WARNING!!! There is sex in this chapter. It's quite integral with the characters and not overly graphic. It is much more "smut-with-substance" than "plot-what-plot" sex so it remains the same in both the and Yahoo Group version. (I'd give it an R rating, but not a NC-17. And…er, trust me, I've seen NC-17. Don't ask.)

Chapter 56. Detentions and Dungeons

Harry nudged Ron with an elbow as they sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. He'd been doing this each day for the past three days any time Katie Bell would happen to walk by or sit near them and each time Harry did this, Ron never failed to flush a brilliant red.

This time Ron also nudged back, hard.

"Oomf!" Harry grunted as he leaned over across his specially prepared and Dobby-provided lunch plate and muttered, "Damnit, I'm just trying to be helpful." He leaned away just in time to avoid a second sharp jab from Ron.

Checking once to make sure that Katie, now seated four seats down and across, wasn't looking, Ron then furiously whispered, "Shh! I don't want her to know! What if she saw that?"

"Saw what?" Harry grumbled as he lifted his arm out to rub the sore spot on his ribs. "Ron, I think she's going to have to know sooner or later—like when you finally ask her—oomf"

"Shhhh Ron hissed; drawing looks from several nearby Gryffindors, including an extended glance and amused smile from the objection of discussion.

As Katie looked away again, Harry turned and gave Ron a dirty look and, nodding back towards Katie, said in a low voice, "You're being thick, now just ask her!"

"Don't push me!" Ron said in a shrill whisper. "I…it's got to be—she can't know about it before!"

Harry just looked at Ron. "Er, are you just planning on surprising her into saying yes? Is that your plan?"

Ron just mumbled, looking away hastily. Harry wasn't sure Ron would even work up the nerve before Easter to ask Katie out, much less the next Hogsmeade weekend at this rate. If Harry hadn't said Ron had to ask her out on his own, he'd feel compelled to help him on it. But as it looked now, Draco Malfoy seemed quite safe from any planned revenge attacks until Ron found some nerve. It really was quite a shame.

Harry checked the time as several nearby Gryffindors rose to leave. "Well, I'm off, too" he said then and gathered up his bag.

"Where—why?" Ron asked at once with a panicked look across at Katie who, with Harry gone, would soon be the only other person near Ron.

Harry gave Ron a knowing grin. "Come on, mate. No time like the present. I'm off to Dumbledore's office. Finally got that essay done and so it's no more library work for me. See you later!" Ron didn't look too pleased but Harry could only shake his head. That, and call out, "See you later, Katie!" down the table before snickering at Ron's returning flush.

While working on his own as he'd been researching Blood Alchemy, Harry had had some time to come to terms with some underlying resentment he'd held against Dumbledore for the headmaster's most recent actions that caused part of the prophesy contents to be made public. It had taken Harry recalling the book on prophesies that Hermione had shown him to really make him think twice about blaming Dumbledore for seeming to always be the one who caused the pressure to increase just another notch.

The book had said that beneficiaries of prophecies were destined to somehow cause and catalyse events of the prophesy. It had said that no matter what, Dumbledore, as the beneficiary of the prophecy, would be traceable as a cause of the events. At first this made Harry feel even more resentment towards Dumbledore for some of the things that had occurred—mainly Dumbledore's mistake of believing that the Fidelius Charm would protect his parents and allowing Snape to save his life by telling Voldemort the beginning of the prophesy, which, eventually had led to Harry being "marked as an equal" and an orphan. Additionally, Harry had wondered if his parents dying and Dumbledore shunting him off to the live with the Dursleys wasn't also part of the prophesy as he, like Voldemort, was forced to merely exist; surviving but not truly living for almost ten years.

Harry had always entertained thoughts of 'what if' ever since he was old enough to know he wanted something he didn't have. It was enough to drive him mad now with the knowledge that many things he'd endured were both traceable to a decision of Dumbledore's and were unavoidable because of a blasted prophesy. It was difficult indeed to refrain from laying blame at Dumbledore's feet at even the best of times.

One of the things that had helped Harry understand the futility of Dumbledore's role as the prophesy beneficiary was Harry being able to see his own role in the only other prophesy he knew of: the one made the night Wormtail had escaped. That prophesy was made to Harry and, of course, it had been Harry who'd made the decision to not have Wormtail killed, allowing Voldemort's servant to return to him and aid Voldemort back to power. Even despite Harry living through the hours where that prophesy had begun to be executed twice through the use of Hermione's Time-Turner, Wormtail had still escaped as foretold. Through comparing these two prophesies, Harry could begin to understand.

Harry could even see how he, completely against his will, had been used to enable Voldemort to rise up again from his disembodied state. Harry couldn't be blamed for that, he felt. He'd been transported there unwittingly and had no way to fight it. He was lucky to have just survived at all. But yet, he enabled that portion of that prophesy to come true. Of course, thoughts like these also led Harry to wondering about how he could ever avoid enabling the part where Voldemort becomes 'greater and more terrible than ever he was' from ever coming to pass. It was here, when he dwelled upon this, that he could truly conceive of the futility Dumbledore must also have felt for many years and still must feel today.

Finally, Harry reached the gargoyle and rode the stone staircase up to the Headmaster's office and was greeted by a cheery Dumbledore in particularly resplendent robes of a vibrant plum.

"Good afternoon, Harry!" he said with a beaming smile. "I was just telling Fawkes here, how very much I was beginning to miss having you up here regularly for our lessons. I'm glad to be back on schedule. Jammy Dodger?" he then offered, holding out a tin of buscuits.

