Harry and Ron had been heading up to Divination, when Harry heard Malfoy's slow drawl - "Granger" it said. It was a tone that made his nerves prick, and he was a half step slow behind Ron. And then a full step. And then, Harry slipped into the darkened corridor, heading towards the hallway between Arithmancy and Ancient Runes.
He heard Pansy's shrill giggle next, and the feeling of dread in his gut swelled. He has an audience, lovely.
"What's a matter, Mudblood? Can't find a proper bit of thread?" Pansy's voice cut, hard like diamond, sharp like silken thread.
"You'd think you'd be able to recognize your betters - by the cut of our jib, if nothing else." Malfoy drawled.
"That implies that she's not willfully blind, doomed to dig in the mud like the swine that she really is." Pansy giggled at this, as Harry drew close, his wand already drawn.
"We're all wearing the same uniform," Hermione said, stamping her foot - she'd have crossed her arms except they were covered in books.
"That's where you're wrong," Malfoy drawled, "Of course, you're too proud of your inferiority to ever admit that you are wrong. Rather a complex if you think about it." Shite, Harry thought, I hate it when Malfoy starts talking sense.
It sounded like the whole thing was breaking up, as Hermione Granger said, "Get out of my way." in the tone that said punching was the next recourse. Even Malfoy didn't have that much masochism in him today, apparently.
The Slytherins walked by - Harry, still unseen, got a wicked grin on his face. Leaning out, he cast silently - and turned Pansy Parkinson's stockings red and gold.
Pity it wouldn't hold. He'd have loved to see the look on Hermione's face.
It was a rare thing for Ron and Harry to arrive in the library without Hermione basically dragging them there. And so the look on Hermione's face was sheer surprise, followed shortly by delight. "There you are! You really should get started on your-" Hermione started in, her eyes alight with passion.
Harry smothered a grin as he sat down; Ron sat down with more of a thump, his face stormy in a way that presaged war. Harry didn't move for any books, and just waited until Ron started to speak.
When he did, it was like a firehose - rough and fast.
"What is up with Malfoy?" Ron hissed, his bright eyes nearly slits in his face.
"What, you mean...?" Hermione asked, and Harry thought back to what he'd seen earlier. Surely Malfoy hadn't taunted Ron about Hermione's lack of fashion sense...?
"He seemed like he actually cared." Ron said, half laughing brokenly, like some sort of mangled doll, "That's a crock, right?"
Harry Potter shrugged languidly, saying softly, "Maybe he does care."
Both Gryffindors trained shocked eyes on him, and Hermione said with venom, "But he's such an arrogant, prejudiced prat!"
"Maybe," Harry said softly, and he could see Hermione's brain starting to whirl. "He doesn't go out of his way to pick on anyone but us, you know that, right?"
"What's that got to do with anything?" Ron asked, his anger half hooded in confusion.
"Caring." Harry said, letting the word drop. "He cares what we think about him, because he tries to influence it. Goes out of his way to."
"Goes out of his way to make us hate him?" Hermione asked calmly, her eyes wide. It was clear that Hermione had never even dreamed of someone that twisted. Not in her entire life, or all the books she'd read.
"So, he cares." Harry said, his mouth quirking into a smile that came out more like a smirk. "Now the question is - what lies inside that caring?"
"Hate?" "Snobbishness?" "Arrogance?" Both his friends answered at once, their answers overlapping as they poured them out.
"It might be hate," Harry said, knitting his fingers together under the table. "It might not. But whatever it is, it relates to us, in particular." And Harry was not going to mention Malfoy kissing Granger. He could see some vestige of that knowledge on the edge of Hermione's face; most of her was still thinking about hate, though. Which was fine with him, he wasn't about to try to solve the riddle that was Draco Malfoy. Acknowledging that there was a riddle was quite enough for him, thank you very much.
Harry had arrived early to DA practice, and with him had come half the Gryffindors, if not more. The Hufflepuffs had arrived early too, and Harry thought he'd seen Draco Malfoy off strutting about, proud as a duckling with his Inquisitor's Badge. Or whatever Snape was calling the damned quislings.
