt the inexorable heat rising up his neck again.

Swiftly, the professor stood and stepped back. The man didn't say anything, and his features were as hard and impassive as always. Except for the touch of his hand, there had been nothing gentle about his demeanor; in fact, he looked almost angry that Harry had dared to become so unwell. There was a line between his brows, and his eyes were turbulent. "Perhaps you were right, after all, Mister Potter. Maintaining this endeavor would be most unwise."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, throwing them all off a little. "I mean; no. Not because of that. If you don't want to do it, it had better be because you're worried about your own safety, not whether I'm too delicate to handle it. All right?" He lifted his eyebrows, giving the man a challenging look. Ron put a hand under Harry's arm and helped him to his feet. Snape pointed to the seats again, and they resumed their earlier positions. "I want to do this," Harry told them quietly. "But I'm not willing to pay Snape's life as the price."

Snape sighed. "Mister Potter, I long ago resigned myself to the fact that I would not likely live to see Voldemort's final defeat. I am a spy. It is a profession that holds certain…hazards to one's health. That being said, I am no glory-hound, no foolish brave champion. I should like to continue to exist, for as least as long as possible. I do not take needless risks. This is why I came up with the solution of the three of you binding yourselves to the contract. I felt it was necessary." He looked steadily at Harry, and said, "It is also possible they could get to you through me. I felt the precautions I'd taken were adequate, but now I feel…that I ought to admit that it is not my risk to take." His words were somehow placid, but the man's voice was harsh.

"I'm in it over my head, anyway," Harry said bitterly. "I'm clutching at you because you've managed to keep from drowning, and you've been in it longer than I have. To me, you're a life preserver, not a weight. Not a risk."

"Yeah, but…" Ron interjected. "That's a strong contract. It gives him an awful lot of power."

"Even I'm not honestly comfortable with it," Hermione added. She turned to Professor Snape, offering a suggestion. "Can't we…just tweak it a little bit? Change it so there are…reasonable limitations as to when you could exert your right to wipe our memories? We could say, 'only if you think there is serious danger of physical harm, or only if you know of some immediate circumstance that would absolutely require our memories to be wiped."

The man looked as though he wasn't at all pleased, though he might consider this, but Harry interceded. "No," He said with conviction. "No, we can't put limits on it that way. We have to trust him. We can't say, do it 'only' if this happens, or 'only' if you know that, or 'only' if such and such comes up. We have to trust him."

"But why, Harry?" Ron murmured insistently. "He's Snape. Don't you remember? Why should we trust him? He hates us!"

"Because we have to," Harry responded shortly. "Because he's an adult and he—he sees farther than we do. He has, what did Lupin once call it? Perspective. He has loads and loads of perspective. And that means he'll see angles we don't always notice. And because he's been a Death Eater, and a spy, and a member of the Order, which is almost like being an Auror. To do all that and still be alive, he's got to have good instincts. He has to be able to act on those instincts. And he's Snape. You can't expect him to explain himself to us beforehand. That's just the way he is. I think it's the right thing to do."

Ron heaved a great sigh and turned to Hermione. "Well, it's your call," he said. "Harry's developed into a ruddy lunatic and Snape's a certified soulless fiend, but I reckon you're still a dominant shareholder in the 'common sense' factory. You talk some reason into them."

Hermione looked very staid as she replied, "I think we ought to do it, for Harry's sake, if not our own."

"What?" Ron cried, gobsmacked. "For the love of—How can you—You just! You did it again! Just like blowing up the lab! You were supposed to talk him out of it. You need—do I have to explain your role to you again?" He threw his hands in the air. "Fine! Fine, you're all nutters, but that's just dandy. I'll just go along with you to see if I can minimize the damage you do yourselves. Where's the quill?"

Snape handed it to him, looking menacing as he did so. "Your quill, Mister Weasley. Might I add that the next one of you juvenile ingrates who refers to me by cognomen will suffer unspeakable woe as well as horrendous physical pain? Do not consider leaving off my honorific again," he squeezed the words out through clenched teeth. "If you do not call me Professor, you will call me Master."

The man drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at them with dark, imposing stature. Folding his arms formidably across his chest, he sent them a searing look through his dark curtain of hair. Harry thought that even if he were Voldemort, there would still be NO WAY IN HELL he would cross Snape right now. The man absolutely radiated power, as if he'd harnessed lightning, or a tsunami, or pure volcanic power and was simply waiting to unleash it on the next unfortunate bastard who happened to hack him off. It made Harry feel inarticulate, sweaty palmed and somewhat weak-kneed. And, of course, it was all down to terror, really. Pure, undiluted fear; the kind that made you shiver and cringe and flush and really, really make an idiot out of yourself. Fear. Yeah, that.

