Harry made it up to the Study Session (as he'd taken to calling it in his head, as it seemed more than borderline disrespectful to call it Dumbledore's Army when Draco Malfoy was attending, alongside the rest of the Junior Death Eaters - the rest of which, Harry hoped devoutly, weren't actually branded. Yet.)
That last word had Harry Potter striding into the Room of Requirement with a scowl fit to sit on Snape's face. He only barely glanced at Boot and Connor, both of which were going to teach the class in tandem.
Well and good, Harry thought, though he wondered what they'd be teaching. He didn't have many classes with them, and they didn't stand out all that much in the classes that he did have with them.
As everyone filed in, Harry's eyes flicked to the few Slytherins that he'd marked as not knowing a Patronus at all. He wondered, idly, if there was something he could do about that. Blinking, he rethought that - it would have to be something real. Not something faked, and that meant something more or less permanent. He probably wouldn't be doing anyone any favors befriending Slytherins - the rivalry between the Houses wasn't something that Malfoy and Potter'd made up in some sort of joint pact, after all.
What Boot and Connor had cooked up wasn't something Harry would have thought about instinctively. It was the uses of Transfiguration in battle situations. And not the way Dumbledore had fought, using high powered (and very difficult) Transfiguration to set up the other person.
No, this was low powered transfiguration. But that was why it worked. Spelling terra firma into mud, transfiguring a layer of muddy snow into ice (still hidden under a delicate layer of snow). Even something as simple as making boots lighter. Harry'd smirked as he'd transfigured a glass sphere into lodestone. Yelps from other people were heard as various trinkets, rings and other bits started to fly towards the ball. When Harry saw someone's knife flying at it, though, he thought better of this plan, diving for cover.
It took about three minutes for everyone to have their stuff lifted out of their pockets - both from pressing closer and turning towards the sphere.
"What is that?" Pansy snapped, less angry about her stuff being stolen (and there was a lot, including a very pretty looking laquered compact) than about not knowing what it is.
"It's a thiefstone." Harry Potter explained, "It does just about what you see here."
"Harry!" Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Odd," Malfoy said, studying the debris... "There's a pattern to what's here and what's not. It can't just be metallic, or our money would have come too." Draco Malfoy's silver-gray eyes flicked up at Harry, who was trying to defend himself from Hermione, who was using her glare (and elbow) to enforce her will.
Malfoy, gaze darkening at being ignored, simply walked up behind Granger (well, more stalked, really...), and lifted her off her feet, depositing her about two feet away from Potter. Hermione actually gave Malfoy a hiss before she leaped back over to Harry.
Malfoy tilted his head at Crabbe, who came over and lifted Hermione off the floor - again. Her kicking feet were trying for his groin, but he had also been watching Malfoy. He did what the slighter, shorter, frailer boy couldn't - put Hermione in a Princess Carry, and held her there.
Out of perhaps sheer shock, Hermione was silent. Harry wanted to cringe. Whenever there was silence around Hermione, it boded poorly for later.
"Why didn't it take our money?" Malfoy asked, "What's so special about what it did take?"
"Magnetism." Harry Potter said shortly. "It's a property that the Wizarding World doesn't study well or often, but the muggle world practically runs on it."
"The Muggle world runs on stealing things with thiefstones?" Goyle asked in a state of perpetual confusion, "Seems a bit unworkable to me."
Harry Potter shook his head, smirked a smile, and said, "Just ask Hermione if you want details." Behind his back, Malfoy rolled his eyes, making motions like pulling taffy to indicate that you'd receive alll the details you never wanted.
Monday morning dawned gloomy with a trace of rain in the distance, Harry scanned out across the Forbidden Forest, watching the fuzzy shapes of clouds that were dropping rain. This was one of those days he remembered from the Dursleys', when he had longed for sun - just to be outside. Days that he'd spent curled in the cupboard without so much as a book, straining to hear the tele through the closed door. He'd rather have been sweating, doing some honest work on the roses, or mowing the lawn, or weeding. Anything, rather than being stuck inside.
