Draco Malfoy was out of Ancient Runes in record time (by virtue of having put his book away five minutes before...), and went straight to dinner, not bothering to put his books away. He ate quickly, if impeccably (manners had been drilled into his head since he was three, thank you very much, he wasn't to forget them for anything), and headed upstairs.
The Room of Requirement - all you had to do was ask for what you wanted, and then do some pacing about while thinking of it.* So, here Draco Malfoy was, specifying exactly what he wanted to see. Namely, a hidden place for him to eavesdrop - and leaving the rest of the room flexible, so that Granger/Potter could specify what they wanted, as well.
Harry was, as usual, running late, so when he sprinted down the hall to the Room of Requirement, he wasn't surprised to see Hermione Granger in there, waiting for him. Luckily for him, she didn't look completely focused on wandless casting.
Instead, she looked like she wanted to talk.
Now.
Harry blinked his long eyebrows in what he hoped was a coquettish manner, and asked, "So- how was he? Tell me everything, girl!"
Hermione's jaw dropped open, and acting gay was worth it just for that - it was rare to leave Hermione Granger dumbstruck.
Moments later, she was stomping her foot on the floor, giving Harry Potter a full tackle-hug, gales of laughter streaming out of her, "Of course you'd know! I don't know why I'd imagine you wouldn't!"
Hermione eventually calmed down, dropping her arms and backing up a step, looking down towards the floor. "I want de-tails, Hermione," Harry catcalled.
"He kissed me. It felt... soft. Firm, not gentle, not an air brush." Hermione said, her eyes lost in recalling the moment.
"Um..." Harry said, looking a little weirded out, "We are talking about Malfoy, right?"
Hermione looked up at him, glared, and then nodded. "Yes- Harry James Potter, I am talking about him."
"Did he do anything else? Touch you on the shoulder, pull you in by the waist?" Harry asked gently.
"No - just the kiss." Hermione said, starting to look a little bewildered. "It's just... why would he do that?"
Oh, Hermione, Harry Potter thought, you're adorable, but you are so fucking clueless. Thanks a lot, Malfoy. Harry knew exactly what Malfoy was hoping would happen at this point - Hermione taking things into her own hands, showing Draco Malfoy some sort of sign - but, everyone who wasn't Gryffindor always overestimated Gryffindor courage. And it'd been Malfoy, after all, trying to squelch gossip about it. If he'd wanted to be "for real" out with Hermione... But Harry could see that Malfoy didn't. Malfoy'd decided to indulge himself, and it was coming at the expense of Hermione Granger's sanity. Tentatively, Harry tried to remind himself that a bastard who cared so much for his family couldn't be all that bad... Sadly, such thoughts weren't piquant enough to cut through the rage burning in his belly. Keep it to yourself, Potter, Hermione needs you laughing, not bloodying Malfoy's nose. Taking it seriously is about the worst option.
"Maybe he was just trying to screw with your mind?" Harry Potter said, with a teasing edge to his voice, "Wanted to see you wracking your brains like this? Bastard's not worth it, Hermione, and you know it."
"Harry-" Hermione said, "You knew this was going to bother me, didn't you?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, of course." Harry said absentmindedly, "But not nearly as much as it'd bother Ron, if you told him."
Snorting with laughter, Hermione said, "Yeah, that seems like a spectacularly bad idea."
"Look, just don't let it bother you. Malfoy's a dick, we know that, no need to overthink it."
"And what about you and Ginny?" Hermione asked knowingly, "You certainly seemed to be getting along."
Harry shrugged uncomfortably, "Gin's Gin, isn't she? A bit strong for me, I think."
"Not too spicy?" Hermione said, her teasing smile sheparding an answering one from Harry's face.
"Never!" Harry Potter laughed, then grinned, and looked at Hermione impishly, "Tag! You're the monkey's uncle!"
Draco Malfoy watched as Harry Potter cast a spell without even touching his wand. Pushing his jaw upward, he watched as Hermione Granger returned it, her face cackling with glee. Shite, That was it! Draco thought, They're learning wandless magic. No wonder Granger could only cast when angry.** Draco's mind whirled with the knowledge, trying to slot half a hundred different incidents into the new paradigm.
Un-fortunately, Draco Malfoy was dead certain he wasn't supposed to be watching this. Draco Malfoy knew that the Dark Lord was likely to ask his conception of Potter's fighting strength (in keeping with the years long obsession the Dark Lord had)... and so Draco had thought that he'd just give the Dark Lord what Potter was like during class.
But, this wasn't class. And judging by the skill and power demonstrated in just the last minute or so... The Other Side didn't want this to be bandied about.
Swallowing and preparing to get hexed, Draco Malfoy concentrated on a door in the screen behind which he was hiding.
Without wands, Harry Potter was clearly better at casting than Hermione - only stood to reason, she'd started later, after all. But what Hermione lacked in precision and deftness, she made up for in raw power. Standing anywhere near where Hermione was casting was proving to be a costly endeavor - shields had this nasty tendency to develop cracks - and water or wind or flame penetrated cracks remarkably easily.
Hermione gave a cackling laugh, and Harry somersaulted across the floor, diving to avoid her next wave of magic. As he did so, he envisioned cracks forming under where she was standing. Hermione, not having paid attention to her footing, let out a shriek as she fell a foot deep into the floor. Harry'd have to work on that, a full fathom would be better.
