OH, you haven't lived until you've been in the Burrow the day we head to Hogwarts! Harry thought with a broad smile - Percy wasn't coming this year, nor were the twins (since moved into their own place in Diagon Alley), but Harry and Hermione more than made up the difference. Oh, Harry well knew that Hermione could be neat and prim when necessary - but that wasn't her issue. Choice was. Specifically, which books to take, which to leave, and where to put them all. She was pretty good (for a girl) with the spatial problems, but when she wanted to fit Just One More, well, it was pretty much hopeless.
Yesterday Harry had been certain that he had everything, but then he'd taken his broom out, and his gloves, and where did he put that mirror? Ron was just about the same, and petite Ginny Weasley could hardly be heard as she asked her Mum where her textbooks had gotten off to. Apparently Ron had taken one, and out of the third flew Canaries (a casualty of the last Sunday Dinner, when the twins had apparently been monkeying around with some newfangled contraption or another.)
They piled into the old Ford, and trucked out to the Train Station, pulling off every trunk (Harry quite glad that he didn't have to deal with the Dursleys), and hauling them all onto the platform. 9 and 3/4, of all things! Harry always had a good laugh. They couldn't have picked Six and a third, could they? (Come to think, he figured if he asked Hermione he'd get a real explanation about it. Harry frankly preferred the laughter - some things got worse for being explained).
They were nearly late, so they all piled onto the same car, finding an empty (or nearly, the Slytherin sitting within took one look at all four of them, and gracefully bowed out, saying "I'll find someplace else, thanks." Harry found himself wondering what would have happened if he had asked the lass to stay - before picturing the predictable redfaced outrage out of Ron Weasley. Perhaps it was better to have not, really.)
Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione were fighting, again (He devoutly hoped it wasn't over Ron's newly learned spells, as Snape had said it was a bad idea, and that had all sorts of underlines on it in Harry's mind. Surely Hermione knew better...?), and that made it awkward, as Ginny was staring pointedly at Harry - surely she didn't expect him to intervene? Well, maybe she just wanted him to talk with her. Awkwardly, Harry asked, "What'd you learn this summer."
"Spells,"Ginny responded, and Harry felt like he had just stuck his foot in his mouth and bit down hard. Harry idly stared out the window (watching a hawk fly beside the train, swooping to try and catch birds flushed by its passing). After a while, Harry stood up, saying simply, "W.C." Neither Ron nor Hermione looked at him, and though he was fairly sure that Ginny was just pretending to ignore him and his incompetent conversational ability, she also refrained from making any comment.
It was just his luck, really, that Harry would see Malfoy as he was heading to the W.C. Harry Potter stiffened as he saw the blond, keeping his breathing slow but feeling his traitor heart accelerate. It's just Malfoy, Harry thought with more than a bit of irritation. As Malfoy approached, Harry realized that Malfoy was also a little tense - and that made him suddenly feel better. As haughty as ever, Malfoy leveled an arrogant nod of acknowledgement in Harry Potter's direction. Catching Malfoy's eye, before Malfoy could awkwardly walk by, Harry said simply, "Good day." Malfoy's gray eyes met his, as he raised his eyebrow just slightly, indicating that Harry had caught him just a bit offguard with the comment.
"Same," Malfoy responded, as they both turned smoothly to allow each other to pass in the tight corridor without touching.
The encounter on the train left both young men asking themselves "what the hell was that?" Harry was actually just as baffled by his own reactions as he was by Malfoy's. True, there hadn't really been a reason to get into a fight - but there hadn't not been a reason, either. No Snape looming over his shoulder. Malfoy, on the other hand, knew exactly why he was toeing the line. He was just confused as to why Potter was doing the same. Because, well, that had never been a problem before. Potter was always willing to start a fight (well, okay, occasionally that took a bit of nudging - but Potter and Hostility were a normal combination in Malfoy's World).