Perfect, Harry Potter thought, with a sly smile that he took care to not let reach his face. "Oi, do you remember the time Snape decided I needed detention for taking a library book outside?"
"Oh, what did you get for that one?" Colin Creevey asked.
"Dissecting mugworts and devenoming fanged snails."
"Oh, I can top that one," Susan Bones put in, "Snape decided that my purple Strengthening potion was a dash too pink, and gave me detention for a week!"
"He never gives me detention, I just get that look." Hermione put in, aping it to the laughter of everyone around. "You know, the one that says you're lower than dirt, and don't deserve to be in his classroom." Harry wanted to chuckle at that one, wanted to see the look on Hermione's face if she ever figured out what Snape truly thought of her. But no.
"Do you remember when I had to dissect shrivelfigs for their seeds?" Harry put in.
"Oh, yeah, you got that one for breathing!" Ron said.
"To be fair," Harry said with some chagrin, "I did have a cold, so I was breathing rather loudly."
Neville, who had been doing his usual 'hide in plain sight', spoke up, "Here's one. My first year, Snape pulls me aside after class, shuts and locks the door. Then he casts a silencing spell, and that's when I know I'm in for it. Because that means that he doesn't want anyone to hear. And he sits there, studying me with that hawklike nose of his, and those beady black eyes." Harry had to fight to not chuckle at that, it was a description they all knew well.
"And then he starts in on me, laying in - calling me half a dozen things you'd figure he'd not know about. And it's not enough to call me names, no - he's got examples for every single one of them. So it's truth he's using, not a shred of exaggeration. Calling me a coward - reminding me of when I hunkered away from Malfoy. Calling me a failure - reminding me that I never did manage the first transfiguration spell." Harry was starting to shift a bit uncomfortably - he hadn't actually expected something quite this soul-baring - it was tough just listening to it, tough not to get angry.
"I'm not saying a word, mind. Listening, yes, but not saying anything." Neville says, "And I know that this is getting to him, because he finishes listing my faults, and then looks at me and asks sharply, "Well?!" "
"And I say, as solid as stone, "Are you going to expel me, sir? Since I'm such a failure?" Snape whirls, stalking off and then coming back, and he's looming over me, and he says, in a voice soft as silk, "You, Mister Longbottom, are no fun." "
And the Gryffindors are laughing at that, Hermione giggling out, "he sounds just like what Malfoy might say," - and the Hufflepuffs are laughing too, but the Slytherins are exchanging uneasy glances, perhaps unsure about hearing about this side of their Head of House. He's well known to beat up on Potter, of course, and to some extent on the rest of the Gryffindors - but this exchange? It hints at more. Much more.
Serves the bloody bastard right if he's listening in, Harry Potter thinks with a vengeance, glad when the Ravenclaws come in and start to teach.
Was there ever a time, Harry Potter thought with some chagrin, that he'd actually managed a full semester without wandering Hogwarts' halls at night?
And so it was today as well, walking up and down the halls, up the staircases that were never the same on the way down. It had been something Neville had said, just a hint of truth - a pulling back of lies; of what Snape pretended to be. For the cheerless disciplinarian didn't understand the concept of fun. Was that what he'd been like? Enjoying riling, getting a rise out of his... Gryffindor friend? It was almost hard to credit - and yet, Harry'd seen the evidence himself. For hadn't all of his training been a cruel trick, if a brutal and necessary one? That wasn't the action of someone uncaring... that was certainly not the action of dour, dreary Snape. Who was this man, who had been his teacher, once?
And then another thought came to his mind. Malfoy - was he, as Snape, the type who enjoyed riling people up? Was that his idea of fun? A game?!
Harry'd felt real hatred. Or at least it had been the closest a preteen could come to it, or so he'd believed at the time. Now, though... Harry couldn't imagine what Neville felt towards Bellatrix Black, had always felt. Rage internalized, rage restrained, rage bound. No, for all the hatred? he'd felt towards the Malfoy brat, it wasn't nearly the rich poison green of Neville's hatred. Wasn't even the fury he held towards Pettigrew, or towards Tom Riddle, even.
