Disclaimer: All the characters, spells, Beasts, and situations that you recognise (and maybe even some you don't) belong to JKR, particularly the information on Jobberknolls. I'm just borrowing them for a while, and no copyright violation is intended. I'm still not making any money from this story.

Author Notes for Chapter 9:

Thanks to Yolanda for the beta, and thanks again to my fabulous reviewers (especially the ones who liked my much-sweated-over Sorting Hat song). Reviewers ROX!

This is the first chapter where I'm making what I expect to be a fairly controversial plot decision. It's something that I'm 99.9% certain Rowling won't do, but I kind of wish she would, so I'm Going There. I hope it works. Okay, I'll shut up now and let you read.

TSS

Chapter Nine: First Lessons, Last Straws

Since term had begun on a Friday, the Hogwarts students had the weekend to get settled into life in the castle. The Prefects took turns taking the first-years from their Houses on tours of the castle and its grounds—Harry managed to wheedle his way out of showing the Gryffindor first-years the way to the dungeons—and most of the new students seemed to catch on to things pretty quickly. After a few rescue missions, they even managed to convince Matthew not to jump onto the staircases as they changed direction "just to see where they'll go."

Saturday breakfast was marked by an odd scene as the other side of the Great Hall. Harry's eyes happened to light on the Slytherin table just in time to witness it, and he had to look twice to be sure he was seeing correctly. Was Malfoy yelling at his two thugs? Harry watched for a moment, then elbowed Ron. "Check out Malfoy and the dynamic duo."

Ron and Harry watched as Malfoy sent Crabbe and Goyle away. They looked confused—which was nothing new, really, but this was even more so than usual—and Malfoy wore an expression somewhere between fury and disgust.

"What's with that?" Ron asked.

"Looks like he's holding a letter," Hermione said. Harry looked more closely, and, sure enough, there was a crumpled letter in Malfoy's hand. "Probably from his father telling him where his friends' fathers are now."

"So, what, Malfoy's cutting them loose because their dads messed up a Death Eater assignment?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "But he needs them. Needs their muscle to back up his little threats." Harry couldn't quite believe that Malfoy would voluntarily sever his ties to his two goons.

"But, if Father says they have to go, then they have to go. What Father says goes," Hermione said.

"'Dear Draco, Ditch the deadwood. Love, Dad,'" Ron supplied.

Harry shrugged in disbelief, and the conversation turned to other matters, but Harry made sure to check at every meal, and he didn't see Malfoy with Crabbe and Goyle for the rest of the weekend.

Hermione managed to cajole all of the Gryffindor fifth-years (not just Harry and Ron) into a brief—well, brief for Hermione—OWLs study session on Sunday afternoon. Harry suspected that his classmates were being nice to her because of her parents, but, whatever their reasons, it did set a precedent. Harry wished the weekend could last a bit longer, for he knew that it would take more than a couple of days for Professor Snape to cool off after their heated encounter of Friday night, and the Gryffindors had Potions on Monday afternoon. But Monday morning came quickly, and it found Harry nervous and edgy.

These feelings manifested themselves as a serious case of grouchiness. So far, he'd thrown his alarm clock across the room, snapped at each of his roommates in turn, and snarled at Peeves so ferociously that the poltergeist had actually stopped pestering him and slunk away looking like his feelings had been hurt. And now it was time to get out of bed.

"Right little bluebird of happiness this morning, aren't you?" Ron commented as they walked down to meet Hermione in the Common Room.

Harry nearly snapped at his friend again, but he caught himself in time. Instead, he apologised. "Sorry. I'm just worried about Potions class. It's making my fuse a little short."

"What's making your fuse short?" Hermione asked, arriving just in time to hear the end of the boys' conversation.

"Snape," Ron answered. "Harry's fretting over what the greasy git's going to do to him today."

"Don't call him that, Ron; what if a first-year heard you?" Hermione chided.

"Then the first-year would be forewarned?" Ron replied.

"Not exactly setting a good example, though."

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered, "If I hear one more word about setting a good example. "

Harry grinned and shook his head, thinking about how dull life would be if Ron and Hermione couldn't find something to argue about. Peaceful, yes, but dull. He interrupted the squabbling pair with a reminder that if they wanted to set a good example by getting to breakfast in time to talk to the first-years before they left for their early Potions class, they needed to move on. Ron and Hermione ceased fire for now, and the three of them made their way to the Great Hall.

At breakfast, Harry tried to hide the fact that he was too nervous to eat by wandering along the Gryffindor table, goblet in hand, talking encouragingly to the new first-years. He made sure that they remembered the way to the dungeons, warned them not to talk or fool around in class, and sent them on their way. Then he, Ron, and Hermione lingered at the table. Their first class didn't begin until later in the morning, so they were in no hurry. Ron read Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet over her shoulder while she pestered Harry to eat; apparently, she hadn't been distracted by his meanderings among the first-years. Harry managed to choke down some tea, a little toast, and the leftover bits of bacon from which he had fed Hedwig the rind, and he gave his own copy of the Daily Prophet a quick skim. There were no interesting headlines. An article about the arrest of Messrs. Crabbe and Goyle, including no mention of Death Eater activity or Voldemort, had been buried on the bottom of the back page of Saturday's edition; since then, there had been nothing. Harry tossed the paper aside.

"Ready to go?" Hermione asked. "We'll be a little early, but that way we can get good seats."

Harry grinned across the table at Ron, who was rolling his eyes. "Good seats. What is this, a Quidditch match?" Hermione glared at him, and he threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Let's get a move on. Hate to see the top box get all filled up before we get there." Hermione smacked him gently on the shoulder, and his ears turned pink. Harry managed to turn his snicker into a cough, and they set off for the Defence classroom.

They arrived just as the previous class of sixth-years was coming out of the room. Patrick Croaker, a Gryffindor Prefect, greeted his fifth-year counterparts with, "Wow. She's amazing. Totally amazing." He was gone before they could reply.