*click*
They had both heard it, and each thought the other was responsible. As one, both rolled sideways (Harry summoning a statue of Dionysius to protect himself, hermione flattened herself like a tapeworm towards the ground), shooting live, electric sparks, that forked like lightning as they sped across the room.
They both caught the flash of blond hair as the door in the wall abruptly slammed, the electricity slamming into the door and leaving woodscars.
Hermione and Harry looked at each other, faces pale. Harry's heart dropped out of his chest with the thought that Draco Malfoy had seen their practice. He could tell that Hermione's pallor was not for the same reason, though - she was undoubtedly concerned that they'd almost - something - to Malfoy.
Harry stood, wanting to cradle his head in his hands, "You can emerge from your hidey hole, Malfoy."
"Safe Passage?" The blond asked, his drawl nearly lost in the adrenaline.
"Safe Passage." Harry said with a sigh.
"Conditional on Good Behavior." Granger said snottily, because Hermione always had to be right.
Draco Malfoy came out, his hands up, and his sleeves fallen to his elbows - revealing nearly bluewhite skinny arms. Unmarked arms. Harry Potter had his arms crossed, his wand clearly visible. Not that he'd need it to cast, but a threat was blatant only if you made it so. Hermione had her hands on her hips, and nearly growled at Malfoy, "How did you manage to be in here?"
"I was here before you," Draco said smoothly, "Obviously."
"Then why did it conform to our requirements?" Harry bit back, irritated that he hadn't seen this coming. Of course, Malfoy was likely to spy on them - they'd have been better talking in the Common Room. Little chance of being overheard there.
"Because I asked it to." Draco Malfoy said.
"So there is a way around the one person sets the requirements rule!" Hermione gushed.
"Apparently," Malfoy said cooly.
"More importantly," Harry interrupted the conversation with visible impatience, "Why are you here?
"I... " Draco Malfoy said, sounding suddenly uncertain, "Came here to see what you were practicing. Learn something, maybe."
"So, you were just here to spy on us?"
"Nnnn-ooo..." Draco Malfoy said, as if he needed to consider exactly how to put this, "I could use the practice too you know."
"Want to get some hands-on arse-kicking?" Harry said, his cocky grin matching his greenlit eyes.
"You wish, Potter." Draco Malfoy said, straightening from the slouch he had fallen into. "I... I shouldn't have seen this, what you're doing here."
What. Harry found himself suddenly at a loss. Of all the things that Malfoy could have said, that would have been around the least likely, at least so Harry'd have said moments before.
Draco Malfoy turned his stormgrey eyes on the two Gryffindors, swallowing almost convulsively, and saying, "I'm going to need you to Obliviate me."
Hermione Granger and Harry Potter stood silently still, their mouths hanging open. Of all the possible paths Draco Malfoy could have taken out of a situation where he was spying on them, this wasn't in the handbook. It was so far from being in the handbook that it might as well have been on red Mars. They were both too busy studying him to look at each other.
"If I'd known this was all it took to strike you dumb, I'd have mentioned it earlier." Draco drawled, and Harry mentally filled in the substance behind the lie - Draco was uncomfortable with them staring at him like that (tough luck, bucko), even if he was slightly enjoying having the Gryffindors at a loss for words. He'd certainly never have suggested this unless it was important - critical even.
"What drew you to that conclusion?" Harry asked, wanting to pace around Draco Malfoy - his response to a probe like that would tell Harry a lot.
...
And because this was a very flexible configuration of the Room of Requirement, Harry's wish became reality. Of course, then he had to actually ask himself if he really wanted to be that much of an arse, just to get some information. Malfoy could be a cipher if he wanted, Harry was dead certain, but Harry figured that when you were on the business end of two highly powered magic users, that might not be the best time for going all blank. With luck, Malfoy would figure that out too.
Besides, he could always pace a bit later. If, say, Malfoy was proving uncooperative.
Draco finally started talking, and Harry mentally chided himself for falling into a "thinking space" - that was dangerous when you were around enemies. And Draco Malfoy certainly didn't count as a friend. Or an ally, or anything practical and helpful. "He's going to want me to report. On you." Draco said, shifting uncomfortably, and then abruptly halting, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I can learn some of what you can do from the Study Group."
Draco took a swift pace forward, gesturing at the two on-edge Gryffindors. "But this?" Draco ran his hand through his hair, and said, "This is serious. This is the sort of thing that you don't want Him knowing about, ever."
Harry knew Draco's analysis was right, but before he could say something, Hermione's narrowed brown eyes found Draco's. "Whose side are you on?"
"My own, of course." Draco Malfoy drawled.
"Seems a bit self-serving." Harry challenged, more curious to see what Malfoy might say than anything else.
"Just because I haven't found something worth dying for, Potter..." Draco Malfoy said with a snap.
"Are you not going to serve Voldemort?" Hermione said.
"I'm going to do whatever gives me the best chance of surviving." Draco Malfoy drawled, implacably calm. Harry thought, Well, you and your family, right? Not quite so self-serving then, is it?
"That's a no on defecting, then, is it?" Harry Potter asked, surprised at how honey soft his own voice was.