He'd been young then, and hadn't looked back, not once. It was easy to carry on a hate, to pull it beyond where it would naturally have extended. Perhaps that was what Malfoy had been doing as well - or perhaps, it had never been hatred at all for him. Harry solidly hoped that Malfoy hadn't meant to be friendly. Both because it had hurt, badly, and because... because Harry didn't want to pity the blond. He'd rather punch him than apologize, and figured Malfoy was that way too.
-It was just a flicker-
Out of the corner of his eye.
flat on the floor, harry looked up, his magic coiling around his hands.
Snape, skeletal still, his wand already casting - his movements ossified to the point of sharpness - bones clattering, instead of muscles tugging and bending.
A figure out of nightmare.
A figure out of the deepest night.
Harry's magic lept alive, as he rolled, the shield wrapped around him like a bivouac, a bivvy sack shimmering white as it took the spells.
"Stupefy" Harry hissed, his left hand sketching the picture-rune.
Snape shielded, and, with his wand and his right hand, Harry sent back a petrify.
"Expelliarmus." Snape hissed, and Harry realized that this entire battle was being conducted at a whisper.
On and on they went, whirling up and down stairwells, into and out of classrooms, leaving a trail of unintentional destruction in their wake.
Finally, Harry called, "Hold" his body straining for more air.
"The Sandman will have his due." Snape said, stretching to the point where Harry could hear a few joints pop, "After, that is, you finish repairing the damages." Snape's eyes, ever sharp, rested on Harry - somehow softly, like a blade turned flat against skin. Dangerous, but, momentarily, not a threat.
With a slight sigh, Harry Potter got to work, trying not to let himself wonder about the points.
Harry Potter woke the next morning bruised and a dash battered. And then promptly thought of fried chicken. With a skill that most Wizarding Children never learned, Harry dressed swiftly and silently, heading outside for a run to limber himself up. He liked the solitude, the burning feel in his muscles as he pushed himself, not to speed but to endurance - that ground-eating wolfish lope that was his father's father's father's ancestral gift to him. For millenia, man had been runners - bred not for speed, but to hunt and chase - the long, long run that made your prey's heart break from stress alone.
No prey to hunt today, but the joy of the run was not in the ending, but in the journey itself. Harry was not surprised when he saw in a bit of mud, three large footprints appearing - heading the other way. They looked big enough to be Snape's feet - though with wizarding footwear, it was hard to tell, as they lacked the distinctive traction of sneakers.
As the miles leapt on, Harry found himself relieved that it was morning, as false dawn faded into true. He wasn't in trouble, incredibly enough, for being outside on this fair morning. Deep inside himself, he reminded himself of all the horrors that had been about Hogwarts at night, and had to concede - deep in his heart where truth lurked on the best of days, and scalded like the sun on the worst - that the teachers had their reasons for wanting students safe abed.
Snape's class. For once, Harry'd managed to slip out of active duty, sitting on the sidelines, watching the melee. The Slytherins were surprisingly good at working together, though every move was slipshod at best. It was the look of people learning, actively learning, how to work together. The Gryffindors had more practice, and the ones on the field moved as one - like a large turtle, slow and steady, but with a snap that would take a finger off if you let it. The Slytherins, though - they were reacting less to other groups, and more to each other. Like each and every had a weather eye on the next person - and they were adjusting, accommodating each other. It was like watching a leaderless pack, where first one and then another would take over - and everyone else would bend around them. It was still forming, too, Harry could sense that. But there was a reason he'd work so well with Malfoy last class period, and it hadn't been him. That had been Malfoy, working as his second, ceding the lead and the control entirely. At some point, Harry thought, he was going to have to talk with Malfoy. Harry Potter wasn't looking forward to that, not the least of which was that Malfoy could be prickly, and it was difficult to get information out of him in the first place, let alone if he was trying to hide it. In the main, though, Harry Potter felt wary. Malfoy used words like weapons, and knew how to make them cut deep. Talking to the ice-blond was an invitation to bleed.