Harry smiled and shook his head.

"Well then, where were we, ah yes, I've read through your essay, Harry and, let's see, where is it now?" Dumbledore then shuffled through several scrolls in a row; unrolling each, skimming down and then muttering, "Nope, nope, not it."

In the meantime, Harry sat and watched nervously as Dumbledore finally found the right scroll and then proceeded to peer through his silver half-moon glasses as he perused down the length of the essay.

Harry'd never ever had to hand in anything like real homework to Dumbledore before and he now found the experience quite nerve wracking. Plus, he couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore was more than a little reluctant to teach Harry about this and that, with the slightest reason to suggest Harry didn't comprehend the enormity of this magical art, instruction would be delayed longer still.

Harry had already spent more than two weeks worth of his private training sessions and numerous additional hours on this essay. He'd hate to admit it but the fact that Hermione's detentions with Snape the past several days had left him free to work late into the night without any interruptions had actually helped him. He'd been able to think more intensively without someone interrupting or having to pause and discuss what he was reading or writing. Not that he felt Hermione's discussions of just about any subject other than Quidditch weren't worthwhile; they were and Harry would never be convinced otherwise. But, alone and without interruption, his mind had a chance to travel forth to conclusions without outside influence and, well, he found he rather liked that. There was something satisfying to him about picking up a thread of thought and following it along until it became a revelation of sorts.

"I see," Dumbledore said, finally setting down the lengthy scroll upon his desk, "that you've been admirably thorough in your research and most insightful in your discussions."

Harry couldn't help but feel a swoop of relief in his stomach at this. "Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore peered over his glasses at Harry keenly for a moment before returning to the parchment in hand. "Yes, yes, some very eloquent suppositions." He peered across at Harry again. "I am impressed."

Harry wasn't sure that statement was good or bad. "I, er, I wanted to be sure it was clear that I am committed to learning this and that I have no illusions as to the potential risks," he said watching Dumbledore's reaction carefully.

"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a grave look as he sighed and allowed the parchment to roll up on its own atop his desk. He looked once at Harry and then smiled as he looked off to the side. Harry wished he knew now what Dumbledore was thinking and it was with a mixture of curiosity and restlessness that Harry watched Dumbledore rise from his chair then approach Fawkes who was preening upon his golden perch.

With a finger held out which Fawkes then used to rub his head against, Dumbledore spoke: "Phoenixes, in my opinion are truly one of the most fascinating beings of the magical world. Now, perhaps I am biased, however, don't you quite agree that they are truly amazing creatures? Is not the power of the phoenix most clearly awesome with its immortal nature?"

Harry began to nod mutely but then, without turning around, Dumbledore continued to speak. "Or what of the inherent wisdom of owls who know secrets as if whispered by the winds? Think, Harry," he said as he finally now turned and face Harry, "think of the Basilisk's power to kill with only a look or the power of a dragon to resist magic from all but a combined effort of the strongest of wizards; these are powers that wizards, generally, just do not possess."

Dumbledore, looking as wearied as ever, then approached Harry. Harry was almost positive Dumbledore had changed his mind about the whole thing and was about to rescind his offer to teach Blood Alchemy.

"But as is the nature of humans, we covet that which we admire and do not have. The question I must ask you, Harry, is can you see the allure of that power? Can you feel it and acknowledge it yet still, through all that, still manage to resist it?"

Harry had expected something like this: some question of whether he might ever be tempted to seek more power in preparation for his eventual meetings with Voldemort. He knew his thoughts on this and steadily met Dumbledore's solemn, untwinkling, blue eyes. "By rights of the prophesy, sir, I believe have all the power I need—without seeking powers on my own. I just need to understand this; not use it." Echoing in the far reaches of Harry's mind was the Sorting Hat telling him, you could be great you know, it's all here. But he pushed that thought away. It was not what he was looking for. He did not wish to become an all-powerful wizard.

Dumbledore's gaze was unfaltering. "Power is not the only allure which has beckoned many wiser than you, Harry. Gold, wealth is another allure--"

"I don't care about money," Harry said at once dismissively. "That won't be a problem."

"I never thought it was," Dumbledore answered simply. His clear blue eyes travelled over Harry's face and Harry, reminded himself here to fortify his mind's shields. Stepping forward now, towards Harry, Dumbledore said, "The persistent quest for one's ever more knowledge has been known to lead to mortal disaster more than once. Cannot a thirst for knowing more also lead one past the line of wise experimentation? By now, in your research, Harry, I know you've heard story of more than one wizard whose quest for a little more knowledge ended tragically."

That was certainly true and Harry nodded. He knew this. But again, it did not matter as Harry was not out to discover knowledge any more than he was to gain power or money. Harry wanted an understanding of this magic only so that he could understand how Voldemort used it.

"And what," Dumbledore said as he stood just before Harry, "what do you think one who seeks to find love, who seeks to find someone to love them or who seeks to hold onto the people they love? Might they not be tempted to elevate a slim chance of success above the risk of failure all in the name of protecting or saving someone who is beloved? The need to have love returned, the need to hold on to one who is beloved, or the need to bring back one who has long been gone, Harry. These are also things that can tempt even the most pure intentioned wizard to disregard their own wisdom."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. This hadn't even been something that had crossed his mind. He wasn't…he'd never once thought about…all right, he had. He had thought about somehow bringing Sirius back if there had been a way. But that was a long time ago now and there hadn't been any way. It was as simple as that, Harry reassured himself.