Draco nodded. "Now, about that obliviation... Should I close my eyes?"
In a voice soft as a falling leaf, Hermione Granger said, "What makes you think we know that spell?"
Harry exchanged a brief glance with Hermione, their firm nods telling each other that no, they hadn't learnt it the summer before.
Hermione Granger continued, "No, we're not going to do this ourselves. You are right, that it does need to be done, but..."
Harry spoke up, trying to sound firm and blunt, "As often as I ask for help, I think in this case we'd better." Hermione nodded.
Draco Malfoy rolled his eyes, seeming to say that he'd already used up all humility in asking for this... option.
Harry looked at Hermione, who looked right back at him. They nodded in synch and said, "Dumbledore."
Draco Malfoy started to look squirrely at the mention of Dumbledore's name. "Um... Do... Really?" He managed to squawk out, his inarticulateness a sharp contrast from his normal command of the English language.
"Surely the Headmaster of Hogwarts has your confidence in casting a spell to remove your memories?" Harry Potter said sharply, letting his whims guide him into teasing Draco a bit.
"Of course, Potter, of course." Draco Malfoy said absently, his mind still clearly on whatever was bothering him.
Hermione chimed in, "You'd say that he has an obligation for any pupils under his care, and moreso to one of the Prefect-like entities, wouldn't you?" Hermione blinked a moment, and before Draco could actually respond, she was asking, "What ARE you calling each other, anyway?"
Draco Malfoy said, quickly, "Back to front. I don't know, I haven't really bothered naming them, so someone else's done it. I suppose he does have an obligation at that." Draco shoved his hands into his pockets, abruptly looking a bit frustrated. "I can't have anyone knowing I met with Dumbledore - not for any reason."
Harry Potter nods, "Say, we could keep that to ourselves - then?"
"I'd do it."
"Hermione, can you get the Headmaster?" Harry directed, and caught the quick, frustrated look on her face, as well as the trace of warning (she wasn't going to be too happy if Dumbledore arrived and Draco was completely busted.). Well and good, Harry thought I'd rather not give you some alone time with Malfoy, not today. One of you might get killed. or die happy, whichever.
Hermione left quickly, and Harry and Draco were left standing ... nearly together. Neither of them seemed to want to say a word, and Harry Poter luxioriated in the silence, that he'd only recently discovered he'd missed. For the twenty minutes that it took for Hermione to make it to the headmaster's office, and make it back (undoubtedly via a shortcut), they managed to not say one word to each other. Instead, they cast, softly and determinedly creating new forms and transmogrifying them into other things.
"Thank you, Miss Granger." Albus Dumbledore says, entering the Room of Requirement. "Well, I must admit, Mister Malfoy, that you have found a most fascinating exploit."
Draco Malfoy merely looked at Dumbledore, his emotions locked firmly beneath an icy mask.
"Mister Potter? If you might join Miss Granger in the hall, if I'm not mistaken, Mister Malfoy would appreciate a private word with me."
"You're not mistaken." Draco says, his voice sounding more brittle than his usual drawl.
Harry Potter brutally curbed his desire to stay, drawing his reins on himself until he felt sure he was drawing blood. "I'll just go then." He said stiffly.
"Should we try for a whisper?" Hermione said, conjuring a waterglass.
Harry frowned, considering, and then said, "Should be fine - if they didn't want us to listen, they'd have warded against it. Why don't you listen, and I'll keep watch?"
Roughly three minutes later, Hermione straightened, and said, "They'll be done soon. He's casting now."
"We should be down at the other end of the hall, heading downstairs as they emerge." Harry responded, well used to creating the illusion of good behavior.
Draco Malfoy didn't emerge from the Room with Albus Dumbledore. At their inquiring look, the fuschia clad old man said, "He's resting, and should wake shortly. Memory is a difficult thing to play with at the best of times." Dumbledore briefly looked stern, which was a strange look on his face. "I should be off, the sugar lemons are due to be decanted shortly - Unless you have anything else to detain me?"
"No, sir." Hermione said, and turned to descend the stairs behind the headmaster.
Harry grabbed her hand, holding on insistently as he stood there. Hermione looked back at him, questioningly, and Harry responded by pursing his lips, nodding down towards the stairwell. "Not tho fast," Harry says, in a voice that's softer than a whisper.
They turn and walk back towards the room of requirement, Hermione nearly bouncing with impatience. "Let me lead," Harry says curtly. I hope I can pull this off...
"Well, well, well, Mister Malfoy, how in the world did you manage to knock yourself unconscious, alone, in the Room of Requirement? Did you ask for a clop to the head?" Harry grins, and Hermione almost wants to shiver, that grin looks like Sirius' - happily malevolent.
Malfoy, still on the ground, if more wakeful now, sits up and says, "I... I don't remember. Why don't I remember?"
"Oh, now that's cute, now he says he doesn't remember." Harry says, clearly working the crowd of one (Hermione).
"Did you do something, Potter? Is ... is that why?" Malfoy, ever suspicious, looks baffledly into Potter's green eyes.
"You look like you could use some help, Malfoy." Harry Potter said, "So how about it?"
Malfoy blinked. And then blinked again. "You're offering to help me?"