Harry and Ron looked at one another and shrugged. Hermione was already hurrying into the classroom, so they followed, and she led them to three seats at the front and centre of the room. Professor Lively, who was sitting at her desk, regarded them calmly. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger," she said. They nodded, impressed that she already knew their names. "Welcome. I'm looking forward to teaching you." Her voice was low-pitched for a woman, and very clear. It sounded like the voice of someone not accustomed to having to repeat herself.

"What will we be doing this year?" Hermione asked.

"A bit of this, a bit of that," she answered. "Mostly practical lessons, with occasional theoretical foundation thrown in for variety. Things to get you up to speed for the OWLs. I'll go into a bit more detail when the rest of your classmates arrive. Ah, here they come now." She was correct; the rest of the Gryffindor fifth-years were trickling into the classroom. She waited for them to get settled and then called the roll. She seemed to know all of their names, and Harry wondered if she had learned all of the students' names and faces already. Then she smiled at them.

"Well, now I know who all of you are," she said. "You're probably wondering a bit about who I am. My name is Artemis Lively, though I suppose you should call me 'Professor Lively.' That seems to be the tradition I remember from my student days back near the dawn of time. I am forty-three years old, which makes me the right age to have been at school with some of your parents, and, for the right price, I might be convinced into telling you horror stories about them." She grinned, and several students grinned back. Harry did some quick mental arithmetic and determined that, though she was older than his parents, she would have overlapped with them for a few years. She continued, "I was recruited by the Aurors right out of Hogwarts, and I worked with them for several years. I left when the Ministry authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses on suspected Death Eaters. The Killing Curse is occasionally a necessity in combat, but the other two…." She trailed off and grimaced in disapproval. "At any rate, I felt that I could no longer in good conscience work for the Ministry. So I quit, and I joined the MGs."

There was a gasp of awe from most of the magical-born students. Harry felt, not for the first time, a sense of what he had missed by not growing up in the wizarding world; he had no idea what the MGs were. Fortunately, Professor Lively explained. "'MG' stands for 'Magical Guerillas'—that's 'guerilla' with a 'u,' not with an 'o' like the big monkeys. They are a private group dedicated to fighting the Dark, and, although most wizards know of their existence, they try to keep their activities fairly secret. For that reason, I can't tell you about most of the things that I did with the MGs, but I learned at least as much from them as I did from the Ministry's training and probably more. Basically, they're like private Aurors but with fewer restrictions and less bureaucracy, and they work with the Ministry sometimes, but they don't answer to the Ministry. I stayed with the MGs for a few years after Voldemort fell…." The class gasped again, and Professor Lively looked amused. "Voldemort," she said again, drawing the name out. "I say it. Get used to it. Anyway, after Voldemort fell, I stayed with the MGs for a couple of years, and then, once I decided that the world would be safe without my attention for a little while, I went to art school. I've been living by my brush and chisel since then.

"And, then, back in July, I had an unexpected visit from your Headmaster, and here I am. I've never taught people your age before, but I led training for MG recruits, so I've taught the subject, and I have first-hand experience of the dangers that I fear we will all be facing very soon. I have two goals for your class this year. I want to prepare you for the OWLs, and I want to prepare you for the world. Most of the things I'll teach you will be things that I learned in Auror and MG training. We'll duel, we'll do obstacle course work, we might take a few field trips … we'll do many different things. And we'll talk. We'll talk about the Dark—why people turn to it, how to avoid it, how to be careful without being fearful. We'll talk about a lot of things." She paused and looked at the class again as though taking stock of them. Then she smiled. "Talking of talking, I've done rather enough of it for a while. It's time for me to assess your current level of competence at dueling. Mr. Weasley, please step forward."

Several minutes later, Ron had Twitchy Ears, Jelly Legs, and Chattering Teeth, but he still had his wand in his hand; Professor Lively hadn't managed to disarm him. Ron had cast several spells, but she had blocked them all. After his Tickling Spell grazed her cheek (causing her to giggle a bit), she arched one eyebrow at him and said, "Araneasora!" A huge spider shot from her wand and began to crawl toward Ron. He jumped backward, knocking over a chair, and shot an Impediment Jinx at the spider. The Impediment Jinx worked, for the spider froze where it stood, but Professor Lively's distraction worked, too; as Ron was shouting "Impedimentia!" she was shouting "Expelliarmus!" and Ron's wand flew into her hand. He grinned sheepishly, realising that he had been outfoxed.

"Not bad, Mr. Weasley. Not bad at all. Five points for Gryffindor. Here, let me take care of those Twitchy Ears for you." Professor Lively said, "Finite Incantatum," which also made the spider disappear, and handed the no-longer-twitching-and-chattering Ron his wand. He returned to his seat, and Professor Lively called Lavender Brown to the front of the room. She didn't do quite as well as Ron, but she held her own. Several other students followed, and each was eventually disarmed by Professor Lively, who gave them each five House points for their trouble. Finally, Hermione managed to disarm the instructor by pretending that Lively's Confundus Charm had broken her Shielding Charm. Hermione stared dazedly for a moment and looked at her wand as if she had never seen it before. Then, at just the right moment, she shouted, "Expelliarmus!" Professor Lively's wand flew from her hand, and she burst into approving chuckles.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger! Excellent! Ten points for Gryffindor!" Professor Lively reclaimed her wand and called Harry forward.

They bowed to one another, and Harry immediately called, "Expelliarmus!" His spell collided in mid-air with Professor Lively's, and they both ducked to avoid the ricochet. She recovered faster, and Harry had to roll sideways to avoid her Disarming Spell. He cast a Shielding Charm, which gave him time to get back on his feet. Professor Lively broke through his Shielding Charm fairly quickly, and he was soon so busy Blocking that he didn't have time to cast a spell of his own. He noticed, though he didn't have time to think about it, that she wasn't playing about with him—no Tickling Spells or Jelly-Legs Jinxes. She seemed to be taking him seriously.