Dumbledore shuffled past and, with his hands clasped behind his back, he peered off into the crackling hearth. "It's a difficult thing, Harry, to meet one's own death. But it is altogether more torturous and infinitely more heartbreaking to accept the death of one beloved to you. It's here that I fear for you and that you may someday be tempted to risk a rare success with the use of the magic I shall soon teach you."

Harry wasn't sure what to say. So very many thoughts just ran through his mind; some indignant, others baffled, and some comprehending. He was glad Dumbledore was still looking off into the fire for he was sure his face must have betrayed his muddled reaction.

"The most important rule, Harry, one which must never be broken, when working in the realm of blood magic," Dumbledore turned here and, pulling his glasses down the crooked slope of his nose, intoned, "never meddle with the dead."

Harry had never held any such idea within his mind but the tone and severity of Dumbledore's words were spoke such that Harry still felt a false pang of guilt.

"There is magic bound to the soul of a witch or wizard and, after it leaves the realm of the living, we the living, no longer may claim it. It defies nature and belongs elsewhere. A wizard or witch, upon their death may pledge the sacrifice of their death to remain as an earthbound magic, but it is their choice and their choice alone. Your mother, Harry, was an example of a person whose sole intent at the time of her death was to protect you. That—was—powerful. She dedicated her entire essence to protecting you. It's with you still.

"There are a great many things one can do with their lives: be it toiling with one's hands, healing the sick, teaching the young or reaping harvest for the table. They are each worthwhile however, one's death can be just as meaningful and even more so. Your mother's is an excellent example of that."

Finally, Dumbledore sighed and gestured with his arms up around the room as he said, "The very walls, floors and staircases of this castle, Harry, are imbued with a sentience and magic imparted by one of the school's founders. Lady Ravenclaw was one who dedicated much of her life to study the consecration of a magical soul. It was an ancient custom, forgotten by most in the time of the founders and unknown to almost all today, for magical folk to plan their death and dedicate themselves as an earthbound entity."

Harry wasn't sure he was following. "You mean like ghosts?" he asked.

Dumbledore's head bobbed from right to left. "Perhaps. A ghost is but one form of an earthbound magical soul. But it is, for most purposes, a waste of a magical soul. All the magic bound to the soul is tied up in conjuring up an ethereal projection of the body that was once bound to the soul. They can move about, talk and communicate with other ghosts and those still alive here, but they cannot affect the living or objects and they, bound in an imitation of life, shall suffer the desires of the living but lack the being and capability to experience any such thing."

Harry thought of his discussion with Nearly Headless Nick last spring. "Nick told me he was afraid of death. But he said he chose to be ghost. Why, if it's a waste, would anyone choose to be one then?"

Dumbledore gave Harry a long look. "Fears and our reactions surrounding them are quite often not at all rational. Look at the recently deceased Mister Planesse—he was murdered and feared that no one would ever know the truth. He said that it was a very conscious decision for him to remain on earth so that the truth would be known. He gave his testimony, he let his story be known and then, with his purpose fulfilled, he realised he had all eternity ahead of him and was bound to an earthly non-existence."

Dumbledore was now back beside Fawkes, watching the scarlet and gold plumed bird snooze. "It is important, Harry, that you realize that one's death may be just as important as their life. Promise me, Harry," he said, turning now to look steadily at Harry, "that you will never forget that."

Harry felt sure there was some specific event that Dumbledore believed might eventually occur and that would tempt Harry in some way to reverse someone's death. His mind immediately thought of Hermione and his heart clenched. It was impossible for him to conceive of wilfully letting her perish; he could never do that, but still, he managed to look Dumbledore in the eye and nod. "I understand."

A weary sadness upon his face, Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, then. Let us now begin. We shall start with something that you've both seen before and which is proven to be a stable and reliable bit of magic: the same Sanguineford Solution, which Hermione brewed before your holiday, ended. With it, one is able to create a potion that may enable a drinker to access and temporarily possess a magical ability of the brewer—as determined by the brewer. But, before we light a fire beneath any cauldron, I'd like you to thoroughly study the potion, create a diagram for it's synthesis and write a full discussion of use of this potion and also why the brewer must be completely focused at all times."

Harry's mouth had dropped open at hearing of yet more library work and he only now snapped it shut upon Dumbledore's amused smile.

"I believe, Harry," he said a twinkle, "that you'd best get used to the library. As you well know by now, our study for very obvious reasons can only progress so far in practical lessons. Far more will be covered by theory and discussion."

And so it was without surprise that Harry spent yet another night in the library even while Hermione still toiled under Snape's watchful eye in detention. Madam Pince kept giving Harry very distrustful looks whenever she'd passed by. Harry couldn't blame her; even he knew it was odd for him to be there without Hermione as an excuse.

Ron had spent part of the evening with Harry but, when Harry proved as boring to be around as Hermione often was in the library and a certain seventh year Gryffindor rose from a nearby table to return to the Common Room, Ron found a sudden need to head back to the tower. Harry just smiled as he left. It was at least progress if Ron was starting to try to be near Katie. It was obvious Ron was hoping that the right words would just suddenly fly from his mouth at the right time and that everything would work out perfect. Harry wasn't so sure, at least, not unless some more Firewhiskey was involved.

As he trudged back alone down the corridors after being shooed out by Madwoman Pince, Harry wondered when the next opportunity for a Common Room party would be. There was a Quidditch match in a week and half between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, just a week before Hogsmeade and he supposed that if Slytherin lost, that was always cause enough for Gryffindors to celebrate. He made a mental note to owl the twins for some more Ogdens. However, he also made a note to not mention a word of what it was for. He had a feeling they'd not be very helpful if they knew Ron fancied Katie.