"Appears so," Harry said, sinking his hands into his pockets, acting oblivious to the rather concerned glare that Hermione was shooting at him.
"I'd... I'd like that, yeah." Draco Malfoy looked completely offbalance, a bit baffled and troubled at the same time. It was a decent look for the bloke, honestly - far better than I know everything and You suck.
"Tuesdays and Thursdays then, except if we've got DA, obviously. After dinner." Harry said, and at that point, Hermione's hand attached itself firmly to his elbow, and began to drag him out the room.
"Until then," Harry said grinning, walking just as fast as Hermione.
Of course, heading outside the Room, they found other people walking the corridor. Certainly not the place to have a nice long chat.
Cursing under her breath, Hermione turned round and opened the Room again, mentally surrounding Draco Malfoy (still seated on the ground looking bleary) with a box of liquid, rushing water. "What was THAT, Harry Potter? How do you expect us to study if he's here? You know - dammit, even he knows, we can't work with him here."
Harry lays a cocky grin on his best friend, saying, "That won't be as much of a problem as you think. He won't be able to always make it, you know."
"And HOW do you know that?" Hermione said.
"Looked at his badge recently?" Harry responded. "Eagles like that come with responsibility." Harry says, neatly dodging the question. "Besides, we needed to figure out SOME way to prevent him from doing this Every Single Time."
Hermione looked at Harry, and then muttered, "I didn't even think of that."
It was Tuesday evening, and Harry Potter was well away from both Malfoy and Hermione. In fact, he was sitting on his bed, idly paging through a Quiddich manual - one of Ollie's own creation. Wood had always cared too much about the game. Harry idly supposed that Quiddich tryouts would be the next weekend.
No, what he was really thinking about was an old adage - "fish who stop swimming die."
It was killing him, the uncertainty - the crazy, half-mad urge to ask Slytherins, "What the hell are you doing? What are you planning? What are your goals?" Harry didn't need to think that last one about Snape, he supposed, as his goals seemed well-contained. Malfoy was another story.
Asking him would be akin to waving a red flag and saying "I NOTICED! I Noticed Already!" Draco Malfoy couldn't help but respond to that with smug superiority. Certainly, Harry'd never get an answer to his question.
And, yet, even as he thought of all this, that adage kept leaping into his mind. It urged him to a Gryffindor's reckless action, to precipitous change. The Tower - rocks fall, everything dies.
He wanted to pace, to swoop on his broom. Too late, too late - he'd just get caught, and did he really want detention for something like that.
Let the steam out, just like a teakettle. Move, yes, but move like a small fish, peeking out of the coral, and then ducking back inside.
Well, that was a great idea in theory, but in practice?
Snape... whatever else Snape was up to (Draco was right, he was undoubtedly up to more with Granger's assignment than just the bare facts would warrant), he wanted everyone to think clearly about war. Harry had his class tomorrow. How to do it? Maybe...
"Hey, Neville," Harry asked, sticking his head out from the draperies (unreasonably glad that Ron wasn't there - he'd have bollixed up the whole operation.) "Does your grandma ever talk about the war? What it was like?"
Neville looked up from an advanced Herbology textbook. "Oh! Well, Harry, she doesn't, not really. She just gets this sad look on her face, sorta grim and dour, and shuts up. I figure a lot of warriors are like that - people on the front lines."
"You think-" Harry said, breaking off, "You think Snape knows?"
"Of course he does, he's certainly not the man to miss a battle. Bloodless like a vampire bat, but not the type to turn away from an opportunity to loose that anger."
"Think he'd tell you what it was like, if you asked?"
"That'd be the day... why don't you just ask him yourself?"
"Because I don't want detention. Look, why not try it tommorrow in class. He's more likely to take off points and less likely to give detentions."
"Ha-ary, I don't want everyone glaring at me because I got told off in class."
"Tell 'em I dared you. Then, when they find me, I'll tell them how I got the points... back."
"Back? How will you do that?"
"Flitwick's an easy mark, I'll try him first." Harry could only hope that he was doing the right things here. If there was any bright side to all of this, it was that he wasn't trying to keep any of this secret. Not really.
Harry was starting to get used to, or maybe even actually like this feeling of suppressed anticipation, like pins and needles walking all over your feet. It was an odd sensation, and one that he didn't want anyone noticing that he was feeling. So, Harry Potter sat in the same place he always sat at the Gryffindor table, and tried not to think if Malfoy would have called it "holding court" - he had a feeling that Snape would call it so, and from his mouth the words would be bilious indeed. He laughed at Ron's jokes, which, though overused, were often still funny. The joke about Hermione's reading at the breakfast table had been old in his second year, for crying out loud. "You'd be reading too, if only there were more books on Quiddich." Harry put in, to Hermione's sparkling laughter. Ron flushed, but hung his head for a moment before laughing along. That was the thing about Ron Weasley. He was always trying. Didn't often succeed, at least not completely - but on anything that wasn't schoolwork, he was always determined. And, like a stone, would eventually find his way to the proper road, bouncing left and right, but always heading downward. Hermione tended to work like an avalanche, whisking things from far away into her mind, stirring them up, and landing flat on anyone so foolish as to stand in her way.
Harry was rarely that foolish.
