Harry was almost done with his detention, which was a good thing as it was nearing curfew. He'd even managed to see Snape inside one of the laboratories - Snape hadn't said a word to Harry, but he hadn't needed to, either. Harry'd seen from the slight tension of Snape's frame as he came in the door, that Snape knew perfectly well that he was there.

"Last batch." Harry stated clearly (leaving off the sir as they weren't completely in private. Harry descended the steps (for what seemed like the twentieth time, but which was actually the twenty-fourth. Harry'd gotten his second wind somewhere around the fifth, though, so it hadn't been as bad as it could have been.)**

As he left the room, Harry stared downward in horror, not at his feet (which where hopeless, not to mention soaked and starting to feel like they burned***), but at the staircase below. It was completely covered in mud - Harry'd somehow managed to hit the bannister even, and that was without using it!

The voice of experience in his head said, "This is going to take forever to clean." This was followed shortly by, "but at least I don't have to clean it."

Somehow, on Harry's way down, he'd managed to be near Filch's actual rooms (which, granted, he hadn't known where they were to avoid them) - at the exact moment that Filch emerged. Or, at least, tried to emerge.

Instead of actually emerging, he stood with his jaw dropped, and mouthed words that Harry was sure he shouldn't say. Heck, he was sure Filch shouldn't say them either. There might be firsties about, after all. Harry considered running, except... from personal experience, that would be taken as evidence of guilty, and Harry sure wasn't responsible for all this. He'd had orders, and he'd let Filch deal with the responsible party. Or, at least, that was the goal. Harry hoped to hell this worked, because the look on Filch's face strongly suggested he wouldn't be joking about thumbscrews this time.

Finally, Filch's mouth closed, and his burning eyes found Harry Potter. "Potter! Did you do this!"

"Yes, sir. My detention, sir." Harry Potter said, and Filch's spare, thin face reddened to the point of being brighter than Ron's hair.

"Ah, Filch, there you are." Snape said, in a disturbingly friendly voice, appearing from a cross-hallway.

"Professor Snape! Would you happen to know how Mister Potter has managed to coat the entire floor and most of the walls in stinking mud?"*

"I would, in fact." Snape said, smirking.

"Well? How did he manage such a feat? Lad claims it was his detention..." Filch said skeptically, giving Snape the hairy eyeball.

"And so it was," Snape said, moving through the muck without hesitation. "As a rather fortunate coincidence," Harry swore he saw Snape's eyes twinkling, "I happen to have some other detentions tomorrow morning."

Filch looked marginally happier, as if this was a normal thing, and he could see something coming that Harry Potter couldn't. "Izzat a fact, sir?"

"Indeed," Snape said, "How would you like to take tonight and all of Saturday off?"

"That would be most agreeable, sir." Filch said, and tried to look happy. It was a foreign look on his face, in so far as Harry had ever seen it. But then again, it looked like he was always on duty, and cleaning up after an entire castle - seven floors, plus the dungeons, plus the towers on top? That was not a job that was exactly easy.

"Tomorrow, my Slytherins will learn how to clean without magic." Snape purred, his eyes sparkling.

"I'll have the mops ready," Filch said.

"Bring a toothbrush as well," Snape responded.

"Is someone cleaning the Owlry then?" Filch asked, excited. As far as Harry knew, no one had ever cleaned the Owlry. Though it probably wasn't entirely Filch's fault, as owl droppings were everywhere, giving the delightful crunching feel of small bones breaking under your feet, whenever you went through there.

"Indeed." Snape said, "Potter, return to your dormitory at once."

"No sooner said than done." Harry Potter said, hurrying off before either of them could come up with something else for him to do... after curfew. Besides, he wanted to be up early to see the looks on the Slytherins' faces! This was going to be good.

Harry had made his way hurriedly back to Gryffindor Tower, somewhat surprised to see that Ron wasn't waiting for him. He'd always seemed convinced that Snape would eat Harry or something. Then again, with his temper, it was an actual possibility... Or so Harry'd thought, last year and before. Given that, was it any wonder that his friends felt similarly?