Nonetheless, the troubled teens returned to their respective compartments - Hermione still trying to learn to spell without her wand (Harry Potter was rapidly discovering the benefits to pretending to sleep, so that he didn't need to deal with his best friend's aggravation. Ron hadn't learned that trick yet, so was getting the blunt end of Hermione's frustration), and Pansy doing her level best to make an open-sided Draco Sandwich, with herself as the jam. Draco rather liked jam sandwiches, but preferred them to be fruity - Pansy was like rhubarb - bright and sour and green with envy. Over what? Draco couldn't be bothered with caring. Besides, Draco figured Pansy liked him better quiet. Nobody liked it when Draco decided to have opinions. They tended to be sharp, like shards of broken glass.
The Feast went as unremarkably as feasts generally do, the students gawking at the new ... Assistant Professor. Namely Tonks. Harry Potter could honestly say he hadn't been expecting that one (even while she was sitting there, as her face had been changed to look a little more dour than she normally did). Dumbledore, looking as affable as he always did, had announced that Tonks would be taking all of the first through fourth years, for both Defense and Potions. Dumbledore smiled at Seamus, who had dared to ask, "Well, then who's teaching us?" in his Irish brogue. "Why, Severus Snape, who I'm sure you all know well." Yeah, that's for sure, Harry thought with a crack. Hermione hissed at Harry, "Did you know about this?" to which Harry mutely shook his head. Clearing his head, he stood up, and sputtered incoherent protests (Ron nicely backing him up with an Oh god! and Ginny pitching in with a Not Him!) - to which Snape merely raised an eyebrow, and asked cattily, "Cat got your tongue?" Snape whirled on a Ravenclaw second year, who seemed like she was about to faint at his glare, and said crossly, "Edwina, the Headmaster's Decision shall stand. Is that understood?" Harry heard Snape's voice as firm, but not cutting, the way it often was with him. He does modulate it, Harry thought, slowly narrowing his eyes. "Potter, Sit down! And close that gaping maw you call an eating orifice." Harry would have called it no such thing, he thought with a snort, Harry's amusement showing in a frown. Of course, Harry thought as he looked across at the Slytherin table, Malfoy was smirking at him.
The sorting hat sang a song calling for unity, and Harry Potter thought to it, in a thought no louder than a whisper, I'm trying...
It was the usual crew of big-eyed Gryffindors, and shrinking Slytherins, hearty Hufflepuffs and note-taking Ravenclaws (one even went under the hat with a pad and a pen.) Harry found himself thinking, judging each of the children. Not just on where they were likely to go, now, but who they would be. Seven years was a long time to spend with friends, a time that these children would be shaped, formed into who they would be as they entered adult life. Harry's lip twitched into a near smirk, as he looked directly at Malfoy. There's one rotten egg that I'm glad I haven't spent more time with. Harry thought, amused. Can you imagine?
After the feast, Hermione Granger, of course, wanted to go see Professor Snape. Harry, of course, knew that that was a horrible idea. Snape probably had one last day free, to experiment or work on his class notes, or whatever. Harry hated to go back to school (when he wasn't trapped at the Dursley's the entire summer), and he figured Snape would be the same. Hermione, of course, was having none of it. Frantic like a buzzing bee, she went from one side of the common room to the other, well-rehearsed arguments unable to sway Harry's mind. Bet she just thinks I'm being stubborn. Hermione had such a profoundly great desire to know, and her impatience was killing, well, Ron really, as he had hoped to get her into a game of chess, or something like that... "Tomorrow, Hermione" Harry at last growled, and she sat down with a huff, finally conceding that none of her arguments were working. About fifteen pages into the book, Hermione looked Harry straight in the face, her mouth opening, as Harry cut her off, "No."
Classes were a whirlwind, as usual, and having Snape for Potions in the afternoon was half-blessing, and half curse. At least he wasn't boring, and everyone was wide awake by the time Snape strode through the doors, robes flapping as if they were trying desperately to keep up with Snape's long stride. Malfoy, for once, wasn't trying to win the Most Annoying Git award, and that was strange. Harry Potter put a mental note down to think about that a bit harder, as it was strange. He could, he supposed, ask Snape - but that was asking to get his head bit off, and he rather liked it where it was.
Harry Potter was up at Snape's desk a minute before the end of class to present his potion, then skulking as he usually did at the back of the room, waiting for Ron and Hermione. Not that Hermione was going to waste one last minute before asking Snape... The instant that everyone was out of the room except Ron, Harry and Hermione, Snape leveled a glare at Ron, and said, "Leave us, unless you have something you want to bother me with."