Harry grabbed an extra portion of bacon - just seconds before Ron thought to, and was about to put it down on his plate, when he saw something unexpected. Creamed spinach. Well, Harry thought, I suppose I haven't tried it before... Setting the bacon down, he stuck his fork in it. Wow, this was surprisingly tasty! Why hadn't he tried this before? And, just like that, Harry was pulling the whole thing into a metaphor for his life. He'd gotten so used to doing things Just So when he was at the Dursleys - to being punished for any creativity.
Well, he was here, at Hogwarts. And it wouldn't kill him to try more things.
With a mental note to thank Dobby for the spinach, Harry trundled off to his Wednesday class with Snape - he knew he was running early, so he let his feet take him where they willed, knowing that eventually he'd end up at the classroom.
Well, Harry Potter had tried to do his homework. But he hadn't used ten stinging hexes, and so he was kinda stuck. As a bit of a compromise, he had written a few other notations - some on other people's hexes, and - in a carefully detachable page, some notations on some work that he'd done outside of class. He was able to determine how quickly he could spell, and aim, and react to moving objects. As these were three different numbers, it was certainly an interesting exercise, particularly since they weren't separable variables. He'd done... enough. Or, if he hadn't done enough, it would probably be for reasons other than diligence. Lack of forethought, lack of planning, lack of creativity, perhaps? Well, something. Perhaps just marked favoritism towards the Slytherins and against the Gryffindors. And, man, it felt weird thinking that about Snape, after the summer he'd put Harry Potter through. Which was not to say that it was easy - it was grueling and punishing work. But that was the thing of it - it hadn't been about tearing him down at all.
Still, they were at school now, and a certain level of conduct was expected. If Harry were to deviate too far from expected, that might be something that more than just Hogwarts noticed. And like it or not, there were people on all levels watching him. Harry was used to this, however, even as he struggled against it. There were more than one reason why he'd been overusing the invisibility cloak, after all. (A far more cautious (or slightly more paranoid) person would have made certain that Snape never learned of it, for that matter).
"Place your homework in the bin." Snape said coldly, as he entered, the doors slamming shut behind him. "As you have all been marked as failing the first two assignments, I do hope you've managed to do this one perfectly. If you have, you will have achieved a 33% grade. Far short of passing, but still - better than all zeros." Around the room, a muttering took up, started by Gryffindors (like Ron) who clearly hadn't done the assignment well, and felt they were being shorted. It was picked up by the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs wanted to complain because they thought this wasn't really defense.
"Well? Does anyone have any objections to my teaching this class?" Snape snarled. "Put Your Homework in the Bin." Harry had been working his way through the crowd, and tried to ignore that the bin looked like a wastepaper basket.
Neville had already gotten his paper into the basket, and stood near Snape, trying (and failing) to look him in the eye. "Sir?"
Snape didn't speak, he merely looked down his long nose at Neville. But there was something in the openness of the gesture that encouraged Neville to say something. "Can you tell us what it was like in the first war? Since you were there?"
Snape's eyes flicked up, meeting Harry's instantly. Shite, he knows it was me.
Smirking softly, Snape said, "I do believe I shall," his voice like molasses, slow and bitter and black.
Snape looked at Neville Longbottom, and then his gaze wandered over the rest of the class. When he at last uttered a word, it sounded like the creaking of a door. "I'll speak first to glory, for those of you who haven't known relations grieving tears over the fallen. You'll find no glory in war, stepping on another child's entrails, or by deceit or cunning killing someone stronger than you. No, at the end of the day, war gives you just broken bodies and broken minds. You'd think it was just the dead, their bloating bodies stinking as they inflate with rot. No, no one who's been through war survives unscathed. There's no one who drapes themselves in conspicuous glory and smiles. War is real, children, and in real war, people die. Your friends, your enemies, people you never knew. Imagine that - with one breath, killing a nameless someone. You didn't even have the common decency to learn their name." The derision in his tone, the venom, dripped and sizzled like acid - and yet, Harry realized that it was more turned towards himself than truly at any of their peers. Harry felt, deep in his heart, that Snape had never been one to turn to killing for glory... which meant that his anger-turned-inward was about something else entirely.
"Oh, the thrill of battle? A brief surge of happiness?" Snape's frosted laughter poured out of him. "Sure, you'll find those in abundance. Some even get addicted to those things - we call them Aurors."
Nobody laughed at Snape's dry wit, and after a moment, he continued, his voice like crisp autumn leaves rustling on the ground, "As to vengeance? Take a moment and think first. When the wails of your womenfolk pull at your heartstrings, stop. " It almost seemed like the classroom wasn't breathing. In fact, judging by a few changing complexions, some really weren't. "Are you so cruel as to do to another family what has been done to yours? Vengeance never saved anything. It just destroys. A corrosive force, that eats away at people. Avoid it, if you can." Snape's lip lifted in a brief sneer. "I can see you out there, you know. The Hufflepuffs in particular - tutting to yourself about how you'd never be so stupid!" Snape strode over to them, and a few shrunk back, which made Harry feel suddenly uncomfortable - although he made a mental note of who they were. "Bones, get up here." Snape snapped, despite only being a few feet from her.
"Yes sir." she said, walking up to him.
