Disclaimer: Everything you recognise is J.K.Rowling's property. This story is a response to the Severitus Challenge.

Chapter six: where old grudges get in the way

The following morning, as usual, an owl bought Hermione her copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry didn't pay any attention to it, until he heard her drop her spoon suddenly. Glancing at her he saw how pale she had become and took the journal without a word when she lent it to him. On the cover, there was a huge picture of the dark mark hovering over a burning house.

"Late last night, the Dark Mark was seen above the house of the Trand family. Aurors were sent and discovered the body of Mr Trand, apparently killed by an Avada Kedavra. His wife, was incoherent due to the Cruciatus Curse. St Mungo's Healer thinks there may be irreparable damage to her brain.

Their daughter, six years old, witnessed the torture of her mother and the murder of her father hidden in a small cupboard. She is unharmed.

Mrs Trand is the daughter of Hogwards Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall. The Daily Prophet offers its most sincere condolences for her loss… "

Harry felt sick. He dared glanced at the Head table and wasn't surprised to see that McGonagall wasn't there. He had to get out. Without waiting for Ron and Hermione, he stood and walked out in the fresh air.

He felt like he had a troll seating in his chest. Or rather the world weighting on his shoulders. He was the one with the power to end it all. Until he did, Voldemort would go on with the massacres, tortures and murders. He had to find a way. And fast. He just couldn't stand to do nothing.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice startled him. He hadn't heard her coming.

"All right Harry? I know it's awful, but we've got to go to class now. Come on."

She was right, he knew that. But he couldn't help thinking that learning how to plant a Phyteryne wasn't going to help in the final battle.

As soon as class finished, he headed to the library to continue his research.

His little chat with Moarning Myrtle hadn't gone very well. She had been very pleased to see him at first, then she had been angry that he didn't come more often, and when he had asked her why she couldn't leave her toilets, she had cried that he only went to see her when he needed something.

After a while she calmed down a bit, and told him that she had been killed there and that she had awoken in the same place, and couldn't leave it, except by the water tunnels. But she didn't know anything else.

So, it looked like ghosts were automatically tied to the place they died in, without knowing how. Headless Nick, his next to interview, wouldn't know either, so no point in questioning him.

Harry sighed. It looked like he would have to involve Hermione after all. Which would probably be best, considering she was depressed because she couldn't find a spell that would work directly on Voldemort's soul…

However, he found himself strangely reluctant to do so. She would probably bring it all to Dumbledore, thinking it should be his job to finish the madman…

But it wasn't. It was his job. Whether he liked it or not. But Hermione wouldn't understand that. Even if he told her the prophecy, she would say Divination was rubbish and that he should just study for his NEWTs and stop worrying about things, that adults would take care of everything…

Perhaps the answer would be in a book… and he didn't really need Hermione, after all. He did know how to read, whatever Snape thought.

He had been in the library for nearly two hours now and still wasn't nearer to find something useful. In half an hour dinner would be served in the Great Hall, and after he had to go to his Remedial Potions with Snape.

Which reminded him of another riddle he had yet to solve. Snape. The ugly man had acted very strangely ever since the Welcoming Feast. First, the Stupefy incident. Then, last night… he had been odd, calling him Harry with concerned eyes, promising that their meetings wouldn't be used to insult him about his father and godfather…

He really didn't know what to make of that. It confused him. His relation with Snape had always been quite simple, because he always knew what his teacher felt for him. Hate. Pure, inalterable hate. And since Sirius' death, it was really mutual.

But now… the Potion Master certainly didn't look as if he hated him. Sure, he still insulted him at every occasion, sneered at him with loathe in his eyes… and yesterday's potion class certainly counted among the worst ever.

But there was something else. Sometimes at meals he could feel the man's eyes on him, quickly retiring when he tried to stare back.

And when he did caught his eyes, they were full of something he would never have associated with Snape: sadness, pain, regret…

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat. Looking up he saw the Malefoy heir looking very awkward. He raised an eyebrow questioningly and Malfoy said, trying to sound casual:

"Mind if I seat with you?"