Mutely, Ron shook his head, his freckles redbrown on a suddenly pale face, almost ghostly. He left, closing the door behind him. Snape nodded slightly, satisfied at the Weasley's discretion.
"Well, as it is office hours, I suppose I can only ask you to be brief." Snape drawled. "Go on, ask what you must." Harry found himself going over what he wanted to ask Snape, even as Hermione started to talk.
"-how did you teach Harry so quickly?" Hermione said.
"Trade Secret." Snape replied, his thin lipped smirk saying that he wasn't going to tell her. "But, seeing as you wish to learn, I do have a solution tailored for you."
Hermione simply looked expectantly at him.
"Give me your wand. You can have it back at the end of the month, if you pick wandless magic up quickly, or at the end of the semester if you prove yourself a dullard." Snape ended the sentence with a sneer, and Harry reflected that it was the closest thing that Snape had ever come to complimenting Miss Granger.
"But... my classes! How am I supposed to - " Hermione babbled, looking more upset now at the thought of looking like an idiot, of possibly failing a test, or even an entire class.
"We're in the middle of a war, sweetheart." Snape drawled in a gravely voice (as if he had rocks in his mouth), "Do you want to win or not?"
Harry's eyes widened. Snape had her, he could see it in how Hermione's spine stiffened, as she slammed her wand down on his desk. Harry might not have noticed it so sharply, if Snape hadn't used the word sweetheart, which Harry could almost not believe he had used. Hell, it was hard to even imagine Snape understanding the concept (not that he was using it properly, if so.)
"Fine." she spat at him, her rage barely constrained as she whirled and stalked out of the room. The door slammed behind her, and Snape smirked, slowly applauding with cupped hands.
"Still here, are you?" Snape drawled at Harry, who realized that this was Snape's way of asking why. Almost gently, though no one would be stupid enough to describe the gaunt man as gentle - you'd surely make a Hufflepuff faint!
Harry Potter wheeled about (his eyes having followed Hermione's grande exit), dodging the question by asking instead, "You meant to do that." It came out as a statement, and Harry felt a moment of pure shock at the idea that he could ever be that certain of the wily Head of Slytherin House.
"Of course, I nearly always mean to do what I do." Snape drawled.
"You meant to get her angry." Harry Potter said.
"And what good would her agonizing have done her? I brought things to a head." Snape asked grimly. Harry just stared at him, thinking furiously in circles. "Do you think she'd have decided differently if given half a week to flip and flop like a fish on dry land?"
Harry Potter thought this over, thought it over good and hard. Hermione cared about schoolwork in a way that Harry (and, of course, Ron) simply didn't. But, no, she was a Gryffindor not a Ravenclaw - practicality would always come first over being the best. "No, I think you're right. You do that a lot though, don't you?"
"What, specifically?" Snape asked, leaning forward, his eyes bulging just a tad - Snape putting an effort into not snapping at Harry for being vague as all get out.
"Poking at Gryffindors." Harry said, looking slightly bewildered. "But... why?" It hadn't seemed to make sense, at first glance, but Harry saw the pattern starting to emerge - a pattern of Snape being unfair deliberately towards the Gryffindors. Harry suddenly felt confident that if he asked the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws if Snape was fair, they would probably say, "mostly yeah." and then mutter about how harsh he was.
"Griffindors," Snape said with an ominous pause, "I have found, learn best with opposition. Of all the Houses, their temperament turns most towards a fight." It made a scary amount of sense, Harry thought. Snape's mouth crinkled into a half-smirk, as he continued, "If, as you might expect, the Gryffindors see me as someone to fight - well, they are that much more likely to pay attention in my class."
"That's why - with Hermione," Harry said, slightly incoherently, "You never ever give her a scrap of praise."
"And she repays me with excessive work ethic, turning in sheets of paper that I slave through every school year." Snape says with a lofty sigh, "The punishments a lowly teacher must endure."
"Sir... Do you think, there might be, some way to get Hermione some extra credit - if only she would actually write the assigned number of pages?" Harry somewhat stammered out, thinking that it sounded half formed and threadbare even as he spoke.