"Face your house." Snape said, and Harry realized that the entirety of their years' Hufflepuffs were together. So much for unity, Harry thought wryly, a work in progress. Snape brought the business end of his wand up to Bones's neck. "If I killed her right now, what would you do?" Hufflepuffs shuffled their feet uneasily, and Harry saw that by pulling the niece of the MLE department head, he'd neatly removed the "Go To The Ministry" option.
"We'd make you pay." Ernie said, his characteristic grin completely wiped off his face.
"And aren't those words so easy to say, don't they sound so right?" Snape said, his voice turning into that lilting tone he often used during Potions class, coaxing the class to attention rather than demanding it like McGonagall did. "I'll tell you once, and I'll tell you true. It's far easier to say than do." Harry heard the musicality in the words, and hoped - rather irrationally, he figured - that Snape wasn't casting something hideous on Ernie. Surely, he wouldn't...?
"But far worse than the doing, children, is the stopping. Ever pounded a person's face bloody?" Snape snapped. "Malfoy, Potter, get up here. Both of you have pounded the other's face bloody - or worse."
Harry swallowed, his mouth drying up. His lips thinned, and he stalked forward, with fists at his side so tight they might draw blood. His eyes screamed defiance at Snape.
Malfoy, in contrast, slid forward like a snake, appearing before his mentor with only the slightest twitch of his errant pinkie to suggest that he was anything other than pleased to be called to answer questions.
Snape turned his head, cocking it a little, as he looked at the two "enemies", studying them intently. "When did you know to stop?"
Both Malfoy and Harry Potter were silent, Harry because, he was belatedly realizing, he'd often not been able to stop - there'd been people pulling him off Malfoy, as often as not. He'd... he'd never actually wanted to kill Malfoy, not really for truth dead (smashed up and sent to the infirmary for a month, sure). Snape was right, he really did have an anger problem.
"As neither of you are dead, surely this must have come up at some point?"
"I heard your boots, sir, and I knew that you'd look most unfavorably if I cast such dishonor on my house as to have killed a fellow pupil." Malfoy said, smiling ingratiatingly.
"While it is true that the Honor of House Slytherin would have been most unforgivably sullied by such a deed, have you never stopped to think what harm you do your House by squabbling like a street rat?"
Draco Malfoy's eyes went wide. Harry saw, because he was watching intently, but he figured most of the class didn't, as they weren't watching. That - that looked like it struck home. At the very least, it meant something.
"Same here, Snape. Without you approaching, it might have ended... badly." Harry Potter said, putting enough effort into not calling Snape sir, as that would be out of character.
"Detention, Potter, for your cheek." Snape said, his voice flowing like molasses, the rest of his face impassive.
"Weasley," Snape snapped, his sharp eyes pinning Ron - who as usual was at the edge of the room, near a wall. Mostly to look inattentive, even if Ron was working hard he'd be trying to look inattentive, that was just his way. He didn't want to be called on, either.
"Yeah?" Ron responded, his face fighting to flush.
"How'd you know when to stop?" Snape asked. Ron simply boggled at him, looking at him as if he'd just asked a question that couldn't be answered, not just shouldn't. "With Your Brothers. I'm certain the Weasley Twins have, at one time or another, crossed the line."
"They're my brothers! I couldn't kill them - not ever! I wouldn't even try! I love them, sir, even when they're being pains in the neck!" Weasley said, his voice half stuttering, half vehement.
"Ah, the power of love. Enough to stop one from committing fratricide." Snape said, his voice dry and crinkly. "It's far harder to stop when you've been holding your dear sister, reassuring her that her husband's killer is going to Get What's Coming to him."
"These two lunkheads," Snape's eyes raked over Draco and Harry, "Used fists, primarily. Wise, in a school of magic, not to get caught slinging spells in the halls." Snape's eyes were bright and glaring, as his lips pursed just slightly as his inky gaze struck Harry's eyes. Harry could feel himself flushing as he remembered how many times his wand had been drawn. Not that he'd really, usually, been about to strike...
"On the battlefield, I assume you will all be wise enough to use your wands, instead of your fists." Snape said, and Harry hid a smirk by compressing his lips and glaring at Snape. Snape was the one, after all, who had taught him a crash course in muggle self-defense - granted, Harry thought, he meant "crash" literally, as the first thing he had needed to learn was "how to fall" and that was taught without instruction (though, thankfully, with healing, or it'd have taken much longer).
"Using your wands, it is the work of ten seconds to kill someone. That rage one Hufflepuff might feel? The "I'll get you back for that"? It's easy to go too far." Snape said, turning around abruptly, looking at the rest of the class. "Oh, so very easy." he dragged these words out, as if he was smoking a cigarette, to use the muggle metaphor.
"What's war like? Blood, death, pain. But those are easy words to say, and they don't tell you about the vomit. They don't tell you about the dead who shat themselves. The dead half-eaten that you pull out later, and can't even recognize who they were. The undead, the ghosts, the people who can't leave until... And sometimes, that until never comes. Would anyone here be surprised to know that there's a ghost who yearns for the demise of Bellatrix Black Lestrange?" Snape's eyes cast over the room, "I thought not."
Snape's eyes found Hermione next, and he stalked towards her as he spoke. As he did, Harry Potter felt dread upwelling in his body, and he tried to look - well, just look angry. "Some people delude themselves into thinking they can find justice in war." Hermione had her chin tilted up, that defiant gleam in her eyes. This was not good.