He'd managed to wake up before everyone else, and so, lacking a better plan, he'd changed. Staring outside, he asked himself, Are you a wizard or not?
And so, out he went, into the misty muggy morning. With a simple water charm to repel most of the rain, he had fun jumping in puddles and otherwise acting like he was about five years old.
Hey, he'd never done it the first time, had he? Splashing mud everywhere, listening to the water dripping off Hagrid's hut, just inhaling the deeply wet air. It felt so much more freeing than being indoors.
How had he not done this before?
One of the numerous gates of Hogwarts opened, catching his ear as it gave an unused squeal.*
Harry turned, to see the long, lanky form of Severus Snape entering the grounds. Only...
Snape was leaning his full weight on the door, and it only slowly started to close, his breath coming out in a relieved sort of sigh as his eyes closed. The door closed with an audible shunk.
Which is a good thing, as for a moment, I'd thought of helping.
Snape stood, and tottered like a half-spun top, moving towards Hogwarts castle. It was a far cry from his usual striking glide.**
Not wanting to be caught staring, Harry Potter picked up a stick and started to balance it on his cupped hand, the length of it making it difficult to not have it fall completely off. After Snape had passed, Harry cast a quick Tempus, Time for breakfast! With feet as sure as a mountain goat's, he took off towards a different door than Snape was angling towards.
Harry'd been trying not to question - just observe, use his eyes first, and then his brain. That works, however, only as long as you can observe something. Heading towards the Great Hall, Harry had to wonder, What had happened to Snape? Was Tom Riddle displeased? If so, why didn't Malfoy or Harry know about it?
By the time Harry Potter got to the Great Hall, nearly everyone was seated, including Professor Snape. Harry's eyes had immediately shot to the High Table as he entered, and he had to fight not to blaunch. Snape looked nearly skeletal as he sat there, his parchment-colored skin stretched over bone as if he was just seconds from death.
What. The. Hell. Had. Happened? Harry thought, half upset, half bewildered, and a good deal terrified.
A good deal quieter than Harry normally was at breakfast-time, he approached the Gryffindor table, angling absentmindedly towards Hermione and Ron... His eyes remained on the High Table, taking in with some confusion the completely self-assured and not at all worried Albus Dumbledore. Most of the other teachers seemed to be going about their own business, but unless he was mistaken, he could have sworn he saw McGonagall shooting Snape some rather worried looks. Almost as if she doesn't know what's going on...
Harry hurriedly jerked his attention away from the High Table, seating himself with a jaunty laugh (oh, all right, he was a horrible actor, and his wry chuckle seemed like ash in his throat). Slyly, he glanced quickly at the Slytherin table, breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw that Malfoy wasn't looking directly at him. It took him a few seconds to think - he wouldn't be looking directly at me, would he? Not if he didn't want me to know he was staring...
Which, when you think about it, brought up all sorts of wonderful "then why was he..." questions, because for as often as Harry'd stared at Malfoy, the blond twit had been staring back. Across an entire room of people. Being rather obvious about it.
Harry jerked his mind away from that line of thought (better thought about later, if ever), and nodded at Hermione, who was saying (as usual), "You guys really need to study more."
"I'll meet you at the library after class." Harry said, somewhat unprompted.
Hermione smiled victory, and Ron moved on to complain about the sheer amount of homework they had due.
Harry wasn't listening to the well-worn argument. Instead, he was casting wary glances up at the High Table. Snape was picking at his food ... strange, he seemed to be eating less than a tenth of the food on his plate... Harry was suddenly, quite vividly, reminded of when he'd done the same. It had been after a full week of no food at the Dursleys. Oh, they'd given him water, and occasionally a juicebox, but nothing to eat. Unfortunately for them, starving makes uncontrolled magic more likely, not less. But, Harry thought, who could have been starving Snape? The usual candidate for "something has gone wrong in Harry's Life", Tom Riddle, wasn't a candidate. His punishments tended towards the backbreaking. Excrutiating pain, malevolent glee. Leaving someone to rot in a cupboard wasn't his style at all.