As Harry watched, he had a different thought than any that he saw on the field. He'd try it out next study session, hopefully.
Harry went to the room of requirement at the end of the day, with Hermione and Ron on either side of him - their petty, merry bickering feeling much more like home than the Dursleys' had ever felt. Harry opened the door to find no one there, and they stood inside, waiting, a good ten minutes. "Ron... " Harry started, and - to his surprise - Hermione interupted.
She said, "Ron, I know Snape said you weren't to teach us anything... but can you at least show us what you've learned?" Harry nearly boggled at this, it was a smooth, easy ploy - scratch his ego before telling him to shove off so they could really practice. If what Snape said was true, Ron wouldn't be able to learn the way they had, so...
"You'll have to cast some spells at me," Ron said, his irrepressible grin peeking out of his serious face.
"Done." Harry and Hermione echoed each other, as their wands were drawn.
Harry cast almost on automatic, letting his feet and his wand and his mouth take over, as his mind was astounded at what Ron was doing. He had to know a thousand different spells, and there was no reasoning, no pattern to his use of any of them. Just what had they been teaching Ron this summer? **
Thursday was the morning that owls came to Hogwarts. Dozens of them, flying from every direction. And they were all school owls. All to the Slytherin table, where the students looked suspiciously pale-faced. Except for Malfoy, of course, his face was always that color. The letters that they bore were wrapped with a single cord, silver and green braided together. Not a sigil, not a seal. Just that simple cord.
Goyle and Crabbe gave small, soft sighs as they read theirs. Millicent gave a grim smile. Malfoy, though, his eyes narrowed, and he shot a venomous glare at ... the Head Table. Specifically, to Severus Snape. Harry's green eyes tracked the blond's grey, finding Snape at the end, his eyebrow raised in a subtle sort of challenge. The Detentions! Harry thought, inwardly exulting to find Malfoy, of all people, getting punished by Snape. From the look on Malfoy's face, the punishment would not be easy.* Nott and Pansy looked irate - ten shades redder than Malfoy ever got, no matter how upset he was. Well, ever since second year, at any rate. Had Malfoy really meant to call Hermione a mudblood?
Friday had dawned wet. It was cool, but not cold, and Harry had grinned at the feeling of water on his feet as he ran through the grass in the morning. He was dressed in only shorts and a t-shirt, and probably was breaking about a hundred different dress codes. Not that it mattered, he was outside, and well before most people woke up anyway.
Not to mention, he'd change before heading back inside. He had a key to the Quiddich shed anyway, and yesterday's robes were inside.
He hadn't liked the feeling he'd gotten on Wednesday, when he was short of breath after ny jthree trips round , he hadn't liked it at all. Harry was reminded of how light on his feet Snape had been - running quietly alongside Harry, seemingly uncaring of the miles they ate under their feet.
After the fifth circuit, Harry'd completely stopped looking for Snape, though some deep instinct of his own told him that the Professor was doing laps as well. Harry was glad he wasn't trying to do the invisibility thing - his cloak was hot, and he didn't know any spells for true invisibility.
As he ran, he reviewed the day's potion (luckily, Snape hadn't shredded his Potions syllabus). He let his feet make impressions, as he came upw ith motions to cue himself on the various cutting methods. By the end, it looked like he was doing the twist. Harry could only hope his memory aids would actually work in class. Well, that and that he'd remember to not actually start singing "Twist Again!"
Because singing in Potions class sounded like a sure ticket to an entire month's detention.
"Mister Potter, you are disturbing the rest of the class." Snape solemnly intoned, "If you cannot manage to control yourself, you may complete the potion outside of class."
Harry fought not to wince, and instead just covered his face with his hand. I don't even know what I did wrong. Wait... use that. Harry's eyes flashed killing green, as he belted abruptly into Snape's looming face, "I don't even know what I did wrong!"
"You've wasted enough of the class's time, Potter. You are dismissed, and you will have detention tonight at seven." Snape drawled slowly, and it was only after Harry was out of the room entirely that he realized that he'd actually been assigned the same detention twice.