"Miss Granger, do you still hold that all crimes ought to be prosecuted with a fair trial?" Snape said, and Harry's brow furrowed, slightly unsure where Snape was headed with this line.
"I do, sir." Hermione responded crisply.
"Then you'll concede that war crimes cannot be prosecuted in the midst of a battle, or a full-scale war?"
"I will indeed, sir."
"Then I shall tell you, as I've told others, that there can be no justice on the battlefield. There are some that will tell you you fight for Right, or Justice or Good. They're all liars."
"Even you, Miss Granger, will tell me that the ending of the last war went poorly, will you not? Were not notable and significant figures denied trials of any stripe?"
"Yes, of course, sir." Hermione said crisply. She was responding as if she was a buck private and her sergeant was talking with her. But Snape? Snape was arguing, and Harry wanted to hiss at her, tell her to watch her words, choose them with care.
"Then you'll agree that we can do better." Snape said, smiling cruely, "Provided the sensible side wins, of course."
"You, Miss Granger, probably think that you're fighting for Justice, or Righteousness, or even Self-righteousness, in some sort of self-aggrandizing fashion." Snape said crisply. Along one of the walls, some Slytherins snickered.
"But, is it not more accurate to say that you're fighting for survival?" Snape said smoothly, his drawl pronounced.
"You could say that sir." Hermione Granger said, squaring her shoulders, "Of course, I'd say it's unjust to deny anyone magical schooling."
"Yes, and were you to argue that before the Wizengamot, rather than taking up wands, you might have a point, and sway many to your side." Snape drawled.
"As it is, I ask that you, and everyone else around here dash any hopes that they might fight for Truth, Justice, or Righteousness." Snape's tarry eyes met everyone in the room, slowly. "War makes monsters of us all. I'm not the only one who's killed some mother's only child. Ask your parents, your uncles, your aunts. Yes, even the Muggleborn. Do." Snape paused, and then sliced into the meat, "You simply cannot be as you are now, in war. You must think of the Other as monsters, as foul and loathsome beasts - as the Enemy. That changes you. I cannot predict which of you will commit war crimes, some in the heat of the moment, and others with cold and callous cruelty. But your youth will not save you."
"Which leaves us at fighting for survival." Snape said, "Both sides will tell you that is what they are trying for, and both sides are to some degree right. Oh, some might be fighting for power, on the sole strength of their ambition - but not most."
Snape paused, and looked the class over, "If you think you'll be fighting for survival, then it only makes sense to choose the sensible choice." Harry's eyes had gone wide at this, and he swiftly started looking at the floor, until he couldn't take it anymore and was looking (glaring) at Snape's traitorous face. That sneaky, two-timing Slytherin Snake! He'd laid into Hermione on purpose, using her muggleborn status to make his point for him. That purebloods and half-bloods didn't need to fight to save girls like her. "Leave the Justice until after the war. First peace, and then justice." Snape snorted, "Really, there's no other way." No way, Harry thought, he nearly just said that everyone should join Voldemort. And... Harry's gaze raked the room, seeing mostly approval from the purebloods (the ones that weren't counted blood traitors at any rate), and mostly... pacificity from the others. Well, Harry thought, at least Snape was covert enough that the entire school doesn't think he's a Death Eater. Just... the pureblood supremacists.
Harry Potter knew that Snape had to do this, it was important for his cover (and may be important for other things, Harry thought somberly). But, in truth, Harry hated it. It felt... wrong, to lie about something so basic. The basic right of people to live their lives as they wanted. A frisson of understanding wracked Harry's body, a full body shiver. Snape wanted his freedom, didn't he? He'd be the last person to truly believe something like this... So...why had he joined the Death Eaters?
"Perhaps the best, the least selfish thing to fight for is someone else. Be it your lover, your child, your parents." Severus Snape said, his voice marginally warmer, like an icy lake just starting to melt. "And yet that will not absolve you from your crimes, from the murders you commit."
Children were looking understandably nervous at this, shuffling around - still spellbound, but - questioning. Harry Potter wanted to smirk - for wasn't that a teacher's real job? To make people question their foundations, to build and build again until they are sound?
"Nor can protection tell you which side to serve, as surely there are people on the other side who also are merely in it to prevent certain people's deaths." Snape sneered, "Unless you are truly callous, cruel or deluded, you cannot say that one person's life is worth less or more than another."
"How much is a life worth, Professor?" Harry asked, not even sure why he was asking the question, nor precisely sure what the question was. However, Harry, unlike Hermione, had learned to trust his instincts. He tried to look as impassively curious as Snape, even as said Snape cast him a withering glare.
"I suppose that depends..." Snape said, stalking closer, "You can always measure the worth of a slave, can you not? Free Market, what someone is willing to pay?"
"Or you could measure them based on their contributions. Patents, their pay from the Ministry." That was Zach Smith, unwisely speaking up, as if this was truly a discussion, rather than a lecture.
"Indeed." Snape said. "That draws us far from the topic at hand, however."