Still malcontent, Ron and Hermione slowly put quills to parchment, scratching down their names. As soon as they were finished, all three contracts burst into blue flames and crumbled quickly into ash. They stared at the sad little heaps of soot that had once been their free will.

"Um…Professor?" Hermione queried tremulously. "What would you have done if we hadn't agreed to sign the papers? If we hadn't agreed to have our memories wiped? I mean, since we would have known this much, at least, and could have given it away…"

She stopped speaking under Snape's furious expression. "What do you think, you thickheaded little girl? I would have wiped your minds forcibly, then sent you back to your rooms lacking the memory of tonight's events. And you'd never even have recollected enough to wonder why."

"That's! That's…dastardly!" yelled Ron, his face the same shade as his hair.

"But practical," Hermione sighed shrewdly.

"And…he thought about it beforehand," Harry pointed out. "At least he had a plan. We usually don't. We need this kind of foresight."

"What?!" Ron cried incredulously. "After that, the two of you are just…I can't—You. I. Aughhhhh!" he finally roared, tearing at his hair.

"Well. That's just what I would have expected from you, Weasley," Snape sneered. "An inarticulate scream. You must simply excel at cocktail party conversations."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, looking at Ron warily. "But you have to admit, for an inarticulate scream, that was pretty expressive. I mean; it got his point across and all." Ron's mouth was working vigorously, but nothing was coming out, and Hermione gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"Don't worry. We've done all sorts of idiot things. We always come out more or less all right. I'm sure after we've all calmed down, it will be just fine." Ron's mouth stopped moving, but he looked more morose than comforted.

"Right. Now, if we've got all the childish drama finished, I'd like to lay some ground rules," Snape snapped at them whirling and striding quickly to the blackboard.

"Rules?" Ron managed to gulp. "Signing over are souls wasn't enough? You want ground rules, too? This is just getting better and better." He rubbed his forehead forlornly.

"Watch your tone of voice, Mister Weasley," the professor growled at him. Taking his wand, he began to jot a number of things on the blackboard. "Number one; since you will be ostensibly 'detentioning' with me, there need to be an assortment of actions taken which further the deception."

"We could bitch a lot about you behind your back," Ron offered dryly.

Snape stopped writing for a moment, and the three tensed up, awaiting an expressive barrage of reproach. Snape however, merely shrugged and said, "As you like it. So long as you are very cautious about relating any specific complaint, I'd have to acknowledge that it would be prudent. Certainly, no one would expect you to look forward to or derive pleasure from my company." He ignored Ron's vehement, 'No worries, then,' and continued to scribble. "People will suppose you are serving detention, and that some kind of work will be required of you. Therefore, you each shall perform some menial task on a nightly basis; to whit, you will use your wands to each cover one wall of this classroom with lines that I predetermine and give to you at the beginning of each night. These lines will be left for the following morning, and, no doubt, be observed by Professor McGonagall's early classes."

"But—the whole wall?" Ron gasped. "That would take, like, hours! It'd end up being thousands of lines a piece!"

"And, ah, wouldn't that leave us without time to do any learning?" Hermione added timidly.

"You are actually supposed to be punished." Snape did the thing with the eyebrow again. "You do remember why we're all here, and not in my own classroom, don't you? You will each start by doing one hundred lines each, and then I will allow you to magically multiply them.

"Now, number two, whatever happens in this classroom as to your magical edification shall stay within the walls of this classroom unless I have specifically deemed otherwise. If I teach you an enchantment that is either innocuous enough, or easily found out, I may perhaps permit Potter to teach it to his little band of vagabond simpletons that envisage themselves an army.

"Number three, do not DARE forget my honorific again. You will call me Professor Snape, Sir or Master. You will treat me with respect. You will not speak out of turn. You will apply yourselves to the lessons given you with serious mien. You will not badger me for answers with which I choose not to supply you. If I do not inform you of something, it will be for a reason. You will arrive on time every time and be prepared. You will not discuss topics which are outside the scope of the lesson. You will be tested, and the tests will be rigorous. If you do not succeed at your first attempt at the test, you will perform it again. And again. And again, however many times it is necessary for you to meet my standards. I am not hopeful that you will manage any without multiple tries. Some of the tests will be written, and some will be practical. You will be expected to perform equally well at both. You will not cheat on the tests or during the lessons. If this means I have to bind and gag Miss Granger and instill in her notes password charms, I shall. The two of you mindless boobs are going to have achieved something on your own for once.