Ron and Harry were coming out of Divination, going down the flights of stairs towards the Great Hall. They weren't expecting Hermione to lunge into their path, her brown eyes blazing. "Hermione?" Harry ventured cautiously, remembering the last time Hermione's eyes had been that particular shade of dark chocolate - the one with habaneros in it. Blood had been shed, after all.
"Ron, Harry - With me. Now." Hermione said, stalking off at the longest pace her short legs could carry her at, as if she was imitating Snape. Ron and Harry exchanged a look, and followed at a trot.
Three turns down the hall, and Hermione turned into a classroom. "It's Snape." Hermione ground out, and Harry allowed himself to relax, just a bit. Hermione's hands were twisting her skirts in her agitation, as she said, "I heard him today, with Pince." It was only then that Harry noticed she'd completely neglected to say Professor.
Harry's lips pursed and his eyes narrowed, as he asked, "What did he say? What did Snape do?!" It took next to no effort to fuel his rage - anything that got Hermione Granger this worked up was bound to be significant.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said, her warm brown eyes catching his, "He's trying to ban books! Books from the library!"
"What... kind of books?" Harry ventured, over Ron's, "What a git."
"Defense against the Dark Arts." Hermione said with a stomp. "Only Madame Pince looked, well, pinched and annoyed."
Ron said, "Isn't that her usual expression?"
"No! Not to me, at any rate." Hermione snapped back, "She said that she'd put them somewhere for safekeeping - in the morning."
"So... she doesn't really want to...?" Harry asked, trying to keep up with it.
"Yeah! And I'm not about to let Snape ban the best books from the library!" Hermione said, stamping her foot. Shite, no wonder she was so outraged. And... banning defense books? Harry would be lying if he said he didn't smell a rat. But why would Snape need to manipulate Hermione? She'd study the books by herself if ... if they didn't have their study sessions.
"What can we do?" Harry asked, trying to look frustrated and sympathetic, and not like he wanted to start cackling at Snape's shenanigans.
"All three of us are going to abscond off with the books. Snape put them up in the center of Madame Pince's round desk. All we have to do is distract her."
Ron responded, "How do we do that?"
"Book Emergency" Harry and Hermione volunteered at once.
Hermione continued, "I can do it. Then you two can grab the books from Pince's desk."
And then what?" Harry prompted, "I'm not putting them into my dorm room. Snape'd really chew my hide for that, evne if he wanted them hid."
"In the Room of Requirement. We can use them to study ... at our study sessions."
Somehow, helping a fuming Hermione hide books in the Room of Requirement had turned into sharing Ron's pain at listening to a furious Hermione making timetables and schedules.
Harry Potter had, previous to this point, no bloody idea that it was possible to be rageful whilst scribbling timetables.
They just... seemed so dry.
But, as all good pyromaniacs will tell you, that just meant that they were more combustible. Which, when Hermione Granger was upset, was never a good thing.
Harry pulled himself away from his thoughts to lunge at the current scrap of parchment that was being needlessly endangered by the lightning spluttering from Hermione's frizzy hair.
"Erm. Maybe I could write the schedules, while you do the thinking, Hermione?" Harry asked awkwardly.
It had been over an hour, and Harry's hand was going numb. Hermione hadn't wanted to have everyone in their study group doing the same spell, so she'd split them up by houses (so that people could study with their friends while they weren't there), and Ron was just starting to argue that they shouldn't teach the Slytherins unforgivables. Harry, stretching his cramped hand, failed to see Ron going pale across from him.
So when Severus Snape spoke, in that slithery, feline voice, right above Harry's shoulder, Harry sprang to his feet in surprise, his wand already half out. "Mister Potter" was all that Snape'd said, and Harry was already starting to blush, when Snape drawled, "I wouldn't, if I were you, Mister Potter." Harry let his wand drop to the table with a clatter, "Need I remind you that attacking a Professor is grounds for expulsion?"
Harry, slumping into his seat, looked over his shoulder at Snape, saying gruffly, "No."