Harry rather belatedly realized that he didn't know Snape's eating habits at all. For all Harry knew, this was Snape's usual custom, picking at his food until it was time to leave. However, Harry Potter didn't think that Snape, of all people, would be so wasteful.
Snape seemed unconcerned by his appearance - but that wasn't unusual in the slightest.
Still, Harry Potter hoped that Malfoy wasn't carrying tales about this to his father. At this point, Snape didn't seem like he could adequately defend himself against a fly.
Harry Potter wasn't first to DADA, but he was far from last. He had been almost expecting to see Snape inside - even though he seemed to like arriving just in time to start class. Harry really wasn't sure what he expected. Was it the Professor lounging on a stiffbacked wooden chair, his lanky ungainly frame in some relaxed state? Or was it him leaning against a wall, looking smug and observing everyone as they entered?
Harry Potter took up residence half the room away from the entrance, his back against the wall. This time, instead of trying to figure out class dynamics, he just concentrated on assessing threats as they came in the door. The Hufflepuffs were assessed as being trustworthy - though since the girls had entered in a pack, Harry'd had to upgrade their threat level. Everyone knew Hufflepuffs fought well as a team - that even showed up in Quiddich, where innate talents could sometimes yield to raw determination and hard work. The Slytherins were the people who captured Harry's eyes the most, however - He'd have to learn some way to tell their danger level. It was tricky, as they were actively trying to hide it. You always had to wonder, were they merely being polite? Or was it an engineered trap?
Why couldn't it be both? Harry asked himself with a snap.
Cho Chang and the rest of the Ravenclaws, entering in pairs or solo, were assessed by how tightly they gripped their wand. Emotions seemed to hit the Ravenclaws worse than the rest of them, perhaps because they treasured intellect so much. With Gryffindors, emotions were expected, and thus everyone seemed to be quick to forgive - but the Ravenclaws? They looked on them with displeasure and dislike. Someone (like Luna) exhibiting overly many emotions was apt to be picked on, as indeed she had been.
Hermione was assessed nearly fully by her face, as was Ron Weasley - they were both volatile, and not good at hiding anger. And anger would be the only reason they'd be a threat to him, Harry thought firmly.
Snape flung himself into the room, his skeletal form sinking into his normally well-tailored clothes. "Today," He said, scampering onto the small podium. Strange, Harry thought, he doesn't seem almost to have noticed what a state he's in.
Snape continued, "We will be studying the Patronus Charm. Can anyone tell me what its primary use is?"
Ten people in the room raised their hands, and Harry was surprised to see that one of them was Seamus. Was he secretly someone who wanted a teacher's approval, yet didn't ever seem to work hard enough to gain it?
"Parkinson," Snape drawled, his birdlike form leaning over the lectern like a dipping bird.
"The Patronus Charm is useful for repelling Dementors." Parkinson said, her face schooled to a level of niceness that looked downright odd on her puggish face.
"Very good." Snape continued, "Here is the incantation. "Expecto Patronum!" " His wand moved in that oh-so-familiar, and practiced way. Snape's Patronus showed as a shimmer of silver light, falling.
"How many of you are able to cast a fully corporeal Patronus?" Snape asked, his eyes down on the lectern, looking at the papers he had entered with. So, Harry and everyone else from the Study Club (there had to be a better name, right? Somewhere?) saw that nearly the whole room was raising their hands. Ron and the Gryffindor boys (save Neville and Harry) wore identical matching grins, that seemed to say, "Take That!"