Leaping to his feet, Snape stood looking Harry levelly in the eye, "Now, Potter, that has possibilities." Snape absently began to pace, humming completely off-key.
Harry shifted uneasily from foot to foot, not wanting to leave, and not wanting to stay when Snape was clearly done talking. He vaguely heard Snape say, "I shall have to talk with Albus..." It took a few minutes, but Snape eventually looked up, saying quickly, "Well, we'll see what comes, no?"
Harry Potter made as if to leave, for once feeling slightly unsatisfied. For once, he'd had more to talk to Ruddy Snape** about, than time seemed to allow. He found himself wondering what Snape would do, if he indeed decided to do anything at all. But Harry - he realized, suddenly, that he knew that look - it bore a striking resemblance to the one Hermione often got, when she had half a dozen plans and nothing yet to say.
Harry was almost at the door, when Snape rapped out, "Potter." Harry whirled, forcing himself to turn more slowly - if nothing else, he'd look the fool if he wound up on his bum.
"Yes?" Harry said calmly, forcing his breathing slow. If there had been one thing he'd learned in those hated lessons last year, it was how to focus. Sands! It was difficult to concentrate on nothing. But being aware, listening - that came to him as naturally as breathing. Or maybe flying.
"Please convey this to Miss Granger at your earliest opportunity." Snape said, as he gestured over Hermione's wand, creating a duplicate and then handing it to Harry. Harry thought wryly that Snape's earliest opportunity meant "else have a damn fine reason" - like a compulsive urge to vomit, or something.
"Thank you." Harry said, seeing the ramifications of Hermione without a wand. And Gryffindors said Snape never gave a damn.
Was it Harry's imagination, or did Snape almost look embarrassed? Harry stared at him a moment, hearing something softer than words, "Hate to spoil a fine exit..." Silently, Harry nodded, before making his way out the door and up out of the dungeons. He never did understand how Snape could possibly stand to live in a manmade cave all day. Surrounded by stone.
Harry Potter fairly flew through the dungeons, enjoying his longer stride - he remembered when he'd really had to run to keep up this pace. Suddenly, he jerked to a halt, wondering if he looked at all like Snape - and then, right on the heels, whether he cared. Nodding firmly, he decided he did care. And started skipping through the halls. There, that was better, wasn't it? Just the thing to get himself in trouble too. He'd have to make a habit of it.*
Harry Potter breezed by Filius Flitwick, who was so small he often ran in the corridors (and somehow never mowed anyone down), so he rarely cared about others doing it. Exiting Prof. McGonagall's quarters, Headmaster Dumbledore broke out in a broad grin, as he saw Harry skipping along. "Why, what a lovely idea! I may try it too, today." Harry could hear the Headmaster skipping down the corridors. Shite, shite, shite, Harry thought, shaking his head, what have I just done?
Harry wanted to make an early night of it, just the way Hermione would often do - although today she seemed more inclined to read a book near Ron, whom Harry was well aware she was a bit sweet on. Harry had questions for Hermione, a plan to work through - but... tommorrow. Rest now. Before that, though, Harry descended on Hermione, pulling out her wand, and using it to brush a stray lock away from her neck. Hermione jumped half a mile into the sky, falling onto her feet like a cat. She whirled, not having noticed his arrival, "Harry James Potter! You should be ashamed of yourself. Nearly scared me to death!"
Unfortunately, no sooner had Harry's head hit the pillow, than he was off to the races, his mind a whirlwind of small ideas. Slowly, they resolved into "Who was Snape's friend in Gryffindor?" Harry's mind conjured a Red and Gold wearing Death Eater, charging furiously into battle, wearing that fearsome white mask. A far cry from Peter Pettigrew, Harry thought. Harry couldn't imagine Snape being friends with Pettigrew. It was like oil and flame - ready to explode. It just wouldn't work. Harry rolled over onto his belly, cursing his curiosity and trying to smother it with his pillow.
It didn't work. it never worked. Harry didn't mean to be so curious, but still...
Harry stood, doffing pajamas and pulling on his uniform. He descended down to the Gryffindor Common Room. Luckily, Hermione was still up. He could sate his curiosity at least a little, by finding all the niggling holes in his plan.
