----
Chapter 8 – Explanations
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Harry poked his head through the flap to the Hufflepuff tent. The room became quiet almost immediately, and the entire Order of the Phoenix, save for the five with the DA, was looking at him.
"Mr. Potter," Snape said with a polite nod of his head. "Please follow me."
He stood and walked out of the tent, sweeping past Harry. Harry struggled to match his brisk strides, but followed the billowing robes into the Slytherin locker rooms.
"I assume you know why I've asked you to meet me." He said, perching himself on the long boardroom style table that spanned the strategy room of the locker tent. Harry sat down on a nearby chair.
"I suppose so."
Now what? An awkward pause.
"It isn't every day that a professor finds himself in this predicament."
"This isn't exactly familiar territory to me either, sir."
"Do you have any questions?"
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I thought that would have been perfectly obvious. I had no choice with the situation with the Dark Lord."
"I know that. But why are you telling me now?"
"Did you not read the letter? I thought I made everything perfectly clear!" His nephew was thicker than dragon shit.
"Honestly Professor! I'm your bloody nephew! Quit being such a prat! This isn't a classroom, and nobody's around to see you being a jerk! You've got nothing to prove to me, and there's nobody here you have to maintain your image for!"
"Is that what you think this is? An image?" He started out in his usual harsh tone, but realized what the boy meant. "Harry, if you had lived my life, you'd know why I am the way I am. It's a defense mechanism. I do what I do to keep people at bay so I don't have to explain my whole horrible life story to them. But that doesn't justify the way I've singled you out for harsh treatment in the classroom. I suppose that's what you mean when you say I'm being a 'prat.'"
"So why, sir?"
"Well at first it was because of my bitterness over your father. But I quickly came to realize how completely different the two of you are. I fully intend to fill you in on your father's history, the good and the bad, but now is not the time. Eventually I realized that you could do nothing to avoid your situation. Celebrity had been thrust upon you and you were forced to adjust at a young age. Therefore, I took it upon myself to make sure your fame did not go to your head. Imagine my dismay when I found out that Lockhart had you answering his fanmail." A smirk crossed his hard-bitten features. "I would have thrown myself at Voldemort's mercy before watching you get wrapped up in his charade. Anyway, I figured that if there was at least one person who wasn't blowing sunshine up your end, you might possibly turn out alright."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Keeping me grounded. I know I would have wound up with some horrid inflated ego without you, whether I knew it or not at the time."
"I only did what came naturally. Being a prat is second nature. Just because you're the wonder boy of Gryffindor doesn't mean you have to be an arrogant little beast. That's where I went wrong with Draco."
"And you saved my life a few times."
"I never thought you'd acknowledge that." Harry grinned and his uncle returned a smirk. "You should have seen me try to explain that to the boss after I went back to spy. Just don't think I'm going to give you special treatment during class because of all this. I'm still going to be a complete and total bastard. Just you wait." He stood from his seat on the table and ruffled the boy's already ruffled hair.
"I should warn you that I hate it when people do that, Uncle Sev."
"Well let it be known that I hate it when people call me Sev. But for you, I'll make the exception."
The two exchanged smiles. Just as Snape was about to go out the door, something dawned on Harry, and he couldn't leave the tent without asking.
"Hey Professor. What was that thing you mentioned about your father? That whole vampire thing?"
"I was wondering when you'd ask about that. I always thought that was a fun little secret to keep, what with everyone calling me 'old bat' and such."
"So can you turn into one?"
"No, I cannot turn myself into a bat. I don't drink blood either. I'm only half vampire. Though I do still suffer all the consequences, which is why I'm always greasy. It's a potion that protects me from the effects of the sun. And I can't see my reflection in mirrors. Rather depressing, really. Which is why I always have to wear black. Merlin knows what horrid outfits I'd coordinate."
Harry laughed and the two shared yet another awkward silence. Just as Harry was about to ask another question, they were interrupted by the tent flap flying open. Lupin appeared in the doorway.
"Severus, Harry, come quickly. Something's happened outside."
