After this, updates will probably drop to one every other day, or every two. I do have original fiction and homework I need to work on.
For now, enjoy, and thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Eight: Dares and DivesHarry smiled as Draco cast a stone into the lake and yelled for the Giant Squid to come up and attack him if it wasn't a coward. Draco would run in the opposite direction if that ever happened, of course, but it was funny to think about. And Harry was in a generally good mood this morning, certainly enough to find Draco's jokes amusing.
Connor was well. He'd been released from the infirmary the yesterday, along with a stern warning from Madam Pomfrey "not to do whatever it was that you did again, young man!" Ron was up even before then. And Connor, though he seemed dazed when asked about the troll, had accepted the story of his defeating it without trouble. It probably helped, Harry thought, that awed mutters and glances tended to follow him now, and that the Gryffindor Head of House had been more than usually kind to him.
Hermione seemed to know the truth, but though she watched Harry constantly on Friday—he would look up from reading a book in the library, and there she would be—she didn't bring it up. She had even befriended Connor and Ron, to an extent, if her stiff efforts to include them in a lecture on Friday were any indication. Harry was willing to let it rest for now. He could urge them closer later.
And Draco hadn't brought up the truth, either, for which Harry was more than grateful. He smirked when someone else talked about Connor and the troll, and at every mention of "wandless magic" his elbow dug into Harry's ribs, but he didn't talk. Harry thought he knew that McGonagall and the rest wouldn't believe him. Even Snape probably did not. He had his hands full hating Connor and Harry for being Potters, and thus James through them.
Harry looked up as Draco said, "I saw a shadow in the lake." He was trying to be confident, but his voice rippled, like the water that had probably been all he saw. "I think we should head back to the castle now."
Harry checked the sun; it was still early morning, since Draco had learned his trick of rising early on Saturdays and adjusted his sleeping schedule to catch Harry then, too. But the Great Hall would probably be open for breakfast by now, and Draco really had been agreeable, following him around the lake and chattering nonstop about something other than Harry being a Slytherin. "All right," he agreed, and turned back towards Hogwarts.
As they neared the castle, his eyes strayed to Gryffindor Tower, by habit, and then he froze. A figure on a broomstick, shrunk by distance, darted around the Tower, retrieving small objects that fell—or were hurled, more likely, Harry thought—out of windows. The sound of laughter was audible even from here. And Harry could recognize Connor on a broomstick. He'd trained in recognizing Connor on a broomstick, in case they were ever in flight among enemies and he had to cast spells without looking at someone's face first.
"Isn't that your brother?" Draco said, at the same moment. "Where did he get a broom?"
"Probably sneaked out to the pitch and stole one," said Harry, his eyes narrowing as Connor essayed a particularly daring swoop. He spiraled once, wobbled as if he would bash into the side of the Tower, and then soared up, laughing. Harry had no doubt that he'd caught whatever it was he chased. He let his shoulders sag in relief. "He's a good flyer, though, don't you think?" he added, turning to Draco.
Draco was watching him, and not Connor. Draco was disturbing that way, Harry reflected. "Not half as good as you are," he murmured.
"He's much better than me," Harry said. Not true, but he's much better than Draco gives him credit for. "You ought to see us fly after a practice Snitch together. Connor wins every time."
"Because you let him," said Draco, in a soft, mocking voice.
"On his own merits!" Harry hissed. He wondered if there was, after all, something worse than Draco confronting him immediately after the troll incident and demanding an explanation. Draco seemed to have decided that the way Harry protected Connor from physical harm extended into protecting him from any possible embarrassment, too.
Well, it does, but he has no right to assume that it does.
"Mister Potter!"
Harry blinked and jerked his head up. It was Professor McGonagall who spoke, though, and she was standing at the base of Gryffindor Tower, her arms folded and her head tilted up. Connor didn't appear to see or hear her. He swerved down, caught one more object too small for Harry to see, and held it up to cheers and applause through the Tower windows.
"Mister Potter," said McGonagall again, somehow managing to sound equally forceful even though she'd raised her voice. "Come down here this instant."
Harry winced at her tone, especially as Connor heard her this time and froze on the broomstick. Then he spiraled softly down. His head was bowed, and Harry knew, though he couldn't see them, that his knuckles would be white where they gripped the broom handle. Connor hated being in trouble, or getting yelled at.
Harry hurried over. Draco, behind him, said nothing except for one quick whisper of, "You try to take the blame for this and I will give you such a thump."
Harry didn't intend to take the blame. He just wanted to be there to hear what the punishment was, so that he could commiserate with Connor and agree whether or not it would be worth the crime.
McGonagall stood where she was for a long moment, lips pursed as she stared at Connor. Harry's brother had hopped off the broomstick and stood with his head bowed. It was a posture of genuine contrition, which had often gotten him out of trouble at home. But McGonagall wasn't James, and Harry braced himself as she opened her mouth.
"Mister Potter," she said. "You know that you broke the rules by flying without permission."
"Yes, ma'am," Connor whispered. His voice sounded so small. Harry would have gone forward and gotten in front of him, to deflect McGonagall's attention, but he thought she would have gotten irritated at him without dropping her irritation for Connor. Besides, Draco had a death grip on his arm.