Snape finally looked up, "Here I have recorded -" Snape's mouth dropped open, and he slowly spun to take in the room. Well more than half the room had their hand up, though Harry noticed that none of the Slytherins did. Which was a flat out lie, but if Snape was going to criticize, at least it wouldn't be them - I bet that's their theory. Harry thought.
Snape's eyes had managed to bug out, as he looked around. As his gaze returned to the center of the class, Snape sent a stormy glare out, not at the Gryffindors in particular, but the entire class.
"Do you have any idea how much work it was to find these documents? Ten memoirs for even the minor mention of knowing this spell, and a hundred to get something worthy of reading?!" Snape roared. Harry blinked, remembering that he'd come to the conclusion that Snape wasn't actually angry when he was yelling.
Snape dashed the papers on the floor (the front row backed hesitantly backwards), and then set them ablaze, "I set you the readings, I gave you the syllabus! This was supposed to take the next month! You Dunderheads!" He was even stamping his feet (on the ashes that wouldn't go out to the white-cold gust of wind he had just chased that fire with). So this is what Snape chooses to do when he's clearly drained. Have a three-year-old's tantrum in the middle of class.
It took some time for Snape to calm his way down, and the smirks that the Gyrffindors were sending each other jangled Harry's nerves.
Harry at least had honed looking chastized down to an art - even when he didn't feel bad at all. If there was one emotion he could actually act through, it was that one. Belatedly, he put on that look, scraping the ground with his toe. Luckily, people had been facing front, mostly, and so had probably not noticed his rather belated assumption of the pose.
"While I attempt to come up with something that you overachievers haven't already studied, you are to pair off." Snape snapped.
Around the room, pupils swirled - Harry actually hadn't a preference, and thus was slightly surprised when Malfoy wound up as his partner. Ron and Hermione had partnered together and they were both giving him sympathetic looks. As well they might - as 'nice' as Malfoy'd been acting (by which Harry meant that he was sure Malfoy was trying to act nice, he just wasn't terribly good at it. Lack of practice, probably.), he wouldn't go light on Harry. And, in Snape's class? He was likely to go as hard as possible, barring the Unforgivables.
Harry knew a lot of spells, but most of his training on Non-Ministry Approved Magicks was to strike first and get the hell out of the way. That... was probably a bad plan here and now, because most of those 'spells' he didn't want Malfoy - and by extension Tom - to know about. Malfoy had really done them all a favor by showing that Mark.
Of course, it was Harry's job to convince Hermione and Ron that it really was a good thing. He hoped he wasn't misreading the whole situation, somehow.
Snape straightened in front of the class, his notes once more in front of him. His eyes shot rapidfire across the room, seeming to register something with each pause.
"Why did you choose the partners you did?" Snape asked mildly, and some students were foolish enough to raise their hands.
"We're friends." Boot and his friend said. They were close enough to be holding hands, though Harry wouldn't have put it that way to their face.
"Good work ethic." Chang said, looking at Nott as she said it.
"I don't have to worry about messing up his face." Draco Malfoy drawled beside Harry Potter. Harry shot him a startled look, as Draco pretend-pouted, "Someone broke it before me."
There were titters around the room at that - mostly Slytherins, but Parvati had been stifling a laugh too - as if concerned that someone would find her disloyal. After all the times that the Gryffindors had treated Harry that way, he honestly couldn't blame her.
"Today, we will work on teamwork. We shall start small, two by two." Snape purred, "Regrettably, that means that Mister Malfoy will not have the chance to disfigure Mister Potter's face. Today, at any rate." Snape actually managed to sound regretful about that too, though anyone truly looking at him saw the sardonic smirk in his eye.
Snape started calling names. Harry and Malfoy found themselves in the "capable duelers" bracket - along with Hermione and Ron, and very, very far away from Neville and Marietta (how'd that pairing happen? The people nobody would pick?), and Crabbe and Goyle.