The two men followed the werewolf out of the Slytherin tent and out onto the quidditch pitch. Random groups of Order members dotted the outskirts of the pitch, wands at the ready, eyes on the rubble of a set of spectator towers that had fallen onto the pitch.
Snape, Harry, and Lupin approached Dumbledore.
"Well Severus, what do you suspect?"
"It could either be a diversionary tactic, or an apparating point. The Dark Lord is an insufferable drama queen, and it would suit him just nicely if his Death Eaters could emerge from the wreckage looking as menacing as ever," he said, his usual smirk stretched across his pale face.
"How much time do you think we have?"
"Ten minutes, fifteen at the most."
"Alright. I'll get everyone sorted out." He turned to face the Order and his Army.
"May I have everyone's attention?" The crowd immediately stilled and looked to their leader. "Thank you. I have spoken with Severus, and he believes we have anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes before the next attack. Now, to give our forces some semblance of organization, I'd like to divide you into groups."
Dumbledore turned to his most trusted spy, who was holding his left forearm.
"Severus, are you feeling alright?"
Snape crouched on the ground and curled his upper body around his arm, his face scrunched up in an unbelievable amount of pain. He hated it when his students saw him looking vulnerable like this, but it was one of the hazards of the job. Harry grasped his uncle's shoulder for reassurance.
"I'm… being… summoned. No… time to get… robes. Minerva? Would you… transfigure… mine?" He stuttered through clenched teeth.
"Certainly Severus." She pointed her wand and he stood, still holding his arm. "Vestitum Transforma."
Severus was a sight to behold in his Death Eater gear. All intimidation, no nonsense. Hermione approached him and placed a silver pendant around his neck.
"It's just so we know who you are. Wouldn't want to go hexing you into oblivion by mistake."
"Severus, in the name of not blowing your cover, duel with me or the other members of the Order. Try to maintain your image at all cost, unless you find it absolutely not to," Dumbledore cautioned him.
"Right. Good luck… everyone. Harry." And with a nod, he blindly disapparated to his master.
"So as I was saying, I need to divide you into groups. I believe that in order to provide a diversion, some of the students should dress in Quidditch robes and play a mock game. Act like nothing ever happened."
Several people looked around at each other, exchanging looks that could easily be read as "The old man has finally gone off his rocker."
"I'll leave it to you to decide who does that. It should also provide us with a good aerial attack. I'd like one member of the Order to pose as a referee in case anything goes wrong. I want some of you hiding in the moat to spring out if necessary. Perhaps some Order members on brooms to emerge from the locker rooms? Right. Students, go get dressed. Order, you know where the broom shed is. Hop to it."
The crowd dispersed and Harry began bellowing orders at the Army he and Hermione had trained up.
"Okay, I need fourteen DA members, follow me. If you're on a quidditch team, come along and bring a friend. I'd suggest we play Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw since Ravenclaw's already in gear. Head off to the lockers and borrow some uniforms. Meet behind the tents in five minutes. Kingsley, will you referee for us?"
"Sure. Do I need spare robes?"
"Not really. I've got a whistle for you. All you really need to do is duck and weave around the game and look like you're doing something."
"Fair enough. See you back out here in a bit."
----
Ernie Macmillan spun on his heel and followed Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs to the lockers. Justin Finch-Fletchley pulled up along side him.
"Justin, what are you doing here?"
"Harry said bring a friend, right? Here I am."
"Yeah, well…"
"You dressing up as Ravenclaw or Gryffindor?"
"Uh, Justin, you know why you're the announcer, right?"
"Because I know quidditch like the back of my hand!" He said excitedly, pointing at his palm.
"That's the front. Anyway, Justin. You failed Madam Hooch's first year flying class twice. Do you really think it wise to face Death Eaters on a broom?"
"You're right." He looked rather dejected.
"Besides, you've had better things between your knees than brooms." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Yeah," he snickered. "Susan Bones." And he ran off to join the group that was making its way down the stairs into the moat.