The Common Room was nearly empty by the time Harry entered through the portrait hole. He saw Ginny and several others of her fellow fifth years looking drained as the weight of their OWL year pressed down upon their shoulders and kept them working at several tables that had been pushed together. None of them had the time or energy to even acknowledge Harry as he walked in and headed over to the empty sofa by the dwindling fire.

With a wave of his wand towards the hearth, the fire roared back to life and Harry stretched out on the cushy, worn sofa. His back ached from being hunched over a library table all evening and the many battered pillows behind him tempted him to drift off to sleep. But before he got too comfortable, Harry drew out what looked like a battered copy of Quidditch Through the Ages from his book bag, a quill and an inkpot before settling in on his side, propped up upon several pillows.

He murmured the password as he held the book and its cover shimmered for a moment before it turned in to a blank, leather-clad diary. Harry carried it with him everywhere and wrote in it daily. The book that Hermione had sent him at the beginning of the last summer holiday was nearly filled by now. As he began to write and sort through his thoughts from the day, he made a note that he'd have to send Hedwig for another book. Perhaps he'd do it when he sent her to ask Fred and George for that Firewhiskey…

Harry was dreaming that he was a cat and sunning himself beneath the warm summer sun. It felt so warm and bright and it made him want to smile. His friends and family were there and laughing with delight at seeing him frolic. It made him happy to hear their joyous words and he wished he could keep them smiling and laughing forever. Then someone began to pet him atop his head and he rolled over, feeling the fingers card through his fur…no, hair.

It was hair. He had hair. He was—

"Harry?" Hermione's breath tickled his ear as she whispered his name softly.

"Mmmm," was all he could manage to mumble. "Watch out…inkpot…" he feebly warned.

He felt her laugh beside him. "I already moved that. And the quill and I tucked your book into your bag." He felt Hermione shift beside him and then felt a blanket being pulled from the back of the sofa and draped over him. "How long have you been asleep?" she whispered as he cracked open his eyes to see her slide in beneath the blanket beside him.

Harry felt his body warm instantly as Hermione's settled in beside him. He missed this feeling more than words could ever say. He slipped one arm beneath the pillow upon which Hermione's head now rested and tugged her closer.

"What time is it?" he whispered as he noted she'd also removed his glasses from his face.

"Nearly one," Hermione said as she kissed the tip of his nose.

Harry vaguely wondered if the other fifth years that'd been awake earlier were still in the Common Room. But, judging by the way Hermione was sliding her hands up and down his chest; he assumed they and everyone else must surely be long gone by now.

"You just get back now from detention?" he asked he used his free hand to slide from her elbow to her shoulder and then down her side.

Hermione pouted; her lips pressed together and she furrowed her brow. "I don't' want to talk about it. He's….he…I solemnly swear, Harry, I will never ever again stand up for that despicable…man again. You can call Snape a bastard or a greasy git as many times as you like and I shall always know you've only ever spoken the truth on that."

"That bad?" Harry said as he smirked, leaned in and inhaled the scent of her hair. He couldn't even manage to be bothered that it smelt slightly of potions and the dungeons; it'd simply been far too long since he'd been this close to her…alone.

"I don't even want to talk about it," she said dejectedly.

Harry was glad for her answer and murmured, "Good," before he slid his free hand up and into her hair to pull her mouth to his for a kiss. What Harry now had in mind, had very little to do with any sort of talking.

As his lips made contact with Hermione's and their mouths opened up to one another's, he felt his body resonate with the desire to press against hers until neither could discern where one began and the other ended.

Hermione had already worked one hand beneath his jumper and was steadily tugging out his shirt from the back of his trousers and Harry soon manoeuvred himself on top of her; his mouth still hungering for hers.

Removing clothes seemed quite optional at this point and Harry felt the need to simply press himself into her was far greater than any other silly need like nakedness or even breathing.

"Harry," Hermione gasped as his mouth left her lips to travel lower. "We're…we can't…what if someone comes down?" she protested weakly, her body's response to Harry's kisses belying her spoken reservations.

"They'll think we're busy," Harry said quickly before returning to kiss her mouth thoroughly. "And," kiss, "that,", kiss, "we" kiss, "shouldn't," kiss, "be," kiss, "disturbed," kiss.

Hermione was both allowing herself to be kissed completely and also encouraging him by shifting beneath him so that he lay cradled now between her legs.

"But what if…" she trailed off as Harry's hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirt and forced her to quite suddenly reprioritise. "Ooh…" she trailed off as she bit her lip to keep quiet.

Harry's fingers found exactly what he was looking for and he grew hotter still with the need to completely disappear within Hermione.

In the past, there had been times where sex between them had made Harry wildly imagine that Hermione, sitting atop him perhaps, was but a beautiful embellishment and extension of a certain portion of his anatomy, which every male already considered glorious. It made him feel larger and more powerful and it rendered him speechless with a heady and euphoric rush of pure hormonal energy. But other times, like tonight, Harry wanted nothing more than to almost dissolve entirely into Hermione and do nothing but leave himself behind, just revelling in the one being that they became when united.

Hermione's hands worked at Harry's trousers, confined by his need to keep their hips firmly pressed together. It took some coaxing, but she finally convinced Harry that this whole ordeal would be much better if he lifted his hips for just one moment and so, could slip down his trousers.

Harry's throat worked to make noise, attempting to vocalise his need; but instead, what came out was more of a growl.