If Harry'd been paired with anyone else, he'd have been discussing strategy with them, or at least making snide but accurate comments about other pairings (getting Hermione to laugh in class was always a worthy goal). As it was, they both stood stiffly, warily eyeing each other at periodic intervals - which made them seem like two male cats strutting and about to square off.
There were things you did in a battle that you'd never dare do in class. Vice versa was also true. Here they were sending stinging hexes and Stupefies back and forth. In a real battle, the spellset would be more varied, and more tricksy to work with, but the true task here was shielding and unshielding - developing a rapport with your partner (uhhgh, Malfoy), and giving as good as you got.
By the end of class, everyone was dripping with sweat (some people had absolute rivers running down their backs), and Harry could see some of the more beauty conscious girls trying to unsweatify themselves, to varying degrees of success. He had to give plaudits to Chang, who conjured up a scent so intoxicating that everyone stopped thinking about anyone's scent other than hers.
Naturally, Snape stopped this entirely with a glare, as Change wilted, finiting her spell at once. Which was a shame, because everyone (except perhaps Snape and his Slytherins) would prefer intoxication to the nose-bending stench of human sweat.
Before they could leave, Snape snarled, "Anyone who has not learned the Patronus should consider themselves considerably behind the rest of the class. I had planned to spend the next month working on this, so my office hours are open if any want to make use of them to learn this valuable - and newt-level skill. I will not waste the class's time with lessons that most people already have perfected." At least Snape had that going over Umbridge, his lessons were always carefully selected to get the best out of the class.
Harry packed slowly, managing to stay behind, as Snape turned to him, and asked, "I trust you have reason to waste my precious time between classes, Potter? Rather than say, coming to see me during my office hours?"
"I had detention the last two nights." Harry said, meeting his eyes, "The second because you weren't there the first. And another one for tonight."
"Ah, one of my loyal followers, no doubt. Draco Malfoy?" Snape drawled.
Harry met that with a simple nod, saying, "I think I understand, now, why you wanted an illicit club... there's plenty of folks that are happy to get one over on you. Makes them try harder, I think."
Snape smirked smugly, and continued, "And a secret that needs to be kept can be much more easily kept from more people, not less. If I'd done half the mixing of Slytherins and Gryffindors in class, there'd be twenty owls off to Death Eaters and their pestulent ilk."
"What else?" Snape prompted.
"It's harder to shrug off and not study when it's your friends - people what didn't have to do it - teaching." Harry said decisively.
"That'll be why Ron Weasley has improved so much over the last year and a bit, no doubt." Snape said smoothly.
Harry nodded, and asked, softly, "Can you cast Unforgivables in the Room of Requirement without being reported?"
Snape sighed, cradled his head in his hands, "I don't even want to know why you're asking that." Snape saw Harry's mouth start to open, and viciously cut him off, "The answer's yes, by the way. If you abuse the privilege, I'll find out, and you'll pay." That last bit was said with such assurance that Harry didn't for a second doubt it.
"Are... are you okay, sir?" Harry asked, with a trace of a stutter.
In less than an eyeblink, Snape had his wand trained on Harry's eye, his entire form in battlestance, eyes narrowed as he growled, "Care to ask that again?"
Harry straightened, himself, into something that would naturally have fit a military man about to salute. "No, sir." He felt, at least a little, relieved. Snape couldn't be too terribly hurt if his reactions were that fast, could he? Harry Hoped Not, at least. How like Snape to simply shrug off an expression of concern...
"Your detention tonight will be moved to Friday." Snape said with a snap to his voice. "You are dismissed."
The DA was just an hour short of curfew tonight, and Harry was watching as Boot and his bud carried them through an intricate discussion of shield spells - oddly reflecting what they'd been working on in class, though Harry was as certain as he could be that neither of them had been tipped by Snape into pulling the class this way. Perhaps it was just the power of suggestion? Harry'd think higher of that idea if Snape was honestly hiding in the room (or, in this case, under the bleachers) and thus able to assess who his targets were.