Hermione was... waiting for him in the Common Room - by which Harry meant that she'd fallen asleep with a book in her lap, "Hermione," he said softly, shaking her shoulder and watching her curly locks ripple with the motion.

"Wha-?"

"Time for bed."

"Oh, good." Hermione said, snuggling back into the couch.

Rolling his eyes, Harry shook her a bit harder, and Hermione blinked awake. "Oh, there you are! I must have fallen asleep or something."

"Let's get to bed. Detention was exhausting." Harry said gently.

"What did he have you do?"

"Fetch-n-carry from the Black Lake, as you can see." Harry looked down ruefully at his still muddy shoes. He'd known how to fix his robes to stop dripping, but the boots themselves were being stubborn.

"Hmm..." Hermione said, stretching back into a yawn. "I think I know a spell for that..." About five spells later, the boots were gleaming.

"I can always count on you, Hermione!" Harry said, grinning. "Now, off to bed."

"Oh, you!" Hermione said, stomping her foot with a trace of a grin.

Harry Potter was up at the crack of dawn, remembering the spell that had finally worked for Hermione, and casting it on his boots three times until he had the motion exactly right. Then it was his invisibility cloak, and down the stairs to the Slytherin entrance to the dungeons. Not that he was standing at the entrance - he'd found a nice alcove, because he absolutely wanted to see their faces when the Slytherins saw the mess they had to clean!

As if on cue, Severus Snape's voice echoed down the hallways, "You will all be assigned a wing, a tower, or in Draco Malfoy's case, the owlry. Cleaning will be done without magic, no exceptions."

Snape swept up the stairs without pausing (understandably, as he'd seen the fetid, stinking mud the night before), but Pansy's face was a treat. She'd been coming up the stairs with a steely look in her eye, grim and steady at once. When she saw the hall, she shrieked, a high pitched noise that made Harry's ears ring. "What's wrong?" Goyle asked, shouldering Pansy slightly aside, his jaw dropping open at the sight. "Thought we were cleaning Hogwarts, not my barn." Goyle muttered, hurrying along to catch up with Snape, not minding his boots in the slightest as they were neatly encased in the stinking, sucking mud.

But the best part was Draco Malfoy, who was in the midst of rolling his eyes at "Pansy's Dramatics", when he saw the hallway. His eyes bulged out, making him look like some sort of pale white fish, his mouth opening, in fact, precisely like a fish. In a small voice, Draco Malfoy said, "And I thought the Owlry was bad..."

Theodore Nott came up with a smirk, that only widened as he looked at the thin sea of mud. "Told you he was more upset than he was lettin' on."

Crabbe came up next, shouldering past both Theo and Draco, grunting agreement with Theo's commentary.

Daphne didn't say a word, her face simply froze as she looked at the muck. She stepped like some sort of prancing horse, trying to take the fewest steps and step the highest to avoid getting her robes dirty.

"I should have worn old robes, shouldn't I?" Tracy said, with a sigh.

"I did," Draco Malfoy said, "Then again, I knew my punishment." Draco set off in the strangest gait Harry'd seen yet, a sort of precise jumping that was designed to be light and quiet - and, more importantly to the notorious peacock, not splash mud everywhere.

Harry was as quiet as a mouse until all the Slytherins were away, listening until Snape's voice faded in the distance - he was assigning people sectors and towers.

And then Harry laughed loud and long, savoring the expressions as if they were sweet ice cream melting on his tongue.

Harry Potter had gone back to bed, of course. The Slytherins would be there all morning, at least. He'd known, as soon as he saw how prissy-ass they were being, prancing around, that it might take them until sunset before they were done. Plenty of time for him to get some rest.

He was woken up, as usual, by Ron, who was - again, as usual - hungrier than the rest of the teenage boys combined. Harry stood, washed and showered as he was accustomed to - which is to say, quicker than a whistle. It wasn't a good idea to take up time or "precious water" in the Dursley household, and though after Quiddich he'd often take a proper shower, he generally didn't in the morning.