"Still no respect for your superiors, I see." Snape drawled, "Are you planning on skiving off from your detention too?"
"No, I am not." Harry grit through his teeth.
"Then follow along, and quickly." Snape said, disappearing towards the front of the library in a swirl of black cloth.
"D' y' suppose he knows that his detention is in a good half hour?" Ron asked.
"Undoubtedly," Hermione growled back, "and it's only fifteen minutes from the library to his office."
Harry's eyes glinted, as he growled, "I told you he was out to get me." before he hurried off, his hurriedly stuffed bag uncomfortable on one of his shoulders. This had to be the first time Harry'd ever been looking forward to a detention. Snape not waiting for the scheduled time meant something was up. Harry'd just not figured out what... yet.
Snape was perfectly silent - not a footstep, not a word, not anything, until they were both inside his office. At which point he cast spells, and yet more spells, and, after the last spell was cast, he keyed a ward that looked more complicated that Harry had ever seen before.
By this point, Harry was starting to wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into. Was it Order Business? Something else entirely?
"Now, you wanted to speak to me." Snape said, lacing his hands.
"How did you-"
"Your mind, Potter" Snape said coldly, "If you do not close it, it leaks. Yours, in particular, leaks loudly."
Harry shuffled his feet, and tried to grasp the words to an apology that would actually be sincere.
"Now, hurry up and talk, as you're going to serve an actual detention today."
"But I haven't-" Harry said.
"Done anything?" Snape snarled. "I believe the operative word there is yet. You can serve an a priori detention then."
Harry Potter's jaw dropped, and he started to say - well, he wasn't really sure what, as Snape interrupted, "As you'll undoubtedly do something to deserve detention within the next twenty four hours, it won't even be that much in advance." Snape looked down his long nose at Harry, and said, "It's not like I'm punishing you for something that you'll do after Christmas." Harry ruefully admitted that he had no clue how Snape managed to make Christmas sound like a curse, but somehow he managed.
"What do you know that I don't?"
"Plenty of things. As it so happens, it is relatively unimportant that there is an unexpected visitor arriving at Hogwarts tommorrow."
"If the visitor's unexpected, how do you know about it?"
"Certain people are dreadfully predictable." Snape snarked with his deadpan face.
"Care to tell me who it is?" Harry shot back, eyes flashing.
"Hm." Snape said, lacing his hands together, "I could, but why should I - when not telling you will leave you on tenterhooks for most of the day?"
"That's not fair!" Harry Potter shot back.
"Live so rarely is." Snape responded, looking implacable.
Harry crossed his arms and tried a different tack, "You are so unbelievably petty." He was glad that he managed to make that sound ... strong and insulting, rather than whining and upset.
"I'm nearly never petty without a good point." Snape countered.
Well now, that was an idea. "You know that someone's coming to Hogwarts - but you don't think I could guess, or you'd have told me." Harry said slowly, "But... I am certain to do some form of wrongdoing in the next twenty-four hours - not to the level of being expelled, but merely getting detention."
Snape nodded slowly, his eyes sharp.
"Is Victor Krum coming to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, getting excited almost despite himself.
"No. I knew you wouldn't possibly guess." Snape said, looking smug.
Harry paced around the room for a few minutes, thinking hard. He was vaguely surprised that Snape let him move around like that - I mean, sure, Snape liked to pace himself, but he was the teacher. Finally, Harry shook his head, "Alright, I give up."
"Now, you did have something you wanted to talk with me about, Potter?" Snape countered.
"Yes, I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind coming up with some more duties for Draco Malfoy." Harry Potter said.
"Oh?" Snape responded, "What kind of duties?"
Hrm. Harry thought furiously, having not really have thought about that before, "Maybe more patrols? Having him in the room during our... study sessions puts everyone on edge. And he's less likeable than most of the other Slytherins."
Snape nodded slowly, "And you'd really like to actually practice wandless magic with Miss Granger?"
Harry wheeled around, his bright green eyes wide as he realized that Snape had just admitted to something. Granted, it wasn't a big thing, or something that Harry hadn't expected, but still. "Erm. Yes, sir." Crap. then he knew about the stupid prank that Harry had pulled.