"Harry, shh," Hermione breathed out as he struggled, clumsy with desire, to navigate around her knickers, which, for some reason were still on. "Don't you…oh, think…Harry, ummm, be better if you…oh god, oh, mmmmm, oh never…yes, oh yes...mind…" Hermione trailed off as her breathing deepened.

He couldn't sink into her deep enough. The pure bliss of feeling himself inside her was enough to make him breathless for air and feel almost as if he were plummeting down through water; it's wetness seeping in all around him and surrounding him entirely. He was drowning and he could not have been more willing.

He was kissing her; trying to inhabit her mouth with his own and revelling in the taste and feel of her tongue on his. He was breathing in every scent and nuance of her skin and hair; it all served to saturate his senses and help him spiral down and out of control. His arms, from shoulder to fingertips, demanded to be in full contact with her and he kept them wrapped around her in an attempt to blur the lines of her and him even more. And somehow, through all this, he was still thrusting; each thrust another attempt to become a part of her.

Hermione's hands were both tangled in Harry's hair and as she responded to his unvoiced need to surrender, she cradled his head into the crook of her neck and shoulder; sliding her hands into his hair in time with his thrusts into her.

How she knew what he needed, she could never put into words. She simply knew that Harry would sometimes seem to lose himself and that his being could then nearly consume her. She could feel his pain, his burdens and his hopes in these moments and it was enough to make her weep. It wasn't merely physical this pain; it was more. It was more of an agony tied to the simple fact of being human that no physical touch could alleviate. In her mind, she imagined them two souls, amorphous and unhinged from their bodies, free to rise up and entwine around the other. The bliss liberated their minds from their bodies and the physical pleasure their bodies still enjoyed was but secondary.

By the time they both realised it had ended, they each suspected the sex had actually ended several minutes before. Harry began to feel his body again when he felt Hermione kissing his dampened brow. Short wisps of breath were tickling his forehead as he realised she was whispering.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," his ears finally discerned as her kisses and whispers moved from his brow to his cheek and then to his ear. He was too numb to protest and it took all the strength and coordination he possessed to lift his head and press his lips to hers. The first feeling he registered was a pain in his heart from not being able to tell her those same words himself.

Hermione waited patiently for Harry to pull up his trousers and they each felt quite pleased with themselves for managing to finally get together without even having to sneak about the castle late at night to manage it.

Harry cleared his throat as he stood, gathering his things. "Perhaps we should just wait down here for everyone else to clear out more often?" he said with a suggestive raise of the brow and lopsided grin.

Hermione smiled back and just opened her mouth when a deep voice loudly cleared its throat.

Both Harry and Hermione jumped and turned, relieved to see that it was merely a portrait of a knight who looked extremely put out.

"Erm, perhaps not, Harry," Hermione said in a high, strained voice and then tugged him away from the portrait who was eyeing them beadily and on towards the stairwells where they then kissed good night.

For the first time in weeks, Harry was finally able to fall asleep utterly relaxed.

He even woke up relaxed and went all the way through from Charms class to Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Snape in a rather chipper mood. Very little could have ruined Harry's mood but, as really should not be surprising, it was Snape who took a shot and succeeded when he reminded Harry that, while Hermione's detentions had finally ended, Harry's were just about to begin.

"Just don't say anything," Hermione advised him as he finished his dinner in the Great Hall. "No matter what, Harry, don't rise to his taunts. He just wants to take more points off—don't let him."

It was certainly sound advice but that had little to do with whether or not Harry could actually follow it.

Harry trudged his way down to the dungeons and dreaded seven nights of detentions with Snape more and more with each step. He'd have to close off his mind completely. Not even let in the words or taunts that Snape was bound to say to him. He could recite Charms incantations in his head and perhaps succeed in showing no reaction whatsoever to whatever Snape had planned to snarl at him. By the time Harry entered the potions classroom, he felt prepared for battle.

However, that first night of detention, Snape just pointed one long sallow finger towards a barrel of Mushroom-Headed Slobber Eels and intoned, "There's ninety in there. Enough for five flasks of mucus to be collected." He then sent the giant flasks shooting across the room to land in front of Harry. "That is, if you work hard enough. I expect nothing less," he said imperiously and then left the classroom.

He did not return until five minutes to midnight, just before the end of detention, to observe Harry milking the remaining three Eels and topping off the last flask. It had been a most disgusting task as Harry had to hold the head of each Eel down near the mouth of the flask and then milk them by squeezing with the other hand all the way along to the head until white mucus spurt out of the pustule nob atop the head. He made due, however, by imagining that he was squeezing Snape's neck.

The second night, Harry was stayed from serving detention to attend the Order meeting. Unfortunately, it was over so quickly that Snape "graciously" offered to allow Harry to still serve a detention that night. "All the more quickly you can get them done and over with," he'd said smarmily. As McGonagall and Dumbledore had nodded that it did indeed seem gracious, Harry felt he had little option but to agree. But that did not stop him from grumbling behind Snape's back as he followed him to the dungeons and thought, 'gracious' my arse, he's just thinking' it's all the more likely to make me miserable to take away a Friday night and make me groggy for Saturday Quidditch practice. Bastard.

For the second night, Snape had just pointed into the corner of the potions lab where a pile of soiled cauldrons were stacked and intoned, "The first years' class ran out of time this morning and so, were unable to scour their cauldrons. I told them I knew you'd be delighted to do it," and he then left Harry alone yet again.

It only took a peek into one cauldron to recognize they were each coated with sticky orange Pyre Poultice, a paste that was used to heal and soothe burns and that, when left to dry, apparently became rock hard and extremely difficult to remove from the inside of an iron cauldron.