So he was down in the Common Room earlier than his mates. Earlier than Hermione, even, which was almost surprising until Harry remembered that she had slept on the couch waiting for him. He couldn't bring himself to feel guilty, even if he could have told her enough to make her not worry, it was most definitely a bad idea.

Neville was down next, with a sketchbook and a potted plant. Then Dean and Seamus, and Hermione and Lavender - who was, of course, looking for Ron. Ron came down in a flurry of robes, looking like a clothescolony had wrapped its cloth limbs around his entire body.

Ron made to escort Lavender out, his goofy awkwardness almost endearing - and that from Harry's own perspective. Lavender, who was head over heels, must have found it quite charming.

"I wouldn't," Harry said from a middle of the room couch with a clear view of the door. Harry continued, by way of explanation, "Not very romantic out there right now."

"What?" Lavender asked.

Ron, more suspicious, asked "What's wrong with the halls?"

"My detention last night, actually." Harry Potter said dryly.

"I'm surprised Snape didn't have you clean them all up afterwards!" Neville said, chuckling. Somehow Neville never got detention, the lucky sod. Points and more points taken off, but perhaps Snape had less patience with the chunky Gryffindor. An odd thought, because Harry would have sworn - last year at least - that Snape hadn't a lick of patience for him! Dumbledore had to have been getting an earful about the sheer impossibility of occlumency lessons...

"Nah," Harry Potter said, sprawled over the couch and letting his denial sprawl over the room, "He's saving that for his fifth year Slytherins."

"Blimey." Dean said, letting out a low whistle. "Remind me never to tick him off..."

Ron, looking more excited, said, "Who's got a bucket? We can pour something awful down, and they'll have to clean it up!" The room chuckled, or at least, everyone except Hermione and Harry laughed. The other people's cheer far outshouted the disapproving looks on both Harry and Hermione's faces.

"They're doing it without magic, Ron, isn't that enough?" Harry said, trying to smooth his voice out to not sound as challenging as his emotions wanted him to. Heck, they were all for decking his best friend - and, for what, really? An emotion that he'd had himself, time and again.

"Just leave it, Ron" Hermione said.

"Is there any clear way for us to get breakfast?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged, "Not that I know of. Chess, anyone?"

Ron was always up for chess, and nobody else was starving, so it all worked out. Harry played a quick game, and then managed to quietly, for once, slip out of the Gryffindor Common Room.

He was headed toward the Owlry.

Draco Malfoy was not having a good day. In fact, it was a downright shitty day. He rather belatedly wished he hadn't put it quite like that, as it was literally owlshit that he was stuck cleaning. It didn't make it much better that he didn't have to wade through muck and mire, rehabilitating the hallways.

He was cleaning, and Without Magic. Worse, he had been commanded to do so by Snape, so there really wasn't anyone who he could complain to. The Slytherins were all in the same boat, and not interested in listening to him complaining about their Head of House anyway.

And with everything he'd gotten away with, over the years, it really wouldn't be productive to complain to the Gryffindors. The Hufflepuffs might sympathize, but they wouldn't understand. Malfoy was fairly certain they'd never had a detention this horrid.

So, of course, hours into a detention that looked like it might last to infinity, Harry Potter pops out of the woodwork. Joy. Come to gloat, have we Potter? Draco barely bit his tongue on that sharp remark. But in the past year, he'd been rather working on his ability to not spit out exactly what he was thinking. A Slytherin should be subtle.

"Bet you're regretting making me do three detentions for the price of one, aren't you?" Harry Potter grinned, his cheeriness simultaneously irrepressible and completely inappropriate.

What? Draco Malfoy thought, a bit confused. Potter wasn't responsible for giving me detention - and certainly not the Owlry. Oh. OH. Draco belatedly realized what was running through Potter's head. "I regret nothing. Although I would be obliged if you wouldn't mention my role in this fiasco to the rest of the Slytherins." Draco paused for a moment, then ventured, "They're the ones cleaning up your mess."

"True." Harry Potter said, grinning that once-again irrepressible grin. It made Draco Malfoy want to punch the poor soddin' bastard in the mouth. Couldn't he see that someone was miserable here? "I'm sorry, it's just that I've never seen you get punished worse than I have, for any infraction - up to and including nearly killing me."