Harry hesitated. He realised he didn't really mind to seat with Malfoy, and after all he had implied that he would welcome the blond boy if he wanted to talk again…

On the other hand he was surrounded by books about ghosts and links and it could seem suspicious. If Malfoy asked why…

He really didn't know which side Malfoy was on. True, Voldemort may want his head, but he could be trying to get close to Harry just to bring him to his master and buy his place in the inner circle…

But if he really was trying to change, then Harry's rejection could throw him back at his father, and he wasn't ready to take the chance. So he said:

"Sure, sit down"

With a smirk, the blond complied, and began to work on his homework. Thankfully, he didn't say anything about Harry's choice of books, even if he did glance at it rather curiously.

A moment later, Harry had forgotten all about Malfoy, as he read one book's description of poltergeists:

"Poltergeists, unlike ghosts, aren't automatically forced to reside upon the place they died in. Theoretically, they can go anywhere they want. However, this caused several problems with Muggles and a spell was invented in 1734 by Lord Alixas Meylar after several months of research.

(…)

"However impossible to tie them to one place, it appeared that it is possible to form a magical bond between the poltergeist and a willing wizard. Said wizard will have the capacity to make it obey him, which is why poltergeists aren't really a problem anymore.

(…)

"The more interesting part of the spell is perhaps that it makes it possible to get rid of a poltergeist. If the wizard bonded to it dies, the bond fells upon his heir, and if he doesn't have any, the poltergeist will vanish.

(…)

"In the improbable case where the wizard becomes a ghost, he would still detain power over the poltergeist, but this power would be extremely limited in time. The poltergeist would still have to obey its 'master' for a few hours, but the order would have to be reiterated.

"The only known case of this resides in the school of Hogwards. Peeves the poltergeist was bonded to Baron Langfield, better known as "the Bloody Baron", ghost of the Slytherin House…"

Well, that explained why the Bloody Baron was the only one able to give orders to Peeves…

But there was more. So, poltergeists could be tied, by a spell, to a wizard. The problem was, they were tied to the soul of the wizard, not their body. So it wouldn't work on Voldemort to tie him to his snake-like body. Plus, Voldemort wasn't a poltergeist. Back at zero point.

Or perhaps not, he thought as he read the next chapter's title: "Ghosts' link to their death bed". He read on:

"Upon death, everyone has to choose his way. Many follow the unknown path, never to be seen by the living ones ever again. Those who left an uncompleted task will remain and take a ghost form, judged unprepared to take the next step. Lastly, those who died in a truly horrible way, with too much pain and sorrow to bear, will be changed into poltergeists, beings incapable of dark feelings such as hate, sadness or pain.

"Poltergeists, unlike ghosts, conserve some of their magic after the transformation. In 1678, the poltergeist Alan McMadnett (renamed Al Mad after his death) managed to use the Laniglia spell over his dead body, thus reintegrating it. He then pretended to be still alive during many years. The truth was only discovered because the dead body finally decayed. Alan tried for many years to break the spell again, but he couldn't, and was finally buried with his body, where he still resides."

Interesting, Harry thought. This spell could well be what he was looking for! Linking one soul to one body, apparently forever if he were to trust the book… he would have to do more research.

"Found something?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

"Not really. Let's go to dinner, I'm famished!" he hastily replied.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Harry quickly put the books back in place and they went to dinner, separating only to go to their own table.

As he sat down, he earned a suspicious look from Hermione. He looked at her, daring her to say something, and she did.

"Where were you?"

"In the library."

"Doing what?"

"Homework. And if your next question is "with whom", the answer's Malfoy. Satisfied, mummy?"

"Fine, keep your secrets. Just be careful, Harry. We still don't know which side he's on."

"I know."

Then, he deliberately turned to ask something about Quidditch to Ron, who couldn't get tired of the subject once on it. He half-listened to his speech, then escaped as soon as possible for his meeting with Snape.

He couldn't stay near Hermione, too afraid she would figure everything out if he let on one little hint. And he couldn't let her, because she would want to be involved. And he couldn't risk anyone else's life. Not after Cedric. Not after Sirius…

But he did need someone else. He knew it. For his plan, his ridiculously daring plan, wouldn't work without the concur of the one he never dared to ask anything to: Snape.