Snape looked at Neville, who met his gaze stoutly. "You wanted to know what war is? War is the closest thing to Gehenna that you'll ever meet. War is where people lose their souls, their conscience, even their abilities. War will crush you, if you let it - and sometimes even without. Your parents aren't the only people who haven't emerged from the last war." Snape's mouth curved into a smirk that was a brutal parody of a smile. "Try letting a firework loose in Hogsmeade sometime... but be ready to run, as you'll have half a dozen hexes before you can say Expelliarmus." Snape said coldly, "War isn't something you leave behind, not really. Some people bury it - others, like Moody, build it into themselves." If Harry had to bet, that was what Snape had done - he was too smooth to actually seem on edge, but there was this quicksilver alertness to him, that never seemed to go away.
"If you want to know what war is, I suggest you ask our Mediwitch. She will take you through the grades of battlefield triage." Snape said, "I will defer to her tutelage and experience, but - as I know from past experience, not all of you will talk with her -" Snape looked around the room, finding eyes and glaring until they turned earthwards. Harry didn't recognize the eyes, so he figured it was probably something Slytherin related. Did the Slytherins have some method for avoiding the Mediwitch? How Harry would have loved to know that first year... or second... or third...
"Normal triage, as is practiced at St. Mungos, is saving the person who is hurt worst. When someone is bleeding out, nearly everything stops so that they can fix them." Snape nods slowly, "This is the normal way healers work, the way Mediwitch Pomfrey will behave if there's a Quiddich injury, or something else of that severity. Or even, as there has been, a brief skirmish, such as what happened at the World Cup."
"In war, everything changes." Snape snarls, "The person least injured gets healed first - as they can be back fighting the quickest. Mediwitch Pomfrey has let hundreds, if not thousands of people die under her care." Snape shakes his head his hair getting into his face, before being swept out by an annoyed hand. "This is the true perversity of war - that it can distort even the gentlest - the healing arts themselves!"
The words rung into the silent room, as Snape's inky eyes cast a dark shadow over everyone in turn, his lanky body slowly spinning on his heel, as his eyes caught the gaze of every student in the room.
Snape collected himself, "Please don't ask Prof. Tonks the same question - she wasn't there." Snape's eyes pinned a random Hufflepuff, and he said strictly, "Now as to the actual coursework. It would appear that some of you need a refresher on shields, as your dodging ability last class was dire indeed. Pair up, and start casting. Stinging Hexes verses Protego, to start. You may vary both spells if you can reliably (that's three times) cast both."
And they got to work. Harry wound up paired with Ernie, who was a decent, if not inspired, combat mage. As such, he was still having trouble with the shield, particularly the timing. Harry didn't try to give instruction, just narrowed his eyes a bit and thought about it. He could always give instruction later in the DA. For now, it was Snape's classroom - and there's the man himself, Harry thought, as he tugged Ernie aside (away from Harry's quick-cast Stinging Hex), looking down at the boy and conveying details. As Snape stalked off, Harry started casting again, and Ernie's timing did seem to be improving... marginally, but the more he worked on it, the better he got.
Harry Potter found both his ring fingers tingling, and a suspicious swathe of his flank, and another small smidge just above his kidney. Still, he was grinning as Snape announced the homework assignment, "Select one of the three classic modifications to the shield spell, and be ready to demonstrate in front of the class. Also, that will be nine inches on all three modifications. Miss Granger, to be perfectly clear, that does not mean 27 inches total." Snape said, and Harry covered his mouth, as he didnt' want to audibly snicker at Hermione's usual overwriting being pointed out quite so clearly.
Harry slung himself into the shower with vehemence, washing off the sweat, all too aware that he'd be attending dinner in less than twenty minutes. And after that... More Defense. Well, the bonus was that Snape would probably not be there. (and if he was, he'd be refraining from commentary, which was the point of his absence as far as Harry was concerned). Harry tossed on his clothes, tried momentarily to flatten any wrinkles (they were myriad), and then he plummeted out the door, down the stairs, and raced for the Great Hall. Yes, he realized he wasn't supposed to be running, but he also realized that Snape detentions (even for imagined slights) were expected, and even desirable. Harry Potter somehow didn't want another detention for breathing. He'd rather have done something to deserve it.
"Mister Potter. That will be three detentions, for running, out of control conduct, and breaking the school dress code." Snape snarled, as he swiftly sidestepped the "speeding bullet" that was Harry Potter.
Harry wheeled on Snape, spitting out a cutting, "yes sir."
"Oi, mate, if you've got time..." Ron said, and Harry just looked at him. That wasn't like ron, not at all. Ron was the type to just dragoon Harry into doing something, not... not ask.
"Whatcha need?" Harry asked, trying for casual and hoping he wasn't failing utterly.
"Not now, later. Maybe... after curfew." Ron said, trying not to shift in his seat.
"What are you planning?" Harry whispered, careful to avoid s's as they carried.
"Nothing, not yet. After curfew, eh?" Ron said, with that genuine smile of his, and Harry could finally relax. Whatever was going on, Ron was still (mostly) acting like Ron. So, it was probably something Interesting. Harry had discovered he rather liked interesting when it didn't involve him putting his life on the line every five seconds.
*Nobody's quite told Draco how the room works, but he's a fair eavesdropper.
**Not strictly true, but close enough.
[a/n: Won't somebody leave a review?]