"When did I nearly kill you?" Draco Malfoy asked, trying hard and not quite succeeding at sounding unquerulous.

"Third year. Remember dressing up as a Dementor?"

"That wouldn't have killed you..." Draco Malfoy said dismissively.

"A fall from that high up? It was a good thing I had my wand in my sleeve - you know what happens when people go all sidesaddle on a broom." *+*

Draco Malfoy scoffed, saying, "By that line of reasoning, I've nearly killed you... dozens of times."

Potter, Merlin slay his soul, was still grinning, "Same back at you." Draco Malfoy supposed, in some way, that Potter was right. They had both been pretty lucky not to have died pulling some of the stunts that they did. Granted, most of them were legal - or nearly legal, in Draco's case (what you didn't get caught at counted as legal, of course). There was a reason they tended to catch the snitch in half the time that the Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff seekers did. The others didn't take risky chances.

"You'll want a smaller brush for that," Potter said, seeming almost uncomfortable. "Here."

And just like that, Harry Potter had transfigured a quill into a small paintbrush... perfect for excavating the mouseribs out of the chink in the stonework that Draco had been trying to brush out with a broom.

"I'm not supposed to use magic to clean this," Draco Malfoy spouted, only seconds after he said it, realizing how stupid it was.

Harry kept grinning - what was with him and that grin? People made fun of Slytherins, but at least their 'resting face' said, "you mean nothing to me." Draco Malfoy couldn't for the life of him come up with what Harry was trying to express. And then cursed himself for a thrice blinded fool - he was a Gryffindor, and they didn't try to project anything. Nor did they think before they spoke, generally speaking (Granger was a known exception). "You didn't use magic. I did. And it's more work, not less, using a tool of that size."

Draco Malfoy looked at it, looked at Potter, tried it a bit (wedging out one rib), and then, a trifle grandly, said, "Very well, I accept."

Potter's lips finally settled into a more normal smirky smile, as he said, "Is that Malfoyese for Thank You?"

"Saying thank you implies an obligation, that I might owe you something. As you did this out of your own free will, I owe you nothing." Draco Malfoy said.

"A little gratitude wouldn't hurt, though..." Harry Potter said.

Draco Malfoy, "I'll be grateful when you accede to doing something because I request it."

"Oh, and what would you want me to do?" Harry Potter said, knitting his hands behind his head, as his elbows stuck out like elephant ears.

"I'll think of something." Draco Malfoy said, "Don't you have something better to do than harass a person that literally can't leave to get away from you?"

Harry Potter said, "Of course, but homework's boring. This is much more interesting."

Draco Malfoy promptly tuned Harry Potter out, or at least tried to. It seemed Harry Potter wanted a conversation and was going to try every technique until he got it. Luckily, by the time he got to whistling, Minerva McGonagall appeared, and, trying to keep a straight face, informed Harry Potter that he was interfering with Malfoy's detention. Detentions, apparently, weren't supposed to be having pointless conversations with someone who might be trying to kill you in a few months.*~* They were supposed to be grim dour and silent, which suited Draco Malfoy fine.

Harry had had his fun, gloating about Malfoy's well-deserved, twice deserved, quadruple deserved punishment. And now, sitting at lunch, in a Great Hall that somehow sparkled just a bit stronger for all the unmagical cleaning that the Slytherins had put in, all he had left was anticipation. Well, that, and watching someone's first time.

Oh, not that first time. Harry Potter was fairly certain that most of the Slytherins had never done a non-magical day's work in their lives. Work wasn't something to be enjoyed, exactly, but when you got down to being done? It was a sense of satisfaction, of being productive, of having done your best and having the results to show for it.

Being Slytherins, they weren't exactly crowing from the rooftops, but there was a definite sense, sitting there, of solidarity. Of people who had done a hard, worthwhile thing - together. Harry Potter was actually a little proud with having a hand in that.