Snape was the key. Harry had to go close enough to Voldemort with his wand to cast Laniglia on him. He had to make him drink a potion that would make him a squib. And all that wouldn't work if he went there as Harry Potter.

He had to go as Severus Snape. He had to brew Polyjuice Potion. And not a Lambda one, as Hermione had in second year, but the Veritas Polyjuice. Then, he would have to make Snape tell him when he felt the mark, then drink the potion and apparate.

There were many holes in his plan. First, how would he manage to make Snape help him, without involving Dumbledore, which he wanted to avoid? Second, he had to learn to apparate. Third, he had to brew two extremely complicated potions, or ask Snape to help him…

And he had to go to the snake's pit, cast a curse on Voldemort without being noticed (a curse he still had to learn!) and somehow making him drink willingly the potion…

Difficult, but perhaps not impossible.

The plan in itself was actually feasible. And Harry forced himself not to be concerned about the after scene…

When Voldemort would realise he had lost all magic…

When the Death Eaters would realise that he wasn't Snape… or worse, that he was a traitor.

What would they do to him, then? There would be lots of them, he couldn't fight them all…

What would they do to the one who destroyed their master? He didn't even want to think about it. That fear was the main reason why he didn't want to involve anyone else. His job done, it didn't really mattered what happened to him, did it?

He wouldn't allow the Department of Mysteries' fiasco to happen again. He wouldn't allow anyone else to die just to save his skin. Never again.

With these morbid thoughts in mind, he knocked at Snape's door a few minutes early. After all, for his daring plan he had to be able to brew two very complicated potions, and Snape seemed to be willing to teach him.

He silently promised himself not to repeat last year's occumency fiasco and to actually try to learn this time. And not to let his personal feelings for Snape get in the way.

The door opened and he stepped in, noticing Snape grading essays at his desk.

"You're early", he noticed.

"Yeah. Does it bother you?"

"Not at all. The earlier we begin, the earlier we're finished. Come in."

He mentioned for Harry to follow him in a little lab besides the office. The room was stern, dark and neat. Just like Snape, Harry thought.

"Today we'll work on Veritas Polyjuice, as yours wasn't really satisfying the other day."

Great! One of the two I've gotta brew, and I didn't even have to ask him. With luck next week he'll ask if I wanna learn the Ysalar Draught…

He realised that Snape was waiting for his answer, so he said:

"Yes sir".

Snape seemed surprised by his lack of indignation at the comment, but quickly recovered.

"Fine. Now begin. The instructions are on the table. Do try not to make anything explode. I'll be on my office grading stupid first year's essays if you need anything. You have an hour to do the first part. Proceed."

Then he left.

Just my luck. The only time I have to ask him something he leaves me alone. Well, at least he could practice the potion. He got to work.

He realised after a moment that he could actually quite enjoy potion brewing when Snape wasn't breathing on his neck. After what seemed to be only a moment but was actually nearly an hour, Snape came back. He stood in the back of the room, silently watching his son with something akin to pride.

Yes, his son was capable of potion brewing. He just got nervous when someone was around. Something they had in common. Severus liked to brew alone too.

And he seemed to enjoy himself. He remembered Lily, how she wouldn't understand how he could like just "throwing funny things into a big cauldron". What would she think if she saw their son now?

She would be proud, just like he was, he thought as Harry added the last ingredient with care. Then, having finished his job, he smiled and turned around to tidy up a little, and stopped dead, seeing Snape.

"How long were you here?" he asked worriedly.

"Long enough to know your job is much worse in class. Now why is that, Mr Potter? Craving so much the attention you have to blow up your cauldron to get it?"

"What should I say about you? Do you really like taunting me so much you even have to disguise your praises in insult?"

"Praises? I have no reason nor intention to praise you merely because you managed to brew an acceptable Polyjuice on the second try! You're in my NEWT class, Potter. I expect you to show some brewing abilities!"

"Well, I do, don't I, when you're not breathing on my neck! Oh, but right, you were!"