As Harry and other senior DA members demonstrated spells (to be fair, Malfoy did as well, as did Nott - the two talented Slytherins, or at least the ones who didn't mind that someone else knew that they could do intricate magic), Harry's mind wandered back to Severus Snape. Try as he might to be reassured by what Snape'd flat out told him, he was concerned. Even worried.
What could do that to Snape? Or was it a who?
And, alright, it wasn't just that Snape looked like a flattened piece of shite stuck to the ground after a whole bevy of trucks had rolled over it. It was that he wasn't eating. Harry'd spent enough time in the infirmary to know how quick magical folk could generally bounce back - but ... if you didn't eat, you didn't feed your magic.
And Snape wasn't eating.
By the time they finished for the night, it was minutes before curfew, and Draco Malfoy was sneeringly telling everyone, "Five minutes before I say go. Slytherins first, Gryffindors last. Don't let me catch you."
And, obscurely, Harry Potter had to smother a smile. Sometimes it was good to know someone playing both sides.
Walking back, Lavender Brown smiled at Harry Potter, and even tried to start up a conversation. It was so odd, that Harry really couldn't get more than a word out. To be perfectly fair, Lavender was the type to just keep talking, so not getting out a word turned out not to matter so much.
What was up with that?
Tuesday started out as a beast. It didn't seem to know how to get better from there, either.
Bad enough that Ron and Lavender were snogging at the breakfast table (couldn't even wait until people had eaten).
Worse, Hermione Granger was being ... well, catty. Insults and jibes that Ron would ordinarily just have laughed off, or at least said something to, falling flat on the table. It got to the point where Harry was considering actually saying something - anything, but, really, he had to ask himself - why bother?
It was just one of those days.
Classes were a chore, and it seemed like everything was colorless.
Harry hadn't a clue how he'd gotten into this depression - it surely wasn't the weather, bright actinic blue and glorious outside. Which just left him wanting a broomride - which would have been lovely if he'd had a free period.
Why hadn't he dropped Divination when he'd had the chance?
Harry knew that Hermione's classes met less often (they did give more homework, but at least that was on your own time).
This was a bleary, dreary day where Harry wished he hadn't gotten up in the morning.
Harry'd thought he might be sick, but he didn't actually feel bad, not physically. Going up two flights and back down again just for the spur of it showed him that much.
It took till dinnertime until he realized what was coming, that was how squashed flat he was feeling. Luckily, no one seemed to pick up on it, so long as he laughed at strategic intervals, and played with his food. Maybe there was a reason some of the girls thought he was "brooding and moody" It turns out when an entire class worth of girls decides to stalk you, it's easy to pick up on minutiae, if you are quiet and know a bit about hiding. This brought the first trace of a smile that Harry'd had all day to his face.
Ginny wanted to talk with him after dinner, but Harry'd put her off, saying that he'd promised Hermione that he'd go practice with her. Gin looked like she wanted to be invited along, but Harry knew better than to put more than one Weasley in a room with Malfoy. There was pushing the envelope, and then there was social suicide.
Hermione Granger was waiting for Harry when he arrived at the Room of Requirement. He was convinced she made the whole room brighter just by standing in it. He moved closer to her, as if he could suck up some of the colors simply by being near her.
"Harry, you aren't looking so well - are you sick?" Hermione asked, her warm brown eyes filled with that simple compassion she always seemed to master.
"Hardly." Harry Potter said laconically. "Up and down multiple flights of stairs, and not even winded."
"Well, then what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her hands on her hips. Demanding, not asking, as if she had the right... Well, in a large way, she did, Harry thought contemplatively.
"Dunno, I just... Did you ever wonder what would be, if the world was black and white? I kind of feel like that..." Harry said, "Not in my eyes, I mean," Harry tapped his temple, "In here."
"It sounds like you're... depressed, Harry." Hermione said warmly, the color in her voice a sharp contrast to his flatness.