Twenty minutes into scrubbing the first cauldron, Harry had shed his robe and jumper because he was sweating so profusely from the effort. An hour later though, he'd worked out a system of cracking the dried paste and then banging it out while holding the cauldrons upside-down. With the racket it was making, he'd first expected Snape to come charging in, sneer in place and docked points on the tongue, but he never did. Harry almost felt disappointed.

The tediously dull task of cleaning the cauldrons at least left Harry able to allow his mind to wander freely. He's planned the next two practical lessons for the third years' Defense class as well as planned out the next month's schedule for Quidditch practices. He had just been pondering how to create some new diversionary tactics for the Beaters to master when the faintest rustle of a cloak caught his attention barely in time for Harry to turn and see Snape standing there; his cloak still swinging about his ankles and his wand pointed out at Harry.

Harry was positive that Snape had been hoping to catch Harry unawares. He had a distinct feeling that if he'd not turned in time; some spell would have sizzled in his direction.

"Not napping, were you, Potter?" Snape sneered as he tucked his wand away delicately and then strode into the room, inspecting Harry's stacks of scrubbed cauldrons with a frown.

Harry didn't answer; he thought the stack of nearly seventy cauldrons was more than enough to evidence his hard work for the night.

"Hmm," Snape murmured as he sniffed the inside of one of the cauldrons. "I'd think you'd have learned by now, Potter, that you ought not let down your guard when you're out of Gryffindor territory." One inky black eyebrow arched up pointedly at this and he then went on to say, "Have you yet considered all the possible and nefarious means to which your lost locks may be lending themselves? Hmm?"

Harry really hated to even think about the fact that someone, somewhere (likely a certain Slytherin), had his hair and all the time in the world to do whatever he or she pleased with it but now, with Snape reminding him, Harry wanted to scream. It was one thing to know he made a mistake it was entirely another thing to have it rubbed in his face by Snape. Snape—, who Harry thought should be held at least partially responsible for knowing what his Slytherins are all up to and also be responsible for keeping them in line.

Snape, with his hands clasped behind his back, strolled along the rows of cleaned cauldrons as Harry toiled away on the last three. As he worked, Harry could feel Snape's fathomless black eyes upon him. The previous three hours seemed to not have taken as long as the last three cauldrons did to clean what with Snape's looming about.

As Harry finished the final cauldron and turned it upside-down to dry, he eyed the clock that was almost at midnight.

"You do realise you're to remain here until one o'clock?" Snape then asked with a smirk. "Only then will you have served a full four hour detention."

Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes and only managed to keep his jaw clenched by listening to Hermione's voice within his head chant, ignore his taunts.

"Yes," Snape said with a sneer. "You've worked faster than I expected as well. But not to worry, you've got your books and you did say that you'd meant to go to the library after tonight's little meeting. Take a seat and find something worthwhile to work on."

Harry could hardly believe he'd be allowed to get anything useful done here in a detention but yet, he was willing to give it a try if it meant Snape would leave him alone. The one thing Harry was learning about Snape was that the man was both unreasonable and irascible and therefore, was all together much better if avoided at all costs.

"You do have something worthwhile to work on, don't you, Potter?" Snape asked in dangerous tone as Harry took his usual seat from Potions class.

"Yes, I do. Sir," Harry replied with as little emotion as possible. He then pulled out his working notes for Dumbledore's most recent assignment as Snape stood watching him. Finally, after Harry stared at his parchment for over five minutes wondering why Snape insisted on staring at him, Snape finally turned and busied himself at his desk.

When the castle clock was heard chiming once, Harry looked up, surprised the time was already up and, as he left, Snape said, "Make sure to bring extra work tomorrow evening and I don't recommend being caught out of bed on your way back to your tower. It won't due to have Mister Filch wishing to schedule you for detention when you own me five more. Out!"

Harry grumbled the entire way back and boldly marched down the corridors on his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He'd had enough of keeping his mouth shut in front of Snape that he was almost welcoming a run-in with Filch. At least Filch he could mouth off to. Unfortunately, the only ones Harry got a chance to vent his anger upon were a few disgruntled portraits who objected to his heavy footsteps.

The next night of detention, Harry arrived and Snape was already seated at his desk, marking scrolls with broad strokes of red ink (Harry recognized it well).

"Well?" he said as Harry entered and looked around for the night's menial task. "Did you not bring something to work on?"

"What?" Harry was stunned. How could Snape not have prepared a tortuous and disgusting task for the evening?

Snape glowered from his desk. "Did I not tell you last night, Potter, to—"

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said as he dropped his bag upon a workbench. "I…just thought I'd have other stuff to do first."

"If you've nothing to work on, I can get Mister Filch in here. He's bound to have something that needs scrubbing?"

It was a testament to how much Harry truly hated Snape that he actually considered a detention with Filch to be more preferable to spending four hours in the same room with Snape even if it wasn't spent on a disgusting task. However, Harry wasn't about to tell this to Snape and, instead, got down to more work on Dumbledore's assignment.

Harry was just finishing off a flowchart of ingredients to be prepared and added in order to brew the Sanguineford Solution for Dumbledore. This really was a very difficult potion and Harry had never ever brewed anything as difficult all on his own. He was beginning to wonder if Dumbledore would observe throughout the brewing when a sudden slap of a palm upon his desk, made him jump.

"Let's see what you're working on," Snape commanded.

"What?"

"Hand. It. Over."