As he Blocked, he began backing slowly toward the door, a plan forming in his head. She was advancing as he retreated, keeping an even distance between them. When he felt the door at his back, he groped behind him for the knob with his left hand and continued Blocking with his right. When he found the knob, he opened the door and, with one swift movement, threw himself backward and sideways so that he now had the classroom wall between himself and Professor Lively. He heard his classmates laughing and the professor's half-joking, "Hey! Come out and fight like a man!"

Harry took a deep breath to steady himself. Then he stuck his wand around the doorframe and called, "Serpentosora!" He couldn't see it, but he knew that he had just shot a snake into the classroom and, with any luck, toward Professor Lively. Concentrating on thoughts of the snake, Harry said, "Distract her." The words came out in an odd hiss, and Harry knew that he had succeeded in speaking Parseltongue. Wand at the ready, he leapt back into the doorway, where he was greeted by the sight of a huge, black snake dancing in front of Professor Lively. The snake was managing both to avoid her spells and to block her view of Harry. The snake just needed to move a little to the left, and Harry could … there! "Expelliarmus!" Harry called. He reached up and caught her wand in his left hand. Pointing his own wand at the snake, he called, "Finite Incantatum!" The snake vanished. Harry walked back into the room to give Professor Lively her wand.

"Mr. Potter, if this were a professional duel, you would be disqualified for leaving the competition area," she said. She regarded him archly, and the class held its collective breath. Then she smiled. "However, as it is not a professional duel, you receive ten points for Gryffindor. Excellent work."

Harry smiled back and returned to his seat. Professor Lively said, "Now, all of you did very well against me, but only Mr. Potter and Miss Granger managed to disarm me. What did they do differently that caused them to achieve better results?"

"Well, Harry ran and hid," volunteered Seamus. The class laughed.

Grinning, Professor Lively wrote on the chalkboard, "Strategies: 1. Run and Hide." The class laughed again. "Actually, this is often a very effective method of self-defence. Harry, why did you choose that particular strategy?"

Harry decided that "because it worked against Voldemort," though true, would not be the most provident of answers. Instead, he settled on another answer which also had the virtue of truth. "Because I could tell you were better than I was. You were too fast, and you weren't giving me time to cast any spells."

Professor Lively wrote, "2. Buy Yourself Time." Then she said, "When your opponent is faster than you are and you aren't getting the chance to cast a spell, find a way to break their rhythm in order to get yourself enough time to get a spell cast. What else?"

"Hermione tricked you," Ron observed.

"So she did," Professor Lively agreed. She wrote, "3. Use the Element of Surprise." Then she asked Ron, "How, exactly, did she trick me?"

"She made you think she was Confounded when she wasn't," he replied.

"Exactly," said Professor Lively. She wrote, "4. Pretend to Be Weaker Than You Are." Then she asked, "What else did Harry and Hermione do?"

Neville Longbottom raised a tentative hand. "Harry's really good at Blocking," he said. "Hermione, too."

Professor Lively wrote, "5. Know Your Defensive Spells" on the chalkboard and put a star beside it. "This is particularly important," she said. "If you can't Block well, you usually won't ever get a chance to cast any Offensive Spells. Anything else?"

There was a pause as everyone tried to think of something else that Harry or Hermione had done. Hermione finally raised a hand. "Harry used a spell that was particularly tailored to him. Not everyone is a Parselmouth, so not everyone could have used 'Serpentosora' quite like he did."

Professor Lively nodded and wrote, "6. Play to Your Strengths" on the board and put a star beside it. "This is another very important one. This year, I want you to pay particular attention to your own strengths—and to your own weaknesses. You have to know what you're good at, what you do well, before you can put your talents to use." At that moment, the bell rang. Professor Lively smiled at them and said, "For next time, read the first chapter in the section on advanced self-defence. Class dismissed."

The class gathered their books and left for Care of Magical Creatures. The Ravenclaws were already there, gathered around the paddock where the Beauxbatons horses had been quartered last year. As the Gryffindors walked up to join them, they saw that the paddock was full of bird-cages. Each cage contained a small bird with blue, speckled feathers. The birds were regarding the students with silent wariness. Hagrid emerged from his cabin. "Hullo!" he greeted them cheerfully. "Sorry ter be a bi' late; had ter put away some things from las' class. So, who knows wha' these bird are?" As it so often did, Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Yes, Hermione?"

"They're Jobberknolls, aren't they?"

"Tha's right. Nice little critters. Quiet-like. What yeh're goin' ter do today is harvest their feathers. Perfesser Snape's runnin' low."

"Won't they sunburn without their feathers?" Hermione asked.

"I'll take 'em in ter my house after class and keep 'em there until they grow 'em back. They grow 'em back quick," Hagrid said reassuringly. "And then I'll set 'em free. They don' complain, but I know they don' like bein' caged up for too long. Anyhow, I don' think they'll try to bite when yeh pluck 'em—they're real gentle mos' o' the time—but yeh should probably wear yer dragonhide gloves jus' in case. An' then yeh jus' reach through the bars o' the cages an' pluck the feathers off 'em. Put the feathers in these bags. When yeh finish with one bird, put the cover on its cage an' go on to the next one. You oughtta have time to pluck abou' four birds apiece before the end o' class. As you pluck, we'll talk abou' their special properties." He made sure all of the students had a sack and ushered them into the paddock.

Harry stood at his Jobberknoll's cage, and he and the bird looked at one another for a moment. When he wriggled his hand through the bars of the cage to catch the bird, it didn't move, and it didn't make a sound. Harry found this behaviour a bit strange; he knew that, if he had been in a cage and something twenty times his size was making a grab for him, he'd have at least complained a little. He held onto the Jobberknoll's feet and experimentally plucked a feather from its wing. The plucking didn't seem to hurt it, for it didn't flinch or struggle, so he continued his plucking. "Hagrid? Why are they so quiet?" he asked.