"Oh. Is that bad?" Harry asked, glad, at least, that he could finally put a word to what he was feeling.
"It can be. Were you thinking about anything that made you sad?" Hermione asked.
"No. And... I don't feel sad. I don't feel anything." Harry Potter said.
"Well, look lively, and we'll see about waking you up!" Hermione said with a more manic grin.
Draco Malfoy ambled in, with a swagger worthy of John Wayne (how he managed to pull that off without Wayne's shoulders, Harry had no idea). "Alright, are you two ready?" Malfoy's grin was sly, and promised not just danger, but ... things that Harry knew he wasn't equipped right now to face.
"Let's just wait for Ron..." Harry Potter said slowly, lowly. He was honestly feeling flat enough that even having Malfoy around felt better. Maybe once Ron showed up, he'd be able to... wake up, just a bit more.
That thought brought coffee from the Room, and Harry drank it hastily, looking at both of them.
"What's wrong with him?" Malfoy asked Granger, and Harry struggled to actually feel the umbrage that he knew would normally come.
"Depressed. Leeg, like he's missing emotions or something." Hermione Granger said, and Draco Malfoy looked over at Harry with some surprise.
"What in Merlin's good name have you been practicing?" Malfoy asked.
Harry Potter just answers with a laconic shrug, "Dunno what you're thinking, but probably not that."
From a point near the door, Ron laughed, and it came out cold. "What, him practice? Are you sure you aren't the one poppin' something?"***
"What's he doing here, anyway?" Malfoy said directing it toward Granger, "Don't tell me, he came to get a piece of me." Malfoy's eyes sparkled with malice, as he looked over at Ron and said, "Hey-lo, sugar," batting his eyelashes at Ron Weasley.
For a wonder, Ron just plain ignored Malfoy's baiting, turning to look at Harry. "You're right, though, he doesn't look... right." Ron pivoted, piercing eyes suddenly hard, "Why do you care, anyway? Since when?"
Malfoy balanced on his heels, lacing his hands behind his back, "Oh, I don't - not like that, at any rate. If he's too dumb to fight, well, I don't think it'd be quite the wise move for me to murder Harry Potter."
"You mean to fight for real, or nearly so." Hermione Granger said, her voice the melodious sound of reason.
Draco Malfoy merely looked over and nodded.
"Alright," Harry said, nearly growling it, though there wasn't a trace of anger in his voice, making it sound grim and bleak. "Wake Me Up."
Draco Malfoy responded with a razor thin smile, his wand in his hand before he'd even assumed battle stance.
Harry Potter knew the practical way to settle the fighting children. Do what they came here for. As they fought, he slipped more into the "on the tiptoes of your feet" mental stance, slowly - ever so slowly - bringing himself out from the doldrums where he had been buried.
By the time the fights were ended, they were half bruised (luckily little blood, and most of it concealable. "Shite, Lavender's going to think I..." Ron muttered at the end, and Hermione gave him a deadly glare. What was that about, Harry thought, as he dressed his wounds with the practiced hand of an old soldier. Malfoy was more of a brat about it, of course, bemoaning every fresh bruise on his pale skin. Of course, they would show up more distinctly on it.
With a bit of spring in his step, Harry walked back to the Tower, humming, "Hey Jude." Harry hadn't listened to much music at the Dursleys, but when the car radio was on, it was always an oldies channel, and so, despite no conscious effort, he'd had nearly a hundred songs memorized. He'd liked the songs he'd heard, too. He wished there was more music at Hogwarts. Hell, music might even make a Slytherin smile.
*Snape's not using the front gates, which are humongous. He's using a postern, which is much more reasonable for one person.
**it's striking, in that it's firm and decisive, but it's a glide - he touches first with his toes, and then with his heels, and always, always as silent as possible.
***Ron's talking about popping potions. Sorry if the slang doesn't come across well.