Hermione was taking notes. Hermione Granger was drawing a diagram. Harry felt,well, almost unreasonably proud. He had actually managed to come up with a plan decent enough - complex enough - that Hermione had to take notes to keep it in her head. Or maybe it was just to re-explain it to him, when she spotted the holes. Either way, it was somewhat gratifying. Hermione was always his best resource when it came to plans... He just needed to remember to use his own muscles every now and then. After all, what if she wasn't there? A dark feeling passed over him, like the shadow of death chilling his bones. He looked up at Hermione, who hadn't noticed his inattention, as she was describing exactly how she knew that Hannah was a better choice than Sue Bones. Harry shook his head, pleased that he had already come up with those thoughts, "I know it'll take more convincing for Sue than Hannah. But Smith likes Sue, you know, um, that way." Harry said pleasantly, mentally cursing himself for not being able to express himself coherently. Why was it that when the topic came to love, to affection even, he started stammering like a lightblinded fool?
Finally, after over an hour of pouring over a plan that would (hopefully) take less time than that to accomplish, Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet, doing the frog-dance that Harry had taught Hermione in their first year. It was a perfect series of movements for shaking out tight muscles and stretching out backs bent double from overwork. As they finished the dance they hugged each other, giggling with the fresh, unburdened sensations that dance always brought out in both of them. Last year, it'd been the only thing able to make Hermione Granger smile in the last week before their OWLs.
Harry Potter had a plan. It involved skipping from the Great Hall towards the main artery down to the dungeons. After breakfast, of course. Snape always showed up for breakfast, after all, even if he was often late and frequently only drank a mug of black brew (Harry had once told someone it was grog, not coffee, and then was stuck trying, haltingly, to explain something he had more heard of than seen, until Hermione intervened of course).
So here Harry Potter was, skipping down the halls towards the basement. From behind him, he heard Snape's soft voice, "Skipping in the halls, Potter? Whatever has possessed you to desecrate these hallowed halls of learning with such frivolity?"
Harry Potter spun, looking wildeyed at Snape, and then lowered his eyes, trying to look contrite - and, as usual, failing. "I 'unno."
"Such eloquence informs me not in the slightest." Snape growled, starting to sound more angry (because he always was such an impatient git), "Perhaps you can summon some grandiloquence in detention this evening?"
"Of course, sirrah, of course." Harry Potter said, attempting to summon an ornate bow - which he failed at utterly. From further down the hall (behind Snape, naturally, no one wanted to catch his eye when he was in a mood), there was some tittering and giggling at the utter clumsiness that the Chosen One exhibited when he was not on a broomstick.
Harry Potter knocked on the door to Snape's classroom, having gone there directly after dinner. Snape, obviously, wasn't there yet, as he didn't answer. Harry hoped the man was eating, at least - he looked like a scarecrow in the best of times, and he'd been looking gaunt as of late. Again.
"Door's open." Snape said - his soft voice echoing into Harry's ear***, his long stride taking him down the hallway at a faster, if more controlled, rate than most eleven year olds could run.
Harry Potter entered, standing at a decent facsimile of parade rest - until he heard Snape turn the door handle, at which point he slouched slightly and started to scratch behind his ear.
Snape closed the door, muttering a soft spell to lock it - the whole door glowed yellow, briefly. What was that spell? Harry wondered.
"Speak." Professor Snape said impatiently.
"Sir," Harry Potter began, "I believe I've made some progress on the task you assigned me over the summer.
"Demonstrate it, then." Snape said, as Potter's eyes clouded over in confusion.
"Oh, no sir, not that task. The one about the Defense Study Group." Harry responded. "It starts with me talking with Hermione, and getting her to talk with Neville, who has had a crush on her for the longest time..."
"I have little patience for adolescent drama in the best of times, Potter." Snape drawled.
"Yes, sir, I'll keep it brief." Harry Potter said, "Neville, who is study partners with Susan, can get her to talk with her best friend Hannah, who can just ask Zack Smith to head the Defense Study Group. And, because he wants to impress her, he's likely to agree."