Sitting in the Great Hall, Harry (rather late) began to plan how he was going to figure out what 'friend' Snape was going to see at Hogwarts. And how he was going to ... do something spectacular. Harry wasn't quite sure what Snape had meant by punishing him early, but it sounded a lot like an invitation, extended with a mail-covered hand, no doubt, but an invitation nonetheless.

A lot would depend on who was coming, of course. Should it be Fudge, well, Harry'd have to find a way to learn what was happening without being seen. But Harry doubted it was going to be Fudge. The Minister was three shades too aboveboard for Harry to really think about doing anything (aside from pranks, of course) subtle and shadowy.

No, Harry was pretty sure whoever it was would be a shady character, possibly even unsavory. And that meant something having to do with the war, of course. And in this war, Snape held the distinct, and rather dubious, position of being on all sides, so really Harry hadn't a clue who'd be showing up. It could be Alastor Moody, someone from Knockturn Alley (possibly selling cut rate potions ingredients, and rare blackmarket items), a thief... or it could be a Death Eater. Certainly there were a few of Tom Riddle's own that wouldn't be allowed in school... but there were also enough who knew how to put on white gloves...

But first, Harry'd have to figure out who had arrived. He was halfway through planning an accidental encounter from the coatcloset, when he slapped his own head. He had a map! He should use it, and that would be his first step. Of course, he wouldn't be in Gryffindor Tower, but someplace safe on the first floor - nearer the action without putting his feet in it.

Harry sat in an unused classroom, his map in hand, his cloak safely stowed in a pocket. He was so focused on the entranceways - he knew of several, though he'd have a hard time thinking who could possibly be entering under the Black Lake, that he didn't hear the door open.

"What are you up to now, Potter?" That shrill, grating voice could only be Pansy Parkinson.

He barely stopped himself from hiding the map, simply rolling it up so she wouldn't see what he'd been reading. "Research."

"With what, a scrap of parchment? Are you inventing everything you're studying?" Pansy said, and Harry suddenly felt that would have been a good idea. Pity he was such shite at lying.

"Alright. I was just thinking..." Harry Potter said.

Pansy Parkinson abruptly shut the door, and sat on the teacher's desk, her legs swinging, "Well, I'm bushed, so why don't you tell me about it?"

"I know." Harry Potter said agreeably.

"Wait, that was you? Why were you even there?!" Pansy said.

"How did you -?" Harry started to ask, changed his mind, and said, "No, of course it wasn't me."

"You're ruddy shite at lying, Potter." Pansy said, her legs swinging and hitting the desk with hard, ringing thunks. "Either get better at it, or give it up. Besides, if the shoes fit..."

"Huh?" Harry Potter asked.

"You, Idiot Extraordinare, went wading through mud, in an invisibility cloak." Pansy looked at him and Harry looked back, until she finally snapped, "You left footprints."

"Oh. That was dumb, wasn't it?" Harry asked, grinning abashed. He'd never been afraid to laugh at himself.

"Extremely," Pansy drawled in a move Harry was suddenly sure she had copied from Draco Malfoy.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Harry Potter asked, trying not to make himself sound completely accusatory. He belatedly figured that it about half worked.

"I wanted to ask you about magnetism. But apparently you're too busy thinking..." Pansy said.

"Yes, you really should come back later." Harry said, using his bright green eyes to conjure the most perfectly innocent and not sarcastic look on his face. It rarely worked, but Harry had learned at a young age to try it anyhow. Nothing worked well at the Dursley household. He found himself wondering if anything worked well at the Parkinson's house.

"Well, fine then." Pansy said, turning her nose up with a sniff, and headed away, shutting the classroom door behind her.

Harry Potter unfurled the map quickly, and saw three names he recognized in the Hogwarts main Entranceway. With a simple shrug of his cloak, he was quickly heading out of the classroom, paying no mind to the "invisible person opens door" dilemma. With those three together... he knew exactly why Snape had assumed he'd be up to something tonight.

"Mr. Malfoy, as I'm sure you are aware, you are no longer a member of the Board of Directors. You are not entitled to visit Hogwarts as you please, and you most certainly do not have the professors at your beck and call." Minerva McGonagall ground out, her thinlipped straight posture showing anger, but Harry thought that glimmer in her eye was more satisfaction, at being able to vocally dress down the known Death Eater who had almost killed a good few of her students.

