A/N: This chapter didn't turn out exactly like I wanted it to, but I figured I made you guys (and girls) wait long enough. So, enjoy this chapter (wow, I just realized it is almost ten pages long).

CH9: Strange Sympathy

"Stranger than your sympathy

And this is my apology

I killed myself from the inside out

And all my fears have pushed you out."

July 27, 1996

"Do you know what you have to do, Dagger?" Kyle paced in front of him, piercing him with sharp looks.

Harry stood in position: feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, emotionless face pointed forward. "Yes, sir."

"And what is your objective?"

"Infiltrate the location and scout for information, sir."

"And what are you not to do?"

"Reveal myself, sir."

"Exactly. Another agent will meet you at the location tomorrow at twenty hundred hours. Dismissed." Harry turned to the door. "And Dagger? Good luck."

Harry ran a hand through his short blond hair and entered the Black Quill, a popular wizarding café located on the edge of London. The Agency had received intelligence that it was the Headquarters of a well-known gang called the Caskets. Rumor was that they were in the middle of some shady dealings in Knockturn Alley with a couple low-level Death Eaters.

He looked around the restaurant, noting his surroundings. It was dimly lit, the floor filled with small round tables. A small platform sat at the front of the room and a piano played was serenading the visitors. Harry's eyes lit up as he saw the small sign posted on the wall next to it.

Have a talent? Perform here every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday.

He smiled and walked over to the counter. The man working had longish red hair. His name tag said 'Chuck'.

"Hello," Harry said smiling. "Who would I see about playing here Thursday night?"

"But you don't play an instrument, Dagger," Kyle said slowly as if speaking to a very idiotic person. Which he actually thought Harry was right now.

"I was hoping you could help me out with that." Harry looked sheepish and Kyle hit his head against his desk. "Isn't there a spell for that or something?"

"No." His forehead scrunched up in concentration. "But there might be someone who can help us."

Harry watched as Kyle knocked firmly on the office door. He really hoped that whoever was inside could help them. The door opened and a slightly frazzled looking wizard stood there. Harry immediately recognized him as Perkins, the man who worked with Mr. Weasley in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department.

"Can I help you, Dusty?" He sounded annoyed. Kyle ignored it.

"My young recruit here has gotten himself into a bit of a sticky situation the first day on the job," he explained and Harry scowled. "Do you have any enchanted instruments we could use?"

Perkins thought for a moment then re-entered his office. He came out clutching an acoustic guitar. "Here," he shoved the instrument into Harry's hands and then slammed his door shut.

Harry lifted up the guitar and examined it. Suddenly he got the urge to strum the strings. The notes that came out were beautiful.

"I have no idea what you just played," Kyle said. "But it sounded good. Problem solved."

Harry sat at his desk, occasionally plucking the strings on his new guitar and scribbling on a piece of paper.

"How's it going?" Kyle asked, peering into the room. Harry tossed his note pad to him and Kyle deftly caught it.

"It rhymes," Kyle commented as he skimmed the words.

July 28, 1996

Harry sat at the counter of the café, skimming through a small German book. He had been studying different languages for the past two weeks and found he enjoyed it immensely.

The waiter on duty tonight kept shooting him suspicious looks and Harry pulled his Puddlemere cap further down over his head. He hadn't come to the Dark Quill in disguise tonight. His Metamorphmagus abilities were far from perfect and remaining in other forms for long periods of time still exhausted him. On Kyle's orders, he was conserving energy for tomorrow's performance. So he had just gone as himself and was becoming increasingly nervous that someone would recognize him as Harry Potter.

And someone did.

"I would never have thought I'd find you here," said a voice behind him. Harry whipped around and his heart plummeted. Standing there was his least favorite teacher, Severus Snape.

"Professor!" he exclaimed, slipping back into his scared student voice. "What – what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Snape motioned to the chair next to him. "Can I sit down?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry I'm here, Professor. Please don't tell – "

"Don't worry," he cut in. "I'm not planning to."

This time, Harry didn't have to fake his reaction. "What?!?"

"Look," he lowered his voice. "Potter, during your Occulmency lesson –"

A sudden idea struck Harry, something he should have done a long time ago. "I'm sorry, Professor," he repeated, though now for an entirely different reason.

This time Snape looked startled. "What for?"