"How will you convince people that you aren't interested in leading?" Snape asked coldly.
"Because I'm not. Sincerity is a virtue, is it not?" Harry Potter said ascerbically, and Snape muffled an appreciative snort.
"Perhaps only to Hufflepuffs." Snape said dismissively.
"Which is exactly why I'm suggesting it. Quiddich takes up enough of my time that it's a convincing line, anyway. Maybe I can be captain this year?" Harry Potter asked, not exactly waiting for a response. "Still," Harry Potter said, frowning pensively, "I haven't been able to come up with anything to do with the Slytherins..."
"We'll get to that in a moment. First, is there some reason you are set on Mister Smith?" Snape asked.
"Yeah, because he's likely to take it on, just out of jealousy of me." Harry Potter said resolutely.
"You do realize that you're going to need to find something better than that, to convince people to ask him." Snape said with a smug look on his face, "He has, or so I'm told, quite the reputation as a markedly unpleasant and obstreperous person."
"Not that you'd know anything about that, sir." Harry Potter said, pausing to think, "I think I can get Hermione to push for it - for him. After all, she can be much more interested in the Study Group than I am. Everyone will believe that." Harry paused again, sensing the impatient gleam in Snape's eyes, then continued, "And Hermione can make sure that we split teaching duties, so that it's not just Smith teaching us what he knows."
"Will you take a turn at teaching?" Snape asked, wondering.
"Yeah, if there's enough other people. Don't want to stand out too much." Harry Potter said.
"Words I thought you incapable of speaking." Snape said smugly, entirely too pleased to take credit for Harry's humility. "As for the Slytherins, the first person that must be dealt with is Draco Malfoy."
Harry Potter merely nodded. Draco Malfoy, while not the most senior of people in Slytherin House, had enough wealth and influence to be a powerful decisionmaker. "But, sir! - I don't know how to convince him!" Harry spat his frustration like nails, his composure cracking under the repeated strain of nothing works.
"Ah." Snape said, letting the word fall into the air, until Harry gained back a reasonable facsimile of his composure. "That doesn't matter."
"What?" Harry Potter asked, as Snape leaned back, crossing his legs, "How can that not matter?"
"Because if he decides, himself, to say yes, then you've won." Snape paused for a blink, "And if he does not, then you'll be dangling the opportunity in front of the next Slytherin. Opportunists all, they won't be able to say no to an opportunity that Draco Malfoy himself decided to spurn. Your task is to find three Slytherins that will serve your purposes. Run your selection by me first."
Harry Potter considered this, at last whispering, "Slytherins really are ambitious."
"Yes, Potter. Sometimes to a fault." Snape said. "Now, get out of here before your friends become convinced I'm using you for a blood ritual or something."
Harry Potter stood, and leapt out of the room, feeling grateful and satisfied - and very, very quick to leave.
Harry Potter climbed up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower faster than he'd ever climbed them before - and that included as a first year, when he had been quick as a flash (through intensive Harry Hunting training). Oh, Harry wasn't surprised at his improved stamina - he wasn't quite sure how long he had fought Snape in his dead godfather's house, but he figured it had to have been at least twenty minutes.
Quick as a blink, Harry Potter slid through the entrance to the Common room (making Alicia wait an extra moment to leave, as she pulled back hurriedly so as to not get run over). Having arrived, Harry Potter stood, in a thrumming sort of suppressed motion that could never be mistaken for casual, as he calmly scanned the room for Hermione Granger.
There. With Ron, curled up and reading, with him sitting beside her as Dean sketched a muddled picture of them****.
Harry strode over, suppressing his instincts to run, to laugh, to pull Hermione into a hug and whisper everything to her, just because. That would, Merlin knew, upset Ron to no end. Harry sprawled casually on the armrest near where Hermione laid her head, as he gaily greeted Ginny, before lowering his voice. "It's showtime!" Harry said, his eyes glimmering with amusement and satisfaction.
It was Harry's first real plan, after all, and he watched carefully (while engaging in a lively conversation with Ginny) as Hermione strode over to talk with Neville. As he watched, Harry began to create alternate plans, some simpler, some vastly more complex. He idly wondered if there was any way he could get Draco Malfoy to ask to join the Defense Association... Then, Harry simply shook his head. As Snape had said, it didn't matter if Malfoy said yes or not, just that he was asked first. Further proof that Slytherins were just plain weird.