"Number…where was I? Number…twelve, I believe. You will learn to appreciate the arts and talents of your opposing house, namely by adopting their better traits. Potter, here, has always been a pathological liar; it shouldn't be too difficult for him to get in touch with his Slytherin side. You will learn cunning, artifice, discretion, forethought, chicanery, and if we are lucky, circumspection. You will unlearn your obstructive Gryffindor habits, including, but not limited to idiocy, imprudence, overconfidence, haste, incivility—"

"I like that, I don't think!" Hermione gasped, sounding affronted.

"I was TALKING up here, Granger! As I was saying, incivility, idealism, your petulance, over-sensitivity, and your deplorable obstinacy, even if I have to beat them out of you with a broomstick. Ahem. Yes. And last, but certainly never least, and you had better be paying close attention to this, you are going to keep everything about this our secret, Fidelus Charms or no. You will not, under any circumstances, do ANYTHING that could give my colleagues the indication that I am giving my evenings to coddling and spoon-feeding wisdom to the three most encumbrancing holy terrors in existence. In other words, the ORDER DOES NOT KNOW, NOR WILL THEY FIND OUT. Is that perfectly clear?"

Wordlessly, they nodded. "Good. Then get out. I need to prepare the first lesson. And even breathing the same air as the three of you has given me a migraine." He turned swiftly back to the board, erasing all points with one sweep of his hand. "Quills, ink and parchment tomorrow, class. It will be a documentation-filled evening."

They scurried to the door, and through it, before stopping and looking at each other. Hermione opened her mouth, but then thought better of it, and they were almost to Gryffindor Tower before they finally felt there was enough distance between themselves and their rancorous new tutor to speak safely.

"That was positively excruciating!" Ron burst out. "I've changed my mind. I'm not going back there! You can't make me!" Hermione leaned over and whispered something briefly to him, and he glared. "You wouldn't!" Hermione raised a brow, à la Snape. "You would! Why you—you," he spluttered into silence. Harry gazed on, bewildered.

Hermione gave him a quelling look, so he simply shrugged and said, "I don't think it will be so bad. Really. I think he was just snappish tonight because it was his first time teaching it, and he was nervous." He ignored the way Ron's eyes appeared as though they were about to pop out of his head. "We'll learn a lot, and I honestly think it could be the difference between making it through this and not making it through this. I think he'll be a big help."

"Harry!" Ron squawked, "He's an evil git!"

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't go into a dark alley with him, but that's neither here nor there. And I think it'll go more smoothly as we get used to each other, and he doesn't have to put the 'Scary Death Eater' act on anymore. We might even have…like…an all right time. "It could be fun with Snape." He became aware that both Ron and Hermione were staring at him dubiously following this remark. Fun with Snape. It sounded like the most peculiar home arts and crafts show. 'And to brighten up that torture chamber, try placing tea light candles in the mouths of some delightfully arranged skulls! Next, how to insert surreptitious pastels when your palate is mostly blacks, grays, and blood reds. Many human organs are pink, let's start with a few of those…'

"Harry…er…we still, you know, dislike Snape, on the whole, right? I mean…do you, um, kind of like him? All of a sudden?" Hermione was watching him anxiously.

"You don't like him, do you? Why would you like him? How could you?" Ron demanded. "He's utterly evil!"

"Look, you know how I was talking about…perspective earlier? It's sort of about that. Like, mine's suddenly changed over the past couple of days. Before, all I could focus on were the things he said to me, the times he was cruel, goading, all that. But thinking of him being dead…if he hadn't been here. I mean. He was trying to save me when Quirrell wanted to hex me off my broom. He came running out to the Shrieking Shack, when he thought Sirius was a deranged lunatic out to kill me, and that Lupin had been letting him onto the Hogwarts' grounds. He was always following me around, yelling at me about not staying where I was supposed to be, and I was forcing him to go looking for me and trying to keep me from getting killed. No, I don't LIKE him. He's still Snape. But I don't have to like him to maybe sort of appreciate him, in a detached, intellectual way. All right?"

Hermione nodded approvingly. "I think you're being very mature about all this, Harry. I'm glad to have you back. I mean, yourself again…And you're right. I'm sure it will get easier." Harry smiled and gave her a quick hug and thanked her.

"It had better," Ron muttered mutinously. "It had very well better."