There was a very big difference between being at Grimmauld Place where Harry had every right to be and behave how he saw fit and being at Hogwarts where Snape had the ability to dock House points and assign even more detentions as fast as he could fabricate an excuse. So, despite Harry not wanting Snape to see any bit of what he was working on, he felt he had very little choice in the matter as Snape snatched the parchments off the desk. Harry felt a sinking feeling in his gut as Snape beadily eyed down the first page, then the second and finally the third which held a myriad collection of notes, questions and one very crude sketch of an anatomically correct mandrake. Harry merely had to count the seconds until—

"For which class is this an assignment," Snape hissed softly as he continued to peruse the parchments in his hand.

The tone in Snape's voice alone had Harry bracing for an all-out confrontation. "It's for Professor Dumbledore," he answered curtly.

Snape lowered the parchments from his inspection and looked at Harry penetratingly. "Professor Dumbledore," he repeated sardonically.

Harry nodded once.

Snape's lips pursed and he jerked the parchments still clutched in his fist back up to his face. With his lank hair falling about his face, Snape seemed to now read carefully each word on each of the three parchments as Harry sat there; waiting and feeling more and more fed up with Snape's meddlesome ways. After several minutes where Harry was formulating some choice descriptions of a certain greasy bastard, Snape asked, "The headmaster has asked you to prepare to brew this potion?"

Harry, wishing Snape would stop standing over him, smugly replied, "Yes."

"Why?" Snape asked with narrowed eyes.

"You'll have to ask Professor Dumbledore."

"What is he trying to teach you that this would be assigned?"

Harry glared back at Snape. "You know, Professor, you're the one who told me that Dumbledore was renowned as a Blood Alchemist; I should think that it would be obvious just what he's set to teach me!"

A flicker of triumph appeared in Snape's dark eyes but was gone so quickly that Harry doubted he'd ever seen it. Snape then smacked the parchments back onto Harry's desk and prowled slowly around Harry's workstation. "You asked him then?" Snape said softly from just behind Harry. "You asked him to teach you?"

Snape sounded like he knew the answer and that the answer quite pleased him. Harry wanted nothing to do with confirming something that would please Snape.

Snape then rounded in front of Harry and leaned across the desk with his teeth bared. "You did, didn't you," he said without asking for any confirmation.

Harry could see where this was going to go; it would likely involve the phrase: you're a power-hungry, arrogant fool, just like your father.

"It's about time."

Harry goggled at Snape, doubting for several seconds that this greasy haired man in front of him wearing a smug smile was indeed the same Snape who Harry knew and hated. "Wha—"

"You heard me, Potter," Snape said smugly as he straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's about time you stop sloughing off and begin to apply yourself to your responsibilities. I've been telling the headmaster for years that—"

Snape's face was suddenly torn into a terrible grimace and his entire body stiffened as his right hand clenched down upon his left forearm upon the very spot where Harry knew the Dark Mark to be.

"Sir?" Harry hadn't ever actually seen Snape, or any other Death Eater for that matter, respond to a summons from Voldemort, but he assumed at once that this was what it must be. "Is it Vol—"

"Shut up!" Snape spat. "Shut—up!" His jaw was clenched, his eyes were screwed shut and Harry could see Snape was notably pale and was leaning upon the nearest workbench in order to remain standing.

Harry stood up and, because he did not know what else to do, he took several steps towards Snape, looking for some direction to do something. With a gasp, Snape's eyes opened and he straightened himself up, glaring at Harry who was standing before him. "Sit back down! You've still got a detention to finish!" he barked irritably.

So much for being concerned, Harry thought as he took a step backwards, still keeping an eye on Snape.

"No—Potter, you shouldn't remain here. You…" It looked as if whatever Snape had to say was causing him great pains. "I need to leave here immediately."

Harry nodded. "Right, that was Voldemort call—"

"Potter!" Snape snapped, making Harry jump.

"What?!"

"Don't—say—the—name!!"

As always, this seemed ridiculous, but tonight, more than ever, Harry thought it was completely unreasonable. "Excuse me?" he said waspishly. "I'll say 'Voldemort' if I damn well please!"

"Damn you—"

"I'm the one you all bloody expect to kill the sodding bastard!"

"I swear to Merlin, Potter, if you—"

"And you, Snape, you're about to go run off to meet with him now—at the least I'd think you should do is be able to say his name!"

"POTTER!" Snape bellowed now as he brandished his wand, pointing it directly at Harry.

In that instant, Harry froze, aware he was telling Snape off in the middle of a detention after Snape had just received a summons from Voldemort and that Snape had his wand trained upon him while Harry's wand was still tucked away.

Harry could see Snape's overly large nostrils flaring with anger as he glared across the classroom.

Bollocks!

With the faintest sign of a curse from Snape, Harry was ready to dive to the floor and fight back. He could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest and he was almost itching for a fight. His glare locked with Snape's.

And then Snape sighed heavily and pocketed his wand with a glance at the clock on the wall.

Disappointment welled within Harry but he didn't have time to ponder why because Snape was now instructing him: "Pack up your things, Potter and return immediately to Gryffindor Tower. You'll owe me another hour of detention tomorrow night." Harry stared dumbly at Snape. "Now!"

Harry didn't wait to be told again and was out of the potions classroom in a flash and feeling a distinct amount of pent-up adrenaline that made him wonder if he'd get in trouble for taking his Firebolt out for a few speeding laps around the Quidditch pitch. He definitely wished that Snape had gone ahead and tried to curse him; then Harry could have had an excuse to curse him back. Maybe it was because the only other time he'd ever really crossed wands with Snape, Snape had seemed to get the better of him or maybe it was because Harry just really wanted to curse Snape to hell and back but either way, Harry admitted to himself that he longed for a fight with Snape.