Harry and Ron raced to the Great Hall, Ron's stomach growling on the way. It wasn't uncommon for them to do this - but today lent a particular urgency to Harry's steps. He wanted to race through dinner, and go outdoors. It wasn't a sure thing, but Neville often liked to talk with Sue when he worked at the Greenhouses. And Hannah liked long walks around the lake, so that would be another thing to observe (it was startling how much Harry didn't know about people, and how much he could pick up, simply by keeping an ear out.)
As Harry went outside, 'hoping to put a bit of work in' on his project for Sprout (he was taking Herbology, and half asking himself why - but it was important. Of course, they said that about potions, as well, and Harry'd had no luck finding any applications for that, ever. Maybe if he asked the twins they could expound at length on what made Potioneering a useful discipline).
From high above, dark eyes followed the movements of the children like ants below him. Professor Snape was, contrary to most people's expectations, enjoying the brisk wind on top of the Astronomy Tower, bracing his arms on the parapets, and leaning backwards, his eyes trained on the children. He could see Bones and Longbottom meeting up - and there was Potter, unexpectedly - he was nervous. Professor Snape smiled a cruel smile, enjoying the rare expression on the often arrogant boy. Well, that was what school was for, wasn't it? Trying new things, and learning new ways of thought.
Harry found himself skipping stones, all by his lonesome until, unexpectedly, a seventh year Ravenclaw joined him. Harry didn't say a word, but the companionship made him feel less lonely all the same. His green eyes watched as Neville and Susan parted, and Susan hurried over to Hannah, who gave her friend a hug. Harry wasn't sure what that was about, but carefully curbed his curiosity. Unlike what certain people said about him, he didn't have a yawning gaping need to know everything about everyone. Just the important stuff.
Harry's eyes were drawn, briefly, to the Slytherin team heading off the Quiddich pitch. He hoped that he'd at least see Hannah agree... but that was looking less likely, particularly with Malfoy at the head of the sweaty, smelly team. Still, Harry wasn't about to leave, to back away. That, too, would be a problem. He was a Gryffindor, and wasn't about to cower away from ten people who nearly certainly weren't about to bash his face in for no reason at all.
Harry threw another stone into the water, and Malfoy breezed past. Harry wrinkled his nose at the pungent aroma, evidence that Malfoy had been pushing himself hard. Better prepare for a doozy of a match, Harry thought, as he bent down to pick up another stone. Someone - probably either Goyle or Crabbe, they looked nearly identical except for the hair, the big lunks - pushed Harry, and he wound up tumbling into the water.
Harry had only moments to think, as he erupted out of the water. His hands (arms really) were cupped, and he wound up splashing both of the lads with a considerable quantity of water. Only after he was done did Harry fling his glasses back on, staring then at the blurry figures in front of him. He wasn't sure if they were offended, upset, or just trying to work out why he'd done it. In retrospect, it did seem like a silly thing to do.
"That water can't possibly be good for your hair." Malfoy drawled, looking impatient. "Lets find you both some soap, and you can scrub the mud out." Malfoy turned about, and led his team onward.
And that was the odd thing, Harry thought later. Malfoy hadn't given his normal smirk. Besides, what redblooded (or blueblooded, he idly supposed in Malfoy's case) boy turns down a splashfight?
Harry Potter left breakfast with his stomach in a ball of nerves. He was anxious, part in a good way, part in a really bad way. The first class of the day was Defense against the Dark Arts. With Professor Snape, of course. That, in of itself, was enough to give anyone a case of the nerves. It wasn't just what he was going to be teaching - no one who knew the man for more than a few minutes would doubt his skill in Darkness (and particularly not Harry, who had been caught often enough by the man, as he walked the dark halls of Hogwarts Castle). Fewer understood that whatever skill Severus Snape had at fighting the Dark Arts was a hard earned skill, most likely gained far later than his ability with The Dark Arts.