Hagrid explained that the Jobberknoll never made a sound until the moment before it died. As it prepared to expire, it would let out a long scream composed of every sound it had ever heard, but backwards. While the class plucked, Hagrid told them more facts about the Jobberknoll. It ate insects, in mostly lived in northern Europe and in North America, and it was classified as harmless and domesticable. Its feathers were used in Truth Potions and Memory Potions. At the mention of Potions, Harry shifted uneasily, remembering that Snape was awaiting him after lunch. He tried to put out of his mind the memories of Snape threatening him with Veritaserum, but he wasn't too successful. He did manage to smile at Hagrid as he handed over his bag of feathers at the end of class (he had plucked four bird himself, and he and Ron had plucked a fifth together). He, Ron, and Hermione promised to come and have tea with Hagrid on Friday afternoon, which they had free. Then they followed their classmates to the Great Hall for lunch.

They found three empty seats together at the Gryffindor table. Harry slid in next to Matthew and asked how his morning classes had been. "Charms was pretty good," he said. "Miss Delacour helped me hold my wand right—I was holding it too high up. But Potions wasn't so great. Josiah blew up a cauldron, and Professor Snape really yelled at him." He lowered his voice and said confidentially, "I think Professor Snape's mean."

Harry hid his smile and replied, "I think so, too. The best thing to do is to try to avoid him. Just be quiet, and do your work, and don't do anything that will make him notice you."

"Is that what you do?" Matthew asked.

Harry sighed. "It's what I'd do if I could," he said. Matthew looked at him curiously, but Harry didn't feel like going into details. To change the subject, he said, "What do you have this afternoon?"

Matthew looked briefly disappointed that Harry wasn't going to say more about Snape, but he took the hint, and he was soon asking a million questions about Herbology and Transfiguration, his afternoon classes. He and Harry were interrupted by the late arrival of Ginny Weasley, who threw her knapsack down on the table with such force that all of the water goblets within a five-foot radius jumped. Everyone whose goblet had jumped looked at her. Most of the Gryffindors knew how to recognise an angry Weasley when they saw one, and most were wise enough to avoid them, so nearly everyone looked away again. Hermione asked—very bravely, in Harry's opinion—"Is everything alright, Ginny?"

Ginny took several deep breaths before saying, by way of answer, "You three are Prefects, so you should know: What, exactly, is the penalty if a student curses a teacher?"

"Expulsion, most likely, unless it was an accident," Hermione replied seriously.

Harry tried to keep a straight face as he added, "Although Dumbledore might make exceptions for extreme provocation." Hermione gave him a shocked look until Ron's shout of laughter made her realise that he was kidding. Then she shook her head. Harry smiled sympathetically across the table at Ginny. "Snape?" he asked.

"Who else?" She rolled her eyes. "I know I shouldn't let him bother me, but he's just so …." She appeared to be searching for a word bad enough to finish her sentence, and she finally settled on "… so … Snape!" She shook her head as though trying to shake away her irritation and continued. "Anyway, let's not talk about him. I don't even want to think about him. How's the new Defence teacher?"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all rushed to praise Professor Lively. Harry and Hermione blushed at Ron's enthusiastic account of their successes in disarming the professor, and Ginny looked appropriately impressed. By the end of lunch, she had cheered up considerably.

Harry, however, was plunged into gloom by the sound of the bell signifying the end of lunch. Ginny smiled encouragingly at the three of them as they rose from the table. "Don't worry," she said. "He has to have a finite amount of nastiness, and he used so much of it in our class that he can't have much left for yours."

Harry shook his head and grinned ruefully. "Don't I wish that were true," he said, and the trio set off for the dungeons.

Hermione liked to sit near the front of the room in every class, even Potions, but Harry and Ron overruled her today. They chose a table about midway between the front and the back—one near the wall closest to the door and farthest from the place where Malfoy usually sat. Hermione sat in the middle, assuring Ron that she could serve as a buffer for him if Snape started breathing fire at Harry. "Don't talk about him breathing fire," Ron had replied. "He might hear, and you don't want to give him ideas."

Whatever witty retort Hermione intended was forestalled by Snape's arrival. He stalked into the room in his usual swirl of robes and glowers. The class immediately fell silent.

"The fifth-year curriculum begins with Healing Potions," he said without preamble.

Hello. Welcome back. How were your summers? Harry thought sarcastically.

Snape continued, "And I hope that you won't manage to botch them as badly as most of you usually do." Then he snapped, "Potter!"

His heart thudding, Harry answered, "Yes, sir?"

"Healing Potions require at least one of three ingredients. What are those ingredients?" He was already sneering, already preparing to heap withering scorn on the incorrect answer and probably to take House points as well.

Calmly, matter-of-factly, with no hint of triumph in his voice, Harry replied, "The first is chocolate. It's the most common, but it's only reliable for treating emotional trauma; it can't do much in the way of repairing physical damage. Second is Mandrake. That's mostly for reversing the effects of magical harm. Third is phoenix tears. Those are the strongest, but they're also hardest to get. Some potions substitute unicorn blood for the phoenix tears, but that's at least as hard to get if not harder, and it can't be used in draughts or other potions that have to be drunk or eaten—only in ones that get applied to the skin." Harry felt Hermione press his foot with hers under the table in silent congratulations. It was a textbook-perfect answer. That OWLs revision was coming in handy.

The sneer didn't move from Snape's face; if anything, it deepened. "Well, well. It appears that Precious Potter has decided to prepare for class for once. Maybe a year of doing something besides taking Bludgers to the head has done him some good." Several of the Slytherins tittered appreciatively, but Harry noticed that the three Prefects did not, and Queenie Greengrass even went so far as to roll her eyes. When the sniggers had died down, he continued, "Is this a fluke, Potter, or have you finally realised that even celebrities need to open their textbooks once in a while?'