"For that day when I went in your Pensieve and for what happened in it." He was speaking fast, not wanting Snape to interrupt before he got out all he wanted to say. "I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like that. And my father shouldn't have acted like that. And I want you to know, I never told anyone what I saw there. Well, except for Remus and Sir – Sirius, but that was only because I wanted to know why they acted like total prats ... Oh, and for blowing up the other day. I was just so frustrated with everything that was going on, and I took it out on you ... Anyway, I'm sorry."

The Potions Master looked surprised for a second before bursting into laughter.

"Sir?" Harry asked tentatively. 'Someone's been inhaling too many potions lately.'

When Snape managed to get himself under control, he looked over at Harry like he had never seen anything like him before. "I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined that James Potter's son would be apologizing to me."

Harry glanced around quickly. "Could you keep it down a bit, they don't know who I am here."

"Really? Why not?" He seemed genuinely curious. Harry was worried now. Paranoia had been driven into his head during his training and he was always on guard. Why was Snape acting so nice?

"I don't like the attention," Harry admitted, half-truthfully. "I'd rather just be another face in the crowds."

"You're a lot less like your father than I thought." Snape said softly. Then he sighed. "Do you really want to know why I won't tell the Order what you've been doing?" At Harry's nod, he continued. "In that Occulmency lesson, after you blew up at me, I thought about what you said. I have to admit I'm surprised that you had to grow up that way. And then I remembered some of the images I saw when we had practiced last year, and they ... well, they reminded me a lot of my own childhood. And, to tell you the truth, I use to sneak out to get away from it all as well. So, don't worry, I won't mention where you've been going."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied, quietly.

"When we're out of class like this, you can call me Severus." Now he was really suspicious. 'Who the hell are you and what have you done to Snape?'

"That's going to take some getting use to."

Severus smiled, something else Harry thought would need getting use to. "And congratulations. It takes a lot of skill and cunning to have snuck past your guard like that. You would have made a good Slytherin you know."

"That's what the Sorting Hat said."

He shook his head. "I'll see you at school, Harry." He picked up his cloak and left.

'That was weird.'

Harry watched the professors retreating back before turning back to his book. A small piece of paper next it caught his eye. He slowly picked it up and read:

Harry -

I know why you are here. Meet me at the corner of Stanford and Kinetin at 11pm.

The world is quiet here.

S.S.

Harry blinked and stared at the letter. The world is quiet here; the official saying for the WIA. Then he checked his watch. 8 o'clock.

'How many people does that man work for?'

At eleven, Harry leaned casually against the street sign at the corner. A deep hissing came from a nearby alley.

"Potter!"

Harry cautiously walked over to the small path and met Snape. He raised an eyebrow. "So you're my contact?"

"Yes," he replied, making sure no one was around to hear them. "And I was as surprised as you were. How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long have you worked for us?" he said impatiently.

"About two weeks."

Snape looked up sharply. "This is your first assignment?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "Damn. Look, we have to work together, so – "

"Don't worry," Harry interrupted. "You don't have to like me. I've gotten used to the fact that you plot my death in your off time."

"Trust me, I have far more important things to do than plot your death." He looked into Harry's eyes. "And I don't hate you."

"Since when?"

"Not all I said in there was for show." Snape took a deep breath. "I never said it, but I am sorry about Black."

"No you're not. You hated him."

"You're right. I'm not sorry about him. I'm sorry that his death drove you to join the agency. No child should ever become a spy."

"Yeah, well, I'm not a child," Harry said irritably.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Nobody has ever let you be just a child."

"Can we just move on? We have work to do."

Snape sized him up. "Fine." He pulled a small package from his robe pocket. "If you play good enough tomorrow night, you will be invited to an after-hours party upstairs. All you have to do is plant this" He tapped the package" somewhere."

"Done." He took it and started to walk away. Harry distinctly heard Snape mutter behind him,

"Merlin, I hope he doesn't screw up."

July 29, 1996

"Anton, you're up."

Harry, redisguised as Charles Anton, strode up to the platform and sat down in a chair. 'This is it,' he thought. 'Merlin, I hope I don't screw up.' He placed his guitar on his lap and started playing. Then he sang.

"He went to Paris

Looking for answers

To questions that bothered him so." Harry's voice echoed across the room.

"He was impressive,

Young and aggressive,

Saving the world on his own.

And the warm summer breezes,

French wines and cheeses

Put his ambition at bay.