"I am perfectly aware of that, Professor." Lucius's melodic voice rang out, "And I assure you that I have no complaints about your teaching methods or style."

Professor McGonagall at this point huffed dryly, as she hadn't been asking that question at all.

"Has my old friend been troubling you?" Severus Snape said, emerging from the dungeons with his usual flair.

"Au Contraire," Lucius said, turning towards Professor Snape, "She has been troubling me. And I do so hate it when you call me that. It makes me feel threadbare and motheaten, you know." Only Lucius Malfoy could say such things in a tone of such perfect equanimity that you weren't sure what, if any of this, he meant.

"Then allow me to escort your presence out of my colleague's careful hands." Severus Snape said, his manner just as precise as Lucius'. The only difference was that his words purred, while Lucius' drawled, just like his son's.

Both Lucius and Snape headed downstairs, presumably towards Snape's office. Harry followed, heart in his mouth, trying to be as quiet as possible. He couldn't help but remember every single time Snape had caught him - even under the cloak. It didn't make it any less scary, even if Snape had as good as told him to do this. He could still, very easily, be doing not what Snape wanted or expected. And, despite everything, Snape would take abnormal satisfaction in punishing him if he'd pushed one toe out of line.

Luckily, Lucius spoke up not twenty feet from the Main Entranceway, jolting Harry out of his quiet thoughts, "I must say," Lucius drawled in his customary icy tones, "Hogwarts has never seemed more halycon. Were those suits of armor in the entranceway actually shining?"

"Yes, that would be entirely due to my House." Severus Snape purred, "I find serving detention without magic has a certain tendency to increase the intellectual perseverance of even the most spoiled of pupils."

"Sev, what did they do?" Lucius Malfoy asked, his voice conveying a humor that seemed almost foreign.

"I put two mice in front of the cat, and the cat just sat there." Snape said, shortly, "The goal was for them to catch both of the mice."

"I really think that you may have set that goal a trifle high. They are students, after all." Lucius Malfoy drawled.

"With only a little time left, I might add," Snape said darkly, "Would you like to see the Owlry? Your son has done a most excellent job of cleaning up after the avian residences of this august institution."

Lucius Malfoy sputtered at this, face actually slightly reddened, before he intoned, coldly, "I hardly think that will be necessary."

They went a good room's-length before Lucius spoke up again. "Really, Severus, did you have to break my toys? Didn't you ever learn to share?" Hearing that, Harry Potter mentally added a point on Snape's total, for bearing the silence better. Still, Lucius clearly had something on his mind.

"Of course not, Lu," Snape purred, "And I hardly think your superiors would approve of your toys."

"Are you trying to insinuate that you did me a favor?"

"Oh, I'd never hold you to the obligation," Snape said in a voice filled with dark humor and good cheer, "After all, what are friends for?"

"Ah, yes, and here I thought you were just lonely and in need of fine company." Lucius Malfoy said.

"The latter moreso than the former. I trust you'll tell me if you find any?" Snape commented, his voice dry.

"Any company at all would be better than what you're stuck with at this venerable, even antiquated institution." Lucius Malfoy said.

Biting down on his tongue, Harry couldn't stop the quip from ringing in his head - you were the one directing the curriculum. If it's antiquated, it's your doing.

"Oh?" Snape replied, his voice wry.

"The students - as dire as always?"

"Of course. Or, in some cases, worse." Snape said darkly. Harry couldn't stop a shiver from running up his back. Something in how Snape said that.

"Ah, yes. I've heard the sixth year Gryffindors are something else." Lucius Malfoy said. "Anything I'd find of interest?"

"There is nothing new under the sun." Snape intoned, almost piously. Then he turned a furious sneer on Lucius, who nearly took a halfstep back at the vividly gruesome sight. "That boy, that arrogant boy - you don't need to meet him, just picture James Potter, and add even more arrogance, if you can believe it."