Considering the things that Snape had said to him nearly every class meeting for the past four years, this wasn't so bad. It didn't even include a crack about his father. And, if not for the smug, predatory smirk on Snape's face, Harry might have let it go. But Snape was waiting. He actually expected Harry to answer him, to act like this obnoxious comment was worthy of a reply. He wasn't going to let Harry ignore it, as Harry could have done if the offender had been Malfoy or another student. He planned to make Harry respond. And Harry snapped.

He slammed his palms onto the table, stood up, and unleashed the sort of tirade that three-quarters of the students to pass through Snape's classroom had dreamed of giving. "That does it," he said, in a voice cold with fury. "I'm leaving. And I'm not coming back until you're willing to try to teach me something. I'll learn Potions on my own if I have to. But I will not sit here and listen to your rubbish anymore. Voldemort's back; you know it, I know it, we all know it. And now that he's back, our lessons are more important than ever. You're supposed to be teaching us Healing Potions today. Do you have any idea how important Healing Potions are going to be when they start attacking people again? You should; you've already lived through it once. But instead of teaching us, you're busy playing some stupid schoolboy power game. I'm sick of it, and I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back until you can grow up." With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

The momentum of his rage carried him blindly through three corridors and up two flights of stairs. By the time he reached the third staircase, the anger was ebbing away, and he was beginning to shake. He sat down on the step just above the landing to catch his breath—and to figure out where he was. He looked at the portraits, many of whose inhabitants were looking at him a little fearfully, and took in the lines of the stairs and the directions of the hallways and determined that he was in the West Tower. But where to go from here?

He thought back to his resolutions. "Don't let Snape get to me" seemed a lost cause at this point. But "Go to Dumbledore" was still an option. It was probably, Harry thought, the best option open to him at the moment. He continued on up the stairs to the empty second-floor corridor that led to Dumbledore's entrance gargoyle. Within moments, he was knocking at the Headmaster's door.

"Ah, Harry! Come in. What can I do for you?" When Harry didn't answer, Dumbledore continued, "I wasn't really expecting you just now; you're normally in class during this time. Potions, isn't it?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, Potions. That's why I'm here. I, erm, I kind of yelled at Professor Snape and stormed out of class. He said something—it wasn't anything worse than usual, really, and I knew he was going to be gunning for me today, so I should have been ready for him, but it just hit me wrong, and I… I told him that I was leaving and that I wasn't coming back until he could, erm, grow up." Harry looked at Dumbledore to see how he was taking this; his moustache was twitching. "I know I shouldn't have done it; I shouldn't have lost my temper. Do you think I should go apologise?"

"Are you truly sorry?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. "I'm sorry that I lost my temper. I'm not sorry for thinking that he needs to grow up, but I'm sorry for saying it out loud."

"Then you should tell him that. You might leave out the part about not being sorry for thinking that he should grow up, though." The Headmaster was smiling openly now. His smile faded, and his expression turned thoughtful. "Two of the things that you said, Harry, are very interesting to me. First, you said you knew that Professor Snape would be, ah, gunning for you today. Why would you think that?"

Harry squirmed in his seat. He had hoped not to have to tell Dumbledore about his altercation with Snape. But the Headmaster had asked, so Harry supposed he'd better answer. "We had a bit of a run-in on Friday night when Ron and I were trying to get in to tell you about my dream."

"Yes, I had wondered how you acquired the password; I'd meant to give it to you, but it slipped my mind when we spoke at the Feast. At any rate, what was the nature of your run-in?"

Harry recounted his conversation with Professor Snape. The Headmasters eyes flashed dangerously when Harry repeated Snape's comment to the effect that the things Harry had to say were seldom important, and, when Harry repeated his own comment about Crouch's death, Dumbledore looked very grave. Before he could say anything, Harry hastened to justify his words. "It wasn't a very nice thing to say, and normally I wouldn't have said it, but it was the only thing I could think of that might shock him enough to make him quit stalling and give me the password. I didn't have time to argue or explain; the Death Eaters were coming."

"I do not blame you, Harry." Dumbledore spoke with finality, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. A few moments later, Dumbledore continued, "The second interesting thing you said is that what Professor Snape said to, ah, spark your anger 'wasn't anything worse than usual;' what sorts of things does he usually say?"

"Oh, just kind of run-of-the-mill snide comments—like his crack last night about thinking that everything I have to say is important when it's not. Always calling me 'Precious Potter,' always saying that I'm spoiled because I'm famous. Trying to make me look bad in front of the class, trying to make me mad so that he can punish me." Harry paused, then gave a mirthless snort of laughter. "Well, today it worked; he made me mad. I hope he's happy."

Professor Dumbledore was looking very serious. "What's the worst thing that Professor Snape has ever said to you, Harry?"

Harry tried to think back; there were so many. To help narrow it down, he asked, "Just about me, or about my dad?"

"He says things to you about James?" Harry nodded. "How about one of each?"

"The worst thing about Dad…." Harry thought back, and he remembered the time in his third year when Malfoy had told Snape that Harry's head was in Hogsmeade. "I guess that was the last time I really lost it and yelled at him. I told him to shut up. He said something about how I was just like my dad, how Dad was arrogant, and how he used to 'strut around the place with his friends and admirers,' and thought that 'rules were for lesser mortals, not Quidditch Cup-winners,' and that his head was so swollen… and that's when I interrupted and yelled at him to shut up. And the worst thing about me…" This time, Harry didn't really have to think; this was an easy one. He stared idly at the wall, not really seeing, as he recounted the story to Dumbledore. "That would probably be when he read Rita Skeeter's article about Hermione out loud—the one that made it out like she was my girlfriend and was cheating on me with Krum—and then told us—'us' meaning Ron, Hermione, and me—told us that he needed to separate us and made me come sit by his desk. And he started in mostly with just his usual stuff—'All this press attention seems to have inflated your already overlarge head, Potter. You might be labouring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you.'" Harry knew that he was speaking in a mocking imitation of Snape's voice, but he couldn't help himself. "But then he went a little further than he usually does; that's why I remember it so clearly—because it was overboard even for him. He said, 'But I don't care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.' And then he called me a 'pint-sized celebrity' and accused me of breaking into his office. When I denied it, he threatened me with Veritaserum."