And summers and winters

Scattered like splinters

And four or five years slipped away.

He went to England,

Played the piano,

And married and actress named Kim.

They had a fine life;

She was a good wife

And bore him a young son named Jim.

And all of the answers

And all of the questions

Locked in his attic one day.

'Cause he liked the quiet,

Clean country livin',

And twenty more years slipped away.

Well, the war killed his baby,

A curse killed his lady,

And left him with only one eye.

His body was battered,

His whole world was shattered,

And all he could do was just cry.

While the tears were falling,

He was recalling

Answers he never found.

So he hopped on a broomstick,

Flew over the ocean,

And left England with out a sound.

Now he lives in the islands,

Fishes and pylons,

And drinks his old whiskey each day.

Writing his memoirs,

Losing his hearing,

But he don't care what most people say.

Through one-oh-six years

Of perpetual motion,

If he likes you he'll smile and he'll say:

Child, some of it's magic,

Some of it's tragic,

But I had a good life all the way.

He went to Paris

Looking for answers

To questions that bothered him so."

Some of the audience had tears in their eyes as the last note faded out and the applause shook the room. As Harry left the stage, he was handed a small card.

Mr. Newton would like to see you upstairs.

'Bingo.'

"You are a very talented individual, Mr. Anton," said Newton.

"Thank you, sir. It is a lovely place you have here." They were seated in a small, richly furnished room that overlooked the entire café.

"It should be considering what I paid for it." Harry and the rest of the crowd up around him gave a fake laugh. "Now, enjoy the festivities, Mr. Anton. I have some work to attend to, but I shall be back momentarily." He walked off.

Harry leaned over to one of the guests. "Wonderful party," he remarked, leaning forward just enough so the small flat recorder would fall out of his pocket and into his hand.

"It is," she answered shortly, scanning to room for someone else to talk to. "Look, there's Mr. Avery!"

Harry's head whipped up. Sure enough, there he was coming up the stairs. 'Bugger,' Harry mentally swore and quickly brushed his hand underneath the chair he was sitting on. The device firmly attached itself to the wooden bottom. "Excuse me," he said to the woman and began to leave.

He was almost to the stairs when ...

"Where do you think you are going?" Harry turned around to come face to face with the Death Eater. "Mr. Newton will be upset if his guests start leaving before nine."

"I'm sorry, something came up." Avery moved to block his way.

"Trust me, Mr. Newton is not someone you wish to get angry."

"Well, offer him my sincerest apologies, would you?" Harry swiftly brushed past him, and all but ran down the stairs and out of the café.

"You did well for your first time," Snape said, knocking on the door to his office. "Dagger, is it?"

Harry let a small smile show at the name. He had indeed grown into it, though in an unexpected way.

July 19, 1996

"We will be learning sword and knife combat today, Dagger. Here," Kyle held out a small blade to him, which Harry quickly took. "See what you can do."

"But ... "He looked confused. "You haven't told me how yet."

"Haven't you learned that you can't always expect everyone to tell you what to do? Figure it out for yourself."

Awkwardly, Harry held up the knife and aimed at a dummy on the other side of the room. It flew through the air a few feet before clunking to the floor. He glared at it angrily before pulling out his wand and banishing the knife away. It spun rapidly before embedding itself into the dummy's head.

Kyle looked stunned. "That's not exactly what I meant – "But he was cut off by the sound of clapping. Harry turned to see Pixie and her recruit standing by the door way.

"Wow, his spells really slice through you like a 'dagger', don't they," she remarked sarcastically.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Cobalt."

Harry studied the Professor for a moment. There was something he wanted to ask, but ...

"Could I ask you a favor?" Harry began carefully. Snape gave him a puzzled look, but nodded. Harry inhaled deeply. "Could you ... could you teach me the – the Dark Arts?"

Whatever Snape had been expecting to hear, it wasn't this. The surprised look on his face was almost comical.

"What – what did you just say?" He stepped into the room and shut the door.

"I want to learn the Dark Arts," he said more confidently this time. "I've asked Ky – Dusty, but he refused."

"Why?" The question hung in midair.

Harry looked into Snape's eyes. "I'm supposed to kill him." Both of them knew who 'him' was. "I need to know everything I can."

Silence settled over the room for a few minutes. Then Snape nodded.

"Yes, I will teach you."