In some ways, it was exciting, just to have a competent teacher again. Umbridge had been worse than useless, actively impeding children from learning. Whatever Snape had planned, it wouldn't be designed to hobble his students.
Harry Potter arrived early, at the designated classroom, only to find a message on the door, which informed him that all students were requested in the large lecture hall on the third floor. Harry checked the door itself, out of sheer curiosity, and wasn't at all surprised to find it locked. He hurried quickly towards the stairs, hearing Ron and Hermione bickering behind him (obviously they hadn't seen the note yet, or they'd be running to catch up with him).
Harry entered the large lecture hall, which he quickly discovered was a misnomer. It was more like a school gymnasium, complete with an ... awards stand? He shook his head, thinking that it was ridiculous to think that Snape would be giving anyone awards. At any rate, there was a podium and it was on a small dais.
As more people (including Ron and Hermione) filtered in, Harry Potter noticed something - there were Ravenclaws here, early as it was. And a few Hufflepuffs. As the first of the Slytherins sashayed into the room*+*, Harry realized that Snape had combined the classes, which would give him more time for instruction. Well, if a war didn't break out - accidental or on purpose. Harry was familiar with exactly how hard it was to control this many students. A sepia-stained picture of Snape loomed in his mind, and Harry somehow thought that Snape wouldn't have much trouble.
Unlike in Potions, Snape did not slam the doors. Instead, he slid through them, directly after the last Slytherin (Goyle from the size of him) entered. Softly, like a cat, Snape made his way to the front of the room, parting people with subtle nudges and even more subtle looming. Surprisingly, it was all quiet - even Neville didn't blink, simply got out of Snape's way. An air of anticipation had crept over everyone, as silence had stolen even their breaths.
Snape lept to the platform, landing silently. "There appears to have been a misprint on your schedules this year. Allow me to make a slight change. This is not Defense against the Dark Arts. That is no longer a class that is appropriate for the situation we find ourselves in." Snape looked down his long nose at some of the kids - his bright black eyes picking out anxious students. "This class is A Prelude to War. If you wish to cower, and read out of books for the rest of your life, I suggest you leave. You will find that the Slytherins have a copy of the exam, and you can study from that. Prices may vary, depending on stature and likeability." Harry caught the questioning, nearly betrayed look of Theo Nott, who obviously hadn't been expecting this to come up. "Most of you will be capable of studying for a test, once given the questions." Snape gave a thready sigh, saying, "If you have decided to attend this class in error, you may leave now. I strongly advise you to do so."
Several Ravenclaws rose awkwardly, and started to make their way to the doorway. A few more Hufflepuffs looked like they wanted to join them, but they held fast. The Slytherins, especially, looked awkward - perhaps embarrassed that they weren't trying a more cunning approach.
Snape spun, apparating to just outside the door before any of them could take a step outside. "Where are you going?" He asked in a voice cold as stone.
"To the common room." One said, and another said, "I wanted a bite to eat before my next class."
"It would appear that you have mistaken me." Snape said, knitting his fingers together. "When I suggested you leave, I didn't mean this classroom. I meant Britain. By all means, take your families as well, if you can persuade them to go." Snape looked at all the students, meeting each one's gaze briefly. "Lying to yourself will not save you. War is coming. Leave now while you still can." Harry heard the ring of truth in Snape's words, and his genuine desire for them to go. Harry shook himself, telling himself that he'd think about whether he wanted to, whether he ought to go, when it wasn't classtime. Snape wanted people to consider his words, and that meant giving them time enough to back out.
Snape strode through the Ravenclaws, who were standing awkwardly near the door, unsure whether they wanted to leave. Unsure about a lot of things, really. Snape paid them no heed.
"What is the purpose of war?" Snape asked the class, in that purring tone that sounded like a cat given human voice.
*oxymoron, yes, I know. Harry's just cussin', deal wi' it.
**hairbrained idea. But, as Snape would say, at least the brat is thinking.
***of course Snape knows ventriloquism. Spy, remember?
****watercolors, naturally.
*+* Daphne
[a/n: Please review if you want more of this folio thing. It's kinda a pain. This split happened because I had five references, and had to switch to something other than "just add more asterisks". Yes, that's a dog barking, lonely and alone. Poor Asterisk.]