"And you know that you were hurt in your battle with the troll two days ago and have no reason to be up and flying," she continued.
"Yes, ma'am."
"That said," McGonagall said, unfolding her arms, "it will be to your advantage to respect your position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team." Harry felt a warmth flooding his heart. Connor jerked his head up and stared at McGonagall. "We have desperate need of a Seeker," McGonagall went on, "which is the only reason I am allowing this. But you will not skip practices, Mr. Potter, nor will you abuse your teammates' trust in you. Do you understand?"
Connor nodded, his eyes and his whole face shining with a light that Harry knew well enough most people could not resist. Slytherins seemed to be the exception, but Slytherins were the exceptions for lots of things. "Of course, ma'am! I promise! Thank you!"
McGonagall nodded at him. "We had a practice this morning," she said as she turned away, "but you will need to report to Oliver Wood, the team Captain, on your own time and have him instruct you in plays."
Connor bounced up and down on his toes, grinning. "I understand, ma'am. Thank you!" he added again, his voice exuberant.
Harry caught sight of McGonagall's faint smile as she passed. It seemed even the stern Head of Gryffindor House was not immune to Connor's charm.
"Congratulations, Connor," he said quietly. He was glad that he got to be the first one to say that. There were confused, semi-cheerful sounds coming from Gryffindor Tower, but none of them had had time to get out of the Tower and down to the ground yet.
Connor nodded at him. Then his face firmed, and Harry blinked at the change in his eyes and the set of his jaw.
He grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him towards the castle. Harry stumbled before he managed to catch his balance and follow. He was much more used to Draco pulling this kind of trick, and wondered what in the world Connor could be thinking of doing.
"Where are we going?" he asked, as they plowed through the doors and in the direction of the Great Hall. But Connor turned before they got there, leading him to the dungeons.
"I promised that you would get all the same chances that I get," was Connor's only explanation, and soon enough they were hurrying along a familiar hallway. Harry had a bad feeling when Connor paused and knocked on the door of Snape's office.
There was a long, long silence, as though Snape were behind the door asking himself incredulously who would dare disturb him this early in the morning, and on a Saturday, no less. Harry shifted, and tried a new tactic. "Connor, thank you. You're wonderfully brave and generous. But it's not necessary, really—"
The door opened then, and Snape, as ready to sneer as he was on days when they had class, stood framed in it. "The Brothers Potter," he said, making their last name sound like an obscenity. "What do you want?"
Connor lifted his chin. "Professor Snape," he said formally, "I've just been made Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team."
Harry saw the professor's face grow tight with rage for a moment, but his voice showed no change. "I see," he replied, sarcasm dripping from the words. "And this would be your promotional tour, perhaps? Your way of soliciting congratulations from all and sundry?"
"This has nothing to do with me," said Connor firmly, and thrust Harry forward. "My brother's as good a Seeker as I am. If Professor McGonagall is going to break the rules and let me fly for Gryffindor, even though I'm a first-year, then I think it's only fair that Harry should get to fly for Slytherin."
Harry winced and cowered. He could well imagine the force of the invective Snape was about to unleash, and he didn't look forward to the way that Connor's face would crumple and flush as he struggled not to cry.
There was silence instead. And then Snape said, in the even tone that was as close as he ever seemed to come to courtesy, "Thank you, Mr. Potter. That is indeed an excellent idea. I approve entirely. Come in, Mr. Potter," he said, nodding at Harry, "so that we can discuss this further." He stepped out of the way and gestured into the office, as though in invitation.
Harry would have rather entered a dragon's lair. "My brother's mistaken, Professor Snape," he blurted, chasing the first idea that came to mind. "I could never beat him in our practice matches. I wouldn't want to give Slytherin an inferior Seeker—"
"Don't listen to him, Professor," Connor interrupted. "He's nearly taken the Snitch away from me more than once. And I'm really good," he added, with that artless self-adulation that Harry so often encouraged and now wished would dry up for just a few minutes.
"I have no reason to doubt you," Snape assured him gravely, which made Harry only more certain he was howling with laughter inside. "But since the first match is in a week, and it will be between Gryffindor and Slytherin, then I wish to advise Mr. Potter of the...strategy…he should adopt." His eyes came back to Harry's face and lingered there. Then he smiled. It was not at all a nice smile.
Harry said, "Really, sir, you don't have to do this. I know how much you hate bending the rules."
"Harry."
He glanced sideways at Connor, who was smiling at him with the gentle, patient expression of a sibling pushed almost to the limits of his tolerance.
"Do this," Connor whispered. "Please. I want you to. I'd be miserable if I were flying and you weren't. Please?"
Harry sighed and bowed his head. Why not? It's not as though I have to win the game. Everyone has seen how good we are separately, but no one's seen us in competition, and when they do, then they'll only notice what Mum and Dad did whenever I played Connor.
Those thoughts reassured him. This was a deception, but unlike the desperate one he'd made up Halloween night to turn Connor into a hero, it was an old and familiar one. Harry breathed a bit easier.