Harry's wandhand had tensed at the word boy, an instinctive response born of hatred and a desire to see Uncle Vernon pay. Harry had felt the anger wash over himself like a tsunami, and held firm to his position. That was also, he thought, coming to be instinct. At the speed of thought, he drained all that surging water from his core. This was Snape, he thought, and then thought again. Hang a sec, Harry Potter thought, Snape never calls me boy. It's Potter, or You, or occasionally, Mister Potter. Harry shook his head, continuing forward along the dungeon corridor, with every step becoming more convinced that That couldn't be right. So, Harry thought, what was it, if not that? And, suddenly, Harry had it, -Snape had known how much he hated that name. Snape had known. So, he was trying to anger me. Why?

"How's he adjusting to his new status - Yesteryear's Savior, that is...?" Lucius asked.

"Poorly." Snape said, his heels clicking on the floor, "But enough about my misery..."

Snape and Malfoy had by this point reached Snape's office. They entered, shutting the door. Harry, still under his cloak, moved forward, getting close to the door, thinking about how he could get in the door, half convincing himself to not even try. His eyes had been peeled to the doorjamb, so when his eyes traveled up the door towards the mantle, he was shocked to see, "Go Away, Gryffindor." written in Slytherin green.

Well, that settles that, Harry thought, heading up towards his bed. He did wonder what sort of classified, "Not for Harry's Eyes" information they were discussing. Hell, Snape might have decided that Harry's listening ears weren't needed if all they were going to do was drink firewhiskey and bitch about the Dark Lord Voldemort.

... for that matter, Snape would be right!

For most people at Hogwarts, Harry was fairly sure, Sundays were a time for relaxation and ease. At least they were most years. This year, the upperclassmen were training, and the underclassmen seemed to be picking up the tension too.

Harry, however, wasn't most people. He'd never really felt... relaxed. Well, not often, at any rate. There was always some part of him, he supposed, that kept an ear open for Dudley. Or Uncle Vernon. Or even Aunt Petunia.

Harry was actually a bit frustrated, as he'd asked Hermione to help him with his Potions, and she'd passed him her finished draft. The problem was, it was actually the expected length. Normally, Harry could pick and choose points out of Hermione's paper (asking her to explain if he really didn't understand), and stitch together something that looked uniquely from him. But Hermione'd finished her paper on Friday (while he was in detention), and didn't have her drafts.

So, Harry was reading the books himself. Yes, books. Snape apparently decided that assigning homework meant extracurricular reading. Or at least he did if you wanted a decent grade. It wasn't exactly that Harry did or didn't want a decent grade, though - he knew he hadn't a reasonable chance of getting it. Taught by Severus Snape, Potions was a grueling class filled with sweat and cauldrons and fire. Some people seemed made for it - was Draco Malfoy really as cold as he looked or did he just use a cooling charm on his clothes?

Focus.

It took hours for Harry to come up with a half-decent paper. He'd have considered doing more, but his Transfiguration was calling, and after that he had Charms. Defense hadn't any homework (due, no doubt, to the enormous pile Hermione was working on for their 'study group') - Harry figured that just meant Snape was going to assume that they'd done the homework he hadn't officially assigned. Was he trying to drive those Ravenclaws mad?

It was almost time for dinner, and Harry was taking a walk, enjoying the warm summerish breeze at the end of September. It truly was a balmy day. As his feet took him where they willed, he carefully reviewed Snape and Malfoy's conversation from the night before. It had seemed so strange, at the time, to hear two Death Eaters talking... they had sounded so normal. Not like they were plotting to murder Hermione, or someone else...

*+*more appropriately, this is about being half twisted towards the back, grabbing something out of an inconvenient pocket or a boot.

*~*not quite how McGonagall put it, naturally.

*Methane reeks, doncha know.

**Harry is counting all trips. Snape's not having him do 80 "up to the top of Hogwarts" stair runs in a night.

***Frostbite is bad, kids. You can get frostbite in wet clothes a lot warmer than you'd think. That said, a bit of burning in your toes is probably chilblains, which suck but aren't "we'll cut your toes off." Read more somewhere else on the internet. General first aid is a lifesaver.