"He threatened you with Veritaserum," Dumbledore repeated.

"Yeah. He said that the use of it was strictly controlled, but that his hand might slip over my cup at dinner sometime." Harry shrugged. "Deep down, I knew he was bluffing, but it still shook me up a bit. Anyway, that's probably the worst." He looked at Professor Dumbledore.

The Headmaster was chewing on his lower lip and looking very troubled. He waited for several moments, and then he asked, "Did you ever think about coming to talk with me about Professor Snape's behaviour?" There was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity.

"Not really," Harry replied. "I figured that you know how he acts to Gryffindors and that there wasn't really anything you could do about it, so why bother you?"

"Why did you come today?"

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Well, today, I took his bait. And I figured he'd come straight to you as soon as class was over and ask you to expel me, so I reckoned I'd better get here first and tell you my side of it."

"That was very prudent of you, Harry. You do know, though, don't you, that I would never take any kind of disciplinary action against you—or any other student—without hearing your side of the story?"

Harry nodded quickly. "Oh, yes, Professor. I know that. I know you'd be fair. But I still wanted to come talk to you now. I wanted to see if you think I should go apologise, and I wanted to check on that before Sna- Professor Snape had a chance to talk to you; I didn't want it to look like I was offering to apologise just to stay out of trouble."

"I understand. And, to answer your question, I think you should apologise, if that is what you wish to do. Would you like for me to accompany you?"

Harry thought for a minute; he wasn't sure. "I don't know. If you come with me, he might think I'm just apologising because you're making me do it. But, if you don't come and he gets nasty…. Could you maybe come and kind of listen outside the door? Then, if it sounds like it's going well, you can leave, and, if it sounds like it's not going so well, you can come in and, you know, take things in hand."

"That sounds like a good idea, Harry. Why don't we go now?" They both stood up to leave. "In the future, Harry, I want you to come to me if Professor Snape is treating you badly. Based on what you have shared with me today, I can see that his behaviour to you has been…." The Headmaster trailed off, looking disappointed and angry. He took a breath, and the anger disappeared, but the disappointment lingered. "At any rate, please let me know if you are having trouble with him; will you do that?"

"Yes, sir." Harry thought for a minute. "Professor Dumbledore? If you decide to talk to Sna- Professor Snape about how he's treated me, can you do it without making it sound like I came and snitched on him? I didn't mean to do that."

"I will take care to let him know that you have behaved honourably, Harry." Harry nodded his thanks. Dumbledore placed a hand on the doorknob and then stopped as though thinking of something. "Harry, are there other students that Professor Snape treats the way that he treats you?"

Harry nodded. "He's pretty nasty to Ron—mostly because Ron and I are friends, I think—and he's really awful to Hermione, but he's worst to Neville."

"To Mr. Longbottom." The Headmaster was now looking very troubled indeed.

"Yeah. Always calling him an idiot and trying to make him look bad in class. Next to me, Neville's his favorite target, and Neville seems to take it a lot harder than I do; he's really scared of Sna- Professor Snape."

"I see. I see." Dumbledore stared at the doorknob for a moment. Then he seemed to notice what he was doing, and he glanced back at Harry. "Ready, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded, Dumbledore opened the door, and the two set off through various halls and down several staircases to the dungeons. When they reached the door to the Potions classroom, they stopped. Dumbledore smiled encouragingly at Harry, who knocked tentatively at the door.

"Enter," came Snape's voice. Harry did. "Get out of here, Potter," Snape said as soon as he saw Harry.

"I came to apologise, sir," Harry said. "I shouldn't have lost my temper, and I'm very sorry for what I—"

"I said for you to get out, Potter; if I have to tell you again, you will be in even more trouble than you already are."

"Sorry to have bothered you, sir," Harry said, and he turned to leave. Professor Dumbledore was standing in the doorway.

"I need to speak with you, Severus," the Headmaster said, looking over Harry's head and into Snape's eyes.

"I am teaching at the moment, Headmaster."

"Only half a class, by the look of things," Professor Dumbledore observed. Harry looked into the classroom and saw that Dumbledore was right. Only the Slytherin side of the room had any students; the Gryffindors were all gone. Dumbledore stepped around Harry, laying a comforting hand briefly on his shoulder as he passed. He walked to Snape and said something to him very quietly. Then he took a step backward and stood a bit behind Snape, waiting.

"You are dismissed," Professor Snape said. When the Slytherins stared at him in confusion, he waved a hand in the direction of the door and repeated, "Dismissed." The remaining students began to gather their books to leave. Harry looked questioningly at Dumbledore, who nodded to him and indicated that he should leave. He hurried out, eager to be gone before Malfoy and his cronies had a chance to catch up.

He wondered where his Housemates had gone, and he decided to check the Common Room first. He gave the password to the Fat Lady, and, as the portrait hole opened, he was met with a round of deafening applause. His classmates were there, all right, and so were the second-, fourth-, sixth-, and seventh-years, all of whom had a free period just after lunch while the fifth-years were in Potions. Fred and George hoisted Harry the rest of the way into the Common Room, and each of them gave him a bone-crushing hug. "Best things we've heard in years, mate!" Fred said.

"Wish we could've seen it," George added.

"First time I've ever wanted to be two years younger," Lee Jordan added. "So I could have been there."

When he had caught his breath, Harry asked, "Okay, what's up?"

"You!" said Fred.