"I was not breathing on your neck, Potter. I merely wished to see how you were doing without any pressure, and now that I have, I fully expect you to show the same abilities in class! Now is that enough praise for you? Do you want me to write down "well done" and sign it so that you may show it to your fellow Gryffindors? Proof of your ability to please every professor of this damned school? Do you want me to write to your caretakers to tell them how wonderful you are?"

"Don't you dare."

"And don't You dare talk to me like this, child. You may be the hero of the wizarding world, but that doesn't prevent you from showing respect to your elders. You're nothing more than an average student, lazier than most with an indecent amount of luck."

"I wish."

"You're nothing. You expect praises for every little thing you do, and you just go whining when you don't get it. You… "

"Stop it. I got it, okay? I know what you think about me, so no point of saying it. Or maybe you think you did such a great job with Sirius that you're trying the same technique with me? Hoping I'll jump off the Astronomy Tower if you…"

"ENOUGH! Fine! So your potion's great, you're a great little boy, and you have such lovely green eyes. You want more? You're my favourite student, I worship the ground you walk in, and I envy your friends because they've got your attention. Now GET OUT!"

He didn't need to be told twice.

Severus sighed. He hadn't mean to say any of that. He meant to let the boy know he had done a good job, without saying anything too suspicious… what a disaster it had been. It seemed that whenever Harry was there, he had an impulse to be mean, sarcastic and spiteful. He would have to work on that…

I hate him I hate him I hate him!

Yes, but unfortunately you happen to need his help, and blowing up like that each time he makes a comment isn't gonna help… said a little voice in his head.

Then I'll just have to find another way!

He was just trying to tell you your potion was okay.

Now the voice sounded too much like Hermione's.

Couldn't he do it without the sarcasm and insult?

Probably not.

He thought about it for a second. What if the voice was right? What if Snape was so used to be alone that he didn't know anymore how to say something nice to someone?

That's kinda sad, isn't it? He doesn't know how to praise someone without insulting them at the same time.

Are you feeling sorry for Snape? Now the voice sounded like Ron's.

Not at all. Just shut up.

Harry climbed the stairs to the boy's dormitory, avoiding Ron and Hermione waiting for him downstairs, changed into his pyjamas and tried to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about Snape. He needed him, being the only Death Eater he knew that would agree to take part in a plan to destroy Voldemort.

On the other hand, he just couldn't bring himself to ask the man for help. An hour ago, brewing the Veritas Polyjuice, he had thought that these lessons wouldn't be too bad, considering. If Snape left him alone, he could manage to brew a potion correctly.

Then, he had found out that Snape had been in fact watching him! And that had made him uneasy. So uneasy that he had blew up at the first little taunt. In fact he wasn't even angry at Snape, but at himself for not noticing the man. If he had been a loyal Death Eater… he would have been dead, without noticing.

And all the things he had said to Snape… he knew them to be untrue. He knew that Snape didn't want him dead. He had saved his life countless times. And he believed the man was sorry for ever taunting Sirius about Grimmauld Place.

And the flick in Snape's eyes as he said that! To see the cold, proud man show signs of pain at hearing the accusation had made him uneasy. Guilty. He didn't like the feeling.

He had to get a hold on himself. He had to control what he said to Snape, or this would be another occlumency-like fiasco.

Occlumency! That was it. He just had to learn to occlude his mind, then he would be able to appear as if Snape's cruel words held no impact on him.

And he also needed it to vanquish Voldemort, he realised with a start. If he went as Snape at a Death Eater meeting, and asked Voldemort to drink a potion, The Dark Lord would use Legilimency on him to make sure he hadn't poison it. He wouldn't just drink it trustfully!

Great. So now, instead of just having to learn how to brew two difficult potions, how to apparate and also how to make a spell work, an ancient spell which hadn't been used in centuries and that he had no way of knowing if it worked before Voldie tried to leave his muggle body, all of this alone and without Dumbledore noticing, he also had to learn how to occlude his mind, something he hadn't managed when he had a teacher!

With luck, he thought half-asleep, Voldy will be gracious enough to have a heart-attack tonight…