Chapter 8 – Explanations
----
Harry poked his head through the flap to the Hufflepuff tent. The room became quiet almost immediately, and the entire Order of the Phoenix, save for the five with the DA, was looking at him.
"Mr. Potter," Snape said with a polite nod of his head. "Please follow me."
He stood and walked out of the tent, sweeping past Harry. Harry struggled to match his brisk strides, but followed the billowing robes into the Slytherin locker rooms.
"I assume you know why I've asked you to meet me." He said, perching himself on the long boardroom style table that spanned the strategy room of the locker tent. Harry sat down on a nearby chair.
"I suppose so."
Now what? An awkward pause.
"It isn't every day that a professor finds himself in this predicament."
"This isn't exactly familiar territory to me either, sir."
"Do you have any questions?"
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I thought that would have been perfectly obvious. I had no choice with the situation with the Dark Lord."
"I know that. But why are you telling me now?"
"Did you not read the letter? I thought I made everything perfectly clear!" His nephew was thicker than dragon shit.
"Honestly Professor! I'm your bloody nephew! Quit being such a prat! This isn't a classroom, and nobody's around to see you being a jerk! You've got nothing to prove to me, and there's nobody here you have to maintain your image for!"
"Is that what you think this is? An image?" He started out in his usual harsh tone, but realized what the boy meant. "Harry, if you had lived my life, you'd know why I am the way I am. It's a defense mechanism. I do what I do to keep people at bay so I don't have to explain my whole horrible life story to them. But that doesn't justify the way I've singled you out for harsh treatment in the classroom. I suppose that's what you mean when you say I'm being a 'prat.'"
"So why, sir?"
"Well at first it was because of my bitterness over your father. But I quickly came to realize how completely different the two of you are. I fully intend to fill you in on your father's history, the good and the bad, but now is not the time. Eventually I realized that you could do nothing to avoid your situation. Celebrity had been thrust upon you and you were forced to adjust at a young age. Therefore, I took it upon myself to make sure your fame did not go to your head. Imagine my dismay when I found out that Lockhart had you answering his fanmail." A smirk crossed his hard-bitten features. "I would have thrown myself at Voldemort's mercy before watching you get wrapped up in his charade. Anyway, I figured that if there was at least one person who wasn't blowing sunshine up your end, you might possibly turn out alright."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Keeping me grounded. I know I would have wound up with some horrid inflated ego without you, whether I knew it or not at the time."
"I only did what came naturally. Being a prat is second nature. Just because you're the wonder boy of Gryffindor doesn't mean you have to be an arrogant little beast. That's where I went wrong with Draco."
"And you saved my life a few times."
"I never thought you'd acknowledge that." Harry grinned and his uncle returned a smirk. "You should have seen me try to explain that to the boss after I went back to spy. Just don't think I'm going to give you special treatment during class because of all this. I'm still going to be a complete and total bastard. Just you wait." He stood from his seat on the table and ruffled the boy's already ruffled hair.
"I should warn you that I hate it when people do that, Uncle Sev."
"Well let it be known that I hate it when people call me Sev. But for you, I'll make the exception."
The two exchanged smiles. Just as Snape was about to go out the door, something dawned on Harry, and he couldn't leave the tent without asking.
"Hey Professor. What was that thing you mentioned about your father? That whole vampire thing?"
"I was wondering when you'd ask about that. I always thought that was a fun little secret to keep, what with everyone calling me 'old bat' and such."
"So can you turn into one?"
"No, I cannot turn myself into a bat. I don't drink blood either. I'm only half vampire. Though I do still suffer all the consequences, which is why I'm always greasy. It's a potion that protects me from the effects of the sun. And I can't see my reflection in mirrors. Rather depressing, really. Which is why I always have to wear black. Merlin knows what horrid outfits I'd coordinate."
Harry laughed and the two shared yet another awkward silence. Just as Harry was about to ask another question, they were interrupted by the tent flap flying open. Lupin appeared in the doorway.
"Severus, Harry, come quickly. Something's happened outside."