"Snape!" said George.

"'Grow up!'" they said in unison. The entire Common Room howled with laughter.

Harry held up a hand for quiet. When the cheers had died down, he said, "I really shouldn't have said that."

The twins immediately began talking over one another in their attempts to dispute this statement. "Nonsense!"

"Foolishness!"

"Balderdash!"

"Poppycock!"

When they had finished, Harry said, "No, really, I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have lost my temper. I've probably just made things worse. I went to apologise…" [During the pause for the collective "You what?!" from the entire population of the Common Room, Harry took the opportunity to fall into a chair next to Ron.] "…and he was even worse than usual. But Dumbledore was there, so he knows that I tried."

The Common Room clamoured to know why Dumbledore had been there. Harry explained that he had gone straight to Dumbledore's office for advice and that Dumbledore had agreed to accompany him when he went to apologise. Then, tiring of being the centre of attention, he asked, "What happened after I left?" He grinned. "Since you're all here, I can figure out that you left, too, but tell me how it went."

The fifth-years all began to talk at once. Harry again held up a hand for quiet. "One at a time," he said.

Parvati Patil said, "I'll tell it. Lavender and I were the last ones out, and we were at the back, so we saw it all." She paused theatrically, and everyone leaned in towards her. "Wait, set up the chairs like they were. We can act it out." Harry grinned and rolled his eyes at Parvati's flair for the dramatic as the other fifth-years hurried to re-arrange their chairs. When they were ready, Parvati began.

"After you left, we all just kind of sat there and stared at one another. Snape didn't say a word—Dean, you go up to the front and be Snape until it's your turn, okay?" Dean obeyed, and she continued, "He just stood there. I think he was too shocked to say anything." Harry and his Housemates all laughed at Dean's comical "Snape in shock" expression. When the laughter died down, Parvati went on. "And then Ron and Hermione looked at each other…." She paused. Ron and Hermione looked at one another, then stood up in tandem and walked away from their "desks" and out the "door." "And they left. Just like that. And then Neville—Neville, you were wonderful, do it again so Harry can see. Wait, first, Dean, you do Snape."

Harry was internally cracking up at Parvati playing stage-manager, but he somehow managed to keep a straight face. Dean glared at the "class" and performed an uncanny imitation of Snape's trademark sneer. Everyone hooted. He said snidely, "How touching that Precious Potter's fan club is willing to follow in his hallowed footsteps."

Neville stood up from his "desk," looked Dean/Snape right in the eye, and said, "Harry's right. You do need to grow up." He followed the path that Ron and Hermione had taken."

"Okay, Dean, come back and be you again," Parvati directed. With a final sneer, Dean took his seat again, but not for long. "So then Dean and Seamus looked at each other…." Dean and Seamus, as narrated, glanced at one another, stood up, and followed the path of their classmates. "And then Lavender and I didn't even have to look at each other. We just left." Parvati and Lavender followed, hot on the heels of Dean and Seamus. "And that was it. We all came here." Harry and the surrounding students from other years applauded as at the end of a performance. The "actors" all took a bow and then returned to their seats. Parvati, looking very pleased with her directorial debut, finished with, "Well, all of us but Ron and Hermione; I don't know where they went."

Hermione supplied, "We went to look for you, Harry. We looked everywhere."

"Well, everywhere except Dumbledore's office, obviously," Ron said. "We tried Hagrid's hut, we tried the Quidditch Pitch…. Finally, we just came back here to wait; we reckoned you'd get here eventually."

"I wouldn't have gone outside the castle," Harry said. He looked steadily at his best friends, and he didn't say the words I promised I wouldn't aloud, but, from the way that they smiled at him, he knew that they heard them anyway. To cover the meaning, he added, "I'd have gotten in even bigger trouble." It was a flimsy explanation of his words, but everyone seemed to buy it.

"So what do you for an encore?" George asked. His voice was as light and teasing as ever, but his eyes were serious. Harry had been wondering exactly that; what now?

All eyes turned toward him, and he suddenly realised that his classmates were looking to him as a leader. Further, he realised that they always had. They had followed him. They had believed in him. He looked around the Common Room, and he thought, I did this. I caused this. For the first time, he felt the full weight of his responsibility, and that weight both elated and terrified him. They let me get them into this, and they're trusting me to get them out. If I'll try to lead, they'll follow.

"Yeah, Harry. What now?" Dean asked.

Harry was surprised to find that he had an answer. He began to speak, and—another first for him—he noticed that people listened when he spoke. "I tried to apologise, and he threw me out, so I reckon means he doesn't want me in his class. Which is fine with me, as I don't especially want to be in his class. So, if Dumbledore will let me, I'll do what I said I'd do: I'll study Potions on my own. I'll order a supply of the Potions ingredients that I need to prepare for the OWLs and get through the fifth-year course, and, during scheduled Potions class time, I'll come here to the Common Room, and I'll do Potions. If any of you want to join me, I'll order a supply of ingredients for you, too. I'll talk to Dumbledore tomorrow in the long break after Herbology and see if he'll let us."

"He will," Hermione said softly. "If it comes to that, he will."

"And we'll be here," Ron added. The other fifth-years murmured their assent.

Harry nodded once and then simply sat, feeling the energy in the room. It felt … weighty. Like a corner had been turned, like the decision that had just been made mattered. There was a charged silence that no one seemed to want to break.

Finally, with obvious regret, Patrick Croaker spoke. "I suppose we should get on to class." By "we," he meant himself and his fellow sixth-years, who had the next Potions slot. The sixth-years began to gather their things, as did the second- and fourth-years, and the spell was broken, but Harry could tell that everyone had felt it—the connection, the mattering. Something had happened today, and he was going to have to think about it for a long time before he got it all figured out.