"On the contrary, that prank wasn't stupid at all." Snape said, and Harry started, belatedly realizing that Snape had simply responded to something that Harry was thinking. Man, that was totally creepy. "I always appreciate the chance to see how I am perceived from as many eyes as possible. It allows me to finetune the act, so to speak."
"So, you want people to think of you as mildly terrifying?" Harry asked, adding "Sir" on the end just to try and not sound so cheeky.
"If they didn't, do you honestly think the Weasleys would study at all?" Snape said. "Nobody takes Professor Sprout seriously, which is mostly fine. Herbology isn't generally a dangerous subject. Potions, on the other hand..." Snape looked grim.
"You've seen it, haven't you?" Harry prompted. "Potions accidents."
"Permanent ones, yes." Snape said, "Some even lethal. Others precipitated by me."
Harry was wide-eyed at that. Just staring at Snape. "You... you... what?!"
"Repeat that to anyone and you'll regret it." Snape said, his eyes sparkling, though his lips were pulled down into a scowl.
"Understood, sir." Harry crisply responded back.
At this point, Harry had something he wanted to ask - that'd been curled up inside his brain (thankfully) until now. And yet, he didn't know quite how to phrase it. So, Harry sat there, thinking.
"Well? Out with it, Potter." Snape demanded.
"Why'd you force Hermione Granger to steal the books? You know if you asked her to, she'd have read whatever you thought was best." Harry inquired cautiously.
"Of course she would have," Snape said with a snort, "Her incessant pursuit of myriad veins of knowledge was never in dispute."
"You... You wanted her angry." Harry advanced.
"Not particularly." Snape sniffed, "What I wanted, and what I got, was one Hermione Granger that no one is going to dare cross."
Harry simply looked at Snape.
"How often does your friend Weasley shrug off Granger, when she says you really ought to study?" Snape inquired, "For that matter, how often do you?"
Harry's face twisted into a scowl, "Often enough to regret it now."
"Exactly." Snape sniffed, "So, a righteous, sanctimonious Hermione Granger - one willing to bestow dire consquences if ignored - was precisely what your little study group needs."
"How are you constantly one step ahead?" Harry nearly whispered. It was, in a way, nearly awe-inspiring. The level of careful, meticulous manipulation to get Hermione Granger to the point where she was fire and fury...
"It helps when no one else even realizes there's a game." Snape said. "You'll find the game increases dramatically in complexity with more players."
"Now, as to your detention..." Snape drawled, and Harry suppressed a groan. "I will be creating four potions of extreme volatility and contagion."
"Contagion?" Harry Potter prompted, as he'd never even heard the word used with regard to potions.
"Put the brewing of two of them too close together, and they'll explode." Snape said, leaning over Harry Potter.
"Oh." Harry said in a small voice. He was always learning things, even if they weren't always pleasant ones.
"I will be completing one in each tower of Hogwarts." Snape said, "You will be pulling live cattails from the Lake and bringing them to me. You will do so as quickly as possible, and without casting a single spell while holding them."
"But... but won't I get... everything... muddy?" Harry stammered, a bit conflicted about telling Snape the obvious hole in argument.
"You'd better be quick enough to avoid Argus Filch, then, hadn't you?"
Snape's smug look was mocking, as Harry Potter said gloomily, "Yes sir."
"Don't think I didn't notice you panting after your laps." Snape said smoothly, before turning and heading up to check on his potions.
Harry, glumly, headed outside to the Black Lake. His clothes were going to be ruined. It was easy enough to clean dirt off, but this was muck and this was stink.
Up and down and Up and down, and Up and down, with those cattails trying to curlaround his arms, again and again and again. Every step a squelch, with sounds of splurt splort splat as gobbets of thick black mud dripped onto the floor at random intervals.
*Understatement! Care to guess what's in store for Mister Malfoy?
**I had to do something with Ron. The way the books do it, he's cannon fodder at best. More to come, feel free to guess while you can.