The two men followed the werewolf out of the Slytherin tent and out onto the quidditch pitch. Random groups of Order members dotted the outskirts of the pitch, wands at the ready, eyes on the rubble of a set of spectator towers that had fallen onto the pitch.
Snape, Harry, and Lupin approached Dumbledore.
"Well Severus, what do you suspect?"
"It could either be a diversionary tactic, or an apparating point. The Dark Lord is an insufferable drama queen, and it would suit him just nicely if his Death Eaters could emerge from the wreckage looking as menacing as ever," he said, his usual smirk stretched across his pale face.
"How much time do you think we have?"
"Ten minutes, fifteen at the most."
"Alright. I'll get everyone sorted out." He turned to face the Order and his Army.
"May I have everyone's attention?" The crowd immediately stilled and looked to their leader. "Thank you. I have spoken with Severus, and he believes we have anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes before the next attack. Now, to give our forces some semblance of organization, I'd like to divide you into groups."
Dumbledore turned to his most trusted spy, who was holding his left forearm.
"Severus, are you feeling alright?"
Snape crouched on the ground and curled his upper body around his arm, his face scrunched up in an unbelievable amount of pain. He hated it when his students saw him looking vulnerable like this, but it was one of the hazards of the job. Harry grasped his uncle's shoulder for reassurance.
"I'm… being… summoned. No… time to get… robes. Minerva? Would you… transfigure… mine?" He stuttered through clenched teeth.
"Certainly Severus." She pointed her wand and he stood, still holding his arm. "Vestitum Transforma."
Severus was a sight to behold in his Death Eater gear. All intimidation, no nonsense. Hermione approached him and placed a silver pendant around his neck.
"It's just so we know who you are. Wouldn't want to go hexing you into oblivion by mistake."
"Severus, in the name of not blowing your cover, duel with me or the other members of the Order. Try to maintain your image at all cost, unless you find it absolutely not to," Dumbledore cautioned him.
"Right. Good luck… everyone. Harry." And with a nod, he blindly disapparated to his master.
"So as I was saying, I need to divide you into groups. I believe that in order to provide a diversion, some of the students should dress in Quidditch robes and play a mock game. Act like nothing ever happened."
Several people looked around at each other, exchanging looks that could easily be read as "The old man has finally gone off his rocker."
"I'll leave it to you to decide who does that. It should also provide us with a good aerial attack. I'd like one member of the Order to pose as a referee in case anything goes wrong. I want some of you hiding in the moat to spring out if necessary. Perhaps some Order members on brooms to emerge from the locker rooms? Right. Students, go get dressed. Order, you know where the broom shed is. Hop to it."
The crowd dispersed and Harry began bellowing orders at the Army he and Hermione had trained up.
"Okay, I need fourteen DA members, follow me. If you're on a quidditch team, come along and bring a friend. I'd suggest we play Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw since Ravenclaw's already in gear. Head off to the lockers and borrow some uniforms. Meet behind the tents in five minutes. Kingsley, will you referee for us?"
"Sure. Do I need spare robes?"
"Not really. I've got a whistle for you. All you really need to do is duck and weave around the game and look like you're doing something."
"Fair enough. See you back out here in a bit."
----
Ernie Macmillan spun on his heel and followed Harry and the rest of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs to the lockers. Justin Finch-Fletchley pulled up along side him.
"Justin, what are you doing here?"
"Harry said bring a friend, right? Here I am."
"Yeah, well…"
"You dressing up as Ravenclaw or Gryffindor?"
"Uh, Justin, you know why you're the announcer, right?"
"Because I know quidditch like the back of my hand!" He said excitedly, pointing at his palm.
"That's the front. Anyway, Justin. You failed Madam Hooch's first year flying class twice. Do you really think it wise to face Death Eaters on a broom?"
"You're right." He looked rather dejected.
"Besides, you've had better things between your knees than brooms." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Yeah," he snickered. "Susan Bones." And he ran off to join the group that was making its way down the stairs into the moat.