The DA, since it had started up again this term, was mostly turning into a practical study session for many of the sixth and seventh years and a chance to have a go at advanced spells for the younger members. There was only so much Harry felt he could actually teach them that they wouldn't learn on their own in classes or that wouldn't make it overly obvious that he'd been trained over holidays by various Aurors.

He had a pair of Boggarts by now that he would control and force into the guise of a Dementor so that each night as the DA met, someone could step forward and have a go at producing their Patronus in its presence. It was somewhat tiring and it did make Harry feel like he always had spent his time doing something positive, but the DA no longer was a place to vent his aggressions or feel like he was actively doing something to advance himself or his skills. It was for others and left him wanting something more. He was used to duelling Tonks or Remus or Moody; there weren't any students in the DA who he felt he'd want to challenge when the sessions turned into duelling pairs.

Maybe he'd been wrong to pursue the study of Blood Alchemy with Dumbledore. Perhaps that time could have been spent on having Dumbledore teach him more refined fighting tactics. But, wait a minute, Harry paused as he rounded a corner and began to ascend the stairs to the main floor, what had Snape said about it being about time that he began taking his responsibilities seriously? Snape had said he'd been telling Dumbledore this for years—did this mean Snape had believed Harry was right to be studying this now?

"Hurry up!" a frantic voice suddenly whispered from somewhere above the staircase, causing Harry to freeze.

"Are you sure it's this way? I thought it was on the second floor," a second, female voice said.

Harry could recognize neither voice and he breathed a sigh of relief as he heard their footsteps retreat further from the corridor above. Just students, he reassured himself. He wished he'd had his Invisibility Cloak with him but he'd lent it to Ron the night before when he'd a midnight craving. Thinking it was best to take precaution, especially if other students were out and about and likely to cause Filch to be snooping around, Harry quickly took out his wand and rapped himself upon the head, casting a Disillusionment Charm.

He shivered as the tickling, trickling sensation of cold water rippled down his body and he then held out his hands for inspection. Seeing them almost shimmer with translucence, allowing him to blend in flawlessly with the stone walls and floors of the castle, Harry felt satisfied that he was safe from any prowling eyes and began to ascend the staircase again.

He was just passing by the doors to the Great Hall though, when he distinctly heard the drawling voice of Draco Malfoy. "They don't know how lucky they are. They should feel honoured to have been chosen! Honestly, Father always said it was—"

Harry flattened himself against an alcove beside the doors as a second voice arose, whispering, "Stuff it, we're trying to sneak around here. You might want to keep your mouth shut."

Harry's eyes were peeled wide-open and he scanned the Entrance Hall and surrounding area for Malfoy or the other person. He wasn't sure, but he guessed the second voice to have belonged to Nott. It had sounded like the voices were coming nearer but he just wasn't seeing anyone.

"Don't be ridiculous, no one can see us under this," Malfoy's voice said clearly across the Entrance Hall.

Harry smiled; he guessed it was either the same charm he was under or an Invisibility Cloak. Both of which he wouldn't be surprised to know Malfoy had at his disposal. Discreetly, Harry shouldered both straps of his book bag for more freedom of movement and took out his wand. He silently waved it in a slow circle above his head in order to gradually increase his Perimeter Charm. He was hoping to catch the feel of Malfoy and his partner breeching the charm and thereby locating their position but Malfoy, being the daft idiot he was, was making this even easier by continuing to talk.

"I've been telling Father for ages I needed one of these to properly spy on Potter and his pals. He'll be furious to find out I bought one but he'll have to admit it was worth it after I get through with Potter. I can't wait!"

"Shh! And you'd better wait; you know this little plan of yours is optional. If it looks like it could go wrong, it's not going down at all. I don't fancy being dressed down for your obsession with Potter."

Harry was so caught up listening to them talk about him that he almost missed the creepy sensation of them crossing his Perimeter Charm. Malfoy and friend were mere meters away from Harry and heading down the same staircase from which Harry had just come. It took only a second for Harry to decide to follow them.

"Obsession?" Malfoy spat. "I don't have an obsession! I just think he needs to be shown a lesson or two. I don't see anyone else willing to take him on around here."

"That's because some of us would rather not have our allegiances broadcast to the entire school."

"Are you ashamed?" Malfoy taunted as Harry continued to trail them down the stairs. Harry was simultaneously trying to listen intently to their conversation, make sure he made no noise and recall some helpful charms from Moody's training in Stealth and Tracking. Although, with the way they were talking, Harry didn't need any help following them along.

"Shame has nothing to do it. It's much more to do with a healthy respect for prison and knowing that no one will want to hire a Death Eater besides another Death Eater. Are you sure you can break the wards on Snape's office?"

Harry pulled up short behind them as he realised they'd stopped walking and were all standing just outside Snape's office. He quickly took two steps backwards and flattened himself against the wall.

"It's can't be that hard," Malfoy murmured and then, with a shimmer, the cloak was pulled down, revealing both Malfoy and Nott. "No more need for that. Snape's gone for the rest of the night now and with Filch busy cleaning that mess on seventh floor; we've no one to bother us. Besides," he said as he smirked knowingly at Nott and trailed a finger down the edge of a line of brick, "I know things that come in ever so handy."

Harry watched as Malfoy seemed to almost dissolve into the wall, reaching out at the last moment to grab Nott before they both disappeared with a sudden pop! into the quite solid-looking stone wall. Harry blinked in disbelief.