"If you really want me on the team, sir," he said to Professor Snape, "I'll do it."
"Indeed," said Snape. "Now, step inside my office, Mr. Potter. We really must talk."
Connor patted Harry's shoulder. Then he said, "See you later, Harry. Professor." A nod, and he was gone.
Harry stared at Snape for a long moment. His Head of House's eyes showed no sign of yielding, so he bowed his head again and plodded into the room.
The door shut with a soft sound. Harry hoped for some silence, but Snape tore into him at once.
"You are a fool if you think that I will permit Gryffindor to beat Slytherin," he said, circling around in front of Harry. Harry kept his eyes on the floor. That didn't dim his consciousness of Snape's gaze on him, or how triumphant it was. "And I know that you are not a fool, Mr. Potter. You will kindly stop acting as if you are. You will become Slytherin's Seeker. And you will win our matches, Mr. Potter."
"Connor really is better than I am, sir," Harry tried.
"I don't believe you," Snape assured him, voice a purr. "After the incident with the troll, Mr. Potter, I wonder if I should believe you ever again."
Harry looked up in shock. He really, really had not thought that Snape believed Draco's side of the story, even if Draco had told him. The story Harry had made up sounded so much better, confirming as it would for Snape the utter arrogance of both James Potter's sons and their rule-breaking tendencies.
Snape smirked at him and cocked his head.
"I know what you are, Mr. Potter," he breathed. "And do you know why?" Harry shook his head, heart like a drumbeat in his ears, almost obscuring Snape's next whispered words. "I am a Slytherin, too. Maneuvering, lying, half-truths, concealment—they are second nature to me. And your attempts are amateurish at best." He laughed when Harry glared at him. "Oh, yes, they are. They depend too heavily on the listener being utterly besotted with our resident hero. As I am not, I prefer to look for the true cause. The Slytherin cause, Mr. Potter." He hissed the last words, and Harry spoke before he thought.
"I'm not going to be a good Seeker, Professor. I'll just throw the game. And Connor will still win anyway."
Snape's smile vanished. He leaned close enough that Harry flinched, but he couldn't seem to look away. Snape's eyes burned like black ice.
"If you do not win this game, Potter," Snape said softly, "if you do not make every effort to be what I know you are, then you will have detention every night for the rest of the term. I will speak with Headmaster Dumbledore and arrange it myself—the way that I intend to arrange for you to become Seeker. And there will be nothing you can do about it. Is that clear?"
Harry growled, helpless. He didn't want to play Connor, he didn't want to take even the chance of showing Connor up, and here the Professor was, forcing him into it.
But he couldn't afford to give his nights up, either. Since Draco stuck by him so closely from morning until night, Harry had finally gotten the idea of following Professor Quirrell around after curfew. He couldn't do that if he was in detention with Snape. Snape would probably take him back to the common room himself.
"Yes, sir," Harry said at last, forcing the words out.
Someone knocked on the door just then, and Draco's worried voice called out, "Harry? Professor Snape? Are you in there?"
Snape chuckled darkly. "He sounds as though he fears we have torn each other apart," he murmured, and then leaned nearer to Harry. "But I will be the one tearing you apart if you fail to live up to my expectations, Mr. Potter."
"Yes, sir," Harry said again, full of helpless hatred.
"Find Marcus Flint," Snape instructed him as he paced to open the door on Draco. "He is our Quidditch Captain. He will see about integrating you into practices. And do strive your hardest, Mr. Potter. The match is only a week away, after all."
Harry, his good mood utterly ruined, bowed his head and left without a word, despite all the questions that Draco asked on the way to the Great Hall.
Snape smiled after Harry, careful to make it a predatory smile and not one of sheerest exultation. This had been a good morning, far better than he might have expected when he heard the hated Potter's voice calling through the door.
I will set James Potter's sons against one another. How he will writhe and squirm when he hears of that! And if I can encourage Harry into acting against whatever his father taught him about yielding to his brother, then I will have done the world a positive service, turning an arrogant Potter spawn into a useful person.
And more…Snape shook his head slightly. It was too much to hope for, based on a few sensations of power, some native Seeker talent, and one troll defeat, that Harry would actually become a shining figure, someone the other Houses and the wider wizarding world were forced to take notice of and respect. Snape was intensely practical. It was not practical to gaze at the future with rose-glassed eyes.
But if I see the chance, I will take it. For too long, Gryffindor has been beloved and Slytherin scorned. They look at us and see the Dark Lord.
If we could produce a hero of our own…if we could make them acknowledge, all against their wills, that heroism is more than just not knowing when to stay out of a fight…
Snape carefully locked the thoughts up again. They were becoming too ambitious, and this was a burning, nourished, long-held dream, something he thought of anew each year when the first-year Slytherins entered his House. He would find someone, someday, who had both the native quality and the potential to be taught and molded. He would push that person into the light, and see Slytherin take up its rightful position of glory once again.
Harry had every chance of not being that person.
But, Snape acknowledged as he stepped back into his office and shut the door, he was the best candidate Snape had seen yet.