The fifth-years had a break between Potions and Charms, so they didn't have a class to get to yet. When the others had left and they were alone in the Common Room, they simply sat for a bit, not quite sure what was supposed to happen next. Harry smiled uncertainly at Hermione and said, "Since we don't have any ingredients for today, could you, erm, tell us about Healing Potions?"

His classmates all looked around at one another, shrugged, and picked up their quills, and Hermione began to lecture. They all took notes until it was time for Charms class.

*

Their first Charms class was, unsurprisingly, rather an anti-climax after the excitement of Potions, and the rest of the day proceeded uneventfully. Harry and his classmates were all somewhat quieter than usual; they tended to start a bit when spoken to as if their attention had been somewhere else.

In the Common Room that evening after dinner, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had their first real chance to discuss the events of the day, but, as they sat at their usual table, they didn't seem to know where to start. Harry knew that they all knew that something important had happened today, something larger than just a fight between a teacher and some students, but they hadn't quite processed it yet. Harry was strongly reminded of the time immediately after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, after Cedric's death and Voldemort's rebirth, when the three of them had sat here together in wordless understanding.

Hermione suggested that they read the chapter for Defence tomorrow, but she didn't put up a fight when Ron objected that he'd never be able to concentrate. They sat and talked, in a slightly strained way, about inconsequential things. Finally, Ron challenged Hermione to a game of chess. She accepted, and they played and sparred—they always bickered when they played chess, but they seemed to enjoy it—while Harry watched and thought.

Fred, George, and Ginny suddenly descended on their table. "Harry, we need a fourth for Exploding Snap," George said.

This had to be the lamest excuse Harry had ever heard; part of the fun of Exploding Snap was that it didn't have a fixed number of players. But he knew that the Weasleys were trying to keep him occupied, and he appreciated their efforts, so he pretended to forget that you didn't need four players. He, Ginny, and the twins played until time for bed.

*

The next morning at breakfast, just after the mail had been delivered, Dumbledore stood and clinked his knife against his goblet to get everyone's attention. All of the students looked at him curiously; morning announcements were not a usual occurrence. When he saw that he had their attention, he said, "I have an announcement to make. The Ministry has just informed us that Professor Snape has received a research grant to support the writing of a Potions textbook. As you can probably guess, writing a textbook takes time and concentration, and Professor Snape does not feel that he can balance all of his current duties with his writing. Therefore, though he will remain here at Hogwarts, he is stepping down as Potions Master, and he is scaling back his other duties. I will be teaching Potions classes until I can find a suitable replacement, and Professor Vector will join Professor Snape as Co-Head of Slytherin House. Please join me in congratulating Professor Snape and wishing him luck as he begins his writing."

Dumbledore began a round of applause. The other teachers quickly joined, but the students sat and goggled for a moment before they began, rather automatically, to clap as well. Harry glanced around the Hall at his fellow students. Most wore looks of total surprise—glad surprise for the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws and angry surprise for many of the Slytherins. Malfoy looked like he was about to be sick. Neville's expression of disbelief was slowly changing one of pure joy; he looked like he had forgotten his own birthday and someone had just reminded him by giving him a million Galleons as a present. Harry's own emotions had followed that same trajectory—surprise, then relieved happiness. However, for Harry, a third emotion followed the first two: a nagging hint of worry about his own role in these events. He recalled Dumbledore's reaction to their conversation the day before and the way that the Headmaster had looked as he instructed Snape to dismiss the class. Had he gotten Snape sacked?

The curious glances of his fellow students told Harry that he wasn't the only one pondering this question. Malfoy kept looking daggers at Harry, and, when his eyes met Sylvia Fawcett's as his gaze swept over the Ravenclaw table, she gave him a huge grin and a thumbs-up and mouthed "My hero!"

Harry ventured a glance at Snape. He was staring at his plate and not looking nearly as excited as someone who had just received a Ministry grant ought to look. "He doesn't look happy, does he?" Hermione observed, echoing Harry's thoughts.

"When does he ever look happy?" Ron wondered aloud. "Reckon we get to go back to Potions class after all, eh, Harry?"

Harry nodded, a slow grin spreading across his face. Potions with Dumbledore. Potions without Gryffindor getting points taken every three seconds for no reason at all. Potions without snide comments and unfairness. He couldn't quite imagine it.

Hermione interrupted his reverie with a reminder that they needed to get to Herbology. They set off for the greenhouses with the rest of the Gryffindor fifth-years. As soon as they were out of the Great Hall, Parvati and Lavender, in unison, grabbed Harry and kissed him, one on each cheek. He and the other fifth-years gawped at them; this was odd behaviour even for them. "What was that for?" he said.

"You got rid of Snape!" Parvati said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Harry shook his head, trying to disclaim responsibility. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come off it, Harry," said Seamus. "Do you really think it's just a coincidence that this Ministry grant thing came right after what happened yesterday?"

"It could be," Harry said uncomfortably. But Seamus was right; it did seem awfully convenient. His classmates cheerfully ignored this reply and continued to congratulate him. Finally, he said, "Well, if I did have anything to do with it, it wasn't just me; it was all of us."

"Yeah, but you were the … what's that thing in chemical reactions, Hermione?" Dean asked. "Seamus's dad's always on about them."

"Catalyst," she replied.

"Yeah, that's it. The catalyst." Harry had no idea what Dean was talking about, and he didn't have time to ask, for they had arrived at Greenhouse Three, and Professor Sprout was waiting. Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to concentrate on Herbology.

--

More Author's Notes:

If you want to see the part that the students don't hear about Snape's sudden job change, check out the outtake "Sacked!"

A note to Jenny Lim: You're right; Moody wouldn't *really* advocate killing two Stunned and disarmed wizards, even if they are Death Eaters intent on a spot of Muggle-murder. I meant for him to be at least half-kidding about wanting to kill Crabbe and Goyle—some of his act seems to me like deliberate self-parody, so he might exaggerate for effect just to keep up his image—but I probably didn't make the joke element clear enough.